Friday January 17th.
Yet another day of throat pain; how long will I be paying
for my stupidity? To be fair, it was a little easier this morning and I managed
a puppy dog’s breakfast [Weetabix and gallons of milk]. That did ease my hunger
somewhat because I had four! Before you criticise, I have hardly eaten all week
so I am allowed this. I have only pooed once too, since Monday perhaps it will
set the system back to default.
We didn’t swim and I left Laura packing the Quokka while I
took Dad’s dogs to Aspatria, to their kennels, in his Land Rover. I felt a bit
guilty about using his car so much so I put £50 of diesel in it which took the
edge of my guilt, and probably my bank balance.
Back in the village Laura had loaded up, been to see her Mum
and was all ready for the off, so at 9.45am precisely we sallied forth and
headed for the wilds of the South Yorkshire Pennines. As planned we drove
across the A66 to Scotch Corner and then down the A1 and M1 almost to our door.
The bit around Leeds was busy as usual, otherwise it was a straightforward
drive and we pulled onto our front garden at just past 12.15.
There was a whole machine full of messages again on the
answer machine, once more they were mainly stupid tele-sales or hang ups. Mum
had left one, so had Mrs Briggs (!) and Felice. I called Mum first and pleaded
injury to avoid driving all the way across to Holmesfield before going to the
theatre. She was cool with that and even agreed to come over to ours for her
meal and then, depending on how she felt, either drive her car into town as
well or share ours and spend the night. [I honestly can’t remember the last
time she stayed over at my house.]
Mrs Briggs had phoned to say me being back for a week was
fine and did I want paying or time in lieu. I phoned her back and we had a long
gossip [I guess when you are the boss you can take time for personal calls at
work]. I have opted for time off in lieu instead of dosh, that way I will be saving
up time for our trip to Australia in the summer. She told me she is going to
the theatre tonight to see Oliver again [we went there for XXX & Y’s
Christmas do] she enjoyed it so much she has managed to get tickets for a
performance tonight. It was a brilliant show. Fagin was magnificent and Bill
Skyes was the nastiest villain I have seen portrayed on a stage. He was
positively evil personified. No wonder she wanted to see it again. I have said
we could meet up in the bar but I think our show starts later and doesn’t have
an interval so that may be a non-starter.
Felice is back! She has invited herself to tea tomorrow. How
that happened I am not quite sure, vocal legerdemain I expect. She had a whale
of a time back home [near Bordeaux] despite the weather. She didn’t mention Mr
Radford, so I didn’t either. I will hear everything tomorrow, she is about as
secretive as a loudspeaker!
Our mail was still mainly junk. It is amazing how much has
collected in just five days. Julie popped round with a huge parcel that had
been delivered to her by the postie as our conservatory was locked so it
couldn’t be left there. Naturally she and Laura were curious so I opened the
box and then presented Laura with the contents. It is a Sydney Oilskin Co. coat
just like mine for Laura. She has been envious of it for ages so I got Peter to
buy one from Warnbro and post it on surface/air as an extra, late Christmas
present.
I am not given to couples wearing matching items of
clothing. I think it looks sad, to be honest, so in this case I had arranged
that Peter buy a blue one rather than the traditional oilskin colour so we are
slightly different. It will mean fewer double drenching on rainy dog walks from
home, probably.
Julie stayed for a cuppa and gossip. There was no more news
on the arson attack but there have been reports of several more arson incidents
around the city, she has noticed, in the local paper. [Whether that is because
she is now primed to look for these things or not she couldn’t be sure.] She
was sort of sympathetic to my scalded gullet escapade although she did think it
was funny too! Funny? Please….
Mum turned up at about 5pm and we scoffed some butternut
squash and parsnip soup I made from the left over veggies we’d brought down
from Dad’s. I did have a couple of pieces of freshly baked bread [from our
machine] which proved silly as the crust irritated my bloody throat again!
Still I have a full sheet of dequacaine tablets left to see me through.
The play.
It was weird. It was two hander where they didn’t actually
speak to each other for ages. It was all about modern technology and loss and
love and loss again. It was quite thought-provoking and occasionally funny. It
certainly got you thinking about the way we disconnect from other people in our
society. In places it seemed almost like Pinter. I was disappointed the couple
didn’t stay a couple but my throat prevented me from shedding a tear for them!
