Following on, but not a serial, from my story Back to the Old days, Nancy’s grand daughter experiences events which she is never sure how and why they happened.
Celia Cumming spouted enthusiastically to her fellow students and select visitors at St. Hilda’s, Oxford University on her graduation subject – the research, manufacture, materials, marketing and usage of sanitary pads, tampons and nappies, being of a similar fabric. The over fat, black, twenty year old girl with the wild Afro hairstyle and cheery smile over vivid white teeth, had drawn a large audience and had an impressive PowerPoint presentation, with both videos and still photographs.
A mature academic in the mixed audience, in the equal sex college, since 2003, formally only female, was forty year old James Saville who was thrilled to see her ebullient personality and massive, sexy body, to him, in action. The fact Celia was dressed in a mock leather, black, tight, knee length skirt under a pale pink tee-shirt enhanced, in James’, her total attraction, matched with her oiled, bare fat legs in incongruous gaudy trainers. James was a visiting professor who had established a special needs school and one of his non curricular tasks was to purchase stock of the prime subject matter, in case of any accidents. He had a secretary but she was only hired for administration and basic accounts.
Another member of the audience was an American, twenty three year old, student by name of Wellesley Ample Cort – known as Wel. She was from Minnetonka, Minnesota and was studying botanical and science subjects, Celia’s subject being in the latter. A stout, six foot tall, swarthy, brunette, sported a severe raven hair style. She claimed to be of Indian descent, but had changed her native name for something more respectable – in her mind.
James who was a real charmer and wealthy with it, wooed, seduced and married Miss Cumming, now twenty three and much fatter. The cheap, red top British media having great fun with her Caribbean family name. He told her of his school, lied about his interests in the way children and teenager’s skin was affected by substandard products, she could do more research and he had friends in the industry who could help her. He was a skilled people manipulator and finally weaned her into mild porno, onto more explicit stuff and then through some technical and medical specialist websites, they viewed images of females of all ages in various stages of undress, ostensibly to illustrate skin problems. She found it easy to discuss and her untutored lack of knowledge about porn delighted and surprised him, leaving James with what is called a blank canvas to work on.
He certainly had ultra blank subjects at his school.
“Celia sweetie, there’s an application for our vacancy of part time gardener here,” peering at the school’s website. His now obese, pumpkin shaped wife was writing up a report about Pityriasis rosea, a mild skin rash that’s pink, scaly and inflamed she had found on a six year old girl, probably caused by her substandard nappies which she had to wear as she pissed in her clothes often.
She waddled over to peer over James’ shoulder letting her 52 HH breasts rest on him. Her stomach nudged at his back as he drank in her warm odours.
“Wel Cort ... that’s ... oh my god, it is,” giggled Celia excitedly, pointing at a photo on the screen and giving James thrills as her enormous bosoms crashed round his ears.
“I thought she went back to the States?” queried James, thinking Wel was not exactly an oil painting, with a pugnacious face. “She graduated and fucked off back there?”
“That’s what I thought, but look - she’s also qualified in horticulture and is a ... or was a gardener for Lord Youngmount, We couldn’t pay the same wages surely, he’s loaded,” chuckled Celia.
“Lets get he in, she’s looking good, what ... thirty three.”
Of course Wel got the job and proved highly successful at her job and relations with the school pupils, nurturing very limited and uninterested kids of all ages. She lived in a very desirable chocolate box style, ancient, thatched cottage on the outskirts of town, paid for by Lord Youngmount as a pay-off for not going public about him. Being of Dakota Indian stock she kept her word. Her Audi coupé was also part of the deal. His lordship died and the estate was sold to Tyler Wumpey for affordable housing.
2017 Monday, First day of a new term at SunnyDay Special Needs School
Tony and Barbara Hook’s seventy three old grandmother Nancy, having volunteered, took the two thick as two short planks girls to their special needs school for the one day in a week of concentrated classes, in a vain attempt to try and get them up to scratch with other children their age. Nancy picked up Janet Tarbuck from the seedy run down council house in Railway Terrace. They got out of her BMW at the school waving to Mr Saville, who walked to the kerb side to open the car door for his pupils. They just about remembered to say thanks to Nancy after a short prompt. He was especially pleased to see them at the start of this new term, since his pal Ralph Harris had done some private work inside the old converted Victorian school over the summer break.
