Oggbashan Stew Pt. 04

It was used for six weddings last year but one was a disaster. As the bride and groom were halfway between the Church and the Reception the heavens opened with a torrential downpour. They were soaked and had to change as soon as they reached the reception venue. The bride's hair was wrecked.

During the winter months the coach had been modified. A transparent roof had been installed with roll down translucent plastic curtains. An attempt had been made to make the curtains fit with the overall effect of the coach, but they still looked like plastic rain covers for a toddler's buggy.

The coachwoman and footwomen needed practice before the first wedding due in a fortnight's time. The groom, or the bride's father, would have no difficulty entering or leaving the coach. The bride and bridesmaids would have to be very careful with their dresses, and the larger the dress, the more problems had to be solved by the stable's staff.

I knew nothing about this. Most Friday evenings I drive my younger sister Cathy to the stables, and either wait, or collect her a few hours later. Eventually she will be able to drive herself. She is due to retake her driving test in six week's time. I am sure she will pass, as she should have done the first time, except that her boyfriend dumped her the night before. She was a sobbing wreck most of the morning before that test.

Cathy is a part-time instructor for younger riders. Sometimes she is only needed for half an hour or an hour; other times she can be working for several hours. If she will be some time I go home, and wait for a phone call to come and collect her.

If I have to wait I often talk to Angela. Like me, she is a driver delivering and collecting a horse-mad girl, Angela's cousin Fay. Fay is one of Cathy's students nearly ready to move on to an advanced course with another instructor.

I have wondered whether Angela could be a possible girlfriend. When we stand around watching Cathy and Fay we talk quietly. We seem to be on the same wavelength but Angela seems reluctant to take our relationship further. I have asked her out a couple of times. She refused each time but her refusals weren't 'I'd never consider it' more 'not now, not yet'. If she wasn't ready, I wasn't going to insist and risk total rejection.

+++

Story 066

Where Did I Put The Sex Again?

This is a sequel to my 2004 story Where Did I Put The Sex?

In that story, I, Danny had broken my ankle as I arrived at an Austrian Ski Resort. One of the chalet maids, Trudi and her friend Gretel had looked after me while my friends went skiing. Both of them were very good skiers, competing in championships.

They knew that I wrote erotic stories and posted them under a nom-de-plume on the internet.

The previous year, at a different chalet, another chalet maid had seen me checking on one of my stories. She had noticed my user name and the site. She had looked at my stories and had shared them with her local friends. I had no idea that my on-line identity and stories were well known and popular among the women in that Ski Resort.

Trudi, sometimes with Gretel, had recreated some of my sex scenes for me, before revealing that they knew about my writing. Eventually I had married Trudi, with Gretel as Chief Bridesmaid.

+++

Unless specifically stated, all conversations are assumed to be in German.

+++

Nine months after we had married, we were back in the Ski Resort. Trudi and Gretel were competing against each other in the Moguls. Despite both wearing dirndl, the Austrian costume, when we met, only Gretel was Austrian. My wife Trudi is German, from Bavaria, but wearing dirndl was part of her contract as a chalet maid. Although Trudi is German, she spoke with an Austrian accent because she spent much of her childhood and did most of her skiing in Austria.

Trudi was delighted that I had been able to rent a small chalet just for us and Gretel. We had a part time chalet maid, Elisa, who would look after our basic needs. Trudi and Gretel expected to spend most of the time skiing, while I would have free time to write. Although I might do some skiing, I would be on the easy slopes. Trudi and Gretel's skiing was far beyond my capabilities, and they were among the best in Europe in their disciplines.

I should have guessed that Elisa was one of the women who knew about my stories, and that she was one of Gretel's relations. On the first morning I was sitting at my computer. Trudi, Gretel and Elisa came in. I hurriedly minimised the story I was working on. Trudi and Gretel hugged me. Trudi kissed me and said:

"Elisa will look after you, Danny."

I looked at her, uncomprehending. They laughed at me.

"That sort of looking after, too," Gretel added.

Trudi and Gretel left for the ski lifts. Elisa stood behind me. Her arms wrapped around me and pulled my head back against her soft breasts.

"Thank you, Danny," Elisa said.

"For what?" I asked.

"For your stories, of course," she replied. "I enjoy them, and hope you will write some more."

She turned my swivel chair so I was facing her. I looked up at her smiling face.

"You heard Trudi. She's going to be very occupied for the next few weeks, but you will need inspiration for your stories. Will I do? She thinks I could."

I still didn't believe it. My wife was lending me to Elisa. Or was Elisa borrowing me? I couldn't refuse her offer without hurting her. I nodded. That nod brought my face very close to her breasts. She grabbed my head and held tight against her white blouse. Her perfume was subtle but her arms weren't. They were smothering me in Elisa's cleavage. Her soft breasts were so large that my head was buried with soft breasts pressing against my ears.

Elisa said something. I couldn't hear what. I pulled my head back slightly so I could breathe.

"You didn't let me hear what you were saying," I said.

"I said 'You like breasts, don't you, Danny'." Elisa repeated.

"If you have read my stories, you know I do."

"And will mine do? As an inspiration?" Elisa seemed worried that I might refuse.

"Elisa, you know your breasts are great..."

My head was hauled back between them. Elisa rocked from side to side cradling my head, squashing her breasts together.

+++

Story 067

Working Farm

I had just sat down to my breakfast at 9am when the phone rang loudly. It is always loud because I have extra bells so that I can hear it wherever I am. I swore under my breath before I answered the insistent ringing.

"Hopbine Farm," I said.

"Is that you, James?" A female voice asked. It seemed vaguely familiar but if so it was from a distant past, a world I had left years ago.

"Yes," I said cautiously, "Who's speaking?"

"It's Chloe. Remember me?"

Chloe? How could I forget Chloe? At one time Chloe had been my life's ambition. I had wanted to marry Chloe, not for the obvious reasons of her incredible length of beautiful legs or her natural blonde hair, or... but because whenever I was with Chloe I felt truly alive. She was a whirlwind of activity, dragging me along behind her like a comet's tail. Chloe was intelligent, articulate, energetic - all the things I wasn't, except that with Chloe I seemed to be capable of all those things.

Chloe and I had parted with regret but she had an offer of a fantastic career move to San Francisco and I couldn't go, not then, when my father was ill. Chloe went. We exchanged letters that became less and less frequent, then my father died and I inherited the farm and all the responsibilities for the land and livestock. I could have let the farm to a tenant, or employed a farm manager, but without Chloe life in the high flying world of City finance had palled. A bucolic existence seemed like bliss after long hours watching Toyko and Hong Kong stock exchanges.

The hours were just as long and just as hard but the financial rewards were miniscule by comparison. My final year's bonus could have bought the farm twice. My accumulated bonuses and surplus from fifteen years' salary, invested with the skill I had acquired in London, could support me in semi-luxury for the rest of my life. Former colleagues sometimes congratulated me on getting out when I did. High profile currency trading is a young person's game. I had played it well but that was then. Now? I'd be too cautious to take the risks I had taken daily.

But Chloe had to be answered.

"Of course I remember you, Chloe. Where are you? Back in the City?"

"No, James. Like you, I've retired from that. One can play the game only so long and then you lose your edge. I quit while I was ahead."

"So what are you doing now?"

"Teaching."

"Teaching?" I was incredulous. Teaching pay was a pittance by comparison with Chloe's former earnings. A teacher's pay wouldn't have covered her lunch bills.

+++

End of Part 04 and last