tagHumor & SatireSonia Takes a Stroll

Sonia Takes a Stroll



Sonia was taking her daily stroll through the local park to see what was happening in the world. She passed others either out for a walk, or using the park as a short cut across to the high street.

Everybody seemed to know Sonia whether they were young or old. Children greeted her, "'Allo Sonia." Older people said, "Good morning Sonia." Youths yelled out, "How's it going, Sonia." Yes, everybody seemed to know Sonia.

No doubt they all had different reasons for knowing her, but all their reasons were bound together by the one fact that Sonia had been born, bred and still lived in Balaklava Terrace in one of London's older working class suburbs.

She had been born fifty-two years ago, got pregnant at seventeen, married at seventeen and a half, and widowed at forty-two. No further offspring resulted for her marital union, and that might have been her history, except that Sonia had one or two qualities that made her a bit special.

The overarching feature that embraced these qualities might best be described as "compassion," or perhaps "sympathy," or even "empathy." I leave it to the linguists and psychologists to sort that lot out.

Put in practical terms, if someone was hurt or in trouble, Sonia was always the first one on the scene making a cup of tea. If someone was about to be kicked out of his or her house for failing to pay the rent, Sonia somehow managed to find the money to pay up. If a child fell and cut its knee, Sonia was there to wash and bandage. When a pregnancy was going wrong, Sonia seemed to know what to do. In short, whatever the problem someone always said, "Better send for Sonia."

In youth, she had been the prettiest girl in the street, and if life had brought its troubles and lines upon her, she could still present a reasonable face and figure to the world. Her five foot three inches moved with dignity. She was nobody's fool, as anyone who tried to take her for one soon found out. As she would put it, "I sent 'em off with a flea in their ear."

So Sonia was something of an icon in Balaklava Terrace, and that is to use the word in its correct sense. She was the one through whom the other Balaklava residents saw the world. For example, at election times if Sonia was voting Labour, all the Balaklava people voted Labour. If she voted Conservative, they voted Conservative. Wise candidates made sure they cultivated Sonia.

On national and international affairs, she was the acknowledged expert, and Balaklavovians took their views from her. On medicine, law, psychology, theology, and all other notable matters, Sonia had but to pronounce to be followed, at least, in Balaklava Terrace.

But Sonia had one other side to her nature, and this is the one we shall concentrate on now. As she took her morning constitutional, she kept a weather eye out for signs of troubled ones. She was just passing a rather bad statue of Mr.Gladstone when she spotted her first needy case. A young man sitting on a park bench, shoulders bowed, head in hands, presented as a case of abject misery.

Sonia had known this lad since he was but a twinkle in his father's eye (that's another story). She approached the despairing youth and addressed him. "Hello Sid. What's up?" "Nothin," choked the melancholy Sid. "Don't give me that, young Sid. I know when something's up, and you certainly do have something up." "That's just the trouble, I haven't," moaned the boy. Sonia thought she saw light.

Now it was the case before English people became addicted to the poisonous brew they call "coffee," the solace for all woes was tea. Sonia had never veered from this view, so she decided that as a preliminary step, tea was the thing for what ailed this boy. Thus she said firmly, "Come and have a cup of tea."

It might have been the case that this youth had no desire to sup tea with Sonia, but as any Balaklava resident will tell you, no one says "No," to a tea offer from Sonia, unless of course, they desire to spend the rest of their lives ostracized by all. So did the woebegone youth trail after Sonia to her residence, namely, number 24 Balaklava Terrace.


Entering upon the Terrace's equivalent of the Royal Palace, the youth was directed to the front parlour, which is Sonia's consulting room, and Sonia set about preparing the remedial brew in the kitchen. When all the necessary rituals for this exercise had been performed, and the cups filled, with royal tread she conveyed the steaming liquid into the parlour.

Once settled in her consulting chair, she commenced. "Now no nonsense, young Sid. What's up?" The problem was elucidated in a single word, "Women." "Ah," said Sonia, "and what about women?" "I can't do it," cried our forlorn hero. Sonia "Ah'd" once more, and gave herself time to consider. Realising that further symptomology was required she pressed the point.

"Just exactly why can't you do it, Sid." She dropped the "young" because the presenting problem was clearly one belonging to more mature years. (Sid was eighteen). Sid cleared his throat, wiped some tears from his eyes, and muttered, "It won't stay up."