Ralph had told him about Barbara’s granny doing a strip tease at Bill Hook’s 50th birthday party, so having been notified by Helen Hook that Nancy would be bringing the girls, he lingered at the side of the car as Nancy leaned across to the back seat thinking that one of them had left a bag. It was an empty crisp packet. He liked the way the outline of her bra showed under her green top. She screwed the empty bag in her bony, elegant, heavily ringed, well manicured hands and gave it to Mr Saville through her side screen.
“Could I have a word Mrs Hook,” he asked through the same window, grabbing the door handle. Nancy opened the door and swayed out gracefully, without revealing a sight up her skirt, which he had aimed for. He wouldn’t have had a chance as the old lady was dressed for meetings in town, so her skirt was a gingham, mid calf length, cotton-blend, black and white, checked design under a green colour-block knit top. A long, yellow coat hung over the passenger seat back. He did catch a sight of high-shine metallic kitten heeled shoes and slender bare legs. Hmm, elegant and stylish he thought, oh well I’ll have some fun later.
“What was it? and I’m not Mrs Hook, that’s Barbara’s mother, I’m her grandmother,” she enquired firmly, sensing she needed to get away from this pervy man, plus she had to get parked in town.
Disgruntled at not getting a early morning ogle at the elderly stripper, James apologised, said he would speak to Mrs Hook another time and sauntered after the girls, thinking Nancy was too old and skinny for his taste.
The girl known as Barbed by some of her class colleagues, because her ignorant, brusque, short, blunt, unknowing responses to their generally inane remarks, sounded barbed. They were all boys except Janet. She ignored jibes and catcalls when Mr Saville called her out for special measures as an adjunct to the special needs. Janet felt peeved that she hadn’t been called dirty. James was eager to try Ralph’s work and needed an element of separation from the other noisy dumb class members. In the corridor he spoke to the dim, mild mannered, empty brained teenager.
“We think some exercise might be worth trying Barbara. Not the usual PE you do, this is a little special and made just for you,” he patronised her. She ignored him, she didn’t care and trotted alongside his big strides. They walked across a courtyard, Saville seeing Wel Cort to the far end of the once magnificent school, the ugly, part time gardener bending over some small shrubs and exposing a lots of sturdy bare thighs between her Wellington boots and the crease of her lower buttocks and a smidgeon of pale blue material between them. Her denim mini skirt was dirty with mud and soil. If he could get her to ... no first things first and was he interested in an American dyke? He shuddered at her sex life, as he understood it, thought about greeting her to get a look at her big tits, but he was really focused on the task in hand and apart from her magnificent chest, the back view was considerably better than her front.
In what he had created as a sort of sports hall and a conversion of half of a once huge kitchen into a shower area, Saville gave Barbara some simple exercises which were slightly yoga’ish but standing, having got her to remove her anorak, white, knee socks and clumpy shoes. The girl obeyed to the letter while consulted his Smart device. After fifteen minutes he told her stop and it would be best if she had a shower.
“But I had one this morning,” she told him blankly.
“Maybe Barbara but you’ve just made yourself a bit sweaty and it won’t be nice for your friends in the class for the rest of the day will it? In here look, you know where the showers are, but go the nearest one at the end, the others are faulty,” he ushered her to a set of swing doors which led to across a corridor to the showers. The daft pupil meekly followed him, shrugging. If that’s what Mr Saville says - OK.
“I didn’t know I was going to this, I haven’t a towel or anything and do I have to take all my clothes off?”
“Yes of course, silly it’s a shower and here is a swim cap and a fresh clean lovely fluffy towel for you – Mmmm,” he smiled at her, smelling but rubbing the blue towel on his face. He had prepared well.
.... There is more of this story ...