First of a series of interconnected stories which will all be in group sex. I will be mixing around the POV characters between chapters, which will help them be stand-alone and allow me to blame inconsistencies on the narrators not being omniscient. This is set in 1981, so no social media, no internet, and no mobile phones.
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John Round was delivered by his mother early on Friday afternoon, 27 March 1981, to his uncle's house in the village of Clent. He let himself in with the keys dad had collected from Uncle Gerald yesterday. It was a five-bedroom detached house on a hill with a marvellous view of the surrounding countryside. He would have the second largest bedroom, and the music room would be the room he would study in. Once the bags were unloaded, he kissed Mother goodbye. He unpacked his cases and then started revising contract law.
His finals were coming up soon. He had recently broken up with his girlfriend of a year, and he was surrounded by increasingly stressed-out friends in Oxford worrying about their exams and relationships. He had decided that he needed three comparatively uninterrupted weeks of hard work without unnecessary stress to have a realistic chance of first-class honours. He had discussed things with his tutor and dad, and the consensus was that he was best off avoiding the distractions of Brum or Oxford during the holidays.
Clent was about twelve miles away from Birmingham. No cinemas, nightclubs, or old school friends, but walks he could go on to clear his head when necessary and some pubs and hotels. There was also a piano in the house he could play when he felt the need for more creative relaxation. Not so far away from civilisation that he couldn't escape occasionally, but it would require effort. He knew from experience the balance between work and rest he needed now.
Uncle Gerald arrived briefly around six and told John to warm up the boeuf bourguignon in the fridge. Apparently, the sauce was better for a day in the fridge since it was first cooked. Uncle also recommended that he spend the evening watching the sunset from the gazebo at the top of the garden. Gerald then got into his MG BGT and drove off to entertain clients, honking his horn as he exited the drive to warn traffic he was coming.
Uncle worked in Birmingham as a partner in an accountancy firm specialising in wealth management. He didn't seem to like his clients much and regarded most of them as cads, oiks, crooks, and scoundrels. Still, he did his duty towards them. He had recommended that John should become a solicitor. He had further told him to go to London to work at the start of his career. After two years of training (or being an articled clerk as it was still called), he had told John to be honest with himself. He should do M&A if he was best at bullshitting or tax if he was better at thinking but had low social skills. If he was an intelligent bullshitter with people skills, then competition law was his recommendation. Not for the first time, John thought Uncle Gerald was half joking but wholly in earnest. Anyway, John had been offered a job at a prestigious law firm in fifteen months' time after he had finished the year at law school in London.
At seven, he ate dinner and then, as uncle had advised, took a couple of bottles of beer out with him, sat in the gazebo and thought about life, the universe and everything while the sun went down. He already felt better for being out of Oxford and was getting things in perspective. The breakup with Linda was best for both of them. He knew he would remember her with affection and curiosity as to how things were going for her, but without regret.
The gazebo was at the garden's highest point and near a wall with the neighbouring cottage. Uncle Gerald owned it but rented it out to a young woman who taught at the Scriveners School about ten miles away. John had seen her once before when he had visited last September. Amber was a five-foot-four busty redhead who had been dressed in a mini skirt and a close-fitting jumper. If she had been photographed in that outfit, she would have qualified for a spot as a sweater girl in Uncle's copy of "The Pin-up. A Modest History." He had discovered the book hidden at the back of a bookcase when he was fifteen, together with Uncle's collection of erotica, including Fanny Hill and The Before Midnight Scholar.
Still, neither Amber, Linda, nor any of the pin-ups held a candle to his first unobtainable object of desire. He had been the captain of the St Thomas's First XV in his final year at school, and a new teacher had arrived aged twenty-two to teach German to second to fourth years and general studies to the sixth form. She was a five-foot-seven brunette with long legs and breasts which could be detected under her clothes. Her impact on the rugby team of an all-boys school who were used to female teachers who were over forty and dressed in a manner designed to eliminate any hint of sex appeal was sensational. She was also better dressed and more mature than any of the girls his own age he had met in Birmingham.
She had been pursued by both the master in charge of the rugby team and the new history teacher, who had been old boys of the school. Perhaps it was because both of her suitors attended the games, or she wanted to be seen to be willing to go along with the school's traditions, but she had become a regular at their matches. She had even continued attending after she settled for Mr. Hampton, the history master, rather than Mr. Pemberton.
He and the rest of the team liked to imagine that she had carried on attending the games because she was as much in lust with their young, virile, and muscular physiques as they were with her body. It was the fact that she seemed as invested in the games as they did, which meant that she was adopted as their mascot. She'd cheered as loudly as anyone, and her voice carried. While it was husky, it was distinctively female. The team argued over whether she was deliberately or accidentally provocative in her choice of words. Whichever it was, being told to push, go inside, burst through the gap, go down on the man, or get stuck in by her motivated him and the rest of the team. It was undoubtedly true that the only game they had lost that year was the one she missed when she attended a friend's wedding.
