It was just about the most ludicrous thing that had ever happened to her, Chelly realised. And, if she hadn't felt quite so embarressed, she probably would have laughed. As it was, she was only dimly aware of the humerous aspect of her situation, being mostly concerned with the chill wind that had blown her skirt up over her knickers.
How she had come to be trapped half-in and half-out of her kitchen window was all the fault of the man next door, Oliver Roland, who'd waylaid her that morning on her way to work.
Why he should have chosen to return her pinking sheers at 8.30 in the morning - when he must have known she was running late - had not struck her as strange at the time. But now it did. And, come to think of it, what had he needed the sodding things for in the first place?
She couldn't help feeling annoyed. After all, if he hadn't detained her, she wouldn't have got into a panic and left her front door key on the hall table. What on earth had made him think she was so desperate to have her scissors back that she'd jeopardise her job?
She should have bitten his head off and called him a moron for buggerin up her day. So why hadn't she? Stuck fast and out of ideas, Chelly thought about it. Perhaps his charming smile had fazed her. She remembered thinking how attractive he looked for a man past his prime, how his rugged, lived in features still qualified as handsome, despite the grooved and grizzled signs of age. But it was his body that amazed her: supple and bronzed from spending too much time in the garden, it was the kind of physique that a man half his age would envy.
She wondered why he didn't go to work. He was far too young to be retired and who in their right mind would want to hang around the house all day, waiting for a bitch like Louise to come home? Chelly loathed Louise Roland: a stick insect of a woman with a high flying executive job and a fucking great plum in her mouth when she spoke. The type who would sooner have her colon flushed than sit on a public loo. She hated Louise's beady black eyes and the way she looked at Chelly with the same haughty distain that she would view a piece of dog shit on her neatly manicured lawn. Especialy after Chelly had split up with her husband Bill. Louise had presented a cold shoulder like the north face of the Eiger.
It was Bill's fault really, that Chelly had locked herself out. If he hadn't got pissed and decided that a fuck with his ex-wife was a brilliant idea, she wouldn't have needed to change the locks and the front door key would still be on the keyring with the others.
It was Bill's fault also that the latch on the kitchen window had never worked properly. God knows she's nagged him enough. But Bill had always been more into screwing than screwdriving. In fact, his passion for drilling his bit into other women had lead to the break up of their marriage.
Chelly wondered what the time was and weather she'd ever be rescued. She was sure that Oliver had mentioned something about returning her lawnmower that afternoon. But had he been already? She tried lifting her head to look for it but all she could see was the billowing fan of her skirt.
Still, at least the sun had come out and her arse was getting warmer. In fact the breeze felt quite pleasant now tickling away at her rump. She let her head flop to the sink. There was no point in shouting again. She knew that Louise was away and since her other neighbour, Ethel, was as deaf as a post, all her hopes were pinned on Oliver, who must surely come round to borrow something or return something sooner or later. She knew that his visits were only feeble excuses to see her. It had been obvious for some time that he fancied her. She could tell by his leering looks and suggestive manner. But, aside rom a little harmless flirtation. she had never really encouraged him. He was a married man after all, and even though his wife was a pig who deserved to loose him, Chelly had tasted enough forbidden fruit in her time to know that it gave her the shits and was best left alone.
Admittedly she had been tempted once when he had come into the back garden to borrow a bucket and had caught her sunbathing topless. Just to tease, she had asked him, quite innocently, if he would mind rubbing oil on her back. She remembered how strong and rough his hands had been; how her nipples had grown hard as he's worked his fingers into the flesh under her armpits; how he had skimmed under the edge of her bikini bottom. He had been panting like a dog, and if she had rolled over, he would have fucked her there and then.
Chelly drummed her fingers on the stainless steel drainer. She was missing Neighbours and her legs were starting to cramp. Perhaps she ought to try shouting again. She opened her mouth to holler but promptly snapped it shut as her ears percieved the crunching, grinding sound of an ancient lawnmower being bullied over the pebbles of her gravel path.
As Oliver struggled to ram the garden devil through her squeeky gate, Chelly was suddenly concious of her predicament and felt the heat of embarressment flush through her body. With it came the ridiculous notion that - like the cartoon cutie in a seaside postcard - all four of her cheeks were now blushing.
"You've been framed" came Oliver's caption as he rounded the corner and sighted her. The gush of laughter was inevitable and Chelly let him have his fill before appealing for his help. He was still chuckling as the wind lifted her skirt again. Then his laughter stalled like an engine.
"Oliver?" she queried, guessing that the sight of her whispy, white panties had robbed him of his mirth.
He croaked a sound of greeting.
"The window's stuck" she pointed out, "Do you think you could give me a hand?"
"I'll give you a push" he offered hoarsely.
Before she could suggest that a push on the window frame would be a better idea, his hands were sliding up the back of her thighs. They were hot and clammy and she felt herself tense as he moved them over her hips.
"Could you cover my bum please?" she requested demurely. But he pretended not to hear as he dug his fingers into her butocks and hefted her up with his hands.
"This isn't going to work" she thought, and gathered the words in her mouth. But the rough thrusting of her hands on her haunches made her swallow them down with a gulp. Better let him do it his own way, she thought. Men like to take charge in situations like this. A voice in her head argued, "Who the fuck are you kidding?" but Chelly chose to ignore it. She liked the feel of his hands on her arse. And if this took all night, then so be it.
He was pushing up under her butocks now, his thumbs disturbing her panties as his trembling fingers scrunched into the globed of her arse as if they were balls of playdough. She could tell by his rapid breathing that her pliant softness pleased him. How different she must feel to Louise.
When this half-hearted attempt to dislodge her failed, he positioned his head beneath her butt and pushed. Nudging upward, he twisted his head until the half-moons of arse that had escaped from her panties were bouncing up and down on his face.
As she felt the scraping of his bristled jowel on her skin, Chelly knew that it was time to voice a protest. He was blatently molesting her now and if she didn't speak soon, he would surely read her silence as consent.
