Oggbashan Stew Pt. 01

She admitted that liked teasing me asking to take her to very unsuitable parties and night clubs. It was the 60s in London and she wanted to see what was happening. With me as her escort we never had any trouble. The doormen took one look at me, usually looking up, and decided that I was respectable, unlikely to cause trouble, and was capable of dealing with any trouble that came my way. Once or twice a drunk or drugged customer might be awkward. One look from me and that customer found a less formidable target. If we were in a group of four couples we were left alone. Four large fit men were too much for most troublemakers. Only once did a man try pawing Phoebe. I picked him up by the front of his clothing, told him quietly 'Go away', before putting the man down. The man went.

+++

Tonight, naked on that bed, I thought I might get further with Phoebe than I had so far. But she had a test for me. She wanted me to prove I was willing to take risks for her. She had acquired some so-called Magic Mushrooms and wanted both of us to take some to see what happened.

I was reluctant. Taking any form of drugs could jeopardise my Civil Service career.

But I was drunk. We were drunk. The prospect of sex with Phoebe was almost irresistible.

No, not irresistible. A naked Phoebe was too much for me. I opened my mouth and she popped some mushrooms in. I chewed, not knowing what to expect. Phoebe took some too, about half the quantity she had given me.

I was worried what effect the mushrooms might have on me. My worries vanished as Phoebe dragged me on to the bed. She kissed me ferociously and rubbed her breasts over my chest. She seemed to have changed in seconds from a reluctant woman to a sexual predator. Was that the effect of the mushrooms?

Unfortunately I was far too drunk to get an erection. No matter what Phoebe did, and she did far more than I had ever expected, I couldn't get an erection. I kept apologising as Phoebe stroked my penis, licked it and even put it in her mouth. This would have been wonderful if I could react.

Eventually Phoebe stopped trying.

"Never mind, Henry. We'll wait a couple of hours and I'll try again. Any effect of the mushrooms yet?"

"No, Phoebe, nothing. Nothing at all. The only effect is from too much wine. The desire is there. I want you. But I'm too drunk..."

"You are," Phoebe said. "We are. Go to sleep for a while."

She snuggled up against me. I felt so frustrated. I had a willing and active sexual partner and was apparently incapable.

A couple of times during the night I had to ease myself out of Phoebe's embrace and go to the bathroom. I was aware that she went there too. Every time we were back on that bed Phoebe was hugging me as if she didn't want to let me go. Shortly before dawn I felt the beginnings of an erection pressing against Phoebe's tummy.

The alcohol was wearing off but I still hadn't experienced any effect from the mushrooms.

I couldn't really believe the situation. After months of just hugs and kisses, tonight a naked Phoebe had been all over me. The magic mushrooms apparently hadn't done anything to me or to my sense of perception. Unless a nude Phoebe pressed up against my growing erection was a delusion? I was sure it wasn't. Phoebe and I had been nude before eating the mushrooms.

Phoebe stirred. Her hand slid down to check what was against her tummy. As she touched it I flinched.

"Good," Phoebe murmured. "That's what I want, Henry. Now I can do things with it."

She did. I had to exert all my willpower to stop an ejaculation too soon. She stroked and caressed before moving down to kiss, lick and run her tongue up and down.

"On your back and think of England," Phoebe said.

She straddled me before stretching her lower lips around my erection. She pushed down hard. That was almost too much for me but Phoebe knew exactly what she was doing. She took me to the edge again and again before pausing to let me regain some control. It might still have been the effect of too much wine yesterday evening but was able to hold on until she was ready. Her lips were open wide as she panted. My hands were cradling her breasts. My fingers were caressing her erect nipples. Phoebe thrust down several times and I was beyond restraint. I bucked underneath her as I erupted.

I slumped back on the bed.

"Well done, Henry," Phoebe said. "I knew you could hold on but that was amazing. It wasn't the mushrooms..."

"The mushrooms?" I queried.

"That was a test. Did you want me enough to risk magic mushrooms? You did. But those mushrooms came from the local greengrocer. I cooked them and dried them but there was nothing magic about them. What was magic was having Henry inside me. I've wanted that for some time but you were so boringly conventional that I wasn't sure. Taking a risk just because I asked you? That's a Henry I could love, no, DO love."

