Oggbashan Stew Pt. 02

"Cash-convertible?" George had queried.

"I would prefer to be given five hundred guineas instead of a necklace costing a thousand that I could only sell for four hundred. My jewellery?"

Alice had waved her ringed hand and stroked her diamond necklace.

"They're mainly costume, and worth little. Any London thief knows I don't wear the real stuff. I sell it and put the money in the bank. My stockbroker invests it for me. I may be wealthy but I don't wear my assets."

George's talk to Great-Aunt Alice lasted until she had to go for the curtain call. She had told him about some of the backstage activities of her fellow actresses. George had begun to understand that Alice, if not a 'real' actress, knew so much that he needed more time with her. He went to the Stage Door to meet her.

"Still here, George? You're a little young to be a stage door Johnny, aren't you?" Alice said.

"I'll be whatever you want, Alice," George said, "As long as I can listen to you talking about the theatre before the Great War."

Alice had looked at him. From pictures of my father I knew he had been a tall handsome man. At the time he must have been in his early twenties to Alice's seventies.

"You can't afford me, George," Alice said, "But you might be able to amuse me. Get a taxi."

George had hailed a taxi. They drove to Alice's small house in Belgravia. As George escorted her to the front door Alice waved a hand at the house.

"This is one of my more obvious assets, given to me outright by an admirer now long deceased, poor man. It was his apology for failing to get an erection. I should pay ground rent but another man paid fifty years of that in advance. I'll be dead and buried long before that fifty years expire."

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Timescale:

Helen, the narrator is 90, therefore born 1928.

Her father George fought in the Great War so perhaps born 1898.

In mid 1920s (great) Great-Aunt Alice was in her 70s so perhaps born 1850 and sexually active from 1870 onwards. Helen would have known Alice in from late 1930s when Alice was close to 90 and Helen still a child. Alice died in 1949; Helen 21.

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Story 029

Laundry Room

My master's household is staffed mainly by older women. He is a widower. His wife died ten years ago in child birth and the child who would have been the son and heir died within hours.

That was a devastating blow to Sir Charles. He had loved his wife and had hoped for a large family. Although he was fond of his nephews, he would have preferred a son of his own to inherit Triton Hall. His older brother has a much larger estate with several large landholdings that could support the nephews.

Within six months of Lady Mary's death, Sir Charles had found good positions for Lady Mary's personal maid, and the nurse/governess who was to look after the child. He also persuaded his younger female staff to move on to larger households.

I am his personal valet and acting Butler. Sir Charles has suggested several times that I too should seek employment elsewhere with better prospects but he is a good employer. I don't want to leave him but what I would like is a wife. If I were to marry, my wife could become Sir Charles' housekeeper. The present housekeeper wants to retire in a few years' time and there is no obvious successor for her.

Sir Charles has named his youngest nephew, Ralph, as his heir. Ralph is nineteen now and doesn't expect to inherit for a decade or two. Even then Triton Hall would be a minor part of Ralph's land and he would visit it rarely. Sir Charles, Ralph and I have already talked about what would happen to Triton Hall, the land holdings and the tenant farmers. Sir Charles and Ralph would like me, or my replacement, to be Butler and Land Agent, running Triton Hall with Ralph as the normally absentee landlord.

If I could marry a competent woman who could be the Housekeeper for Triton Hall, my situation would be ideal. Except when Ralph visited, I would be Monarch of Triton Hall and the surrounding lands, running it reasonably. All Ralph would want from me was the income, the profit, from the estate. Because he would have so much else, I wouldn't have to squeeze the tenants for high rents, nor skim on improvements and maintenance. I would be keeping Triton Hall in good heart for one of Ralph's eventual sons, by which time I would be able to retire.

But...

I needed a wife, a competent intelligent partner who would work with me to run Triton Hall.

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Story 030

Live Today

"And today you are permitted to live..."

Every morning since my twenty-first birthday those words have been said to me as I have been left helplessly tied on my bed, waiting.

I am a Prince, second heir to the Sultan who rules this country. Even if I was the heir, which I'm not, I would still have to endure the daily torment of not knowing whether I would survive to see another day.

