In the summer of 2010 I did an interview with a local radio station about my experiences mountaineering in Ecuador. I was pleased with that interview. I described not just the Andes but also some of my experiences with the local people both before the climbing began and afterwards when I had been ferried out with a potentially serious injury.
Probably a fair bit of the credit ought to go to the interviewer who really drew me out of myself so that I spoke with a passion and commitment that was normally hidden beneath a layer of youthful shyness.
I didn't realise quite how well I'd spoken until a week after the interview was broadcast and I got a phone call from Sir John MacNaughton. He congratulated me on the broadcast, said he really admired my spirit and might be interested in sponsoring me if I had any further travels planned.
I told him I was more or less completely recovered and was training fairly intensively, though at the moment no trips were finalised, all I could say was that I would definitely be mountaineering again in the near future.
To cut a long story short he invited me to spend a weekend at his place in North Yorkshire. He said I was welcome to stay for a couple of nights if I wanted as his wife and daughters were away on the weekend he proposed.
So ten days later the bus dropped me at the village of Grassrigg and I set out along a minor road. It was a three mile walk to Sir John's house, Risewell, but I was happy to treat that as just a bit of exercise.
I'd packed some clothes and things into a rucksack, but walking up the driveway I found myself unprepared for the scale of the house. It was much bigger than I'd expected, though to be honest I don't think I'd given much thought to what he or his house would be like.
It was early on a Friday afternoon and the door was answered by a housekeeper who showed me through to a sitting room with a magnificent view across the valley.
I didn't have long to wait before Sir John came through. We had a preliminary chat and he explained that some work had cropped up so there would be no chance to talk until this evening, but in the meantime I was welcome to use the gym in the basement or get some exercise on the nearby fells.
I opted to use the gym which turned out to be bigger and much better equipped than I'd expected. Whilst I was working away I heard doors slamming and female voices, but thought nothing of it. Shortly afterwards I headed upstairs to my room and passing through the hallway I met a blonde woman aged about forty who despite having on jeans and a casual top managed to look immaculately smart.
I thought she was going to say something, but she appeared to think better of it. I had the uncomfortable feeling that whatever she was thinking of saying it wouldn't have been complimentary.
I wanted to use the shower but couldn't seem to get any water, so I stepped out onto the landing hoping to find someone to ask. No one was about so I went downstairs and was stopped by the sound of raised voices behind a closed door.
"This was supposed to be a special weekend, we've had one disappointment already and I'm not having it spoilt for our daughters and myself by some rock climbing ape wandering around the house."
"I'm sorry, but he is our guest. I invited him and I can't just uninvite him."
The second voice was clearly Sir John's and you didn't have to be a genius to realise that his wife had come back unexpectedly and that as far as she was concerned I wasn't welcome. I decided I'd heard enough and headed back to my room.
A couple of minutes later there was a knock at the door and I opened it to find Sir John stood there. He asked if everything was OK and I said yes except that I couldn't get the shower to work.
"Oh it's a state of the art thing with more options than anyone can get their head round. It took me a few months to get the hang of it, but now I've got it mastered."
He gave me a quick demonstration of how it worked and then explained that his wife and daughters had come back unexpectedly because of a fire at the hotel where they were booked. He explained that instead of just him and I having a meal tonight and the opportunity to chat about mountaineering, it would now be a meal with all the family and he hoped that was OK with me.
Rather nervously I explained that I'd accidentally overhead what had been said and it really wasn't a problem for me to leave and come back another time.
"Nonsense. Don't be put off by Sandra. Her bark is worse than her bite. I've found it's best to allow her to let off steam and then ignore her. No don't worry supper is at 8pm."
I was warming towards Sir John, but even so I had doubts about the evening meal. As I expected it was a tense and difficult affair. His wife said very little, but everything she did radiated disapproval, Sir John wasn't a natural talker and his attempts to generate any conversation were blatantly snubbed by his wife. The youngest daughter, Rachel, was very quiet, but the older one, Emma, seemed more than happy to talk to me. In fact in the circumstances she was quite welcoming and there almost seemed to be a touch of flirtatiousness about her. A couple of times she held my gaze for longer than was necessary and there was the faintest hint of an amused smile on her lips. I wondered if it was just male vanity, but I was starting to get the feeling that she liked me.
There was no question she was an attractive young woman. Tall, blonde haired and with her fair share of womanly curves accentuated by a stylish dress, she was a distinct contrast with her younger sister's slim boyish figure and plain clothing.
It was difficult to form much of an opinion of Rachel because she said so little. Emma struck me as very different – opinionated, rather extrovert and, like her mother, obviously used to getting her own way. If that makes her sound rather objectionable, then in all fairness I ought to balance things out by saying that I thought she would probably be one of those people who lights up a party, and more to the point I reckoned she would be pretty uninhibited between the sheets.
I found out that she was twenty years old, so she was a year older than me. I hadn't been with a woman for a few months and just looking at Emma gave me a hard on like a bar of steel. I would have liked to chat more freely with her, but her mother's forbidding presence made it very difficult.
By ten o'clock Rachel had excused herself, Emma had gone to make some phone calls and I was left alone with Sir John and his wife. To say the conversation was stilted would be an understatement, so I explained that I was tired and headed to my room.
I wasn't really tired, and realising the futility of trying to sleep, I picked a book from the bedside cabinet and started to read. When the time came to settle down I reckoned I would jerk myself off thinking about Emma's lush body – that might help me sleep.
The book I'd chosen was actually pretty good and it was after eleven o'clock when I decided to put it down and turn off the reading lamp. Laid in the dark I gently stroked my cock and tried to imagine what Emma would look like naked.
To my alarm the door handle turned and Emma slipped into the room. She flicked the light on then immediately hit the dimmer switch so the room was softly lit. She put a finger to her lips to warn me to keep quiet, then in one fluid movement she pulled her dress over her head and tossed it to one side, revealing that she was naked except for a black bra.
