Intimate explorations on our reunion.

Friday June 20^th.

OMG I was like a child waiting for Christmas today. I just couldn’t wait for lunchtime to arrive soon enough. When it did I zoomed home and picked up Callie and we shot off, breaking the world land speed record, to Dad’s house. When we arrived I found a certain Miss Thomas sitting on the garden bench by the front door, she told me she had worked out roughly how long it would take me to get up from Oughtibridge and had been sitting on the bench for just 9 minutes, (Mathematicians, eh?) She also said that as Dad and Louisa weren’t in she wasn’t sure about letting herself in and waiting in my bed or staying out here. She had decided on the latter out of reluctance to enter someone else’s house.

She lifted up her skirt and said, “This is waiting for you!” She had no undies on underneath and I didn’t  need any further encouragement. We didn’t make it to my bedroom before we had found each other’s love bumps! After an orgasm or two on the lounge sofa we retired to my room where we could use other items to bring us pleasure as well as tongues and fingers.

By about five o’clock I was sure I couldn’t walk but after a shower, together, we found there was only a slight tingling down below. We dressed and waited decorously for the Aged Parent and Louisa to arrive. They rolled in at about 6.30 and were surprised and delighted to find their evening meal waiting for them. I had raided the fridge and found masses of bacon almost at its best by date so I cooked up a huge pot of fasta pasta. There were still some apple pies in the freezer so I defrosted one of those and reheated that too.

After tea Dad decided we ought to go down to Allonby beach for a post prandial stroll, so we piled four people and four dogs into his huge Citroen and drove down to Dubmill Point. The tide was at its lowest ebb and the whole array of wooden structures out in the Solway were visible, so I persuaded Dad to go there and we could stroll among them away from the evening hordes at Allonby itself. Sure enough there were hordes at Allonby but Dubmill was deserted, apart from two fishermen and a young couple who kept stopping and snogging after about five steps. By young I do mean young, they couldn’t have been older than 14 or 15!

The dogs loved chasing about after the wanged ball and after each other. We had a good old potter about around the post in our walking in water shoes, to save out feet from being bitten by sharp rocks or broken shells. We tried various hypotheses to explain the existence of the structures but their distance from the shore meant that we couldn’t actually arrive at any logical conclusions. I think they may have been put their for Haff netting (spelling may be wrong) a fishing technique used along the Solway for years and years, but TBH, that was only a guess. The plan was to look it up on the web when we got home but a detour to the Bush Inn meant that all ideas of surfing the net went out of the window.

We stayed in the pub until about midnight and Laura came and stayed at my house as she always does. We would collect her suitcase and stuff in the morning from her Mum & Dad’s. She has a few clothes in my room anyway if needed. At the pub, she took me completely by surprise when, on returning from the loo together, she whispered in my ear, “I’ve removed my knickers. Put your fingers inside me!” It is quite difficult, in a crowded pub, to secretly insert a digit into your girlfriend’s vagina without drawing attention to what you are doing. We managed it after a while. My only worry was we would end up leaving two wet patches on the upholstery. Laura was in flood with my fingers dancing away in her and I was no drier with arousal next to her!

We continued our intimate explorations on the seat at the top of Tallentire Hill when we took the dogs out for their final walk of the day. I think if the sex is this intense after being apart for a while we ought to do it more often. I told Laura this in between gasps and she said she couldn’t be apart that long again, she had missed me so much. We had told each other this all night. I guess it was obvious.  

Saturday June 21^st.

Another glorious day to match last night’s typically un-Cumbrian weather. We decided we had better not over indulge our passion too much today or people might start to suspect and / or get angry. We were much more circumspect.

We went into Cockermouth and walked Callie through Harris Park, then we trooped down the river to the Market Place to see what an utter mess they are making of this side of the town. Previously I thought all the drainage work was finished, it seems they have just moved the chaos along High Street to the east of Station Street. And what a bodge they appear to be making!

