Chapter 11: Open Air July 1961

Our experience of al fresco sex changed our relationship in subtle ways. The ‘hunter using meat to seduce women’ aspect certainly turned us both on (Pauline more than me), but it soon became clear that the prospect of being observed and discovered was even more of a buzz for her.

We started to tease each other with references to public sex and getting discovered in what Frank used to refer to as ‘flagrante delicto’, though Pauline insisted it should actually be ‘fragrantly delicious’, and after a while, whispered references to public sex and discovery often replaced ‘cunt talk’ as a trigger for our orgasms.

Towards the end of the term, Pauline started to push me to act out some of her fantasies. I wasn’t keen, and although she kept talking about it occasionally, for a long time she always dropped the idea in the face of my lack of enthusiasm.

Eventually, she must have decided to push. Whether by accident or design, she again raised the subject of actually doing something in public after first taking care to raise me. We were naked in my bed one Friday night after our shift at Mary’s World. I was hard and she was wet and I was about to put a tablet in her when she pulled back a little.

“We could go across the tracks to the domain.”

“It’s quarter to one in the morning, it’s the middle of bloody winter, it’s been raining, and if it doesn’t rain again there’ll be frost on the ground in the morning.”

“Couldn’t we shelter in the band rotunda?”

“From rain perhaps, but not from a ten degree southerly.”

“We could go out on the veranda.”

“Now?”

Pauline didn’t answer, but sat up and bent forward to take me in her mouth. I thought the subject of al fresco sex had been dropped again, as she worked on my glans and corona, jacking me tenderly with one hand and working on the ‘magic spots’ in my groin with the other. But as I got close and started to twitch and pant, she stopped.

“Let’s go out on the veranda.”

“It’s too cold.”

“Just makes my nipples hard.” I reached for one, but she pushed my hand away. “I’ll slip a tablet in and bend over the rail. You can fuck me from behind!”

Uncle Frank says a standing prick has no conscience. We went outside. Naked. It was warmer than ten degrees, but not much. Pauline’s nipples were indeed hard, and so was my dick, but I still wasn’t exactly keen. The streetlights threw a shadow on the East end of the veranda, but there was a light on in the front bedroom of the house on that side, and it was right outside the front bedroom where Frank and Emma were (I hoped) either sleeping or busy pleasuring each other. So I guided Pauline along to the West end in front of my bedroom. There, we were pretty well illuminated, and it would have been obvious to the occupants of any passing cars and very very obvious to passing pedestrians that we were naked. I was pleased that the street was deserted.

It was too cold for any further foreplay, and in any case, Pauline was very wet. I spread my legs very wide to equalise our heights, and as she bent forward over the veranda rail, I slotted myself from behind and began thrusting gently. She was very warm inside. The veranda railing was supported by vertical bars, and there was enough room between them for Pauline to reach through and back to get her fingers on her button, so we soon ramped up our activity.

We had a new neighbour on the West side. The house was as run down and dirty as ours had been before Frank bought it and we renovated, and it had been empty for a while after the previous tenants were busted for drugs. An old guy (sixty at least) had eventually moved in. He wasn’t very friendly, brusquely refusing an invitation to ‘come over for a cuppa’, and seemed to be something of a hermit, spending his days (and nights) inside with the blinds drawn.

He wasn’t our intended audience. In truth, I didn’t have any intended audience and I doubted whether Pauline had one either. Her juice came from the possibility of being observed and caught rather than the reality.

We were hard at it when I became aware of a sound from my right and turned my head. Our neighbour was standing on the East end of his veranda and watching us across the ten foot gap between the houses. That was a surprise, though not altogether a pleasant one. It was even more of a surprise to see that he was naked beneath his dressing gown and was sporting an erection and carrying an old fashioned chamber pot.

I was still inside Pauline, and she was oblivious. Well – oblivious to the presence of our neighbour anyway. She was certainly aware of my vigorous thrusting, and she could certainly hear my rhythmic grunting and the slapping sound of my lower belly and upper thighs meeting her somewhat scrawny buttocks. She didn’t stay oblivious.

“Jezebel!” We froze as the neighbour shouted, and I started to withdraw from Pauline as he tried to throw the contents of his pot at us. “Dogs in the street!” His voice was very loud. “Whore! Harlot! Strumpet!”