Phoebe lowered herself so that she was against my chest. Her naked breasts and nipples were warm against my skin. My tool was still inside her but needed time to recover.

"There's one more thing I want from you, Henry. I want to make love to you inside a fairy ring or other places where fairies are."

"In a fairy ring? Why?"

"Why? Just because. How about near your parents? There's a fairy ring, isn't there?"

"Yes but that one would be very difficult for sex. It is right by a major road and lit by street lights at night. We could, would be seen. There is another fairy-frequented place that might be..."

"Where? Can we see it today?"

Phoebe was excited. I could feel her excitement through the pulsing of her lower lips.

Story 005

Beach Cleaning

I own a small beach hut. My parents passed it to me when they decided they didn't want the trouble of maintaining it, and paying rent to the council for the site. I and my siblings had enjoyed it when we were children. Now my young nephews and nieces use it in the summer holidays.

I use it in the spring and autumn, sitting on its verandah with my laptop on a folding table. It has a small kitchen unit with a sink draining into a plastic bucket, a small camping cooker run from the gas cylinder, and a gas-powered refrigerator. I could make tea, coffee and cook a light snack. The contents of the fridge are usually milk and sometimes a few cans of lager.

There is a drinking water tap about fifty yards away on the outside wall of the public toilets. That's where I go to get water for drinks and to empty the plastic bucket when I've washed up.

Every Spring I have to do some basic maintenance after the winter storms, sometimes replacing the roof covering, usually painting the outside. I belong to the beach hut owners' club. They arrange group insurance at a cheaper rate than we could do alone, negotiate with the council about the inevitable annual rent increases, and arrange some activities for us.

The club arrange recurring beach cleans. A few members turn up with rubbish sacks, the club borrows a few litter pickers from the street cleaners and provide a trailer for the collected rubbish. Most of the rubbish is sea-borne, floating in on the tide and not dropped by locals.

In the Chairman's hut there is a sharps container for any discarded needles we might find. Before the club was started, discarded needles were a frequent threat. After the club members started patrolling the beach huts on Friday and Saturday nights the number of needles dropped to a tiny number. I don't think the drug users were frightened away by the club's members but by the large hairy dogs that accompanied them. Janet used to own one of the largest and noisiest dogs.

Story 006

Bedford Maids

I understand Sir John first had the idea about five years ago when he fell over a between-stairs maid on the stairs at his parents' house.

Sir John was returning from a night at a gaming hell. His country cousin Albert had wanted to experience a genuine London gaming hell so Sir John had taken Albert. They had drunk too much cheap wine but had lost only a few guineas.

It was early in the morning, not too early for the domestic staff, but hours before the gentry started to get out of bed. Sir John had been climbing the stairs quietly when he tripped over Effie, the smallest tweenie. At the time Effie was a married woman in her early forties. Both of them were startled. Effie was crying quietly. Her best bannister brush had been broken. Sir John picked Effie up, sat her on his knees, and let her cry against his shoulder. They were like that a couple of minutes later when Mrs Thomas, the housekeeper, found them.

Mrs Thomas was shocked. She didn't think Sir John was seducing Effie. Neither Sir John, nor any of his male relations, had ever interfered with the female domestics. The women servants were treated kindly and with courtesy. Mrs Thomas was surprised that Effie had allowed Sir John to pick her up in his arms.

Sir John apologised to Effie and to Mrs Thomas. It had been an accident and entirely his fault. He gave Effie a guinea to replace her broken brush.

Sir John was and is tall, very tall. He stands head and shoulders above almost every other man in a crowd. Effie was and is tiny. If she were to stand next to Sir John, her head would have been at his waist.

He stood up, placing Effie four stairs up. He took Effie's hand and kissed it gently.

"Run along, Miss Effie," He said. "I want to have a word with Mrs Thomas."

Effie bobbed a curtsey and hurried off.

"I think we should talk in my room, if you don't mind, Sir John," Mrs Thomas said.

"Of course."

+++

Mrs Thomas made tea for the two of them.

"Well, Sir John?" She said as she gave him a cup.

"Why is Effie still a tweenie?" Sir John asked. "She has been with the family a long time and is polite, efficient..."

