Somewhere, George MacDonald Frazer has Harry Flashman as an old man looking at young women and thinking of the women of his past. I know the feeling, especially when the dreaded ED kicks in, and the wife's Libido goes to pot any way. Sleep doesn't always come as well as it might, so you lie there tossing and turning. You can't even have a wank, you can't quite get it up, but your thoughts turn to the women of your past with nostalgia, and happy though, even if the memory doesn't have the same arousing effect as it once had.
I haven't written a story for Literotica for almost 10 years, I sort of lost the urge, but then, I was thinking of past glories, and I thought that there might be a story in the saga of Betrix.
The events I describe happened 40 years ago. The marital path was at that time not the smoothest, but we lived with it. I had to go on a course. It was one of these courses which someone had persuaded the University that even lecturers, who had no one to manage except a few shared secretaries and technicians had to go on. It was called "Enrich your management skills". So, after a lot of prevarication I was packed off to learn how to manage my non-existent staff. It was a week, and I was sent off to deepest Malvern, where these courses were churned out in a grotty off-season hotel.
It was Sunday evening to Friday morning, I travelled with a colleague. We turned up, at Malvern train station, and were collected. As far as I remember the administration went smoothly. I discovered that I was sharing, I genuinely don't remember anything about the person I was sharing with, except that they stayed up all the last night drinking, as it seemed this had happened on the previous course so some of them wanted to keep the tradition going, and eventually we found ourselves, after a reasonable meal playing icebreakers.
I don't know if they still do courses like that today, but we were invited to go help people work out what character was named on a sticker on their back -- put them out of their agony and give them the name. Work out the possible uses for a paperclip and I can't remember what else. Hell I did the same silly games with my students, and in the end, we were put into syndicates, the management speak for groups, who were going to be our companions on our quest for enlightenment over the next week.
In our group of 12 as well as myself, allegedly an historian, there was a mathematician who admitted that he'd rather be having root canal treatment than this course, and a number of administrators of different grades and institutions. At least they had staff to look after. We sat around and were polite in a way that I suspect that only the British can. Part of it was working out where we stood in the pecking order. This was before PhDs were the requirement to lecture at University, but there was very much a hierarchy of institutions. Universities ranked better than Polytechnics, so a PhD lecturing in a University was the equivalent of a full house. The Mathematician having a PhD and being Oxbridge was aces on the roof, he made his contempt for the whole process clear, and sat, silent with his arms folded, (for like most mathematicians he was what we today would describe as being on the Spectrum.) So, due to the British - well, really the
English
Class system I found myself as the daddy, with people looking up to me. I looked around my charges. There was a female who definitely was up for it, there was a woman who had been an air hostess, and the life and soul of the party, and there was a very quiet red haired lady from a midland polytechnic. I was far from lusting after any of them.
I was not going to do anything stupid. Quite frankly, I had problems of my own at home. In work, as I had developed my area of academic interest, I discovered that most of what we had thought historically was rubbish. I was a revisionist before the revisionists. The problem was that I was into the 4
th
to 8
th
Centuries, and who cared? I was producing papers which challenged past ideas and was not popular. Here was a week's holiday. Before the Internet meant that people were constantly on call, I was cut off on the course, and it was effectively a holiday. I didn't need my life complicated. OK I was expected to lead the syndicate, at least until the tutor turned up -- he was stuck on the M something but would be here when the course properly started. The result was that we had one of those have you been to x, or do you like y conversations. The course leaders came around talked to us and obviously were sizing us up. I'd been there, got the t-shirt, as I had run and contributed to similar courses. I could imagine the comments which the staff would have been making when they met up in someone's room, the bottles came out and they discussed the punters.
In those days, there were no mobile phones, it was a case of finding The Phone and with a store of coins touching base with your nearest and dearest, so I headed off for a quick phone call. And then to bed.
In the morning at least the breakfast was good I remember that the food was actually quite good all week, then down to work. There was a lecture usually by a visiting speaker, then a coffee break, then a syndicate, followed by a plenary session where we reported back. There was no internet -- hell there weren't even photocopiers, so you watched 16mm films or 35mm slides and advanced technology was the Overhead Projector. There was no death by PowerPoint. For there was no PowerPoint. There was the rare big screen TV where the picture was projected onto a screen, but that was for sport in pubs, certainly not at an event like this. Electronic games were a bat and ball plugged into the back of the TV, and commercially there was Space Invaders.
I was quite interested in the dynamics of the syndicate I was in. I watched who was friendly with whom. The woman whom I was pretty sure would, had acquired a number of our younger members as admirers. I wished them good luck. The Mathematician sat in solitude, said very little but just occasionally would come up with a devastating comment which knocked all the platitudes to pot. The rest of us - there were 12 to a syndicate, generally milled around, at least during the first couple of days.
