Oggbashan Stew Pt. 01

My complicated love life at university still affected my relationship with Helen. One of my short-term girlfriends, Ruth, had been Helen's friend and still was. Helen thought I wasn't ready for a serious commitment based on Ruth's version of our tempestuous affair. I thought it was Ruth who was unstable because she was running three boyfriends, including me, at the same time. But Helen still believed Ruth. I was still on probation as Helen's boyfriend, even after six months.

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Ruth was and is spectacular. She is petite but rounded in the right places and has natural wavy brown hair. She is an asset to our preserved railway as a helper in the cafe. She flirts with any adult male even if he is with his wife or girlfriend. How she gets away with it I don't know. She is great company but a disaster as a girlfriend. She can't keep to one man at a time. If she was discreet about it? She's not. She likes playing several men against each other.

I had hoped Ruth would change. She did, for the first month we were together. By the start of the second month I knew I was just her preferred partner out of three. By the beginning of the third month my ranking had dropped to number two and I broke up with her. She didn't like that. She preferred to use men and then dump them, not have them walk away.

For a while Ruth treated me with contempt. A few months later when Ruth had been through several more relationships she apparently decided that I might be a male friend. She told me I was permanently disqualified as a boyfriend because I had broken with her. Sometimes I felt sorry for Ruth. She was looking for something that her succession of boyfriends didn't have. Once Helen and I had started a possible relationship Ruth accepted me as her friend. But what Ruth had told Helen about me earlier made Helen doubtful that I was really a suitable long-term partner.

+++

During the day I had checked online for contact details for the Reverend Anne Smith. She serves a combined diocese of five churches. The church in Church Lane has the smallest congregation. She holds services at that church on one Sunday every six weeks, with a Wednesday evening service about four times a year. Last Christmas the services had been at the church close to the railway terminus station. The year before? A different church with the next largest congregation. The Reverend Anne and her whole flock gather where the services are held.

+++

Helen and I walked from her parents' house to Mary's cottage. We arrived a minute before six thirty. Mary is a stickler for punctuality. She had our coffee on the coffee table in front of the settee. She left us there while she went to the kitchen for the last touches to the meal. We would eat that at the kitchen table, the warmest and most comfortable room before returning to the living room and the settee for the discussions.

"I've been talking to Ruth," Helen said out of the blue.

That worried me. What might Ruth have said? I looked at Helen.

"She told me she thinks of you as a friend. Is that true, Malcolm?"

"If she says so? Yes. It's true. As a girlfriend - not any longer. That ended long before you. As a friend? I suppose she is."

"You dumped her, didn't you?"

"Yes, Helen." I sighed. "It wasn't working out. I ended it before she did."

"She didn't like being dumped, did she?"

"No. She hated it. As far as I know at the end of every other relationship Ruth has had - she did the dumping."

"Why, Malcolm?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I suppose I mean both 'why did you dump her?' and 'why did she dump all the others?'.

"OK. I can answer for myself. As for why Ruth dumped the others? I have an idea but I don't really know. All I can say is why I THINK Ruth dumped the others. That do?"

"I suppose so. Why did you...?"

"Simple. Ruth was dating two or three other men at the same time as me while telling me I was the only one. It might have been true for the first month we were together. I had doubts during the second month and I was obvious I was her third preference by the third month. I confronted her to tell her that either I was her only boyfriend or I would resign. She wouldn't admit to the other two even though I had seen her wrapped around both of them - so I decided to quit. I was sorry because I liked Ruth but she had wrecked any trust I might have had in her."

"And why do you think...?"

"That's more difficult. All I can give you is my opinion. I think Ruth is scared of commitment. I know she likes to flirt with almost any adult male. That's part of who she is. Most of the time it means nothing. It's just a game for her and she enjoys the attention she gets. But when a man gets too close and wants a more serious and lasting arrangement? Ruth finds a spare man or two, dumps the first man, and goes on to another."

Mary came in at that point to tell us the meal was ready. She had heard my last two sentences. She didn't say anything until we were sitting down with the meal.