Most of the piss fell between our houses, but a few splashes landed on our naked lower legs. It must have been a while since he’d emptied his pot, because the sour smell of old urine overpowered the much nicer smell of Pauline’s juices. Outrage, guilt and revulsion were struggling for supremacy in my head, but before I could respond, a light went on in Frank and Emma’s room.

Pauline was much more decisive than I was. “Shit! Back inside!” We had left the front door ajar, since we were naked when we went out and hadn’t given any thought at all to the need for a key. We hadn’t even snibbed the Yale lock back. But we didn’t make it undiscovered. My uncle was coming through the doorway.

Frank (as we found out later) had just got up for a pee, and noticed the front door was ajar just as the neighbour started to yell. He came out through the door to see what was going on just as we were hurrying back in. “What the fuck?”

We scurried past him, heading for the bathroom, and washed our legs down. Even from the back of the house, we could hear the neighbour yelling at Frank. “Whoremaster! Blatant fornication!” and lots more in the same vein. Then things went quiet for a moment, before Frank began to pound on the door. We had shut it behind us when we came inside, and the Yale lock had shut him out.

We were still naked, and I briefly considered a detour to my room for a dressing gown, but Frank’s banging was getting louder and he sounded pretty upset and angry. I let him in, and even in the low light of the streetlamp, I could see that he was red faced and tense. “What the fuck?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but issued his next instructions immediately. “Go and get dressed and come to the dining room. Move!”

I could feel Pauline starting to bristle slightly, but I knew we were busted and immediate compliance was by far the best response. I took her arm and steered her back into my room. We shut the door behind us, and for a moment or two we managed to retain our composure. Then we looked at one another, and burst out laughing. I managed to muffle a guffaw, and Pauline subsided into giggles. We got dressed and went to face the music.

Frank and Emma were still in dressing gowns. They sat together on the far side of the table. Two chairs had already been pulled out on our side, and it was obvious that Court was in session!

I knew how to do this. An immediate and contrite confession was what was called for. I started even before my bum hit the seat. “We fucked up.” I knew I could be appropriately serious, but I wasn’t sure about Pauline. She felt restless beside me. Was her tension supressed mirth? Could she hold it in check? Would she giggle?

Yes, no, and yes. But it was Emma who laughed first. I watched her trying to keep a straight face. And failing. She cracked up and Pauline followed, as Frank tried to maintain his outrage. I kept my own mirth under control until Emma turned to him.

“So Pauline’s a Jezebel, you’re a whoremaster, and David’s a dog in the street. What does that make me?”

I laughed and after a few seconds, so did Frank. “I guess that makes you a whoremaster’s strumpet.”

I seized the moment. “What we did was dumb. We won’t do it again.” I knew there would probably be what Frank called a ‘debrief’ and that I probably wasn’t going to enjoy it, but I thought we might as well get it over with. Having Emma involved was a plus.

Frank reacted on cue. “So what were you thinking?”

Pauline stepped up. “I’ve been getting off on fantasies of being caught fucking outdoors ever since we did it when we went after rabbits.”

Frank and Emma looked at me. “Well?”

“A bit. Not so much as Jezebel here.”

Jezebel stepped up again. “We’ve talked about it lots. He’s always got some excuse. Last night I got him hard and randy and I guess I sorta frustrated him till he agreed to come out on the veranda.”

I was tempted to try to let Pauline take the blame, but I doubted Frank and Emma would go along. “Sure I was horny, but I’m still responsible. I was in like a dog in the street. Dumb.”

Frank nodded, and Emma looked at Pauline. “This is the second time you guys have put us at risk, and I think if you are honest with yourself you will see that both times you persuaded David to do something stupid when he was randy.” I wanted to intervene, but she held up her hand, so I waited.

Pauline was thoughtful. We waited in silence, and eventually she sighed. “It’s true. Ever since I got away from the fucken priests and nuns I have been really twitchy about any restrictions on being sexy.” She sighed again. “But it’s not fair to get you guys into trouble.”

“So how are you going to make sure you don’t?”

Pauline looked blank, but I knew what would work for me. “We don’t make decisions when either one of us is turned on. No spontaneous ‘good ideas’.”