We saw the Nutcracker couple in the bar afterwards and they
came across, probably to chat with my Mum rather than have social interaction
with a pair of deviants. [Perhaps I am being unkind.] I wasn’t dressed as a
deviant though, I had on my Max-studio dress which is absolutely stunning. I
did turn a few heads in it, even if I say so myself. I think it is because the
bodice and chiffon skirt are lined with nude fabric so people looking at it
can’t tell if what they are seeing is me below or not! Coupled with black
tights and my zip up stiletto ankle boots I thought I looked a million dollars.
I guess the grey “detective mac” top coat wasn’t quite the thing to go with it
though!
Laura had kept it simple with a red dress which emphasised
just how slim she is. I sometimes look at her and just can’t believe how
beautiful she is especially wearing something as stunning as that red dress.
The only down side is the skirt section is a tight fitting pencil cut and it is
impossible to inveigle your naughty fingers underneath it in public. Mine,
however, lends itself to that activity quite easily, but the tights proved a
barrier insurmountable.
We hung around in the bar for a while but the Oliver
interval must have been and gone before our show finished so we didn’t meet up
with Mrs B. Never mind, we’ll catch up on Monday.
Back home I walked the dog in my outfit, not deeming it necessary
to change for such a short stroll. When I got back Mum had retired for the
night and Laura was sitting in her dressing gown on the sofa. “Guess what I
have on under here?” she asked me when I joined her in the lounge.
“I think I will have to investigate to find out,” I replied.
Sure enough, she didn’t have her PJs or anything else on under the dressing
gown. I nibbled and licked her love bump until she pushed my head away. “Not
here, in case we disturb your Mum…” We continued our linguistic dexterities in
the comfort and security of our bedroom.
Saturday 18th January.
Mum was up before both of us this morning. I guess it may be
sleeping in a different place made her restless. She was clattering about in
the kitchen at around 7am. So much so that Callie hadn’t made her usual trek
upstairs to sniff my ear like she usually does when we are at home.
She knows I am an early riser so I guess she thought it was
OK. She had made herself an omelette for breakfast. It smelled so good when she
asked if I wanted one I naturally said yes. I ate it very slowly and carefully
but my precautions seemed unnecessary as it slid down a treat and didn’t offend
the injured gullet at all in its passing.
Mum started to talk about last night at the theatre and got
a bit embarrassing going on about my dress and how beautiful her baby looked.
She then said she thought Laura looked stunning too. She said she thought she
could be a model. I made a joke about me not being good enough to be a model,
then, and her eyes filled up!
Oh shit, you stupid little cow.
She seemed to recover her composure and instead of letting a
tear spill came out with, “Why do you joke about everything?”
I couldn’t answer. So I fired up my tablet and showed her
the two sets of modelling sessions that Laura had done when she was younger. In
one she was 15 and was modelling a series of different dresses and costume
jewellery; in the other she was just 18 and was in ordinary clothes and
modelling a range of bags. They had been taken through an agency but they had
been the only two she has ever done.
Mum was very impressed because they are impressive. I had to
admit that I wouldn’t have been selected to model for anything. I might have a
face that could pass muster when made up to be glamorous but I was just too big
otherwise.
I could sort of sense we might be heading towards dangerous
ground with our conversation so I prompted anything with a swift, “I do love
her so much, you know? It is obviously different to what I had with Rick but I
feel just as happy and safe with her as I did with him.”
I was expecting to wander down the cul-de-sac of ‘what about
the future’ but we didn’t go that way. Perhaps I am being oversensitive?
The former model appeared out of the blue a few minutes
later asking if the gorgeous smell wafting upstairs was omelette? So Mum made
her one too.
We decided to make a foray into town together and so, after
a swift stroll for the woofie, we drove off in convoy for the town centre. It
seemed strange in the town centre with all the Christmas stuff gone and just a
huddled mass of people shuffling about, dodging the rain. We didn’t really need
anything and just messed about window shopping and browsing and generally
killing time in each other’s company I suppose. After a cup of tea and sticky
bun in Lewis’s café we our separate ways with Mum heading south and Laura and I
heading north.
