The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 19byNigel Debonnaire©
The Vicar of St. Dunstan's has what many men would call an ideal setup: a circle of women, called the Quilting Ladies, who attend to his needs in a--comprehensive manner, so to speak. The membership of this circle has shifted over the course of the larger story, but the overall relationship has remained fairly stable. This series has provided glimpses into the Vicar and his Quilting Ladies: since no story can tell a tale of every detail, many of the Vicar's ordinary carnal activities with them are unrecorded, but fairly regular, with one forty day exception.
The Vicar's parents are in town for a visit, and he is genuinely glad to see them, however his regular rotation is necessarily--impeded, but not interrupted.
I'm too old for this, I thought. Up and down my plastic steed went, as we traveled a circle to the traditionally raucous music that merry-go-rounds played. It was an historic landmark, this ride, yet its value as a cultural icon made it no less fun for Sheila Button's grandchildren Cecil and Clive. The frustration I was feeling wasn't due to having the boys, ages 10 and 8, out for the day.
The ride ended, and the boys chimed almost in unison: "Let's have another go, let's have another go."
"I don't see why not? How about it, Wilma?" My father replied.
My mother laughed. "Well, they say 'you only go around once', but we can prove that old saying wrong, can't we?"
My parents landed at Heathrow a week before, and after they recovered from jet lag, we took a leisurely drive through England down to the English Riviera. Sheila Button lived nearby with her son Clive and his three boys, and she gladly served as our social director while we were in town. Our lodgings weren't far from hers: Lucinda Parkhurst-Frazelton offered us a bungalow that had a stunning view of the Channel for our stay. The Button household was in a less glamorous neighborhood nearby without the dynamic view, but clean and neat. The weather was bright and sunny for July, warm without the scorching heat that western Kansas offered this time of year.
Our first night there was a festive occasion, Sheila fed us extremely well, and the boys adopted my folks as surrogate grandparents immediately, which Mom and Dad were happy to reciprocate. Into their third day together, I was starting to wear out, while the oldsters and youngsters were still going strong. The source of my frustration was our third different Merry-Go-Round, and I was getting a little dizzy.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. A glance showed a text message from Mother Mary Rufus:
I responded in kind. She wrote back: <3 I love you
It had been a couple of weeks since I'd seen her; she was gone to a community meeting the weeks before my parents came to town. The Merry-Go-Round was making me a little dizzy as I tried to look at the screen. I ended up replying: ilyt I love you, too.
The next message came right away: iab iwfusb I am bored. I wanna fuck you so bad.
We'd gotten into text messaging around the time she left for her chapter meeting, but she hadn't been this direct with me before. This was usually the time of month we had our "spiritual direction" session in Plato's Cave on the grounds of St. George's Convent; although we usually had some early morning rendezvous at the Vicarage in the intervening weeks, she could be so horny that she almost ripped my clothes off before we had disappeared into the hideout.
m2 msh Me too, Me so horny
?u@ Where are you?
swgb Southwest Great Britian (I intended)
I didn't know if she would remember my trip with my folks, although I told her in my last email. Barbara (aka Mother Mary Rufus) could be very forgetful if things were busy around the Convent, and a huge pile was probably waiting on her desk after she got back from her trip.
??? She had forgotten. This was tough, for I didn't know enough cyberspeak to explain further. The plastic pony started again, and I was having trouble punching numbers.
"Wadd' ya doing, Alfie?" came my mother's sweet voice. She was looking back over her shoulder at me from her horse, which she was sharing with 8 year old Clive.
"Text messaging. Something's up back home."
A look of worry hit her face. "Is that Jonathan? What's happening?"
"No, no, Mother, not your home, my home."
The screen displayed: wtfaud What the fuck are you doing?
I tried to look down at the undulating screen and punched my next message with difficulty: w8 mos Wait. Mother over shoulder.
"But Alfred, our home is your home, it's always going to be your home."
"Mom, there's something up at St. Dunstan's. I've got to run back to the Button's and get online." She gave me a look of slight disbelief. The Merry-Go-Round went around again: the next group of little riders dancing in anticipation of their turn; Sheila's grandsons reveling in their circular gallop, shouting and stabbing with imaginary swords as the knights errant dispatched dragons and monsters; my father laughing from the bench behind me. The next message came: dltm wtfaud Don't lie to me. What the fuck are you doing?
