Bedtime Stories Number 8
There's a stereotype in England that Northerners are unfriendly to Southerners, and Yorkshiremen are unfriendly to anyone not from Yorkshire. I don't know if it is true for the menfolk, but it is definitely not the case for their woman, if the hospitality I received last year is anything to go by.
I should say something about myself first. I'm Brian Wells, just knocking sixty and owner of a carpet cleaning business, Doctor Rugg. You should not confuse me with a huge franchise operation with a similar name, just a coincidence, honest. I'd hoped to wind down a few years ago when I took on a sensible lad, Steve, whose parents promised to buy me out if their son worked out okay. After a year, I was all set to enjoy early retirement with my wife Helen when she got a nagging cough. Six weeks later, Helen was diagnosed with lung cancer. It shattered us. Neither of us were smokers. It was very aggressive, beyond treatment, and Helen died just before Christmas the same year.
I was in limbo for a long time. Steve kept me on in the business. He worried about me sitting at home staring at the walls. I knew I was depressed, but could not find a way out of it. Steve persuaded me to accept an invitation to visit old friends up north for a change of scene. Said he could cope with the customers on his own for a while. Truth was, I'd been a spare wheel since I lost Helen and he needed a break from me.
It was freezing that Sunday winter night as my hire car limped onto the forecourt of the country pub in the middle of Nowheresville, North Yorkshire. My fuel warning light was already on twenty miles back, when the police diverted traffic off the motorway because of an accident, just before the services. The detour took me through miles of lifeless farmland. Ten minutes ago I passed a small garage with a pump outside, but it was closed. I just made it to the pub, whereupon my car refused to go any further. Then came the rain. Bloody brilliant.
The old coaching inn looked hospitable from the outside, but the landlord was not. The grumpy looking fifty-something bloke with a comb over told me they were closed for a private function this evening. My foot in the closing door was not what he expected.
"Look, I don't want to be a bother, but police diverted traffic off the motorway before the services and I've run out of petrol. The garage back down the road is closed."
"He's coming to the private function," says the landlord without a hint of sympathy.
A woman's voice from behind him came to my rescue. "Don't be so miserable Jack, can't you see the man is in a bind. Invite him in." She was a big homely woman of about the same age as him. She wore an apron over a party dress. "Please excuse Jack, he can't multitask. Why don't you finish with lights while I see to this customer?" Jack grunted something only she could understand and wandered off. "I'm Betty. How can I help?" Her smile was in direct contrast to her husband's miserable coupon. As if she were with him to restore balance to the universe.
"Thank you Betty, I'm Brian. I'm visiting friends in Catterick, but what with the motorway accident I'm miles off and everything is closed, plus I've run out of petrol. Is there any chance of a bed for the night? I noticed your sign saying rooms."
"Sorry love, we stopped letting rooms three years ago. The trade dropped off and the chambermaid left. I can't change the beds with my back these days."
"Don't you go doing your back in again. I had to do everything myself for a week last time," said Jack, struggling with a string of lights on the top of a small stepladder. He looked like he would end up on his arse.
"Jack, get of that ladder now. You know about your dizzy spells. One of the boys can do it later," Betty admonished him.
I saw my chance. "How about this? I'm in a bind. I'm happy to make my own bed and give you a hand with the lights."
She did not think about it for long. "Okay, offer accepted, Brian. That's very kind of Brian, to offer to help with the lights, isn't it Jack?" said Betty. Again, Jack grunted in husband speak.
Betty rustled me up a sandwich and cup of tea and after a brief rest in my plain but comfortable room I went down to do my chores. I just finished with lights when a chap arrived lugging DJ equipment.
"Sorry I'm late Betty, my mate let me down. I had to load up the van myself," said DJ Dan. He was in his late thirties with highlights and an earring and looked like every wedding DJ you've ever seen. A bit of a lad in his day, but now going to seed. I offered him a hand with his gear and he bought me a pint in return. I sat at the bar with Betty while Dan sound checked, then came over to join us.
"What's the occasion?" I asked.
"It's June's fiftieth. She's Jack's sister-in-law. Her husband owns the garage you passed. That's why it closed early," said Betty.
"Oh, it's a family do. Now I can see why you were reluctant to let anyone in tonight. Sorry Brian," I said.
He grunted something that sounded like, 'That's all right'. I guess he felt I'd earned my bed for the night.