Felice arrived at about 3.30 pm with a few bottles of very
palatable local wine [local for her that is in south west France]. The tea
became a mega salad with prawns and other sea food items she’d brought with
her, too. My throat seemed to be coping quite well with the salad although I do
chop everything up very small and then smother it in mayonnaise so it was well
lubricated on its passage through my gullet.
We were pretty well lubricated by about 8 o’clock and had
giggled our way through all of our gossips, rumour and scandal [OK, there was
no scandal]. Laura whispered to me, while we were in the kitchen opening
another bottle of Bordeaux wine, “She’ll have to stay the night. She is too
pissed to drive anywhere!” This was true. She was several sheets more than three
to the wind!
In fact at about 10 we started on a round of silly toasts.
Felice gave one to Laura and me: “To my favourite Lesbians. If I was to have
sex with a woman I would definitely like it to be with you two!” Heart stopping
moment to say the least. Luckily she didn’t go on to allude to our fumbled
attempt at “getting it on” last year. Phew.
I think Laura was a bit annoyed by that toast to be honest,
because she went all business like and formal saying, “Alright then… Let’s do
it… “ She sat herself down on the sofa next to Felice and attempted to kiss
her. She removed the glass from Feli’s hand and turned her head and smacked a
huge kiss on her lips. It was a waste of time. From the moment Feli had the
glass removed I could see she was gone. Laura realised this too and turned to
me saying, “I don’t believe it, she’s fast asleep!”
We wobbled her head about a bit and gently tapped her
cheeks, but there was no doubt, our French friend was dead to the world. We
decided it would be easier to leave her where she was and cover her with a
quilt. That is what we did. We carefully undressed her down to her underwear;
tucked one edge of the quilt under the cushions on the sofa so that it wouldn’t
fall off in the night and left her having dreams about kissing lesbians, no
doubt. We decamped to the kitchen and finished off the bottle.
“Were you serious?”
“No. Of course not. I was calling her bluff. I thought she’d
push me away. I wasn’t expecting her to fall asleep on me!” We had a giggle at
the idea that lesbian kisses were so boring they put heterosexual women to
sleep.
Walking Callie for the last one of the day, I reflected on
what would have happened if Felice had responded to Laura’s attentions. I guess
I would have had to join in too and we could’ve had our very own mini orgy. I
have had sex with two people at the same time, but they were both guys and I
was pretty drunk so I don’t really remember much about it. I recall their
desire had been to spit roast me and I had no idea what that meant. I do now!
I expected Laura to be pushing the zeds like Felice was when
I got back but no, she was raring to have sex with a woman who knew exactly how
to respond when she was kissed.
Can you have too much of a good thing?
Sunday January 19th.
Two lots of good news today; the most important being my
throat has stopped feeling as though there is something sticking into the
damned thing blocking my eating and hurting when I swallow, the second I ate a
proper full cooked lunch and felt no ill-effects at all. Hurrah! I can now go
back to being a little pig in its tough instead of being a bird feeding! I
weighed myself this morning and I was 119lbs (that’s eight and a half stones)
this is the lightest I have been for a while. You can’t really spot any
differences as far as I could tell when I stood and examined myself in front of
the mirror in the wardrobe.
I was looking a bit on the hairy side though, so I used the
epilator to make my bikini line a bit more restrained and trimmed the top of my
furry bit into a heart shape again. OK, I also used the trimmer to make it look
less like Sherwood Forest and more like a woodland glade. It is the neatest
thing about Richard’s old beard trimmer, it can cut hair to any length. Plus,
it is a very kind blade. I remember when I bought it for him, for his birthday,
he commented on how it didn’t made his skin feel ‘traumatised’ like his old one
did.
To be honest, Laura woke up while I was using the epilator
and it was she who trimmed the heart shape and shortened the length of my
pubis. It was also she who noticed I was, sort of, involuntarily opening and
closing slightly and decided that I needed help to make my mind up. She has
noticed this before when I start to get aroused. The opening of my labia seems
to take on a life of its own as though attempting to entice the adventurous
traveller inside.
