Scarf Memory

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Copyright Oggbashan August 2006

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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"Hazel, why do you wear a headscarf on some days and not others?"

It was an idle question. I didn't really want to know. I was bored, watching an Old Boy's cricket match in the late nineteen-fifties. Hazel's brother was in one of the teams and she had asked me to take her to the match. Her brother Roland was eighth in the batting order and his team's opening pair seemed rooted for the rest of the day. Hazel and I were sitting on a grassy bank well away from the pitch. We had a good view yet were private enough to say anything to each other. Hazel had seemed more interested in the progress of the match than in me.

We were sitting on a picnic blanket. Hazel's cloak-coat and my car-coat were neatly folded beside us.

"You ought to be able to answer that question yourself, Paul," Hazel replied. "You see me often enough, with and without a scarf on my head. Think about it."

I thought. She was wearing a scarf today, a silk one with a horse motif. It wasn't raining, nor was rain forecast. There was a reasonably strong wind. Was that it?

"I think it depends on the weather," I suggested. "If it is windy or likely to rain, you wear a headscarf. You didn't used to wear one years ago when we were at school. Why now and not then?"

Helen turned to face me. She didn't seem too interested in my question.

"What did I wear at school if it was cold or wet?" She turned back to watch the cricket.

"A school uniform raincoat..." The penny dropped. "...with an attached hood that covered your head so much I couldn't tell one schoolgirl from another."

"Exactly, Paul. I wouldn't be seen dead wearing that coat now. A headscarf fits in my handbag. I can wear it or take it off, fold it up and stow it. That old school coat weighed a ton. It was a real burden if it turned warm and dry. Now shut up and watch the cricket."

"And if I won't?"

Hazel looked at me. This time there was a spark of interest in her eyes.

"Then I'll make sure you keep quiet."

"I don't believe you could."

"Want to bet, Paul?"

"Perhaps. What bet?"

"If I can keep you quiet for the rest of the match, you'll take me to the Indian restaurant on Friday night and you'll pay the bill. If I can't, I'll go Dutch and pay half. OK?"

"Sounds OK to me, Hazel. What are the rules?"

"You have to co-operate until I am satisfied that I have done enough to keep you quiet. When I say I'm ready you can do whatever you can to speak. If I can understand what you are saying, you've won. If I can't – I've won."

"OK, Hazel."

I trusted Hazel enough to know that she wouldn't cheat by pretending she didn't understand when she could. If I couldn't trust my girlfriend that much, she wouldn't have been much of a girlfriend. For some reason she was distracted today. I knew that she loved me. She was just moody about something. Eventually she would tell me what was bothering her. Until she was ready to say I would have to be patient.

"Right, Paul. Get over the back of the bank out of sight of everyone else. Please?"

I obeyed. Hazel followed me, untying her scarf and pulling from her head.

"Hands behind your back, please Paul."

I sat down with my hands behind me. Hazel wound the scarf around my wrists, wrapped it between them and pulled it tight before knotting it. I heard the rustle of her petticoats behind me, followed by the clasp of her handbag.

"Open your mouth wide, please."

Hazel stuffed my mouth with her warm cotton panties. By today's standards they were massive, covering her from waist and several inches down her legs. A dark blue heavy silk scarf flashed past my face and was dragged tight across my mouth, pulling the panties deeper. I grunted as Hazel tied the scarf very tight behind my head, bringing the ends forward and knotting it over my filled mouth.

Hazel moved down my body to tie one stocking around my ankles and another around my knees.

"Nearly done, Paul. A few more touches then you can try to speak to me. Stay there."

She went over the brow of the bank out of my sight. I turned my head as she came back, dragging the picnic blanket. She arranged it so that part of the blanket was out of view of the cricket pitch.

Hazel rolled and heaved me so that I was face down on the blanket with my gagged head just above the crest of the bank. She flipped up the back of her full skirt and multi-layered petticoats and sat down on my face. My nose was pressed hard against her naked pussy.

"Now you can try to speak, Paul," Hazel said.

I couldn't say a word. I could make a faint grunt against her body but no sound would get through the layers of nylon, silk and taffeta covering me.

"Good," Hazel announced proudly. "That will keep you quiet until I'm ready for you."

She wriggled so that my nose sank deeper. I was enjoying her natural perfume if slightly worried that I might not be able to breathe if she wriggled again.

I lay there for what seemed like hours until I felt Hazel jump."

"Shit!" she hissed.

I had never heard Hazel swear before. The worst she had ever said was 'bother'.

"Keep absolutely still, Paul. Still!"

There was a note of panic in her voice.

She reached around to spread her cloak coat behind her, over my trussed body. She twitched it as best she could. I knew she wanted to cover me up. I pulled my feet up slightly so that her coat covered them.

"Hello, Hazel," a male voice said. "Where's Paul?"

"Hello Malcolm. He's around, hiding somewhere," Hazel replied. "I expect he'll be back soon."

"OK. See you. Must get back to the match, even though we're losing. Bye."

Hazel waited a couple of minutes before dragging me behind the mound. She frantically untied and ungagged me before kissing me hard. She stuffed her panties and scarves into her handbag.

"Sorry about that," she sighed as we broke from our kiss, "I didn't mean for you to be found trussed up like a chicken."

She kissed me again. I would forgive her anything for two such kisses.

"What was wrong, Hazel?" I asked.

"Oh that. Roland is having girlfriend trouble and wants me to help him."

"Why you?"

"I AM his sister!" Hazel said in a teasing voice.

"I know that, but how could you help?"

"He thinks that I could have a word with her..."

"Stupid Roland!" I snorted, "If she won't talk to him, why should she talk to you?"

"Exactly what I said but Roland expects..."

"Tell him to talk to her and LISTEN..."

"I have but he's unhappy."

"So was I. You have been wound up about this for days."

"Sorry, Paul. I got over it by winding you up in my scarves and stockings. I enjoyed smothering you under my skirt."

"I shouldn't admit it, Hazel, but I enjoyed it too - even if I lost the bet."

"Never mind, Paul. I'll make it up to you tonight when we're alone. I can do so much more to you on a bed."

She could and can. I'm naked except for silk scarves tying my arms and legs to the bed. My mouth is stuffed with silk held in tightly by scarves wrapped around my head. Hazel, naked except for a scarf wrapped around her body like a sarong, is about to impale herself on my erection. In the twenty-first century, memories of the nineteen-fifties still have the power to excite an old long-married couple.