ONE
The heavy wooden side gate of Efflington Gully Prison slammed shut, leaving pasty-faced man of about thirty dressed in a blue suit, light blue shirt, no tie and brown boat shoes. He carried a small suitcase.
Short-ass Maud Evans, all of five feet, called in a stentorian voice, "Bass Togood?"
A little disoriented, Bass looked around to see if she was addressing someone else. There was no-one else about.
"Yep."
"I beg your pardon?"
"YEP!"
"There's no need to shout."
"Likewise.
"Oh dear, a rebel. You were to go to the Selfridge family but I'm afraid anyone with aggression is not suitable for them. I'll switch you to Miss Cushla Masters; David Persons who's due out at 3:00 can go to the Selfridges.
"Please get into the car."
Bass did not move.
"What's the matter, are you hard of hearing?"
"I don't trust women drivers β I'll walk."
"Oh, very well, here are the keys. Drive in an orderly manner. Go around this curve to the right, take a sharp turn left and continued on for about a mile. That is all."
Bass got behind the wheel.
"What are you doing?"
"Pushing the seat back."
"Now what are you doing?"
"Lowering the seat."
"Now what are you doing?"
"Starting the motor."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Eeeeeek," screamed Mrs Evans, as her Japanese hatchback accelerated savagely forward, went around the unsealed curve in a slide and she was squeezed into the right-hand side of her seatbelt as Bass eased the Honda into a sharp left and floored the accelerator to give Mrs Evans the fastest car ride of her life.
He eased back under 100 miles an hour, scratched behind his left ear with his right hand, almost giving Mrs Even a seizure then said, "I'd like a beer."
"The p-p-pub is a quarter m-m-mile down on the left," she said.
"Right, better slow down β don't want to over-shoot, do we," said Bass, stomping on the brakes.
"Nice car; everything seems to work as well as it should," he offered.
"I-I-I think I'll have a double scotch when we get to the p-p-pub," said the former Australian Army nurse.
Half of Mrs Evan's whisky disappeared in the first gulp, returning color to her face.
"What did you miss most in prison, Bass?"
"Sex."
Mrs Evans' face was now nicely colored.
"I understood the prisoners attended to that themselves."
"The first fruitcake that laid a hand on me, I pushed his front teeth to the back of his throat and I wasn't touched-up again."
"The report said you were aggressive."
"Better that than having my asshole rebored to a new width."
"C-c-could we c-c-change the subject, Bass?"
"Okay, what's this Masters Shelia like?"
Cushla Masters is president of our Wainsford Prisoner Rehabilitation League and I would advise you to proceed carefully as she runs a martial arts academy and is chief instructor.
"She sounds interesting."
"She's not, she's a sad, heart-broken woman."
"What, her parents died recently," laughed Bass, scratching his butt.
"Actually yes, shot by her fiancΓ©e before she killed him, breaking his neck."
"Sounds like my kind of girl."
"I'd be very careful if I were you, Mr Togood. If you'll excuse me I'll go over to the corner and phone her now and read out the report we have on you. It could be she'll refuse to accept you. Here's more money, enough for two more beers."
Bass bought another beer then put two bucks in a slot machine and selected only the Jackpot. The alarm went and the publican came running out of his office carrying a baseball bat.
"Was it a legitimate strike, Scotty?" he asked the idle barman.
"Yeah, saw him put two bucks in and select only one button."
"Yes, that is correct, Mr Carrington β I can collaborate that statement," said the Court registrar, having a late counter lunch.
"Better come with me, son and get your check."
"Cash."
"Check β don't trust banks."
"What, you expect that I'm keeping $800 bucks on these premises."
"Yes."
"Well I don't."
"I'm willing to bet my eight hundred bucks that you're got at least ten thousand bucks in that safe of yours β my $800 to your $10,000 says I'm right.'
"Oh, all right, but keep your voice down, I don't want the riff-raff knowing I keep a safe full of money."
"He is the riff-raff Alfie; what's he done?"
