“Do I have to mummy?” whined Lyn Dedbeet. “ I like being like this.” “Oh do shut up Lyn and stop moaning. This is going to be momentous day for you and Gran is the best person, to show you how,” ratted Mandy Dedbeet, to her perennially naked 14 yr old daughter. “Besides daddy and I haven’t got time today, to teach you these things and after all that’s how we learned, you know from our parents.” “Yes but you and daddy are my parents so why do have to learn for an old woman like Gran?” persisted Lyn, flicking a crumb off her stout erect nipple. “Don’t let Gran hear you say that darling,” tittered Den Dedbeet, chewing a piece of toast and straightening his tie, thinking my step daughter is a stunner, what a catch for a bloke, if it wasn’t for her wayward manner. It’ll be a fucking miracle if I don’t shag her before long. “Gawd no, mummy would be furious and she’s not old she’s only 77,” giggled Mandy his fifty year old, twice divorced, CEO wife as they both made ready to leave the smart upmarket development in Wilmslow, Cheshire. “Look honey, try to put these on before she comes down for breakfast.”
A tiny pair of crisp white knickers and large tee shirt were tossed over the mock marble kitchen island, the crotch of the knickers landing in Lyn’s bowl of Weetabix. She dipped it further into the crumb decorated full fat milk before having a suck. She liked soft soggy cereal. Den shook his head, stooped and kissed Lyn on her cheek, gazing down, between her full, shapely and firm tits at the forest of blonde pubic hair spilling over her groin and draped over her stool. How he wished Mandy wouldn’t persist in waxing hers smooth. If I don’t bury my head in that bush before long ... he pondered. Lyn, stretched up an arm round his neck and dragged his head down and smooch kissed her father as if they were lovers until he managed to pull away and trot to the downstairs bathroom and swipe traces of her breakfast from his face.
Mandy shouted upstairs, that they were leaving for the international conference, reminding her that they would be staying overnight. Mandy was due to be the main keynote speaker on her companies range of toilet products. “Lyn is having her breakfast and don’t forget the list” were the last items to shout up the stairs. Sybil Taylor returned the call, while sat on her en-suite toilet and thought bugger the list. They left.
In their Mercedes C class saloon negotiating an arrogant young male driver in a silver Audi SUV who seemed to think he owned the tarmac while waiting outside a property, Den spoke. “Your mum hasn’t had the pleasure of Lyn totally like this for a whole day. Think she’ll be OK?” “Look Den, I’ve left mummy a list and if mummy can sort me out and four other army brats while daddy was roaming the world, not always with us in tow, Lyn is no problem” replied Mandy, agitated being distracted from her Smart phone issuing instructions, more like orders, to many of her staff. “Well the nice thing is that Sybil knows about art ... did you see that charcoal work Lyn did yesterday, it’s amazing.” Den chuckled shaking his head at the quality of their daughter’s artistic skills.
“Yes I did but like all her stuff, she won’t be able to exhibit ... I mean it’ll be censored...” “Not necessarily. Erotic figure work is one of the oldest subjects in painting ... look at that drawing I was given by your father, that Japanese bloke ... er can’t remember ... oh yeah Kiyonaga, it’s in my bathroom ... oh shit, look at the traffic ahead.” “Yes I know Den but it’s not exactly the sort of thing you could hang in the lounge is it and as for Lyn’s piece, yes it’s brilliant, but it’s her fanny with all that hair and a dildo stuck in. Not the sort of thing people are going to buy or even want to see is it?” “Oh I don’t know...” Den answered airily, I’d like to see ... the real thing, he thought to himself, gesticulating at an old man who hadn’t signalled at a roundabout, and nearly carved him up.
“Mummy does know about Lyn disappearing through the hedge for ages next door anyway.” “Good ... yes of course, Mrs Mackenzie is lovely with her, they seem to have a lot of fun, not that she says much about it, her or Lyn,” added Den. “She’s been disappearing as you put it ... er ... what? for about four years. Nice really.” Mandy shook her bottle blonde frizzy style hair in doubt, her black painted fingernails fluttering over her device. She glanced up. “At least we can be safe knowing that hole in the laurel hedge is the only way Lyn can escape, Mrs Mackenzie’s back garden is so secure with that horrid high fence she likes. She’s very private isn’t she, I rarely see her and that hound, hear it now and then. Yes well anyway, I happened to see her painting that monstrosity ... well drawing it the other day. She had a big mirror against the wall and was propped on her bed, legs wide apart and well ... you know...” Den could imagine the scene and wished he’s been there and eased the car down the slip road onto the M56.
