Early Release

ONE

The heavy wooden side gate of Efflington Gully Prison slammed shut, leaving pasty-faced man of about thirty dressed in a blue suit, light blue shirt, no tie and brown boat shoes. He carried a small suitcase.

Short-ass Maud Evans, all of five feet, called in a stentorian voice, "Bass Togood?"

A little disoriented, Bass looked around to see if she was addressing someone else. There was no-one else about.

"Yep."

"I beg your pardon?"

"YEP!"

"There's no need to shout."

"Likewise.

"Oh dear, a rebel. You were to go to the Selfridge family but I'm afraid anyone with aggression is not suitable for them. I'll switch you to Miss Cushla Masters; David Persons who's due out at 3:00 can go to the Selfridges.

"Please get into the car."

Bass did not move.

"What's the matter, are you hard of hearing?"

"I don't trust women drivers – I'll walk."

"Oh, very well, here are the keys. Drive in an orderly manner. Go around this curve to the right, take a sharp turn left and continued on for about a mile. That is all."

Bass got behind the wheel.

"What are you doing?"

"Pushing the seat back."

"Now what are you doing?"

"Lowering the seat."

"Now what are you doing?"

"Starting the motor."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Eeeeeek," screamed Mrs Evans, as her Japanese hatchback accelerated savagely forward, went around the unsealed curve in a slide and she was squeezed into the right-hand side of her seatbelt as Bass eased the Honda into a sharp left and floored the accelerator to give Mrs Evans the fastest car ride of her life.

He eased back under 100 miles an hour, scratched behind his left ear with his right hand, almost giving Mrs Even a seizure then said, "I'd like a beer."

"The p-p-pub is a quarter m-m-mile down on the left," she said.

"Right, better slow down – don't want to over-shoot, do we," said Bass, stomping on the brakes.

"Nice car; everything seems to work as well as it should," he offered.

"I-I-I think I'll have a double scotch when we get to the p-p-pub," said the former Australian Army nurse.

Half of Mrs Evan's whisky disappeared in the first gulp, returning color to her face.

"What did you miss most in prison, Bass?"

"Sex."

Mrs Evans' face was now nicely colored.

"I understood the prisoners attended to that themselves."

"The first fruitcake that laid a hand on me, I pushed his front teeth to the back of his throat and I wasn't touched-up again."

"The report said you were aggressive."

"Better that than having my asshole rebored to a new width."

"C-c-could we c-c-change the subject, Bass?"

"Okay, what's this Masters Shelia like?"

Cushla Masters is president of our Wainsford Prisoner Rehabilitation League and I would advise you to proceed carefully as she runs a martial arts academy and is chief instructor.

"She sounds interesting."

"She's not, she's a sad, heart-broken woman."

"What, her parents died recently," laughed Bass, scratching his butt.

"Actually yes, shot by her fiancée before she killed him, breaking his neck."

"Sounds like my kind of girl."

"I'd be very careful if I were you, Mr Togood. If you'll excuse me I'll go over to the corner and phone her now and read out the report we have on you. It could be she'll refuse to accept you. Here's more money, enough for two more beers."

Bass bought another beer then put two bucks in a slot machine and selected only the Jackpot. The alarm went and the publican came running out of his office carrying a baseball bat.

"Was it a legitimate strike, Scotty?" he asked the idle barman.

"Yeah, saw him put two bucks in and select only one button."

"Yes, that is correct, Mr Carrington – I can collaborate that statement," said the Court registrar, having a late counter lunch.

"Better come with me, son and get your check."

"Cash."

"Check – don't trust banks."

"What, you expect that I'm keeping $800 bucks on these premises."

"Yes."

"Well I don't."

"I'm willing to bet my eight hundred bucks that you're got at least ten thousand bucks in that safe of yours – my $800 to your $10,000 says I'm right.'

"Oh, all right, but keep your voice down, I don't want the riff-raff knowing I keep a safe full of money."

"He is the riff-raff Alfie; what's he done?"

"Just won $810.15 in the Jackpot."

"What, legitimately?"

"So it seems."

"He'll want it in cash."

"We've already established that, Maud, so unless you can produce grounds for me not having to pay out this money, I shall go off and get it for him."

"You go get the money, Alfie. It's time he had some luck."

