Copyright Oggbashan December 2019
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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I had been invited to spend Christmas and the New Year in Devon. Joanne and her sister (and mother) were planning a long get together of their friends and family. Until I had been transferred to a job in London I had been Joanne's on and off boyfriend. I had been 'on and off' because my job in Devon meant frequent absences for work-related trips lasting up to a fortnight. Whenever I was away Joanne would find another man to escort her to parties and she enjoyed parties.
But whenever I was there, she preferred me. I had hoped, but that hope was fading, that she would become my fiancée, marry me and we could set up home in London. Her invitation to the extended party was my last hope. I liked her, no, more than that, I loved her but I didn't think she loved me enough to leave friends and family and Devon. I accepted the invitation hoping that she might change her mind but with no realistic expectation that she would. Even if she didn't, a holiday break with her, her family and our mutual friends would be enjoyable but probably the last. I might propose again, accept her rejection and move on. Even if she rejected my proposal she would make love to me and the prospect of a week of Joanne's love-making even if it was the final fling, was irresistible. She was so good at making me feel as if I was the only one, and the best -- while it lasted.
I knew deep down that I should have accepted that Joanne would never change. She would replace me whenever I was away, whether we were engaged or even married. That would hurt me and our marriage would probably be doomed from the start. I ought to have broken with her finally but she was incredible in bed. While that was on offer, I'd keep coming back to her like a moth to a flame, despite knowing it would end badly.
I had one problem. Everyone else who would be there lived within walking distance. Joanne's sister would be home from university so they had no spare bedrooms. There was no hotel or bed and breakfast establishment in the small village. But one of Joanne's distant relations had a small camping site on a field next to the church. From the spring to the autumn it was mainly used for touring caravans and motorhomes but he had a small space for those using a tent. If he agreed, I could pitch my tent on his site, only fifty yards from Joanne's house. I wasn't sure whether that was possible or if his licence allowed that at Christmas. I had to check before I accepted Joanne's invitation. I telephoned him to find out.
"Yes, Alan," he said, "you could. My licence for caravans and motorhomes only lasts until the end of October but tents are allowed all year round. Are you sure? It will be cold."
"That's OK, Michael," I replied. "My tent and sleeping bag are designed for winter use in mountains at high altitudes. They are intended for up to minus 25 degrees C."
"Rather you than me, Alan, but I'll open a toilet block for you. There won't be any other facilities. OK?"
"Yes, thank you, Michael."
I wrote and posted my formal acceptance.
That evening I checked all my camping equipment. I made sure I had additional guy ropes for the tent and plenty of heavy duty tent pegs in case the ground was soggy. I packed it carefully.
When I went to bed I was remembering making love to Joanne. She was always ready and rarely needed any foreplay but if I did, like kissing her breasts or pussy she became even more aroused. I'm larger than average, so much so that my size frightens some women, yet with Joanne I penetrated her more than any other woman I had known.
If I was on top, she wrapped her legs around me and pulled hard as I thrust. If she was riding me, her legs slid underneath mine and clamped around as she pushed downwards. Once we had coupled, she wouldn't release her legs' fierce hold until she was satisfied. Usually I could hold back until she was -- if not she wouldn't let me go. I became aroused just by being with Joanne and she knew it. She wanted and needed to be made love to almost every night, and while I wasn't around she would seduce any available male.
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I set out to drive to Devon after my last working day, a Thursday. Unlike my previous cars which had been 1940s small Fords I now had a 1950 Morris Oxford MO. It was much larger, capable of taking six adults. But it had electric windscreen wipers, a 12 volt electrical system, a heater and demister and headlights that actually showed the road. I would be warm, dry and comfortable even if it was slow for such a large car. It would still average higher journey speeds than the old Fords. The back seat was large enough to make love to Joanne if we had nowhere else private.
I stopped several times at all-night cafes for coffee and a toilet and arrived at the campsite about nine on Friday morning. I spoke to Michael, who told me to pitch my tent anywhere but to avoid the lower sections that might flood. At the back of the site, next to the church, was a raised area above a low wall, like a terrace. I heaved my tent up onto that and pitched it carefully, positioning the doorway opposite the prevailing south-westerly wind. Because it was December I used more guy ropes and more tent pegs than usual. When I had finished I was sure my tent would survive even the strongest gales partially protected by the churchyard wall and well above any possible flood. I cooked lunch for myself under the extended flysheet of my tent. I was sure I would be warm, dry and very comfortable in my tent.
After lunch I went to Joanne's house. Her welcome was as effusive as ever. I knew this might be the last ever time but her welcome seemed to promise that I would have mind-blowing sex with her. She dragged me off to the kitchen to meet her mother and sister and to have a cup of coffee. All the women kissed me but Joanne sat on my lap and wrapped herself around me to show I was hers, even if only for this week.
After lunch, Joanne went upstairs to change to go out with me. While she was gone, Fiona, her sister warned me.
"Alan, Joanne invited you because her current boyfriend has gone off to see his parents in Manchester. She only wants you while he's away."
"Thanks, Fiona. I suspected that there might be something like that."
"We don't want you hurt, Alan," Their mother added. "We all like you but Joanne is using you."
"I'm not surprised," I said. "I've known Joanne long enough to know exactly what she's like. But, despite myself, I love her. I will accept whatever she's offering and know that it won't lead anywhere. I had hoped... But that hope has long gone."
"I'm sorry, Alan. We all like you and you were a great help when my husband died."
Mrs Mount's husband had a heart attack at work and died within minutes. I had helped with all the paperwork after his death. It was easier for me because I wasn't a relation and I had skills the family didn't have.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do more, Mrs Mount," I said.
"But what you could do was great and helped. I was lost especially as my husband had kept all the finances to himself."
"And why not? He was an accountant," I retorted.
"But I had no idea about what to do. You did, and the whole of my family should be grateful to you, Alan."
"And that's helped me now I am a householder too, Mrs Mount."
"You are?" Fiona asked. "We didn't know."
"I did send my change of address. I am now the proud owner of a small two-bedroom terraced house in London. I can walk to work. I have to. I couldn't have afforded commuting fares because of the mortgage, or at least I couldn't in the first year after paying all the legal fees. Now the mortgage is slightly more affordable and less than I would have been paying to rent. I think I own about a third of the house."
"Does Joanne know?" Fiona asked.
