My mother runs a small Bed and Breakfast out in the Lakes district. She has a large house with half a dozen bedrooms and there's only her in the old house now. Her justification for turning the old house into a Bed & Breakfast was that she needed to to make ends meet. What a laugh. I was one of the executors of my father's estate and I know what she's got squirreled away in trust funds.
Knowing she is only doing the whole B&B thing because she likes regular company in the house I was able to put my foot down when she first suggested full scale boarding with all meals provided. With my mother pushing sixty there was no way was I going to have her working all day to meet the requirements of assorted guests. Bed and Breakfast were fine and if they were staying several nights, the local township had a couple of good restaurants and the normal fast food outlets. Her guests wouldn't starve.
It was also agreed that if she ran into any problems with guests that she'd contact me or one of my siblings to help her get it sorted out. This meant I wasn't too surprised when she called me one day with a little problem. It turned out that while she was sure it was only a little problem, she didn't know what the problem was. Could I help?
Could I help to solve an unknown problem? Certainly. I'd just put on my Mr Magic costume and wave my magic wand. Problem solved. I didn't tell my mother that. I just said I'd come on over and she could tell me all about it.
I rolled up and we settled down over coffee while my mother explained.
Among her guests she had a young couple. Charming people they were. It was obvious that they weren't too long married and they were spending a week at my mother's place as a sort of second honeymoon. They'd chosen the lakes district because he liked to fish and she liked to tour around the tourist traps and visiting antique stores, hoping to find that elusive bargain.
The first evening everything had been fine. The pair had been billing and cooing and enjoying life. The next morning there was a slight change in their attitude. They had both seemed a little disgruntled. Nothing that my mother could really pinpoint, but there was an aura of dis satisfaction, and mother had this hunch that her precious B&B was being found wanting. But on the strength of one day she ignored it. The pair went out fishing and treasure hunting and seemed fine that evening.
The next day (this morning) the irritation that the pair showed was a lot more pronounced. He had been positively sulking when he left to go fishing and she hadn't bothered to go out, returning to her room. My mother had tried to get the young woman to express a complaint but she denied anything was wrong. Now, apparently, it was my turn to chat with her.
"I know you'll get to the bottom of it, darling," my mother said smiling sweetly. "You can be so charming when you want to be."
A lot of people might dispute that but I learnt long ago of the futility of arguing with my mother. I just smiled and said I'd speak with the young woman. If that didn't work I'd return this evening and have a chat with her husband.
I ambled along to Maureen's room and knocked. She answered and I saw immediately what my mother meant about her looking disgruntled.
She was a nice little blonde. Big blue eyes and stacked, breasts just standing out and begging to be touched. Looking closer (at her face, not her bust) it seemed she looked more frustrated than disgruntled. Probably one led to the other.
"I'm David, Jessica's son. My mother is worried. She feels that you and your husband aren't happy here and that she and her little B&B are to blame. She wants to know what the problem is so she can fix it. If she doesn't know what the problem is she might find other couple having the same trouble. Her place could quite easily get a bad reputation. I'm sure you can understand her concern."
Maureen bit her lip for a second before hastening to reassure me.
"Oh, no, that's silly. The place is charming and your mother had gone out of her way to make us feel welcome. It's nothing really. Tell her not to worry about it."
"I can also tell the sun not to rise," I said, with maybe a touch of acid in my voice. "Where her B&B is concerned, my mother will worry. So why don't you tell me what the nothing consists of."
There was a moment more of lip chewing and then Maureen went on.
"No really. It's nothing. . ."
I interrupted at that point.
"Ah, Maureen, you may find it advisable to tell me now. If you don't my mother will be grilling you and your husband for hours, trying to wear you down. She'll win in the end, believe me."
Maureen did some more lip chewing. I have to say it made her lip look nice and red and kissable but she was going to wear it out the way she was going. Then she sighed and gestured behind her.
"It's the bed," she muttered.
I strolled past her and considered the bed. It was my old bed from when I used to live here. It was a very comfortable bed. I could attest to that. I sat on it and bounced lightly. It felt the same as it always had.
"Ah, what's wrong with the bed?" I asked. "It seems very comfortable."
And why are you blushing, I wondered.
"Um, it squeaks," she muttered. "The squeak sort of disturbs us."
Well, yes, I could imagine it would. I'd hate to sleep on a bed that squeaked every time I moved. Funny, I didn't remember that old bed squeaking, although something was nagging at the back of my mind.
I bounced on the bed a bit more but it remained quiet. Puzzled, I looked at Maureen. She was blushing and looking elsewhere.
"Um, it doesn't seem to be squeaking now," I said. "It will be a bit hard to oil it though if I don't know where to apply the oil."
"It doesn't squeak all the time," she muttered, "just sometimes. When it does it's awfully loud and the noise seems to come from everywhere."
A light dawned. A teenager, me, practicing trampoline moves on a nice big bed. Everything had been fine until I got a nice rhythmic bounce going when I was dropping full length and bouncing back to my feet. (I got quite good at that. The bed was really springy.) However, once I got a certain speed up the bed went berserk. All the springs would seem to scream at the same time. The first time I heard it I was so startled that I'd slipped and found myself splatted against the carpet, scared that I'd broken my bed.
Subsequent to that I'd enjoy the bouncing and squeaking until my mother walked past and heard the racket. She given me a real mouthful and that was the end of my trampolining on the bed.
Now I got the problem. A young couple, happily screwing, just getting a nice rhythm going and then the bed starts wailing. Coitus interruptus time.
"Let me guess," I said dryly. "The bed protest during certain activities. You promptly stop those activities and feel frustrated. Why not just ignore the noise. It would probably be over in a few moments."
Maureen was blushing harder than ever.
"We can't continue with that noise going on," she muttered. "Everyone would know what we were doing."
I blinked, running my eyes over her figure. Damn right they'd know what she and her husband were doing at night.
"So what? Everyone knows what you're doing anyway. I assure you, one look at you and I knew straight away the sort of things your husband would be doing with you."
"Well, there's a difference between people guessing that we have sex at night and people listening to us do it. There's no way we can carry on. Can't you do something about the bed?
"Bit awkward to swap it around," I pointed out. "That would just make it someone else's problem. I'll tell my mother about it and she'll probably replace the bed, but that won't help you right now."
I glanced around the room. There was a nice sturdy dressing table there, complete with a very large mirror. There was also a very nice rug on the floor, with a very thick, soft, pile. The weather was currently quite warm. Maureen's scanty shorts and top attested to that.
"Maureen, you see that dressing table?"
She nodded, looking puzzled.
"Grab it with both hands and try to shake it."
No way known she would be able to budge it. The thing was heavy.
Looking rather bemused Maureen did as I suggested. She tried to shake it, even bending down a bit to put some muscle into it. The dressing table ignored her. I stepped up behind her.
"If you were to present yourself to your husband like this," I said, giving her bottom a friendly pat, "he could have your panties down and you getting some serious affection with no noise."
She squeaked and jumped erect, her hands on her bottom where I'd patted her.
"Mickey would never do that," she gasped. "He's a very straight laced sort of guy. He wouldn't dream of, well, what you said."
"What, he wouldn't pull down your panties and push you over the nearest solid object? What's his second name, Mouse?"
"It's just that he has standards," she snapped. "That's all."