Mrs Thomas waved a hand to cut Sir John short.

"She is admirable, Sir John. But she is tiny."

"What has that got to do with anything? I'm tall. She's not. So?"

"It is significant. If Effie were to become a parlour maid or a ladies maid she couldn't do her duties properly. All the family are tall, including the women. Effie couldn't dress a lady's hair without using a ladder. She couldn't serve at a table. She couldn't reach past a lady or gentleman to deliver or remove a plate. Or if she could, she would have to squeeze in between people. That would be obtrusive and servants should be inconspicuous. But Effie is valued, not just by me, but by your parents and the other servants."

"Valued? How? Tweenies aren't paid well, are they?"

"Most tweenies aren't. It is a sort of apprentice grade for women servants. They should expect to progress to a specialism and move into the upstairs areas unless they are stupid or lacking ambition. Effie can't. But what she can do and does very effectively is be a tutor for the tweenies. She has trained a couple of generations of new tweenies. She is paid more than she would be as a parlour maid. She has been allowed to marry and remain in service here. That is a rare privilege for a young woman servant. Her husband is nearly as short as she is. He can't be a footman but he can be Mr Thomas' trusted assistant as custodian and cleaner of the family's collection of silverware."

"I am pleased that my parents value Effie, as I do. I remember her from my childhood. She wasn't a nursery nurse or a governess but I learned at lot from her including how to laugh at myself."

"Her humour is part of her self-defence, Sir John. She is popular below stairs. Her size might have made her a target for bullying but she is respected more than her apparent rank might indicate."

"I shouldn't have picked Effie up, Mrs Thomas, should I?"

"Well, Sir John, no you shouldn't. She shouldn't have let you, but she couldn't have prevented you because of your difference in size. I think she might have been startled. But she and I know that you respect your servants."

"Respect? I suppose I do. Trust? Yes. Appreciate? Certainly. I am very aware of how much our staff do for the family. When I marry I wish I could have such a set of servants for my own home. How?"

"You're not taking over one of the family's other properties, Sir John? All of them already have resident staff."

"No, Mrs Thomas. My work for the government means that I have to live close to London. The family town house is ideal for entertaining during the season but is not in the right place for me. I need to be able to reach Whitehall easily. I'm looking for a place with access to the Thames so I can travel by water. The other properties will be used by my siblings and their wives or husbands. I can afford a modest estate, smaller than this, but I would need a butler, a housekeeper, and..."

"I'm sure there are members of the extended family's staff who could fill the important roles for you, Sir John, but the junior staff? You would need to find them close to where you live."

"I know. Meeting Effie this morning has given me an idea because she is so different. Some houses insist on tall footmen. A short footman finds it difficult to get work no matter how competent he is. Just like Effie, if a footman isn't considered of appropriate build his talents can be undervalued. I wonder? I'll have to discuss it with my fiancée Eugenie but I think I have a possible solution for how to get good staff from servants whose skills can be overlooked - like Effie."

"Effie certainly couldn't be a ladies' maid to Lady Eugenie, Sir John."

"Effie? No. I suppose not. Eugenie is only a couple of inches shorter than me. That's how we met. I was the only partner at Almack's who was tall enough for Eugenie. Effie would need a set of steps to do Eugenie's hair."

"Even if she used steps, Effie hasn't been trained to do hair, Sir John. I'm sure she could learn. She is very intelligent and educated, startlingly so for a servant. She has been used to catalogue the library in the past because no other servant can read Latin and Greek or understand several European languages."

"But Effie can? That could be useful, Mrs Thomas. My post means I have to deal with European diplomats, some of which might be house guests. A servant who could understand them?"

But Effie rarely comes in contact with the family or their guests, Sir John."

"She could learn... I wonder. Thank you, Mrs Thomas. I will talk to my fiancée Eugenie. Effie, and her husband, could be the start of my household servants, but don't say a word to Effie yet."

"I won't, Sir John."

+++

Story 007

Beware Rapist

As we checked in at the residential Sports Centre there was a notice in large print behind the desk.

It read:

"Beware Rapist?

Over the last couple of weeks several women visitors have reported a man hiding in the undergrowth near the Trim Trail. He has been seen shortly after dusk and up to an hour later.

