Partial Insertion

Partial Insertion Pt. 03 of 3

Rachel has been called away from her studies in 1970s London by a family crisis. The physical side of her relationship with boyfriend Gerry has not been a success and this has made them very unhappy—so much so, in fact, that she has confided in her landlady Beverly and solicited advice from her. Beverly, a nurse, seems to be under the impression that Rachel has asked her to give Gerry kissing lessons. Previously distrustful of Beverly, Gerry finds that the instruction she's giving him completely changes his mind about her; especially after the scope of this instruction broadens...

**********

Gerry arrived on Tuesday evening clutching a bunch of red roses he had bought at a street market. The trader took one look at him before suggesting that they were what he needed 'for the lady'. As soon as he was in the street door, Beverly flung him against the wall and nearly ate his face before grabbing the roses and charging upstairs to the flat, giggling and shouting incoherently all the way. By the time Gerry reached the sitting room, Beverly had thrown the roses into a jar and she was ready for more hijinks, wary jungle cat steps taking her backward, away from him, as if he must be about to grab her at any moment, then dodging him to do a silly lurching dance round the room, so that in the end he did have to chase and catch her.

"Oh Gez, I've got something to show you. I've been a really bad girl." Her voice went hoarse, as he pursued her in the dance. "I've got no knickers on," she said and fanned the skirt of the floral dress she was wearing, so that he could see the fur between her legs.

"I'm such a whore," she declared languidly, busying herself with his trousers and belt to acquire his cock. "You've got to punish me and put me right. I am going to fall down and die if you don't ride your wagon through here," she said pointing at her cunt, carelessly masturbating as if it didn't matter who did it.

She slung her other arm round his neck and growled softly into his ear as she chewed it and then lurched backwards so that her back landed hard against the wall.

Her breasts were loose under her dress and he started rubbing the left one. He could feel the nipple hardening through it.

Y

er

a dirty fucking bastard,

he addressed himself inwardly, delighted by this idea, and the further one of doing this to her in a crowded tube train as if they were strangers.

"You've got to stick your prick into me, Gez, you've really made a whore out of me and it's not funny. You've got to fuck me and put me right." She massaged his cock furiously.

"I'm going to fuck you Bev," he said with attempted bravado. "I'm going to put it right."

"Put it right in, you mean." She lifted one of her legs onto the sideboard so that she could open them more and then assisted him in doing just that. They weren't quite ready and there was some slight discomfort. She took him out and brought some spit down on her fingers.

"Oh. Yes. Oh."

She slipped her arms round him onto his arse and reinforced his every thrust at her with her gathering hands. "Oh yes. This is good. You're going to fuck me proper. Faster. You're going to come before the hands cross, and so am I."

She started chewing his ear again, hard, and drooling on it.

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Stick it right up. I want it right up."

They were lost in frantic action and his cock was flying in and out of her like a piston.

He was astonished at how good and how utterly easy it was, as if they were made for each other.

There was a banging sound, underneath the moaning and panting, a knocking sound. It was the back of her head knocking against the wall. Soon they came amidst a deluge of shrieks, and collapsed onto the floor. They sat up, backs to the wall, his arm round her and over her shoulder. She wiped her cunt absent mindedly with a Kleenex and passed the box to Gez.

"The clock," she said pointing. It was nearly ten to nine and the minute hand was over the hour hand. In a minute it would have overtaken it and "crossed".

So they'd done it in possibly less than five minutes. He thought of those awful nights with Rachel, imprisoned in her bed, both of them, suffering and awake, trying not to disturb the silent other. They had been like kittens trapped drowning in a sack.

He remembered something that Rachel had told him, something that Beverly had said: "Once you crack it, you won't be able to keep your hands off each other. You'll be at it like rabbits, the minute the door closes."

"You and me, Gez. You and me." She blew out breathlessly, and snuggled up to him, and undid the top of her dress. "Suck me," she said as her bosom flowed out, a tide of flesh.

He lowered himself a bit to apply his mouth to her breasts, and she started to stroke his hair.

"Did you think about Rachel while we were doing it?"

"Yes."

Her hands stopped moving.

"Are you sure, Gerald?"

