OK, here's my offering for the Summer Loving contest. It's a love story primarily but, because the principal character's mother is involved in an incestuous liaison with her son, it's an incest piece too.
Some of the terms I use are colloquial, but where I've included local expressions I've also put in a brief explanation for those unfamiliar with the terms.
I intended some of the dialogue to come over with a regional inflection -- Yorkshire, England -- but I have, however, kept it to a minimum; not only would it make the piece less attractive to read, it's bloody tiring to write too!
As ever, feedback is appreciated.
Any errors that remain I apologise for.
I hope you enjoy mu efforts. GA -- Ely, Cambridgeshire -- 18th August 2012.
Prologue
The picture, a black and white photograph, faded almost sepia after over four decades, shows three figures on the sands at Scarborough. We're smiling broadly in a busy seafront scene, with the Lord Nelson hotel behind us. I'm in the middle, trousers belted around a shirt that billows behind me in the brisk breeze like a spinnaker. Despite the wind it's a warm day, and the sleeves of the shirt are rolled up around my forearms, while my mother and Carolyn both wear light summer dresses. My mother, Marjorie is grinning at my profile while I stare out of the picture, looking right into the camera lens. On the other side of me is Carolyn, dressed in blue I recall, while my mother wore a summery canary yellow.
The photo brings back memories of that summer, memories that I haven't let slip away, but which, like the picture, are faded by years.
That summer saw huge occurrences in my life. I lost my virginity, and had a number of sexual adventures that I sometimes can't quite believe happened. But they did come about, and that photo whisks me right back in time, to the Lord Nelson Hotel in Scarborough, and the weeks leading up to the visit.
One
Carolyn sunbathed in the garden oblivious to my presence while I watched, my face pressed against the rough, untreated wood, with an eye to the hole I'd enlarged with a penknife. The woman, voluptuous and ripe, lay on the deckchair, her body covered by a daring bikini while I sweated within the confines of the shed. I wanted to touch myself but had been too afraid of discovery. It would be bad enough to be caught there as it was, my lecherous transgression obvious, but to be found there with my trousers around my ankles, erect cock in my hand ... Well, it wouldn't be too good.
I watched for a full hour as Carolyn first basted the front of her body, my eyes fixed on her big tits -- which I wished weren't covered, I'd love to see her jugs all bare -- before she rolled over and did the same to her back. Finally she hefted herself up on extended arms, her breasts hanging beneath her as she swivelled her body and sat on the edge of the striped, canvas seat.
Facing me she reached for her cigarettes which lay on the grass next to the deckchair. She lit up and smoked for a few seconds, giving me one last, lingering look at her body before she rose to her feet, picked up the towel and her cigarettes, and walked back up the garden path towards the house.
It wasn't a big garden, but a tall hedge masked the shed from view from the house. The path to the shed led alongside the brickwork of a neighbouring fence, past a postage stamp of lawn, and down another five yards or so to where my father, before he'd buggered off, had laid a flagstone patio. In the tightly packed and densely populated terraced street. The garden, due to the high hedge and shed, afforded valuable privacy in an area where people lived, almost literally, packed in on top of one another. Although our house was different since there were only three of us living there -- my mother, her friend Carolyn, the object of my lecherous eye at that present moment, and of course, me.
With Carolyn out of sight I yanked down my trousers and tugged at my stiff penis. I masturbated and fantasised over my mother's best friend, imagining the woman in all manner of lewd poses, her lovely tits exposed as she breathlessly exhorted me to fuck her.
The spunk squirted from me as I gasped and moaned, eyes closed while those images streamed past me in my mind's eye. I wished so fervently that I could wank my cock over Carolyn's breasts while she knelt and offered their creamy-skinned substance as a target. Finally, spent, which I knew would be only a temporary condition such was my ardour and yearning for Carolyn's voluptuous curves, I'd be ready to fire again soon, I watched my jizm slide heavy and thick down the wall before hiking up my trousers and stuffing my leaking cock back inside.
****
The following day dawned early, as it does in late June in this part of the world. The sky, bright blue with not a puff of cloud anywhere to be seen, promised another glorious day of sunshine; perfect for watching Carolyn down in the garden.
I ate breakfast and pretended to go to work, leaving the house by the front door but immediately turning back to scuttle along the ginnel, a dark arch of a tunnel that ran the length of the houses, front to back. Every house had a ginnel, shared with the neighbouring terrace, to give access to the back without the need to trail dirty work boots over clean floors and carpets, especially necessary during coal deliveries. After a brief pause I sucked in a deep breath and, chancing it, if Mum or Carolyn chanced to look out of one of the back windows I'd be caught, I hurried along the path down to the shed.
Once inside, with the door at my back, breathing heavily in response to the heady excitement at what might lie ahead and the risk I'd taken walking boldly along the garden path in broad daylight, I eased the satchel off my shoulder and settled down to wait. In the bag, an old canvas backpack, a remnant from the war, I'd packed the usual packet of cheese sandwiches, a bottle of pop and a book, which I started to read after making myself comfortable in the old, worn-out armchair that had been left forgotten in the shed after dad had left us.
The morning dragged by and, although cool at first, as the day wore on the shed began to warm. I waited, reading the book and lifting my watch on the end of its chain out of my pocket every few minutes. Every so often I pressed my eye to the hole in the shed wall to see if Carolyn had decided to make the trip along the path.
I waited, and then waited some more.
I waited even longer, until eventually the sandwich had been eaten and the fizzy drink was gone. By mid afternoon I'd even finished the book, and I cursed my idiocy, the insanity of what I'd done. Why had I come here? I questioned my judgement in skiving off work, with the subsequent loss of a day's wage to hide in the shed for a brief look at a woman I could never possibly have.
What had I been thinking?
I peered out of the spyhole to see ... nothing, just the patio and hedge, no sign of Carolyn, who, I decided, must be away out on some errand or other.
It was time to leave this fool's task, and so I gathered up the rubbish, put it all in the satchel along with the book, and opened the shed door.
Of course, she was walking towards me. Sod's Law.
