Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02

We went to bed. She held my hand as we moved to the bedroom, and once there took off her clothes in a very business-like way, until, breathtakingly nude, she climbed into bed.

I had been standing transfixed holding my breath, watching the unveiling of each of her formidable charms. I had never seen a nude woman so beautiful, so absolutely perfect in every way, even in paintings or dirty magazines. Those tits, the curve of that waist, that bottom, those legs!

"Graham?" she asked with a smile: she had seen that look on male faces before.

I awoke from my trance with a start and shed my own clothes, climbing into bed after her. She stared at my nudity as I had at hers, and I wondered if she was joking, or trying to bolster my self-confidence.

"You really are a handsome man. Come here," she said extending an arm. That throw away remark made me immediately feel so much better. I knew it was designed as such; I doubted it was the truth but I didn't care.

I crawled into her arms and she pulled me against her, my head against her breasts. They were firm yet soft. It was done with such love and compassion that a peace swept over me and the churning inside seemed to drift gently away.

Her hand stroked my hair, then soothed my back. She kissed my head. She continued to stroke me wherever she could reach, while I began to be purged of the desolation in which my erstwhile fiancée had again immersed me.

She drew my face up to hers and we kissed. It was gentle, soft and intense. Her kisses travelled then, over my neck, down my breastbone, and all over my stomach.

I stroked her hair, and admired her shoulders, and her sinuous back. She laid her face on my stomach, and I caressed her cheek, running over her neck and shoulders. Thus we remained for an age, relaxed, in my case drained, and utterly comfortable.

When my hand strayed onto her side and faintly brushed her breast, she roused and came back to my lips, climbing on top of me and lying on my full length. She lifted herself onto her straight arms, allowing her breasts to hang loosely and lowering them to my lips for me to suckle one then the other, while she gave forth a sound almost a giggle, almost a moan, before falling on me again, her legs lying each side of mine, her mound pressing on me.

She was light, and warm, and soft, and so smooth. My penis, up to that moment dormant, began to come to life, gradually making itself felt as it rose up against her sex. She shifted to make room, so that it could rest along the length of her smooth crease. We kissed again, this time with more passion, fighting to reach each other's necks and shoulders.

I was now erect and pressing against her, whereupon she knelt up, moved over me, took my cock in hand and guided it as she sank down, her warm, wet pussy enveloping it and clasping it as if in a fur-lined glove, warm, secure and comfortable.

"Colette sweetheart," I said, "Contraception?"

"Not tonight, my darling, I'm pretty sure you're clean, in spite of your love-bite, and so am I, and I'm on the pill, so relax. You need this," and she began to move.

It was a gentle rocking motion, rubbing her self against me, then smoothly slowly rising and falling, her hands taking her weight each side of my head, her breasts swinging pendulous above me.

I opened my eyes, which had closed of their own accord with the intensity of the sensations she was lavishing on me, to find her looking into mine lovingly with a hint of the mischievous. She smiled and so did I.

So it seemed to go on for an hour, until she was clearly tiring.

"Let me," I said.

She understood and raised off me, slipping to my side and lying on her back, her legs spread wide, inviting. I knelt, slid forward and slipped in. She pulled me down onto my elbows, and we continued our reciprocal movements, and gazing at each other, until she twitched and yelped and I felt her contractions as she came. It was enough to bring me off in my turn, and I stayed resting over her until she pushed me to one side and wrapped herself around me.

Friday 22 May 1970

The next thing I knew was something I had never experienced before. It was daylight, though very early, and there was a warm mouth laving my penis, sucking a little, bobbing a little. I opened my eyes to find her gazing up into mine with a twinkle in her eye. I little realised at the time what a gift this was: Colette was not a morning person.

"Morning," I gasped as I revelled in the self-indulgent euphoria of exquisite sensations. She did not answer, since it would be rude to talk with her mouth full, but she winked at me, and I couldn't help but laugh.

The laughter died rapidly as I felt my climax approaching.

"Sweetheart, I'm close."

She closed her eyes, and opened them again, and I realised she was fingering herself under the bedclothes, and that realisation sent me into a powerful orgasm. She took it all, not letting go until I was completely finished.