"Uh yeah."

"So what did you think of?" She got up off the floor and sat in an armchair.

"I imagined her... I imagined having sex with her."

Beverly had a few books in a case by side of the chimney breast. She had picked up a copy of 'Just William' and started to read ostentatiously.

"You're reading 'Just William'?" asked Gerry.

"You 'imagined having sex with her'?" she called out at him with shrill mimicry. " For crying out loud. You're the one wasting bloody time here," she said and then ignored him.

Gerry was trying to work out just which possible thing it was that he'd done wrong. He went and sat in the opposing armchair. Beverly drew the book up right in front of her face.

That looked quite stupid.

Somehow Rachel was getting in the way, even though she wasn't there. He had rung her earlier, and suggested that she should take another week before coming back. She, of course, was concerned about her studies, even though one of the lecturers had offered to help her to catch up. He was completely frustrated and wanted to tell her how good he'd be at fucking her, if she just let him get the whole sex practice thing with Beverly out of the way.

After a few minutes of standoff Gerry decided he was going after he'd said his piece:

"Right. The truth is I forgot and I didn't even think about it. I'm wasting your time. Shall I go?"

She lowered the book, face like murder.

"Don't fuck me around. Don't fuck me around like that." She threw the book sideways across the room. "Do you want to carry on doing this?"

"Yes. And I think you know I do."

"Right. Well I've decided... You are not to think of Rachel while we're practising. Understand? You can fuck her when she comes back. Until then she's verboten. Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"To not think of Rachel?"

"That's what I promised. I don't think I'll find that too difficult. But why do you care?"

"I can tell it's spoiling things, holding you back. If you can please me, then you can please her... You can come to a party with me on Thursday, but Kate's here tomorrow, so you can't come round. Do you want to meet in town and go to the cinema?"

"The cinema? Yes. Yes I really want to. I haven't been to the cinema in ages."

"You can't have sex. Maybe you can feel me up, if you're careful about it."

"It doesn't have to be sex all the time, Bev."

"Speak for yourself. You're going to go upstairs to my bed now and fuck me properly."

Gerry picked up the William book and put it back on the shelf.

"So what do you want me to think of while we're doing that?" he said

"What do you think I want?"

"I don't know Bev." He leant down and his mouth just touched hers before he put it by her ear. He wrapped his arms round her and squeezed her hard. "But so far, you're all I ever do think of."

**********

Beverly had managed to attract a certain amount of attention on the streets of Soho, the following evening, with a skirt whose pavement-trailing length was complemented by a slit that went right up to her hips. Beneath a tatty fur jacket, she had tied her cheesecloth blouse up under her bust. It revealed that her waist was slimmer than her work clothes suggested. She had to disabuse some tourists of their assumption that she was a prostitute. When she cruised into the foyer of the cinema and spotted Gerry, she removed the 'Granny' style distance glasses she wore away from work. Her hair was down and spilling over her shoulders. The unwound curl in it made him think of pre-Raphaelite maidens. On reflection though, fascinated as he was by her, he had to admit that maybe this wasn't the most apt association. But, swelling over the magnificent adequacy of her bottom like a waterfall, her skirt flattered it in a in a way that those cut-offs definitely had not.

But anyway, he grabbed her and kissed her, oblivious of the surroundings and his usual inhibitions, and charmed by this display of her navel. It was Wednesday and Beverly's schedule allowed her to meet up with Gerry as if they were having an ordinary date. Gerry would have been happy with this. He wanted to know her in the most simple and humdrum ways.

But when they sat down in the cinema, she flashed her panties at him and said, "Say hello to Ginger", which was her nickname for her cunt. This was in spite of the hair which covered it being dark brown, something which could be seen clearly through the black lace patterns which decorated the sheer panties covering it that night. The slit on her skirt was on her right, where she had contrived to seat Gerry.

They had selected the Prince Charles Cinema and a repertory screening of The French Connection. Beverly had chosen seats that had no near neighbours.

He noticed that she was making no move to put her glasses on, even though the film was about to start. However she did start to speak to him in a whisper, suggesting that they were entering into a delicious conspiracy which the restrictions of the cinema intensified. In fact they were starting to feel a sense of shared adversity. Time was running out. Time was going to run out before they could decide what was going on between them. And Rachel, as many obstacles do, had started to feel like an enemy to them.

