English Pub Landlady Ep. 21

It felt strange. Ted came to see me whenever Harry was off playing golf.

He had moved into Rose Cottage and was slowly renovating it. About midday each day he would come to the pub and I did him lunch. Nothing cooked, you understand, I wouldn't inflict that on him.

It wasn't at all like my visits to Yew Tree Farm. We still talked about the past and the world. But it wasn't the same past. The pub has a history but it is a different history. I have a deep affection for the old boozer but it can never match the DNA depths of attachment that Ted has for the farm.

I don't think that he regrets his decision to give it up. He knows that it was the right time. I'm sure he has no doubt that Trev and Jules are the perfect custodians.

Nevertheless, you can see the sense of bereavement in his eyes.

I know that you are not too keen on wedding stories so I won't bore you with it, other than to say that Trev and Jule's nuptials went well.

They have moved into the farm. Nearly every woman in the village helped to get the place ready for them; I know but it's just not my fortay. Now that Jules has given up work, I try to see her a couple of times a week. She has the farm book now and is very enthusiastic about the customs and traditions of Yew Tree Farm. I share all the things that I have learned with her.

Don't get me wrong, after his sandwich, Ted still gets fully behind me but it now doesn't have that almost reverential feeling that being restrained on the Hoss had.

-

The next day Rita had done as much cleaning as she felt like and was sitting in my kitchen drinking my tea and eating my digestive biscuits.

"I forgot to give you this," she said, handing me a battered brown envelope.

Inside was an old photo of my pub. It was all decked out in Union Jack bunting. There was a big sign that read 'Long Live the King June 1902'. The June had been crossed out and August had been painted next to it.

A whole lot of people were gathered. They had their glasses and pots raised towards the camera.

"Where on earth did you get this?" I asked.

Rita replied, "From my Aunty Flo. She's my Mum's sister."

"How come she had it?"

"She says that she bought it in a box of junk at a Jumble sale forty years ago. She doesn't know why but something would never let her throw it away," Rita said.

"How strange!" I said.

"Not really, that's Flo all over. Some people say she's eccentric, others say that she's as nutty as squirrel shit," Rita explained.

"She has 'powers'; she sees things and she knows things. Flo said to tell you that's Mrs Tallow in the middle.

"I asked her how she knew but she told me she just did."

I looked at the photo. The woman in the middle was obviously the landlady. She was well dressed. She wasn't young but she exuded an air of sexuality despite her restrictive Edwardian clothing. Something about her felt strangely familiar.

There was some writing on the back but it simply said The ******** Inn 1902.

"How did she know it was this village?" I asked Rita.

"She didn't. I was telling her about my friend; that's you by the way. She disappeared upstairs and came back with the picture."

"She said that you'd be wanting it back," added Rita.

"What?" I exclaimed.

"I've finally persuaded Flo to come and visit us next week. Perhaps you'd better talk to her," Rita said.

"I think that I should," I concluded.

-

"It was crazy. I was surprised how many dogging places there are around here. Craig found them online," said Glenda excitedly.

"So what happened, exactly," I asked.

"Well, when my boys picked me up from here, they were very serious. They had obviously been discussing how things should go," Glenda explained.

"They gave me strict instructions that I wasn't there to enjoy myself. My sole goal was to get as much spunk into me as I could.

"In a way that made me even more excited. I was shaking long before we even got to the first carpark.

"When we pulled in, I was a bit disappointed at first. There were only two cars there. We parked between them. Craig swung the passenger door of the Land Rover open. He told me to turn around and kneel on the seat.

"Craig gripped the back of my hair and pushed my head downward to ensure that my ass stayed well up. Jem was watching closely from the back seat.

"Someone gripped the ankle straps of my shoes and moved them apart enough to get between them. I felt him grasp my suspenders and push his knob into my fanny.

"As he started to pump me he said something about me being well greased already. The grunting noises he made every time his balls banged against me was a massive turn on.

"Not just for me. Craig had to order Jem to put his cock away and leave it alone.

"I felt the bloke shuddering as he came in me. He pulled himself against my ass as if his very life depended on it.

