Chapter 7

It was mid-December. I was just contemplating when I should put some greenery around the bar. Maybe in another week I could hang some pine boughs and ivy.

Obviously, I wouldn’t allow any holly indoors before Christmas Eve. I tended to keep the decorations traditional. Just evergreens and candles. Pine cones to burn on the fire are always lovely too. The mistletoe can be a problem. I have to be careful where I hang it. I don’t want to get ambushed again this year. If it’s put where it can be reached, some wag will want to hang a bit on his belt. They all think that that’s hilarious.

We always close the pub on Christmas Day. Harry and I get invited to spend Christmas lunch with one of the local farming families. I supply the drink and it means I don’t have to cook. I make sure that the farmer’s wife gets an extra Secret Santa gift to open later. Usually something to spice up her Christmas but that the farmer would never dare buy her.

Christmas Eve and Boxing Day are busy days. I make a special effort and put out nuts and crisps on the bar and tables. One year, against Harry’s advice, I put out olives too.

You’d think I was trying to poison them.

Just as we were going to bed, Harry said, “I told you so.” A big mistake on his part. I made him stand still while I whacked his erection a few times with a slipper. Then I made him shag me. I’m still not sure if he realised it was supposed to be a punishment.

Anyway, while I was giving thought to the Yuletide, Harry came up the stairs. “There’s some woman called Imogen at the door. She wants to speak to you so I told her to wait in the bar,” he said.

I thought for a moment. I wasn’t totally surprised. She didn’t strike me as the sort of woman to go away quietly.

“Harry, could you make yourself scarce for an hour or so?”

He thought that if he went up to the Golf Club he might find some chap to play around with. I’ve been married to him for a long time and I never once suspected that Harry had bisexual tendencies.

I waited for ten minutes or so and then went down to the bar. “Ah, the bad penny! What do you want?” I asked Imogen.

“I apologise but I just can’t get the book out of my mind. There must be some other ritual that you are prepared to share with me. I don’t want to make threats but...” she said.

“I thought that it may eat away at you so I’ve had it all put on DVD. Would you like to see it?”

“I am not entirely sure what you mean but I would die to see it!” she exclaimed.

“You’d better come upstairs,” I said, desperately resisting the temptation to offer her a drink.

In the lounge I gestured towards an armchair. I switched on the TV and the other thingy. Imogen cleaned her spectacles.

On the screen there appeared the view from the hay-loft at Ewe Tree Farm. You could clearly see a woman in a gothic black leather costume strapped to some sort of device. Close by was a queue of seven men who all appeared to be Boris Johnson. Behind them was a weedy yokel in a smock. A figure wearing a black cloak and hood stood close by.

The scene changed to the front view of what was obviously Imogen’s face and tits, complete with milking cups. A shadowy figure moved behind her and her expression changed to one of delight as he moved backwards and forwards.

Now the camera angle went to a position looking up from ground level between her feet towards where two sets of genitals were colliding. It then changed to a side view which showed Boris really getting into his stride.

Now the picture divided to allow all four views to be seen at the same time. The first Boris was replaced by another. The simultaneous moment of entry and the expression on Imogen’s face were awesome.

“OK, you can stop it. I didn’t know it was being filmed but I get the message,” said Imogen.

“No, I think we’ll leave it running while we negotiate,” I replied.

“I could send a copy of this to the museum. I’m sure that everyone there would like to study it carefully from a research point of view.

“Although, my technical adviser tells me that it would be just as easy to put it on the interweb thing. We could add a caption stating your name and where you work. That way you would get lots of volunteers to help with your re-enactments.”

In reality my technical adviser was Mucky Melvin. He runs a home security business in the next village. The high definition micro cameras were supplied by him and he also kindly did the editing. They call him Mucky Melvin because he used to do a sideline in porn DVDs but he says nobody wants them anymore.

There is no way that I would ever ruin anyone’s life by releasing any of this material. I made sure that Melvin destroyed the masters. But Imogen didn’t need to know that.

Imogen said, “I suppose you’ll do that if I don’t become a sex slave and get strapped to The Hoss to be abused by lots of men.”

I replied, “Now hold your horses. You’re the one making threats. And I think that your fantasies are getting the better of you.

“What I am proposing is that you and Geoffrey do some work for me.

“In the pub we have a special night on New Year’s Eve. I want Geoffrey to work behind the bar and I want you to take the drinks to the customers’ tables and collect the glasses. On the night I will give you your uniform, which you must wear, and I will tell you exactly what your duties are.

“If you perform well then we can talk about making the DVD go away. Do you agree?”

She looked a little disappointed but she agreed. I sent her on her way.

NOTE TO THE COLONIES. If you ever visit the cradle of civilisation, I don’t want you to get the impression that you can just sit in an English pub and have drinks brought to your table. I am told that it may happen in places that serve food but it is definitely not normal. I could write a whole chapter on English pub etiquette and customs but as hardly anyone gets fucked you may not be interested.