Gideon loosened his royal blue tie and slipped off his navy blue jacket before stooping to undo the laces of his polished black Oxfords. He carefully folded the jacket and slipped it into the Waitrose carrier bag he'd pulled from his pocket, slipped off his shoes, and safely stowed them all in the hollow at the foot of the tree trunk. He looked around him and, confident no one could see, heaved himself up onto the lowest sturdy bough of the ancient oak. Once safely astride the limb he clutched the trunk for support, stood, and then climbed with the practised ease of a man who had performed the task many times before. Two, three, four spurs of solid English hardwood lay below him as he made his way up the tree towards his goal, the Y-shaped junction of branches that he now settled into. From this secure, comfortable point, safely out of the sight of anyone on the leafy ground, he commanded a fine view of several sites of interest across the copse below.
After an interminable wait it seemed summer was finally in the air and Gideon breathed deeply through his rather piggish, snout-like nose, inhaling the rich, verdant scent of a woodland in full leaf. Content in his privileged position Gideon silenced the ringers on his iPhones, determined to make the most of this opportunity to relax and indulge himself for a few minutes before his Special Branch detective became concerned by his absence and came to look for him. Gideon smiled as he thought about Barry, the close protection officer he had been assigned after that awkward business with Julian. Barry had become something akin to a friend over the past few months – as close a relationship as was ever likely between a man of Gideon's standing and one of Barry's, of course – and he understood and indulged his boss's need for the odd half-hour away from the scrutiny that befell a man in such a high-profile position. It had become something of a routine now, whenever Gideon was in his Cheshire home, and Barry knew that allowing Gideon a few minutes to himself in the secluded woodland of the country park would pay dividends down the line.
Gideon scanned the ground below, his small eyes darting from one location to another, expertly dismissing tricks of the dappled light and effects of the wind, determined not to miss anything that might be of interest. Having seen nothing of interest with the naked eye he took from his trouser pocket the miniature binoculars he always carried and carefully scanned the areas again. He loved this time of year and the safety of the lush, deep green of the woods, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the songs of the woodland birds. Most of all, though, he loved the playfulness of his quarry, their inhibitions diluted by the sunshine and the heat, the quarry whose arrival he now awaited with the alert patience of a skilled stalker.
He felt confident he would not have too long to wait. There had been some potential candidates as he approached his hide. He had noticed a presumably well-established pair frolicking in the long grass away to the west of the copse but, more promisingly, closer by, another, younger pair had shown distinctive courtship signs indicating a mating might be imminent. Gideon licked his lips in anticipation and continued his appraisal of the potential areas his experience told him would be most likely used.
Just as he was beginning to lose hope, the younger pair he had identified earlier burst through the shrubs into the smallest clearing closest to his tree, the female leading her mate. Gideon held his breath involuntarily, then relaxed and exhaled as he reminded himself he was twenty feet up and most unlikely to be spotted, let alone heard breathing. Every time he observed a pair like this he felt that frisson of excitement at watching, unseen, a young pair going through their mating procedure. Whether they consummated the ritual or not, he could still enjoy the sight of two healthy specimens engaging in nature's work. If they did consummate, however, he knew the sight would stay with him forever, occupying his mind's eye whilst he half listened to the ridiculous arguments from the ill-bred opposition across the way. He would honk and guffaw, jeer and point, of course, but when lost in these reveries it was his old dining club pals who would lead the humiliations, provide the withering put-downs, cough out the indignant splutterings, with Gideon taking his cues from the others rather than leading the charge as he did when not indulging himself in his portfolio of memories.
At this close range Gideon didn't need his binoculars so he carefully hung them around his neck and quietly moved to the place on his branch he knew afforded him the best view of the particular spot chosen by the young paramours beneath him. The female seemed particularly eager to stake a claim to her mate and Gideon grinned at the thought of what he felt sure he was about to witness.
Standing, she kissed her partner passionately, running one hand through his spiked brown hair and the other down his football shirt-clad, muscular back, onto his toned buttocks covered by a pair of dark-coloured shorts. He responded with an equally passionate kiss, his own hands running up and down the back of her tight-fitting yellow top, onto the flimsy-looking white material of a short skirt, and up into her long, straight blonde hair.
As they kissed they explored one another's bodies further. The young man - Gideon guessed from what he could see that he was about twenty - had sidled one hand up onto his girlfriend's breast and was squeezing it through her top. His other hand was now under her skirt, fondling her bottom, provoking murmurs of pleasure as they kissed. The couple briefly separated to take a breath and changed position, giving Gideon a better view of the girl's features. Her hair was parted to one side, covering much of her forehead but she looked pretty, if a little obviously so, and a year or two younger, by Gideon's reckoning.
Whether it was the girl's rampant desire or a result of her partner's touches, she was certainly taking the lead in their amorous activities. One hand snaked between them and began to rub the man's groin through his shorts. Gideon could clearly see a substantial bulge underneath her fingers and swallowed hard. The man groaned audibly, inciting a grin on his partner's face. He responded by slipping his hand under the material of her top and groping her breasts. This had a similar effect on the girl who moaned gently as his, presumably rough and calloused, skin came into contact with her sensitive nipples.
It was difficult for Gideon to hear what was being said, such was their ardour but words drifted up through the foliage.
"No, I can't take it off, what if someone comes?"
"No one's gonna come, and anyway who gives a shit if they do? They'll just get to see your sexy tits."
Grinning, the girl slapped her partner playfully.
Gideon winced slightly at the coarse, Northern accents of the objects of his voyeurism but pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Of course they were going to be of a lower social status than him. Any young lovers from his stratum wouldn't have to resort to using a public space such as this for their couplings. Thank God for the shamelessness of the working classes, he thought.
She looked around to check no one was watching then said, "Here, I'll pull it up but I'm not taking it off."
Gideon thought he detected a Merseyside intonation but couldn't be sure. Northern was as sure as he could be, even after twelve years.
As the girl lifted the tight, elasticated material above her breasts, revealing the pert, tanned flesh and hard, pinkish nipples to her partner - and the watcher above - Gideon felt his own passion begin to rise.
The man looked appreciatively at her chest, licked his lips, then, using both hands, roughly groped her young tits, rubbing them hard, pinching the nipples between thumb and forefinger before lowering his head to suck each breast in turn. Above them in the tree, Gideon was transfixed. The girl's eyes closed and her head fell back as the sensations from her breasts flooded her lithe body. The man suckled at one tit, squeezing the other firmly.
"Ow, watch out, Jay. Your hands are rough as!"
"Sorry, babes," the man responded, kissing the affronted breast more tenderly.
Jay, Gideon mused. Jason? Jack? Jordan? Names used to be such an easy identifier of class and status, now people seemed to call their offspring anything at all. He wondered what the girl might be called. He had once entered into conversation with a local and discovered she was naming her daughter Brook. "After Brook Shields?" he had inquired, pleased to be able to engage at his constituent's level. "Oh no," came the reply. "Brook side." Despite the potential pitfalls learning their names somehow drew him closer to the action, he always felt.
Gideon's contemplations were cut short by an upping of the ante as the girl quickly pulled down Jay's shorts, freeing his hard erection.
"Gimme that," the girl said greedily, as she gripped the thick shaft tight in her right hand and began to pump it up and down, a look of determination on her face, her firm tits even jiggling slightly in sympathy with the vigorous movement of her arm.
