Over the Hills and Faraway, Book 5. Paying the Piper
Chapter 35: Coming Home to Roost

Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Mult, Consensual, Drunk/Drugged, Heterosexual, Cheating, Revenge, Rough, Group Sex, Black Female, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Tit-Fucking, Analingus, Violent,

Desc: Drama Sex Story: Chapter 35: Coming Home to Roost - Dewey Desmond knew the transition from military to civilian life would be a challenge, but was unprepared for the shocks, surprises ... and some successes ... encountered as he made his way through the turbulent first ten years of the new Millennium, his path strewn with tragedies, triumphs, disasters and delights ... the latter female of course. Follow him to the conclusion of Over the Hills and Faraway; the journey of a life.

The enormity of what I had done by assisting Gino Frascetti to commit suicide didn't really dawn on me until my train was approaching London. If either Lenny Benson or I were suspected in any way of being involved in Gino's death we would be in big trouble. The authorities do not subcribe to mercy killing, and would arrest, and subsequently charge, anyone involved in such an act; in the worst case with murder and in the best case with manslaughter. Each crime carries a considerable time in prison.

I looked at my 'Rolex', which in fact keeps rather good time considering it had only cost me £25. By now, Gino would have turned the IV drip off and then back on. An air bubble would be moving through his blood stream, eventually blocking the flow of blood to his heart. When would I be informed of Gino's death? Vanessa Nightingale hadn't asked for my telephone number so maybe she already had it from when I first rang the hospital.

I was ashamed of how I had misled her, and didn't want her to be the one to tell me. After first informing Gino's next of kin the hospital would probably contact the regimental association, who would then send out e-mails informing their members.

Another thought stuck me as my train pulled into Euston station. What if the smaller charge delivered by the modified control box had been enough to restart his heart, and Gino had been revived? I couldn't face going through all the anguish again, and even if Lenny came up with a new, even better, plan I would say once is enough.

By the time I reached Iver it was past midnight, and Gino should now be a corpse in the hospital mortuary. I went to bed, and enjoyed another restless night, with the wraith like spectre making an appearance and freezing my blood in terror. I don't know why I should have felt such horror, unless the unknown is more terrifying than the known?

The next day, at five in the afternoon, I received an e mail from the regimental association informing me Staff Sergeant Gianlucca Frascectti had died of wounds received in Afghanistan, and his funeral was to be held in Barking in a week's time. It didn't appear Gino's death had aroused the suspicions of the authorities, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Once Gino was safely buried the whole incident would be over — closure — and I should then regain my sexual vigour, and manage more than one pop per sex session.

The thought of giving Izzy, and the rest of the Butcher Babes, multi climaxes and several loads of semen, brought my recumbent todger to fluttering life — and where's there life there's hope.

May 22nd, 2009: Church of the Sacred Heart. Barking, Essex.

Gino had a military funeral. His coffin was borne shoulder high to the grave by six members of the Rifles in Number 1 Home Dress. They were not members of his unit as 4 Rifles were still in Afghanistan. Three volleys were fired over his grave and the Last Post sounded. Eventually, a headstone from the War Graves Commission would be erected.

As a mere civilian I played the minor role of paying my respects to the widow and the children. Gina embraced me, tears in her eyes, but thankfully she didn't smother me in her bosom, as was her wont. I noticed she had an attentive bloke on hand, a blue eyed, blond haired fellow, who was as different in looks from Gino as could be imagined. Gino's children, Claudia and Roberto, who were really young adults as both were in their first year at university, held themselves with dignity and pride, tinged with sorrow.

The wake was held in the restaurant owned by Gino's parents, where I noticed the blond bloke, whose name was George Hayes, and obviously not Italian, frequently had his hand placed possessively on Gina's hip.

"He's mum's fancy man," Claudia explained when she clocked me staring at the pair. I raised an eyebrow, and she grinned. "Gorgeous George has been around for some time now, especially at those times when dad was away."

"I thought your mum..."

"Was Penelope to dad's Odysseus?" She gave a quiet laugh. "Mum changed from being the dutiful little housewife and started helping in grandad's restaurant when Bobby and I were in Year Seven at school. It must have been then she finally accepted dad was a serial philanderer, and decided what was sauce for the gander was sauce for the goose."