The Sultan doesn't trust his heirs. Too many Sultans have been deposed by ambitious sons. So a potential heir is imprisoned in the Imperial Harem from birth until he inherits or another becomes Sultan and the spare Princes are disposed of like unwanted rubbish. Only one can become Sultan but until then it would be wasteful to kill all the possible successors.

My mother is the Sultan's second wife. He has eight wives and innumerable concubines. Only sons born to his wives have a chance of becoming Sultan. Concubines' sons are nobodies, noble nobodies, but incapable of becoming the ruler unless...

Concubines' sons have become Sultans after the concubine has become an official wife but that is rare and caused by the wives' carelessness in plotting the succession.

The Heir is the only son of the Sultan's first wife. Unfortunately he is sickly and thought unlikely to survive until the Sultan dies a natural death. Of course the Sultan could die an unnatural death because very few have died of old age. Even if the current Sultan were to die suddenly, if his successor were a sickly Sultan, that would undermine the stability of the Empire. Such a Sultan wouldn't survive long and another successor, me, would be required quickly.

The words said to me each morning are a ritual. Unless something goes wrong I know that I am in no real risk of being killed. If the Heir wasn't sickly? One morning there would be no words. I would die at the hands of that night's companion.

Every morning the Heir has to undergo the same ritual. If his illnesses become an embarrassment he will die. Because he is the Heir he doesn't have the added humiliations that I endure every morning. His companion wraps a silk scarf lightly around his neck then says "And today you are permitted to live..." before leaving him.

But I?

Each morning I have to let my night's companion tie me tightly until I am unable to resist anything she might do. When I am secured she will wrap a long silk scarf around my neck and pull it tight, forcing me to gasp for breath. After she has said "And today you are permitted to live...", she loosens the scarf enough so that I can just breathe and then she leaves.

Only when the maids come to tidy my room am I released to start my day. How long I am left depends on how much I have pleased my night's companion and how much I have annoyed or irritated the maids.

If I were to resist?

Outside my room is the Harem. Within call are dozens of women. At least twenty are assigned to me. If I were to hinder the woman who ties me up that would be heard. Everything I do is watched. I would be swamped by five, ten or twenty women and forcibly restrained before being left as a helpless bundle for hours. I know. I have tried to resist many times. The result is humiliating for me.

I have to practise to please the women who come every night. If I do not then my bondage will be more severe and painful. If I do meet with her approval my bondage might be merely symbolic allowing me to free myself in seconds. One woman was very displeased with me. She left me tied so tightly that the maids had to cut my bonds and it was hours before my circulation recovered fully. I had thought that my last day had come. My death could have come from a slim pair of fingers squeezing my nostrils. The weakest woman in my entourage could have done it easily.

Yet I am a Prince. I rule nothing. I control nothing, not even my own life and death. I am ruled by women, imprisoned by women, bound every night by women who have the power of life and death over me.

I see no men, not even the Eunuchs who run the Harem under the direction of the Principal Wife. I live in a gilded cage but the cage is as strong as if it were a strong prison cell. I in my cell, the Heir in his cell, and the Sultan in his much larger prison are all captives of the system.

The Sultan rules the Empire. The Principal Wife rules the Harem and the Sultan is mainly confined to the Harem. He is not as strictly confined as I am. He can visit the parts of the Palace beyond the Harem but even there he is overseen and overheard from within the Harem. If he dared to defy the power of the Harem? That night he would die despite his guards, his soldiers, his army. None of them would dare enter the Harem and within it women rule.

The women's hierarchy is strict. The Sultan's mother is at the head of the hierarchy or would be if she were still alive. She died unexpectedly. The Sultan's Principal Wife is now head of the system followed by the wives in order of their marriages IF they have produced sons. Wives without sons have as little status as junior concubines. Favourite concubines, those who share the Sultan's bed several times a year, have establishments of their own within the Harem and have better conditions than sonless wives. Concubines who have spent at least one night with the Sultan and have pleased him have senior status. Those who have not yet been with the Sultan and those whom he rejected are treated in the Harem as servants.

The Heir's entourage is part of his mother's domain. Mine is part of my mother's. His concubines and my concubines are considered the mother's servants. If either of us become Sultan then our concubines could become favourite or senior concubines and perhaps even subsidiary wives. However because he and I are humiliated by our concubines every night they might perish to remove the stain on our memories.

