Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02

"He's her new boyfriend. He's helped her through this awful business. She's only been with him since you were unfaithful."

"I'm sick of this! I was not unfaithful. I can't talk now, these people are waiting to play. And by the way, Penny is lying about Martin as well."

I put the phone down. "Damned woman," I snarled, but I wasn't sure which woman I meant.

I played badly that night, but Zena, my partner, did not complain. Lovely girl!

Fucking Roasburie bitches!

Friday 5 June 1970

On Friday at home after work, I wrote the letter to Geoff Roasburie outlining the whole saga of infidelity and lack of communication. I enclosed photo's of Penny with Martin Greaves, the loving couple, one of them walking with arms round each other, and the other of them on the park bench with hands on each other's genitals, sealed the envelope and posted it. Perhaps this would finally put an end to my pointless association with the delinquent Roasburies.

When I returned from the post box, Colette's car was outside the flat. As I approached she climbed out and came toward me. She slid her arms around me and lifted her face for a kiss. We kissed. It went on for a while, as her body squeezing against me, waking up further my already stirring cock.

"Anything planned for the weekend?" she asked seductively.

"No," I said as I opened the front door and we climbed to my first floor flat.

"Come with me to Shropshire," she invited. "I booked a hotel in Ironbridge. The food is superb, the beer is local and very pleasant; Wenlock Edge is very pretty. How about it?"

"Sold to the lady in red."

She was a wearing green blouse and a short, darker green skirt.

"How did you know I've got my red knickers on?" she asked with a pout.

"You flashed me getting out of the car, and I can see a bit of your bra," I answered smugly. "And you always wear sexy red when you want me to do something."

"OK, pervert. Get some stuff together and let's hit the road. Can we take your car?"

The hotel was in the centre of Ironbridge, and as Colette said the place was very welcoming and the food was superb. She was right about the beer as well.

Ironbridge is a small town by the River Severn Gorge which boasts the first iron bridge ever built. It is a beautiful structure, with a graceful arch and well worth seeing. It and other towns in the area were at the forefront of the industrial revolution, during which time the whole place looked like hell on earth. Now all is green and pleasant and the area abounds in fascinating museums.

Saturday 6 June 1970

On the Saturday afternoon after we had returned from our drive and hike along the Edge, we had undressed and got into the king sized bed. It was then that Colette became serious.

"Graham I've got something to tell you."

My face must have shown I was expecting bad news, for she hastened to correct the impression.

"No, no," she said, "Nothing bad. It's just that we need to get things clear. You were engaged to Penny, and that shows that you were thinking of settling down and getting married. You're what? Twenty Five? Twenty Six?"

I nodded, "Twenty Seven."

She continued. "Zena and I were talking. I don't want you getting serious with me. I'm a little younger than you but I don't want to settle down just yet. I'm very happy the way things are. I like being your friend and I like being your mistress. You're very good in bed, you know, I've rarely felt so loved and cared for. That's it really."

She sat primly in the bed, displaying her perfect breasts which sat perkily and firm, demanding some urgent attention. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Colette," I said as I fondled her twins, "after my experience with Penny I don't want to get too serious either for a good long time. I'm grateful to both of you for all you do for me, and I can't believe my luck that you want to have sex with me at all. So can we just carry on as we are?"

"The only other thing," she said with a gasp and a sigh as I tweaked a nipple, "is that you might not be the only man I sleep with. I don't want you getting all possessive and jealous."

"My only worry is disease," I replied, as my hand travelled south.

"You are the only man I have sex with that I don't insist on a johnny. You remember I insisted the first time we nearly did it. That's always the case for me usually, but you are special. I want you to use a rubber with any other women you go with, OK?"

"OK, that's fair, but you might find you suddenly fall for someone; it does happen. If it does, you must stop our relationship immediately. Promise me that, I don't want to be involved with deception."

I could see it hit home with her; it was after all the reason we were in the relationship we were. Since my hand was between her perfect thighs, she ran hers over my risen prick.

"It's unlikely, but I promise. Now that's clear, it's time for you to do me till I scream for mercy!"

