There is brief reference to a 4yr old lad in this fictional tale, but there is absolutely NO SEXUAL activities with him, round him or him being witness to. There is also reference to the main character’s daughter and a sexual relationship when she was a teen. There is no detail in the text related to her
This is my take on a story by a fellow author SerialScribbler who I have contacted and advised I am doing this. He has approved and is looking forward to it. It is completely different.
“Mummy,” cried our grandson Joe, a little distressed, as we entered the ornate front door, pulling at Mike, my husband’s hand as he had done all the walk.
“She might be asleep pet,” I advised him, closing the horrid, thick mahogany, ornately carved door imported from Thailand, Mike’s idea! thinking that our daughter Faye and husband Nick would be catching up on sleep after their trans-atlantic flight.
Mike stupidly let go of the boundless energised four year old, who proceeded to noisily climb the stairs.
“For fucks sake Mike think about it, if they are asleep he’ll wake them,” I ballocked him trying to catch the lad, the darling of our retired elderly lives.
Mike is useless in many ways, seems to be in his own lost world since retiring from his international bank executive post fifteen years ago and relaxed too much, as far as Faye, Stuart our son and I are concerned. He is eighty-one and handsome in a mature, quiet way, still with a good spread of crisp white hair, very forgetful, his driving is crap, never seems to know the routes, so I do all the driving, careless in traffic and unused to the new, silver Lexus LS and it’s gadgets and as for DIY and tools – well forget it.
Good points? Enormous pension and investment portfolio, loves me madly, not bothered in the slightest about my weight fluctuation, currently heavy, low handicap golfer, very attentive, wine connoisseur and cricket addict. Of course for many years we have somebody in to do odd jobs, but in our early married days, forty odd years ago he was useless at DIY and called on ever willing Stuart to do things, before calling a specialist trade.
We had met at a party when he was mere branch manager, when they had them that is. I felt out of my depth but agreed to accompany my sister Donna who worked at Mike’s branch. I was impressed with his gentlemanly style and we dated, then got married having to save like buggery to afford our first house. It was my down-to-earth, sensible, straight forwardness he liked, apart from my then voluptuous body. Donna was the brains, I was the shag happy looker, which she wasn’t, being a frumpy, anorexic, mousy brown hair brain box born of a long distance truck driver and a drunk mother. Donna’s sense and my street wise attitude pulled us through. She joined the Army Pay Corp stationed near Winchester and we rarely met after that except for hatches, matches, despatches etc. I was a supermarket checkout girl.
At our voices and Joe’s call, Miriam our Portuguese maid bustled through from the kitchen, wiping her tiny, child like but strong wiry hands with a cloth. Her heavily lined, swarthy face was a picture of concern, thick black eyebrows deeply frowning, then reverted to her usual laughing countenance when she realized it was us, probably expecting us to enter our large country residence in the New Forest via the side entrance which everyone uses. Mike’s idea again telling me we never use his ghastly purchase. I had caught Joe and was returning down the curved stairs as she spoke.
“Why you come this way?” she asked, puzzledly pointing at the front door, almost as if we weren’t allowed.
“Oh Mr Mike’s idea,” I chuckled, using the term Miriam and Jose, her husband used when talking about him – and me – Mrs Lynne, gesturing at my husband who was fussing with his shoes.
He wandered through to the kitchen, Joe clung to my leg like a sailor hugging the mast in a storm, never happy when Miriam was around – we don’t know why. She followed and started to pour soft drinks for us all and handing them round. I asked Miriam where Jose was and she waved generally towards the twenty acres of garden which had access to the 140 odd acres of crown land, where I expected her grossly overweight husband to be. Joe scuttled off to his playroom across the hall, I had settled him. Mike sauntered through the conservatory to his study and I checked the larder and freezer for something to cook this evening – that being my love – cooking. The maid had been cleaning the utility room and continued after our surprise arrival at the – forbidden in her mind - front door.
