Partial Insertion Pt. 02

Partial Insertion Pt. 02 of 3

In the London of the early 1970s, modern languages student Rachel Burnham is unhappy with the physical side of her relationship with boyfriend Gerry, and solicits advice from her landlady Beverly. When Rachel is unexpectedly called away, Beverly informs Gerry that she has agreed to give him kissing lessons at Rachel's request. Initially he is unwilling and distrustful of Beverly, but he finds that her instruction has greatly improved his confidence, and accepts her offer of more...

**********

Gerry arrived the next morning to find Beverly doing some weeding at the front. She was wearing cut-off jeans and a sweatshirt. Her arse looked enormous. He wasn't sure that it was a good look.

"Hallo Gez. Rachel's not here." she said breezily, then quite loudly, "Damn! I dropped my glasses. I'm hopeless without them."

From close up it was quite obvious that she had done so deliberately, but Gerald responded with mechanical good manners and bent down to pick them up. So did she.

"Kate came back early," she said in a low voice while their heads were close together. "Have you rung Rachel?"

She inflicted that gaze on him and he seemed to plunge into the blue of a sky flecked with cirrus clouds. He tore his eyes away and did a quick down and up over her body. It might not be a girl's shape but it was calling to him.

"Come on. Have you or haven't you?" She was struggling not to raise her voice as he dithered.

"No... I haven't yet. I—"

"Good. Listen here. You didn't come round yesterday because something came up, yes? So you haven't heard that Rachel's away till now, or you wouldn't have come, would you? So you don't have a whole lot to say, and I'm going to explain all that stuff again now as we go in."

George Merridew was upper class, but not a twit. He was learning the ropes as a wine importer in the family business. He found Beverly's flat too awful for words, but he was genuinely fond of his fiancée's room mate in this pigsty. Forbidden by Kate from practising his French on Rachel, he gave her a collection of recordings by Charles Trenet on her birthday. 'Que reste-t-il de nos amours?' became a particular favourite for Rachel and Gerry.

"Crap news about Rachel's dad, eh Gerry?" he said in the kitchen. "Do you know how he is?"

"Actually, George, I don't know anything. I didn't call yesterday. I got talked into going to Oxford with a friend and we didn't get back till late."

"Did you get wet?" said Kate.

"Wet?"

"Oh come on Gerry, even a dreamer like you must have noticed that downpour," said George.

The wedding, as Gerry now remembered had been in Little Something or other, near Oxford.

Kate vented, "We got drenched. Right royally. That's why we didn't stick around."

"Yes. I did get a bit damp, now that you come to mention it."

"Here's the phone number," said Beverly. "Do you want to use the phone?"

"Oh I—"

He was just about to tell her that she'd already given it to him, but she stood on his foot—heavily but invisibly and pushed the card into his hand. He he got the hint.

"I'll ring her later," he continued. "She likes to lie in on Sunday."

He wanted to go, but he dithered because he couldn't leave it like that.

Beverly turned in the direction of the stairs. "Sorry to sound inhospitable, but I want to finish that bit of weeding before I have to go to work."

Outside, they walked back down the garden path towards the street.

"Back of the card—later," she said in a low voice, as they parted.

"Don't ring here," she added even more quietly.

He shot a look at her, and then realised that George was waving at him from the doorstep.

"Strange chap," said George to Kate.

**********

Gerry waited till he had walked quite far from view before taking out the card. There was another number on the back, written faintly in pencil: a London number with an extension, one that had to be Beverly's work number. He stared at it, his heart pounding as the world stood still. He went into a newsagent and bought a packet of Polo mints for the change which he gathered with fumbling hands.

But it was Rachel he decided to phone from the next payphone along his route. It didn't work, so on he walked. He had over two miles to go, still.

"It's me," he said from one further along the journey. "How are you?"

"I'm okay, but I've got to stay for a bit. For one thing," she lowered her voice, "my mother never learned to drive. Can you believe it? I'm going to make her."

"You can't stay there as a chauffeur until she passes her test."

"No. And I want to get back to you, for one thing. I've got things I want to do to you..."

"Yes?"

"Yes. You were angry about me talking to Bev, I know..."

"Was I? I think it was a good idea."

"Well actually, she'd talk to you as well..."

"Yes?"

"She wasn't really having a go at you. She was just upset on my account."

