Chapter 15

In the USA again, the final term of my first year. First a visit to Aunt Jean – no spray this time. She hugged me and smiled “Bless you my love, I hope you don’t mind but I’m to be married to Mr Ankepol, here.” A tall black man walked out of her bedroom. It was clear that he hadn’t just been fixing the radiator.

“Young man. Walk with me.” His large hand rested on my shoulder, I didn’t think it was a request. “Now then, Jean had told me all.” ‘All?’ I thought, ‘oh Hell!’ “Yes, she told me how you were kind enough to kiss her and make her feel she was an attractive woman once more.” ‘Is that all she said?’ I wondered with relief. “For that I am very grateful. For I know I could never have persuaded her. She is a singular woman, a singular woman.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “And as for fucking her, well, I guess that was just some odd peculiarity you Brits have. I understand incest is quite common in the UK.” He smiled, I said nothing. I suspect he still didn’t know the depth of the perversions that had brought Aunty Jean to be an absolute whore in bed (and out), I’d leave it to her what she told him; he clearly wasn’t objecting. Carl was not big like Jean, he was tall; and I understood from Aunt Jean that he fulfilled the stereotype of black men in the penile department (“He’s built like a horse!” was what she said, she could have meant that he was tall and muscular, I didn’t ask questions). She was happy, I was happy for her.

I told her how I was edging to be a one woman man anyway and she smiled at me “Good, you are very special, but you’ll make a mistake and then you’ll ruin your life. I know you, if you got a girl pregnant, you’d marry her.” Which was true, I’m a bit old-fashioned I suppose.

I was, as I say, edging towards being a one woman man. I was moving that way, but Angela told me she was pleased to hear that, but she was also sure I’d need ‘relief’ until she came over. She told me I just needed to be careful. How could you not love a girl who insists you find alternative sex when she was not around?

“Have you heard the news?” I was greeted by Stephanie. She was happier to work with me now that Min no longer had a down on me. “Min won’t be here for a while, she was arrested” she said the last part very quietly, like saying the word might make the world collapse or something. In one sense it did, I knew immediately this was somehow related to her secret.

“Why?”

“She knifed her father.”

“Step-father.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Just do. Any more details?” She shook her head, the details were still vague and grey to people. “I have something I have to do.” I left, tracked down JJaney “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know, I’m going up to see her tonight.”

“Can I come?” she nodded, I think she was grateful to share the journey with someone who knew the secrets.

It took five hours to drive in Jjaney’s clapped out Yugo. I didn’t say anything derogatory, she had rung ahead to Min’s, her mother had insisted she stay there. When I turned up too, I could see this posed a dilemma to her. The house was huge, white clapper board, plenty of rooms, but she had not prepared a second guest bedroom. Min’s mother was well-bred, she liked to have everything exactly right. I was about to say I could check in at the local motel when JJaney just said “He can share with me, we are very good friends.” Which was stretching the truth, obviously, but I had seen every inch of her bared body, so there was nothing to object to. Min’s mother – Abigail, looked doubtful, but she had other things to think about. Her husband was in intensive care, her daughter was in prison.

We talked “So, what happened?” JJaney asked

“I don’t know, I was out. Oh I blame myself” Abigail started, I blamed her too. “I should have protected her better. I knew he was too personal with her, but I really didn’t think ... I mean you don’t ... he is a bully. I ... he hits me. Oh, why am I telling you? You both blame me, of course you do. You’re right. I ... what should I do?”

“Did you know he was having sex with her?” I asked, maybe a little abruptly, but it was the elephant in the room.

“I swear I did not. No, I’ll be honest. I challenged him about that and he laughed and said of course he would never do that and I wanted to believe him, so I did believe him. How could I be so stupid? Why didn’t I kill him? I hope...” I’m sure she was about to say she hoped he died, but she burst into sobs instead. She had been trying to preserve the appearance of a normal happy family for so long. People thought he was a good all round guy; friendly, good company, helpful. Only at home he was different. She had let him do whatever he wanted, hoping that protected her daughter. She had lost her second child after some very rough sex when she was pregnant. Once again, I started to face the truth about male sexual fantasy. I could have as much sex with as many girls as I liked, but there were men out there who did that without the pheromone that turned a woman on.

I rang Angela and told her what had happened. “Good, sounds like the sleaze got what he deserved, she should have done it to her mother too.” I found myself defending Abigail, she was a victim too. The only person who was not a victim was the ‘victim’ in hospital. I said I thought I was at fault too for doing the same thing in a different way. “No! No! You are not! Whenever you ‘do that thing’ they enjoy it, it is liberating. Admittedly if the whole world was liberated all the time then it could get messy and even more over-populated, but you are not at fault. Promise me you won’t become a celibate monk. Promise!”