Which is what I did at some length, starting with those delicious tits, and with some intensity the rest of her perfect body, and she did scream, not so loudly and not for mercy. I knew I would never tire of her warm silky channel clasping my cock, nor the sharpness of her tits. I think my groans of release were louder than her screams.

We had a short sleep holding each other before waking and going to dinner. Next day she drove me back in my car, and I continued on to my place to prepare for yet another week at the office.

So we moved further into June and July. The Labour Government was replaced by the Conservatives, for all the difference it made.

In July we had a Dock strike, nothing new there then, and the Commonwealth Games took place in Edinburgh - a sort of reduced Olympics. Neither event impinged on my legal or private life, apart from having to persuade one frustrated export company that it was pointless to sue the dockers' union.

Those summer months were typical of North West England, mixed, mainly wet! To be fair there were quite a few warm sunny days and we made the most of them with picnics and trips out. I love hiking in the hills, but any weather will do for that. The weather did not impinge upon concerts, discos, clubbing, pubs, and evenings listening to and playing folk music. It was the era of protest as I've said. Of course bell ringing took up one or two evenings of each week, with the odd ringing tour thrown in on Saturdays. Life was busy and enjoyable.

My holidays were scheduled for three weeks in August, the idea being that Penny and I would have been planning the wedding and spending a week somewhere together after her heavy workload in Teacher Training. I cancelled that time off with an option to take time as and when I wanted it.

Penny. After sending the letter to Penny's father, I heard nothing further from any of that family, and she slipped into history. I did wonder what she was doing from time to time, who she was with, whether Martin had taken my place permanently. There was always a twinge of regret and, I suppose, longing, but for what wasn't clear. The intensity of my emotional reaction had diminished as the weeks passed, though there was that nostalgic wistfulness from time to time.

As Martin Luther King said in another context, 'Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we're free at last.' That's exactly how I felt.

It wasn't the first time I'd been dumped by girls, and I had dumped girls in my turn. Perhaps the word dumped is a little strong, rather 'finished with' is gentler and more descriptive.

I never saw Susan again after the Tom Paxton night; Ian told me she thought there was no real spark between us. Too right there wasn't. Ian's liaison with Dolly Parton or whatever her name was, had ended, and Susan was her friend.

Ian was mystified when I turned up at the pub with Colette one week and Zena the next. He was also envious and I couldn't blame him. Even after all the weeks that Colette and I had been together, I still could not believe my luck, and I never took her or my loving friendship with Zena for granted.

We had come to the end of the sixties - the 'swinging' sixties. That's what they called them. For us ordinary folk it did not swing too much. Oh, the music was great, with plenty of folk singing old and new, but most girls were not on the pill, so they did not 'put out' easily as a result; pregnancy outside marriage was still frowned upon, and that is putting it mildly.

Condoms were sold in pharmacies and barber's shops, and you had to ask for them over the counter. Young assistants would glance wistfully, but older ones would glare at one's implied promiscuity.

For barbers it was a ribald joke. The classic selling technique was, as soon as the haircut was done, the barber would ask "Something for the weekend, sir?" and grin with a knowing expression. I think they enjoyed seeing the flush of embarrassment on the faces of those who answered in the affirmative.

Colette and Zena were ahead of their time in this regard. As Colette had told me, usually they carried condoms with them when they went out for a night on the town, just in case. They were not really into one night stands, so the prophylactics were seldom used until they got to know the man concerned and then they expected him to provide them. The pill was new and 'my' girls were all users of the new contraceptive.

It was an interesting relationship, and one for which I remain very grateful after all these years. Colette and I had regular sex, and she was very comforting, not to say exhilarating, but Zena and I remained platonic and I confided much more intimately in her and she in me.

Both girls had men friends and Colette would go out on dates with the men she met or knew from time to time. What surprised me was that I assumed she was having sex with other men but felt not in the least bit jealous. If she were having a fling with a man, I would not see her, apart from Bridge, for a week or so. Further, the other men had to use condoms, whereas I went bareback. Harriet had always been off limits, still with her Kieran, and for some reason (and it wasn't her colour), Zena and I preferred our non-sexual friendship which was becoming very deep.