Barbara was touchy sometimes, and I had to get to a better means of communication quickly.
I punched back a message in the clear: E mail me now
The reply came shortly: OK
The ride ended, and we got off. As we exited, I told my father what I intended. He nodded and said: "Okay, son. It's a nice morning and I think we'll head over to the beach for a nice, long while. The boys look like they could use some space, and I'm ready to lie in the sun. Be back for lunch?"
"I think so. If I'm not right back, go ahead without me."
"You're trusting there'll be leftovers."
"Call me a man of faith."
My Dad chuckled and waved me on. We had walked from Sheila's house, so I had to cover a lot of ground quickly on foot. My polo shirt and shorts were all right for the run, but I was wearing sandals, which made the pavement harder than usual as I sprinted through the streets. Sheila was dusting the front room as I puffed through the door, and a look of concern immediately crossed her face. "What's wrong, Father? Are the boys all right? Your parents?"
I panted a little and caught my breath. "No, everything's fine." A moment later and I could speak normally. "Something's come up back home, so I need to get online."
"Was there an accident? Who's sick?"
"No, Sheila, everybody's fine. It's Mother Mary Rufus, and she's got a little, ah, cabin fever."
She calmed down and a whimsical look came to her face. "I see," she said as she arched an eyebrow at me. "Well, get online and write the good Mother. When you're done, come to my room. She's not the only one with cabin fever."
Her computer was in a family room adjoining the front room, and fortunate she had a high speed connection. It took a couple of minutes to get booted up and online, where a message was already in my inbox:
Alfred, Sorry I was so terse with you; forgot you were on holiday with your parents. How is Sheila doing? When are you coming back? MMR
A few strokes got the reply underway:
MMR She's fine and says hello. Due back Thursday night. Don't know when I can get away to see you: the folks are monopolizing my time. I love them, but wish I had some time to myself. I'm even looking forward to catching up on the office work. Alfie
A reply hit my inbox right away:
Alfie, You're crazy. NEED YOU BADLY. Have to find some time together. ;) Let me think. Later, MMR
Another message hit my inbox:
Al, Miss you, need, you, where the fuck are you? Have to keep mopping the floor my cunt is dripping so badly. Do you have to stay till Thursday? Perky
Agnes was getting lonely between chores. She would have come with us since school was on break, however Jenny was sick and needed help with her baby, so Agnes was stuck. I replied:
Perk, Can't get a word in edgewise. Mom and Dad having too good a time here. Sorry. Anything happening back there? Al
Sheila finished her dusting, and tapped me on the shoulder. "I'll be upstairs."
Al, Mrs. Helen Primrose died; Reverend Staton did the funeral. Niall's been grumpy and short with everybody. Jenny's feeling better and Derrick's relieved. Perk,
The news about Mrs. Primrose wasn't unexpected, but Arthur Farnsworth was supposed to be covering for me this trip. George Staton lived twice as far away and usually had to fight some traffic to get to St. Dunstan's. Perk, Where Arthur? I thought he was covering me. Al,
Arthur had been getting flakier by the day. The last time I saw him was just before I left, and he had assured me he would be on station the entire time I was gone.
Al, Artie's done a runner; his Verger doesn't know where he's at, and Artie told him to call Reverend Staton if anything happened there. The Reverend Archdeacon Creepy Arse did St. Edmund's last weekend. His Verger thinks he's having another fling and will show up either after he's landed his catch or gotten dumped. Perk
Archdeacon Tommy Hughes was covering for him on weekends? Arthur must have Tommy's nuts in his pocket to pull that off. The Vicar of St. Edmund's could disappear for weeks at a time when pursuing a new love.
Perk, Shit. That's the last time I trust that nutter Arthur. We should be getting back around Teatime on Thursday. Tell Jenny her Gran says hi. You might look in on MMR; she's getting restless, too. Al
The rest of my email was spam that took a couple of minutes to delete. I heard footsteps on the wood flooring, and a light breeze played in through the windows. It was an ideal day for the beach, although I could hardly wait the two days to get back to St. Dunstan's. I hadn't been in Mom and Dad's company so much since my last visit home before ordination.
