Thomas was struggling to tie his shoe laces “Oh fuck it!” he said, and was suddenly aware that the temperature in the room had dropped to freezing. He looked up. His father was removing his belt. His mother put her hand on Mr Johnstone’s arm but he shook it off. That was the extent of his mother’s attempts to divert John Johnstone from his purpose. Thomas was not a large boy, he was small, ‘weedy’ his father had called him, his brown hair was his best feature, a full head of boisterous hair. On a school child it resulted in frequent orders to ‘get a haircut boy’; but later in life he would be envied for this at least by graying and balding men of the same age as him.
John Johnstone was, by contrast, an imposing man. Made more imposing by his black suit. During the week he wore his black work suit, on Sundays he wore his black Sunday suit. Always black and always a black tie to go with it. Nothing showy. Showy was for the Anglicans and Catholics with their candles and costumes, he said. His church believed that showy was pride and pride was a sin. It may be that they took a certain pride in their lack of showyness.
Mrs Johnstone may once have been an attractive, vivacious woman; living with John Johnstone had leached any love of life from her. She dressed plainly and deferred to him in everything.
No-one asked why he had used such a word. He had heard it at school. It was banded around a lot. He was looking to shock a little. But he didn’t know what the word meant, he would check it later and realise why his parents were shocked.
But he was also deeply aware that he was being punished unfairly. No-one asked if he knew what he had said, and since he didn’t he was being punished for something he didn’t understand. If he had known what it meant, yes, maybe he would have deserved the beating. Maybe not. But a severe punishment; but, although it is said that ignorance of the law is no excuse, clearly on occasions a word has none of the meaning ascribed to it if the user has no knowledge of it.
Not like when he stole from the corner shop. Only a gobstopper, but he was caught. Actually he was asked if he was one of the boys stealing and he told the truth and said yes. Whatever you think of belting a child, stealing deserved punishment (even if he had not compounded the sin by lying, and yet lying would have escaped all punishment!). He would not lie to save himself, he should have been commended for owning up, but of course he was not. But he knew that stealing was wrong. He didn’t know that ‘fuck’ was a really bad word, he wouldn’t have used it otherwise.
A more empathic father would have explained to his son. But Mr Johnstone was not an empathic, huggy, parent. He was an elder in the church that regarded as sin as unforgivable without punishment – which seemed contrary to much Christian teaching really. He was strict, humourless and unimaginative.
Thomas slept on his front for a week after, and never forgave his father the unjustness of that punishment. Its true he never said ‘fuck’ again, but that would happened if he’d been told why it was so offensive to right thinking people. And like HG Wells’ Martians, he slowly and carefully drew his plans for revenge. He would wait until he could punish his father back, meanwhile he continued as a normal young boy.
Thomas was eleven when he realised his father was a nasty, unloving, bully and learnt to live his life without the love of or for a father.
At thirteen his mother died. The town was going through one of their periodical recessions, money was scarce, food was scarce. Mr Johnstone still gave to the church even though his family had little enough. Mrs Johnstone had done what so many women did, and stinted herself to feed her husband and her boys. Thomas berated himself for not realising how little she was eating. Many wives did this, some husbands realised and insisted in equal reduced shares. If Mr Johnstone realised, he thought it was his just due; he would have said he needed to be fit to get any job that came up. Thomas and his brother would have given their food to their mother if they’d realised; but in fact they really did need the protein to grow properly, their father could have spared his.
She didn’t starve, but she weakened, and when she caught TB she had no strength to fight it. She died, as did many that winter.
Spring brought better weather, more work and things returned to normal. A year later, Mr Johnstone was working as a supervisor; he actually was a good, diligent employee, and his role as elder had stood him in good stead. He was destined for more promotion, he was sure.
One evening, returning from the church council, he brought a young lady in. “Boys, this is Miss Maxwell. You will be pleased to know that I have decided to marry her” that was his way. Not that she had agreed to his proposal; it would never do to suggest that anybody had a say in anything. She was a member of the church, much younger than him and in need of a husband. This the church had agreed, and suggested that their widowed elder needed a new wife. And so the deed was done.
