Just Some Guy I Met up the Pub

Contents: British English spelling and grammar.

OK, they're not married. But 'Loving Wives' is where most of my readers are. Category Police feel free to point this out anyway.

***

Just some guy I met up the pub

There was nothing particularly unusual about the guy as he approached my table. Except perhaps his hands: he was carrying a pint of lager and half of Guinness; that was a little unusual. He stopped right in front of me.

"Where did Mickie go?" he asked.

"Who's Mickie?"

"Mickie Durston. She was sitting at your table."

He nodded towards it, and the unoccupied chair. There was an empty half pint glass which had clearly contained Guinness not long ago.

"Sorry mate, I've no idea. Actually I was sitting at her table; it's always crowded in here Friday lunchtime."

Someone on their way to the bar jostled him.

"Why don't you sit down, before you spill something?"

He did.

"You don't know her then?" he asked.

"Never even spoke to her; friend of yours?"

"Yes. I bought her this."

"Maybe she went to the toilet. There's no more chairs available, so she'll have to sit on your lap whe she comes back. I wouldn't mind her sitting on mine - fantastic legs. No offence if you're her boyfriend."

"None taken; I'm George and I used to be her boyfriend."

"Dan."

We shook hands.

"So what happened?" I asked. "She dumped you because you ran off with another woman, and now you're hoping half a Guinness might win her back?"

He laughed.

"No, I got a new job in Bristol about a year ago and left town. This is my first time back; up for a mate's birthday party. I just spotted her from the bar and got her this. It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Well, she'll probably be back in a minute. I certainly hope so."

"I hope so too. But if not, she'll be at his party tonight."

"So who's this mate of yours? Maybe I know him."

He took a swig of his lager.

"Peter Hughes. Rich, flash car, lives in a mini mansion on the outskirts of town."

"No, I don't know him either."

"We always called him Peter the Peeper. A real voyeur."

"Me too. I thought all men were."

He laughed and we clinked glasses, acknowledging our peeper brotherhood. I only took a sip of mine, as there wasn't much left. But he nearly drained his.

"Can I get you another?" he asked.

"That's very civil of you." I replied. "I'll have a Heineken."

"Sure. I'll leave her Guinness here. If she comes back, don't let her wander off. Tell her George is here."

"No problem."

I watched him weave through the crowd to get to the bar. A complete stranger buying me a beer. Aren't pubs wonderful? It's a very male thing though; something women would never do. It was more than five minutes before he returned.

"No sign of her?" he asked.

"Afraid not. Maybe she left after all."

"Looks like it, doesn't it?"

He pushed the Guinness towards me.

"Fancy this Dan? Shame to waste it."

"No thanks George, can't stand the stuff."

We drank again. He was going a bit slower this time. I'd have to buy him one back eventually, so this might turn into a session.

"So tell me more about this peeper."

"Do you know, I actually think he's ill; priapism or something. He reckons he has to shoot his load at least six times a day. He watches porn movies, reads porn mags, and his wife knows all about it."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, imagine being married to a woman like that. She gives him all three holes and indulges his voyeurism; she says it keeps him on the straight and narrow. He claims he's never been with any other woman, just wanks himself stupid when she can't take any more."

"Do you believe him?"

"Absolutely, he dotes on her. She even lets him take his own movies at their house."

"What? He films himself fucking his own wife? Then watches the movies when she's worn out?"

"Close. They've got this really big house. And Pete set up a guest room with it's own shower room. On one wall, there's a huge floor to ceiling mirror. Behind it is a tiny room with all the house security monitors. From there you can see into the guest room. It acts like a window and he has cameras in there, capturing everything."

"Wow, again!"

"He's set up two more spy cameras in the guest room itself. Another in the shower, and even one peeking up at the toilet!"

"Ew! I like watching sex as much as the next man, but I don't fancy spying on a woman having a piss - or worse!"

"I tell you, he's insatiable."

"So how do you know all this, does he share these movies?"

"Only with his male porn stars!"

"What?"

"He encourages couples who are staying over to use that room of course. But a lot of the guys know about the mirror. The women involved never realise they're being manipulated for the best angles. Anyway, it's only natural for a guy fucking a girl, to try and see her in the mirror while he's on the job."

"And you've been one of the stars?"

"Correct. And Pete said he wants me to stay there tonight. He particularly likes Mickie."

"Ah, got it. You've fucked this Mickie on camera, and plan on doing it again tonight."

"Yes, I fucked her there several times. We never really kept in touch after I left, but she's friends with Pete's wife. And knowing Pete's preferences she called me and asked if I'd like to go one more round with Mickie. Special treat for Pete's birthday. Naturally I said yes, so Mickie got invited to the party too."

"I can see why. I was only here a couple of minutes before she left, but it was long enough to see she's gorgeous. I wouldn't mind a crack at her myself."

"Did you speak to her?"

"To be honest I'm a bit shy."

I held up my lager.

"A couple more of these and I might have said hello."

We clinked glasses again.

"So he lets you have a copy of your performances?"

"Yes. I'm not one to brag, but I'm one of Pete's favourites too. Kind of on the big side."

"Understandable. If you want to watch a gorgeous woman getting fucked, there's no point in seeing her handle a little one. Listen, someone like me is unlikely to even get to see the likes of this Mickie naked, let alone fuck her. I don't suppose you have any photos of her, do you? I understand if you don't want to share."