"The other guy gave him about thirty seconds before he pulled him out of his way. He asked Craig if he could have my ass.

"Craig said to Jem 'What do you reckon, can he fuck Mum's bum?'. Jem told him to go for it.

"As he was the first one in there that night he had to work it a little. But he soon got enough room to set up a rhythm. Then the bloke did something stupid. He must have been a slow thinker because he then asked Jem if I was really his mother.

"Jem's reply made him lose his wad. He just said 'Oh, Shit. I'm sorry'.

"Craig half pushed me back into my seat as he told the bloke to shut the fucking door.

"As we drove off Jem said 'That made him cum quickly'. Both my husband and my boyfriend thought that that was really funny.

"Are you still sticking to that arrangement?" I asked.

"It is working really well. Your husband can come up with some really kinky ideas but if he can talk it over with your lover they can get very creative," Glenda replied.

"Anyway, what happened next," I asked, eager to hear more.

"It was quite a way to the next site. I just kept my legs clamped together," she went on.

"This one was a lot bigger. There must have been a dozen cars there all parked facing a picnic table with their headlights on.

"A woman was laid on the table with her legs in the air. Some grey haired bloke was holding her ankles. I don't know why but I had the feeling he was her old man as she looked about your age."

I gave her a friendly slap across the tits.

"There were about eight men waiting for the bloke who was fucking her to finish. They all had their cocks out and were shaking them in readiness. Three other guys had obviously had their turn and were just watching," Glenda continued.

"Craig took me by the hand and led me to the other end of the table. He lifted onto it with my head alongside the woman's.

"I said to her 'Do you mind sharing?'. I was a bit surprised when she said 'No, I'm really glad you're here. This is my first time and I'm sure I can't take all of them. My husband promised me that it would only be a threesome. I've only ever been shagged by Peter before now'. With that Jem and Craig grabbed my ankles and someone was fucking me.

"A few of the waiting blokes had moved round to my end of the table. When Jem said 'That's right give my Mum a good fucking', two more joined them.

"Jem kept calling me Mum while I was getting shagged. He and Craig had worked out that this was a good way to get me spunked up quickly.

"I could hear the other woman grasping for breath and then get religious. Now that she knew that she was only getting limited usage, she was enjoying it more.

"I don't know why, it must be an unwritten law or something, but when you're being dogged the second batsman always wants to bugger you.

"Still, my ass was nicely buttered now so it felt quite good.

"Everyone else went for my front entrance. They were quite generous and I could soon feel the cum running down my bum crack. I hoped no-one wanted to picnic here anytime soon.

"Peter was fucking his dogging novice wife when I ran out of partners. Jem wanted to go up and give her one but Craig stopped him. He kept forgetting what they were trying to achieve.

"Craig gave Peter the location of another dogging site. He told him that his wife could probably take a few more pricks now that she was broken in. He thanked him but felt she had probably had as much as she could take.

"Jem and Craig agreed that one more carpark should have me filled up enough.

"I should bloody think so," I said.

"And some!" said Glenda.

"I was greeted like the Queen of Sheba. There were four cars and five men there. They hadn't had a sniff all night and were about to go home.

"There wasn't a picnic bench there, so Craig and Jem let down the tailgate of the Land Rover and bent me over it. With some old rope they tied my wrists and secured them to the back seats. I wasn't going to try to get away but it added to the feeling of being used."

"You had five more pricks?" I asked.

"No, nine, I guess," Glenda said, pleased with herself.

"Nine?" I squealed.

"When the five strangers had each taken a turn (the second bloke went balls deep in my ass), Craig got behind me. He kept telling Jem how great it felt as he fucked me," she said.

"Everyone could hear my fanny squelching like wellies in a bog.

"Craig soon added to the spunk.

"All the other blokes had hung about. They wanted to see Jem fuck his mother.

"Jem was shouting 'Oh, God Mum, this is fucking fantastic. The splashback is soaking my bollocks'.

"Two of the bystanders found this exciting enough to get them hard again. They stood on the table and wanked over my tits and face. That's why I'm saying nine!

"God knows, I was a spunk covered fright by the time they had finished with me.

