Thinking back on it now, I guess it was because I was pissed off with Jeff that I let it happen. We'd argued that morning. I can't even remember what about. He wasn't my favourite person right then.
"Bedrooms upstairs," the assistant estate agent said – the older of the two, clearly the junior of the team. Dick Glover, of Glover and Glover Real Estate Agents, looked the part: sharp creases, white teeth, lot of bowing, sparkling eyes. His assistant, Ted Frith, was older and heavier ... and duller ... and a little less trim around the waist. His shave in the morning showed less zeal the Dick Glover's.
"Up there?" I asked, my eyes on Jeff and Glover, heading off towards 'the conservator', somewhere round the back.
"Yeh, ' said Glover, taking an interest in my hips.
I made my way up the stairs. I was wearing a short pleated shirt, white blouse, black heals. My legs would catch his interest when I mounted the stairs, I knew. But that was Okay. My legs were okay. So was by butt. He wasn't far behind me. Just far enough to have a good look. White Sluggies underneath – had he caught a glimpse of these? But really, feeling the way I was about Jeff, I couldn't care less. Let the sluggish Ted have his eyeful. I reached the top of the stairs: small hall. I poked my nose into the first room I came to: big bed, big window. 'Master bedroom, ' said a voice at my ear. He was close behind. His hip against my butt. I stayed where I was. He started telling me about the appointments in the room, all the while easing closer still. I listened to his spiel but heard not a word. Within five or six hesitant sentences his body was moulded to the back of mine. I think he liked it. His hand brushed my hip. I let it. It wandered round the back. I let it do that too, and then it cupped my buttocks. Enough ... I shrugged him off and walked into the room.
The bed was an ancient four poster. I stroked the old stained wood. It was lightly carved and smelled of ... mahogany. Is that what that was? (What did mahogany smell like?)
I could kill Jeff. When he was like he'd been this morning, I could happily kill the klutz.
'Bed of a famous courtesan, ' said Ted Frith, surprising me a little. Surprising me, because he was back against me again. Surprising me too, that he knew what a courtesan was. He didn't look the type who read past the racing results, certainly not all the way back to the days of courtesans. His left hand covered mine on the bedpost. 'Where she had her conquests, ' he added, showing he knew what a courtesan was while at the same time he cupped my buttocks. A second time this afternoon. I let it be. He was feeling the shape of my butt ... and being felt there, like that, even if only to establish the shape, was not an unpleasant experience. My way of getting back at Jeff! Especially a stranger. Even if a stout one. Not really knowing each other from Adam, or Eve, added an element I liked. There was an urge to move.
Not away, just move.
But I didn't.
'Great lover, she was, ' he said, as the hand on my hand gently stoked me.
'What was her name?' I asked, for something to say.
'Gwendeline, ' he retorted, quickly, gruffly, moving his fingers gently around the lower curve of my buttocks. I am young, and work out. I have a good butt. He seemed to approve. His fingers softly squeezed. I didn't react. 'Because she was so tight, ' said Sid. I hadn't a clue what he meant. 'And her tits were so full and round, ' he added, in little more than a whisper. This was absurd! One of his hands was stroking my hand, the other my bottom, and I was standing here talking allowing him to prattle on about Gwendeline's 'tits'. Absurd!
But I didn't move away.
The hand at my bottom was wandering down the back of my leg. It returned with the hem of my skirt, but still I didn't respond. 'Liked to he felt, ' he whispered, ill-kempt moustache tickling the lobe of my ear. My hair is cut short, like a boy's, so access is easily made. The hand slipped beneath my skirt and started to feel the back of my legs. I didn't object. I thought of Jeff, and what an asshole he could be. We'd only been married eight months but he could be such an asshole at times. 'Do you like to be touched?' the voice in my ear asked. Such impertinence! 'Do you?' he persisted. Then he kissed my ear. My head angled left as if to make it easier. Then his hand left mine around the bedpost, went to my legs, gripped the hem of my short suit skirt, and lifted it up to my waist.
It was skilfully done.
His hands were feeling my white cotton sluggies.
'Mr Frith, ' I started, about to put him down. Me with my hem around my waist, was about to put him down? I don't do very well. Teach Jeff right, of course, I think – though why I am none too sure.
