This rather long tale is a mingling of two essentially true stories with a large dollop of imagination thrown in on top. Despite this there are many who will not care for the content due to the definite cuckoldry theme, some gay male sexual activity (mainly oral) and a very unpleasant dominant male. However, those who persevere might find redeeming features towards the end.
In the Middle Ages, Lords of the manor could claim first night rights over any maiden that was wed within the bounds of his fief. Immediately after the wedding celebrations the new bride was delivered to the manor for the pleasure of the lord leaving her groom waiting in frustration until she was returned to him the following day. At this time, chastity was greatly prized so it was customary for the girl to emerge from the manor the next morning clutching a blood stained sheet as proof to the assembled villagers that she had been deflowered. It is understandable that many young betrothed couples jumped the gun, either from natural urges or simply to thwart their evil squire. There is documentary proof that at least one lord took crafty advantage of this practice. If a girl proved to be other than intacto he gave her a choice. She could do the minimum i.e. lie back and think of England in which case her shame would be revealed or she could show a degree of enthusiasm in which case a cockerel would be sacrificed to provide the necessary evidence.
Thankfully in these modern times it rarely happens that another man screws a bride before her husband can claim his first marital rights. It is ironic then, in light of the research I have done on the subject that it should have happened to me. Perhaps you would like to hear the story.
I was twenty-two at the time that I first met Babs. I live in a coastal fishing cum holiday town and was still then living with my parents. Since leaving school I have worked in the offices of the same firm and am now classed as a senior clerk but without any great responsibility for others. I am average height and build, never had any aptitude for sport but do believe that I am acceptably good looking. My main trouble is shyness. When dancing, at which I am rather good, I can strike up a rapport with girls but successful pick-up lines in other circumstances are a mystery to me. This explains why my favourite pastime is dancing. The trouble is that when I do get a girl it is difficult to get it right with regard to sex. I either push my hand up her leg too quickly and am rejected for being 'too fast,' or I behave like a gentleman for too long and am given the push for being too slow. Even getting further is no guarantee of success. Losing my virginity was a disaster. To start I needed help putting on the condom and then shot my lot the moment that I got inside her. The girl walked out on me straight away saying "Christ, you have got absolutely no idea." My next conquest was kinder – during one long evening she patiently gave me a taste of the joy of sex but then tactfully refused a further date. I did enjoy a three month relationship with a third girl until she said that her real boyfriend was being demobbed from the army but that was all that I had to show for my twenty-two years.
Babs frequented the same dance hall as me. I worshipped her from afar for various reasons but it is true to say that never in my wildest dreams did I envision ever having a relationship with her. I know that I spent far more time gazing at her in rapture than in serious pursuit of girls that I might realistically have hopes of capturing. Once I heard a companion call her Barbara. I misheard this as Barbarella and this name was completely fitting for her. She was gorgeous. To my eyes she was perfection but a purist might have claimed that she verged too much towards the voluptuous. The thing was that she was all too happy to display her charms, always dressing in figure clinging low-cut dresses that could be described as micro rather than mini.
Babs came from the wrong side of the tracks, as the Americans might say, but where the other females of her crowd had that pinched plain look of bad breeding with only youth to recommend them, Babs was the proverbial exotic flower blooming in a wasteland. This was the other reason that I dare not approach her – the males in her crowd were the roughest imaginable, frequently fighting amongst themselves when they found no other obvious foe.
One such gratuitous fight was the means of our introduction. At the start of the aggravation, someone barged into Babs causing to stagger backwards on her exceptionally high heels and I happened to be in position to catch her before she fell and hit the floor. My arms were under hers with my hands cupping her wonderful soft breasts, my face was against hers and I gazed in rapture down into the valley of delight between her tits. God knows how long I froze in that position until she said, "If you have seen everything that there is to see, perhaps you would put me back on my feet." The important point was that she did not say it in a nasty way and when I hastily complied she turned and gave me a quick kiss saying, "Thank you. You saved me from a nasty bump."
To my surprise I heard myself saying, "Can I buy you a drink," and was even more surprised when she accepted. By this time everybody was fighting in lumps and, as if under a charm of protection. I escorted her safely between the combatants to the bar. We spent the rest evening talking and afterwards she allowed me to take her home to be rewarded with another chaste kiss outside her door. The big bonus was that she accepted my invitation to the cinema.
That date led to another but although I progressed to passionate kissing and a reasonable amount of groping, our dates always terminated outside her front door. There was no reason that she could not have invited me in for I discovered that she lived there alone. She eventually told me that she used to live in South Park, (the towns only sink estate), but her father had disappeared when she was ten. Her mother had a succession of different men friends and then for some reason Babs had left to live with her grandmother in a back-to-back terrace house not far from the docks. Two years ago, the old lady had died leaving house and contents to her granddaughter and since then, Babs had lived there alone.
I had been going out with her for nearly six months before Babs invited me into her house and we had full sex for the first time. After that it was pretty regular but, except for rare occasions, I always returned home afterwards instead of staying for the night. This new situation had not been in operation for more than a couple of months before I mentioned marriage but this did instigate a subtle change. I started staying overnight much more often than not but Babs insisted that this did not mean that we were living together. To emphasise the point she would indicate, at what at first seemed random times that I would be returning home instead of spending the night with her. Almost invariably I was unable to see her for the whole of the following day. I could identify no logic to her behaviour because the excuses for not meeting me seemed trivial and it appeared to happen on a roughly fortnightly cycle. I also learned to be prepared to be sent away by a certain restlessness in her manner.