We had a scout round Linden Tree and a couple of other shops of note before taking the mutt along the Derwent for a proper swim under the castle walls. There is a great bathing spot for dogs and humans just there. I suggested that we go wild water swimming on Sunday if the weather was good again. Once more I was stunned to discover that Laura has done hardly any lake swimming! How could she live here all her life and not find out the swimming holes in the rivers? I am always amazed when she drops a bomb shell like this. It seems to be typical of most locals, they never seem to use the national parks much at all.

Callie went swimming in the Derwent for ages until she unsighted the ball and we lost it as it floated off downstream, so we brought her back into the bank. As we walked back towards the footbridge an eagle eyed Laura spotted Callie’s ball in the reeds at the edge so we sent out Callie to fetch the ball and then set her to retrieving it along the riverside gardens instead of in the river so we didn’t lose it again. Guess what? We lost the damn thing again!

We strolled back through town, along the old railway line back into Harris Park and then headed for Dad’s again. He and Louisa were out when we got back so we called round to Laura’s house (Mum & Dad’s) and had a long gossipy, giggly afternoon with Molly and then with Avril (Laura’s older sister) who came round – just on a whim I think. We stayed for most of the afternoon and then I got a text from Dad asking if we wanted tea. He had got some steak ready and was just about to start cooking. We didn’t think twice but shot off over to Dad’s to stop him cooking my steak too much. He knows I like it blue but insists on cooking it far too long for my liking. Luckily he hadn’t got round to my piece yet, that’s what I told him, so he let me take over the grill and cook it just to my liking.

Instead of Hilmar’s red we had some delicious Tempranillo, with our meal. It was a label I didn’t recognise Dad invited me to guess where it came from and when I couldn’t he told me it was from Aldi and was a cheap as chips. (I have no idea where he got that ghastly expression from!) I was really surprised, this was a brilliant Tempranillo but it only cost about three quid! We shall have to track down our nearest Aldi to go and buy some! It was so good we drank the lot inside twenty minutes, Dad wasn’t undaunted though, he had bought a case (that’s a twelve case, not a German case). By the time the evening was over we had polished off six bottles and I was very, very drunk – although technically that wasn’t the wine, it was Dad slipping me a glass (or four) of single malt whisky after the wine had gone.

When drunk I used to get very frisky sexually but I sort of had it in the back of my mind I mustn’t get frisky with Dad around, he would not be amused. I whispered to Laura, “Let’s sneak off up to my room and fuck ourselves silly.” It was only in the morning I realised with horrible, sickening comprehension what Dad had said as we made our excuse to leave: “You are already pretty silly….”

OMG! Laura told me, when I was in a fit state to understand what she was telling me, that my whisper had been more like a bellow! Double OMG. I asked what Louisa’s reaction had been and apparently she had just burst out laughing.

Sunday June 22^nd.

I sat up in bed when Laura said I had bellowed my whisper and said, “You’re joking!” She assured me she wasn’t. Oh Jesus H fucking Christ! I lay back and wondered how the hell I could redeem the situation. I asked Laura what Dad’s reaction had been. She said that she believed he’d thought it funny too, as his closing comment must have indicated. I asked her what should I do and she advised me to… “do nothing. Pretend it never happened. He’ll probably have forgotten by now anyway, you were both pretty far gone before the whisky.”

I went downstairs to let Callie and the dogs out while Laura showered. When they had performed I bumped into Dad coming down to let his dogs out, I told him it was OK they had just gone out and would be fine until after their breakfast.  He asked me how much of last night I remembered. I tentatively asked, “…erm, Why? Did I do something stupid?”

“No, no. You just seemed to have lost your volume control, that’s all. Oh, and it’s OK I walked all the dogs for their final walk of the night.”

“Oh Bugger. I am sorry Dad. I was just so tired I wanted to get up stairs and get my head down.”

Had I pushed it too far? There was no hint of a smile, not a flicker, not even the ghost of a crease at the corners of his mouth. He is bloody good when he wants to be.

I asked if he and Louisa would fancy going lake swimming with us this afternoon. He agreed that it might be fun but we’d need our wetsuits as the lake water was still pretty chilly and a swimmer had died in the Great North Swim last weekend at Windermere. I asked if it was from hypothermia but he didn’t know.

