Yeah... big sorry for how long this one has taken to anyone left wondering. Here now anyway.
Okay, so this is where a gets a bit controversial. There's a bit more stuff based explicitly round religion in here, but this is meant to be erotica, and it's not meant to poke fun or criticise any religious points of view. That said, if you feel you might be offended by it, just don't read on.
Also, goo girls ahoy!
*
"What, I want to know is, what are the police going to do about it?" demanded the pensioner.
"I... I'm sorry?" stammered Ted, as he tried to keep up with her fast-paced and repetitive torrents of meaningless soundbites.
"This urine!" she snapped, pointing to the damp spot in the ceiling. "I'm 75 and I manage to restrain myself from peeing on the floor!"
"Well, I mean, I think this is more an issue for the housing authority, Mrs Mee. "If that's a toilet up there, it's their job to repair it. Have you rung them yet?"
"The council have been useless. Absolutely useless... What I want to know is... what on earth's that?" she distractedly interrupted herself as she peered over Ted's notepad.
"Er, shorthand. It helps me keep up with you," Ted said, the stench of urine beginning to get the better of him.
"I don't know how you read it, love..." she muttered. "Now, this damp patch..."
Ten agonising minutes later, Ted stumbled out of the house, almost gagging from the assault on his nostrils. No sooner had he cleared the door however, then he hit a torrential downpour of rain. He cursed under his breath, before turning and forcing a smile as he waved goodbye to the slightly senile Mrs Mee.
Getting back to the cramped offices of the Copwith Courier, Ted saw that most of the staff had buggered off to lunch without waiting for his return. Only his fellow reporter Kate remained, frow burrowed as she spoke on the phone about what looked to be a strong lead story involving a looming overspend on the district council. Bloody Councillor Jones he thought. He gives her all the inside scoops and it's blatantly not because he views her as a force for democracy. Bloody tips for tits.
Resigning himself to working through what little material he already had, Ted sat down and began typing. He'd eat once the demented pensioner had been written down and dealt with.
Five minutes in and the phone rang. It could be something interesting for a change or it could be someone calling for the pizzeria again. Probably the latter he thought bitterly.
"Newsroom," he said, in his customary greeting.
"Hello... newsroom," replied a woman's voice that sumptuously dripped like honey.
Ted sat forward in his seat.
"I've got a story for the paper," she continued.
"Oh... what-what kind of story?" struggled Ted.
"It's about Copwith Manor. I know your paper has been trying to cover it for a while now, sending reporters round there to find out what's going on. "Ted Wilson, is it? He's been there a few times."
"Um, yes. Sorry, that's me. I'm Ted."
"Hi Ted..." the woman said, with a hint of amusement and coquettishness. "I'm the head of a Copwith woman's group -- you won't have heard of us - and we recently bought the property to use as a community venue. I could show you round if you like -- we're all here today... right now."
Ted's brow furrowed -- he'd not seen any planning documents that would support these claims, but he was curious to meet this mystery woman. She sounded like no local society chairman he'd ever spoken to.
"I'll be there in half an hour."
***
Half an hour later, and drenched from the persistent rain, Ted knocked on the heavy wooden door at the front of Copwith Manor.
When it was slowly opened, he subconsciously moved his head to get a look at just who was behind it.
In front of him was a girl who couldn't have been more than 20 years old. Her body was petite, with a delicate frame, slender limbs and a dainty head. Sleek black hair was neatly tied behind her head and youthful brown eyes widened as she took him in.
Hers weren't the only ones. Ted openly stared as he gave her the once-over -- she was dressed in a French maid's outfit. The black and white frilly get-up started with her skirt and moved up into a figure-hugging number round her chest, which was only the part of her that wasn't dainty. Indeed, it nearly spilled out of the tight outfit containing it. Dark tights hugged her legs, before ending as garters at her thighs. A frilly headband rested on her hair.
"Er...I..." he began.
"You must be Ted," beamed the maid. "The lady of the house has been expecting you.
"This way please."
The girl turned round and sauntered down the hall, her backside wiggling just a bit
too
much as she did. Ted followed her in and absently let the door close behind him.