WARNING TO READERS - This is a long, rambling story and VERY British which has been divided into several parts for ease of editing and reading. The actual chapters are not equal in length and therefore some postings may be longer or shorter than others. The individual parts will make more sense if read in sequence as they follow straight on chronologically.
Most, but not all chapters contain some sexually explicit sections and the story has a strong theme of taboo family relationships and adultery which some readers may find disturbing and might wish to cease reading now.....
GF
Chapter Four: Three of a Kind
Moving into the guest annex at Margot's house at Gerrards Cross had actually turned out to be a lot less painful and a greater success than I had anticipated.
That first week had been physically challenging but bloody good fun. Margot was working late shift at the hospital Accident and Emergency Department and was about during most of the day and insisted on helping me to run backwards and forwards to my London apartment ferrying some of my possessions down to Surrey. The task quickly turned into a travelling shag fest, it was almost impossible for us to be together for any length of time without needing to fuck. We had made a sort of flippant pact that given the opportunity we would have sex every couple of hours until either Margot became bored or I expired from sexual exhaustion...which-ever came first. Certainly those first few days we tried to live up to that promise as if we had meant it for real..... in fact I began to believe that Margot did.
I was seriously starting to believe that I had married into a family with tendencies towards nymphomania. Either that or I had died and gone to a tailor made heaven. I often mused that if Uncle Frederick had found the afterlife that he deserved it would be a heaven with fast cars and aeroplanes, even faster women and unlimited 20 year old Scotch. I think that I was getting a preview of my own ideal paradise.
My life expectancy seemed to be getting shorter with each shag, which added to my wife's perfectly reasonable anticipation of conjugal sex being on tap when she returned from work in the evening had me seriously thinking that if this was to be a permanent arrangement then I could well end up with early onset sexual fatigue and in need to having Margot prescribe me courses of sildenafil citrate before I even got to fifty. I wasn't quite forty yet, Chrissy my wife was only twenty-six and her mother, my frightenly fit lover was fifty-two but based on the statistic that most women's sexual energy is four times greater than a mans there was every likelihood that I was going to end up a shagged out corpse with a big smile long before my allocated four score years and ten.
By the week-end we had the annex apartment liveable. Most of the existing furniture was good quality modern teak and plain fabrics which suited my taste and Margot was perfectly happy for us to discard any unwanted pieces which I hauled into the lock-up at the rear of the garage block. The only real casualty was the sofa in the lounge which was hideously uncomfortable and not really large enough for two very energetic shag-addicts and so Chrissy and I took a trip to Urbansuite in Windsor one evening and ordered a replacement Dolcevita corner sofa in a neutral weave fabric which would look good in any future house we might buy, plus a stack of cushions and some occasional tables and lamps.
As soon as we moved in Chrissy had insisted on 'christening' the apartment, making love in every room over the first few days. As a matter of necessity Margot and I had agreed that we would never discuss what happened between Chrissy and I sexually in or out of the bedroom. By mid-week she had somehow either guessed or picked up on the petticoat telegraph the little game that my wife and I were enthusiastically playing each evening and insisted that she and I engage in a similar lovemaking tour of her part of the house during the daytime.
By the end of the third week I felt as if I had been competing in a mini sexual Olympics but although I was falling asleep physically fatigued every night I was a very happy man. As we all seemed to be getting along fine I guessed that I was living with two very happy women.
Life was not just one continuous round of shagging interspersed with recovery periods when I drove over to Bromley for a round of golf and some lunch at my club it just seemed that way at the beginning.
Actually, I was very fortunate that I had inherited my membership to the Sundridge Golf Club from Uncle Frederick, I had been introduced to the game as a fifteen year old novice at school and had played over the Bromley courses as his guest many times and when he died it was specified in his will that his sought after membership to the club should be offered to me even though technically I was under 21 and not yet eligible for full membership. Never-the-less, because of my uncle being who he was and well connected with the club membership committee; because he had left funding for my memberships fees for ten years, a considerable boost to the club finances; and because I was already a decent player with a mid-range handicap I was accepted as a playing member. Although technically of legal age to consume alcohol in the UK, the club rules prohibited me from buying drinks in the bar until I was 21 which was not an issue as I was still up at Cambridge as an undergraduate and generally used my student membership to play over local courses during the university academic year.
*
Indirectly it was playing golf that almost got me sent down from university in my second year.
I had accepted an invitation from one of my history dons, Professor Liam Donnelly to make up a mixed foursome one weekend at the Girton Golf Club with his current mistress and a female visiting don from Trinity College, Dublin. My first book 'DIRK'S CONQUESTS' had just been published and I had become something of the three day wonder, a minor celebrity warranting a half page in the Cambridge News on two separate days, and Liam had mentioned me to Dr. Simone Paget who had shown interest and asked to be introduced.
Liam was a rollicking verbose Irishman of about 50 with a strong taste for Draught Guinness, young women and old whisky and was notorious for leading his following of undergraduates on a regular Saturday night pub crawl through the city. He had recognised in me a kindred spirit early on and soon became more of a drinking buddy than a tutor. In truth his primary subject was 20th Century Irish Social History which was one of my first year modules so he had long ceased acting as my academic mentor.
His current live-in girlfriend at that time was a post-graduate research fellow half his age with big eyes, long blonde hair and a pair of the most enormous tits that any man could wish to fall into. How Mimsie Johnson ever managed to swing a golf club without over balancing never ceased to amaze me, but she was actually a more than passable player.
