I've been away from writing for around six months for reasons which I will explain below. This should account for the lack of submissions in that period.
This is a collection of interlinked stories. Taken individually, none of the pieces are long enough to meet the minimum word count for a single article on this esteemed site so I've combined these shorter stories into one tale, albeit somewhat crudely strung together by a common theme.
It'll all make sense in the end, I keep telling myself. Well, hopefully it will.
Part One
The morning of Monday 22nd May 2023 began, as Monday mornings often do, very badly indeed. Well, maybe not this badly.
I was sitting in my car at traffic lights in Gateshead quietly wondering how the coming day would unfold when I was rear-ended by another vehicle. In an instant, my world was, quite literally, turned upside down and I suddenly found myself sitting on the road next to the smoking wreckage of what had been, until a few moments ago, my new Nissan Qashqai.
I don't remember much about the impact itself. I blacked-out for a moment or two so the details are lost in some small pocket of memory that I cannot yet reach although the Doctors say they'll return at some point. All I remember of the collision was that some kind soul dragged me from my vehicle, sat me down at the side of the road and told me that everything would be alright, that I shouldn't worry. "It's only a car..."
Superficially, I thought I was okay, more or less. I was a bit dazed and confused, and my nose was bleeding pretty badly but I was still conscious enough to give my name and address, and my list of medications to an attending Paramedic. However, the reflection staring back at me from the mirrored windows inside the Ambulance didn't look like me at all. In fact, I looked a lot like an extra from a Tarantino movie.
I spent the rest of the day in the Emergency Room at the Royal Victoria Infirmary where I was treated for shock, concussion and a suspected broken ankle. My husband, Alex, was at my side within the hour and he sat with me through the worst of it. The Doctors and Nurses were fantastic. Utterly brilliant.
My neighbour, Charlotte, arrived in the afternoon carrying our son. Theo was a bit upset that Mummy wasn't feeling well but he liked the Doctors and they liked him, and Theo especially liked the machines attached to Mummy's heart and especially the noises that they made. I liked them too because their staccato bleeps told me that I was still alive.
My car wasn't quite so lucky. Generally speaking, motor vehicles are not supposed to look like a concertina except when they've been through the Crusher.
It gets better. The driver who hit me (Karen!) had no licence, no insurance and her vehicle's MOT certificate had expired when Teresa May was last in office. To compound matters, Karen also failed a roadside drugs test (Cannabis, Cocaine and alcohol!) and was arrested on the spot.
The Cops paid a visit to the ER whilst I was waiting for the Attending to discharge me. Apparently, "Karen" maintained that she was innocent and that I'd just stopped my vehicle in the middle of the road for no good reason. That definitely wasn't the case because I'd been sitting behind another car, waiting for the lights to change. The Cops asked permission to examine my DashCam footage and, well, poor Karen was well and truly stuffed. Serves her right, frankly.
Anyway, I spent a night in hospital (concussion!) and was discharged the following morning with little more than a prescription for some pain killers and a crutch.
Two days later and I was mobile enough to brush my hair and wash, although my knee was still very painful and badly swollen. Seems I'd also pulled a couple of ligaments, too.
By Thursday morning, I felt well enough and secure enough to spend a small part of the day in the garden either pottering around on my crutches or lazing around on a lounger thoughtfully placed by my darling husband.
"I want to go sunbathing in the garden," I said over lunch. "You're not expecting any deliveries, are you?"
"No, none," said Alex, shaking his head. "Why?"
"Because I'd hate to be spread out on the back lawn, all naked and horny," I whispered. "And then have some hairy-arsed Amazon driver turn up with a parcel!"
"No, no," said Alex. "We're good. Nothing scheduled for the rest of the week."
"Well," I whispered. "You know where I am if you want me."
That was a hint, by the way. Yeah, husband, dearest. Come look. See if anything takes your fancy. Why not rub some lotion over my back? And maybe any other place that might need a little extra.
I went to the Walled Garden, dragged the lounger into a good position and then lay down wearing nought but a pair of sunglasses and a smile. And sun block. Proper sun block. Not the stuff they flog in ASDA or Superdrug. This is the good stuff.
Twenty minutes later and I was gently dozing whilst, at the same time, fully invested in a rather arousing fantasy involving a certain gentleman to whom I am married. Simply put, I was thoroughly moist and definitely well up for a good seeing-to, so much so that I opened an eye, had a good look around and, finding myself completely alone and unobserved, sent my left hand on a voyage of discovery south of the equator.
Twenty seconds later and I had three fingers buried up to my knuckles in my pussy, and I was on the slow, steady build up to a nice little knee trembler.
"No, don't!" I whispered, coarsely.
Yeah. I told myself off.
"Don't just... Go for it," said the Little Sex Pixie behind my eyes. "Take your time. Enjoy the moment."
Having scolded myself thoroughly for being so ridiculously impatient, I did what I always do in such circumstances. I took a deep, deep breath, listened to the still, calm voice within, and waited. From experience, there's little to be gained from coarsely hammering away at the Purple Magic Bean and everything to be lost from just digging artlessly for victory. Clumsiness usually leaves me sore and unsatisfied anyway.
Instead, I went for the gentle approach, by pretending that the fingers exploring my pubes were not really my fingers at all but instead, were those belonging to a lady friend whom I will not name for fear that she will become more than a little embarrassed, and thereafter withdraw her favours.
As usual, the routine began with some stroking, some teasing, perhaps tying my bush into little fuzzy knots before running a well manicured fingertip slowly up and down my outer labia. By pressing softly, ever so softly, the skin soon moved out of the way of its own accord, and then... Yes....
Pressing hard against my pubis with the palm of an open hand really gets me going. The greater the pressure the more I am likely to start squirming. And squirm I did.
One more thing. If one is outdoors and the sky is clear and the air is filled with scent of Honeysuckle and Cherry blossom, coupled to the buzz of a myriad of tiny insects flitting about one's head, one cannot and absolutely must not ignore the Sun's calming influence on the afternoon's proceedings.