TWO

"Cushla – this is Mr Bass Togood, Bass this is Miss Masters. She has gracefully accepted the task of helping to rehabilitate you into society over the next three weeks."

Gosh, he needs fattening up and putting out into the sun to tan, thought Cushla. He's a much better type than I'd expected.

The report Maud had read to her stated: drunken driving three months, assaulting the judge seven months, contempt of Court three months – fourteen months concurrently; served eight months and released on good behavior bond. A complex character, post-release rehabilitation program recommended for a suggested period of three weeks.

Cushla thought a good bath, haircut and finger nails clean and he would be fine to have sitting at her dining table.

Bass knew she was sizing him up and yet didn't look dismayed, which was a good sign. She was in her early thirties, almost as tall as he was -six-two.

Shucks, her parents must have been feeding her something rich. She was lean, nothing outstanding in the tit department, boyish hips but it was of little interest as he was unlikely to get himself parked in there. Oh goodness, look at those legs below her short shorts – they were top babe material.

Staring at the legs Bass looked up to find Miss Masters staring at him, coldly.

"Are you into martial arts, Mr Togood."

"No, not really."

Cushla looked about to challenge that answer when Mrs Evans said she'd better be off.

"Goodbye, Bass. I guess I'll see you at the community social on Saturday, if not before. Good luck and please be obedient to Miss Masters. She'd not had a great year.

Bass stepped forward and kissed Mrs Evans on the cheek and thanked her. She blushed and said that she knew he was a nice man "underneath it all."

They were standing to the side of the small weatherboard house and Bass could see a little hut behind it. Cushla looked at the hut, looked at him and obviously made a decision.

"Come on, you're sleeping in the house – but first we have to delouse you. It's standard procedure. I'll join you in the bathroom in a couple of minutes, strip but keep your underpants on."

Bass thought this was more like going into prison rather than coming out of it, though the guards had simply hosed the three-person intake down with a high pressure hose, grinning fiendishly as the hosed prisoners howled with pain.

Cushla arrived in a one-piece peach colored bathing suit that almost made it appear she was totally nude. Bass's cock raced to half-mast, fortunately not protruding out of his underpants; he fought to keep it undercover, unable to hide his embarrassment.

"It's all right Bass; we realize this happens when you've been out of circulation for months or even years. We pretend not to notice."

Bass gave Cushla a look of puppy gratitude; he really appreciated the humane touch in the use of the word pretend. She's a nice lady, he thought.

Cushla shampooed his hair, working her fingers in deeply; his head was bent forward, almost touching her breasts and both he and Cushla worked to avoid unnecessary contact.

The shampoo smelt as diabolical as the soap.

"I'll go now and you can finish off, please had me your underpants for washing; I'll get your suit dry-cleaned and I will fumigate your shoes. May I take clothes out of your suitcase?

"Yes," croaked Bass, removing his underpants and expecting another humiliation, but she stood with her eyes well averted, holding out a hand to receive them.

He then noticed a freshly laundered white polo shirt and pair of white shorts and white briefs on the stool, waiting for him.

"We're not supposed to serve new release people alcohol."

Bass noticed the use of the words 'no supposed' so said he'd like a beer.

Cushla, still in her swimsuit returned carrying two screw-top bottles of lager. Bass flicked a look and concluded that the breasts were larger than he'd first thought and he could see no stray hairs below, which meant that she shaved to a bikini line or was completely smooth. He licked his lips at the thought of a completely smooth vulva.

Cushla whipped off the cap of the bottle with ease, a reminder to Bass that there was real power in those hands and arms. Most women in his past would have asked him to unscrew the caps for them even if knowing they could do it themselves.

"Cheers," she said.

"Cheers."

"Bass, is that short for Bassem, though I very much doubt that?"

"No, my real name is Basil, but as a wee tyke someone called me Bass. Apparently I hooked into it and the family hearing me say the name confidentially followed my lead and started using it, and it stuck."

"What a sweet story. You know Bass, part of my role is to induct you back into the community slowly through meeting people and doing community things.

"I've got a class of young girls a 5:00. I'd like you to come down and sit with the mothers. They won't know anything about you. Do you think you can handle it? Grab a towel and then place it over your lap if you get a boner. There will only be six of them but two of them are rather sexy."

"I won't let you down, Cushla."