Joan Maxwell was twenty four when she married this much older man. It had been approved by the church, and she was under the thrall of the church. She had been an orphan, brought up by the pastor. When the pastor’s wife was ‘called home’, there had been thoughts that she might have married him; but she remained his ward and housekeeper until Mr Johnstone came along. If she had allowed herself to think, she would have been horrified, but instead she simply accepted the situation in gratitude for the ‘love’ she had been shown. In truth the care given her had been more for her physical welfare than her mental welfare. To be fair to the pastor and his wife, they showed themselves no more love than they gave her. That was the way of the church.
A week later the wedding had happened, a sparse wedding breakfast provided, and the boys told to call her ‘mother’. Young Jack obeyed, Thomas was careful never to call her anything; Joan, the second Mrs Johnstone, understood his reticence and never said anything.
The night of the marriage, it was plain that Joan was surprised at her new husband’s unsympathetic approach to love making. Love seemed in short supply. His view was that the discomfort that a woman might feel was the just command of God as a result of Eve being cast out of Eden. ‘I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception’ and so it was not expected that she should enjoy it.
Thomas’s bed against the wall meant he could hear all that went on in the parental bedroom.
“Come now Joan, it is time to fulfil the marital vows”
“Might we be gentle and slow? I am unused to the act, as you know”
“It is for you to serve me, as your master, that is as it is decreed”
“Yes, ooohhh! But that oooohh! Please! I did not aahhhH! Husband, please I beg you...”
But it was all to no avail. Mr Johnstone took his marital rights and Thomas fancied he could hear his step mother softly crying. Her eyes were certainly red in the morning. After two or three more nights where she endeavoured to persuade him to show more consideration for her young body, she submitted in silence to his rough entrance. She walked stiffly and sorely for several weeks, it seemed to Thomas, before her body was steeled to the unreasonable demands made on her.
Thomas left school that summer and started at the factory, as a well educated boy, he started in the office. And he began to perceive a chance at last to take his revenge. It would take much time.
Much of his money was taken by his father, for rent, for the church. But he managed to save a little each week.
He was fifteen when he finally had enough, or thought he had. On the works outing, he opted not to go to the beach with the rest from the charabanc, instead he headed to a house he had heard of. Not the knocking shops and brothels known to exist in Taunton Lane. These were cheap and nasty places to acquire diseases. Rochmont was a different kind of establishment. He had heard of the place in the office. It was spoke of as a kind of elysian fields, a perfect place to aspire to but perhaps never reach in this life. Some of the older juniors claimed they would go there on the works outing, but of course they didn’t, they headed to the pub and later one of the Taunton Lane establishments to be fleeced of their remaining money.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“Is this Rochmont? I want a young lady please”
“Be off with you, you rude boy”
“No, listen. I mean no offence. I want a young lady to teach me”
“We aren’t a school”
“No, you are a bro-” “Quiet!, come in”
“Now” said the woman sternly “Who put you up to this?”
“No, look. I want to learn. I want a lady to teach me how to make love. I have money”
She looked at his money, it would buy about fifteen minutes with one of her girls. She was surprised to find herself taking to this young man. He didn’t want to have sex, he explained, he wanted to learn what to do to make a woman happy. This was unusual. The Madame was not exactly a man-hater, but perhaps man-despiser would be accurate. Men were not pleasant creatures, they were greedy and selfish; now here was a boy who actually wanted to know how to treat a girl right. She called Maddy and sent her and him to a room telling Maddy to “teach him as much as you can, he has to leave by six o’clock”
It was eleven in the morning. For seven hours he kept at it, and kept her at it. Maddy was astounded; she would ask for a rest and he would ask to learn something else. Food was sent up. He learnt how to kiss her all over. She was a prostitute; she had occasionally had punters who just wanted to talk, but this lad wanted to learn. And as he learnt, he started to please her. At twelve forty-five, she had her first orgasm with a customer, her first orgasm ever with a customer. At ten minutes past one she had another. He learnt to stroke her, kiss her, rim her, and even to enter her. Not once did he ejaculate. He was on a mission to learn, he had no desire to have sex. Actually that isn’t true, he would have loved to have sex, but he knew that he wouldn’t have an erection then. And he hadn’t time to waste; this was not a lesson he would be able to repeat.