Al, Haven't seen MMR for a while, but I'll ring her up. Won't be the same as your sweet nine inches. Travel safe. Perk
I looked at my watch, and figured that my party was just getting the hamper unpacked at the beach, so I had a little time. Going upstairs, I found Sheila's bedroom door open and heard movement coming from inside.
Entering the room, I found her dusting her windows. "All done online?" she asked. I nodded. "The boys at the beach?" Another nod. "Are you sure your parents will be all right with them?"
I smiled. "My parents have been dealing with children their entire adult lives. They'll probably wear out the boys."
She came over, embraced me and raised her lips to mine for a long, open mouthed kiss. "Well, since you've got an excuse to be away for a while, and it's been donkey's years since I had a good shagging, why don't you produce your John Thomas and get to work?"
I chuckled and unbuttoned her blouse. She pulled my shirt over my head and undid my shorts, my member springing to life as it came into view. As I kicked off my sandals, she knelt down and gave it a welcoming lick, grasping it softly and stroking it to full extension. I teased her earlobes with my index fingers and she responded by engulfing me totally, her velvet tongue frantically working over the entire head while her soft hands stroked my scrotum as it tingled with initial interest. I closed my eyes and savored the seabreeze coming through the open window, stirring the wispy thin curtains and billowing them slightly.
Sheila stood up, stepped out of her shorts, and led me to the bed. "We shouldn't linger too long. No way of knowing how long they'll be out there, or how long you can be gone without arousing suspicion."
She laid back and the bed and raised her legs high, her feet in the air. I knelt in front of her and let her guide me into her moist, ravenous receptacle. "Funny you should use the word arouse. . ."
Of the Quilting Ladies, Sheila was the least adventurous about trying new things. Seven months earlier she had finally worked up the nerve to try anal sex, but she made up in passion for what she lacked in imagination. Her body was still lean and well toned in her sixty second year, and she responded vigorously to my penetration, pulling me deep into her with every thrust, her calves resting on my shoulders, her eyes and mouth wide open and sneering in lust. I teased the golden bars of her pierced nipples, knowing we had limited time and wanting her to reach the intense climax she had waited for since Easter week. Time stood still: I did not want this dance of life to end, but fifteen minutes of hard thrusting brought us to passion's summit within seconds of each other, her first, and I fearlessly poured a week's worth of pent up abstinence deep into her. We finished and I dropped to the bed beside her, trying to regain my energy quickly so I could return to the family outing.
The breezes played across our naked skin as we held each other, and Sheila looked out the window. "He's there again."
"My neighbor, Sean. Nice enough guy, but he spies on me with his opera glasses when I'm in my room. We must have given him some show."
I pulled up a sheet hurriedly, and looked. Across the way, a man was putting down something at a table by the window, a grey form in the shaded room, and turning to go down an unseen hallway. "Does he know who I am or who's here?"
"Well, I haven't spoken with him about your visit. He made a joke the other night at the Pub about you three dropping by to see me, but he thought your parents were my friends and you were their university level boy. Doesn't know where you're from or what you do for a living." "Make sure you keep it that way."
"He's an all right enough bloke, Vicar; don't be paranoid. A couple of times I thought he fancied me."
"You think he fancies you? Isn't the spying enough indication?" "Well, I thought he was a just an ordinary pervert at first, but I got to know him better and he's a charming fellow when you get him talking. Sean was a Navvy overseas, he retired five years ago and his wife died two winters ago. Couldn't stay in the Midlands after she was gone, so he sold his house and moved down here. No family, adequate pension. Walks five K first thing every morning."
He had gone out of view and I relaxed a bit. "Is the Old Duffer good looking?"
She shrugged. "Oh, not bad. Moustache with curled corners, tight stomach. Seems to have a nice sized Willie, but hard to tell when it's soft and in his trousers."
I sat up and looked at Sheila incredulously. "You fancy him?"
Laughter answered my question. "A dry old prat like me?" Sheila's face was more tanned since Bert's death, another line or two had creased her face and there was a slight increase in the sag of her breasts and buttocks, but she was still fit and attractive.
"You listened to the wrong line for too many years. You're still an attractive woman, Sheila. Why do you think Sean is looking at you? He sees something worth looking at."
"You think so?" she asked incredulously.
"Well, he could still be a garden variety sicko, but he might be as shy as you are about considering someone new."
"I'll have to think about that. He'll probably be at the pub tonight. I'll chat him up."
