Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Polygamy/Polyamory, .
Desc: Drama Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The continuing story of Reginald and the plain-faced girls who he has effectively married, even if not legally possible. Life in a group marriage can be complicated.
Reginald, known as Reg to his friends, joined his new wives – for that was how they saw themselves - on a visit to the university’s Student Services counter. The plan was for the girls to get new student ID cards with the surname Robertson. That was the start of a paperwork nightmare. Asking for a replacement ID card with a new surname involved interrogation. Reason for surname change? “I have become Mrs Frances Robertson.” Marriage certificate, please? “I am not married.” Then why do you wish to be known as Mrs Robertson?
“Because Reg is now my husband.” So when did you marry him?
“It was not a wedding ceremony; it was a Commitment.” Commitment? SO you didn’t actually get legally married? “No, we went through a Commitment Ceremony.” What is a Commitment Ceremony?
“It is the equivalent of a marriage ceremony where marriage is not possible, but just as valid as far as we are concerned.” Why did you go through such a ceremony?
“Because the English legal system does not allow us to marry.” Why is that?
“Because there are four of us.” Four of you? Four of what?
“Four of us wives.” But that would be polygamy, and that is illegal.
“That is why we cannot get married, legally, and had to utilise a Commitment Ceremony.” But we cannot issue an ID card with the name Mrs Robertson without you getting married.
“That is circular reasoning,” Reg pointed out. “She just wants a new ID card recognising her new status as Mrs Robertson.” I am sorry, but using the title Mrs means you need a marriage certificate.
“We will be happy to do that, as soon as the legal system changes; meantime, let’s pre-empt the very slow legal process,” said Reg. Sorry, sir, but the only way of changing a name is either producing a marriage or civil partnership certificate; or a change of name document from the UK Deed Poll Service. That is what the rules say, and we have to abide by them. I am sorry.
“Deed Poll? The way some people change a name they don’t like; such as Bracegirdle, or Smellie?” Yes, sir.
“So, if she turns up with a Deed Poll document saying her name is now Mrs Frances Robertson, you could issue a student ID card with that name?” Um ... Um ... I suppose that is so, sir.
“Frances, we are at the wrong place. We need to get you girls to the Deed Poll service and change your names legally, then the little bureaucrats will be happy.”
“I agree, darling. Girls, time to leave. The university is bogged down in bureaucracy, so we have to use a different tack to get our new ID cards.” Reg asked Frances if he could use her computer to search the Deed Poll Service, and she said, “Leave it until we are home, dear, so we can all look over your shoulder, in case there are any points that need clarification.” She knew he was thinking of the financial implications, and she didn’t want him to panic. He agreed, so it was evening before they were ready. He soon discovered that the Deed Poll could include a change of title as well as change of surname, so they could get documentation exactly as they desired. However, the fee was thirty-three pounds per deed poll, a total of £132 for the four girls.
“Damn. I don’t have the cash to pay that.” Reg was annoyed. Frances shushed him. “Reg, we keep telling you, money is not the problem, except for you. We can pay these fees, no bother at all.”
“But Frances, I feel it is my responsibility, as your husband, to pay for such acknowledgment of your change of name and status. I can save it up over a period of a couple of months, I think, and pay you back.”
“Reginald Robertson, this is no longer Victorian England, where the husband was totally responsible for his wife. In fact, back then the husband had total control over his wife’s finances, so he could pay for such things out of her assets if he wanted. So, forget it, my man. We are a family, and will pay as a family for what we need.”
“Oh, yes, I now remember reading that. You are right, Frances. I apologise.” Erika added, “Just remember, darling, that as a family we act together as a unit. We have a responsibility to look after each other, and that includes sharing financial obligations. You do your bit by helping us academically, plus loving us to bits, and we do our bit financially. We may not be pretty girls, but we ARE solvent, luckily, through our parents. You were just unlucky in your choice of parents, dear heart. It is not a fault.”
“I accept that, Erika my darling. It doesn’t stop me being uncomfortable with the situation.”
“Reg, my love, we will keep kicking you every time you act stupid like that, until you behave the way you should behave, as the man we love and cherish.” Reg ceased worrying aloud, once he saw that mentioning it was going to get him into trouble. Returning to their classes the next day, each of them was faced with the question of surname.
“Frances, do we put you down now as Robertson?” the lecturer asked her. She hesitated, than said clearly, “Please put me down as Robertson, sir, although it will take some time before I get a new ID card with that surname. The university bureaucracy demanded a marriage certificate, when it was a commitment ceremony. We have found a solution, though.”