"I'd talk to her."

"Yes. When I'm back."

"Any idea when that might be?"

"Maybe the weekend..."

"You mean next one?"

"Let me count the ways—I mean days."

"Really? That soon? That's... great. Listen I think my money's going to run out."

"Tell me the number. I can ring you back."

"Someone's torn the cardboard thing off the dial. I'll ring you again after I get home."

"Oh. Where are you?"

"Near your place. I didn't find out till today, 'cause I was out of town yesterday."

The phone beeped and the call ended.

He had now lied to three people about where he'd been this weekend and what he'd been doing. But he was buzzing. If he'd allowed it a thought, he himself would have been puzzled by his actions, but he wasn't thinking about them. All he was thinking about was Beverly. She'd given him her number and he was repeating her name non-stop as if he were a moron. Maybe her arse wasn't that enormous, but she shouldn't wear those cut-offs. He kept pulling the card out of his pocket to check that the number was really there; just to stare at it was proof that he and Beverly were sharing some special secret thing, even if he couldn't say what that was. The day before, the woman with the huge tits had started wanking him off and he hadn't wanted her to stop. At times, he had classed her as an enemy, but he couldn't help admiring the assurance in those smooth, supple strokes of his cock and the gleeful confidence in her smile. He had wanted her to carry on until she'd made the spunk gush out of him.

As he walked, a ghost walked with him. All the while, he was remembering the happiness that seemed to be nearly within reach when he was going side by side with her down the garden path. The desire to put an arm round the empty space beside him was almost irresistible.

After leaving her flat on Saturday, he had spent the remainder of the day, and much of the night, beside himself, thinking about Beverly holding his cock. All the while, he had resisted the temptation to masturbate and was quite clear about a number of reasons why she should be avoided at all costs. But he knew he wasn't going to avoid her. It was as if someone else had taken charge of his life, someone who had made a number of arrangements which he was compelled to honour.

He was looking at his watch as he walked. He decided he'd have to wait until she'd been there for a while. She had indicated that she wouldn't be free till after midnight. And of course, he had no idea where Kate was going to be. So he finished walking home and sat for a while spooning peanut butter into himself and leafing through his room mate's copy of the Last Whole Earth Catalog. Then he went out to the phonebox. When he dialled the number his heart was thumping. Someone picked up after an interminable wait.

"Nurses' station," said an unfamiliar female voice.

"Oh hello. Can I speak to Beverly Strait, please?" he said shakily.

"Oh yes. Can I ask who's calling?"

"Gerald."

"I see. Do you want to leave a message?"

"I'd rather speak to her?"

"Sorry, what did you say the name was?"

"Gerald... Gerry... Gez?"

"Ah... Gez. This is Bev's colleague Suzi. I'm afraid she's a bit tied up, but she'll be back home about half past one."

"Tonight?"

"That's her shift. Watch out, though. That's Bev you're talking about."

He heard some laughter in the background.

"Why?"

"This is Bev you're talking about not Florence Nightingale."

**********

"Rachel's still at her parents. Bit of an odd time to be paying a call," said Beverly. "I'd rather you didn't wait on the front step in the middle of the night. If you want to get pulled in by the Old Bill for loitering with intent, that's your business. But go and do it somewhere else."

"Well I rang the hospital. They told me you'd be home by half one."

"You mean you were coming for me? Why?" she laughed. "Do they think they can hand out appointments on my behalf?"

He felt like a balloon which has nearly lost its air. "Well. You gave me that number and I wanted to see you."

"You wanted to see me?" Her mouth opened in a huge smile as if she'd only just recognised him. It was like the sun coming out. "So you rung me?"

She reached down to help him up.

"Remember, I was supposed to be round this—yesterday—morning."

"So I can help you with Rachel..."

"Yes... that as well. And I wanted to see you."

She smiled again. "I think I've got you now. Too bad about George and Kate. Do you want to come in for a bit?"

"Yes. It's a bit cold out."

"I entertain in my room at this hour," she said, as he started towards the kitchen. "Let's go up."

As he followed her up the stairs, she was making sure to give him the full benefit of her carriage, her arse wiggling in beautiful triumph as her hips swayed from side to side. The swish of the fabrics as they rubbed against each other was like a promise of the glorious friction those hips were shortly going to demonstrate.