She came up and kissed me, the bitter taste of my emission on her lips. The lengthy kiss completed, I went down, kissing all the way, and bestowed my best admiration on her sex, from vagina to clitoris, and her pretty inner lips between. Thanks to her own finger activity while blowing me, she came quickly and hard, and then I gave her a reciprocal taste of herself in another torrid and lengthy kiss.

We lay entwined until it was time to shower and have breakfast, both of which were undertaken together, the former taking too long, and involving more climactic pleasure, and the latter accordingly having to be rushed.

Harriet commented we looked really 'relaxed' and 'just fucked', which indeed the two of us were. I certainly felt a good deal better after the shock of the previous night.

Once at work I buried my head in work and went home late, picking up a chinese takeaway. Colette had something going on with other friends that weekend.

I dutifully waited at 7.30 for the phone call, why, I have no idea. It was obvious she was not going to ring. I think I still hoped for an explanation, some closure, a follow-up to the delivery of the watch. Nothing. I sighed for the umpteenth time that day, and read a novel. It was a light amusing story, but did not cheer me.

At 7.40 the phone rang.

My heart jumped. At last she had decided to talk. I felt elated and excited.

But no. It was Bob Stanford, master of ringers at Birch Church. My spirits dropped stone-like, but I was intrigued.

"Graham," he began, "I've got a problem, and wonder if you"re free to help me out. You've never rung a peal have you?"

"No," I said, "No opportunity."

"Well, the opportunity has now arisen. Peter's ill, and we need a ringer for tomorrow afternoon at one. It's Plain Bob Major, so quite straightforward. Are you free?"

I was free, and thanked him for the chance to get a peal under my belt. A peal lasts about three hours. Bell ringing is not particularly strenuous as the weight of the bell swinging through 360 degrees does most of the work, and needs only little effort to keep it that way and to control it. Pulling on the bell rope and stretching as the rope goes skywards is good aerobic exercise though.

The next section between the *** may be omitted for those with no interest at all in the craft.

***

English bells are rung full circle, from mouth up to mouth up (There is an ingenious arrangement whereby you can 'park' the bell with its mouth up). It means that you can't ring tunes on the bells as you can with a carillon where the bells are fixed. Instead they are rung in different orders according to Mathematical principles.

Apart from the skill of keeping the bell swinging full circle, there is the complication that the clapper only strikes the bell at the end of the 360 degree arc well after you have pulled it off its mouth-up state. There is a lot of skill in judging when it will strike in perfect time with the other bells.

The bell with the highest note, called the Treble is number 1 and in a ring of eight bells, the heaviest bell with the lowest note of the octave, the Tenor, is number 8.

They begin ringing 12345678 (called 'rounds'), then when everyone is settled and the bells are struck evenly, the method starts and they change places in pairs, one place at a time, e.g.,

12345678

21436587

24163857

42618375

46281735

64827153 (the beginning of Plain Bob Major)

and so on.

If you look carefully you will see that each bell follows a path from front to back or back to front of the row. Once the treble has travelled to the back of the row and then returned to the front, there are different ways of changing the order so that the same row of numbers is never repeated in a method.

There are 40,320 different orders for eight bells, but a peal is only about 5040 changes of those, and it takes about 3 hours to ring. There are all sorts of ways to change the order of the bells, called methods, some very complicated, but the principle that the bells are never struck twice in the same order always applies. Some methods are more tuneful than others, but the sound is usually pleasant and cheerful if the bells are struck evenly.

For services and practices less changes are rung, called 'touches' but the principle that you never repeat the same order twice in a touch is always preserved.

For less skilful ringers there are 'rounds and call changes', where the order 12345678 is repeated over and over again until the ringing master calls a change between two of the bells: e.g. "four to five" when bell four then rings after bell five. This can lead to quite tuneful orders: 13572468 called 'Queens', 12753468 called 'Whittingtons', and 15263748 called 'Tittums' being the most well known.

***

I was happier after that call: I had something to look forward to, and there was the prospect of a drinking session with the other ringers afterwards, which could be earlier or later depending on whether we got through the peal without cocking it up. If a peal crashes because someone makes a mistake, you just have to give up and go home, or to the pub.