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Story 031

The Loose Womens' Institute Christmas Party

There is a village south of Maidstone in Kent, UK called Loose. It is pronounced "lose" but that doesn't stop the jokes about "The Loose Womens' Institute". This story has nothing to do with the actual place but...

Rebecca was bored. She was sitting at the back of the hall listening to the speaker droning on and on. This club was supposed to be for entertainment and enjoyment. She wasn't entertained and she certainly wasn't enjoying herself. She looked around. Everyone seemed to be as bored as she was.

At last the speaker ended, was thanked by the Chairwoman and they broke up for the obligatory coffee break. The speaker left. As they sat down on the uncomfortable chairs the Chairwoman announced:

"As you know, this part of the meeting is to discuss the programme for the next six months. That is the six months starting with our July meeting so it will include Christmas. The committee have had some ideas which are shown on the flip chart. Doris, please show what we have suggested."

Doris lifted the flip chart cover to show a list of ideas for meetings. The groans from the audience were very audible.

"OK. OK." Said the Chairwoman. "We know these aren't very exciting. We have been coming up with ideas for the last few years without much help from you lot. I'm getting irritated by the lack of support. I decided that we should put down these ideas, bad as they are, to get you, the members to do something. If we use these ideas we are going to be as bored as we were today. I know the speaker wasn't good but we can't afford to pay too much. He only asked for his bus fare..."

'bus fare' Rebecca thought. He looked like the sort of nerd who couldn't or wouldn't drive. She started thinking while the Chairwoman tried to get some response from the audience. Then she decided that she really had to do something constructive. She stood up.

"Yes, Rebecca?" The chairwoman looked interested. "Have you any ideas?"

"Yes. There's the carnival in August. Why don't we enter a float? We could use the July meeting for work on it. And what about Christmas? Why don't we arrange a really good Christmas party instead of going out for a meal? We all have brains. We should do something ourselves instead of sitting here listening to boring old farts."

"Now, now, Rebecca. The speaker was a bit..."

The comments from the floor became obscene.

"OK. We won't have him back. Anyone interested in the carnival idea?"

There was some response.

"Can you expand on the idea, Rebecca?"

"Why don't we use the carnival float to publicise our Christmas Party? If we plan a big enough event for Christmas we will need help. If we do a Christmas float..."

"In August?" someone asked.

"Why not? It would be different. As I was saying, the carnival float could help with the party. What do we want to achieve?"

"More men! Presentable men." Came a shout from the floor.

"Exactly. We sit here like a load of wrinkled prunes. We should go out looking. We are the DSS -- the divorced, separated and singles club but we are all female. We could have male members but they take one look at the mob of us and run a mile. Even if they did come, our programme would bore them silly. I know it bores me. It isn't our committee's fault. They have tried their best with the money we've got. For peanuts you get monkeys."

"Hear! Hear!"

"We need an attraction to get people to come to the party, something that will tell them it is an event they shouldn't miss. Any ideas?

"How about a nativity play, no a pantomime?" Said Hazel "A pantomime with an adult theme. There won't be any children so we don't have to use double entendre.

Or we could. How about this - Pantomime with nude females and simulated sex on stage."

"We can't do that!" protested the Chairwoman.

"Why not?" retorted Hazel "We are all experienced at producing simulated sex, aren't we?"

There were nods of assent and some groans.

"We don't have to actually be nude. The nude females could be hens. The simulated sex could be between hens and a cock -- the bird that is."

"We can't use live animals, Hazel." Interrupted Rebecca. Someone would object. How about plastic ducks? We have a few hundred for the duck race."

"OK. Hundreds of naked females on stage and simulated sex. How do you fancy simulating sex with a plastic duck? We want audience participation as well. Come and simulate sex with a naked female. We could fill the stage with men trying to fuck plastic ducks or rubber chickens and award prizes."

"So where are we going to get the men?" asked the Chairwoman.

"If we make the advertisements, invitations and our carnival float explicit enough we should be beating them off." Said Hazel. "Use your imagination. What do men want?"