There, he'd said her name. He felt foolish calling her Miss Masters. She indicated no concern.

They finished their beer and she told Bass to settle into his room, to change anything around as he wished.

Fifteen minutes later she was standing at the door, dressed in a white gown, probably with a sports bra underneath. She was barefoot.

"My parents were killed with that rifle almost a year ago, Bass."

"Were they?" he replied discretely. "That was tragic – I'm sorry. The gun needs cleaning, Cushla but I'll reassemble it and not touch it again if that's you wish."

"I don't know what my wish is, Bass. It was such a shattering experience."

"Then let my clean it, Cushla. Most other people would have had the gun destroyed. But I believe you did a reasonable thing in retaining it, as the gun was not at fault. And life goes on."

"Wise words, Bass, and thank you. Leave that now, we must go. Will you drive?"

"Yes, and thank you. I have a thing about being driven by women."

They walked into the old doorless barn, and Bass's eyes lit up – the vehicle was a near new yellow Falcon top-of-the-line utility. His mouth watered.

"Take care, it's a powerful brute."

"Thanks, but I know cars."

He drove slowly out to the metal road and was told to turn right. The first two miles were twisty, with surface rutted on the corners.

"Hold on," he said as they came out of the second bend quite fast. Cushla didn't say a word. Bass now felt he had the feel of the vehicle on this condition of road surface, so pushed the vehicle, using a good mix of power from the 4-litre turbo-charged motor and manual six-speed transmission.

It was an exhilarating, no-scares run and they emerged from the hilly section with Cushla flushed with excitement.

"That was fabulous – I think I've got the skills but don't have the guts to push it quite that fast."

"Nice wheels," Bass said nonchalantly.

Cushla unlocked her rooms and there were a few minutes to wait before her students arrived.

"Come on, help me warm up," she said. "I won't hurt you or throw you. Just try to block what I do."

They played around and then Cushla forgot what she'd said and tried a hip throw; found herself on her butt.

"You said you weren't into martial arts."

"Actually I said not really, then we were diverted when I was about to tell you I was an assistant Army instructor in unarmed combat, mostly at the Wombat Patch Training Facility."

He helped Cushla to her feet.

She tried a few more half-hearted moves which Bass blocked then she dropped him with a leg trip and immediately pulled out before Bass could attempt to counter. Meanwhile mothers with twelve to fourteen year olds girls had arrived and were watching.

"Hi folk this is a friend Bass who'd like to sit in on this session; is that all right with you?"

"Yes, he can sit up here with us," said a woman in overalls, a man's shirt and heavy boots. "Hi, I'm Paula."

Sexy?

Two younger women, laughing, came in with two children. They were sexy, definitely and both were eyeing him while talking to Cushla.

When driving home Bass asked Cushla if she was happy for him to clean and oil the rifle.

"Yes, quite, and I'll give you a box of ammunition."

She appeared relaxed about that, but her voice was tight.

"No, it's fine. Guns just need some loving care now and again; I have no interest in using it."

For a brief moment Bass thought Cushla was going to reach over and take his arm affectionately.

The squawk of rosella parrots in the treetops woke Bass at dawn and he stretched. At the edge of his drowsiness he became aware that something was not quite right and his eyes focused almost in alarm. Leaning in the doorway was Cushla, dressed in a tank top and shorts so small that it looked if half of them were missing.

Bass realized his dick was at attention.

"This is normal for many men at dawn," he said, touching the tip of it.

"I know. I'm here to invite you to accompany me on a run," she said, her voice sounding perfectly normal.

"Well, I don't know if I can manage – we had a crude gym which I used daily but it was pathetic trying to do circuits around the exercise yards with clowns sticking out a foot trying to trip you."

"I'll be gentle with you."

At that Bass's dick shot to full attention and gave a couple of dry jolts. In the half-light he watched the tip of her tongue come out between her teeth and her face appeared to darken, though he couldn't be sure of that.

"Come on," she choked. "I'll pour you a glass of juice."

"You naughty little bastard," chided Bass, giving the head of his disgraced dick a glancing blow with his palm. The dick plummeted into soft hanging mode.

Bass lasted less than a mile before he was utterly stoked, chest heaving.

"You go on."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay, but watch out for snakes. They're bad in this locality."

"Jesus!"