I went to bed early, taking my book and suddenly finding it a much better read! When my eyelids began to droop, I lay down and fell asleep immediately. I had forgotten completely that Penny had not phoned.

Saturday 23 May 1970

The peal went reasonably well, with only a couple of hairy moments, and we went drinking afterwards, about four, and stayed until closing time at eleven. I had taken the bus to get there, and took a taxi home.

Sunday 24 May 1970

On Sunday I overslept, missed ringing and was roused by the doorbell at lunchtime, to find Colette, Harriet and Harriet's boyfriend, who wanted to take me out for lunch 'on such a sunny day'. They knew of a good restaurant in a hotel that served Sunday lunches. Kieran had been told my sad tale and was sympathetic. A nice man.

After lunch they came home and we played Rummy and Canasta (Kieran did not play Bridge and did not want to learn). I put together some cheeses and biscuits in the evening and we washed it all down with my best Bordeaux. Harriet was staying with Kieran, and so they went home early, while Colette stayed the night, most of which was strenuously active. The girl was a dynamo!

Monday 25 May 1970 Spring Bank Holiday

On Monday we slept in, enjoying the Bank Holiday and each other, once awake, then went for a drive and a long walk in the Spring sunshine, of which there was a good deal that month. It was warm as well!

We cooked some steaks with a tomato and onion and a green salad, then watched a film, hugging (and more) on the sofa until about midnight. She went home saying she didn't fancy rushing home to change for work on Tuesday morning. Watching her dressing was almost as erotic as watching her stripping. Well, you didn't think we 'hugged' fully dressed, or indeed dressed at all, did you?

Tuesday 26 May 1970

The next day after work, I went to the ancestral home and told my parents that the engagement was off, and why. As always, they forbore to give advice, but accepted what I had told them with sympathy. Neither did they utter a word of criticism of Penny, which I found to be strangely touching.

Thursday 28 May 1970

On Thursday, Zena was hosting. She was saying that Guyana had celebrated independence and she was happy. We had to do a little special shopping on the way to her place. I helped her prepare the food, and I noted how easily we fitted as cooks, skilfully moving round each other in the smallish kitchen. She did all the actual cooking and we ate Caribbean that night.

I showed the other two girls the photos, and told them I had heard nothing from Penny even after she sent back the watch. Recalling it for them reignited my feelings of discomfort that I had no closure. They were very supportive, and hugged me a lot. That was nice; ' 'tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good!' The bridge game wasn't bad either.

Friday 29 May 1970

On Friday evening I was once again at home in my flat, wondering if even a week after sending the watch she would ring and explain. My mind would not let it go. I knew I would still mourn for what we had and could have had for a good while, but Colette and the girls would be an effective antidote to grief.

7.30 came and went with a deafening silence, but at 8.00 Colette arrived.

"Look, Graham my darling," she said, "send me away if you want to be alone, but last night you seemed a bit down, so I thought you might like to spend the weekend with me, here or at my place. What do you think?"

Of course I did. Would I send away such a caring woman? Such a sexy, beautiful and eager woman? I went and collected enough for the weekend, and we left for her place.

Much of the weekend was spent in bed, by turns gentle and affectionate, and by turns passionate and violent. She liked being smacked on her bottom while being taken from behind, displaying her exquisitely rounded and reddening rear. She was inventive and for the first time talked dirty through one of our violent fuckings, and encouraged me to do the same as I slammed into her and she pushed back at me. The orgasms were so intense!

I left the flat to ring for Sunday service, but she was still in bed when I returned and I joined her, in both senses of the word. On Sunday night she said, "Stay tonight, you can go home early to get ready for work. In any case you have to pick Zena up."

Monday 1 June 1970

We made love and then again in the very early morning. Then after a shower I went home to change for the office. Colette was not a morning person and I appreciated her efforts on my behalf. She appreciated my silence!

--

Chapter Nine

Monday 1 June 1970

We decided to have a break from each other on Monday night to get a bit of rest, so I was home alone that evening. The place felt different. I felt at peace. Perhaps at last I was becoming free of the Roasburies, the horrid parents and traitorous daughter.