“That’s interesting. What is your solution?”
“We use the Deed Poll service, and get an official name change to Mrs Frances Robertson. It turns out that the university rules find that acceptable as proof of identity, so I will then be able to get an ID card in that identity.”
“Neatly done, young lady. I like it when students find clever solutions to problems; particularly bureaucratic hurdles. It encourages your brains to work more efficiently. I do hope it was your own solution, and not devised by your husband.”
“Actually, neither of us directly, sir. The Student Services guy admitted that the only documentation he could regard as a valid identity document for a changed ID card was a marriage certificate; civil marriage certificate, or deed poll certificate. That slip was what we jumped on, and we have applied for Deed Poll Certificates for us girls. If we have to go by the rules, then we make use of the rules to give us what we want. They should be with us in a few days, then we can get new ID cards. I am assuming we don’t have to wait for that formality before using my new name, as Mrs Frances Robertson?” Her lecturer smiled encouragingly. “I think we can work with that, Frances. Now, if we can move on with the class attendance, so we can get to the lecture...” The other three ladies had similar discussions with their lecturers, none of whom had an issue with the change. This was expected, as universities expect their students to be independent, self-directed, and not mollycoddled. Reginald had no need for a change, but his social cachet had suddenly increased somewhat. Other students were astounded at his ‘marriage’ to four other students, but just as much astounded that he had gone for girls who were not at all pretty faces, and the best looker – if you could call her that - was a very tall and thin girl who would not normally get far in the romance stakes at university. Some less friendly students took it as him getting his jollies wherever he could find them, and assumed that he had been forced into this unlikely liaison in order to get sex at all. Anyone who suggested this to his face was just laughed at. It didn’t bother Reg, if some idiot didn’t understand. Reginald knew what he was doing, and was happy with it. He had no qualms about the wives he now had. It was amazing what his new-found self-confidence did for him. He and they had a long discussion about what to do if any of their parents invited Reginald to visit. Should all of them go along, or just the daughter of the parents, and Reg? They all had been present at the Commitment Ceremony, so they knew the family was Reg and the four girls. There were pluses and minus for both choices as regards visits, but the consensus they arrived at was that the parents should be consulted as to which was more suited to the situation that might arise on a visit. Some might be uncomfortable with Reg’s other wives being present, especially if they had organised a dinner party or other social event. Simply having their daughter and her husband would be more appropriate in such cases. At other times, they might all be welcome for a family get-together, at which their daughter could help them get to know her sister-wives, and be happy for them all as a family group, in the family home. A week or two after their commitment ceremony, a news reporter turned up at the university press office, asking to speak with Reginald Robertson. The staff of the press office were aware of Reg and his activities, and explained that an interview with a student was not normal procedure, unless requested by the student to promote his work. Had the reporter been asked to visit?
“Well, not exactly. Someone contacted the editor with a news tip, and I am here to speak to Mr Robertson as a result of that. I just go where I am told, you know.”
“We understand. We also understand that you must have been given some rationale for being here. What have you been told to ask him?”
“I have been advised that he is an interesting chap, and he might make a good story.” The press office staffer laughed at this. “You are good at circumlocution, aren’t you? EVERYONE is interesting, in one way or another. Instead of offering obfuscation, why don’t you tell us what you REALLY want to know, and we can advise on what is possible?”
“You guys don’t make things easy, do you?”
“It is our job to make things easy for you sometimes, but only when the university wants publicity, News opportunities in the opposite direction has limitations, I am afraid. Spill it.”
“Okay. We understand he has four wives, but is not a Muslim or a Mormon.”
“That may or may not be the case, but is a personal question, not a university matter, if it does not impinge on his studies. I can tell you that he is not married to four women. There is no record of him marrying anyone. Does that help?”
“Hmm. What was it you said about obfuscation?”
“I merely stated the facts. It is not our position to expand on them, unless it is a university matter.”
“I see. Is it a university matter if a wedding ceremony takes place on university property?”
“Of course, but I do not recall any recent wedding ceremony taking place here, that involved Mr. Robertson. We often have weddings in the chapel for our alumni who desire it.”
“Carefully worded, I note. How about a wedding ceremony in another university property?”
“Again, no wedding ceremony such as you describe at all.”
“You must be a good chess-player. You certainly are adept at verbal fencing, avoiding meaningful answers, just like a politician. How about, ANY ceremony?”