"Better than photos mate, I've got movies on my phone. You're more than welcome to have a look. Again, I'm not bragging, but I like performing in front of the camera. And she's a great fuck; does all the dirty stuff!"

He seemed to take a while accessing them.

"The file's called GR, for guest room. It's password protected." he muttered. "Ah, here we go. Now I just need to find Mickie."

"Christ, how many girls have you fucked in there?"

"Only half a dozen... here she is."

He passed me his phone.

And there they were, in a series of short clips, going hard at it in lots of different positions. You could see that some of it was for the benefit of the camera, but only if you were looking for that. Just as George said, he was well hung, though I'd say mine was in the same ballpark, so to speak. Perhaps he does like to brag after all. Also as described, this girl Mickie was taking it in all three holes.

Like most voyeurs, I've seen a lot of porn, but this was the best. Not just because it was HD quality and well edited. And not just because there was none of this horrible posing that professional models go for. You know, where the girl looks at the camera and puts a finger on her bottom lip. No, this was the best because I'd been sitting in a pub with the very girl who was now enthusiastically exposing her private parts. Who knows? I might run into her again some day. Imagine looking at those lovely legs and knowing exactly how they meet!

"These are just short clips of course. I've got the full length versions at home on my computer. Tell you what, give me your phone number and I'll flash these across to you, as you don't know either of us. Just be discreet with them."

"Awesome. So I will get to see her again after all. Finish your beer first, and I'll go and get a round in. Heineken?"

"No, Carlsberg."

I passed my phone over.

When I got back, he'd sent them.

"Cheers!"

We got stuck into our lagers,

"Have you seen much porn?" he asked.

"Too much. This is fantastic though. so much more real."

"Ever seen a live show?"

"No."

"I have, in Amsterdam. Would you like to?"

"I'd love to. But I can't afford to go to Holland."

"I was thinking more in terms of tonight's party. You could watch me and Mickie."

"But they don't know me, I haven't been invited. To be honest, I'm not great at parties anyway; especially where I don't know anyone."

"How about this then? I'll be there at eight and will circulate and get a few Guinesses down Mickie. About nine thirty, I'll get the keys off Pete; one unlocks his little hidey hole and the other is for the guest room. I send you a phone message and meet you at the back door. We nip upstairs, unlock, and you wait behind the mirror; there's a comfortable chair in there. His cameras are motion detection, so they'll take the movies automatically. Take a couple of shots yourself, just don't stand in front of the cameras. We'll put on a show for you, though she'll never know."

"And I just slip away after?"

"If you want. Or you could join the party. There'll be about fifty people there, nobody will notice one more."

There didn't seem to be much more to say after that. We left after one more beer. I thought about what had happened. Usually, where someone tells tales of 'some guy I met up the pub', the story will relate to buying something cheap; often something crap. But this guy hadn't wanted to sell me anything. He was giving it away. I reflected again - this never happens to women.

George had left instructions on how to find the house. I got out of the taxi half a mile back and walked. So many substantial properties; I never even knew this part of town existed. I waited in the dark, at the back door, listening to the party sounds. Years ago, this would have been referred to as the tradesman's entrance. A bleep on the phone, and there he was, opening the door. Just as planned, George led me upstairs. He unlocked the little viewing room and even handed me a can of cold Heineken. I settled in.

Ten minutes later, he came in with the girl Mickie. Now, she looked even more beautiful, wearing a short red party dress. He turned her back to the mirror and lifted it up. At first I thought she was naked underneath till he fondled her buttocks. Then I could make out the thin red line of a very small thong. I got my cock out. He winked at me and my cock winked back.

It was pretty much a re-run of the movie clips. But live action is much more exciting, and I felt like I knew her now. He managed to come in her three times in fortyfive minutes; once in each wet place. Maybe he did have something to brag about after all. By the sound of things, she came half a dozen times. I watched it all open-mothed; the silence in that little room was only broken by the faint hum from the cameras around me. When she went into the shower, he opened the guestroom door, and stuck his head out. I slipped out into the corridor, nodded thanks, and left.

Once outside, I had to walk a fair way before I could hail a taxi. Not many around up here. When I got home I wondered if George had had another round with her. Probably not after she'd showered, but who knows? It was eleven when I got in, and I was exhausted.

Next morning, George's latest escapades arrived on my phone. But I was in no rush to watch them, now I'd seen the real thing. They'd be more stimulating in a couple of months. I packed a couple of bags and put them near the front door. Just after ten, Kayla arrived.

"Hi babe, how was Phantom of the Opera?"

"Fantastic, as usual! Miriam's never seen it before. The conference finished late, but we were in time for the start of the show. Our train got in an hour ago. I just dropped off my stuff before coming here."

"Well, I've packed everything."

She looked at the bags.

"Great! Where are we going? Or is it a surprise?"

Kayla ran up to me and threw her arms around me. At least she tried to, but I caught her wrists, and held them between our faces.

"I'm off to Brighton; party town. Sun, sand, sea, and sex. But you Michaela or Mickie, to give you your porn name, can fuck off home. You might just catch George before he leaves town."

"What?"

"George. The guy who fucked your three holes last night - remember? I'll help carry your bags to the car. I've packed your cans of Guinness in there."