“Mornin’ Lyn,” said Sybil brightly, entering the kitchen, to see Lyn attempting to wash up and managing quite well even though the tall naturally blonde girl had a courgette stuck up her bottom. “Morning,” nonchalantly answered Lyn, turning to stick her tongue out ... Sybil rolled her eyes, realising she was in for a tough day, but if a retired Royal Engineers Major couldn’t sort out her seriously troubled 14 year old grand daughter out no-one would. Suddenly Lyn, abandoned the washing up and strolled across the huge trendy designed kitchen, through the utility room and out into the garden. Sybil watched through the window as Lyn stood in the pouring rain, beside the mass of bird feeders on a pole, the courgette having been dislodged from her bum lying on the grass. The girl gathered some birdseed, Sybil wondering if she was going to eat it the way the girl fiddled and examined it, then held her hand out. Seconds later two Blue Tits and a Greenfinch were arguing on Lyn’s hand vying for the choicest nibbles. A Goldfinch landed, fed a little at it’s Nyger seed then waited.
The old lady was mesmerised with the amazing relationship between avians and humans, then even more so when Lyn stooped and retrieved the long green vegetable and reinserted it from where it had fallen, still balancing birds and seed in one hand. The rain shower deteriorated, soon a heavy downpour, Lyn not caring, she was doing her own thing as Sybil realised and keeping a careful eye outdoors, made and ate her breakfast. She scanned the list. Dressing, toilet, listening, writing, eating, undressing.
The girl again surprised Sybil. Absolutely soaked, stark naked, Lyn started to perform what her grand mother recognised as movements from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake ballet. They were graceful, poetic and active movement in such accurate detail and control, it was difficult to surmise that such a professional performance was being acted out on a drenched, albeit large and spacious lawn – with no music. “My she is good,” Sybil exclaimed to herself. Regardless of her ungainly figure – well, not corps de ballet figure, but with exquisite grace and composure Lyn floated around, her bare feet splashing up drops of water somehow adding to the bizarre beautiful scene. Sybil pondered whether to call her in, knowing that Lyn would stop and come indoors in her own time and it was best not to disturb her, such was her unpredictable manner. She recalled some of the tasteful yet erotic paintings, in the spare bedroom which Sybil had not chosen to use while visiting and how accomplished and complete they were, eight in charcoal, some in acrylics and then others in startling use of mixed media, including in one pieces a used condom and in another two tampons, one new, the other used. All Lyn’s work – which had to be removed if other guests used the room.
“All those specialists have been saying our girl will – will grow up to have an absolutely brilliant skill and expertise in a subject which is beyond many grown ups, the problem we have is which one to help further and find her a place in life,” Den said, parking the Merc. He got out and ran to the ticket machine, not bothering to find a non-existent umbrella. He returned to find Mandy, head down, still working on her device as she had the whole journey to the conference centre in the Marriott hotel. “We’re remarkably early, the valets’ll move the car into the hotel car park later, as they told us in the blurb, fucking weather,” he moaned, patting down his soaked tousled black hair. Mandy had hardly noticed they’d arrived and certainly hadn’t heard any of his words.
Before he’d a chance to get their briefcases from the boot of the car, Mandy had scuttled off to the entrance. Her haste was hindered due to her black mini pencil skirt and her attempts at holding the hem down as she scuttled, to prevent it riding up and showing the tops of her hold up dark tan stockings. She was also holding a discarded newspaper over her head, her six inch heels clacking noisily on the concrete. Another guest arriving, leered at her frantic dash, running the way women do as if they’ve still got a cock in their cunts and trying to keep it intact, knees together, lower legs flicking out to the sides. She dashed inside, checking that Den was bringing her bag as ordered, more or less straight into the waiting arms of Fabrice Bush, her black senior assistant waiting for the Dedbeet’s late arrival. Being a raging queer, he took no notice of Mandy’s startling cleavage, where her turquoise blouse had bloomed open in her frantic scramble to remain dry, but he did like her Miu Miu L’eau Bleue perfume very much.
.... There is more of this story ...