I promised. Anyway, I had a horrible feeling monk celibacy might not always extend to leaving young monks alone.

The trial would be difficult. Min was refusing to say what he had done.

Angela’s arrival could have cramped my style, but I was growing up. I was starting to learn that quality, not quantity, mattered. Based on the description in this story already, you’ll be concluding that I was getting both, which is true to some extent. But it all tended to be a sprint rather than a long distance race. The spray wore off, the girls or women had enjoyed themselves (almost always) and so had I, but then it was back to normal.

I was also discovering that being in love was making me want to spend whole weekends with one girl rather than several hours with one female willing to do whatever I wanted. Ang got used to the idea that Aunty Jean’s friends enjoyed my company – she had realised why very early and, though initially she thought it either perverted or perverse or just plain weird, she came to understand that I was offering some of them the occasional pleasure that they had lost from their home life. Several confessed that it buoyed up their home life too. Once you’ve willingly, happily, bent over naked for a boy barely the age of your grand children (or children) and found yourself forced to orgasm not once or twice but even three times in one session; once you’ve discovered the depths of the depravity you actually enjoy when all the mores and controls of society have been removed; well then the willingness to kneel and take your old husband’s floppy dick into your mouth to encourage it to make one last stand (one woman called her husband’s penis ‘Custer’) just seemed normal. To the man involved it was a new lease of sex-life so he never complained. The women often told me how they insisted the men did the same messy stuff to being them to orgasm too. One man was amazed and delighted that his ‘sexy doll’ was such a ‘slutty Barbie’ (she was delighted with the terms, so that’s okay – I wonder if Slutty Barbie would sell?)

She met the occasional student who I had bedded for recreation too. They often told her how lucky she was, which was good for my ego.

Then we met Fiona Trimble. Fiona was the perfect 10 in so many ways. I had to make really sure Angela didn’t think my head was turned by her long (waist length) blonde hair, her 36-24-36 perfect figure, her rosy cheeks and lips, her way of dressing conservatively but oh, so sexily. I have a high IQ, I’m used to being the most intelligent in the room (unless Jerry was visiting); that isn’t pride or showing off, it just happens to be true. I hope I wear it lightly. Fiona gave me a run for my money, but I never felt threatened. She was better educated than I, she knew long sections of Shakespeare and Robert Frost (and Tom Wolfe, Thomas Paine, Turgenev and Tolstoy) and she could explain string theory! But, unlike me (I hope), she made sure people knew she was superior in every way. She also came from an old family. Her mother was a member of the Daughters of the Sisters of the Republican Party – The original Sisters had been too liberal so the Daughters had broken away to form their own group. Her father – to balance things out – was on the New Hampshire for Kennedy campaign. I never bothered to find out which Kennedy, but you get the picture. They were rich, clever, good looking, and insufferable. Not just because of everything I’ve just told you, there were other things too. Like the maid from some Latin American country who would carry the shopping and be treated like shit. Like ... oh I don’t know, everything. Some people just have everything and think people that don’t are failures (rather than unlucky not to have been born with looks, brains, and money).

One weekend when I was visiting Angela, we went to a talk on Pre-Renaissance Paintings in Venice by a friend of the Trimbles Or something like it. I found myself dosing off. I woke to hear Angela being put down after asking a question “Well, if the young lady who asked that question had ever been to Venice, she would have known the irrelevance of the observation. Isn’t that so Professor?” Mrs Trimble was saying. Angela went bright red and said nothing.

I tried to cheer her up; shows I still had a lot to learn about women. She appeared to be perfectly back to normal, next day we saw the two Trimbles – mother and daughter – and Angela waved. They ignored her. “Fucking bitches!” she said quietly.

“Maybe they didn’t see you.” I said, hopefully.

She gave me a withering look and I suggested ice-cream, or cakes, or a trip to the cinema. We went to see the latest Fast and Furious – I don’t know why, they are all crap, but it was the best of a bad set of new releases. So if F&F was the best, think what stinkers the others were. “Umm, you know that thing you do?” Angela whispered. “How about cheering Mrs Trimble up?”

I looked at her. “You mean ... no, no, sex should not be weaponised; trust me, I know.”

“I know you know. I’ll give you the best fucking blowjob in the world, ever? You won’t have to do ask for it, or do anything. I’ll just do it.”

“No, no. You know I said I wouldn’t anymore.”

