Copyright Oggbashan April 2003
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.
This story involves some of the characters in "The Silver Vixens" series although it can be read on its own. The women in my stories take control and love their men with mild bondage and sexual use of women's clothing.
* * * * *
The first time I went away with Sheila I underestimated her. I still do. Now I know what to expect. Then I didn't.
We both play football. I play for "The Glossies" formally the Silverbridge United Football Club First Team. Sheila plays for "The Silver Vixens", the Ladies' First Team. I am a back and the largest member of the Glossies. Sheila is a winger and although she looks a reasonable size beside me she is actually only slightly smaller than Lisa, the Vixens' formidable goalkeeper.
I suppose it is because we talk the same language and have the same enthusiasms but Glossies and Vixens seem to pair up frequently and often marry. I am the son of such a marriage. Sheila is the daughter of another. We had known of each other from when we were very young. We went to the same schools and were equally unremarkable for achievement. Not that we are stupid. We just aren't in the same intellectual league as Lisa or Harold, for example. Sheila wasn't the girl next door but she might as well have been for the notice we took of each other. Until we were in our early twenties we were just friends who had known each other for ever.
That changed at one of the Football Club's dinner dances. We all went to them. I thought they were a bore but as team members we were expected at attend. All the older club members and former players came so they were usually fairly sedate occasions. No. Perhaps not so sedate. Even the older members were still fit, no matter what their age, so the dancing was much more lively than say the Chamber of Commerce's dinner dances.
This event was the end of season one which was usually the liveliest because the playing members, including the veterans, could break training and have a few drinks. I had a few too many which is very unusual for me because I have a large capacity. In my elevated state I asked Sheila for a dance. I think I thought, if I was thinking at all, that she would be a suitable partner because she is closer to my size than any other Vixen except Lisa. I rarely ask Lisa to dance. She expects her partners to dance well and expresses her opinion forcefully if she is disappointed. Even sober I am barely good enough a dancer for Lisa except for Rock and Roll. As I was that night I didn't dare ask Lisa.
Sheila looked closely at me.
"You are drunk, John." she said.
"Probably," I replied "but I would still like to dance with you."
She stood up.
"OK, John, but if you tread on my feet you will get my knee in your ..."
" ... I understand, Sheila," I interrupted. "I don't think I'm that drunk."
"You are the one at risk," she said "one false step ..."
The first dance was a slow waltz. Sheila and I could have danced it in our sleep. The next was another slow number and Sheila fitted into my arms as if she was made for them. We stayed on the dance floor until the end of the evening. I realised that the girl I had known all my life was someone I wanted a closer relationship with. I walked her home and she invited me in for coffee. Coffee and a goodnight kiss was all I got except a date for next week.
From then on we became closer but I wasn't getting any more than a few hugs and goodnight kisses. I wanted to go further so one Thursday evening I suggested a weekend away together. To my surprise Sheila agreed but only if we went camping tomorrow night until Sunday evening.
I had never been camping. I had done many things but sleeping in a tent had never appealed. But in a tent with Sheila - that was very attractive. She told me to buy a sleeping bag and a backpack. She would provide everything else.
I bought a double sleeping bag. I hoped; but even if I did not get to share it with Sheila the single bags looked much too small for me.
I ought to have known better. I had forgotten that Sheila was a "Vixen". They always control their men. I was going away for a weekend expecting intimacy. Sheila was intending a very different weekend for me. I would be on her territory, where she understood the rules and I did not. It wasn't an equal match but when are "The Silver Vixens" ever fair when they want something from a man?
After work on Friday I loaded my car and collected Sheila. She loaded several bags into the car. The sun was shining brightly. It would not be dark for several hours.
"OK, John, aim for the A303. We are going to Devon via Exeter."
In a couple of hours fast but legal driving we were in Devon.
I tried to get Sheila to talk about camping. She would talk about anything else. After an hour as we drove West the weather got worse. By the time we reached Exeter I had the windscreen wipers on their fastest speed. The rain was so hard that it was drumming on the car's roof.
"A30 towards Okehampton," said Sheila.
After a few miles she directed me off the main road down some miles of very narrow lanes that seemed more like streams than roads. Eventually we came to an inn set in dark woodland which had a large car park out of proportion to the size of the building. We dashed through the rain so fast that I didn't see the inn sign.
In the bar there was a wood fire burning in the large fireplace. Yet this was nearly Summer.
I bought drinks for us. We sat down at a table by the fire. After a few minutes Sheila went to the Ladies. On the way back she stopped to talk to the landlord. I couldn't hear what they said but in retrospect I realise he gave me a pitying look. He produced a book from under the bar. Sheila wrote something in it. I thought that she had decided not to camp and had booked us into the inn for the night.
I was wrong.
"Come on, John, drink up," Sheila said "we have a way to go before it gets dark."
I blinked. She meant it. We were going camping in this foul weather. I finished my drink.
I was going to get in the driving seat but Sheila stopped me.
"We are leaving the car here. Get everything you need out of the boot. Have you got a waterproof coat?"
"Er ... I think so."
She was rummaging in my backpack while I scrabbled around under the driver's seat to find a torn old plastic raincoat.
Sheila didn't laugh at me - then.
She put on a bright blue cagoule and matching waterproof trousers. I hadn't noticed before but she was wearing strong boots. I had driven in an old pair of trainers and had some street shoes in my pack. I left the trainers on.
Sheila threw masses of equipment at me.
"Put these in your backpack."
It was an order. I didn't argue. Sheila knew what she was doing. I didn't.
She had given me the cooking stove and its fuel, the pans, the food in tins and foil packets, the water container, the tent poles and pegs and other things. It was weeks later before I realised that what she gave me could get soaking wet without damage.
I rammed everything into the backpack. It barely fitted and was very lumpy. I had to tie the pans on the outside. Sheila loaded her backpack. There seemed to several bags left in the car.
Even with the plastic raincoat I was getting wet. My hair was plastered down. Water was running down the back of my neck. As the water ran off the raincoat it soaked my legs. I was really miserable and we hadn't even left the car park.
"Ready?" she asked.
"I think so."
"Put the pack on."