Sonia refrained from ahing this time and instead said, "Oh." This done, she felt that something more ought to be expressed, so she asked, "Does it stay up when your pulling yourself off in bed?" "Yep," said Sid. Forswearing both "ah" and "oh," Sonia moved into a state of profundity and said, "I see." Many times had this condition presented itself for her ministrations over the years, so she decided to go down the tried and true track that had usually worked in the past.

The remedy she had in mind meant some preliminary preparation on her part. She excused herself to Sid and vacated the parlour. Sid, left alone, whiled away the time looking at yellowing photographs of Sonia's grandfather who was gassed in the First World War, and her grandmother who died of alcohol poisoning.

Sounds of a returning Sonia sent him back to his seat, which was just as well because shock treatment was about to be administered. The Sonia who reentered the parlour was not precisely the one who had left it. The departing Sonia had been cardigan and skirt clad. The entering Sonia was black lace clad, and the lace left little to the imagination. Sid's eyes shot forth from their sockets. Never had he seen this Sonia before.

Sonia, as befitted her status as Balaklava icon, seated herself in the consulting chair with great dignity, and put the crucial question. "Who you been trying to screw, Sid?" "Mavis Harrow," confessed Sid. "So," responded Sonia, "That little hot arse." Sid said nothing. "Any others?" queried the icon. "Marjorie Snow, Tina Thomas, Pauline Hog and Vanessa Vanderville," admitted Sid. "Hmm, well full marks for trying," said Sonia.

"Now I tell you how it is, Sid. You could go to one of them trickcyclists – you know – the head shrinkers, and they'll give you all sorts of reasons for your trouble, and not one of them will tell the same story. On the other hand, I can tell you your problem in one word. Sid sat up expectantly. Sonia looked even more profound. When she felt her profundity had reached sufficient proportions, she gave forth. "Confidence."

The diagnosis hung in the air like an elephant's fart. Sonia's profundity reached massive proportions to the point where she looked as if she would erupt. Sid stared into space for a full minute, and forestalling Sonia, he erupted. "Confidence!" "Yep," pronounced Sonia, "That's what it is."

Sonia decided that the moment had come to expand upon her diagnoses. "It's like this, see. A young fellow like you tries to get into a girl who knows as much about what to do as a lamppost. In fact, less than a lamppost because the lampposts around here have had quite an education in these matters, or at least, experience in the vertical variety."

Sonia drew in a deep breath, made sure her lace was pulled apart sufficiently wide to give Sid a slight view of her nether regions, and came to the significant part. "You see, a lot of these girls aren't giving enough, not encouraging enough. They make a bloke feel small and insecure with some of their remarks. On the other hand, you blokes don't help. What do you do before you try to stick it in?" "Ask if I can stick it in," answered the innocent Sid.

Treatment No.1.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," mourned the consultant. "We have a right one here. I think this requires an extended course of treatment. Come with me." Sid was escorted down the passage and into a bedroom that in fact was Sonia's operating theatre. It was like no other bedroom Sid had seen in Balaklava Terrace. The walls were painted red and it was furnished with a double bed graced with black silk covers. In addition, there was a lamppost and an imitation brick wall. I mean, his own bed was a collapsing iron thing covered by aged surplus army blankets.

"Right," said Sonia, now I don't reckon you're likely to get into bed with them, at least, not for a while, so that leaves the gasworks wall or a lamppost. Which do yer fancy?" "The gasworks wall is a quarter of a mile from here," complained Sid. "Right," said Sonia," "Well have a go with the lamppost."

Sonia planted herself with her back to the lamppost, and said, "Give us a kiss." Sid pecked at her. Sonia sighed. "No, no, no. Now let me have a go at you." Sonia grasped Sid round the neck with her arms, pulled his mouth down to hers, and shoved her tongue down his throat like a ferret after a rabbit.

Sid might have gasped if there was room for a gasp, but instead his face turned crimson with approaching asphyxiation. Sonia finally withdrew her lingua from the expiring Sid, and said, "See, that's how it's done when you want a girl to get her knickers off for you. Now you try it on me." "Half a mo," wheezed Sid, "Got to get me breath." "Just like his dad was," thought Sonia.

Having achieved some semblance of recovery, Sid had a go. When he broke, Sonia pronounced, "Not bad, but get that tongue in deeper and thrash it around a bit. That's what warms 'em up." Sid had another go, and this time Sonia beamed at him. "Yer a quick learner, Sid. I think we can go on to the next lesson now."