I didn't know who Penelope or Odysseus were — probably some Italian friends of Gina — but was flabbergasted to learn she had been unfaithful.

"Did your father have any suspicions?"

This time Claudia's laugh was loud and raucous, and several people looked over in surprise. "He didn't have a clue," she said. "He wouldn't have believed it even if mum had told him. What, the super stud, the Italian stallion, being cheated on by his wife? Never in a million years." Claudia sighed. "Mum never played away from home when dad was on leave, although I can't say the same for him, but as soon as he was off home territory mum would take up with some man, and always a good looking and tasty sort. Mum has the looks to be able to get any male she wants." She glanced over to where Gina and George were head to head in a quiet discussion. "I don't think she will be a widow for too long."

"How do you feel about her, err, affairs?"

Claudia shrugged. "It was her business, or rather my parents' business. Bobby and I kept our mouths shut about what went on between mum and her men friends, and between dad and his women, although several of my school friends' mothers were his 'bits of spare', as he referred to them, which could be rather embarrassing at times."

"Were you and Bobby close to your dad? I know he was really proud of you both."

She shook her head. " We weren't particularly close, although he appreciated and loved us in his own way. But the two most important things in dad's life were the army and himself. Mum had wanted him to retire when he reached forty, but he loved the life and was adamant he wouldn't retire until he was overaged or unfit to serve. I think it was then mum decided to have a life of her own."

Claudia moved away to mingle with the other guests, and Gina, who had been staring at the two of us talking, came over to me.

"I expect Claudia has told you about..." I nodded, and she lifted her chin pugnaciously. "Don't think too badly of me, Des. Gino and I had a happy and passionate relationship, but I wanted more from marriage than just sex, good as it was. He was always away; the army was his mistress as much as the actual mistresses he had."

She smiled, a gentle, remembering, smile. "I always knew he couldn't keep his dick in his underwear. He screwed my two bridesmaids during the reception after our marriage ceremony. And he told me what the pair of you got up to in Belfast; we weren't married then of course. He always regarded you as his best mate, Des, and in fact the officer who visited us three days ago said how much your visit had bucked him up. She was a good looking woman, and no doubt Gino would have been in her knickers given half a chance."

"He had lost his..."

"Yes, his legs, I know. But that wouldn't have stopped my Gino."

It appeared Gina hadn't known of all the wounds Gino had suffered, and I wasn't about to enlighten her.

"Was the officer a Captain Nightingale?"

Gina nodded. "Yes, that's her, Vanessa. She said she would be unable to come to the funeral as she had been given an emergency posting to a field hospital in Afghanistan. I think she was rather pleased to be going into a combat situation. Vanessa asked me to give you her regards, and hopes you and she will be able to meet up again." Her face split into a wide smile. "I could see she was well taken by you, Des."

On the journey home from Barking I thought about Vanessa Nightingale. I certainly had been attracted to her. On the face of it she was my ideal woman, not merely as a sex partner but one who I could well imagine having a connexion with, and not only below the waist. However, with her in Afghanistan for at least three months I could forget any idea of her and me hooking up.

My thoughts then strayed to Gina Frascetti, and her admitted affairs. I admit it came as a shock. Although she habitually greeted male acquaintances by enfolding them in her substantial bosom I had always regarded her as a one man woman. Had Gino suspected his wife of adultery? Claudia obviously thought not, but underneath his Italian Stallion persona Gino was a shrewd and intuative sort of bloke, and it occurred to me he might have known of Gina's infidelities, which could have been a contributing factor in his suicide. Claudia's assessment of her father's character was correct. He couldn't have faced the knowledge of being cuckolded, and without the means of revenge, i.e., his ten inch penis, he wouldn't have wanted to face life.

Any smidgen of guilt I might have held for my part in Gino's death disappeared when I realised it was the kindest thing I could do for him. I sighed in relief. Maybe super ego and id would now come to some arrangement allowing me a more satisfying sex life. Something I needed, and thought I thoroughly deserved.


22nd May–2nd June, 2009: Bourne Mansions, Iver.

"I suppose you're still upset with your mate dying, and all that?" Izzy rolled off me, and then leaned on her elbow to gaze down at me. I saw sympathy coupled with frustration in her face.

