Malvern Delights

Somewhere, George MacDonald Frazer has Harry Flashman as an old man looking at young women and thinking of the women of his past. I know the feeling, especially when the dreaded ED kicks in, and the wife's Libido goes to pot any way. Sleep doesn't always come as well as it might, so you lie there tossing and turning. You can't even have a wank, you can't quite get it up, but your thoughts turn to the women of your past with nostalgia, and happy though, even if the memory doesn't have the same arousing effect as it once had.

I haven't written a story for Literotica for almost 10 years, I sort of lost the urge, but then, I was thinking of past glories, and I thought that there might be a story in the saga of Betrix.

The events I describe happened 40 years ago. The marital path was at that time not the smoothest, but we lived with it. I had to go on a course. It was one of these courses which someone had persuaded the University that even lecturers, who had no one to manage except a few shared secretaries and technicians had to go on. It was called "Enrich your management skills". So, after a lot of prevarication I was packed off to learn how to manage my non-existent staff. It was a week, and I was sent off to deepest Malvern, where these courses were churned out in a grotty off-season hotel.

It was Sunday evening to Friday morning, I travelled with a colleague. We turned up, at Malvern train station, and were collected. As far as I remember the administration went smoothly. I discovered that I was sharing, I genuinely don't remember anything about the person I was sharing with, except that they stayed up all the last night drinking, as it seemed this had happened on the previous course so some of them wanted to keep the tradition going, and eventually we found ourselves, after a reasonable meal playing icebreakers.

I don't know if they still do courses like that today, but we were invited to go help people work out what character was named on a sticker on their back -- put them out of their agony and give them the name. Work out the possible uses for a paperclip and I can't remember what else. Hell I did the same silly games with my students, and in the end, we were put into syndicates, the management speak for groups, who were going to be our companions on our quest for enlightenment over the next week.

In our group of 12 as well as myself, allegedly an historian, there was a mathematician who admitted that he'd rather be having root canal treatment than this course, and a number of administrators of different grades and institutions. At least they had staff to look after. We sat around and were polite in a way that I suspect that only the British can. Part of it was working out where we stood in the pecking order. This was before PhDs were the requirement to lecture at University, but there was very much a hierarchy of institutions. Universities ranked better than Polytechnics, so a PhD lecturing in a University was the equivalent of a full house. The Mathematician having a PhD and being Oxbridge was aces on the roof, he made his contempt for the whole process clear, and sat, silent with his arms folded, (for like most mathematicians he was what we today would describe as being on the Spectrum.) So, due to the British - well, really the English Class system I found myself as the daddy, with people looking up to me. I looked around my charges. There was a female who definitely was up for it, there was a woman who had been an air hostess, and the life and soul of the party, and there was a very quiet red haired lady from a midland polytechnic. I was far from lusting after any of them.

I was not going to do anything stupid. Quite frankly, I had problems of my own at home. In work, as I had developed my area of academic interest, I discovered that most of what we had thought historically was rubbish. I was a revisionist before the revisionists. The problem was that I was into the 4^th to 8^th Centuries, and who cared? I was producing papers which challenged past ideas and was not popular. Here was a week's holiday. Before the Internet meant that people were constantly on call, I was cut off on the course, and it was effectively a holiday. I didn't need my life complicated. OK I was expected to lead the syndicate, at least until the tutor turned up -- he was stuck on the M something but would be here when the course properly started. The result was that we had one of those have you been to x, or do you like y conversations. The course leaders came around talked to us and obviously were sizing us up. I'd been there, got the t-shirt, as I had run and contributed to similar courses. I could imagine the comments which the staff would have been making when they met up in someone's room, the bottles came out and they discussed the punters.

In those days, there were no mobile phones, it was a case of finding The Phone and with a store of coins touching base with your nearest and dearest, so I headed off for a quick phone call. And then to bed.

