If you've read the previous seven parts you'll know you can skip the rest of the intro and go straight to the action. If you haven't read then I'd strongly suggest you do. You see the accounts flow naturally and are intrinsically linked, so they really do need to be read in the sequence I wrote them.
Whatever way you do read them, though, enjoy them, leave whatever comments you wish and e-mail me if you'd like to discuss anything.
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Part 8: The Unfinished Business At Uni
Chapter 1
My mother is a very self-confident woman; she has what Jewish people call chutzpah. Where I come from they call it being thick skinned or as bold as brass, I just feel she's got loads of balls.
She's also got nice, full tits, a lovely bum and great legs. All of which I'd just seen when I inadvertently walked in on her and her personal trainer when I got home from university for the last time.
I'd finally plucked up the courage to leave and was dying to tell mum for I knew my dad was on a business trip to China. I guess I needed a shoulder to cry on. What did I get? A view of her half naked kneeling in the room behind the garage that dad had turned into a gym. Kneeling with the top of her leotard pulled down, the straps dangling her tits completely bare. Kneeling facing a guy who had his back to me and his blue tracky trousers round his ankles. Kneeling holding his erect cock in her hands, looking as if she was about to bend over and suck it.
Our eyes had met, but nothing had been said as I turned and quietly closed the door.
I was in the conservatory when I heard her footsteps across the patio. I was reading Hello magazine and did nothing to acknowledge her when she breezed in. After all what can you say to your mum when you've just seen her about to fuck a guy? Although I hadn't see him clearly and then more from the side and back than the front, he looked to be about ten years younger than her; which would make him around ten years older than me.
"Hello darling," she said brightly bending over and kissing me on my cheek, "welcome home."
"Yeah right," I replied rather sullenly not knowing how to handle the situation and whether I should say something about what I'd just seen or whether she would.
I saw that she was now in grey track suit with pink stripes on it. The trousers were tight round her hips and bum and the top was undone showing that she was wearing tennis top; a tight, pink top that was cut low showing off her spectacular cleavage.
"Give me an hour darling and then we'll have a nice long chat," she said checking her appearance in the mirror. "I've just started with a new tennis coach and he's ready to get going on my lesson. Oh here he is."
I felt rather than saw his presence in the open doorway and was set to ignore him when mum said.
"Rick, this is my daughter, Samantha. Samantha my tennis coach Rick."
It seemed to take an age for my head to turn and for the sound of his "hello Samantha," to reach me. An age when I hoped against hope that it wasn't him; it was though, of course.
He went on, "oh we know each well Amanda," adding with a slight smile and a glint in his eye, "very well."
"Really?" my mum asked, "and how's that?"
"From the tennis I belonged to," I said quickly hoping to avoid any further remarks from him.
"Yes we played together many times," he smiled looking from mum to me and back again. "Didn't we Sammi?"
"Yes a few," I replied trying to sound disinterested, but wondering and worrying about this bizarre turn of events.
My mum was having tennis lessons, and God knows what else, for I was thinking that probably the personal trainer I'd seen her with was Rick. The guy of thirty something who'd been my second proper lover. The guy who'd taught me so much. The guy that used to have me on the bonnet of his car, on the back seat or on the ground alongside it. The guy used to fuck me in my school uniform had spent most of the night in this house and had shagged me twice on the very kitchen floor just behind where she was standing.
They went off across the garden to the tennis court. My mind was in a whirl. He'd had me many times, was he screwing my mum as well? Had he told her about me? Was he the personal trainer as well? I tried to picture the cock I'd seen in my mum's hands. Was that Rick's or dirty dicky's as I called him after we broke up? Where the hell would all this lead I wondered as I heard the tennis balls start to be hit on the court at the end of the garden.
Chapter 2
Although I hated university I had learned a lot. Not academically of course, but about myself, life in general, my sexuality and sex. I'd also discovered a love of the theatre and of writing.
I found the bi curiosity that had been with me through my teens was transferable into reality. I discovered the appeal of older men and realised that I was a latent exhibitionist. Not a bad portfolio for eighteen months at uni, my degree on me and life I called it.
I'd met Stephanie shortly after starting at Bristol and although she was a year ahead of me we got on well as fellow members of the drama society. I would never have thought it possible but gradually I fell in love; not with her, but with her tits. They were awesome and did such things to me when I looked at them that at times I wondered how I stopped myself from grabbing them. Later when we were lesbian fuckbuddies she told me that she wished I had, so then I did and often.
