SO MANY DIMENSIONS

Up, down, sideways, or perhaps that should be width, length and thickness. And time, always time the fourth dimension, they say. You can usually add a bit on to the height, girth or breadth, but time is finite, you’ve just so much of it and no more. This all began with three dimensions, X, Y and Z as anyone with a 3D printer will tell you. But there are other dimensions, some physicists reckon there are ten or more and sometimes when we go off in a different direction we are said to be exploring a new dimension. Dimensions, dimensions, always the size and shape and how long.

And it was one of those printers that was the catalyst, quite surprisingly, to exploring some of the new dimensions as well as X, Y and Z.

So, to begin at the beginning, which always seems sensible, and which, so far, we have avoided. We live on the outskirts of a small village called ... well, never mind because you wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name anyway. We’re very happy by ourselves, that is my sister and I, and we’re not bothered too much by anyone other than the postman. In fact this past year even the Christmas carol singers missed us and I had to go and give them money not to listen to them. I don’t think I phrased that correctly, but never mind. We did let our static caravan, I think the rest of the world calls them mobile homes ‘though I’m damned if I’d want to move it, to holiday makers, but since my sister’s health has deteriorated we have stopped doing this. So it’s quiet, and we can just ignore people. You might think that we are a couple of old miseries and, well, you might be right, but as I said, we’re very happy, provided we don’t have to interact with people, other than very briefly.

On the opposite side of the lane there is an old mill that has been converted to a house, and used as holiday accommodation until recently. So we never saw much of anyone there, people come, and people go. Mainly go. Happiness. Until, as I said, recently. The owners decided that it was too much bother to let for holidays, and so they let it to a single mum with two small boys. I don’t think I was too worried about that, because you can’t see the other house from our house and the occupants of the other house can’t see us. Even our long road boundary has a hedge of assorted bushes and trees and effectively screens us from walkers. But our new neighbours were still there, and we were still here, so interaction was, alas, inevitable.

A sunny afternoon saw us relaxing on the patio watching birds and butterflies, more correctly damsel and dragon flies, when footsteps on the path announced the arrival of visitors. Mum, Morgana, and twin six year old boys Gareth and Gethin, had called in on their way home from school. They introduced themselves, the boys were fascinated by the pond and spotted tadpoles, and after a short ‘get to know you’ sort of a conversation, they left. The following afternoon was a repeat of the first except that Morgana brought a piece of cake with her. Now, as everyone knows, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. The way to his brain lies, of course, a few inches lower. But this was a good start.

We didn’t see Morgana for a week, I spotted that she had some feller staying, yes I know what I said about how difficult it was to see anything, but nothing’s perfect is it? Anyway, he collected the boys from school by car, so with him there, I hadn’t returned the cake plate. We next saw Morgana the following week. I guess the boys were at school by the time she called. We had finished breakfast, and my sister, her name is Penny by the way, but everyone calls her Tuppence, not so much a touch of the Agatha Christie’s, but when she was little our dad said she was worth more than a penny, so he called her Tuppence and Tuppence she has been ever since. Anyway, she was settled until coffee time. I hadn’t left for my studio at the top of the umm, garden. That’s a bit pretentious because it was no more than half way up the field. So I made more coffee. Conversation was interesting as we exchanged information about each other as one does, and Tuppence said that I spent most of my time either in the workshop, or at the moment playing with my new 3D printer. This last really piqued Morgana’s interest. Would she like to see, I asked. She would. So we finished our coffee, and she followed me up steps from the patio and past the pond, further steps to pass the workshop, and on to the tin shed that contains my studio. The caravan lies just beyond this, gently uphill all the way which means that Tuppence can to get up there nowadays only with some difficulty. If we had family coming to stay then I would assist her to come up because she insisted that everything in the caravan should be ‘just so’, and she did not believe that I could achieve this. A belief that was fully justified.

I do all sorts of things in my studio as takes my fancy, I’m retired after all, different kinds of artwork, painting and printing, some messy things, and recently three dimensional printed things. The printer I had was very basic, having been on offer as I suspect a newer model was due. I had downloaded from the internet a number of things which I had printed, just for experiment really, to see what the machine would do. Morgana expressed interest in the process, and in the programme that allowed you to design your own things.

“What are these?” she asked, picking up a couple of items which I would have rather she had missed.

“Well,” I was groping for the necessary words. “I downloaded those because I thought they were, umm ... paper clip sort of things. It wasn’t until they didn’t work very well that I went back and read the caption.”

“So what are they?

“Umm ... nipple clamps.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, I see.” She opened and closed them, and then put them down.

I wasn’t alone in being embarrassed.

We went on to talk about other things and after maybe a quarter of an hour she left. After looking at the nipple clamps again.

Ho hum, I thought, I hope that isn’t the end of a beautiful friendship. I wasn’t that concerned, but I’d just as soon she didn’t talk to the other mums at school, and announce that I was a pervert. I mean, for fuck’s sake, they’re only nipple clamps.

I didn’t see Morgana for a few days by which time the embarrassment had lessened considerably. She may have popped in to see Tuppence, but nothing had been said.

I’d have a job to describe Morgana. I knew that she had been living in a big west country city about three hours journey away, and had moved here because she wanted to be closer to her roots. She was, in all honesty, pretty average, but averagely pretty. She was about five five, not fat but certainly not skinny, she appeared to have a nice, but not outstanding figure, short dark hair, hazel eyes, attractive face, remarkable rosebud lips were an outstanding feature, but I mean, sort of girl next door, nice, but ... average. You weren’t going to rave about her, but you sure as hell wouldn’t kick her out of bed. Which may all make me sound like a perv, though I’m sure I’m not, I’m old, retired, but I’m not dead. Yet. I still take a great deal of interest in women, it’s just that they don’t take a lot of interest in me. And when I look in the mirror I’m not entirely surprised.