She let him practice his oral skills, then showed him how a woman might use her oral skills “and women enjoy this?” “Some do, some don’t. Many women don’t get asked what they like”
With two hours to go, they started to work through the positions. He knew the basic, she introduced him to ones that were not church-approved. There was no way the church would sanction a woman on top (women should be under a man in all things); she might lie face down and be entered from the rear, but not with her bottom high in the air for easier access. Easy access wasn’t a requirement. But it meant the churchmen missed a trick for maximum depth penetration. Finally, with twenty minutes to go, she presented her bottom again and invited him to plum her other depth. “Are you sure? Surely this is...”
“Of course it isn’t approved by all right-thinking, respectable people. But then all my clients are well-off businessmen and fully half offer me extra for this. We don’t have time to practice all the positions. Oooh! Yes, that’s it. Now some women, I understand, welcome this as an alternative to being fucked or sucking a man when then they are having a period. You understand? Some enjoy it too. Why am I telling you this? I enjoy it with one of my clients. When he is deep inside behind me, I can pleasure myself at the front. You understand? Look, pull out. Let me show you, Yes, I can lie on my back and pull my legs high and ... you see? You have to go, you have to get your charabanc back, and I need to earn some money!”
He gave her a long, slow, smooching kiss. She felt her stomach turn. He was good! “Thanks, you are worth so much more than you are paid, whatever that is”. He gave the madam his money and she laughed.
“Thanks, here.” she returned a £5. She’d lost loads on the day, but he was the first customer they had ever had who just wanted to learn. Maddy hadn’t minded the day off either. Maybe they could offer lessons in future?
Back on the charabanc, his father wouldn’t sit with him, he was too high and mighty to sit with the office junior, even if it was his son. Thomas sat with the other young juniors, who talked of stealing a kiss from a girl, or a grope. Thomas could have stunned them to silence if he had described his day.
Time passed. Christmas came and he started his campaign. Christmas was the one occasion when strict rules were bent a little. Christmas Day dawned and Thomas leaped out of bed early, finding his step-mother in the kitchen, making her husband breakfast. It never, ever dawned on Mr Johnstone to make his own, or take his wife some in bed. He had to attend early for the early morning service, so his wife had to get up early too. “Merry Christmas” said Thomas, she spun round, surprised. He could see she had been crying; John Johnstone was always the cause. He walked up to her, a Christmas kiss was allowed on the lips. But he kissed her and held her, and carried on kissing, and slowly allowed his tongue to slide across his her lips. Her fifteen year old step son held her tight and, for the first time, she enjoyed the attention of a male.
She scurried back upstairs with her husband’s breakfast. He ate, got up, dressed and went to church. He failed to kiss his wife or wish his son a merry Christmas. Jack slept on in his bed. Thomas started cleaning the cutlery for the dinner after morning church. Joan re-appeared and nonchalantly kissed him again, like it was just another Christmas kiss. She wanted to check, this time she accidentally kept her mouth open; her husband had never put a tongue in her mouth. Thomas did, and as he did so, his hands slid down slightly on her waist. They weren’t on her bottom, not quite, but there was just that hint that they could be.
Then Jack appeared, Mrs Johnstone kissed her other stepson merry Christmas, careful to avoid any open mouth here, and they all had to rush to be at church on time. Being late was a severe crime to Mr Johnstone.