"I thought that Craig and Jem would take me straight home but they insisted that we stop off at the all night KFC on the way. They made me go in and buy super with my spunk covered tits out. It was on my face and my stockings were soaked in it too.

"At first, I felt a bit awkward but the guy behind the counter said that they don't get many walking buckets in there. It just sent a thrill through me. He said I could have my order free in exchange for a blowjob.

"I told him that I would rather pay for it as I didn't want to lose my amateur status but he could fuck my bum as long as he made sure I got some descent bits of chicken. And he did," concluded Glenda.

"Gin and Tonic?" I asked.

I went straight behind the bar and put my hand down my drawers. I'm only human after all.

-

I was so intrigued by the photo, that I received from Aunty Flo, that I phoned Imogen in Dorchester.

Three hours later she called me back.

"Edward VII's Coronation was in 1902. The public records show that a Mrs Victoria Tallow was the landlady of the ******** Inn between 1896 and 1909," she said.

"Blimey, what a coincidence!" I said.

Imogen said, "That's exactly what it is, a coincidence."

"Still, it beggars the question 'Why did Rita's Aunty say that this woman wanted me to have the photo?'. It's very strange," I mused.

"It occurred to me that there may be some information in the restricted archives about your pub. I don't know why I haven't looked there before. I've always concentrated on the local farms previously," Imogen went on.

"You may not believe this but there are some extensive notes made by the Dorchester Police. It turns out that they seriously considered prosecuting Mrs Tallow for running a bawdy-house.

"For several years there had been suspicions that there were after hours parties at the pub in which a few local housewives had been performing lewd acts with a great number of local men; among them the village Bobby and the Vicar.

"The only thing that prevented her being charged was the fact that all the women, including Mrs Tallow herself, were doing it gratis and no money ever changed hands," said Imogen.

"Now, that's more than a coincidence," I said.

"Evidently, this had been going on for several years," she said.

"Do you know what happened to Mrs Tallow?" I asked.

"It turns out that by 1909 the police objected to the renewal of her licence to sell alcohol. She gave up the pub and moved down Bridport way," answered Imogen.

"Don't worry the Disorderly Houses Act of 1751 has been repealed, so you're safe. Besides I can't imagine you charging anyone either."

Imogen promised to continue her research. What she had told me did little to answer my questions. I still needed to talk with Aunty Flo.

I told Imogen that I intended to have the photo framed and hang it in the bar. She suggested that I have it copied first before storing the original somewhere safe.

-

For reasons which escape me, I had agreed to a morning get together at the tearooms with Helen, Faith and several of the W.I. ladies. I refuse to call it a coffee morning.

I quite like to listen to the old widows talk about men. Most of them had lost their husbands years before but they all remained truly grateful for what they had received.

Another thing that everyone agreed on was the fact that I looked 'peeky'.

I assured them that I felt OK. Well, a little tired, maybe.

-

The next day Rita had done as much cleaning as she felt like and was sitting in my kitchen drinking my tea and eating my digestive biscuits.

"Flo is coming here to see you at ten o'clock tomorrow morning," she said, like I didn't have a choice.

"Oh!" I said.

"Now, remember, however strange the things she says to you, don't argue with her," went on Rita.

"You can ask polite questions but if you argue she will just leave.

"As she's going to be here, can I have the morning off? If I'm here too, she won't open up to you," she finished.

"If you like, I don't think anyone will notice," I said, half jokingly.

-

At ten o'clock precisely, there was a gentle tapping on the front door of the pub.

I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't what was standing on the doorstep. Flo was a neat and tidy looking woman just a few years older than me. Her clothes weren't modern but it wasn't easy to place them anywhere in fashion history. If I had to guess I say the 1930s or 40s. She wore them with an easy grace.

I asked her in. She held out her hand and I took it thinking she wanted to introduce herself. "Victoria, nice to meet you," I said.

She was slightly surprised, "Elfrida, but you can call me Flo."

Instead of shaking my hand she just held it. In modern terms, I felt like there was some sort of data transfer going on. All one way, of course.

Flo told me that she had been wandering around the village for an hour. She liked to stand on the corners and watch the hustle and bustle. I was about to ask her if she meant this village when I remembered what Rita had said about arguing with her.