“Well, naturally there are ceremonies. Every official award of degrees is a ceremony; and there are other ceremonies involving senior academics, such as retirals, and so on.”
“I can see I am not getting anywhere with you. Is there any circumstance in which I can speak with Mr Robertson?”
“There is. If you approach him on the public street – outwith the university grounds – he may or may not be willing to talk with you. I don’t know if he has a Facebook page or uses Twitter, but I suspect not. Neither does he have email, apart from the facility to use the university’s email facilities if he so desires, but he does not have an email addy, as far as I am aware.”
“Does he have a mobile phone, at least?”
“On that, I am unaware of the answer, but as according to our records he is on a limited budget, he may not have a mobile either. Life can be a bum, sometimes, can’t it?”
“According to our records, eh? That tells me that you have briefed yourself in advance. So there is something to the story, after all?”
“Stop clutching at straws, dear fellow. You know where the door is.” Giving up for the present, the reporter went back to his office to report stonewalling by the university. He told his news editor, “There is something there, but they are not telling.” The editor tapped his pencil on his teeth as he thought. “Tell you what, Simpkins: other students may be willing to talk. Take a trip back there and wander around, asking other students about Reginald Robertson. See what they have to say about him. Don’t put leading questions, just say you wanted to chat to him and where might he be found? Students usually like to talk; after all, it was our Chairman’s son that suggested this story. He may have got some details wrong, but there is a story to be found, I agree.” Much later, Simpkins was back on the university grounds, ambling along the paths to see which students looked like they might like to talk. One was gesticulating to his friends, then shrugged his shoulders and turned away from them. Simpkins angled overt to intercept him.
“Hi. Looks like you were getting nowhere with your friends.”
“Yeah. So what’s it to you?” He grimaced at the stranger.
“Nothing. I just like knowing what is going on.”
“None of them has any weed, or at least, none that they are admitting to. Have you got any? I can pay for it.”
“Sorry. I never thought to bring some. I was just looking for Reginald Robertson.”
“Oh? Lonesome Reg? But he is not lonesome now, having his own harem around him.”
“Harem? I was told he had married them?”
“Effectively, yes, but not literally. That guy has his head screwed on right: goes from a loner to having four birds, in just a few weeks.”
“Good grief! That sounds weird. How did he manage it?”
“You new here, mate? It was all around the common rooms.”
“Yeah. I just arrived. My family moved here, so I switched my degree to here, so I can still get the benefits of living at home.”
“Neat, if you can get it. I got in here as I didn’t want to live at home any more. You must like your parents.”
“Not particularly, but they are financing my degree course, so needs must...”
“I suppose. I had an inheritance from my grandfather, so that helped me out.”
“So, about Reginald Robertson?”
“Oh, yes. You hadn’t heard about him and the ugly ducklings.”
“Ugly ducklings? How do you mean?”
“He was always alone – no girl friend, and no indications that he had ever had one. He obviously didn’t know what to do with girls. In fact, he didn’t seem to have ANY of the social graces you need to get a girl, so it was quite a surprise when he started going around with Frances LeBrun. Mind you, she was no great catch either; the first of the ugly ducklings.”
“There you go again; Ugly Ducklings. You haven’t explained the term yet.”
“No great surprise. They are girls with very plain faces. Very ordinary. Not one of them could be called pretty; mediocre is about the best you could say. I suppose it was a case of like attracting like.” So this loner with no social graces takes up with this unattractive girl: have I got it right?”
“Yeah. It took a while before the rationale became clear. He was a swot, and was doing well in all his classes, and she wanted him as a tutor. Made sense, in a somewhat perverse way. It was the first time he showed interest in any other student here. The guy had no transport, lived hand to mouth in university digs, so must be on a grant-aided scholarship, poor bugger. You could tell that by his cheap clothes; his best clothes came from a charity shop, I am sure.”
“So what did he get out of it? Was she paying him for tutoring her? There must have been something happening, surely?”
“That was what everyone assumed, but it turned out to be tit for tat. It seems she was tutoring him in turn, on how to behave in society. I am pretty sure he comes from a lower class background – the clothes tell you that, and his voice when he deigns to speak; but he was a real numpty when it came to dealing with people. I suspect that he spent his childhood either studying or at home, a sort of male Cinderella. How he managed to get through school beats me. He certainly wasn’t privately educated; they would have hammered some social graces into him.”
“I get you. No understanding of social interaction at all?”
