Lorna

When I was growing up I certainly didnt think for one single minute about
going to work for a real estate agent. I mean, how many people do? I can hardly
imagine little boys and girls gazing hopefully at “For Sale” signs or dreaming
that if they wish and work hard enough they too one rub shoulders with
solicitors and potential buyers or negotiate asking prices. Get real. But it was
my first job out of university and I was pretty excited all the same. And, by
way of consolation, I had been lucky enough to land a slot with a fairly
prestigious outfit. Sanderson, Miller and Smith did not exactly deal with two up
two downs or dingy bedsits. No, with these boys you are talking the top end of
the market. They handled the sales of some of the most expensive properties in
the swankiest parts of London; studio flats in the Docklands or Islington,
palatial mansions in Richmond, Putney and Chelsea, you know the score. So,
although it wasn’t my career of choice (and definitely not one that I wanted to
pursue long term) I felt that I was driving a Mercedes rather than a Mitsubishi.
First day nerves were, as ever, pretty strong. Anyone that has ever started a
new job will tell that it’s always the way and I was ready for it. Its all about
familiarity really, or lack of it. I didn’t know them, and they didn’t know me.
They were all very nice though, very welcoming and I felt that, given enough
time, I would fit right in and make a good go of it. It seemed like a young
company as well, lots of boys and girls within my age bracket, many of them like
me, probably dreaming of bigger and better things. Lorna, the girl who greeted
me for example, was lovely. She was very slim and pretty, a real London “it”
girl who wore the kind of elegant black Prada suit that I could only dream of
buying, at that point anyway. As I sat waiting to meet my new boss, she chatted
away to me about nothing in particular in a very posh “home counties” kind of
accent and seemed totally unpretentious. It really put me at ease. I liked her
straight away.
Mr Sanderson of course, whose office I was taken shortly after my arrival, was
part of the company’s old guard. But then he was the Managing Director and
owner, a thirty year veteran of the property game. I liked him as well. He had
interviewed me for the job and was very genuine. And he was certainly no
lecherous old man trying to surround himself with bimbos for his ego’s sake. His
office was adorned with family photos and he appeared very settled and in
control of his life. That said, I was still pretty nervous as I sat opposite the
desk from him that first morning, my legs crossed very firmly, an untouched cup
of coffee on my lap.
“At this stage Claire,” he said, thumbing his neatly groomed mustache, “The only
piece of advice I would give you is to take your first few days easy. Don’t
blunder around like a bloody fool trying to impress because you will only
succeed in making yourself look stupid. I’ve seen many a young person sweep into
this office and try to reinvent the wheel in their first week, talking a lot of
nonsense and the like, and they always come a cropper. Just watch and observe,
and the ins and outs of this game will start to become second nature. Do that
and you will do just fine. You’re an able girl and you’ve got plenty of time to
make your mark.”
“Thank you Mr Sanderson.” I replied. It was probably the soundest piece of
advice I’ve ever heard.
“Good.” he said, rising from his chair, “Now. Normally I make it my business to
take every new recruit out to dinner on their first day. Today unfortunately is
a bit difficult. I’m tied up with lots of meetings. Therefore, a very nice young
lady called Lorna is going to treat you to a bite to eat. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I said, hardly in a position to disagree, “I think I’ve met her
already.”
“Probably. Blonde hair, talks nineteen to the dozen. In any case I’m sure you’ll
have lots more in common with her than an old fool like me.”
After my brief induction with Mr Sanderson, I was reintroduced to Lorna and my
first morning was spent with her showing me all the basics. You know the type of
thing, how to use the computer system, where the fax and coffee machine were,
where the best delis were located and so on. The rest of the office was very
busy and the phone never stopped ringing. It was a good sign, because I liked
having lots of work to do and couldn’t bear clock watching. At about one o’clock
Lorna and I headed out into Covent Garden for lunch. She made a beeline for one
of those chain restaurant/wine bar type places, enthusing about how excellent
the food was. I was still quite untalkative at this stage, even though Lorna did
her best to make conversation. However, after a glass of wine I felt
sufficiently relaxed to let go a bit and soon we were getting on very well. I
didn’t order much, just a Caesar salad, and Lorna had the same. The wine flowed
and flowed and our lunch hour got longer and longer. It was a hot day and the
streets of Covent Garden were packed with the lunch time crowd and tourists. As
I surveyed the scene from the luxury of our outside table I must admit that I
rather liked this kind of lifestyle. Lorna gaily puffed her way through Marlboro
Lights as we talked about ourselves.
My own life story wasn’t that eventful, and I didn’t have that much to tell her.