I had such a busy social life that I felt no need to go looking for other women: there was too much to do. Occasionally Ian would draft me in to make up a foursome with his latest girl and her friend if the need arose, but the friend rarely showed any interest in having sex, or even kissing me, and the feeling was mutual so perhaps they sensed it in me.

Colette, as I've said, was not really a morning person, though she could be quite active on occasion when the fancy took her. She loved to wear really sexy clothes and even sexier underwear which was often uncomfortable. She said it made her feel erotic and turned on. She enjoyed making a show of stripping for me and, I assume, for her other lovers. She was vocal during sex and always complimentary.

"Oh yes, just there," "Oh, you fill me so full," "You stud, how can you be so good?" "You are incredible." These were a few of the many acclamations accompanying our coupling. She seemed to mean them too!

When she orgasmed she used a wealth of profanities, and yelled and screamed. It was very impressive and good for the ego, though I often wondered how the neighbours felt. I was glad she toned it down in Ironbridge.

She would also suggest or rather require me to take her in a certain way. "From behind, baby," "Shove it up me now!" "Eat me!" "Get your tongue down there." You get the idea.

Colette also had a pronounced clitoris, quite long and fat and very sensitive. As a result she could easily orgasm from penetration alone and usually did. Those orgasms would last as long as it took for me to come, and she was so grateful!

Towards the middle of July the four of us decided to give the Bridge nights a rest until the autumn. The light nights seemed too good to waste.

It was in the first week of September that there was a change in our four-way friendship. It was Zena who brought the subject up a week or so earlier.

Thurs 20 August 1970

"Notice anything about Harriet?" she asked as we drove to her place from Colette's after the first of the reconvened Bridge nights.

"Seemed a bit down," I replied. "Normally more cheerful. Problem?"

"She's broken up with Kieran," she answered. "A month ago. He felt he was getting tied down. Trouble is she thought he was getting near to proposing. He took her out for dinner and she got the impression he was going to pop the question. Instead he told her it was over."

"Poor kid," I said, knowing how it felt; it provoked thoughts of Penny, and the pang of regret for my ex. annoyed me; her actions still brought on a certain gentle ache. Would I never be completely free?

"Graham?" she said tentatively. I think I must have stiffened slightly, perhaps I looked depressed, for she stopped short. "You OK?"

"Yes," I said, "Provoked some memories. You were saying?"

"She needs some TLC," she said. "As you did."

"Yes?" I was getting the feeling I was in line to administer the same.

"Well, you really know what she's going through, so I thought..."

I sighed. "OK, does she know I'm about to descend on her? You girls tell each other everything I believe."

"We said we'd approach you. She's open to the idea."

---

Chapter Ten

Friday 27 August 1970

Harriet had always been going with Kieran when we were playing Bridge with Colette and Zena. She and I never actually interacted very much. She always seemed rather aloof. Now I was sitting in a pub at six in the evening waiting for her to turn up.

I had been set up, or rather we both had been set up by our two friends. I wondered if she would resent it. What sort of TLC was wanted? I had no idea. My plan was to let her take the lead this evening. We would do what she wanted to do, talk about what she wanted to talk about.

She was late. I had been told five thirty. Perhaps she would not turn up at all. As the thought crossed my mind she arrived, and made straight for where I was sitting. I stood, we embraced quite naturally as we always had - somewhat stiffly, hips kept apart.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, but gave no reason.

"What will you drink?" I asked by way of forgiveness.

"Rum and Coke please," she said as she doffed her raincoat and sat next to my place on the bench seat.

As I went to the bar it struck me that because she had always been distant with me, I had not really seen her. There was always Colette and Zena to ogle. Yet she was very pretty facially, one of those women who are naturally very lightly built. I hadn't really noticed how much like a catwalk model she was. She had gentle understated curves as I noticed when she took her raincoat off, and everything fitted together perfectly, but she was thin. Her hair was a rich shiny curly auburn and fell over her shoulders in ringlets. As I walked back I saw her face as if she was new to me. She was beautiful! Her bone structure was perfect; she would always have that beauty.

