The Popular Music Show Pt. 01

(Copyright 2001. All rights reserved).

Somerset, England. July 2001.

"I don't think I like the idea of you driving half way across Europe on your own." Jenny Wagstaffe said to her Daughter Natasha as they sat on a blanket on the lawn inside the walled garden of their home in Chipping Marsden, in Somerset. She helped herself to some orange squash from the bottle that stood in a silver ice bucket, pouring it into a plastic cup.

"I'll be alright." Natasha replied, running her fingers through her long, light brown hair.

"I think I'll get this cut." She continued. "It's too heavy for this weather."

It was a hot summer. Something to do with climate change they said.

"Don't you dare." Jenny said quickly. "You know your father likes your hair as it is."

"You always keep yours short."

"Well, it was practical to have it short when I first started teaching young children." Jenny smiled as she remembered her early days in teaching. "Besides, it suits me. You look nice with long hair."

"Why don't you come with me if he won't."

Natasha nodded towards the house beyond the walls of the garden.

"He, has a name." Jenny spoke tartly.

"All right then. Dad."

Jenny tried to remember if she had been like that to her father when she had been Natasha's age. She probably had been, she decided.

It was amazing what would end up in her hair by the end of the day. How her friend, Shirley had managed with her waist long hair she couldn't imagine. Yes she could. She would spend ages running a brush through it for her most evenings when they were at teacher training college together and when they both were working in the same school after qualifying. She'd loved that little house in Bristol. She wondered what state her son, David, had left it in before heading off on the latest tour with his band. She must get Paul to take her up there. She suddenly really missed it.

"What are you thinking about?" Natasha asked, breaking in on her thoughts.

"David and the house in Bristol." She replied.

"He likes to call himself Art, now."

"Well, what's the point of having more than one first name if you don't use them all at some time."

Jenny picked a blade of grass and wrapped it around her finger.

"Well. Why won't you come with me?" Natasha repeated a previous question. "I know he, sorry, Dad doesn't care about Dave."

"We've seen him in concert." Jenny bristled. "And your father does care. He just has difficulty showing it. Shush."

Natasha listened. On the gentle late afternoon breeze she could hear a piano being played. She remembered as a child sitting on her fathers knee as he would pick out Nursery Rhymes for her with one hand whilst holding her with his other. Her brother would sometimes join in on his electric organ when they were both a little older.

The music room. How many hours had she spent in there? Having to be almost physically dragged from the piano when it was time for bed.

Her parents had completely renovated the cottage when they had inherited it from Paul's Grandfather. Adding two wings on the garden side. The ground floor of one was completely given up music and books. The other wing contained a sitting room and study. Each wing provided two extra bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms. Her parents liked bathing.

The music was soothing. She knew each note each change of tone and pace. Which peddle to use, and when and for how long. She played it with him in her mind. She could close her eyes and fall asleep listening to him play. He should never have become an Accountant.

The music had stopped.

She shook herself awake.

"You didn't answer me."

She persisted.

"I can't get between them. They must sort it out themselves."

Yes. Jenny thought. They must sort it out between themselves. Perhaps a drive through Europe to see him was what was needed. She did want to see David again. He didn't visit very often. Not often enough.

Jenny turned her head towards the door to the shed in the corner of the walled garden which hid the flight of steps leading to the underground passage to the cellars beneath the main house as it opened. Her husband came through it brushing cobwebs from his shirtsleeves.

"You must get Mary to dust down there more often." Paul Wagstaffe remarked as he approached, frowning as he noticed the ice bucket. "That's sacrilege!" He exclaimed indicating the squash.

"It's for keeping drinks cool." Jenny replied, innocently.

Paul appeared he was going to debate the subject for a moment then smiled.

Just his smile could turn her on after thirty years of marriage. Jenny looked at him. He was fifty-one now. She still had over six weeks to go before she reached that age. What had that young Michelle called him the year before? Dishy? Something like that anyway. Yes. She supposed he was. He was looking down at her and she knew he was seeing her, as she had been when they had first meet and the thought did things to her insides. It was a shame Natasha was there.

What was she thinking? Natasha was their daughter and this was her home. She had every right to be there. Still, if only she wasn't there at this precise moment.

They hadn't made love on the grass in the walled garden in almost twenty years. Not since Natasha had been one and David four. She looked around remembering the areas where they had made love. A bottle of wine in the ice bucket, two glasses. She missed those days. She found she was missing a lot recently. Everything was changing around her.

Paul's mother was making let me come and live with you noises. But then again so was her own mother. The house was big enough now so they couldn't say they didn't have the room. Neither needed any particular special care both being in their early seventies.

Natasha had finished her music degree and had come back to live with them but she couldn't see her staying for long. She'd already had to fend off a number of amorous young men on the phone and there was also talk of a job in London. It was a good job they had kept the flats. They had cost a small fortune to modernise in the early nineties but they should now be good for another fifty years at least. They knew how to build in the nineteen thirties.

