Way back when, in these far away isles, life was much more tightly regulated than now, no more so than in the moral realm. Pornographic material and sex toys were illegal. Condoms were kept under chemists' counters and requested in hushed tones; choice of style or thickness or special features-like ribs or dimples or enhanced lubrication freely available in supermarkets these days-were unavailable. Toys and racy magazines could only be obtained in overseas locations, like Sydney's red light area across the ditch in big brother Australia, and guiltily smuggled through New Zealand customs at the bottom of suitcases in the hope they not fall prey to zealous border officers seeking, no doubt, to add to their own home collections.
So it came to pass that a during a casual Saturday beer with a workmate, Brian, a former British merchant seaman, the usual boy topic of sex came up. Colin let slip, well, bragged, that he had a collection of smuggled porno movies (on reels!) at home. He said if I and my lady (Anne) wanted, he could bring his projector around Sunday afternoon. He also suggested a mutual friend, Chris, a former British marine, would no doubt be keen to join in.
Now, it so happened we all worked shifts, but we all had Sundays off. Anne was a trainee nurse, Colin and I worked in a production engineering factory, and Chris was a mobile security guard who spent his nights keeping unwanted visitors out of closed business premises-when not fucking a gorgeous, married, blonde who worked night shifts in a burger bar. We were all still young: Anne the youngest at 21 (just), the men under 30. We were all in good shape, too and definitely frisky. I said sure, just say when, knowing Anne would be keen as mustard as she often complained about New Zealand's puritanical legal framework. The other two men were married with children, so our flat was the logical venue. I soon headed home to chat to Anne, while Colin would talk discreetly to Chris and check if Chris' blonde-on-the-side would like to come, too.
It was dinner time when I arrived home, so I opened a bottle of wine as we made small talk and made sure to keep her glass topped up while we ate. When we finished, I told her to relax while I cleaned up. She began to stretch out on the couch in her jeans and T, but I quickly said, "Hey, we're in for the night...maybe something a little more comfortable?" She chortled a knowing chortle, and toddled off to get changed. I had almost finished the clean up when she returned. She had definitely taken the hint, wearing her (almost) see-through nightie, with no panties shadow that I could see. Good girl, I thought, as I topped up her wine one more time and suggested she pick a TV program to watch while I showered. Ok dear, she replied, and I went to the bathroom. I knew where this was heading!