In the morning at least the breakfast was good I remember that the food was actually quite good all week, then down to work. There was a lecture usually by a visiting speaker, then a coffee break, then a syndicate, followed by a plenary session where we reported back. There was no internet -- hell there weren't even photocopiers, so you watched 16mm films or 35mm slides and advanced technology was the Overhead Projector. There was no death by PowerPoint. For there was no PowerPoint. There was the rare big screen TV where the picture was projected onto a screen, but that was for sport in pubs, certainly not at an event like this. Electronic games were a bat and ball plugged into the back of the TV, and commercially there was Space Invaders.

I was quite interested in the dynamics of the syndicate I was in. I watched who was friendly with whom. The woman whom I was pretty sure would, had acquired a number of our younger members as admirers. I wished them good luck. The Mathematician sat in solitude, said very little but just occasionally would come up with a devastating comment which knocked all the platitudes to pot. The rest of us - there were 12 to a syndicate, generally milled around, at least during the first couple of days.

It was on the Wednesday when there was, a rather off-beat lecture. After the Plenary session I found myself talking to Beatrix. It wasn't that I had not noticed her, but we had never really touched base. She was the slim redhead. A pleasant enough face, you couldn't really see her shape, for the place was deadly cold, and we were all wearing several layers of clothes, but from what you could see she didn't seem to have a wonderful figure. On the occasions when she had worn a skirt, she seemed to have nice enough legs, her wrists were that white, redhead skin which those who like redheads love, but others see as being strange. She had ruddy cheeks and the suggestion of freckles on her neck. I can't even remember what I said, but it seemed to release something in her, which meant that rather than sitting across the table from me, when she had the opportunity, she sat beside me. The reason why I noticed was that while I hadn't strayed since I had got married, I had had a number of affairs with students before I was a full lecturer, and I was very much aware of how things develop.

I don't believe that men seduce women. I believe that women decide precisely how far something might go quite early in the relationship or non-relationship. There are those men who push their luck, hence the #Me-To movement. However the lady is in the driving seat and sets the agenda. You can go for it, or walk away, but it is not your wiles which has made it happen. Given the offer, you can say no. Shagging colleagues or students lead to problems even 40 years ago, although not as much as today. Thus, despite my natural lust I had avoided problems with a number of nubile students whom I hadn't fucked, though now in my geriatric bed suffering from insomnia, I give a pleasing though, even though my essential member doesn't rise to the occasion.

Beatrix was not a student. As I believe was said, in the Great War, what happens in France, stays in France. What happens on a course, stays on a course. The interesting thing was to see what actually was going to happen. The trick was to see the potential and act on it if it was there, but otherwise be a caring listener. I could be misreading the non-verbal messages, but I didn't think so.

The Wednesday programme went late into the evening. It was well after nine before the course was able to go into the bar. It was interesting that while the syndicate as a working unit seemed to be much closer, as a social group it was much looser. When people met socially it was as members of different syndicates and the occasional couple. When I went to be bar, I found Beatrix at my elbow, and it would have been impolite of me not to buy her a drink. Of all the drinks she chose Dry Martini and lemonade. I'd never met anyone who drank Dry Martini and lemonade before. It was a strange culture I was entering. There were a couple of seats in one of the groups, so we went over and joined them. There was a member of the staff holding court. He was telling us that we were doing so well in setting through the stuff that we might be able to end the course in the late afternoon on the Thursday and those who wanted would be able to go off before the evening meal on the Thursday, though those of us with transport issues would be able to stay until the Friday morning. I was very aware of my rail ticket being for the Friday morning. In any case the logistics of getting home on late Thursday were quite horrendous. My wife wouldn't drive our vehicle and, in any case, wouldn't have wanted to disturb the children. In the end, a couple of drinks, and I was off to bed.

As predicted, the course finished about 4 pm on the Thursday. The people with cars made their goodbyes and headed off. As I wasn't going anywhere, I thought that I'd go for a walk, and was quite surprised as I was leaving the hotel to find Beatrix had the same idea. I didn't remember saying that I was going out, but whatever, we went out together. Now the only thing which I wanted to do was to get a packet of cigarettes. So, we set off looking for cigarettes, the usual source was closed for some reason. Wandering aimlessly round Malvern, we stumbled on a pub. The weather was cold and bleak, there were intermittent snow showers, it was March after all. I reckoned that a dram was a good idea. And we would get the cigarettes. We went in I ordered, a dram for me, a Martini with lemonade for Beatrix and change for the cigarette machine.