The day proceeded as normal after that. Presents weren’t opened until the following day, Christmas Day being a holy day. Evening service seemed specifically designed to suck any joy at the birth of the Saviour. Not for the first time Thomas found himself wondering at this contradiction, but unable to ask since it would be to admit to doubts that their little church in the small industrial town in England was actually the ‘true’ church and all others were wrong. And then the days nearly returned to normal. There was the occasional chance to kiss, but they had to be really careful. She was twenty five, much too young to be his mother, but still. She was his step-mother, his father’s wife. He would beat them both severely if he ever thought something was happening. He hadn’t hit her so far, but it was obvious that such disgraceful activity would result in an extreme reaction. She found life just a little more bearable when he kissed her. She felt her heart jump, and a butterfly rose from somewhere in her stomach.
New Year’s Eve in a normal house might have offered more opportunities for the two to find time together, but this was not a normal house. The celebration of the new year was a throwback to the old pre-Christian days, the pastor had said. No mention was made of Christmas being placed at that time of year to chime with Yule and make that celebration easier to slot into pre-Christian minds. So the Johnstone’s did not celebrate the new year.
Time caused a fermenting of feelings. She came to resent her husband’s attentions. Not that she refused him, and not that refusal would have made any difference. Offering your body to your husband was a duty and so he would have taken it anyway. She would lie under him, thinking of the lovely kiss from the man’s son.
Sundays became a brief moment of pleasure. Jack was rapidly following in his father’s footsteps. He would volunteer to help in the early morning service; so Jack and John would leave early for that first service. There was an unstated feeling that attending three services on Sunday made them more holy than those who attended only two. But it meant that Thomas and Joan had an hour together. They would kiss and cuddle sometimes, or sometimes they would just eat a leisurely breakfast. Both were equally pleasurable, like an illicit meeting. Enjoying food was not something Mr Johnstone claimed he approved, though it was noticeable that he would anger if the roast potatoes were burnt, or the porridge cold. They both knew nothing serious was happening, but that Mr Johnstone would not see it that way. Then they would rush to church and welcome all the other church members.
Joan found that her unusual relationship with her step son made life bearable. If he hadn’t been there, she would have run, or killed herself, by now; she was sure of it. She never thought of killing her husband, abusive though her was. Society would generally have agreed that a woman was expected to be the servant to her husband; some might not approve of violence, but they would generally say that degrees of violence were a personal thing between husband and wife. He never hit her, though he might shout often; but his expectations in the bedroom were harsh and demanding. Whether she was tired, ill, or simply unwilling, he would raise her nightdress and his own and she would know to lie obediently on her back whilst he pushed his way into her. He would not guide himself with a hand (‘disgusting’), not allow her to (‘the way of the prostitute’). He had little desire to be rubbed by hand, though he accepted it once or twice before deciding that abstinence during her monthly cycle was preferable to the mess of spending outside her body. For this, at least, she was pleased; he would never dream of inserting himself into her unclean body during that time. The saving grace, she found, was that he demanded little reaction from his wife. She was performing a duty, there was no requirement for her to enjoy it. She was to lie there and accept his 15 stone on her body and then he would roll off and fall asleep. She never dreamed of satisfying any desires for herself. She was sure that being discovered doing that would finally result in him breaking his taboo on beating her. He would see it as the least worst option. She wasn’t really that aware of anything a woman could do to enjoy sex anyway, she had never experienced an orgasm.
So some days were better than others. The day that Thomas picked a posy of wild flowers stayed in her mind for many a day. Thomas cleverly said he was celebrating God’s marvellous creation by bringing them in to the house, and Mr Johnstone could not object to that.
The months drifted past in this unsatisfactory way, until the June day when he came home with news, Johnstone had explained to them all that there was no such thing as luck. Therefore this must be seen as an opportunity. Everything was in His hands, so, God gave them an opportunity. He came home smiling broadly. “I am to travel to Hamburg to learn how some new machinery works. Jack, I have obtained permission to take you, so you can see how business works.” Jack was delighted of course, Thomas was briefly jealous, as the elder of the two shouldn’t he have gone? But he had a job already. Jack thought the sun shone from his father’s posterior, this was an opportunity to have that view confirmed. John Johnstone was proud of his achievement. Wasn’t pride a sin, thought Thomas, but said nothing of the hypocrisy of his father. But still, a little jealous.