“Pretty well. LeBrun took him under her wing, and started teaching him about people to people things, while he tutored her in academic matters. That’s what we think, anyway; they didn’t talk about it in public. Before long, another couple of uglies – wait, I shouldn’t call them that. Let’s say, plain Janes. Yeah, another two plain Janes joined them, and I think they worked with him on the same basis. Certainly, from what I heard, the girls all improved their grading, and Reginald started to become less introverted, and would even say ‘hello’ to people at times.”
“It all sounds quite innocent,” remarked Simpkins.
“I agree, and that’s what we all thought, but ... damn. Look at the time. Sorry, pal, I have a class to rush to, or I’ll miss the start, and I need the credits. See you.” He rushed off, leaving Simpkins with part of a story, and not even a story, as far as his editor was concerned. He knew that much. He would have to find someone else to pump. He found the paths emptying of students, as they all hurried to their next classes. Simpkins wondered where he could get more details. Just then, he spotted a staff member ambling along. She was a woman with a clerical collar, so if she was in no hurry, she was not giving a theological lecture. He caught up with her, and touched her arm. She stopped and turned to look at him questioningly.
“Ma’am? Or rather, Reverend?” he asked.
“Reverend is fine, young man; Reverend Mortimer. Do you have a question or a problem I could perhaps help with?”
“Perhaps. It is delicate, you see...”
“Most questions are, especially theological ones, and even interpersonal ones. Which is it?”
“It is to do with people, Reverend. A student named Reginald Robertson.”
“Ah, that one? Interesting chap. Brilliant mind, but comes from a poor background. He has surprised me.”
“Pardon? I am not clear, Reverend. I just recently transferred to this university, and someone talked about Reginald Robertson as an unusual character. I wondered if you knew him in some way.”
“Unusual character? Yes, that would describe him. Amazingly empathic for a recluse. How he and these girls got together was really quite surprising.”
“Girls? I heard mention of a Frances LeBrun, but that was all.”
“Well, there is also Freda, and Erika, and finally Prudence. That was a wonderful ceremony, I must admit.”
“Ceremony? I am sorry, Reverend, if I seem foolish. I just have no background to relate all this to. I apologise.”
“No need to apologise, young man. It should be a lesson on how to regard people as people, regardless of how they look. Reg treated them as equals, and they reciprocated, to the benefit of all of them. Somehow or other, they managed to fall in love, and that was that.”
“Fall in love? Here I go again, Reverend. So this self-help group turned into a love-fest?” She laughed at his assumption. “Not what you are thinking, my boy. You young men always assume the worst of everyone. Reginald was and is different from most young men. He had not learned to view girls as being of second-rate status to boys. If anything, I think the situation was the reverse of what passes for normal these days. Whatever happened, itt was very gentle, and from what I gather, the girls took him over and protected him till he could fend for himself. At least one bully got his comeuppance from one of Reg’s girls.”
“That must have been exciting.”
“No doubt. I wasn’t involved, so I can’t tell you more. The end of it all was that all four girls sort of adopted him as their man. I am of the opinion that none of them had had a boyfriend before, and they were smitten by this lonesome boy, ignorant of girls, who saw them as wonderful friends. It became more serious, I am told, and they decided they wanted to live together at Frances’ house.”
“Live together, as a group? Having sex?”
“Pardon? I don’t think I or you should be talking about that, young man. What course are you on, anyway?”
“Ah ... Media Studies, ma’am; or rather, Media, Culture and Society. I was thinking that a story about Reginald might be of interest for the student publications.” She frowned. “I would seriously advise you not to take anything personal to the editor of either the newspaper or the magazine. Your professor can give you direction on that aspect, but I expect that he will not wish a story to appear about a fellow student. It would be bad form as well as probably contravening one or more of the privacy laws. I presume you are already ‘au fait’ with the basic requirements of such laws?”
“Yes, ma’am, Reverend. The Data Protection Act, and the European Convention on Human Rights. I was of the opinion that if the names were changed to protect the individual, the story could still run?”
“In many cases, that may be true, but if the circumstances of the story were unique, that would make identifying the persons very simple, and then you would run foul of the judiciary. I strongly advise you to consult your professor before going any further. For that reason, I cannot offer any further information for your story.”
“Yes, Reverend, I understand, and I shall do that. Thank you for your valuable time.” He retreated, realising that he would get no more from her. He was left to ponder what had happened with Reginald and the four girls. He decided to get back to his desk and draft out a story line, to see where he should go next with it. Back at the university, Reverend Mortimer was thinking about her encounter with the media student. He had seemed rather old for a student; pity she had not asked his name. Instead, she rang the head of the Media Studies department and asked a question.