So, after my evening meal when the phone rang, for the first time I didn't think it would be Penny. In any case it was the wrong day.

As a result the caller completely confused me. It was Derek. No pleasantries.

"Graham," he said in a puzzled rather than angry tone, "What's going on between you and Penny?"

"I don't know," I replied, "but basically, nothing is going on any more."

"She says she's broken off the engagement."

"Well, I received her engagement watch through the post, so I assume that's what she's done."

"You mean she hasn't told you?"

"No. I just got the watch. No note with it."

"She says you're seeing someone else."

"Does she?"

"Well, are you?"

"Derek, I'm not prepared to tell you anything if she's not prepared to talk to me. But I'll tell you this much and you can draw your own conclusions. You remember she came to you for that weekend?"

"Yes, but what's-"

"Just listen, I'll tell you this, and then no more. The previous week I complained that she'd repeatedly put me off seeing her for three weeks and I intended to see her that weekend to talk about it and I expected her phone call to arrange it on Friday, at 7.30 as usual. Indeed she had promised faithfully to phone.

"That call never came, but at midnight, on Friday night, mind, remember that, she phoned to say she was at your place and hadn't been able to phone because the train was delayed three hours. She was phoning from a phone box, Derek."

"But she didn't-"

"She didn't get to you until Saturday afternoon. She deliberately lied to me. The phone box was a giveaway even if you hadn't phoned about what she'd left behind. You've got a phone. That's all you're getting, Derek. She hasn't told me why she's broken it off."

There was a moment's silence, then, "Thanks Graham. Bye."

So there I was, back to the old uncertainty. When Derek got to her, would she now phone me and explain? Was I to jump at each phone call again, as I had been doing before?

Tuesday 2 June 1970

Tuesday evening, at 7.30 the phone rang. My heart jumped, and I somewhat reluctantly answered it.

"Graham Proctor."

"Graham, it's Penny's mother." The tone of voice was cold which I glibly thought for a dragon was unusual.

"Hello," I said, neutrally, dreading the rest of the call.

"Graham, what's going on?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie, Graham, Penny says she's broken off your engagement because you're seeing someone else."

"Does she?"

"Don't play games, Graham, you know you are."

I was growing tired of this, but I was damned if I was going to answer accusations from anyone but Penny, and I wasn't sure I could be bothered to answer hers!

"Is this from Derek?"

"He phoned us, yes, he said he'd told Penny she'd better ring me and tell me what was going on."

"Did he tell you what I said?"

"Yes, something about her missing a train, or forgetting to phone you."

I sighed. "OK, I told Derek I wouldn't discuss it with him unless Penny discussed it with me first."

"But she's told you she's broken it off."

"No. She sent her engagement watch back to me. No note, no explanation."

"She said you were being awkward, and you know perfectly well why she's broken it off."

"Listen, she hasn't said anything to me, but she is seeing someone else, which I'm sure will make you very happy. Why you should want to know the details I've no idea, you've never liked me, you've been rude and snobbish, so I have no intention of saying any more to you. What I will do is write your husband a letter, since he at least is civil to me. Goodnight."

I hung up, and I hit the bottle.

Bloody fucking Roasburies!

Thursday 4 June 1970

On Thursday it was my turn to host the meeting and Zena offered to help. Needless to say everyone knew the latest development and were duly compassionate. We had just sat down to play the first rubber, when the phone rang. Zena's hand was the dummy so she went to answer it. She needn't have, for all play stopped while she was gone.

"Hello, Graham Proctor's Place."

"Yes, he's here, who's speaking please?"

"Zena Bridgehouse, I'm a colleague of his from work."

"I'll get him."

She looked over to me. "Penny's mother."

I walked over to the phone.

"Hello."

"So you have got another woman."

"It's none of your business, nor of Penny's any more, is it?"

"Penny told me this Zena was one of the women you were sleeping with. That woman answered the phone one evening, and was still there the next morning."

"No."

"What d"you mean? Are you calling Penny a liar?"

"Well, yes I am - she is a liar, but in this case she's mistaken. Listen, I can't talk now, I'll give you this much, Zena is here with two other people. We play contract bridge every Thursday. Did Penny tell you about Martin Greaves?"