Two weeks! Two weeks before telephones in every house, before twitter and email. Two weeks where, they might be lucky to get one letter. Mr Johnstone explained how the foreign postal service might not function as well as the British one. Thomas scoffed in his head, ‘you could try and send your wife a letter’ he thought, but knew his father would not.
At this moment, Joan was just thinking of two weeks without the man’s sweaty hands on her, without his ‘attention’ every other night (except during her period – she had come to welcome ‘the curse’ as an escape from her husband’s penis). Those two weeks could not come too soon.
John Johnstone insisted he must have a new suit for such an important trip, a cost that stretched the family budget hard. He looked well in his new black suit. While the two were gone, he said, they could live on far less housekeeping; ignoring the fact that the bills to be paid during that week would be for bills accrued in previous weeks. He was not, in fact, overly blessed with intelligence. To Joan the days crept past with decreasing speed.
At last the day arrived when John Johnstone and John Johnstone Junior (for ‘Jack’ was too lax for an official business trip) were to catch their train to Hull for the steamer to Hamburg. Thomas was not allowed to take time off to accompany them to the station, but he felt a lightness of heart at 10am when the train was due to leave. At 6pm when he returned to the family house, the table was laid for two, and, as a special celebration, Thomas was put at the head of the table to show he was temporarily the man of the house. They ate their stew, Thomas slid some of his savings to his stepmother. “Here, use this to buy something nice. No, I insist. We must not live like paupers at my father’s behest”
“Thomas! He is still your father”
“Ah, madam” He still never called her mother “I confess I cannot see him as a true father” She looked sadly at him but said not a thing. She knew he was right.
The following evening, they had steak and kidney pudding for tea – Mr Johnstone hated kidney so no-one else had it either. Thomas helped her wash up, something her husband had never done. They stood side by side at the large Belfast sink, Thomas occasionally engineering his hips to bang gently into hers “Oops sorry” he would say, and she would smile, fully aware that he was flirting with her. How was this to end? He was younger and related (by marriage) to her. But she made no effort to stop the innocent fun; fun was grabbed where it could be found.
Each night, he kissed his step-mother good night in a much less dutiful way. Not the usual peck on the cheek. She would go to bed wondering why her husband couldn’t do that. On the Wednesday, they stood at the top of the stairs in an embrace that could not be called mother and son. They parted regretfully, and both made the decision that they should spend less time kissing goodnight because of the risks.
His plan for revenge – to take the woman who was his father’s wife away from him – had a flaw. All the time it was theory, with characters that were mere ciphers, it was clear and easy. He had made the mistake of seeing Joan as a real woman. Indeed he had made the mistake of feeling her soft body and realising it was made for love. He could not use her to get his revenge if he was learning to love her as a person.
On the Saturday he only worked a half day. Then he was free, often he would go to the football match or the cricket, or the rugby; working towns needed to blow off steam. This Saturday, Joan made a picnic and they took the bus out of town. They looked out from Froom Hill at the marvellous view. The woods were silent and calm, disturbed only by delicate birdsong. This was God’s creation and yet Mr Johnstone seemed to take no pleasure in it. His view of religion was of a set of beliefs that were harsh and unbending. Old Testamentary, Thomas called them. A couple walked past arm in arm and stopped to kiss, failing to see they were observed from a small clearing amongst the trees; then they walked on tightly entwined and turned off into the undergrowth. Neither Joan nor Thomas were under illusions as to their purpose. They returned and Thomas reciprocated by taking Joan to the cinema. The film was one of which Mr Johnstone would not have approved. In one scene there was a distinct suggestion that Rita Lamore was leaving the bedroom that Brett Targon was still occupying. Joan gasped at the daring suggestion on screen that Brett and Rita had consummated their love even though they were not married. It all came right by the end. Rita’s cantankerous mother died and freed her to marry rather than live a life of an unsatisfied spinster. So that was alright.