It was on the Wednesday when there was, a rather off-beat lecture. After the Plenary session I found myself talking to Beatrix. It wasn't that I had not noticed her, but we had never really touched base. She was the slim redhead. A pleasant enough face, you couldn't really see her shape, for the place was deadly cold, and we were all wearing several layers of clothes, but from what you could see she didn't seem to have a wonderful figure. On the occasions when she had worn a skirt, she seemed to have nice enough legs, her wrists were that white, redhead skin which those who like redheads love, but others see as being strange. She had ruddy cheeks and the suggestion of freckles on her neck. I can't even remember what I said, but it seemed to release something in her, which meant that rather than sitting across the table from me, when she had the opportunity, she sat beside me. The reason why I noticed was that while I hadn't strayed since I had got married, I had had a number of affairs with students before I was a full lecturer, and I was very much aware of how things develop.
I don't believe that men seduce women. I believe that women decide precisely how far something might go quite early in the relationship or non-relationship. There are those men who push their luck, hence the #Me-To movement. However the lady is in the driving seat and sets the agenda. You can go for it, or walk away, but it is not your wiles which has made it happen. Given the offer, you can say no. Shagging colleagues or students lead to problems even 40 years ago, although not as much as today. Thus, despite my natural lust I had avoided problems with a number of nubile students whom I hadn't fucked, though now in my geriatric bed suffering from insomnia, I give a pleasing though, even though my essential member doesn't rise to the occasion.
Beatrix was not a student. As I believe was said, in the Great War, what happens in France, stays in France. What happens on a course, stays on a course. The interesting thing was to see what actually was going to happen. The trick was to see the potential and act on it if it was there, but otherwise be a caring listener. I could be misreading the non-verbal messages, but I didn't think so.
The Wednesday programme went late into the evening. It was well after nine before the course was able to go into the bar. It was interesting that while the syndicate as a working unit seemed to be much closer, as a social group it was much looser. When people met socially it was as members of different syndicates and the occasional couple. When I went to be bar, I found Beatrix at my elbow, and it would have been impolite of me not to buy her a drink. Of all the drinks she chose Dry Martini and lemonade. I'd never met anyone who drank Dry Martini and lemonade before. It was a strange culture I was entering. There were a couple of seats in one of the groups, so we went over and joined them. There was a member of the staff holding court. He was telling us that we were doing so well in setting through the stuff that we might be able to end the course in the late afternoon on the Thursday and those who wanted would be able to go off before the evening meal on the Thursday, though those of us with transport issues would be able to stay until the Friday morning. I was very aware of my rail ticket being for the Friday morning. In any case the logistics of getting home on late Thursday were quite horrendous. My wife wouldn't drive our vehicle and, in any case, wouldn't have wanted to disturb the children. In the end, a couple of drinks, and I was off to bed.
As predicted, the course finished about 4 pm on the Thursday. The people with cars made their goodbyes and headed off. As I wasn't going anywhere, I thought that I'd go for a walk, and was quite surprised as I was leaving the hotel to find Beatrix had the same idea. I didn't remember saying that I was going out, but whatever, we went out together. Now the only thing which I wanted to do was to get a packet of cigarettes. So, we set off looking for cigarettes, the usual source was closed for some reason. Wandering aimlessly round Malvern, we stumbled on a pub. The weather was cold and bleak, there were intermittent snow showers, it was March after all. I reckoned that a dram was a good idea. And we would get the cigarettes. We went in I ordered, a dram for me, a Martini with lemonade for Beatrix and change for the cigarette machine.
Earlier as we had crossed a road Beatrix had sort of slipped and we ended up holding hands, and it was holding hands we arrived at the pub. I felt that behind the holding of hands there was more than just support. So, we sat and had our drink, and I went and got cigarettes. Then I reckoned that I needed a pee, I went into the toilets had my Pee, and as I was washing my hands I noticed a condom vending machine, which needed 50p, and I happened to have 50p in my pocket slipped it into the machine and collected a package of three of Durex best. I had noticed that while usually there were condoms in the pocket of the suitcase I had with me, that my wife had removed them when she had been packing the case for this trip. I was developing the feeling that I might well have the need for one or two and there was no point in not being prepared.
Beatrix and I left the pub and continued our interdigitation. We went along the road, and it was actually quite slippery, and I put my arm around her, and as we walked she snuggled up to me. I still wasn't sure what was going to happen. I knew very little about her. I remembered that she had said something during the course about having a teenaged daughter but I had noticed that she didn't have any rings on her finger. But one never presumed, and we got back to the hotel and parted. I went had a quick shower and when I got into the bar before the meal Beatrix was sitting with a fresh drink in front of her, with some of the women on the course who seemed to have dressed up for the occasion. I got the impression that there was very much a woman's meeting, men not invited. I got my pint and joined the men, we speculated what was happening the evening meal was announced, and as I went into the dining room I found that Beatrix was beside me. We went into dinner together. Beatrix was wearing a red dress and a mohair wrap.
At the beginning of the meal the woman who had been the airhostess got up. She said,
"As we're sort of stuck here some of us thought that it would be a good idea to have a dance tonight. The management of the hotel will let us lift the carpet over the dance square and Bill here is a disk jockey and came here in his van as he has a gig tomorrow, so we thought that we could have dancing from about 8"
Beatrix dug me in the ribs.