He recalled the rugby team's discussions about Miss Summers's best outfit. Some preferred the severe but sexy pencil skirt she occasionally wore in the classroom, while others preferred the tight jeans she wore while watching the rugby.
He liked the trench coat that appeared when it rained or was cold best. It made it easier to imagine that she was wearing something really sexy underneath it. He had a recurring dream of working alone in an upstairs corner of the library when he heard the clip-clop of her stilettos echoing as she strode up the stairs. He would look up; she would put a finger to his lips and then allow him to undo the trench coat. Underneath all she was wearing was a red bra and red stockings. They would kiss, and he would then have his evil way with her lying on her back on the table with her ankles around his ears, shouting, "Get stuck in and push harder, John. Burst through the gap and come inside me, John."
His reverie was disturbed by sensing that a light had been turned on in the garden next door and hearing voices from the other side of the wall. He could also hear wine being poured into glasses and giggles, suggesting it was not the first bottle consumed that evening.
The first voice said, "Thanks for turning up to comfort me, but there was no need. He's in love with his job and not me, and I'm well out of it. Anyway, it's you who needs the support and advice. You are making the wrong decision by not going to Coketown with him. You could have brazened it out if the dapper man said something. If I were Alan, I'd be getting the message that you want him to end the relationship. At the very least, get there tomorrow evening and apologise profusely."
"But I can't risk seeing the dapper man again and pretending that nothing had happened......" the voice paused and said, "Can anyone hear us, Amber?"
"Gerald's out for the evening. I saw him drive away as we came back from the walk. He was the one who honked his horn at us. Bet it's not the only horn he would attract my attention with if he had the opportunity."
"Ok, then." A pause, "I thought your landlord was a respectable man."
"Up to a point. He enjoys being gallant, and it's obvious that he'd love me to offer to pay the rent in kind. I undo an extra button or two when I pay the rent a couple of days late or ask him to do some repairs. He's been a good landlord and deals with any problems quickly. He knows the best places to eat around here. Now I've kicked Alastair into touch, I'd happily be rogered by him in return for a good dinner if there wasn't the risk of things getting complicated afterwards."
A laugh from the other woman, whose voice was huskier and strangely familiar. "Oh, you are awful..."
"But you like me. Seriously, why are you so scared of sex? Are you frightened that I might be right when I say that you are a bit of a goer trying to kid herself that she's a good girl? That you prefer naughty men to honourable men."
The other woman whispered, "I'm not scared of the act itself but of what it brings out in me. I think I might be a nymphomaniac who likes to be mistreated."
"Gavin was a manipulative bastard deliberately trying to humiliate you."
"But you warned me he was one, yet I still fell for it."
"He knew what buttons to press with you. He spotted that you had a sexual urge you felt guilty about. He also made you feel that you were the one to redeem him. You know how proud he would be of how much he messed you up. Don't let him spoil your life."
"I know you're right, but ...."
"We've been through this before. You know I'm right. Look, I always thought it would have been better if you'd both had another sexual relationship below your belts to sort out your hang-ups. You should have had sex with someone who didn't treat you like shit as soon as you gave it up. Christ, it would have done Alan some good to learn that women also enjoy sex, and it's not just something a man does to a woman who puts up with the inconvenience."
Amber paused, "I know Alan isn't perfect. Still, the one thing he wouldn't have done is reject you just because you allowed him to sleep with you. He knows about Gavin and what that did to you. If that is too big a risk, why don't you just get married? He's willing to do so without a test drive, silly bugger."
The other woman replied, "I like, admire, and care for him, but I'm not excited by him or in love with him. He's a competent dancer, and I feel a spark when we dance together. Unfortunately, the spark goes missing by the time we get back to my flat."
"He could learn. You said he leads on the dance floor but not in the bedroom. He'd been taught how to dance. With practice, surely the man would be at least as competent in bed as on the dance floor. I'll give you both an illustrated copy of The Kamasutra as a wedding present."
"Amber, Alan is the type of man who goes twenty-eight miles per hour when the speed limit is thirty, and I need someone who goes at thirty-three."
"Most men will if you give them even the smallest of hints."
"Not Alan."
There was a pause as the glasses were refilled. It was clearly not the act of a gentleman to listen to this conversation, but it was not as though he knew them, and if he made a noise now, it would only embarrass them. He decided to keep still and silent. He could argue that hearing two women speaking honestly would help him deal with women more perceptively in the future. He also had a nagging sense that he half recognised the second woman's voice. It was a BBC voice, though, so it was probably just a coincidence.
Amber said, "Look, we're back to last November, aren't we? Alan should have told you that he was thinking of applying to be a candidate there. It would have explained why he was going to a soccer game on a wet Saturday in November and had booked tickets to the world's most boring concert rather than devoting all his time to you. Equally, you should have told him that you had finally nerved yourself up to have sex with him and wanted to spend the afternoon in bed with him. I told you that repressing your desires was bad for you. You unleashed four years' worth of frustration in one afternoon and evening."
Fuck, this was getting interesting. He undid the zip of his trousers as quietly as he could. It sounded like he would be hearing true confessions tonight.
"I didn't mean to."