"Helen, Malcolm, I heard you talking about Ruth. I think you ought to know that Ruth has serious problems and has had for years. She thinks, no, knows, that both of you are her friends. You two are possibly the only stable features in her life. Yes, I know Malcolm, that you finished with her as her boyfriend. I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did. Ruth normally drops a man after a month to six weeks. You lasted twice as long..."

"Why?" Helen asked.

"Why did Malcolm last longer than the others? Simple. He is tolerant, understanding and patient. But it wouldn't have lasted many days more. Ruth was pushing even Malcolm's tolerance to the limit and beyond. I don't know what she told you, Helen, but the break up with Malcolm was totally Ruth's fault because she is the way she is."

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Helen said.

"Sorry? For what?" I asked.

"For believing Ruth's lies about you..."

"Yes, Ruth does lie," Mary interrupted, "but most of all she lies to herself. She believes her lies. It's part of her mechanism for coping."

Mary stopped talking. She was looking at us as if she was decided whether or not to continue.

"You two like Ruth, don't you?"

I said 'yes' slightly before Helen did.

"How far would you go to help her?"

"That depends," I said. "She has my good will but I love Helen. I wouldn't jeopardise my relationship with Helen to help Ruth."

Helen looked at me. Her hand reached out to briefly squeeze mine.

"That was a declaration, Helen," Mary said.

"I know it was, Mary. I love Malcolm."

"Can we finish the meal before you go from declarations to demonstrations?"

Helen giggled. I couldn't stop myself from grinning.

"I think we can restrain ourselves that much," Helen said.

+++

After the meal we sat down in Mary's living room. Helen was beside me, leaning on my shoulder.

"Before we start discussing next Christmas I want to say something to you two," Mary said. "I think we, that is the trustees, are unfair to you. We use you more than we should. For example we use Helen's legs in her Elf costume. We use Malcolm's confidence with the passengers. You could say we are making the best use of our volunteers' talents. That might be true for you. Helen's experience with young children is more important than her legs. But we abuse Ruth. Ruth's flirting with any adult male is a sign of her problems, yet we encourage her to continue it."

"I don't see myself as being used, Mary," I said. "I'm helping the society and using the skills I have."

"And if I didn't want to dress up as an Elf, I wouldn't," Helen said. "I enjoy helping with the children. As for Ruth? I think she likes flirting with unavailable men. Even if her problems were to be sorted out I think she would still do it. It's part of who she is. But I don't know what Ruth's problem really is. Do you, Malcolm?"

Story 016

Dead Letter

Our step-mother Anna is a gold-digging bitch.

No. That's untrue.

Our step-mother Anna HAD BEEN a gold-digging bitch.

We've just come back home from attending her funeral. It was more a celebration that she was dead and gone than a solemn occasion for grief. No one there was grieving. We were glad she had died. She had tried to make our father Alan's last months hell on earth, constantly nagging him to change his will. He had refused and instead started divorce proceedings that were incomplete when he died.

Alan's divorce petition claimed complete breakdown of the marriage, her infidelity with evidence from private detectives, and physical and mental abuse. There were even photos of the injuries she had caused by hitting him with her spike-heeled shoes. Our father had moved out of his house, leaving her in possession. He had successfully obtained an injunction forbidding her from contacting him except through solicitors.

+++

Anna had been so different when she first met Alan. He was hurt and vulnerable after watching our mother Sandra slowly dying from breast cancer. He was too frail physically to do much for Sandra. Anna had been the home help trying to keep our parents fed, clean, clothed and safe. She was more than competent doing that. Our father had appreciated what Anna was doing. After Sandra's death he kept Anna, with reduced hours, as his carer too.

Six months after Sandra's death Anna had become Alan's lover as well as his carer. Twelve months, almost to the day, after Sandra's funeral Alan and Anna married. At the time Moira and I, Alan's children, thought Anna was a good thing and would look after Alan well as his wife.

Story 017

Debtor

I shouldn't have borrowed money from Elaine. I should not even have asked her but I was desperate and I couldn't think of anyone else.

My car had broken down and I needed it for work. My parents were broke because we had just come back from an expensive holiday. I was broke as well from living it up in the night clubs. I had enjoyed myself but now the bills were coming in.