What was Natasha saying?

"So why won't you come, Dad?"

"They're are only playing three dates in Europe." Natasha wasn't going to give in. "I can understand you not wanting to travel to Milan or Munich but Amsterdam. You could drive it in two hours from Calais."

"I've told you no." Paul could be stubborn as well. "I've too much on."

"Well I'm going."

"On your own?"

"Yes. On my own."

"I thought we'd go down the pub for a salad and a beer in the garden tonight." Paul changed the subject.

"You go." Natasha huffed. "I'll stay here."

"Come with us." Jenny almost pleaded. "Please."

"It's alright mother." Natasha said turning towards the house. "I want to make an early start in the morning anyway. I think I'll have an early night. Enjoy yourself."

They both stood in silence as she turned away and walked across the terraces to the house.

"Did I say something wrong?" Paul asked, sliding his arm around Jenny's waist.

"I don't know." Jenny replied. "Did you?"

"You know I cannot just drop everything just to go and see him play."

"He has a name."

"I know. Lots of them and he uses them in turn."

"Only three and there are nice names." Jenny said slipping her hand around Paul's waist and allowing herself to be guided towards the little bridge that crossed the stream at the bottom of their garden. "Paul, David, Arthur."

"My mother wanted Alistair."

Jenny knew why.

They reached the bridge over the stream and Paul held Jenny's hand as she crossed over in front of him.

"I should have gone back in for a cardigan." Jenny remarked as they walked along the Bridle path towards the village pub still hand in hand. "It might turn cold later."

"Don't worry." Paul replied. "I'll keep you warm."

I might just hold you to that. Jenny thought.

In the Pub they collected cold meat and pork pie salads from the buffet and carried their plates into the bar to pay for them and order drinks.

"Hello Jenny. Paul." Len, the Landlord and Paul's childhood friend called to them from behind the bar. "What'll it be."

"Pint of beer for me." Paul replied. "You, Jenny?"

"We'll just have two glasses of wine please." Jenny said to Len.

"Don't get upset." Jenny continued quietly to Paul. "I'll make it up to you later."

"You will?"

"But only if you're good."

"I do try."

"I know you do."

"Where do you want to sit?" Len asked appearing from behind the bar holding a glass of wine in either hand. "Did I hear Natasha's back?"

"Yes." Jenny said leading the way to a table by an open window overlooking the pub garden and the stream. "She came on Sunday but is away again tomorrow. She's going to Amsterdam to see David play."

"On her own or with a group?" Len asked, setting down the drinks and holding out a chair for Jenny to sit down on.

"By herself." Jenny replied, taking the offered seat and placing her plate on the table in front of her. "She wanted us to go but Paul can't get away."

"I know somebody who would love to go." Len filled their water glasses from the jug on the table. "Francine has been badgering me to let her go ever since she heard they were coming to Europe on this tour."

"Do you want us to ask Natasha if she'll take her." Paul suggested, eyeing up the young girl in the waitress' uniform who had been edging nearer, ignoring the patrons, since the world Amsterdam had been mentioned. "Better still, she could go and ask her herself."

"Oh, can I Daddy." The waitress was jumping up and down on the spot.

"Where did you come from?" Len asked.

"Say yes. Please."

"Well." Len smiled. "You can ask. But hurry back. I think we will be busy tonight."

"I'll need a bath and have to pack." Francine said, handing her father her apron and notebook. "Table six wants his steak well done."

She was out through the door before Len had a chance to reply.

"You realise." Len observed, looking down at Paul sitting in his chair. "I'm going to be a member of staff down for the night now."

"You can cope." Paul said encouragingly. "Where's Steff anyway?"

"Visiting her mother." Len replied. "I must go."

Jenny watched his back as he walked away.

"How does he manage to keep so thin? I don't think he weighs a pound more than when I first meet him." She asked.

"It's having a younger wife." Paul remarked, forking a piece of pork pie into his mouth.

"I'll have you know you have a younger wife as well." Jenny replied, looking down at the lump above Paul's belt.

"I have a desk job. He's on his feet all day."

Jenny smiled as she ate. She could always get Paul on the defensive.

They finished their meal and Paul ordered coffees, which they drank standing at the bar, talking to some locals and Len whenever he had a minute. Stephanie returned from visiting her mother at the same moment that Francine got back from seeing Natasha.

"I wish I was going with you." Stephanie commented as she kissed Len on the cheek said hello to everybody in the bar and disappeared to the living accommodation upstairs with Francine.

"It looks like I've lost them both for the evening now." Len complained as Paul and Jenny finished their coffees and said their goodnights.

They held hands as they crossed from the pub and walked up the bridle path to the bridge over the stream. It was staring to get dark. The long twilight of that latitude finally ending.

"We've left the Ice bucket out." Paul said as they started to walk up the lawn from the stream to the swimming pool terrace.

"We had better go and get it then." Jenny said, sliding her arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked.