He turned over the matters of the last five days constantly in his mind. On Saturday, Beverly had tricked him into the privacy of her flat so that she could show him her bra. Less than an hour after promising himself a very swift exit, his cock was in her hand, and his head and heart was full of her. He was counting down the hours till he could see her again, haunted by that touch and the release he wanted it to bring.

Immediately they were bound in a shared sense of wrongdoing which was drawing him closer and closer to the voluptuous nurse with the beautiful eyes. Any guilt he felt simply inflamed his loyalty to her and his sense that the two of them stood alone against the world. The world could go and take a walk. Each petty, sordid step was dear to him by association and thrilling because of the secrecy, like the arrangement with the work phone number. He was of course unconscious of all this. He was far too busy hanging onto the rollercoaster ride that had taken over his life.

Beverly grabbed his South Sea Bubble denim blazer and hissed, "Gimme a kiss, you fucking twat."

"That's not very nice," he laughed, restraining the volume.

"

I'm

not very nice. That's why you're here with me." She started undoing buttons on his shirt so that she could pass her hand in.

"Bev..." He was in something and he was in it with her. Yet nothing had been said...

"What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Sorry. It's your eyes... they're so blue... "

"Well give me a kiss then, you twat."

Gerry was desperate to express something he was feeling, but he wasn't sure what it was, and he wasn't sure how she'd take it. So he decided to try and put it into their kiss; that way maybe she'd know without words. As he leaned over, his hand rested briefly on her breast.

"Probably ought to undo my bra, Casanova."

So he did, sliding his hand into her jacket and up her back, using what she'd taught him and hoping it wasn't too obvious.

"Well feel them then," she hissed and none too quietly.

His hand swept up under the blouse and the loose brassiere and he played with her breasts for a while and then took the one on her right and worked on the nipple. He was excited as it stiffened to a rubbery resilience; not simply excited by them, but excited by his excitement itself, by the sly way that she had developed the contest between herself and Rachel and brought him round to her side in it. At one time they were not his taste at all. Now he couldn't get enough of them.

"Bit of a handful, eh? Suck them."

He half crouched. They were inexhaustible and filled his mouth

"Not what you're used to are they?"

"No. Yours are better," he said tonguing her nipple.

She grabbed his face and made him look up at her.

"You like mine better?"

"I ought to. They are better."

She grabbed him in a fierce kiss as if she meant to draw the breath from him.

Since Beverly had started to actively seduce him on Saturday, there had been a shift in his sensibilities regarding what was desirable and beautiful in the female body. Fairy dust had fallen into Gerry's eyes. He had begun to realise that Beverly was much better looking than he had been able to admit to himself before. He was fascinated by her voluptuous contours, at the expense of his interest in Rachel. But this aesthetic realignment seemed to bring a treacherous excitement to his cock.

Beverly felt this as her hands roamed over him. She was not one to waste time and she undid him quickly, in order to coax him into an indecent display.

It was a clear the way this was going. He knew he had to run with her as she led his hand down wards. It was as well that they had both seen the film before. Beverly was here to sit in the cinema not to watch a film. Before long Gerry's fingers were buried in her cunt and she was working his cock furiously. He knew that she meant to bring him off, here in the cinema. She was going to finish what she started on Saturday, and his heart soared at the thought of it.

"Oh, you dirty bitch..." he said as he felt how wet her panties were. She liked talk like that.

"If I'm a dirty bitch, it's because guys like you like dirty bitches."

"Guys? Where are these guys coming from? You shouldn't be having guys."

"Well you shouldn't be having women. Just stick to one."

"One? Which one?"

"Me."

"I wish I could," he replied, but she couldn't hear. As well as the noise of the film, Beverly had a bracelet which rattled loudly as she worked Gerry's cock and sounded like an insistent piece of percussion. Presently Gerry gushed, the spunk tumbling down his cock onto Beverly's fist. The vicar's nephew was not one hundred percent comfortable with this lewd behaviour, but he was one hundred percent in league with this astonishing woman and a hundred percent behind her leadership.