On the Sunday, they would naturally attend church in the morning; but Thomas rose early and took Joan her breakfast, she opened her eyes, amazed. There was a tray of toast and tea for her to eat at her leisure. Thomas shivered in the early morning which had not brought heat into the stone built room yet. It being summer Mr Johnstone forbade fires.
Without thinking, Joan pulled the bedclothes back and told Thomas to get in to warm up. They shared the toast and shared the single cup of tea. Then they luxuriated in the joy of not having to get up yet. Lying back, Thomas kissed Joan with his most passionate kiss, and they were lost to desire. She was ten years older than him, but his brief training the previous summer, and her lack of experience of any of the joy of lovemaking, meant that he was still the experienced leader in the following.
He approached her slowly, determined not to put her off. This was the culmination of his plan to revenge on his father, yet now he found he was caught in his own trap, for he had grown overwhelmingly lusty for the young woman in the house. His kissed on her mouth, face, nose, and eyes raised her breathing. She had never experienced such extended kissing, never from her husband. She took his hand and put it on her breast. This was the signal that she was not resisting anything he might want to do. So, like his father, and yet with more tenderness and kindness than his father ever showed, he lifted her nightdress. And unlike his father who would raise only far enough for the physical sex act to happen, he continued until it went over her head and she was naked as Eve. John Johnstone had never seen his wife entirely naked, such lascivious desires were to be pushed down and controlled, now his son had. Thomas surprised Joan but kissing her neck. She had expected an immediate invasion, she was prepared for it, willing even, or at least more prepared than usual. She wanted this boy in her because he clearly enjoyed her. She knew now that her husband would have happily fucked any female if it was scripturally allowed – she actually thought the word fuck because it was crude and rough. Thomas was involved in love making. He kissed her breasts, and was careful not to give her full love bites that might show. Then he continued down again. Where was he going? She wondered. Perhaps he does not know how to? She soon found that he knew more than her. His first slip of the tongue across her, between her legs made her shout “Ahhh!” she was taken by surprise at the delightful feeling, and it got better! He kissed and licked her thighs and then, with delicate care, opened her and licked her love juices. She was sure this was not biblically approved but she was in his hands, it was the finest feeling she had ever experienced. When he finally kissed her clitoris, she was the Roman Candle waiting to blossom to pyrotechnic display. She exclaimed, she cried out, she shouted for joy. He hoped no-one could hear. Then he looked at the clock and realised they had little time to preserve the proprieties. “But what about you?”
“I shall have to wait. If we do not attend church, it will be remarked upon, the news will reach father in due course and there will be no satisfactory explanation” He was right of course. They dressed hurriedly and made their way to church, apologising for their near tardiness and explaining that they needed Mr Johnstone for his exceptional timekeeping. Joan prayed in her heart for forgiveness for lying in church. She sat, stood, and knelt in the church, feeling her vagina steadily leaking its fluids. Even in Reverend Delone’s sermon about the Sermon on the Mount (which lasted roughly as long as God took to finalise Creation – or at least if felt like it) she kept a smile. She was happy.
After, they stood and talked as if the two had not a care in the world. “Oh yes, dear Mr Johnson is so lucky, I mean fortunate, no, I mean blessed, it is a wonderful opportunity. Oh, yes, we will be entirely content alone. We live quietly you know”
At last they were allowed to drift away and walked slowly, but with as much haste as was appropriate on Sunday, back to the house. Inside, Joan turned to Thomas. “Are you hungry? Perhaps we might change before the evening service?” Thomas looked at her and smiled. They went upstairs, back to the bedroom. “Where were we Thomas?”