I have a thick tongue in my ear. 'What is it, pet, ' he asks. Meaning me I suppose, his pet. His hands are between my legs. Fondling my sluggies. Making me hot. Moist? I try to turn. He stops me. 'Like to be touched?' It didn't sound much like a question. His fingertips have met between my legs – which, I note, I've parted. Ten digits hard at work. Me, bearing down. 'Mr Frith, ' I try again, but my eyes have closed. God, but these fingers are invasive! The fingers of a stranger, where only my husbands should be. Perhaps this isn't an awfully good idea, I decide, eyes closed, both hands around the bedpost.
'I think, ' I start. He was opening the buttons of my blouse. 'Mr Frith, ' I sought to catch his attention but it seemed, as a broad hand ducked inside my blouse and closed none too gently round my breast, that he had other things on his mind. I have my head angled backwards and his thick lips are over mine. This has gone too far. His tongue, deep in my mouth, tastes of a tobacco I don't know at all. My arms stretch over my head and encircle a thick male neck. By bra is pushed out the way and a thick man's hand has one of my breasts in its hot sweaty grasp. My mouth wide open my neck stretched back.
'I think... ' I said, my hands going for his, one on my boob and the other between my legs. Busy hands they were too! ' ... that we'd better leave it there, I think, ' I gasped, and managed to pull off his hands. I twisted myself round the bed post. Left him watching. Stretched. Looked at my blouse.
Damn it, he'd ripped off a button.
'I think you like it, sweetheart, ' he said, hand at his crotch.
I ignored him, went to the window. Looked out.
'You know you like it, ' I heard him say, shuffling after me, and then I could feel him behind me again. But I'd had enough of the guy. I turned around and faced him. He was starting to piss me off.
'I said enough, cowboy, ' I said, as I caught his broad hands and turned them away. But his open mouth hit my neck just below my chin, and he started slavering over my neck.
Jesus. This was a pain.
'Enough, ' I hissed at the slug. His hands were back around my butt, then pulling up my skirt, in amongst my stocking tops, trying to pry my legs apart. 'Enough!' I said, more loudly this time, just as I heard Jeff's voice from downstairs.
'How are you doing up there?' called Jeff.
'Just fine, ' I called back, trying to sound up-beat. Trying to push this great bear offa me. His hands were clutching my buttocks, his knee being forced between mine.
'Is it big enough for us?' called Jeff.
'Yeh, ' I called back, as the big guy's thigh parted my knees and headed north, and my pelvis spread to receive it. I closed my eyes as my thighs eased apart and I found myself bearing down hard. There is something about pressure, there, between my legs. Broad unasked for pressure. Hard and fat between my legs. It was the reason I once rode a horse. Later a motor bike. I just love the ... pressure.
'I'm coming up, ' called Jeff.
Which opened my eyes in a hurry. Lover boy had moved his lips to my breasts and I was pushing a nipple in his mouth. 'Give us a second, sweetie pie, ' I shouted, growing alarmed. This lug head was making me hot!
'On our way down, ' the lug head called out, lifting his mouth off my nipple, then taking it back in his mouth and forcing me wantonly to push the whole breast in his face. This wasn't going well.
Worse still, it was becoming arousing.
I thought I heard my husband on the stairs, then he called, 'We're going to take a look in the garden.'
'Fine, ' I called, as fingers found entry to a leg band of my knickers.
"Look out the window, you'll see us round the back," called Glover, the boss, as his underling's fingers found what I'd been hoping they might not, a rather aroused little pussy in the sluggies he'd so cavalierly entered.
'Enough, ' I tried to say. He merely laughed, rolled my nipple round his tongue, then licked me from there, over my breast, upper chest, neck and over chin ... to find my mouth, open and gasping, awaiting his pleasure. French kissing is something my husband doesn't do much. Ted Frith, however, did. And rather well, I found, as I squirmed against his heavy frame, one leg coiled around his thick calf, his tongue well into my mouth, my own slithering hotly up and down it. Then, disconcertingly, I noticed a peripheral view of my husband coming round the corner of the house into our field of view – and we, I suppose, into his, out the window that my shoulder was against. The dapper Dick Glover came after him, pointing to a hedge along the back. Which is when it struck me, here I was not twenty feet above them, with the least attractive of the three currently causing me problems of a sort I didn't usually get myself into. And if they care to glance up at us, they will see what I mean.
.... There is more of this story ...