Ever get the feeling you've just been stitched...?
It's an unhappy feeling especially when the person doing the stitching is your dearly beloved, your other half.
I lead a normal, easy going fairly blameless life these days. Ok - so Sven hasn't always been entirely good - but, if you pardon the vernacular, for most of the time I've been 'gooder' than most - or perhaps lucky and careful not to get caught too often. This time my protestations failed - miserably.
Maybe I ought to rewind a tad. My other half's niece had arrived to stay with us. Forget Bimbos, when you get to our age, think more like forty plus year old aging has-beens -except Sam wasn't. A has-been that is. Divorced yes, has-been no way. In fact that's really the problem. I trust the woman about as far as I can fling a grand piano. Which, with my back, is not a lot! Something was definitely not quite above board.
The object of my concern had arrived a couple of hours before, stiff and tired and manky after a rather long sojourn on the roads, through the summer holiday traffic to our neck of the woods. The travel difficulties keep most of our relatives away during the summer months - a fact not a million miles from our decision to move here in the first place - oh that and the fact we don't have any spare bedrooms. At all. Well, perhaps an air bed in the dining room - maybe - and only for the selected, a very selected few.
My other half had an appointment in town she couldn't put off, indeed had been waiting for for some time - we both got a muttered 'See you later - I'll try not to be more than two hours...' over her shoulder. She hurtled out the door, leaving us with the dog, who looked her mournful self at not getting to go for a walk as well.
Sam looked at me in a wheedling way. A way that said she knew she was going to get round me so why didn't I just give in and do what was being asked - by both her and my just departed wife. I had now had time to think about it a little and in the end thought I might as well give in gracefully - I'd never hear the end of it otherwise.
"OK Sam - you win - we'd better do it on our bed, it's firm enough and close enough to the right height as well - I'll go put the oil on to warm," and so I went to prepare.
It was all herself's fault - she will tell people that I've been learning the gentle art of massage and that for tired and stiff muscles I'm very good at getting the kinks out of the achy bits. It's just that, well, how can I put it, I've never done it to anyone else other than my dearly beloved - which is just as well as it tends to have the wrong effect on me, let alone her. It's normally a Sunday afternoon 'thing' and we keep it as a special event. Why? Because I find it very difficult to avoid things getting more than a little out of hand. We usually end up screwing like it's going out of fashion. And now I had the chance to do it on Sam. I knew it was going to cause a problem and we hadn't even begun.
I guess I ought to admit before we go any further that I've lusted after this woman for several years now. That was the other reason I didn't really want to do that - your own middle-aged niece, even if it's only by marriage, is a little too close to one's own doorstep for fooling around. I felt a little like the object of that limerick - you know 'she knew what they meant, but still went' or some such line.
I sighed inwardly and muttered grace to myself - 'for what I'm about to receive...' etc. etc. - as I put the oil on the burner to warm up. I changed into a pair of shorts and a light top - it was not a cold day and this activity usually makes me more than a little warm. While I was waiting I put the sheet my wife had so thoughtfully provided over the top of the normal covers. Jeez! She even thought of that - Hell! She 'knows' where this is going.