Earlier as we had crossed a road Beatrix had sort of slipped and we ended up holding hands, and it was holding hands we arrived at the pub. I felt that behind the holding of hands there was more than just support. So, we sat and had our drink, and I went and got cigarettes. Then I reckoned that I needed a pee, I went into the toilets had my Pee, and as I was washing my hands I noticed a condom vending machine, which needed 50p, and I happened to have 50p in my pocket slipped it into the machine and collected a package of three of Durex best. I had noticed that while usually there were condoms in the pocket of the suitcase I had with me, that my wife had removed them when she had been packing the case for this trip. I was developing the feeling that I might well have the need for one or two and there was no point in not being prepared.

Beatrix and I left the pub and continued our interdigitation. We went along the road, and it was actually quite slippery, and I put my arm around her, and as we walked she snuggled up to me. I still wasn't sure what was going to happen. I knew very little about her. I remembered that she had said something during the course about having a teenaged daughter but I had noticed that she didn't have any rings on her finger. But one never presumed, and we got back to the hotel and parted. I went had a quick shower and when I got into the bar before the meal Beatrix was sitting with a fresh drink in front of her, with some of the women on the course who seemed to have dressed up for the occasion. I got the impression that there was very much a woman's meeting, men not invited. I got my pint and joined the men, we speculated what was happening the evening meal was announced, and as I went into the dining room I found that Beatrix was beside me. We went into dinner together. Beatrix was wearing a red dress and a mohair wrap.

At the beginning of the meal the woman who had been the airhostess got up. She said,

"As we're sort of stuck here some of us thought that it would be a good idea to have a dance tonight. The management of the hotel will let us lift the carpet over the dance square and Bill here is a disk jockey and came here in his van as he has a gig tomorrow, so we thought that we could have dancing from about 8"

Beatrix dug me in the ribs.

"I wasn't sure if that was going to come off, but Denise had been on about it all week. We didn't think that we'd bother most of the men but I'm sure you'll all come."

So, after the meal I was roped in to setting up the room for a dance. Fortunately for the ladies, in those days, while people didn't actually dress for dinner, you would tend to wear a business suit, or at least a jacket for an evening meal in a hotel. So, when we had finished preparing the room, we looked a rather respectable bunch. The men in suits, the ladies in dresses.

It was then drinks, and Bill, who hadn't been in my syndicate, and whom I couldn't remember having previously contributed to the course, began his patter as a DJ. As there were fewer than 25 people left, the majority women, it was necessary to take part in the dancing, something that I wouldn't usually have done. Just not my thing.

While I danced with other colleagues, I noticed that the majority of dances, especially the slow ones were with Beatrix. Because there were so few there, though when we were all up, we filled the dancefloor, Bill had announced that the evening was going to be ladies' choices.

After about an hour the room was actually getting quite warm, and Beatrix had discarded her wrap. I was able to see much more of her than during the previous few days. She had shortish bright carroty hair in tight curls. Quite a pleasant face, green eyes and her arms were really white, with the odd blue vein sowing and on her neck and hands a light dusting of freckles.

Years later every time I heard the Proclaimers sing Blood Lying on Snow, I thought of Beatrix, I still do.

"You lost your tan from a few months ago.

Now that red dress looks like blood lying on snow.

I feel my pulse start to increase the flow

On this cold, winter's night, with such beauty on show."

even though I had no idea if she ever took a tan, she was no Celtic Princess, as she came from the Black Country, and had an accent to match.

Not only was the room getting hot, but it was also quite smoky. In those days most people smoked, it was perfectly acceptable.

"Do you fancy a breather? " Beatrix asked me. Of course, I did. I wondered where it was going to take me, but I fancied a breather. Well we stuck our noses out a door into the garden and it was too much of a breather.

