Clearly, Great-Uncle Colin had loved to write which was not so surprising when one considered that, when diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor, he was the managing editor of a national newspaper on Fleet Street. The end, when it came, was quick and painless and later his will revealed that he had left all his personal papers to me.
There were drafts of three books in various stages of completion, some unpublished short stories and it was clear that he was at heart always a writer and a journalist and it probably indicated that he had not felt fulfilled as a business executive. At the bottom of the box were also diaries that told of his incredible erotic relationship with his long-term partner, Jan.
As I read these, I was not sure which were recollections of real events and which were pure fantasy. In the end, I decided it didn't matter as they were all so well written that they must be published to a larger audience. I realized that some of the content might be shocking to family members but there were none as close as Jan and my great-uncle had never produced children.
So here is the first episode and others will follow as soon as I can get them transposed from hardcopy to this medium. Sometimes, it has not been easy to define the chronology so, please try to understand if, occasionally, the timelines seem to be "off-kilter."
Colin's Chronicle -- An Adventure in Eroticism
On the day of my graduation from University, Aunt Blanche had wanted me to wear a new pair of black rubber briefs beneath my suit and cap and gown. However, it was summertime, I knew how long the ceremony would be, and I had protested.
Jan had offered a compromise, which was that I would swap the briefs for pair of black rubber boxer shorts while she in the audience, matched me with a pair of white latex French knickers under her summer frock.
In fact, these choices were very much in line with the preferences of both Jan and I. We had both worn tight, form-fitting latex and rubber garments from time to time but we both seemed to opt for looser ones like our mackintoshes and robes or kaftans. These minimized perspiration while allowing the close caress of our beloved material, which generated the swishing and rustling we adored especially when worn over very little else.
"And so, that was that," Jan pronounced.
Nevertheless, Aunt Blanche had wanted to check my promised underwear but Jan now claimed that area for her own. Over the past 3 years, Jan had become much more assertive and the look on her face made my Aunt back down which was something I'd never been able to do.
I knew that, if push came to shove, I could go back to work where Jan was a sub-editor but that paid nothing, literally, when I was an intern and not a whole lot more as an entry-level employee. Therefore, I wrote letters and made calls to anybody and everybody I knew. For every ten letters I wrote I received one response and out of every ten responses there were no interviews on offer. So, although I kept on trying, it was becoming clear that another strategy was needed and soon.
Rejections, whether they be personal or professional, are not fun and every time I voiced yet another on the phone from home to Jan she helped by just listening. She, of course, was still working hard and had moved up in her organization and so had her salary. As a result of that, she had now bought a small house and she invited me to visit.
This time, I didn't ride my bike but took the train because I'd been ordered to take my single-texture fawn mackintosh which doesn't work while riding a bike nor does it tuck easily into a saddlebag. The journey only took about an hour and I had a compartment to myself for the first half hour but then two middle-aged ladies got on and sat down opposite me.
I had not bothered to remove my mackintosh and as I scanned my newspaper, I was not aware that the hem had fallen back over my leg revealing the rubber lining. I was aware that my travelling companions were talking together quietly but I the clacking of the train wheels did not allow me to pick up more than the odd word. Then, conscious that my stop was coming up, I folded my newspaper and offered it to the ladies. One accepted it, thanked me, and pointed to my mackintosh as I began to refasten the buttons.
"That's a very smart raincoat young man and very practical too," one lady said. "My friend and I noticed it as soon as we got on. It is rubber-lined isn't it?"
I confirmed that it was and then the other asked where I'd bought it. I saw no necessity to point out that this was in fact my second such garment both of which had been bought by Aunt Blanche or Jan but simply told them of Weatherford's and the street name.
"Do they sell ladies raincoats as well as men's?" they wanted to know. Given my experiences over the past three years, I could have given a dissertation on the subject but as the train was slowing into my destination, I simply nodded and as we drew to a stop, I retrieved my suitcase from the overhead rack and said my farewell.
Spying Jan walking down the platform towards me, I opened the door and stepped down and said to the two, "By the way, it's always a mackintosh. Never, ever a raincoat."
Then I hugged Jan who was wearing her rubber-surfaced shiny black mackintosh, which had raindrops beading on its highly polished material as well as on her matching rain hat. As we began to walk towards the exit, I stole a glance back and saw the two women staring after us and I mouthed the words, "Don't you love the mac?" They both nodded eagerly and I grinned to myself.
As we approached Jan's car, a traffic warden was pulling out his ticket book and pencil. "Hey," yelled Jan, "I'm here." The man turned at the sound of her voice and his jaw visibly dropped as she ran towards him and flashed her press pass. It wasn't the press pass he was looking at as he put away his book but he simply could not resist touching her rubber-covered arm.
"Sorry Miss," he gulped. "You should have put your press card on the dashboard." And he shuffled off.
"But, judging by his obvious attraction to your mackintosh, I'll bet he's glad you didn't," I added as I caught up to her.
"It happens all the time when I wear this or something like it," Jan grinned. "And I love it every time it happens."
Jan's house was about ten miles from the station so it shouldn't have taken long but it was raining and it was rush hour and there had been an accident so it did. But that gave us a chance to talk about my job search and Jan revealed that there may be a chance of at a provincial newspaper in a town just outside London. It seemed that the editor was an old-school friend of Jan's which prompted me to ask why she didn't go for it.
"I've got other plans," she said and swore me to secrecy that she was angling for a job on a Fleet Street newspaper. "Nothing is certain yet and it probably won't be for another few months and it won't be anything grand but it would be a start."
I agreed and wished her well as we approached Jan's new home. The house was bigger than I'd thought because it was not the classic British semi-detached. It was more like an American duplex with at least 3 bedrooms. However, the full tour would have to wait as I plonked my suitcase down at the bottom of the staircase and hugged Jan again.
So far, all I'd seen of her was her shiny black rubber mackintosh, her matching hat and her pointy heel boots. That changed as she poured some wine, put on some music, doffed her rain hat, pouted her lips and began to loosen the mackintoshes' belt as she swayed back and forth.