Still standing before the lamppost, Sonia pointed to her generous bosoms. "Now yer next target is these. Of course, I'm making it easy for yer with this thing on." She indicated her black lace. "Out there in the real world you'll probably have to fight yer way through a cardigan, blouse, a couple of vests if the weathers chilly, and some heavy gauge boulder holders. So, let's give it a try." Sid looked puzzled. Sonia sighed once more. "Try and get yer hand into my dress and take hold of me tits."

Sid obediently shoved his hand into the black lacy thing and grabbed a fistful of warm Sonia flesh. "Oh gawd," moaned Sonia, "You've got no finesse. You put yer arms round me, kiss me like yer did before, and then slowly slide yer hand in."

Sid approached this slightly complicated maneuver with some trepidation. It was the coordination that bothered him. Never the less, with some prompting from Sonia he ended up giving a creditable performance.

Having got to the point of squeezing Sonia's breasts, she decided that enough was enough. "Right, Sid, that's enough for one day. Now I'll be free tomorrow at 11-15 a.m. Be here sharp to time because I've got a busy schedule." With that she escorted Sid to the front door and bade him farewell with a final admonishment not to be late.

Treatment No.2.

Arriving promptly as commanded, Sid was ushered into the bedroom by a still lace clad Sonia. "Okay," she said, "Let's recapitulate." "Don't talk filth," snapped Sid. "I mean," said Sonia patiently, "Let's go over what we done yesterday." "Oh, right," said the abashed Sid.

He managed the exercise in one, and Sonia thought, "He's a lot quicker than his dad was." "Now," went on Sonia, "Yer got yer arm round the girl, and you've got one of these in yer hand." She indicated the breast that was being clutched by Sid. "Now yer see that little brown thing?" She gave the nipple a squeeze. "You, suck on that." "Yer what?" roared Sid. "You suck it," Sonia repeated. Sid looked at the indicated flesh and then exclaimed, "Erk!"

"Don't you come that with me my lad, or you'll get a right hander quick smart. Now do as I say, and suck." Having heard about Sonia's right handers, Sid decided it was safer to comply. He took the morsel into his mouth and duly sucked. When ordered by Sonia he desisted, and Sonia asked, "Well?" "Not bad," said Sid, "Tastes a bit like Gran's chocolate cake. Can I have another go?" "No you can't," Sonia retorted, "We got to get on. I haven't got all day."

"Now if you get as far as this, and she's still not screaming for her mum, you go on to the next move." "Which is?" queried Sid. "You put yer hand down here." Sonia pointed to her groin. "What for," asked a puzzled Sid. "Just shut up and listen," snapped Sonia. He shut up. "Yer put yer hand down here until yer can feel her crumpet. Now have a go…let go of me tit yer silly bugger, yer can't do both properly up against a lamppost."

Sid's hand went in the general direction of Sonia's private parts. He groped around and suddenly Sonia shrieked, "Get out of there, that bit's for the postgraduate course. Get more round the front." After more groping, Sid finally found the entrance to the vagina. He pulled his hand away quickly. "Yuck, it's all wet and slimy," he complained.

"Well of course it is, stupid, that's how it's supposed to be. Try and get in when its dry and you can tear the skin off yer cock." "Oh, right," said the now enlightened Sid, "But it's all hairy too." "Well ain't you hairy down there?" snarled Sonia. "Suppose so," muttered Sid." "Well stop complaining then," Sonia admonished, "and shove yer fingers in." The fastidious Sid complied.

"Right, that'll do for the moment," said Sonia. "Now, there's a couple of things to watch out for when you get to the crutch groping. First, if she's got ordinary stockings on, you're all right. You can get straight up and get in between the knickers and the leg. But if she's got those panty hose things on, you've got to get right up the top of them, and then come down again, and that includes her knickers. Yer got to be very careful because I know of one young fella who dislocated his wrist doing that. Now off yer go, lad, and same time tomorrow. This'll be the big one (she gave a little snigger), so get a good nights sleep, and no tugging yourself off. I want yer in good shape for tomorrow." Sid departed.

Treatment No.3.

On arrival, a Sonia now clad in female defensive armour greeted Sid. This included, cardigan, button up blouse, mid calf skirt and, as he was soon to discover, one petticoat, one vest, one liberty bodice, heavy duty bras, one pair of all purpose knickers and panty hose.