I got up and walked to the bathroom. "I'll take a quick shower before I go back. You think about that, Sheila. You're still an attractive woman, and an older man could get very interested in you."
When I got to the beach, Mom and Dad were ensconced on a blanket under a huge umbrella while the boys were running and playing in the surf. "Where have you been, sweetheart?" My mother asked me.
"Someone died back home. Everything's worked out, but it took a little while. Then I had to help Sheila move a few things around before I came back: today's her dusting day."
"I see," came a disbelieving inflection. "And why did you take a shower before you came back?"
"I felt gritty and wanted to get clean. So what?"
"Oh nothing, son, nothing. We've been just fine here; it's good to watch the boys play in the sun. Cecil and Clive are such wonderful kids. Don't they have an older brother?"
"Yes, named Bertram after his grandfather. He's twelve, and his father took him along on this trip to Warsaw. They were going to spend a half day there sightseeing before coming back. Bert was so proud of going along with his dad."
"I remember when you used to ride the range with me, son," my father interjected. "We'd spend the whole day in the plains, looking after the cattle, picnicking by the windmill, taking a dip to cool off. I enjoyed riding with all you boys."
A smell of the distant plains came to me through the aromas of the English beach. "Yes, Dad. Those were grand times. Grand times."
It was sunset before we returned, and Sheila had an unexpected glow. My mother exchanged looks with me, and I did my best poker face. Mom always knew when I wasn't telling the whole truth, and I felt all of fifteen again despite my thirty seven chronological years.
The next day, Sheila took Mom shopping for souvenirs while Dad and I played games with the boys on the patio. The return trip was uneventful, and Agnes was glad to see us back, almost giving me a scandalous embrace and kiss when we returned, although I got my head turned just in time to avoid her hungry mouth. "How's it going, Agnes?" I said when I got loose from her iron grasp.
She did a double take, then awareness filtered into her consciousness as she embraced my parents in greeting. They were happy to see her again, having met her with her grandmother the previous summer in Kansas. "Fine, Reverend Father," she said. "I fixed you a rather simple Tea for tonight, since we're having the big Supper tomorrow."
"Grand. Is the downstairs suite ready?"
"Yeah, Jenny and I got it cleaned up yesterday. Percy and Stan just got the hardware installed in the bathroom for your dad Monday, and Derrick checked it over. Harry Hazleton came round and tested it: he said it was as solid as a rock."
"If it could hold Harry up, it'll take Dad just fine."
"Is everybody able to make it tomorrow?"
"Yes, the Statons, Niall and his Francis, Gran, Derrick and Jenny with the baby, The Hazeltons, Mother Mary Rufus and Sister Mary Martha. Willikins is even bringing Mrs. Parkhurst-Frazelton."
"That was the lady who let us use her house, wasn't it?" Mom cut in.
I turned my face so she wouldn't see my reaction, but Agnes went straight ahead. "Yes, she's made a lot of things possible around here. Vicar, would you mind if I went out for a while? Derrick's home, and Jenny wants to get out and play some tennis. The baby's been very active this week, getting into all kinds of trouble, and she needs a break."
"Sure, Agnes. We'll be fine."
Agnes gave us a little curtsy, and then went back into her rooms to change. My mother went back into the kitchen and looked in the cupboards and the icebox for a moment, then nodded in approval before going to their rooms to unpack. As Mom unpacked in the bedroom and my Father settled into an easy chair, he gave me a warm look. "That's a sweet young thang you've under your roof, boy. She be a complete hottie-bottie. You tapped that ass?" he whispered with a broad smirk. Dad watched a lot of TV these days, as well as browsing the Urban Dictionary online, and liked to pick up new colloquialisms. He also liked to embarrass everyone in the family whenever possible, except Mom. I didn't answer him.
After they settled in, we had a nice supper and I showed them the backyard with the lovely flowers Mary and Mavis loved to cultivate. We took a peek into the church itself: the stately Gothic lady was at her best near day's ending with the sunlight setting the stained glass afire with rich colors. Dad marveled that the altar area handicapped accessible, rolling his wheelchair around the sanctuary area and behind the altar. They wanted me to play the organ for them, but I begged off, assuring them that Niall and Agnes would do the old Willis justice at the weekend liturgies. My fingers weren't in shape to play well.