Inside the walled garden the air was still heavy with scent of flowers. The night was quite mild still.

Jenny stood watching as Paul collected the Ice bucket and plastic cups they'd used in the afternoon. She could feel something building inside her. Something that needed to be seen to by Paul.

As Paul went to pick up a final cup that had rolled onto a flowerbed Jenny began undoing the buttons on her blouse. By the time he had stood upright and turned to face her. The blouse and her bra lay on the ground at her feet. Paul looked at her with his mouth open and seemed about to say something when she reached behind her to the button and zip on her skirt.

Paul replaced the Ice Bucket and cups on the grass as Jenny let her skirt fall to her ankles. She stood before him wearing only a pair of white panties.

"Well?" Jenny asked. "Do I have to do everything myself?"

Paul stepped forward and dropped slowly to his knees on the lawn before her. Slipping his fingers inside the waistband of her panties at her hips he slowly eased them over her ass cheeks and to the ground. Jenny stepped from them, moving closer to Paul in the process, her pubic hairs just brushing his nose.

Paul closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nostrils. How he loved the smell of Jenny's pussy. He reached out with his tongue and licked the hood protecting her clit.

Jenny gasped and pulled his head closer. Paul licked again whilst cupping Jenny's ass cheeks in either hand. She opened her legs wider. Paul reached out with his tongue and flicked her clit.

Jenny gave a strangled cry and moved pulled away then sank to the ground on her back. With her hands behind her thighs she pulled her knees up to her chest completely exposing herself to him.

Paul lowered his mouth and sucked gently on the lips of her pussy, spreading them wide and opening her hole. A hole he quickly filled with his tongue. Jenny groaned softly as the tip of Paul's tongue swirled around inside her. She gasped out loud and ran her fingers through his hair as his lips sucked her clit into the open. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as his tongue flicked it gently from side to side. She whimpered as a finger probed her anus coating it with the juices from her pussy.

More sighs, louder this time as Paul moved his tongue faster and harder against her clit and pushed his finger up inside her ass hole.

Jenny was breathing faster and faster. She could feel the pressure building inside her. She cried out as she rode a peak of pleasure and again and again until the pressure seemed too much for her to take. She needed release. A finger inside her pussy triggered it.

She sighed and her body relaxed as a wonderful glow filled it.

"Are you alright?" Paul asked looming above her.

She couldn't speak. In the gathering gloom Paul could just make out her smile.

"Let's go to bed." Jenny said, finally finding her voice and lowering her legs. "You'll have me catch my death of cold lying here like this."

Natasha moved quietly away from the entrance to the walled garden and hurried back to the house. She was dressed for bed in a short nightdress and thin robe. She had only remembered the Ice bucket as she was climbing into bed. It was a lovely old thing and shouldn't be left out overnight.

She hadn't meant to watch. How could she have known they would be there like that?

Her mother. Naked. Holding herself open like that. And her father.

She hurried into her bedroom and climbed into bed, switching off her table light she listened for the sounds of their returning. She could hear sounds of girlish laughter from in the hall.

Her mother's, "don't do that. Not here." Then her too loud "Shush."

She heard a toilet flush and mumbled voices. A door opened and then closed.

She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. She had never seen her parents making love before. She had heard them many times. Especially when, as a child she had been left to play with her brother while her parents had had a little lie down after lunch.

The sounds her mother was making when her father was doing it to her. She knew what those sounds had meant. She was sorry now she had finished with Phil before their finals. She had been far too busy during that period to have to worry about the needs of a man. But they were over now and who was there to look after the needs of a twenty-one years old woman.

Without any conscious effort on her part her hand had moved to rest upon her pubic mound. She closed her eyes and allowed it to pull gently at her nightdress, pulling it slowly up her thighs.

She was suddenly hot in the bed and threw back the empty quilt cover she used during the summer months as bedclothes.

That was better. She could move her legs. Open them. A finger was running up and down the lips of her pussy. Pulling them gently apart, slipping between them. Had that been what her father been doing to her mother when his hands had disappeared from her view?

She let her fingertip slip between the lips of her pussy and felt the warmth and moisture inside. Six weeks. It was too long. Not that they did it very often and never with any real passion. They had both been too serious. But she missed it.

Her fingertip slid along inside her slit to her clit. She could feel it crying out for attention. She rubbed herself to one side of it, revelling in the sensations this caused. She heard herself groan out loud as her finger moved to apply direct pressure. She moved her feet to place them flat on the bed and lifted her hips describing small circles with her pelvis in the air.

She threw back her head and breathed deeply. This was good. She needed this. She was going to come soon. She could feel it building. Rubbing herself faster and harder she felt the pressure growing inside her. Growing. Becoming more intense.

With a sigh and a long exhale of the breath she hadn't realised she had been holding in, she came.

She lay on her back in the darkness listening to the sounds of the night. An Owl hooted. Was that a bed creaking?