"Are you staying?" Three precious words, dropped as carelessly as an empty crisp packet.

"If you want me to."

She gestured at the cushions on her bed, and moved to put a record on, 'Low Spark of High Heeled Boys' by Traffic.

"Let's have some wine," she said and disappeared to that effect. When she reappeared with a bottle and glasses, she was minus her tights and he smelt perfume as she poured wine into his glass.

Someone less naive and diffident than Gerry would have recognised in these, the details of a seduction campaign.

Though pretty sure of herself, Beverly considered that a little bit of liquid encouragement might do Gerry some good.

For purely economic reasons, Gerry was a rare drinker and unused to glugging it back.

She found his habits to be a frustration to her intention of getting him to drink the larger share of the bottle, or at least until she hit on some drinking games—races where to acquit themselves the contestants had to see how much of a catering class wine glass would go over their throats in one go. Beverly tipped her glass and contrived to drink almost nothing, as she sat near him, legs tucked under her.

"Gez," she said after three rounds of this game, "I hope you haven't forgotten all you've learnt from me."

"I hope so too. They're my favourite lessons ever."

"Your favourite, eh? But if you don't practise, they'll go to waste. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

"No. I don't want that to happen."

"Is that why you came?"

"Well you asked me to come this—I mean yesterday morning."

"Did you come to see me?"

Gerry blushed and Beverly reached over and started walking over him with two outstretched fingers.

"Did you?" Her fingers walked over his collar bone arriving on his neck where her hand fell into a caress. "You know if you're learning to be a lover, you need a bit of flattery sometimes."

"I'm no good at flattery but I've been thinking about you all the time."

"Well that's actually not bad, Romeo—for flattery, you know. Are you all set for Rachel—to sweep her off her feet?"

His face fell.

"But I don't know what I'm doing, do I? I'm not going to sweep anyone off their feet, if I don't even know—"

His voice descended to an angry whisper, "if I don't even know where to put it."

"Yes. I'm hearing you." She turned her eyes on him, and he started to fall into the blue void. She put her hand over his. "We can sort that one out easily. Trust me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. So you need a bit more...?"

"Yes."

"A bit more coaching. Right. Let's have a bit of revision. Strut your stuff then."

He went into a halting rendition of his repertoire starting straight in with a tepid kiss. He forgot to hug her or even take her hand.

"See these," she said, cupping her breasts in her hands. "Take these and you can drag me straight to hell."

"Bev. I don't want to drag you to hell."

"Don't you like my tits? You look at them enough."

"Do I?"

"Want to look at them now? I won't mind."

"Seriously?"

"Undo this, then." She held up the tag of the zipper on her housecoat. "Right down."

"Yes," he said hurrying to obey her.

"Oh yes," he murmured involuntarily, mesmerised by the generosity of her bosom.

"They're a lot bigger than Rachel's, aren't they?" she said distantly.

"Yes... " he said, but halting and reluctant.

"But you still might have to get your hand inside a bra. So: next lesson: you get her bra off while you talk about poetry or Picasso or whatever."

She stood up and pulled the housecoat open from side to side, standing in profile to make sure he saw the heavy cargo of her chest push boldly out in its harness. And then, she pulled the garment off her arms and let it fall on the floor. All she had on now were her bra and panties which were both black. The bra was decorated with lace floral patterns. She sat down with her back to him.

"Undo it. Take as long as you like."

He fiddled with the mechanism and after about a minute or so he had it open.

"Now do it up."

Another wait.

"Sit down this side. Now you're going to do it with one hand. Take as long as you like."

This time there was hardly any wait at all. The trainee engineer had understood the mechanism.

"I've done it."

She removed the bra and dropped it.

"Well that's not the end of it but now you feel my tits. Do they feel nice?"

She led his hand onto one of them.

"They feel... lovely." They did. But he got a bit of a shock when he'd taken them in properly. Rachel's though small were perky and always with very good pointy nipples. Beverly on the other hand did not really have points and her areolae reminded him of very large yolks on a fried egg. But they were big and comforting somehow. In this comparison, his treacherous cock found him an answer. He could feel it stiffening as he played with Beverly's breasts.

"You'll really bring out the slut in her."

"I don't want to 'bring out the slut in her'."

"Oh, hark at him, holy father. Well if it's any consolation you're bringing it out in me," she giggled. "Feel my pants. It's getting a bit moist down there... No. Feel them."

