Chapter 2

‘It’s Not Bechuanaland’.

The England that they had left over thirty years ago wasn’t the England they returned to.

Much of the damage caused by wartime bombing had been rebuilt but it wasn’t pretty. The architecture was mainly stark and brutalist. The people were more affluent but less polite. They all seemed to be in a rush as nearly everyone had a motor car. There was strife and strikes everywhere. Nobody appeared content with their life.

The couple went to live with an elderly uncle and aunt of Samuel’s. They hated Portsmouth and were glad that it was only going to be a short-term arrangement while they considered where they wanted to live. As it was, they were there over Christmas and well into the New Year.

Sammy, as his aunt called him, had loved the family holidays in Dorset, she said.

Aunty pointed out an advert in a Sunday newspaper for a ‘Retirement Village’ not far from Sturminster Newton. It was fairly rural so they may find it more like Africa, she thought.

Agnes suggested that they go and look at the place.

They borrowed Uncle’s old Morris Minor 1000 and made it a two-day trip down to Dorset. The Bed and Breakfast, run by two funny little sisters, was clean and comfortable. Agnes had rather hoped that she would be treated to a noisy orgasm while they were away but their room was situated between those of the two ladies. It was just like being at Aunty and Uncle’s.

On the way from there to the Retirement Village they stopped at a picnic area.

Samuel bent Agnes over a table, pulled her knickers to one side and slipped his thumb into her. With two fingers brushing against her clitoris, Samuel pumped Agnes fast and hard until her juices ran down her inner thighs. She even felt some trickle into her left sandal. At that point she came. Her obscenities echoed around the Picnic Area.

With Samuel seated upon the table Agnes sucked him off. She could feel that there was a little swelling in his cock so she was pleased. She refused to stop sucking as his spunk spread onto her tongue. This time it was his turn to call her obscene names.

It was lovely to see the spring flowers along the green Dorset lanes as they at last reached their destination. Such a contrast to the dirty streets of Portsmouth and a whole world away from Botswana.

The Broad Oaks Retirement Village was set back a little from the lane. As they turned into the drive they noticed a sweet little bus shelter near to the entrance. It was substantially built of stone and had two bench seats and glass filled windows to protect the waiting passengers from the elements.

They passed through a gate which had a discreet notice with the information that the gate would be locked between 10pm and 7am each night. There was a phone in a little box for requesting entry outside of these hours. All very reassuring.

Neat and tidy was the only way to describe the grounds of the village.

A blonde smartly-dressed lady of about forty showed them around the place. Gloria Chadwick was glowingly proud of everything that Broad Oaks had to offer. She explained that she lived on site and was only a telephone call away, if needed.

Of the dozen two bedroom bungalows just under half were already occupied. Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald could have their choice of the others. Each had its own courtyard garden. All the other communal areas were tended by the ground staff. This and all other services and maintenance was included in the monthly fees.

At present, there was one other couple in the village. She was disabled. All of the other residents were single men.

“Not ideal. From now on we will only accept couples or single ladies,” Gloria told them.

She lived in the Admin Building. As well as the office this housed a communal recreation room in addition to a café-cum-shop where daily items like bread, milk and newspapers could be purchased. The doctor from Sturminster attended a fully equipped surgery in the Admin Building every Friday morning and was available at other times if necessary.

Miss Chadwick went on, “Most people have a car but there is an excellent bus service to Sturminster Newton which saves one having to find a parking space.

“Oh, and there is a golf club half a mile away if that’s your thing.”

“Golf’s not big in Botswana,” laughed Samuel.

Gloria laid out the cost of purchasing a bungalow as well as the service charges. Both were really expensive but Samuel had spent so little during their years in Africa and had two very generous civil service pensions that he just shrugged his shoulders.

“The cost is not really the issue but we must be sure that wherever we end up is right for us,” he said.

“Quite so.” replied Gloria, “Why don’t you both wander around and do a thorough exploration? I would hate to cajole you into making the wrong decision.”

As they walked off Agnes asked, “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. It’s not Bechuanaland. But then again it couldn’t be, could it?”

