If anyone had asked them - though nobody ever did - they would have said they were just an average couple. Which begs the question what is average: who knows what an average couple gets up to when the bedroom door is closed? Speculation on that subject is best left for another time for another time while we consider this average couple.
They are Beryl and John. They live in a semi-detached house like many another, in a middle-class suburb like many another. Beryl is forty-seven, a few pounds over weight but otherwise in reasonable shape. John is forty-nine and thinning a little on top, which he dislikes but is coming to accept. Beryl works five mornings a week as a receptionist for a west end hairdresser. At weekends she does late shifts at a supermarket checkout, earning money they save for a holiday. John is a senior salesman at a gentlemen's outfitters. He prides himself on being able to tell whether a customer is a 42 Regular or a 42 Long the moment he walks through the door.
Beryl and John have no children. At one time they had hoped to become parents but somehow it never happened and now they have accepted that it never will. For a while the freedom that entailed had a liberating effect on their sex life. If John grew horny while they were watching television Beryl might suck his cock or they would fuck on the couch. But in time they returned to screwing in bed because it was more comfortable. They knew how to please each other and were careful to do so. But they stopped trying fresh approaches. Frequency dwindled. Routine had set in. Until something wholly unexpected happened.
Looking back, Beryl couldn't explain, even to herself, why she had succumbed to a fling with a man sixteen years her junior. (Those who may be interested can read the details in a story called "Harry's Quest.") Beryl and Harry fucked only once, a liberating, uninhibited experience for them both that might have continued had Beryl not felt compelled to confess to John. Not all the details, not how Harry had encouraged her to talk dirty, not how Harry had fingered her arsehole, not how many times she came; just the broad outline.
Anger gave way to hurt but neither lasted for long. To his surprise, John found himself aroused by the thought of his wife being fucked by a relative stranger. He told her he would agree to the relationship continuing - provided he could watch. That was too much for Harry, and there the affair ended. But between Beryl and John something had changed. They talked to each other about desires they had not previously identified in themselves. While they wondered how to fulfil them, John undertook to investigate. The internet eventually delivered a possible solution.
The introduction of computerised accounting and stocktaking by John's employers kindled an interest which led to the purchase of a laptop for home use. Soon Beryl and John were finding stimulus for their fucking from a variety of websites; but that went only part of the way towards turning their fantasy into reality. That came about by means of a forum message board. It read:
VIDEOGRAPHER offers personal service. I will film your intimate moments in your own home or at any place you specify. My own participation only if requested. You can have the result instantly on video cassette or I will edit the film and e-mail it to you. I guarantee it will never be seen anywhere else. Greater London area only. E-mail me for terms. You will not be disappointed.
They re-read the message several times, decided not to respond, slept on it, read it again and eventually concluded there could be no harm in making an enquiry. From there turning back became impossible. Each e-mail from the videographer - signed simply Z; Zack, they decided - merely served to fuel their anticipation. Zack's terms weren't cheap but, they concluded, if they backed out now they would always wonder what they had missed. A date was agreed; Zack would come to their home.
John persuaded Beryl that the black knickers, stockings and suspender belt she had worn for her assignation with Harry would look good on the video. She had just dried herself from the bath and was putting them on when the doorbell rang. John answered, only to find a woman standing outside. "Hello," she said, smiling. "You must be John. I'm Zoe. Can you help me with my gear?"
"Oh!" said John, thinking Z for Zoe not Zack; what the hell will Beryl make of this? But too late now. Then, realising that he was staring at her open-mouthed, "Oh, yes. Of course."
"It's all in carrying cases. No need for the neighbours to see, is there?" She led the way to a white van parked outside. There were four heavy containers. "Lights and tripods and things," Zoe explained. "I like to deliver high quality."
They had just completed the fetching and carrying when Beryl called from the top of the stairs. "Is that Zack? Do you want to bring him up here?"
"I think, pet, it would be best if you popped down for a minute. We're in the sitting room."
Beryl entered wearing a housecoat, planning to hold it open for Zack's inspection of the black lingerie underneath. The sudden realisation that all was not as she had expected made her face fall. She drew the housecoat tightly around her.
"Beryl," said John, "this is Zoe. She's come to do the filming." He waved vaguely at the equipment cases.
"Zoe?" Beryl surveyed the woman who had come to their house. She was perhaps thirty years of age, slim, small-breasted, wearing jeans and a man's blue shirt. Her blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail. Blue eyes and a full, generous mouth.
Sensing the bewilderment, Zoe took charge. "I suppose you're surprised to find there'll be a female behind the camera. That's only natural. But I don't advertise it, for obvious reasons. I need to be sure I'm not walking into the wrong kind of company. From what you told me in your e-mails, I knew I needn't worry here." Her smile was directed towards Beryl. "And I can assure you I'm fully qualified - you won't be disappointed by the results. If you are, there's a money-back guarantee."
"Yes, I'm sure it will be fine. It's just that - well, it's a bit of a surprise."
"Perhaps you'd like a drink first," John offered. "We could have a chat for a few minutes. Get to know each other. Would you like a sherry?"
"Coffee would be fine, if that's OK."
While Beryl retired to the kitchen, John and Zoe carried the equipment upstairs. The videographer nodded approvingly when she saw that there was ample room around the double bed in the main bedroom. Her claim to be qualified was supported by the efficiency with which she quickly set up a couple of lights on tall stands. As she did so, she explained her intentions. "I'm pleased you've chosen to have the computer version rather than the videocassette. It means you'll have to be patient for a few days but the result will be much better because I can use two cameras."
"Two?"