Dan said, "Jack, I've got an idea for a competition. You sing a song and the punters will win a pound for every word they understand." We all laughed, but we heard clear enough when Jack said, "Gerroffya cheeky cunt." Betty sent him to the back with a warning about his language.
Couples started arriving half an hour later. Ruddy farming men looking awkward in their shirts, ties and polished shoes. Their wives had pushed the boat out. Hair done and make-up carefully applied, wearing dresses and shoes more suited to a night out in town. Coats came off to reveal impressive cleavages. I realised the party was quite an event in this isolated community.
Betty noticed my gaze. "These country girls scrub up okay, don't they?" I made a gallant reply. I didn't expect her to broadcast it to the assembly. "Ladies, Brian from London is staying with us tonight. He says you lot could hold your own against any woman in London on a night out in the West End." A cheer went up from the ladies and the men looked at me as if to say don't get them started. Still, it was an icebreaker and several people spoke to me. The social numbness I'd felt since Helen died was thawing.
The DJ played tapes while everyone chatted. After a decent time speaking to their wives and girlfriends, the husbands gravitated to the bar where talk turned to the price of ewes and winter feed. Not subjects a city boy like me had much of an opinion on. I looked over at a table of ladies and caught the eye of Jackie, June's youngest sister, who invited me over. She was a petite woman in her late forties. I put her at five foot three and a hundred pounds, most of which seemed to be in her impressive boobs. Her short dark hair was styled in what I call a pixie cut. Short in the neck but long on top with a jagged fringe that hung just above her eyebrows. Very sexy and refined. She beckoned me to the middle of the horseshoe couch and stood to remove her cardigan as I arrived, struggling with the sleeves.
"Let me help you shrug out of your shrug," I offered.
"Why Brian, you know what it is. That makes you a metrosexual around here," Jackie smiled as she took her cardigan. Her hands lingered on mine.
I glanced over at the farmers propping up the bar. "I'm the only metrosexual in the village." I joked, paraphrasing a line from a popular comedy show. All the women laughed, causing a few heads at the bar to turn.
Jackie wore a fitted black cocktail dress. I admired her bare arms and impressive cleavage. She was pleased I'd noticed. Everybody did, including her husband and his friends at the bar. It was an awkward moment. I turned to the bar. "I hope she's got a licence for those," I joked. The round of laughter seemed to keep everyone happy. Jackie gave me a knowing, sly smile. She was flirting with me and knew I was up for the same.
"Jackie paid for 'em so she can do what she likes with 'em, I say," said an older woman at the end of the arc.
I looked at Jackie, puzzled. "I had a little win on the National Lottery, so I treated myself. Henry had his heart set on a new muck spreader."
I laughed. "I bet Henry got over it in a hurry." I thought it was legitimate to take a quick peak at her chest again.
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" said Jackie. Again, that sly smile. I think she could almost hear me getting hard.
Conversation turned to the late arrival of June, the guest of honour. "She's just phoned. Said to start the dancing. She'll be here soon," Brian announced. An enormous cheer went up, and many of the woman stood. They shielded us from the bar. Jackie leaned in. Her tits were on my arm and her hand on my thigh. She copped a feel of my hard cock and smiled. "You'll like June. She's just like me, but without the tits, so you'll be able to tell us apart." She gave me a peck on the lips and said, "I have to find my husband so he can do his duty before returning to his mates and his drink. Promise you'll dance with me later." My mouth was dry, so I just nodded. I ran my hand across her thighs as she passed, feeling the lace tops of her black stockings. She smiled back at me.
June arrived ten minutes later. She was smiling and complementing her friends on their outfits, but I could tell she was upset. Jackie went to her sister and they had a conversation by the bar. They were like bookends. The same height and general build, although June had a fuller figure. Her hair was a similar short sexy cut to her sister's, but she coloured hers a rich chestnut brown. I could not work out their conversation, but it was clear Jackie was consoling her sister. They glanced over in my direction, whispering and laughing. After a while June was smiling properly.
Jackie steered June over while she organised a tray of drinks for our table. We were introduced, and I helped June out of her coat. She wore a red wrap around dress that crossed at the breasts. Although they were smaller than her sister's enhanced version, they were not small and her push up bra was closing the gap. "All my own work," June whispered as she took her coat to place on the pile behind us. She had the same flirty look as her sister and I knew my cock would be in torment all evening.