“Do you have a male student, about five foot ten, brown mousy hair, wears a suit, comes over as a bit eager, doing Media, Culture and Society? Would have been been in the grounds about ten minutes ago?”
“Ten minutes ago? Not if he was attentive to his studies. He should have been in class, getting a lecture on television presenting techniques. The description doesn’t ring a bell with me.”
“He said he was new here, and was doing a piece on Reginald Robertson.”
“Oh, yes, the guy with the girls. No-one would be asked to do a piece on another student, and doing a piece on him would be skating close to the edge of propriety, as you would appreciate, Reverend Mortimer. Anyway, I am unaware of any new students in my department in the last couple of weeks.”
“Thank you, Professor. You have confirmed my suspicions. I shall intrude no more. Farewell.” Reverend Mortimer had a bad feeling. Being quizzed by a man who must have been a non-student, and about one of the currently more noticeable students, did not bode well. Reginald Robertson should know about this. She phoned Frances, and asked if Reginald was with her in class? She said he was, and passed the phone to him: “For you.” He whispered into the borrowed phone, to wait while he stepped out of the lecture room. Once out in the hallway, he replied, “Sorry about that. In a lecture. What is it that can’t wait?”
“This is the Reverend Mortimer, Mr Robertson. I was accosted by a supposed student, asking about you. It seems that he is not a student as he purported to be, so I am concerned that he might be from the press. I wanted to warn you, so you are prepared for anything that comes of it. I can assure you I did not volunteer much information about you and your associates, but others might have spoken more freely.” Reg felt his stomach muscles tighten with an irrational fear. He needed to speak to his wives about this, sharpish. He pressed the icon on his phone for a call to all four. As soon as they responded, he said quietly, “Alarm. Meet at the end of the lecture period. Make our rendezvous the media centre, please. This is important.” They all said yes, and rang off. As planned, they all congregated at the media centre, where Reg told them, “Someone has been asking about us, and it appears to be an outside media person. We must see if we can do something about it. We are not a circus act for the media.” At their immediate urging, he entered the media centre to speak with the duty staff.
“I am Reginald Robertson. Some guy has been asking about me, and we suspect he is from the press. Do you know anything about it?”
“Robertson? Oh, yes. We had a reporter here yesterday asking about you, but we sent him on his way with a flea in his ear. We don’t give out private information about students, full stop.”
“Thanks. He appears to have come back and has been asking people walking in the grounds. Do you know where he comes from?”
“Local paper, according to Fred – he’s the one that spoke with him. Fred knows most of the local reporters but didn’t know this guy. Fred was fairly certain he is from the local rag.”
“Thanks. Do you have any way of pressuring the editor, to stop them publishing a story about me and my girls?”
“Sorry. We have no way of doing that, short of a legal injunction, and that is not up our street. I hate to say it, but we can’t do anything to stop them, if they get the bit between their teeth.”
“Okay, thanks anyway.” Reg turned and left, meeting the girls outside.
“Sorry, girls, they say he would be a reporter from the local rag, but they have no way of stopping them from publishing, short of a legal injunction – which they don’t do.” Freda jumped in. “Daddy might be able to help, Reg. Do you mind if I ring him?”
“If he can do anything, great. I am at a loss, myself. This is an area I don’t know much about.”
“Leave it with me, darling,” Freda assured him. “Daddy knows all about the law and things like legal injunctions.” She got on the phone immediately, and spoke with her father’s secretary. “Jenny, do you think Daddy could run up an injunction to stop the press publishing a story about me and Reg and the other girls? We don’t want to become a media sensation.”
“I’ll do what I can, Miss Dangerfield. Oh, sorry, Mrs Robertson. Congrats on that, by the way. I’ll get your Dad onto that as soon as he is free. What details do you know?”
“Some reporter from the local newspaper was at the university, seeking information about Reg, and about us. This was yesterday and today, and it is a weekly paper, so if Daddy is quick, I think an injunction might be possible. Tell Daddy I love him immensely, and trust him to do what he can for us.”
“I’ll do that, Freda.” Freda concluded her call, and said to Reg, “Well, that gets that process started. Whether Daddy can get something for us before they publish, only time will tell.” Reg told her, “You are a darling, Freda. You girls always do what you can to protect me, and us. I really appreciate it.” He gave her a delicate but loving kiss, and the others asked for the same, so as not to be left out.