Obviously you can’t see it yourself, but you can feel what is
happening. Richard used to tell me it was her talking, saying “Get a move on,
I’m ready…”
He used to massage my back a lot, I really enjoyed that and,
after a while, he would see the movement of my little rosebud and know he could
enter me completely as I would be so ready for him inside me. The first time he
did it I was so taken by surprise every muscle I had seemed to tighten involuntary
and I milked him in under a minute! [Writing about this and thinking about it
has made me so wet again. Where is that girl?]
Slight hiatus. [Some context, I am typing this at about
5.30am on the 20th of January]
Sorry about that.
God, I have had so much sex this weekend I think I may go
blind. Fortunately [or not depending on how you look at it] none of the sex was
with the Lead Researcher on our PhD project and French nymphomaniac Mlle Felice
[surname removed for security reasons].
I don’t think she is a nymphomaniac really. She was not
looking like one when I had finished
dog walking this morning. She was just a
sleepy young woman who looked the worse for drink. Callie gave her ear a sniff
and I went and kissed her on the forehead, which caused her to wake and ask for
a barrel full of water. I brought her a huge glassful which she downed in one
and then asked for another. She sent that one the same way.
She asked if she had done anything too silly last night. I
told her she had run naked down the village High Street shouting out in French
that the English were lousy lovers. She just said,
“Oui, c’est moi!”
I offered her some breakfast and she went for the bacon
buttie option. By the time hers was cooked I had an order from the sexiest
slimmest blonde I know for another one. We ended up having two each and I was
pleased my throat was up to it. OK, I hardly cook my bacon so it isn’t likely
to irritate my throat I suppose.
I was sort of expecting us all to have throbbing heads and
be the worse for wear but surprisingly we all declared ourselves un-hungover!
Feli swears it is the Bordeaux wine which doesn’t leave a hangover. I will
reserve judgement on that. We invited her to stay for lunch but she declined
saying she had things she needed to do before tomorrow. By 10.30 the house had
lost its Gallic influence and was once again good old down to earth, reliable
British again.
I had thawed out a beef joint from the freezer for our lunch
so we bunged that in the oven and drove into the Peak to exercise the dog. She
told us she wanted a long walk with not too many climbs, please. [She did,
honestly!] We went to the start of the Stanage Edge walk on the A57, Snake
Road. From there we walked all along the edges, where we climb in the warmer months,
to Higger Tor. Here we had our snap and cup of tea from our flask before
turning tail and walking back to the car.
There were hardly any people at the Snake end of the walk
but by the time we had made it to Burbage there were masses. The walk back was something
of a procession as everyone’s dog had told their owners they needed to go on a
longish walk with not too many climbs that morning.
Lunch at about 3pm was not the torture I expected [as
already mentioned] and we spent a lazy remainder of the day getting Laura
organised for the morning at Uni and me at work. The plan is to drive in
together but then Laura will take public transport home, like she does on
Tuesdays and Wednesdays, she’ll prepare and cook tea every night this week.
That’s nice isn’t it?
We toddled down to Julio’s [which is the name of Dominic’s
restaurant, confusingly] and he welcomed Laura like his long lost daughter
(again). She was checking if it was Ok to start work again on Monday night, he
was delighted she was back and said she had been sorely missed. He is an old
charmer really. The wine he had from Dad was a Wow with his customers and he
has kept some back for himself too. I told him we were probably going to visit
the Akkermanns in Germany sometime this year and when we did we’d bring him
some more back. We couldn’t guarantee what price it might be though.
I explained about Hilmar phoning to have a hinge about not
producing any eiswein this year as the weather had been too mild and he wanted
to know what eiswein was. I had to go through all the German wine label
notations for him, from Tafelwein, through QbA to Qualitatswein mit Pradikat
and its subdivisions. He was astounded that German bureaucracy extended in
their wine growing. I was even able to explain how the Amtliche Prüfungsnummer
system worked using a bottle of his ordinary German wine.
We wandered back home in time for a
relatively normal turning in hour after I had walked the woofie. To be honest I
think Callie was a bit whacked out by this morning excursions on Stanage Edge,
although it was a walk with not too much climbing she had chased about like a
little puppy for most of the walk. She just padded along beside me in growing
frostiness, did what she needed and was back down the lane faster than I would
have expected. We hit the charp at about 10.30.
What an interesting and unexpected weekend,
really.
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