"This continues the narrative between Granddad and Anja while on a Swingers holiday in the South of France. Previous episode, Granddad - Party Time and beyond."
"From the beginning?"
"From the beginning," Anja confirmed.
"At the age of twelve I had to make choices as to which teaching stream I favoured. I chose the technical, practical option. Mr. Arbuthnott was my metalwork teacher. One of the first things I made was a shallow metal tray with turned up sides. A simple metal bending exercise but then he asked how we might join the sides together to make it watertight at the edges. There were various silly suggestions including Sellotape and plasticine. I suggested welding like they do on boats and cars. He was delighted and got the oxyacetylene equipment out of the cupboard, showed us how to do it, in principle then asked for volunteers to 'give it a go'. My hand shot up. The fourth corner wasn't too bad and he asked when I had welded before. I had to admit that I'd never done it before and he said that I was possibly a natural. By the end of that first term I could weld well enough to work on the workshop's car project. From oxyacetylene welding he moved me onto electric arc or 'stick' welding as he called it. Much thicker pieces of metal could be welded and I practised on cut-offs of 'I' beams and thick angle iron. From there I went from strength to strength. My welding didn't have to be good any more. It had to be perfect! Nothing less. Unknown to me he was leading me towards API 1104 standard. The required quality for the gas and oil industry where he had worked before retiring early to teach. At sixteen he got me into the local technical college on a welding course and each evening I'd go back to school for special one-to-one welding lessons. All agreed with Mum and the Headmaster.
When I was seventeen and a half Mr. Arbuthnott told me that he had agreed with my mother that I'd go away to a special training school for gas and oil industry welders. It would last six months and he would cover all the costs. I would repay him when I had started to put into practice everything he and the advanced training had taught me.
We set off for a disused airfield about fifteen miles from Derby, me, my Mum, Gladys and Mr. Arbuthnott driving. Behind us was an elderly caravan which Mrs. Arbuthnott had dragged around Europe when her husband worked on the pipelines. It was to be my home for the next six months.
Charlie was a wizened old man with a deeply lined face, a mop of grey hair poking out from beneath his welder's cap and a twisted leg which caused him to limp badly. He greeted Mr. Arbuthnott like an old mate. I later discovered that they had worked as a two man team since before the war, until Charlie's leg got smashed when a pipe slipped in a bell hole and crushed it severely. Mr. Arbuthnott had warned me, when he offered me the opportunity of further training that pipelines were hard, dangerous places to work. That the hours were long, the conditions were tough. He also warned that they were unforgiving. If you or someone close by made a mistake it could cost a life or serious injury. If your welding wasn't up to the mark, you could be out of work in an hour. If you made the grade and maintained it, the money was fabulous.
Charlie introduced Mum and me to his wife, Angie, who was to be my mentor and Welder's Mate."
"Welders have mates Granddad?"
"Everybody has mates, Sweetheart," I confirmed with a happy grin, "in a controlled environment like a factory or workshop lots of the little things that can make or break a good weld are eliminated. The conditions are perfect or at least unlikely to change. The power to the arc is stable and all the welder has to do is concentrate and keep a steady hand. When you're out in the middle of nowhere everything's up for grabs, wind, rain, heat cold and you're running off a big jenny which seldom gave absolutely stable power to the arc. You couldn't just stop mid bead and make adjustments. It didn't work like that! Your Welder's Mate's job was to make the adjustments and it was your job, as the welder, to give the right hand signals to ensure your Mate knew what tweaking you needed to happen. Where was I?"
"Teaching me to weld?" Anja offered tentatively.
"If only it were that easy," I laughed, "so, Angie was assigned to be my Mate throughout my training."
"So, being a Welder's Mate wasn't a particularly difficult job then?" she asked quietly.
"Why would you say that?" I asked in surprise.
"Well..., Angie... A woman, right?" she suggested apologetically.
"It's supposed to be us blokes what make sexist remarks like that, not you birds!" I laughed, "anyway Angie was a highly trained and experienced welder, as was Gladys, as it happened."
"Whoa!" Hold on, I've missed a bit somewhere. Gladys a welder? I thought you said she was your biology teacher, for a while."
"During the war, when the men were away, the women had to do the work. Gladys and Angie did their bit by welding slabs of metal together to build tanks. Ever wondered, when you watch one of those RAF based war films, how, after an airfield has been obliterated in an air raid, they fill in the holes and the Spitfires and Hurricanes take off straight after, where the aviation fuel came from? It was piped in, stored in the pipes. Angie and Gladys were one of the many welders that worked, under cover of darkness, to construct those secret pipelines. Angie enjoyed it so much she continued after the war. Gladys did for a while. The four of them worked as a team but Gladys decided she really wanted to be a teacher." I explained.
"Sorry Granddad." Anja said contritely, "I hadn't realised that. Please continue?"
"Well, before we'd left for the training course I'd had a good long session with Gladys and Mr. Arbuthnott..."
"Sorry to interrupt Granddad, Gladys AND Mr. Arbuthnott?"
### ### ###
"Ahrrr, yes, well, must have forgot that bit, you see..." I paused trying to judge my words, "Gladys loved sex, as you've probably realised and she really enjoyed good sex. You probably picked up on that as well. Thing is good sex doesn't come naturally, very often. It needs to be taught and Gladys was the one to teach it. She had infinite patience and infinite capacity. All of which you will have realised.
What I hadn't actually realised at that time was that Mr. Arbuthnott also liked his wife to enjoy a good session of fucking. The more the merrier. 'member I said that she'd half pulled the curtain at the bottom of the stairs? That was her message to her husband to say she was training a new cock and to make himself scarce for a while. Once she felt the new cock was ready to fuck her properly and not run a mile when he discovered her husband was present, she closed both curtains to say he could come and and join them.
Everything she ever did was for his pleasure and his pleasure alone. This I discovered about a month, or so, into our relationship. I was laying, naked, on my back in the middle of her giant bed. She was laying on top of me. Her clit in my mouth. With one finger I was stroking her puckered anus and my thumb was moving gently in and out of her wet cunt. For her part, she was stroking my cock and sucking gently on the purple head. It felt heavenly. Her wriggling on my face suggested that she was enjoying my attentions as much. Only a few weeks earlier I'd have shot my load just at the sight of a wet cunt. At that time, with the benefit of her careful tutoring I was able to delay the inevitable more easily. Gladys was an excellent cock sucker and I was approaching the point of no return far too quickly for my liking. I focussed entirely on her cunt, my mouth pleasing her and my thumb fucking her. The need to shoot my load diminished sufficiently but my rampant cock remained rampant. For the first time I made her cum before me.
"You bad boy!" she scolded after she'd recovered, "now you'd better fuck me and fuck me hard 'til I cum again."