The reports vary but usually he is described as of slight build, possibly less than five feet six inches tall, wearing dark clothing with a balaclava ski mask over his face. He wears a small black back pack.

No one has been approached but he is obviously watching from concealment.

The Police have been informed but as there is a public footpath nearby, and no offence has been committed, they advise women to take care, preferably not use the Trim Track alone, but in pairs.

If you see him, please report place and time to Reception. The Police would like to see if there is a pattern to his sightings so they could send someone to talk to him."

Emily laughed.

"Slight build? Five feet six? He's in more danger from any of us than we are from him."

Several of us agreed. We are from a women's rugby team attending a training weekend before the season started. Those here this weekend are scrum members. Even our hooker and fly half are much taller than five feet six and none of us can be described as 'of slight build'. We are solid and muscular.

"Please," the receptionist said, "be careful. We don't know why he is watching. For all we know he could be armed, perhaps with a knife."

Emily snorted.

"If he is, I'd take it away and shove it..."

"Emily! Remember we are supposed to be ladies," our coach Jackie interrupted. "Our behaviour on the pitch is one of the reasons we are here."

It was true. We had a reputation for being too vicious in tackling and had received too many referees' warnings for rough play. Perhaps that's why we were contenders for promotion this season. We just missed promotion last season after losing a couple of key players to injury.

We were even less impressed to find a smaller version of the notice in every one of our rooms and in the restaurant. As we ate our meal the suggestions for what we would to do to the stalker grew more outrageous.

We had an introductory lecture after the evening meal. Afterwards, before sampling the delights of the bar, we decided to go for a run around the trim track. In a pack of a dozen, no potential stalker would be brave enough to tackle us.

We ran in a group, singing Rugby songs to keep the rhythm. Apart from the thunder of our feet in Rugby boots, our songs should have scared anyone away.

Next morning Hazel went off for a run before breakfast. As she usually did, she was wearing earphones and listening to music. Some of us had warned her that it was dangerous. She couldn't hear traffic at the volume she played her music.

She didn't hear the potential rapist either. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. Hazel pulled out her earphones.

"Can I help you?" she asked, as she turned around.

She saw his face was covered with a mask. Her instinctive reaction was to punch him hard in the stomach. His back pack went flying as he folded up like a wet cardboard bag and slumped to the floor writhing in pain. Hazel dropped on top of him, flipped him on his back and sat on his chest. She reached forward and pulled the balaclava off his head.

He whimpered 'No' as his face was revealed. Hazel says his face looked as weedy as his build. He had a weak chin with a few black hairs of a failed beard.

"What were you playing at?" Hazel asked. She had a hand poised to slap his face.

"I was going to drag you into the bushes and rape you," he replied.

"And if I objected?"

"I was going to tie you up."

"That wasn't going to work. I'm bigger, stronger and fitter than you," Hazel said.

"I had a knife..."

Hazel looked around. There was a tiny penknife, closed, lying close to them. She quoted Crocodile Dundee.

"That's not a knife."

"I wasn't going to use it, just threaten to."

"You're pathetic. I'm sitting on you and you can't shift me off."

Hazel reached for his back pack and emptied it beside them. There was a small pair of binoculars in a case, a hank of thin rope, more like string than rope, and some duct tape still in its wrapping. She unravelled some of the rope, poised it between her hands, snapped them apart, and broke the rope easily.

"So much for the tying up. But... Roll over."

Hazel lifted herself so that he could. She pulled his hands behind his back, crossed his wrists and used the rope to lash them together.

"What are the binoculars for," Hazel asked casually as she tied the last knot.

"Bird watching," he said.

""Bird watching? I think the birds you watch don't have feathers."

She picked up the duct tape, unwrapped it, cut a length and slapped it across his mouth. She cut some more and wound it over the rope tying his wrists. Finally she wrapped a length around his knees.

She stood him up. He wobbled. She dragged him to the nearest tree and fixed him to it with more duct tape.

"Got anything on you to show your identity?"

He shook his head. Tears were running down his face as Hazel searched his trouser pockets. She found a handkerchief, a few coins and a bunch of keys. There were no pockets in his sweatshirt, and nothing else in his back pack.