Clothes on the floor, not tidied away. They slipped into the bed; she could feel herself excited all over again. Before she could find what Thomas wanted, his hands were on her; she simply wasn’t expecting to be the prime interest again. He cupped her breasts and stroked them, then he kissed and nipped the nipples, tweaked each with his thumb and finger, before sliding his hand to her groin. She jumped with surprise as a finger inserted itself. “You are lovely and damp. No, lie back” He demonstrated some more of what he had learned, bringing her to a very pleasant orgasm again. Then he showed her how to hold his erection, this, at least, was something she had done with her husband. She wasn’t very good at it, because her normal partner wasn’t a very good teacher. This time Thomas said nothing but let himself come onto her hand. It was enough that she was doing this for him, perhaps next time he’d help her more. And he was sure there would be a next time. He wiped her hand on her breasts and then licked them. She giggled, the first time he had ever heard her laugh; but then it was the first time a man (and she saw him as a man since he was capable of doing a man’s business) had licked male fluid from her breast. Before she knew it, he was beneath the sheets again and bringing her to a third state of excitement; the second with his tongue. She found it hard to believe that she had missed such things. His tongue extended into her and she laughed once again. Then he found a new way to surprise her by stroking her ring of muscle just beyond. Wasn’t that both forbidden and abhorrent? No to the second, evidently, and, now she came to think of it, she had never heard of a statute, biblical, church or legal, forbidding the stroking of her tight hole for pleasure. And it was pleasurable, his tongue stimulated her most delightfully and she found that she was sliding to a happy conclusion when she realised that her full bladder might be an impediment. “Pray Stop!”
“What is amiss, madam?”
“I, I, ... that is, my bladder is full to overflowing. I...”
With no hesitation he produced the po and held it for her, not looking away nor looking disgusted as her husband once had when he had seen by accident. Apparently wives, or women in general perhaps, were not supposed to have normal bodily functions. She pissed in the bowl and he pushed it way and continued his licking before she even wiped herself. She knew she tasted of more than her female sexual fluids. She wasn’t sure she had ever produced them before. Now he had tasted both them and them with a dilution of piss. And still he continued as if it was perfectly normal. She came again. And he was delighted. He wiped her with her drawers and then they saw the time. She could not wear those drawers, she had no time. They were all of a flutter, and arrived for the evening service with minutes to spare. Old ladies tutted, and men nodded knowingly and agreed that this was why women needed a man – to keep them regular. That may be so, agreed Joan, but meant something entirely different; and enjoyed the deeply erotic feeling of attending church with no drawers on.
In the middle of the prayers for the needy, she leant over to Thomas and said “one further prayer, I am needy. I pray that after this you will show me how a man may truly make love rather than lust”.
That evening they made toast on a fire, despite the stricture that fires were not needed in summer. They sat and ate toast and Joan nearly choked as a hand slipped up her leg whilst she was eating. At eight of the clock, they crept upstairs; conscious of the deed that was contemplated being against some law or other (actually both biblical and legal), and yet also conscious that it was the right thing to do. Thomas took his courage in his hands and asked to see her stand naked before him. They both undressed facing each other and left their night shirts on the chair. They looked at each other. Thomas marvelled at the beauteous combination of curves and sweeps that make a woman’s body, and this one in particular. Joan marvelled at the thin, litheness of her new lover’s body compared to the large, solidity of her husband. She looked at his erection and, realising that, somehow, he, the single young boy, knew more than she, the married woman; she told him to lead her. Ever since his day at Rochmont, he had not been able to forget the feel of a woman’s mouth around his penis. He asked, tentatively, and she knelt before him and enveloped him. Unlike her husband’s selfish pleasure taking, she was delighted at Thomas’s near out-of-control reaction. But he held himself, just, and led her to the bed. There she told him to invade her fully, she had reached a state of unexpected pleasure three times, she owed him that.
Even with that permission, he entered her slowly, so slowly that she found herself excited at the prospect of opening a little more, a little further. This was a first, her vagina opening to receive a cock, joyfully. He was barely three quarters in when he fired. He could bear it no longer. She laughed again, this time with the joy of being such a lust-inducing creature. Later he entered her again, in just the same missionary way, and she marvelled that the same act could feel so different.