And so just about a week later there was a knock on the door of my studio. I yelled to come in and Morgana stepped inside. She was looking particularly nice in jeans and a jumper and, I noted no bra. Well, yes of course I notice.

“Bora da! How can I help?” I greeted her.

“I wanted to know more about...” she paused. “Umm... 3D printers, and...”

I looked at her. She seemed a little on edge, bit uncomfortable. And no bra. I went with my gut feeling. If I was wrong, well, I’d laugh it off and change the subject.

“You wanted,” I suggested with a smile, “to try the nipple clamps.”

“Oh! Nnno ... oh!

I was sure from the reaction that ‘Bingo’ was the right word, so I pressed on.

“I think yes is the answer.”

She didn’t move, just coloured up a very fetching shade of pink.

I stood and stepped up to her, looking her in the eyes. She looked away as I slid my hands up under the jumper. I caressed very firm breasts and then pulled on her nipples. They were quite long, and I felt behind me with one hand and picked up one of the offending items. Still under cover of her jumper I clipped one onto a nipple.

She gave a sharp intake of breath.

I picked up the other clamp and attached it.

And again a sharp intake of breathe.

I continued to caress her breasts, and then gently pulled on the clamps. She suddenly clamped herself to me, an open mouthed kiss as her tongue sought mine, and then, with a shudder, she orgasmed. There was no doubt about it. She gasped, and then after what seemed a moment, but could have been half a minute, she pulled away, rushed out of the door and down the back path to the road and home.

Well bugger me - not an invitation - but that was something completely outside my experience. I could print some more nipple clamps to replace those, although I wasn’t sure whether I would need them, she might bring the originals back. But would she be back?

I dealt with a small problem of my own that had, umm, cropped up you understand, well, not so small really, and then went down to get lunch.

“Did Morgana find you?” Tuppence asked.

“Yes, of course,” I replied, “no problem. She was interested in some of the things the printer can make.”

Well that was perfectly truthful. If not the entire truth.

Tuppence gave me a rather indulgent smile.

After lunch I went back to the studio and indulged in further study of nipple clamps. I selected a different pattern, downloaded, sliced, and set the printer going. The original clamps had a scissor action and the pads that did the work were just lightly serrated to give them a grip. The pressure was given by a circle of printed material that somewhat resembled a Terry clip. The new ones were like a cross between a hair grip and a crocodile clip. With crocodile teeth. In the interests of research I tried one. Ouch! I printed two sets because I could see that on long nipples it would be possible to fit two, and then I set them aside and got on with what I would have been doing if none the foregoing had happened.

On the morning of the third day my studio door opened and a rather upset young lady flounced in and sat on one of my stools.

I waited.

She flung down the nipple clamps that she had left with.

“They don’t work!”

I was a little bit thrown by this, I mean, they aren’t powered, battery or whatever, and the only action was to clip them in place. And manipulate them of course.

But of course, I realised, the power that was missing was another human being, in this case me. I suppose anyone would have done, but as I’m sure you are aware, however good you are at manipulating whichever set of ‘bits’ you are equipped with, there is nothing like someone else ‘helping out’. Another hand down there as it were. And I had a suspicion that Morgana was in fact rather naïve in this respect.

I stepped forward and hugged her. She burst into tears on my shoulder. I hoped it wasn’t going to make me too wet or explanations might be difficult!

“Would you like to try again?”

Sniff. “Mmm.”

“I’ve printed some new ones,” I told her, easing her jumper up and over her head.

“Oh god! Someone will see.”

“If you look out of the window you’ll see there is a hedge, and then about a six foot drop and then the field extends to Dave and Sioned’s and that must be 300 yards. So you’re pretty safe.”

I pushed her slightly away ... my goodness but she had a beautiful body, the top half anyway, and I was determined I’d see the rest which I reckoned must be just as good. I caressed her breasts for a minute or two and then leant forward and took a nipple in my mouth. It extended and hardened as did the gasps, and after a couple of minutes I let go and clipped one of the new clamps on. My, but did that get a reaction. I repeated my actions on the other nipple and elicited another similar response. I gave these new clamps a bit of a twist and once again she grabbed me into a very messy and enjoyable kiss. I gently ran my nails over her back and then back around to her breasts once again, and then down across her stomach. As I did so she drew in to give me more room, and as I reach the first wisp of pubic hair she went off like a fire cracker in a performance worthy of an Oscar. Except she wasn’t acting. Nice to know you’re needed.

It must have taken five minutes with more kisses and caresses before she gently settled down. I removed the clamps and she gasped in pain as the crocodile teeth disengaged.

“Ooo, those really hurt.”

“They do work though don’t they?”

She reached for her jumper and slid it back on.

“Does that machine print anything else?”

“Oh yes, what sort of thing did you have in mind?”

“I didn’t have anything in mind, I just wondered.”

Hmm.

I turned to the computer and pulled up the site I had used for the clamps. I logged in and a moment later some grotesque female miniatures were displayed on screen.

“What on earth...”

“Those are the products of the fevered imaginations of hormonal teenagers,” I said.

I scrolled down.

“There,” I said. “A model of a penis, probably about the size you’d expect on a juvenile elephant.”

“Probably suit me then,” Morgana sniffed.

“Pardon? What ever do you mean?”

Silence followed by a sniff.

“Coffee,” I said.

Although I usually go down to join Tuppence for coffee on this particular day she was out. I should point out that although she is disabled she is still able to drive, which is just as well because I can’t. I may have commented previously how unreasonable it is that they will not allow the partially sighted to drive. So I have a coffee filter in my studio, which I now set off to create coffee from the kopi luwak beans for which I have developed a mild addiction.