After breakfast the Lollster and I went with the dogs down to Maryport Prom and she went into a fit of giggles when I replayed the conversation in the kitchen this morning, especially the bit where I told Dad I had wanted to get upstairs and get my head down. She was sure he must know that I knew. I told her that he did know that I knew but he wasn’t going to let on to me that he knew that I knew he knew! She hit me! A swipe across the shoulder. I did deserve it.

Maryport prom is fast turning into Poo Alley, the amount of dog shite that was left to fester. Why can’t the people of Maryport clean up after their bloody dogs? Is it un-macho to scoop the poop? Are they just lazy gits? We watched one old guy let his dog lay an enormous cable on the concrete and just leave it. I was incensed. I went up and gave him one of my poo bags telling him you might want to use this. He gave me such a mouthful of invective and abuse I attempted to pick up the poo in my bag and throw it at him. Laura had to stop me doing the latter after I had done the former. Pity. Bloody pity!

We arrived at Crummockwater where everyone and their Dads had had the self-same idea that we had. We found a spot to park near the Buttermere end of the lake, where there are a handful of small islands and the National Trust hire out rowing boats. We had already changed into our wetsuits before leaving the village to save any embarrassing and revealing contortionism on the shore. Dad was right the water was bloody freezing. If my wetsuit hadn’t been so thick I guess my nipples would have poked out like small mountains. We had a splash about in the shallower bit and Dad lugged the two kayaks from the roof rack down to the water’s edge, about 50 yards from the car.

I leapt into one and without a spray deck paddled out on to the lake and round the first of the islands. I pulled back the shore and then Dad and I had a race over the same route, he won naturally so as we drew near to the shore I grabbed the tail of his kayak and flipped it! His curse was swallowed by the lake water but he soon reappeared, swam over to my kayak and flipped that too. Louisa shouted something like, “Stop messing about you two and act your ages!” Dad shouted back “OK!” and then bloody ducked me before swimming to his boat and tugging it back to land.

I did the same and we emptied the water from them before allowing Laura and Louisa to have a go. They deigned not to race but paddled in a leisurely and stately way round the island. Dad swam out to meet Louisa’s kayak and pretended to grab the end so he could tip her out. She just shouted, “You bloody do and I will whack you with this paddle!” I didn’t doubt it and neither did Dad, so he just guided her into the shore instead.

We decided that timing each other round the two islands would be the safest way to do this and not have us descend in to silly antics, so that was what we did. Two goes each. The result wasn’t really in question; Dad first: Me second: Laura and Louisa only three seconds apart for third and fourth. We had a rest on the bank after that and drank some of the coffee Louisa had packed.

We played about until our skin was wrinkled and our arms were aching. When a cloud bank moved in across the sky we headed back to Tallentire and to dry clothes after hot showers. There is something to be said for the vinyl seats of a Landrover after all, we didn’t bother changing, just hopped back in the car (after stowing the kayaks on the roof) and drove home!

On the drive home we thought we saw a mountain rescue helicopter type machine heading towards the lake. It turns out somebody had been climbing on Grassmoor and had fallen. I have no idea where the hell they would climb on that particular mountain, TBH. They were flown off by a huey to hospital. I said it was the sight of these glamorous bodies cavorting in the lake. Dad said it was probably the sight of an old wrinkly like him that had caused the accident. I had to agree with him on that. He threw a soggy wet towel at me. I was driving the Landrover back as I love using it to intimidate tourists on the narrow country lanes that lead us back to Cockermouth.

We stayed at Dad’s until after our evening meal had settled and, as he and Louisa toddled off ot the pub, we set off back to Sunny Sheff. We did the usual trick of turning off at Wharncliffe Side so I could walk the woofie back to my house through Hill Top Woods, while Laura drove the mile home.

When I got back she was fast asleep in the kitchen armchair. We decided to hang fire on any sexual activity as we were quite knackered after a really busy day.