She smiled, teeth flashing, her tanned skin silvered with perspiration as the arrival of the sun over the horizon had already lifted the temperature.

"Stay sitting here on the roadside on you'll be fine; they'll be shyer of you than you are of them.

"Shy? I'm bloody terrified of snakes."

"Most women always have been," she giggled, and was gone. Only when she was some distance away did Bass realize that had been a smutty little joke.

The next four days Bass jogged a quarter mile along the road, turned and tried to run back to the house, which was some 300 yards beyond the town boundary. He made this into a routine, doing it every three hours or so. By the fourth day he was running the distance in both directions and coming home very fast.

She didn't comment, but watched him, he thought with approval.

On the third morning Bass made a request – could Cushla fetch eight fence posts that needed replacing in the perimeter fence around her home.

"Are you sure you want to do this, in this heat?"

"Yes."

She went inside and returned to the doorway and tossed the keys into his lap; he was sitting in the shade.

"Go around the back of Hayman Hardware and someone will recognize the yellow ute and help you load up, but you pick what you want; they'll try to load the second quality posts. I'll phone the order through now."

Bass had learned to dig in hot conditions during Army days, and actually quite liked the sweaty hard yakka providing his head was cool.

When he returned with the posts Cushla had a shovel, crowbar, wide canvas hat and water in an insulated container waiting for him. The crowbar, of course, was to break open the dirt, which was sun baked to a concrete-like consistency; she knew not to give chilled water to a man who'd be sweating copiously so it was tepid water, straight from the tap.

"You are prohibited from working on hard yakka beyond 11:00 – and that's an order."

"Yes ma'am."

She came out with more water and a big, freshly basked muffin at 10:00 and a big colored towel. As Bass drank the water she began drying off his chest, taking her time about it. Cushla then sat him on a tree stump and went around and toweled off his back, dropped the towel and began gently massaging his neck muscles.

"I do this to the four men in my A-team," she explained. "Bodies can be fine-tuned, just like a car, and they also respond to maintenance."

Then Bass stupidly spoiled the moment.

"Aren't you worried that the neighbors will be talking, me with just you in this house."

"But we don't have any near neighbors," she giggled.

"Yes, but people who know you or know of you drive past and people talk, as well you know."

Cushla stepped back and stalked off angrily.

Turning as she entered the house she cried, "If they think like that they can go and get fucked."

The door slammed and Bass hung his head thinking you stupid bugger. He expected to be sleeping in the shed that night.

At eleven Bass went inside and showered where he found another change of clothes waiting for him – cheap stuff but they more or less fitted.

He returned to the kitchen determined not to mention his goof. Cushla was waiting to pour plunger coffee.

"I want to tell you something, Bass."

For the next twenty minutes she talked non-stop, telling here how Trevor came into her life when she lived down in Victoria and how he killed her parents in a fit of rage and she killed him as he turned the gun on her after realizing what he'd done. The Court found she acted reasonably in self-defense under extremely provocation.

"I relocated to this property, Bass, and at first it was fine. And then someone found out about my past and I began being treated as an object of curiosity and found I had the nickname of the Karate Killer.

"Then one Friday night four young men called on me, I was out at the back, dressed only in a shirt and my panties, drinking wine. My only thought was this was to be my finale – a gang rape and then being beaten to death.

"The youngest of them, a blond fella (fellow) they called Blue, stepped forward and blurted out, 'Miss Masters – would you train us in karate, we know you could get free use of the abandoned wool store at the old railways yards because we've checked it out with the rail authorities in Sydney'.

"Blue Barrett eventually got his black belt grading and later came home with a big cup from the national competitions. From that day focus on my past just filtered away. These days I'm called 'The Shelia who made Blue Barrett famous'.

Bass kept his eye on his coffee mug, and said: "Thank you for telling me that. Life sucks, sometimes, doesn't it."

Cushla's chair scrapped back and she hurried from the room. He smiled faintly, pleased with himself, believing he'd said exactly the right words. She'd probably be on her bed, sobbing, and thinking that life sucks which was the right way to view it.

Almost an hour later she emerged, rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry, I fell asleep. Let's go into town and get you kitted up for tomorrow night."

"Good, I was wondering about that. I'll buy you a slap up lunch."

"You be careful with your money, they give you so little on release."

Bass told her about winning $800 and she was excited.