As we left, a really rather good looking guy in front waited until his girlfriend was out of earshot. “Whatever it is he’s refusing to do; I’ll do it if the offer is open?” Angela smiled at him like she might take him up on it. Luckily his girl called him and he ran back like a trained puppy.

“You wouldn’t? Anyway, he couldn’t do what I can.”

“I know, but still...” And it was left like that.

Call it serendipity, or chance, or luck or whatever. The next day we saw Fiona Trimble again. She of the ultra-tight skirt and no panty-line. She of the sexy walk and the mouth just waiting to open wide. She ignored us, got into her car (surely the Porsche was Daddy’s, not hers?) and drove round the mall car park and out; but not before splashing through a puddle made by the previous night’s downpour. It wasn’t deliberate, that’s what made it worse. I’m sure it was accidental, she just didn’t think of avoiding the puddle so as not to splash the muddy water over pedestrians – us in this case. If it had been deliberate I might have laughed and called her names; but the fact that we were beneath her consideration ... well that annoyed.

“Is that request still open?” I asked.

“What? Oh ... ohh. You mean?”

“Both of them. Come on, let’s go and get changed.” My white jeans and teeshirt had mud splatter like a murder on TV has blood splatter. I had promised Jerry that I would never misuse my chemically induced superpower. I persuaded myself that I was just about sticking to that promise. A small wrong to make large wrong better. It had to be at the right time, and the right place. Angela insisted that she had to be there too, but that she shouldn’t be as misused as the Trimbles.

Who said revenge is a dish best served cold? I have no idea, and I could look it up but I can’t be bothered. Anyway, they were only partially right. Revenge is best carefully considered, thought through, planned and executed to the right detail. I wasn’t thinking I wanted to have Mrs Trimble caught naked in a public park fucking a labrador whilst sucking off a tramp ... okay, okay, I DID think that, but I’m not a completely heartless bastard. She’d end up in a mental asylum after that, I’m sure.

But we could show the stuck up, superior family that they were just as animalistic as the rest of us, just as much basically sex organs on legs. I did have occasional fears that they might not be, maybe their home town was Stepford!

It was tempting to turn up at their house when ‘Mr’ was away, but we could be accused of assault, breaking and entering (or whatever it is called in USA – Gross Felony Misdemeanor probably); no that wouldn’t do. They had to come to us (or rather me).

Having my own room helped, JoJo (and the others in the house of course) would see them arrive, potentially; yes, that would help ‘so did they appear to be under any duress?’ ‘no, they seemed keen to go in with him – I don’t know why, I wish I knew what he had that I don’t’, cue laughter in the court.

Talking of courts, we drove up with JJaney to see Min again, again staying with Abigail. I think she was even more disconcerted to see me come in with two girls, both of whom were willing to share the guest double bed with me. Abigail just went with it now, her high principles had taken a nosedive with the knife in her husband. We went to see Min, who seemed remarkably cheerful. “Hi! You came! And this is Angela? She’s lovely. I can see why you’re in love with her. Hi JJaney, you look lovely too. Wish I could kiss you.” This prison had tables for visitors, but touching was not allowed. I had not told Min or Jjaney I was in love, apparently it just shone through. I would have embarrassed in the past, now I was willing to go with it. Because I was, I knew now.

“How are you? You look well.” I said.

“They have a gym, they have good food that I don’t have to cook. Thanks for the testimonial. It won’t help, but thanks anyway.” I’d written saying what she had told me in the past, and how she was a wonderful, peaceful person. Her step-father died, she was charged with murder and offered a plea-bargain to manslaughter. “I miss you.” She seemed quite laid back with it all.

“Me?” I said

“No, you arrogant prick, she means JJaney.” Ang said, and the three of them laughed at my expense.

We drove back that afternoon, and there was that girl again. Fiona looked at us and said “Been to visit your murdering girlfriend? Must be hard knowing you’ll never see her again.” That was it. Enough was enough. I kissed JJaney and told her I had to be somewhere. Ang – increasingly understanding me – walked away with her saying she’d see me later. I sprayed myself with enough to drive Fiona wild with desire as she walked away, she stopped and turned. “You ... you want...”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Hmm? Oh, I think I was waiting for her to come out of Reges.” Things were going my way, Reges was a lingerie shop.

“Hello Mrs Trimble, been buying some sexy underwear? I do hope so, you can model them for us at my flat.” This was not a usual chat up line, Mrs Trimble stopped. For a brief moment I thought she really did have a poker up her arse and could control her emotions even better than I had given her credit for.

“I ... well ... Yes, is it close by?”