"Come on let's go for a walk. I'll meet you in the hall dressed for the weather."

While the snow had ended, the clouds had parted and the full moon was shining out. It was bitterly cold. I put on my lamb's fleece jacket, my gloves, and my tweed cap, So I stood in the hall, looking the very essence of the British gentleman.

When Beatrix turned up she was dressed against the weather, and was wearing slacks below her dress, and boots instead of high heeled shoes. We went out the door and turned right and went thought the deserted streets of Malvern. I don't know if Beatrix knew where she was going or whether it was pot luck, but she led me along the street and then up a path to some tourist place, perhaps a spring or well. I really can't remember. So, we looked out at the town below us and began to do what came naturally. It was cold, so I put my army around Beatrix, and she looked up at me, stood on tiptoe and kissed me. It was one of those tentative kisses. It could mean whatever you wanted to take from it, and if it was not reciprocated there was no harm done. But I thought that I'd take it a wee bit further and kissed her back. I felt a tongue being pushed between my lips. I slipped my hand down her to grasp her arse, she pressed her body against me. Because of where we were stranding, one of my legs was sticking out and she pressed herself so that my leg was between her legs and she began to dry hump herself. We kissed, our lips pressing against each other our tongues intertwined. Her dry humping continued. I squeezed her arse She continued to dry hump pleasuring herself on my leg.

"Are you sharing?" Beatrix asked me.

"Yes, with (and I can't remember his name) but he and his Mates are going to drink all night"

"I've got a single, so what are we doing here out in the cold?"

"A very good point," I said, and we retraced our steps.

Actually, we did call in my room which was quite near the front door where I left my coat, and Beatrix opened her coat, reached out to me and put her arms around my neck again passionately kissed me. I put my arms around her, and she felt down and groped at my prick which has in a state of excitement. When I was good and hard Beatrix reminded me that her room provided great privacy and we went there.

When we got there, I was happy and surprised that while Beatrix had said it was a single, it was actually a double bed.

Beatrix took off her coat, sat down on the bed and took off the boots and her socks. Then she reached below her dress and pulled off her slacks and tights. She stood up we cuddled for a few moments standing up, before deciding that we would be much more comfortable on the bed. I took off my jacket and my shoes and socks. There is nothing worse than getting stripped off and still having shoes and socks still on. It quite breaks the rhythm and is aesthetically ugly. Beatrix undid my tie and began to undo my shirt. I reached behind her found the zip for her dress and pulled it down. I then peeled the bodice of her dress off her arms while she pulled at my shirt, and we had a fit of the giggles as she couldn't get the arms over my wrists and she had to take out the buttons at my wrist.

It was now a case of a long, slow cuddle, and I reached behind here and unclipped her bra. She had small breasts with a long well-developed nipple, rising our of a dark brown areola

Which contrasted against her white skin with a dusting of freckles. So, I suckled her as she reached down and explored my prick. Then she tugged at my belt, undid it, pulled at my zip and opened it and felt into my y-fronts So I took off my trousers and lay there in my Y-fronts and pulled her dress over her head. We lay there, I squeezed her tits and suckled the nipples and ran my hand along the outside of her thong

Remember that we are talking about 40 years ago, we had only discovered the clitoris. Cunnilingus was decidedly not something which you did on your first sexual encounter , and neither was Fellatio, though from experience you were more likely to get Fellatio than Cunnilingus. However, it was clear that Beatrix was going to go all the way and that what we were doing was foreplay rather than the main act. So, we lay there in underpants -- well she had a thong, but you get the idea, and pleasured each other.

"You know we would be so much warmer in bed," Beatrix said , stood up and took off her thong. She stretched and was one of the most beautiful body that I'd ever seen. Neat tits, long nipples, a thin body, and neatly trimmed flaming red pubes. Legs going down for ever. What was there not to like? I stood up and took off my y-fronts my cock sprang to attention. We embraced, and then realising just how cold it really was dived under the covers.