"Now this time," Sonia began, "You've got to find yer way round and through this lot," and taking up her accustomed position against the lamppost, she went on, "Now, you've got the girl up against the lamppost, so what's yer first move?" "I kiss her," replied Sid. "Right," crowed the triumphant Sonia, thinking to herself, "This boy's one of the best I've had," then out loud saying, "Right, get going."

Sid applied his lips to Sonia's and shoved a groping and lashing tongue into her mouth. He continued this for about a minute, with Sonia's tongue trying to rival his. Then whilst maintaining the kiss, and without any prompting from Sonia, he had a grope for her bosoms. At this point, he came up against his first obstacle.

"Right," said Sonia. Yer doing okay. Now at first just have a feel around through her clobber. If she don't give yer an upper cut or shove her knee into yer groin, start to undo her cardigan and move in from there to her blouse." Sid proceeded as directed, but then ran up against the inner defences.

"Now you've got ter box exceeding clever here," explained Sonia. Yer objective is to get hold of at least one of her tits and get it out so yer can suck her nipple. Now there's two schools of thought about the best approach to this. First, there's the over thrust. Yet get over the top of her underclothes, and then shove yer hand down. The second is the under thrust. With this one yer come in from underneath and shove yer hand upward. Personally I favour the under thrust, but it's up to you. Which one will yer go for?"

Sid contemplated for a moment, then said, "The under thrust." "Right," said Sonia, " then go for it." Sid squirmed his hand down the top of Sonia's skirt and found the bottom edges of her inner garments. He then proceeded to push them up like a bulldozer shoving earth. Sonia made noises of encouragement and praise for his initiative, but suddenly Sid's bulldozer hand came up against the twin rocks of the heavy-duty bras. He came to a sudden stop.

"Thought they'd bring you to a halt," chuckled Sonia. Now you've got a number of possibilities here. If yer lucky, she'll be wearing those modern boulder holders that fasten in front. Most likely though, she'll be wearing the ones that do up behind. If she's got the front fasteners your in clover, because as soon as you undo them her tits will spill out all over the place, and away yer go. But to be on the safe side, we'll take the worst case scenario, as they say, and assume she's got the back fasteners.

"Now here," Sonia continued, "you've got three alternatives. You can take a firm grip on the bras and shove them up over her tits, or you can pull them down. The third choice is one that is fit only for hero's to attempt. You work yer hand round her back and try to find the clasp. Yer can only probably use one hand, so if you do find the clasp, you've got to get the clasp undone with that hand. Not easy. Of course, if she's a big fat girl like Tina Thomas, you probably won't even be able to reach the clasp, but you've got to play according to circumstances. So what do yer reckon?"

"I'll go for the big one," enthused the now thoroughly involved Sid." "Good boy," cackled Sonia. Sid commenced "Operation Tit Free."

His hand wormed its way up the inner defence zone of underclothing then, once more striking the last bastion(s) defending the Twin Peaks, he made his attack on the rear. His hand streaked round Sonia's frontal defences and moved across her back, his fingers groping for the fastener. Like the true adept he was now becoming, once found, he latched onto the offending hook and, after a brief tussle with the lightly held position, he was victorious. The defences crumbled, and Sonia's might mountains came tumbling down.

With Sid's hand embracing Sonia's mammary gland, the said lady howled with delight. "Well done, Sid. You went at that like a pro. Next move, then." Down went Sid's mouth to the nub of the matter and, taking it therein, he went at it like a powerful suction pump.

Now I should point out that all this activity had at last got Sid a little excited and, consequently, his manhood had started to participate by extending itself. Sonia, sensing this growing aspect of Sid's physicality, spurred him on to the next phase of the operation. "Get down below now, Sid."

Sid needed no further prompting. Releasing the fleshy lump, his hand now fought a rearward withdrawal down the underclothes, and, having already noted the panty hose, drove down to the next objective.

His hand found the new ring of defences, namely, the top of the panty hose plus the knickers top. There was a brief but fierce struggle for the position, but our hero proved victorious once again. He broke through the elasticated defence ring and raced for the final barrier, the barbed wire of Sonia's pubic hair. Cutting his way through, he reached the goal as his fingers plunged into the warm, wet inner sanctum of Sonia's womanhood.

Sonia had been watching the wall clock. "Ten minutes from start to finish. You're a champ, Sid." Sid grinned his delight at this praise.

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