The house was a terrace cottage – nothing more. The living room was entered straight off the street and was just big enough to accommodate a small three piece suite with sideboard and a dining table. Off one side there was a small kitchenette in which Babs had had a foldaway shower cubicle installed where a built in cupboard had been. Stairs at the back of the room led up to two bedrooms, one marginally larger than the other. Furniture throughout had been inherited with the house and to my untutored eye seemed as old as the cottage. The large bed in particular was a heavy monstrosity with a thick feather mattress and antique metal springs. As can be imagined it was very noisy, echoing the slightest movement upon it but Babs eased my disquiet by assuring me that the walls were very thick.
There was a weird incident, which bothered me for a time, but the pleasure of my girlfriends company soon drove it from my mind. It had followed one of the evenings when I had been suddenly ejected from the house just after ten o'clock. Arriving home, I realised that I had left my briefcase behind, which was an embarrassment as it contained documents that I needed at work. It was too late and too far to walk to walk back so I decided that I could cover the missing papers for one day. The following day, Babs had told me, she was leaving home early and would not be home until extremely late - so the morning after that was my first opportunity to retrieve the briefcase. I got up very early, calculating that I could walk to Bab's cottage, grab the briefcase and walk on to work in nice time. It was a beautiful morning and I strode along, filled with the joy of life and restraining an urge to sing from sheer exuberance.
Turning the corner, I was surprised to see Bab's door closing and a male figure walking away from me towards the other end of the street. He looked very tall, rather scruffy, and was wearing a donkey jacket with rolled down wellington boots. I did not see his face but his most significant feature was a pony tail of dirty yellow hair hanging quite a way down his back. My first thought that he must be a beggar or trader working his way down the street but this seemed unlikely as he stopped at no other door. I knocked at the door and Babs answered quickly wearing just a dressing gown. Instead of pleasure at seeing me her face registered shock and she seemed very flustered. "Who was that?" I had to ask.
For a moment she seemed lost for words but then she said, "Oh – he was looking for someone that my Granny used to know. I couldn't help him."
I told her that I had left my briefcase in the bedroom but was rather disconcerted that she left me standing in the street while fetching it for me. The explanation for the mysterious male seemed very logical but her general behaviour left that temporary feeling of unease.
When I first proposed, Babs asked if I realised that she had been with a lot of men. I guessed that she had been around but was not interested in the extent because my mind was fixed on our future together and not on her probably lurid past. We continued to go dancing and although her crowd of friends did not take to me, the dislike was expressed in mockery rather than the violence to which they seemed prone. The news that we were to marry provoked amusement rather than anything else. Many people tried to warn me off of which I will mention only a couple. An old school friend asked confidentially, "Did you know that she has got a shocking reputation?" and a girl next to me at the bar one night told me out of the blue, "You're a bloody fool. I know for a fact that Babs has been with almost every man on the South Park estate." It was like water off a ducks back – whatever the truth, I took the warnings only as evidence of spite and jealousy.
Babs worked at a large seafront hotel and the manager did us proud for the wedding. He provided a large room for the reception together with the honeymoon suite for one night at no charge so our only expense was the catering and entertainment. We were married at the registry office and the reception seemed to go better than expected. After the speeches, we circulated and it was very noticeable that her guests and mine were like oil and water. Partly because of this, having satisfied formalities, we split up with each of us moving within our own sphere of influence so to speak. At one point I spotted my new wife against the far wall in conversation with a tall, rough looking bloke in an ill-fitting suit who seemed strangely familiar. He had a very hard face but it was one that I had never seen before so why the sight of him rang a bell was a mystery until he turned sideways – for down his back hung a long pony tail of dirty yellow hair.
I wanted to speak to Babs about him but the floor between us was filled with dancers and I had no wish to create a commotion by barging straight across. Consequently, I started working my way round the room but easing my way past guests and thanking well-wishers slowed me until it must have been five minutes before I reached the place where Babs had been. She was no longer there. I quickly checked the places that she might have moved to, my urgency growing as my questing eyes continued to be disappointed. My pace increased until I was almost running, some premonition giving desperation to my search. As a last resort I went up on the balcony and slowly surveyed the room but she had disappeared off the face of the earth. Almost in a daze I came back down and walked round behind the staircase and there, partly concealed behind the profuse foliage of a large potted plant, was a door labelled 'PRIVATE - STAFF ONLY'. I shall never know what instinct caused me to look in there.
I pushed the door tentatively expecting it to be locked but it swung open quietly at my touch.
Stepping through I pushed it closed behind me because I already knew that the room was not empty. Standing with his back to me was the figure of a man with trousers round his ankles and a pony tail down his back. Babs was there, back against the wall and with her wedding dress rucked up around her waist. Her legs were splayed open on either side of him with ankles curled round behind. He was supporting her weight with hands underneath her thighs and he was pushing himself into her with powerful steady strokes. Babs chin rested on his shoulder and she was hanging on with arms clasped round him. Her face was impassive as she gazed straight at me with black emotionless eyes.