“Lynne, quickly – here,” Mike whispered, furtively peering round the kitchen. “Miriam???”
He was beckoning me curling his forefinger to join him.
“She’s in the utility – busy,” I irritably replied, what was he anxious about as his beckoning was increased.
Mike pointed at a computer monitor on his busy but tidy desk.
On the 40” colour HD Sony screen, there was a view inside some shed or such and I could see a log pile, a ride-on grass cutter, some garden tools, a sack of something and the back of a man, his jeans down below his knees, his tight white arse, which contrasted with his tanned muscular torso and legs, shunting back and forth at the naked, white, ample rear end of a woman, skirt round her waist, knickers nowhere to be seen. Just about visible due to the angle, I could see the side view of an enormous pair of breasts swaying and crashing below her brown torso. I had a horrible feeling.
“They couldn’t wait to get home, that’s awful, look at them, like rabbits,” groaned Mike.
“But where are they?” I queried, not able to take my eyes off the fucking couple who were our daughter Faye and her man Nick.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mike mumbled crossly, watching as closely as I was, but not trying to.
A wave of something swept through me and I shivered, but kept watching what was a formidably athletic shagging session in the meadow loose box at the moment devoid of any of our horses. To be peeping on our beloved little – not so little now – girl being solidly rammed, was distasteful but somehow extremely captivating and the same shiver coursed through me and I realized I was jealous. Faye has always been shag happy – like me, I was a confirmed slut at fourteen, her brain between her legs and could have been a real cum bucket. Like me, her tits had developed quickly, attracting a lot of boys at school and Mike paid to get her out of one scandal. Mike was a golfing partner with the magistrate who sorted out a deal with the diddycoy father of a burly sixteen year old who had got her in the pudding club. He claimed and was right that she looked eighteen. I had put her on the pill after that by arrangement with my doctor, who only wanted to see and feel my knockers, even though there was nothing wrong with me, in place of filling out a lot of official document. That was easy.
Mike and I found her, when she was sixteen, and a fairground employee, fucking - actually in the very loose box she was being seen to, this moment. The man was big and muscular and intimidated my husband, Faye cowering fearfully, simpering with me as I found her white thong amongst the hay we were due to feed the animals with. She got a right bollocking from both of us, cutting her substantial allowance for a week – that made her see sense for a short while.
Mike got her into the golf club along with Stuart when they were in their mid teens, but he lost interest soon, however she became a medium handicapper. I know she had a dalliance with the married pro who was giving her lessons. Then she met and married Nick and settled down, running the equine business, helping him with the academy, then Joe came along.
Now I was envious of what she was receiving in the woodshed.
“I wish I hadn’t left this on,” muttered Mike, tapping at the keyboard and the scene became one of eighteen smaller images of key areas on our estate. “It was just for Jose and Miriam to keep an eye on the place when we’re not here, like the last four weeks.”
“By the way can you see Jose anywhere?”
My husband shook his head asking why. I told him I might want him for a job before the staff have their annual holiday.
What we didn’t see and therefore know, was that our faithful, hard working, loyal Portuguese handyman and gardener was crouched behind the wood pile peeping at the action in the loose box.
Mike and I had been with the whole family in Miami, at our expense and we brought Joe back to UK with us to let his mum and dad have a break, Stuart and Kay travelling with us ... The CCTV system was a protection against a current wave of burglaries in the area from big houses, mainly garages, gardens and sheds.
“But why cameras in the shed Mike?” I asked.
“That bloody mower was over fifteen hundred quid that’s why,” he responded angrily switching the screen off, unlike him, but he was probably as rattled I was having seen the shag session.
The kids, I still call them that, came in later and we didn’t say anything. Faye picked a couple of loose hairs and a stray piece of straw from her gaberdine slacks. Nick just grinned. They were very cheery – I wonder why - grateful for the free holiday and peaceful extension, happily stayed the night and went back to their own place and the episode was forgotten.
.... There is more of this story ...