They discovered a pleasant circular woodland walk at the back of the village. The best of childhood memories were invoked in both of them. This was more like the England they envisaged when they had thought of home.

As they walked back towards the Administrative Building they passed a bungalow with a ‘For Sale’ sign. It had a west-facing courtyard.

“Sundowners,” they said simultaneously.

Both laughed.

Once Samuel and Agnes had located Gloria, she showed them around the bungalow.

“This is one of the fully furnished ones. Some are, some aren’t. It adds slightly to the cost.”

“We don’t have any furniture of our own so that would be quite useful in the short term. It all looks very modern but I suppose we’d get used to that,” said Agnes.

Miss Chadwick was happy to allow them a week or so to think it over. She could hold it that long but no more.

On the drive back they swung from loving Broad Oaks to hating it and back again. It was quiet. Did they want quiet? They did, but not too quiet.

It was well-run. Did they want ‘well-run’? They did but only up to a point.

The Retirement Village had lots of pros and cons. The biggest plus was that it wasn’t in Portsmouth. But should you build a life somewhere because it wasn’t somewhere else?

It was Dorset. They liked Dorset.

They liked rural, but not too rural. Broad Oaks was that.

And so their thinking revolved and evolved for the next fortnight.

They purchased a brand new Rover P6 3500 in a fetching shade of grey.

As their only possessions were clothes and photographs the move was fairly straightforward.

They told Aunty and Uncle that they would miss them. Aunty and Uncle said that they were sad that they were leaving. Nobody was convinced by either statement.

The bungalow just felt right. It wasn’t the African house but they never thought that it would be.

Just as before the garden was tended by someone else. Agnes did buy a few pots for the courtyard.

True they had to cook for themselves but that was no real hardship. Once a week they drove to Dorchester to do a ‘big shop’. It was quite an adventure discovering how British culinary taste had changed since they had been away.

Their version of Dikobe wasn’t quite like their cook used to make but it wasn’t bad. They couldn’t buy goat meat anywhere. Agnes bought a cookbook or two and tried to broaden their taste with a British take on foreign foods. None of the books mentioned any Botswanan dishes.

Life was different but life was good. The other residents of the village were, for the most part, friendly. There was always a cheery ‘Good Morning’. Some showed a genuine interest in their former life in Africa.

Samuel was delighted that, at sixty, Agnes could still turn heads. He wasn’t sure if they turned to stare at her red hair or at her shapely bottom. He didn’t mind which.

Although they still regularly gave each other pleasure in the marital bed there was an underlying sadness. A sort of mourning for something lost.

Nevertheless, their days were filled with a rediscovery of the best of English country life. Some days they visited stately homes, some days small seaside towns or market towns or sleepy little villages. On other days they would sit in their courtyard and read.

Most Thursdays Agnes would take the bus into Sturminster Newton to purchase fresh items and other bits. Samuel usually stayed behind. He felt that it gave Agnes a little space but mostly it saved him having to make small talk with the other bus passengers.

One sunny afternoon she returned to find Samuel relaxing in a shady corner of the courtyard. She suspected that he had been dozing.

“Get everything you wanted, dear?” he enquired, once he realised that she was watching him.

She laughed, “Yes, thank you.

“Although I did have to sit next to Arthur Kemp on the way back.

Arthur Kemp was a resident of the village. They were both in agreement that they weren’t keen on Arthur Kemp.

“Evidently, he had made quite a lot of money through buying and selling. I got the impression that he probably browbeats people into making deals that are to his advantage.

“There’s something a little unpleasant about him,” Agnes added.

“I know the type. We met enough of them in Bechuanaland, didn’t we?” said Samuel.

“Yes, but none of them showed me their cock,” laughed Agnes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“During the walk from the bus stop. He just undid his trousers and waved the thing at me.”

“Oh!

“I will go and have a word with him,” said Samuel.

“No, don’t do that.”

“Well, should I report him to Gloria Chadwick?”

“That is not necessary. I wasn’t offended really.”

Samuel thought for a moment and realising that Agnes wasn’t too upset by the experience he smiled and said, “Big was it?”

Agnes took a deep breath and replied. “Not only quite big but bloody stiff.”