“It is, shall we?” And so we walked, arm in arm (me in the middle) to my flat. I was pleased JJaney had gone in time, I wouldn’t want to misuse her now, no matter how much she’d enjoy it. And she probably would have enjoyed the distraction. Luck really was in. We passed Arabella on the way in, just as Fiona was saying how much she wanted to get laid by me. I smiled at Arabella and she smiled back, we moved on before she breathed in too much. Not long after, I heard a noise below. I wasn’t even there! And Arabella was making rhythmical noises as she thrust whatever it was into herself. We all heard the shout of “Oh John YES!” I wasn’t even there, but she was happy to fantasise about me. I wondered what I was doing in her mind.

“Now, Mrs Trimble, I think I should know your first name. I make it a rule not to fuck women up the backside when I don’t know their first names.”

“Oh my, I haven’t had that since I persuaded Fiona’s father to marry me.”

“Name?”

“Yes, Philomena.”

“I shall call you Phil. And I shall call you Fee, okay Fiona?”

“I ... well I usually insist on my full name, but whatever you want. What do you want?” Mrs Trimble said.

Fiona was just silent, then: “You let Daddy poke you up your bottom?”

“It’s alright Fee, you’ll get the chance to be butt-fucked too.”

“Oh? Oh goody.”

“As to your question Phil. I want you to undress your daughter and demonstrate your knowledge of oral sex on her. Then she can show you what she has learnt. Try and ignore what my hands are doing while you are licking Fee’s cunt clean. Fee, did I tell you to undress? No. I told your mother to do it. I bet she hasn’t done that for a long time.” It turned out Fee could not remember her mother ever dressing or undressing her. They had a nanny to do that kind of thing. Phil might have broken a nail.

I’ll give her this: Philomena Trimble knew how to apply maximum pleasure to the oral sex of a young woman. Fee’s naked legs were opened wide, then lifted high, then turned over. Every possible position for access to her shaved pussy was tried and tested. Phil could probably have made a living at this with unsatisfied housewives. When Fee was finally allowed to come, she came with an explosion. Literally, as it happened, she fired a jet of piss and an explosive fart. I suspected that the fart in public would be the ultimate embarrassment.

Then they started all over again in reverse. Fee was a willing student. I had expected this pair of stuck up fashionistas to be as sexually energetic as a table, but they were both clearly repressing their needs and desires. That’s what I tell myself anyway, I think I’m actually right this time. Some of the women just went with the flow; others like Aunty’s niece, got liberated and stayed that way. It would remain to be seen if these did that, but they were certainly liberated at the moment. I had not told Fee to finger her mother’s (very shapely) bottom whilst she tongued her neatly trimmed (and manicured? Surely no? Yet it did look like it had been ‘prettified’) genitals. Philomena Trimble wasted no time in achieving a climax; and then insisted Fiona carry on. She hit another high, I noticed Fiona had one of her hands between her own legs.

I was losing control of this situation. I won’t say I wasn’t enjoying the show, I was, but I told myself I should regain the high ground (then I modified that thought; having a mother and daughter make love as a sex show was hardly the high ground). So I called a halt and fulfilled my promise to Fiona. She obligingly got onto all fours, her mother obligingly opened her back side, and I obligingly plugged a hole that was actually very tightly shut already. Fiona was not one to be giving back end access to all and sundry. She did what I was getting used to: she claimed it was very tight and then begged me to keep tunnelling in to her. I had to grab her shoulders and pull to make progress, she said it was great. Her mother said I could switch to her anytime I wanted ... and I did. No cleanup required, out of the girl’s bum and into the mother’s. Then I shifted back again. Then her mother was ‘allowed’ to clean up her daughter’s back entrance whilst Fee finished me off and took the spunky stuff into her mouth. I managed a picture. I knew I shouldn’t, it was risky, but I did. I would show Ang and then delete it ... probably. No, definitely, this kind of picture should not be seen in public no matter how awful the protagonists were (no! I don’t mean me! I know I’m awful).

So the session continued. I decided to let them lead, I wanted to understand just how depraved a well-dressed, stuck-up bitch could be given their head. So I asked what they wanted. “Anything, anything at all.”

“Will you fuck me hard? Pleeease! Fuck me as long as you can. Fuck me front, back and sideways. FUCK ME!!!!!” Was Fee’s response. Her mother showed a truly touching motherly concern for her daughter:

“Yes, fuck her raw and rough if that’s what she wants. Tie her legs together so she’s really tight. I like that, so she will. Fuck her and I’ll fist her shithole.”