"Please, take a seat," I said.

She looked around as if there was a shortage of available places to sit. Eventually, she crossed the room and lowered herself gently into old Tom's usual place.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked.

"Tea please. I love to sit in old pubs and listen but I never drink alcohol," she said.

I made a pot in the best teapot and got out the matching cups and saucers. Flo looked like a cup and saucer kind of a girl.

Placing it on the table, I sat opposite her.

I thanked her for the photo and explained what I planned to do with it.

"Oh dear me, no," she said, "Mrs Tallow won't like that. You must use the proper picture. The people want to be remembered."

I assured her that I would do that if she would prefer it. In response to my query as to why she had bought and then kept the photo for so long, she said she had no idea.

I also asked her, "What makes you think that this Mrs Tallow wanted me to have it?"

"I don't know, she didn't say," Flo replied.

When we had finished our tea and had one of those nice general chit-chats that ladies of advancing years have, she broached the subject she really wanted to talk about.

"Wite's mother tells me that you are a good listener," she said.

Without thinking I said, "I thought that Rita's mum was........"

She gave me a slightly offended hard stare.

"Some ladies have found it useful to share their experiences with me. I am discreet. If you want to tell me anything, I'd be more than glad to listen," I added quickly.

"Could we talk in the garden?" Flo asked, "it would be more private."

"By all means," I said, resisting the temptation to look around the room to see who it was that she didn't want to hear.

She found a sunny spot as far away from the door as possible.

"I suppose that Wite has told you that I've never been married," Flo said.

"Well no, she has told me very little about you other than some people consider you eccentric," I confided.

"That's very kind of you dear," she laughed.

"I did have a fiancé once and he did make love to me once. But my eccentricity, as you so delicately put it, drove him away.

"I know that both you and Wite are both, how can I put it, very physically adventurous women so you are probably feeling sorry for me right now.

"There is no need.

"Throughout my whole life I have been visited at night by men. Sometimes two men and occasionally more," she giggled.

"Rarely, it hasn't been men at all. I haven't always been exactly sure what they were."

Usually, when village women have been telling me their most intimate secrets, I have told them that it's only natural (even when sometimes I haven't been entirely sure it was). But with Flo, I didn't know what to say so I just listened.

"You must be thinking that it was all just the midnight fantasies of a frustrated spinster. I can assure you that to me it has always felt absolutely real," Flo told me.

"At first, I tried locking all the doors and windows in case people were sneaking into my room: it made no difference.

"Every morning there was a sticky mess on my sheets just like there had been when my fiancé had tupped me.

"It wasn't the sort of mess I could make myself, if you know what I mean.

"Early on I was really worried in case I got pregnant.

"When I didn't, I began to enjoy the night-time visits.

"If I wasn't in the mood I simply slept with the lights on.

"The worst thing about it was not being able to tell anyone. I had to keep it a secret.

"I would have love bites on my breasts or the bruises from having my hips gripped tightly. I always wore clothes that covered any evidence that I was being used as a plaything.

"I thought that as I got older the attention would diminish but it never has," Flo concluded.

"Do you have any thoughts about why these things have happened to you?" I asked.

"I've always been very sensitive to the other world. It didn't take me long to realise that I see, hear, feel and smell things that 'normal people' don't. It also didn't take me long to realise that it was better if I kept it to myself.

"There is no science behind it but I sort of feel that when people pass there is nothing physical that they take with them.

"Now if your absolute main focus in life was sex that could be the very thing you miss most. If you find someone who is receptive and you can make contact them in some way, would you rather tell them where the family jewels are buried or would you rather fuck them? Please excuse my language," Flo explained.

"Of course, you may well be right. I've never thought about it before," I said.

That could be because I've never believed it before. I'm not sure what I believed now.

"Thank you for letting me get it off my chest. It's helped me alot," said Flo.

"I think I'll go now. Wite will be wondering where I've got to. I suppose I'll have to call her Rita. It's not her name you know?"

I didn't point out the obvious fact that her name wasn't Flo either.

As we made our way across the bar, Flo looked around as if she were looking at faces.