It was Steph that showed me in the most graphic way that my curiosity about bi was more than just an interest for we became lovers and had been seeing each other for that reason a couple of times a week since the Christmas term had started last October, some two months ago now.
In previous parts of my bio I've described them, her tits that is, and I've told you about dirty dicky, my mum's tennis coach, so if you haven't read those it might be worth looking back at them to save us both time here.
So if you've looked back and read Parts 1 to 6, or at least a selection of them, you'll have met Mr Deakins, David the lecturer who helped out the drama society, the director of "What the Butler Saw," DD my lover, the married, forty year old man who'd had been fucking me two, three and four times a week for the past few months. It was David that showed me that my theoretical interest in older men that had been triggered by dirty dick was alive and well and living rampantly in me in Bristol.
The last night of the play was just a week before I left. There's always a buzz after a show, particularly one that's as outrageous and as successful as ours had been and at that last night party we'd all been on a high. Steph and I had carried that high on a bit in the small dressing room we shared when we'd quickly brought each other off. Still in our stage costume she'd pushed my little hot pants down my thighs and I'd opened up her buttoned down the front dress and we'd played with each other until we both climaxed. It was lovely and just what was needed to bring us down from the huge adrenaline rush brought on by the euphoria of the evening's proceedings.
It was then that there was a knock at the door and DD came in to congratulate us. Neither of them knew about the other being my lover so it was quite a challenge when the three of us were together. Because of DD's position as a lecturer and that, theoretically at least, meant fraternising with the students, (oh, by the way, for fraternising read screwing) was taboo and a dismissible offence, we had to be ultra discrete. I hadn't told a sole about my "married lover" not even Steph. I also hadn't in so many words told him about her and me; although when he directed the lesbian scene we'd added to Joe Orton's scandalously sexy masterpiece, I think he may have guessed.
"You and Steph seem to cope well with the lesbian scene," he mentioned one afternoon just as I was taking my knickers off.
I smiled back as I dropped them on the floor and stood naked in front of where he was sitting on a sofa. "Yes, it's been surprisingly easy, but so far there's just been the three of us, I'm not sure how we'll do when we've got an audience of three hundred," I replied sitting naked on his lap and shoving my tongue down his throat.
The scene he was referring called for us to kiss in full view of the audience and to then undress as we stood on opposite sides of the bed. We gave the audience a full frontal of each of us and then got into the bed and rolled around under the thin sheet. Whilst hopefully quite sexy it was actually fairly funny as well, or so we hoped l. As it happened the scene worked perfectly to the point that by the third night of the five night run the play, we started making real love under that sheet.
But all that was then and this was now, so after chatting for a bit he suggested a late supper in town, showing clearly that he was basically a London animal and didn't get out much in Bristol; there's nowhere you can get a "late supper" after 10.00 pm. That's when he'd suggested "Maison Deekins for scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and champagne," the perfect last night late supper.
We got a cab to DD's flat in the best part of the old town. It was on the ground floor and had a private entrance that enabled the discrete entrance of his visitors; I often wondered if that was why he'd chosen the place! The flat was really just two rooms and a bathroom. The front door led into a big oblong room that served as a kitchen a dining area and at one end a sitting area where there was a big comfy sofa that was wonderful to make love on. It was also where he'd first had me. Off that room there was the bathroom and his bedroom where, funnily we rarely had sex.
Steph and I had changed out of our stage costumes before leaving. She was wearing a white, silk blouse that, for the sake of decorum, was probably had one button too many undone. But hey, sod decorum, we were young, students, successful actresses and we'd just played full parts in a hit play; why should we even think of decorum? She was as usual wearing jeans as we all did. Hers, like mine, were fashionably tight and they wrapped themselves around her mound and bum like a second skin. I was wearing a skinny knit sweater that left a band of bare flesh around my waist; the fashion of bare bellies and low cut jeans, skirts or trousers was just coming in and I had to be leading edge with my style? I mean that's the point of life for spoiled bitches from Essex isn't it?
David opened the champagne and toasted us, we toasted him and we all toasted each other. We toasted the success of the play, the other actors, the director, him, and, as Steph put it, "especially the scriptwriter who brought a whole new meaning to what the butler actually saw."
We all laughed at her obvious reference to the lesbian scene I'd inserted. David added, giggling, clearly a little squiffy.
"Not just what he saw but what we all saw and that was fantastic," he said his eyes roaming over Steph's chest and body.
We were all a little drunk from what we'd had at the party and the champagne so we were saying things that didn't make full sense but seemed cool, witty and meaningful as we said them.
I looked at David and then stared right at Steph's chest as I said.