Elaine is my big sister's best friend. I could say that Elaine is my sister's big friend. She is. Big that is. I'm not small but Elaine would make two of me. She is well built with a massive backside that I appreciated. Only once had I felt it close to me. We had been coming back from a party in a friend's car and Elaine had sat on me. I'd been squashed. My insistent erection had been flattened.

Heather, my sister, had suggested that I could ask Elaine to lend me some money. Heather couldn't. She was as broke as I was.

I felt really embarrassed about asking Elaine. She had listened to me and when I asked for a hundred pounds she didn't blink. Perhaps I could have asked for more but a hundred was just enough to get my car roadworthy if I used every penny I had. When she offered me the money, I agreed to repay half at the end of the month and half the month after.

I would have except that the car broke down again. I spoke to Elaine straight away and explained the situation. She was very reasonable about it but suggested that I should pay some interest on the money in work. She wanted some decorating done to her flat. Would I help?

I agreed. I would have agreed even if I hadn't owed Elaine the money. I enjoyed her company. I just didn't think of her as a potential girlfriend. She was too bossy and controlling. I should have thought of that before I borrowed money from her. It's too late now.

On Saturday morning I went round to Elaine's flat dressed in an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Elaine had said 'Anytime after 9'. I wanted to be early because I owed her big time. At one minute past 9 I rang her door bell. She opened the door and her hand took mine. She dragged me through the door as if she didn't want me to be seen.

"OK, Trevor," she said. "Thanks for coming. I didn't want anyone to see you because my boyfriend's away. Did you park nearby?"

I was thinking hard. 'Boyfriend's away?' As far as I knew Elaine didn't have a boyfriend at present not since Jack had signed up for another stint in the Navy. He was somewhere in the Persian Gulf and had been for at least three months.

"No, Elaine," I replied. 'I left my car at home. It still isn't very reliable and it's only a ten minute walk to get here."

"Good. Would you like a cup of coffee while I explain what I want us to do?"

I nodded. I followed her through the flat to the small kitchen.

Story 018

Easter Carnival

Our annual carnival is at the end of August. Unlike many towns the participants tend to be amateur and the costumes and floats are home-made. Every year for the past six years I have had an argument with Ian about his costume. He always dresses up as a woman, usually in an old bridesmaid's dress. He looks ridiculous, not comic but stupid, and so many other men dress up as women that they have become a cliché.

Many of our local children who used to wear home-made costumes now use store-bought ones. There will be many Disney Princesses, Supermen, Bob The Builders and whatever is the popular icon this year.

I dress as a woman too. Why not? I am a woman. Our women's group construct the float on the back of a small flatbed truck. We change the theme each year and make all the costumes ourselves. We try to produce a professional effect. Sometimes we succeed, sometimes we fail but at least we try. We take our float not just to our own carnival but to most of the other carnivals within a twenty-five mile radius.

This year we are trying to be Burlesque queens. The float will look like a Wild West Bar, with real alcohol on tap, and we'll dance the Can Can all the way along the carnival route. Some of us will be on the float. Most of us will be on the street around the float. We will have been rehearsing our routines for weeks and we think we will entertain the crowd.

But Ian? He'll dress as an unlikely woman again and just walk the route of our Summer carnival being boring unless I can persuade him to try something different.

Last year one of his friends did make a change. Instead of dressing as a woman he had hired an inflatable costume that made him look like a cowboy riding a horse. It wasn't very good, but it was better than yet another fake bridesmaid.

For next year the organisers decided to add a smaller Easter Carnival procession. The theme would be 'Women in Society'. There would be a separate category in which women would be judged on their Easter Bonnets. Of course Ian wanted to participate as a fake bridesmaid again.

The flatbed truck we usually used wouldn't be available for Easter. My women's group were offered a trailer which had been used for the Carnival Princesses a few years ago. It had been retired because the Carnival Court organisers didn't think it would stand being towed hundreds of miles to all the local carnivals. It would survive the slow couple of miles of our carnival route but not motorway driving.

Ian's jeep could tow that trailer safely. Usually I drove the flatbed truck during the summer carnival because Ian wanted to dress up. I could drive Ian's jeep towing the trailer.