He moved his hand tentatively towards the black panties. They were the sort of thing a terrorist would wear—a Baader-Meinhof woman, or a sadistic nurse in a psychiatric institution in a sex film.

He sensed the humidity. He made to move his hand away but she clamped it in place and then used it to rub herself through the panties. He didn't feel completely in control of the situation, something emphasised when she suddenly bit his ear.

"Go inside." Her tongue was pushing into his ear hole, probing and poking."Go inside."

She took his hand and spread the fingers flat taking them over the elastic. He was slightly shocked at how wet she was now. She then pushed his fingers down inside through the sodden undergrowth and folded them over the pubic bone. Then she dabbled with it for a bit and then eased his middle finger in.

"It's disgusting, isn't it?" she giggled nastily. "...slimy..."

He didn't know what it was, but he did know that he was getting excited with what was happening in her, and that everything felt different from the clinical quality of what they'd done before.

Still holding it, she led it in and out, then detached her hand and pushed it round his neck, and drew his head down for a kiss, tongue flicking the lining of his mouth in a way that made it tingle.

"Let's see the crown jewels." Her hands had moved to his waist, pulling out the shirt and feeling the skin round his hips for about ten seconds then he realised she was undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans. She pulled them down along with his y-fronts. His penis was semi-engorged and she giggled as it bounced around before taking charge of it in earnest and starting to work it back and forth.

"Pull down my pants," she ordered.

"Bev? Wha—what's happening?"

"You said you were worrying that you didn't know how to put it in. So you—you, are going to try that bit out before you take her and sweep her off her feet."

"You mean try it with you?"

"Is there anyone else? Have I missed something?"

"But isn't that—well—isn't it sex?" he said, painfully.

"Oh... I see. You mean 'try it' as in try sex with me? That's what you think is it?"

"No. I don't know. You're confusing me."

He flushed. That was the kind of thing she loved about young guys.

"No," she said in a voice as soft as a chick's feathers. "It's only partial insertion we're talking about, just putting your head round the door, if you like. That doesn't count. I'll tell you when to stop. It's just sort of rehearsing. Look you're still a virgin till you come for the first time, and that's going to be inside Rachel isn't it?"

"Okay. So what do I do now?"

"Stand up and take my pants down." She stood up and away from the bed.

"Listen. I still don't know about this. I'm not sure I'm okay about it," he said getting up to join her.

"Why? Are you afraid in case I got teeth down there? Bite yer prick off? Who's afraid afraid of the big bad snatch, the big bad snatch, the big bad snatch? God... you really are afraid of it... You really are, aren't you?"

"No. I just don't know we should be doing this."

Beverly said nothing. Her eyebrow curled up in mockery over a pout of disbelief.

Gerry's sense of his ridiculousness grew in the silence.

"Okay," he said and reached to either side of her hips.

Their eyes were locked and she was willing him on with those peepers of hers.

"Gez, if you hang about like this, she'll get cold feet and go out to the caff for a cup of tea and a sarnie."

There was a problem. He felt awkward thinking about Rachel when he was undressing Beverly. Presently though he gripped the waist of the panties and started to pull them down.Unconsciously he looked away as he drew them down. He was embarrassed about it all.

She, on the other hand, was pretty pleased with herself as she took one foot out of them, moving over to the bed to turn down the covers. Then she sat down, her panties still around her ankle. She patted her hand on the sheet, inviting him to the cosy berth.

"That weren't so bad now was it?" she said and drew him down for a kiss.

When their lips met, it was one hundred per cent Beverly he was feeling, just as it had been her haunches he'd been feeling when he'd brought her knickers down.

"Better take your clothes off," she murmured. "You'll be fine. It's just a rehearsal—an undressed rehearsal."

Gerry smiled mechanically at the pleasantry, but looked around as if he'd lost something.

"Gez. I'll look the other way while you do that eh?"

"Uh. Yeah. Thanks."

He took everything off and laid it over a stool. Immediately he felt embarrassed about this prissy manoeuvre. She was laughing at him but not unkindly. Beverly was a nice woman. She just couldn't help enjoying the power that she seemed to have over very young men. Anyway, he came and sat next to her. She turned and found his lips, laying an arm across his shoulder and toying with his hair. Then she laid hands on him and they roamed all over him.