"Sex - and beer." Retorted Rebecca.

"They'll have to bring their own beer. We'll do the food. We'll promise plenty of sex but not deliver unless we each find a hunk. A few strippers and pole dancers, belly dancers and that sort of thing should bring the men."

"From where?" The Chairwoman again.

"The barracks; the police college; the firemens' training school - they'll do for a start. Almost all the men there are single."

"But they are so young!"

"So what! Don't you fancy a younger man?"

"Yes, but would they fancy us? Some of us are getting on a bit."

"So. We get some younger women as well. They have women police, firepeople, soldiers. They can come as well. Then there's the nurses' home."

"How many do you intend the party to be for?"

"Several hundred at least. It isn't worth the effort otherwise."

"Where can we party with that number?"

"The old concert hall. It's barely used. It has a stage, a bar, a dance floor, lots of side rooms and the council let it out for anyone who'll buy beer in the bar. We could hire it for a weekend for about a hundred pounds if we are a community group, which we are, aren't we?"

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Story 032

Making a Doll

[Quoting Myself]

Replacement

Alone in the marital bed he thrust hard into the doll left by his angry wife.

"This is all you need!" she'd hissed as she went back to mother.

A pop. The doll inverted.

He was thrusting out from within.

His screams unheard, sealed into plastic silence, he died.

[End of Quote]

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We had won a very large amount in the Lottery. We made sure our two children's mortgages were paid off and made arrangements for a tax-efficient transfer of capital to them. We still had more available money than we had ever dreamed of having. I had bought the lottery ticket but my wife Moira and I had decided to allocate the money jointly.

We had put most into a family trust fund. We had other pots of money as well. We still had what we called 'mad money'. We could do whatever we wanted with it and it wouldn't affect our financial security or that of our children.

Moira wanted to buy me a special present, one I wouldn't have bought for myself. I wanted to the same for her. But we were being careful. We didn't want to spend money on something the other wouldn't like. So, as we had done with major decisions through decades of marriage, we sat down and talked about what we should buy for each other. Moira had pen and paper ready.

"Well, Carl, what would you like as a present from me?" She asked. "You know the parameters. Something just for you, not for us."

"I don't know..." I started to say. "But I think it should be silly, ridiculous, something I wouldn't buy for myself. What about you?"

"I had thought of a facelift or breast enhancement. I rejected both because I don't want unnecessary operations. I'm reasonably happy with my ancient body. Everything, except baby-making, still works. I know you still like my body as it is."

"I do, Moira, particularly when you're naked."

Moira pretended to slap me. Her hand stopped in mid air. She had obviously had a thought.

"I know you are heterosexual. You prove that to me several times a week, but sometimes you like mild cross-dressing, don't you?"

"You know I do. But only as bedroom playing about perhaps wearing panties and a slip. I don't want to parade around town dressed as a woman. At my age it wouldn't be attractive."

"Parade?"

"What about parade, Moira?"

"We're sponsoring the local Comic Con this year, aren't we?"

"Yes. So what?"

"Why don't we do more than give them money, Carl? Why don't we take part?"

"Take part? I'd look ridiculous as a Comic Con character. I'm not young enough to wear the costumes."

"Neither am I. But you said 'ridiculous' at the start of this discussion. I was thinking of buying you some realistic breast forms and perhaps a female mask for your bedroom cross-dressing. But we have enough money to do better than that. There's a local company that makes complete body suits made to measure and to the customer's specifications. You could be Shrek, or He-Man. I could be Wonder Woman or Supergirl. Or...?"

"Or? Are you thinking what I am thinking, Moira?"

"Maybe. If you were thinking that YOU could be Wonder Woman and I could be He-Man. The body suits are very realistic. Both of us are slim enough to be reshaped without looking too silly."

"But being silly is not ruled out..."

The discussion continued for another hour and a couple of cups of tea. We had a list of other possibilities but we kept returning to the body suit idea. We could have several body suits. We are close enough in size to wear each other's clothes. Sometimes I wear Moira's slips and nightgowns without stretching them out of shape. When she borrows some of my clothing her breasts can leave a bulge that disappears in the next wash. She liked to use my old shirts as protection when decorating. Now we pay professionals for painting.