“Oh,” said Samuel.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“No, no. Don’t worry about that.

“How did you feel about seeing it? Honestly,” asked Samuel.

“Well if you want me to be honest. It made me feel wet.

“I may have to ask you to come to bed and finger me,” said Agnes.

“Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” admitted Samuel.

As he explored Agnes with his fingers and thumb, he finally expressed the sort of thought that he’d always kept to himself in the past.

“Why don’t you ask Arthur if he would give you one?”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” said Agnes.

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Samuel.

“I know you wouldn’t.

“What I meant was that I couldn’t ask him. I would be too embarrassed.”

Samuel started to stroke her clitoris.

“I could ask him if you like,” he said.

“I’m not sure. I will have to think about it.”

She did think about it as the orgasm ripped through her. When she took Samuel into her mouth his penis was firmer than it had been for a long time.

“Get on top of me, I think it may just be OK,” urged Agnes.

It wasn’t great but Samuel did manage to come in his wife for the first time in a long time. They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

“I usually go for younger types but I suppose that I could help you out.

“How does ten pounds sound?” said Arthur Kemp.

“Oh no. She wouldn’t need to be paid,” said Samuel.

“No, you misunderstand me. I meant, I would want ten pounds to fuck your wife for you. I’m a businessman and if I’m providing a service then it’s worth money.”

Samuel knew that asking Kemp would be awkward and embarrassing but he didn’t think that there would be a negotiation process.

“No, no, I don’t have a problem with that,” he stammered slightly.

Arthur Kemp went on, “And a one off deal is no good to me either. We would have to make it every Saturday night at the same price.”

“I suppose that that would be all right,” said Samuel, not sure if it would be or not.

“Also, I don’t want her just turning up here in her dressing gown and slippers. She is to dress up formally. Is that understood?”

“Yes, of course.”

Samuel now knew how Arthur Kemp had been so successful at buying and selling. Doing business with him was like being sandblasted.

“I’m going to stop now, I need to be at a meeting. Besides my dick is getting chafed. I should think that three times is enough,” cried Arthur Kemp as he stepped backwards and quickly returned his dick to his Y-fronts. He zipped up his flies.

Gloria Chadwick got back up off her hands and knees, returned her tits to her bra and fastened the buttons on her blouse.

“Don’t worry, your Young Farmers’ Club photographs are safe with me.

“Just as long as you do exactly what I want, whenever I want you to do it,” Arthur said, as he left the doctor’s room in the Admin Building.

“When he says formal, do you think that he means a ball gown?” asked Agnes. She was keeping it to herself but Agnes was excited for a myriad of different reasons.

Certainly, although she didn’t like Arthur Kemp in the slightest, the knowledge that her own husband was paying cash for her to have only her second ever cock was thrilling.

The fact that Arthur had insisted that she dress up added another dimension to her expectation.

Over and above all of this the image of that nasty man’s large hard penis filled her thoughts.

“I think that I will wear one of the dresses that I kept for the Resident Commissioner’s cocktail parties.”

Samuel was also trying to contain his thoughts. There was something unquantifiable about watching Agnes choose what to wear to be had by an obnoxious other man. He hated it but he loved it.

“Yes, the little black dress and my pearls.

“When I was in Sturminster Newton the other week that little haberdashery shop had a dozen pairs of those really expensive light tan nylon stockings. You know, the type you just can’t buy anymore. With seams. Something made me buy all of them.

“Do you think that it would be alright to wear a pair tonight?”

“Perfect,” said Samuel. His cock twitched.

“And black or white underwear?”

“Probably essential to have black with that dress,” he answered, trying not to sound too bothered either way.

“Three inch heels, I will need a little height,” concluded Agnes.

The June air was still pleasantly warm as Agnes walked off towards Kemp’s bungalow. Samuel watched from the window, trying not to twitch the curtains.

God, they had had some sexual adventures in Africa over the years but nothing quite like this. As well as those that had actually taken place, his imagination had devised many more that he had just stopped short of revealing to Agnes. He tried not to be bitter that his dick had stopped working properly just when he needed it most.