It was two days after Gino's funeral, and once again I had failed to launch. In fact I hadn't even been able to get it up. Not even after Izzy's plush, lush, lips had wrapped around my semi hard dick and sucked me to rigidity, enough for her to slide her slightly slippery inner labia lips down my largely unresponsive organ. She moved valiantly up and down, and I tried to match her movement with thrusts of my own. After five minutes we both realised nothing was about to materialise, and as she lifted off me Mister Floppy fell out of her vagina like a spent jelly fish.

"You'll have to use your tongue to give me something to enjoy, Des."

She lay on her back, opened her thighs and lifted her knees, and I dutifully bent to lick and suck at her clit. It was no good, my heart wasn't in it, and when Izzy spoke next there was anger in her voice. "Sod this for a game of soldiers, Des, I'm off home. I've a vibrator I use in emergencies, and this is an emergency." She quickly dressed and made her way to the door. "I thought you had seen a shrink to sort out your bedroom problems? I reckon you should ask for your money back."

I suffered similar experiences with Natalie, Mo and Meg over the following week. Not only did I not achieve wood, unless my prick was being enthusiastically sucked by my companion, but I had also lost the ability to bring a female to orgasm with my fingers, tongue, lips and teeth. I was deeply ashamed, and apologised profusely for my failure to give them pleasure.

By and large the girls were sympathetic.

"You probably need some fresh girl meat." Mo said. "Try the waitress at the Italian restaurant you took us to in Iver. I bet she could fire your boiler up to a real head of steam in no time at all."

Annamarie had grown into a beautiful young woman, with the attractive Italian looks of her mother, and the quick wits and charm of her father. She worked as an assistant purser, which in cruise ship parlance is a deputy manager, on the floating hotels which visit the Cape Verde Islands, the Azores, and Canary Islands during the winter months, loaded with well-heeled Northern European pensioners. When home on shore leave she helped out in her parent's trattoria. It was true she always greeted me enthusiastically when I ventured into the restaurant, and while I did notice the disdainful glances she threw at those Butcher Babes I might have accompanying me, thought nothing of it. To imagine she had any sexual desire for me was ludicrous. In the first place I was over 20 years older than her, and in the second place I was over 20 years older than her. It was obvious Mo and Meg were winding me up, and having a laugh.

I was still sleeping badly. The wraith was a constant visitor, and in fact I was missing the appearance of the Argie, the Serb, and the Shiftateens. On the few occasions they entered my dreams I welcomed them as old friends.

Also missing was the soothing voice and presence of Dawn on Still Waters, which was the most painful torment of all. After one particularly unpleasant night of terror, courtesy of the visiting wraith, followed by another limpid dick encounter with Natalie, the despair brought on by my lack of sexual satisfaction, and indeed my failure to satisfy my partners, was depressing me, besides further stifling my libido. Why bother raising the expectations of me and my partner for a satisfying sexual release only to be sorely disappointed when I failed to deliver the goods? I might as well forget about shagging as a recreational pastime and take up bog snorkelling or knitting instead.

I finally decided to take Izzy's advice and make an appointment with Mortimer Crippen. My final pay cheque from MilSys had duly arrived at the end of May, so could not now expect my former employer to pay Mortimer Crippen's exorbitant fee, which I assumed would be of a similar rate Ffion Probert, or her look-alike, charged for her services. Fortunately, in the same postal delivery as the cheque I received a letter from Frank Channing, informing me my suggestion for a drone mounted IED detectors had been approved. A prototype had already been tested, and full production was imminent. I was not only awarded a very welcome cheque of £5000 but was also given the honour of choosing the name for this addition to the arsenal of the Free World.

It didn't take me long to decide on an apposite name: 'Little Death'.

As the Team Leader for the project Suzannah would always be reminded of what she had forfeited when cheating on me with Harry Ledbetter.

With both cheques safely deposited in Carblay's Bank I rang Dr. Crippen's clinic. Meiko greeted me with evident pleasure in her voice, and booked me in for an appointment the following day. I was still employed by Butcher's Corporate Hospitality Company, but after delivering Charles Edward Brewster into Baz's hands I was allowed to take as much time off work as I needed.