He tried to move her fingers to pleasure herself, but she would not. She was not ready for that self-love yet. So he massaged her again and she moaned that such pleasure could come from such a small area of the body. As if to prove the laws of the church that said women were lascivious creatures that needed to be controlled, he inserted two fingers into her, and his other hand invaded her other place with one and then two fingers. She was fairly astounded at the feeling and, as both hands invaded and retreated in unison, she came yet again. She was exhausted with pleasure, something she had never dreamed was possible. As a last hurrah, he turned her to her front and raised her bottom in the air. “A most undignified position” she said, “But a most pleasurable one”. She admitted that the whole act of sex was quite undignified, but such comments had to be carefully formulated so it did not appear to be a criticism of God’s plan. Thomas achieved depth and time in his step-mother’s vagina that time. Then, finally, they slept until 5am.
At 5 she would have risen to make his breakfast, but found him erect again. Was there time? Only if he fore-went breakfast. Breakfast was forgotten as she opened her legs wide and invited his manly cock into her. This last time was the closest to her husband’s lovemaking, for she was sore and tired and he was urgent and keen. Unlike with her Mr Johnstone, though, she happily pretended that she as enjoying the invasion. He was worth pretending for.
At work, he looked pale and was yawning. He had had little sleep he explained, and, finally he was sent home in case he had some contagion. On the way out he was informed that “Mr Johnstone arrived in Hamburg with no problems, we have a letter from him” So he could tell his employer, but not his family; yes, that was to be expected.
Seeing his return so early, sent home for being sick, Mrs Johnstone played her part and put him straight to bed. Perhaps ministering to his cock with her mouth, and forcing him to spend into it, was not quite what the firm had envisioned when they sent him home. Her later treatment of him, learning to ride astride his upturned erection, was similarly an unusual approach to treating the sick, but it certainly helped him sleep well so that he arrived at work on the Tuesday with a beaming smile and happy demeanour.
We do not need to detail every evening’s entertainment that week; suffice it to say it was energetic, messy and very pleasurable. Thomas was enjoying the experience, as was Joan. The difference was that Thomas felt a twinge of guilt that he had started on this solely to hurt his father, and now he was not so sure he could do it because it might hurt his step-mother. Joan, on the other hand, had a twinge of guilt because she was betraying her marriage vows, but was not sure she had not been guided this way by a loving deity rather than the stern God of the church she attended.
John and Jack Johnstone’s return at the weekend was a more subdued affair than expected. Perhaps they were both tired? Yes, perhaps so. That night, John Johnstone resumed his rightful place on and in his wife, peculiarly expelling the word “Uta” at the consummation. The following day, Jack opted not to accompany his father to the early morning service, to Joan’s disappointment. She carefully talked him round until he confessed that his father had bedded a woman from the business they were visiting, one Uta by name. She was a widow, and, being freer and more independent than his wife, she had demanded he act to her pleasure as well. He found he enjoyed this. Hence his exclamation on reaching his own peak with Joan. You might think it hypocritical, but Joan was outraged. She challenged John Johnstone and he confessed – like all people, he was no two dimensional person, he was good and bad. The bad we know already, the good was that he was honest, he would not lie; so when he was challenged, he confessed rather than deny it. He never attempted to lie with his wife again, and she never encouraged him to. Perhaps she used it as an excuse.
Jack meanwhile, had been truly shocked at his father’s feet of clay, he even wondered whether the Roman church’s rules on celibacy might not be preferable to this apparent allowance of the lustful heart in the Protestant tradition. He was finding his beliefs in the perfection of his church, and the infallibility of his father both challenged. He began to slip.
He opted not to attend the early service, then he missed the morning service. He was seen, on a Saturday afternoon, coming out of the Vicar’s residence. He started to read books that did not preach fire and damnation. In time, it seemed that he came back to the fold, but he was never the dedicated puritan again. He even wore a button hole on Saturday! An unholy decoration!