After the announcement of the Easter Carnival our carnival sub-committee met in one of our local micro-pubs. We were drinking the latest guest beer and enjoying it. Ian and his two mates, Barry and Ken were at our house watching football.

Perhaps it was the beer, stronger than the usual brew, or just mischief, but we unanimously decided that the three men should be dressed as proper women on the trailer. Our suggestions became more outrageous as we continued to drink.

We decided that our float should show some of the indignities that were forced on women in some cultures. But the indignities would be on the three men. We had too many suggestions but settled on three. They were arranged marriage, face-veiling and the Stepford wives idea. By the end of the evening we were too merry to work out the practicalities. That would come at a later event, probably in a coffee shop, when we were sober.

Story 019

Egg and Spoon Obstacle Race

I waited until John was thoroughly aroused until I asked him. I didn't want 'No' as an answer. I wanted him to agree to be my partner in the Young Farmers' Egg and Spoon obstacle race.

Asking him was the easiest part. I asked. He agreed. I was poised to engulf his erection when I asked so I didn't expect him to refuse. I dropped my pussy on to his shaft as soon as he said 'Yes, Sheila.'. He didn't say anything else for the next few minutes because my mouth was covering his. I had to explain later what he had agreed to. I'm a devious bitch, aren't I?

Every year our local Young Farmers hold a Summer Ball. It is only one of the events they hold during the year yet it is the one that most people want to attend even if just as spectators.

The highlight of the evening has always been the Egg and Spoon Obstacle race. Over the years the race has developed its own traditions and it has been modified several times. The main reason for the modifications has been blatant cheating by the competitors.

It started simply enough in the 1930s. The race is for couples. The woman would hold the egg and spoon while riding on her man's shoulders. He would run towards the finishing line while she kept the egg on the spoon. If the egg fell off she must dismount, retrieve the egg if unbroken, remount and continue. Usually dropping the egg either smashed it or delayed the couple so much that it wasn't worth continuing.

Everyone was formally dressed. The men wore tuxedo and black tie, the women wore formal gowns. The second annual race introduced blindfolding to make it more interesting. The man couldn't see where he was going because his head was shrouded under the woman's long-skirted gown.

Until the beginning of the Second World War, when the Summer Ball was cancelled for the duration, that was the way the Egg and Spoon Obstacle race was organised. Immediately after the war women didn't have formal gowns and their skirts weren't long enough or full enough to blindfold the men. For a while the men were required to wear scarf blindfolds.

By the 1950s women's skirts had become longer and fuller again so the original rules were reintroduced. However other things had changed. The Young Farmers had managed to get sponsorship for their raffles and for the Egg and Spoon race. Winning began to be meaningful as the prizes were valuable. Human nature being what it is, couples took advantage of the rules and cheating started to be prevalent.

For example, women took to wearing skirts that appeared to be opaque but the man could see through them. The judges started checking. Then only part of the skirt was made translucent. The judges required a referee to put his head (the referee was usually a him) right under the women's skirts to check the view the woman's mount would have. Even then ways were found around that ruling, sometimes by having a lining or petticoat that could be pushed up out of line once the referee had checked.

This year I wanted to compete with John as my mount. By now any woman asking a man to be her mount for the Egg and Spoon race was considered as making a proposal of marriage or at least for a long term relationship. The tradition was that the man could not refuse a woman's request.

I had already softened John up and we were almost an item (see my stories Damp Start and Scarf Dance). I was sure he wouldn't refuse and anyway I didn't want anyone else as my steed. I needed someone as large and strong as John because I am no lightweight. I wanted us to win by fair means or foul.

The next day I asked for a copy of this year's rules for the race. John and I studied them. I knew that there had been changes over the last few years but we were surprised.

The race would be held in the gymnasium attached to the village hall. It used to be the school's gymnasium until they built a new one in the school grounds. The floor would be lined with gymnastic mats so that anyone falling would not be hurt. The obstacles would be soft. Over the years the real eggs had been replaced, first with wooden ones and then with rubber ones. The spoons would be disposable plastic. All participants must wear trainers.