3rd June, 2009: Dr. Crippen's Clinc. Devonshire Mews. London

There was definite aromamatic tang of lemon about Meiko as she ushered me into Mortimer's office. This morning he was wearing a Saracens Rugby Club shirt, and Bedford corduroy trousers, held up by a broad leather belt with a buckle the size of a horse brass. His handshake was vigorous and his grin infectious. "I didn't expect to see you again, Des. You seemed content to be a one pop wonder for the rest of your sexual life."

I explained my current difficulties, and his face fell.

"Whatever you do, Des, don't stop attempting to fornicate. Even if super ego is telling ego you don't want to copulate ignore it, and force yourself. If needs be watch pornography and masturbate. Once super ego has convinced you achieving a succesful penetration will never be attained, and that you and your companion in copulation will always be disappointed, then the vicious circle takes over. Unwilling to have sex ultimately leads to being unable to have sex, and then you lose all interest in sex, and in many cases eventually in life itself."

He opened a file, which I recognised as the transcript of my first consultation. "Mmm ... we established anger and guilt played a major part in the onset of your ED. Has your sexual drive slowly diminished over the time since our last consultation, or did you go from one successful insertion per night to nothing over a short space of time?"

"I was enjoying successful once a night sex sessions until thirteen days ago. Now, even with manual and oral stimulation, I can't achieve a lasting erection, and what is worse I have lost the ability, and the inclination, of pleasuring a woman with my mouth."

Mortimer's stared at me. "You can put it to a specific day? What happened thirteen days ago?"

"I attended the funeral of my friend Gino Frascetti, who died of wounds he received in Afghanistan."

Mortimer banged his hand down triumphantly on his desk. "I knew it! Guilt, Des. You have taken his death as your fault. I did mention the significance of the guilt you held, of not serving alongside your comrades, at our last meeting, but you dismissed the notion. The emotion which has triggered the transformation of your previously adequate love life to complete impotence is guilt. Once that is brought out into the open super ego will not be able to confuse ego any longer, and you will then be able to resume normal service ... if you catch my drift."

I shook my head. "I don't feel any guilt for his death, anymore than I felt for the others I served with. Gino drove his APC over an unexploded bomb which had been buried, lying undisturbed for nigh on thirty years. It was sheer bad luck, and had nothing to do with me or anyone else, other than the bloke in charge of the Soviet Union when they invaded Afghanistan in 1980."

Mortimer tutted. "Really, Des, sometimes I wonder why I bother. I can clearly see the guilt in your face. I'm trained to read body language, and although you do a middling job of trying not to give out the tell tales of what you are thinking or feeling, I know guilt when I see it."

The only guilt I might be holding, and it would be only a smidgen, was due to my involvement in Gino's suicide and my hoodwinking of Vanessa Nightingale, which of course I wasn't about to disclose. Instead, I started another hare running. "So what about the reappearance of the terrifying wraith, which Lone Elk said was what would become of me should I not get Miriam to obey me? How come it appears more often since I got full blown ED? There must be a link."

Mort pursed his lips. "It is possible this shapeless figure, which clearly terrifies you, has been cunningly inducted into your subconscious as a manifestation of impotence by your Red Ind ... First Nation shaman. He implied that should you not gain full dominance of your woman you would in time suffer impotence. Most, if not all, men at some time or the other will suffer from ED, so he was batting on a slow wicket and bound to hit a boundary. You took him at his word, and once back in the UK brusquely ordered your wife to drop her career to follow you. I am still amazed how an intelligent a man as you fell for his mumbo jumbo, merely because he gave you a tribal name which happened to fit."

I shook my head. "You don't understand, Mort. There's more to it than Lone Elk giving me an appropriate tribal name. The braves of the tribe who successfully complete the sweat lodge ritual are given special sweat lodge ritual names, which can never be disclosed to anyone who has not undergone the ordeal." I took a deep breath. "After the ritual Lone Elk named me 'Death on a Mountain Top.' He saw deep into my soul, and knew I had killed a man on top of a mountain, the Argentinian marine on Mount Longdon in The Falklands. No one knew, other than Harry Ledbetter, what I had done." I put my face in my hands. "And now I have broken the oath I made to the Greenjacket clan of the Pikani by revealing my ritual name to you."

Mortimer saw my distress, and got from his chair and came around his desk to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. "I can see you really believed this Lone Elk chappie, and are devastated to have revealed your secret name. Rest assured, Des, not one word of our conversation will leave this room."

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