Beverly produced some Kleenex from her bag and cleaned them up. She'd been meaning to do what she'd just done for a few days, to make him come in her hand.

Suddenly, out of nowhere there was a great light in their faces.

"Stop that," said an usherette with a torch, pointing it right at Beverly.

"Stop what?"

"It's against house rules."

"I'd have thought it was compulsory in this dump—it's usually porn in here," she said for Gerry's benefit.

There they were, a squalid huddle of grabbing hands drawing moisture from each others' flesh. She started to piston Gerry's detumescent penis, with a blank look for the usherette.

"Stop that or you'll have to leave."

"Stop what?

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about Madam. This is a cinema not a brothel."

"I know. They'd have better seating if it was."

"Well Madam would probably know. I don't."

"Come on let's get out of here before someone dies of boredom."

"Get ahta it!" someone yelled as she stood up.

"I'll leave when I'm good and ready." She adjusted her clothing as if she was in her front room to the irritation or amusement of the audience, dawdling pointedly over the reinstatement of her bra. Some of the audience clapped as they left hand in hand. She turned at the exit to acknowledge the applause like Norma Desmond or somebody.

"Deadbeats," she muttered as they emerged into the foyer to look for a pub.

Later, when they parted at a bus stop, they crushed themselves together, as if the world was about to end. They knew they would be seeing each other at that party, the following night.

The separation still felt cruel.

**********

On Thursday night, Gerry approached the address Beverly had given him with a Watney's Party Four, a large can of undrinkable beer. It was a second floor flat and people were spilling out into the night air on the balcony outside. This was an older crowd and he had the look of someone who might have found his way to the wrong address. When he went in, he looked round for Beverly but couldn't see her.

Inside, he noticed a woman with vividly untidy red hair, a long floral pinafore and a lot of eye make-up which had run. As he came in, he was vaguely aware of her nudging someone next to her who was preparing to light up a joint. She got up and went to him.

"Hello my young prince. Are you looking for somewhere to put that, to make a deposit?" Ostensibly she meant the can, but her manner was laden with innuendo. He didn't want to relinquish it as he wasn't sure he was in the right place.

"I'm looking for Bev."

"She hasn't come yet. It's my party. If you don't want to put that down, you can give me a kiss," she said and plonked her lips on his. To his consternation her tongue went straight in. He wanted to push her away, but he decided not to offend her and did and said nothing.

"What I love about throwing parties" she mused, "is that it's an excuse for a snog. Is something wrong?"

"Err I'm spoken for..." he said with a shy smile.

"Christ I didn't ask for a proposal... Gerald."

"How do you know my name?"

"We go back quite a long way Gerald. I'm Suzi. I've been taking your messages since Sunday."

"Oh. Oh, thank you so much." He tried to shake hands with her.

"Well you can at least kiss my cheek, Gez," she said and laid a finger on it.

"Are you terribly in love with Beverly?" she asked when he had, holding him in her arms. "That shut you up. Haven't thought about it, have you?"

She looked him up and down.

"Okay. You are. It won't make for a quiet life, but she's a great girl. She'll rock your socks off, babe."

Gerry had been conscious for a bit, of the presence of a man who looked like a convict and of the care behind the reactions of others to his banter, as he worked his way round the party. He appeared to be called Jackie and he selected Gerald for particular hostility.

Gerry, who came from Bristol in the South West of England could hardly understand a word the man said because he came from Gateshead on Tyneside in the North East. These were the days before the regional accents of Britain were embraced by the broadcasters, and many people were unschooled in the diversity of accents found in their own small country. This Jackie was an agency worker in the laundry of the hospital. Gerry nodded amicably to what he said and hoped he would go and bother someone else. Gerry made out the words "another one of Bev's underage boyfriends". Gerry was out of his depth there, and relieved when he passed on. He had no purchase on the situation until faces of others warned him of some commotion behind him and he turned to see Jackie jabbing two fingers an inch from someone's face. It was a woman in a striped dress like a wild west saloon hostess, with flounced petticoats and laced up boots in that style, under a familiar looking fur jacket: Beverly.