I sat down and gazed at her, turning towards her. Large hazel eyes, small nose, wide mouth you could imagine would want to engulf you, and a long sinuous neck. How could I have missed all this?

I took all this in for a split second, but my gesture of turning slightly towards her was misinterpreted. The eyes flashed.

"Save it, Graham," she snapped. "I don't want to talk about it; I don't want your sympathy. I'm here because Zena would not let up until I did."

Wow! Some opening. This was why I had always kept a distance. She didn't really like me at all! So why did she come? I was irked because I hadn't wanted to come either, I was annoyed, but I suppressed it - not!

"OK, so you've come, fulfilled your obligation to Zena, now you can drink up and go," I said testily. "I didn't need to be here either, I was badgered into it as well."

She was shocked, I could see it in her face; it was the last thing she expected. She had clearly been handled with kid gloves after her break up, and this aggression confused her.

"I'm sorry?" she said with a worried frown. It was not an apology, but a quest for understanding.

"Sorry? Yes, you're sorry, you're hurt; so am I," I snapped, deliberately misinterpreting her query. "D'you think I came here to enjoy raking up all the trauma of breaking up with Penny? For once in my life I can say something I never say to someone else: I know how you feel. So don't take it out on me; I didn't dump you. I won't stand for it."

I paused for breath. She was about to react in shock, so I preempted her. Now I was much more gentle.

"Now, do you want to call it a day and go home? Or shall we do something else?"

She was startled. Again my change of tone disconcerted her. She was on the back foot (a cricketing term meaning she was now defensive), as well as wrong footed.

"Graham, I apologise. I've resented being pushed together with you. It's not you, it's their well meaning help. They think I'll feel better if..." she stopped.

"We go to bed together," I finished it for her. "Well, that's not going to happen, is it?"

Again she was disconcerted; she was not used to being turned down at the start. Did I see disappointment cross her face? Probably not; wishful thinking? She said nothing.

"Well?" I asked quite gently, "What are you going to do?"

She flinched. "Er, I... I don't know..."

"Have you eaten?" I asked. She relaxed, the tension draining out of her.

"No."

"Would you like to go for a meal? I promise not to mention... that topic." I smiled. She smiled.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Well," I said, "I booked a table at Orchards for seven. I don't mean people - seven o'clock. I was going to eat there regardless, though I would have cancelled if you didn't like the idea."

She smiled more broadly and finished her drink quickly.

We took a taxi to the restaurant, which I keep saying was one of the best in the city because it was, and she was impressed. Over the meal we chatted and I found that she was quite an athlete. She went running, not jogging, liked jazz and classical music, and enjoyed clubbing, so we had quite a lot in common.

At the end of the meal I asked if she wanted to go to a club, or a pub, or a late film, or home.

"Could we just go to your flat?" she asked. "I don't feel like noisy places tonight."

I forbore to enquire who was partying at her place that night.

The restaurant ordered a taxi for us, and we ran to it through the pelting rain, and laughing, piled into the back seat. At the other end we ran through the still pelting rain into the hallway of the flats, and stood giggling as we panted, catching our breath. Then we walked quite sedately up the stairs and I let her in, asking what she would like to drink as I took her coat.

After a month of heavy rain throughout the country, that last week was dry - except for two hours that evening when it pelted down - a local shower. Perhaps the weather was sympathising with her distress.

"Could I have a rum and coke, just a measure of rum and a full can of coke."

"Diet?" I asked.

"Ooh, yes please," she said with a smile.

I brought her a glass tumbler, the bottle of rum, two cans of diet coke, a glass filled with ice cubes and a dish with sliced lime.

"Here," I said, "You can make your own to your own taste."

She smiled and set to creating her drink, while I poured a generous measure of malt whisky with a wee splash of water. I put on some quiet jazz, Brubeck I think it was, and sat in the nearest armchair to the sofa.

"This is nice," she said, relaxing into the sofa. We sat in silence, and then she began to speak.

"I can't understand him," she said, and I knew of whom she was speaking.

"We were so..." here she searched for the word, "easy-going with each other. So comfortable, he was always telling me how much he loved me for God's sake, how well suited we were. He said it, not me!