"Just won $810.15 in the Jackpot."
"What, legitimately?"
"So it seems."
"He'll want it in cash."
"We've already established that, Maud, so unless you can produce grounds for me not having to pay out this money, I shall go off and get it for him."
"You go get the money, Alfie. It's time he had some luck."
TWO
"Cushla β this is Mr Bass Togood, Bass this is Miss Masters. She has gracefully accepted the task of helping to rehabilitate you into society over the next three weeks."
Gosh, he needs fattening up and putting out into the sun to tan, thought Cushla. He's a much better type than I'd expected.
The report Maud had read to her stated: drunken driving three months, assaulting the judge seven months, contempt of Court three months β fourteen months concurrently; served eight months and released on good behavior bond. A complex character, post-release rehabilitation program recommended for a suggested period of three weeks.
Cushla thought a good bath, haircut and finger nails clean and he would be fine to have sitting at her dining table.
Bass knew she was sizing him up and yet didn't look dismayed, which was a good sign. She was in her early thirties, almost as tall as he was -six-two.
Shucks, her parents must have been feeding her something rich. She was lean, nothing outstanding in the tit department, boyish hips but it was of little interest as he was unlikely to get himself parked in there. Oh goodness, look at those legs below her short shorts β they were top babe material.
Staring at the legs Bass looked up to find Miss Masters staring at him, coldly.
"Are you into martial arts, Mr Togood."
"No, not really."
Cushla looked about to challenge that answer when Mrs Evans said she'd better be off.
"Goodbye, Bass. I guess I'll see you at the community social on Saturday, if not before. Good luck and please be obedient to Miss Masters. She'd not had a great year.
Bass stepped forward and kissed Mrs Evans on the cheek and thanked her. She blushed and said that she knew he was a nice man "underneath it all."
They were standing to the side of the small weatherboard house and Bass could see a little hut behind it. Cushla looked at the hut, looked at him and obviously made a decision.
"Come on, you're sleeping in the house β but first we have to delouse you. It's standard procedure. I'll join you in the bathroom in a couple of minutes, strip but keep your underpants on."
Bass thought this was more like going into prison rather than coming out of it, though the guards had simply hosed the three-person intake down with a high pressure hose, grinning fiendishly as the hosed prisoners howled with pain.
Cushla arrived in a one-piece peach colored bathing suit that almost made it appear she was totally nude. Bass's cock raced to half-mast, fortunately not protruding out of his underpants; he fought to keep it undercover, unable to hide his embarrassment.
"It's all right Bass; we realize this happens when you've been out of circulation for months or even years. We pretend not to notice."
Bass gave Cushla a look of puppy gratitude; he really appreciated the humane touch in the use of the word pretend. She's a nice lady, he thought.
Cushla shampooed his hair, working her fingers in deeply; his head was bent forward, almost touching her breasts and both he and Cushla worked to avoid unnecessary contact.
The shampoo smelt as diabolical as the soap.
"I'll go now and you can finish off, please had me your underpants for washing; I'll get your suit dry-cleaned and I will fumigate your shoes. May I take clothes out of your suitcase?
"Yes," croaked Bass, removing his underpants and expecting another humiliation, but she stood with her eyes well averted, holding out a hand to receive them.
He then noticed a freshly laundered white polo shirt and pair of white shorts and white briefs on the stool, waiting for him.
"We're not supposed to serve new release people alcohol."
Bass noticed the use of the words 'no supposed' so said he'd like a beer.
Cushla, still in her swimsuit returned carrying two screw-top bottles of lager. Bass flicked a look and concluded that the breasts were larger than he'd first thought and he could see no stray hairs below, which meant that she shaved to a bikini line or was completely smooth. He licked his lips at the thought of a completely smooth vulva.
Cushla whipped off the cap of the bottle with ease, a reminder to Bass that there was real power in those hands and arms. Most women in his past would have asked him to unscrew the caps for them even if knowing they could do it themselves.