Life on a farm, nice parents, then university , couple of so so boyfriends,
noone special at the moment, and that was about it. Lorna on the other hand was
very exciting. I discovered that she was my age; twenty two, and also like me
had gone to UCL, though I hadn’t known her at University. She was a History
graduate (first class with honours I might add) and was saving money to go and
do some kind of internship in the States. Her mother was Argentinean and had
been a second string pop singer in her native country the 1970s, whilst her
father was a merchant banker and had played rugby on the wing for the famous
Harlequins club. She had been educated at Benendon, a prestigious (and very
expensive) girls school in Kent, hence her rather posh, hoity-toity accent.
Because of her mother, Lorna also spoke perfect Spanish and had lived for the
first six years of her life in Buenos Aires. Other than playing the flute, which
she had done to competition standard, it seemed that one of her main passions
was horses – she had two which were stabled at her parents country home in
Cheltenham. That was one thing I did have in common with her, for having lived
on a farm I had done a bit of Gymkhana and point-to-point racing in my time,
although not for a good few years. She had been with Sandersons for about eight
months and enjoyed it immensely.
“It’s hard work. But very rewarding. We deal with the house sales for quite a
few famous people too. I showed Geri Halliwell round a place once.”
“Wow,” I said.
“By the way,” she asked, lighting up another ciggie, “Where are you living
now?”.
“With the same people I was at college with.”
“In the same house?”
I nodded.
“Whereabouts?”
“Hackney.”
That word didn’t seem to agree with Lorna.
“No, no, no.” she protested, “That simply won’t do at all. Listen, my flatmate
moves out on Saturday. Got a new job in Manchester. Why don’t you take her
place?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Move in with me silly. Be my new flatmate. Listen, its a wonderful place in
Pinner. Only forty minutes on the tube. Lovely bedroom, big kitchen and lounge.
All new furniture. And of course, it helps that my daddy also happens to be the
landlord, so the rent is very reasonable. We go halves on bills of course.”
I was flattered by Lorna’s gesture, but it was too much. After all, I hardly
knew the girl.
“Thanks Lorna, you’re very kind, but I’ll stay where I am.”
Lorna leaned back in her chair and took a long deep drag of her Marlboro. She
looked at me through narrowed eyes for a while and I hoped that I hadn’t
offended her, “Have it your way. But face facts, you can’t be a student forever.
You’re in the big wide world now. The offer stays open but the room won’t be
available for long.”
“Thanks.” I said, genuinely touched.
Lorna glanced at her watch and yawned. She shook the last few drops of our wine
bottle into my glass and then said, “I think its time we headed back, don’t
you?”
Lorna settled the bill courtesy of the company Visa and we began to make our way
rather unsteadily back to the office. She linked her arm around mine as we
walked and I though I wasn’t really into girly stuff like that, I felt
sufficiently familiar with her not to want to move it. We then spent a rather a
subdued afternoon trying to avoid doing any work, although that was much easier
in my case since I was new. I felt very sleepy in those long hours to five
o’clock I made the decision that I wouldn’t be doing any more lunch time
drinking for a while. I also thought hard about Lorna’s offer. Her words had
rung true in a way, it was time that I moved on. I was getting rather tired of
the whole student thing, the dirty dishes, noisy stereos late at night, the
arguments over milk and bills, queuing for the bathroom in the morning and the
rest of it. The decision was eventually made at five minutes to five, and I just
managed to collar Lorna as she was getting her coat on to go home.
“That’s wonderful news!” she beamed, “You must move in straightway!”
“Okay.” I replied, rather excited myself, When?”
“Why not Sunday? As a special treat I won’t charge you any rent till the end of
the month!”
With that my new found friend skipped out into the warm London streets.
I spent the rest of the week getting to grips with my new job and making
preparations for the big move. My housemates were slightly puzzled by the
suddenness of my departure and a bit annoyed that I hadn’t found a replacement,
but apart from that took it fairly well. The big day eventually arrived and my
dad came down with a van to help me shift everything. I didn’t have that much
stuff so it was fairly easy to get everything in. Lorna was there waiting for us
when we arrived, dressed in a tracksuit ready to lend a hand. The apartment
building was a converted Edwardian house with ivy clad, whitewashed walls. We
were on the top floor. The flat was more than I could have hoped for, spotlessly
clean and decked out in brand new furniture. My room was bigger than anything I
had lived in before and overlooked a pretty flower garden. The whole process of
unloading was fairly painless and after buying dad a quick spot of lunch I set
about getting my new room just as I wanted it. The previous tenant had left it
in good shape, but I have always been picky about how things are arranged, and
spent a fair bit of time relocating furniture. At about four o’clock Lorna
popped her head round the door.
“Getting on okay?”
“Yes thanks, couple more hours to go and I’ll be right.”
“Excellent. Listen, I thought you and I might go out and hit the town this
evening to celebrate your arrival. There’s a great club I know…”
“No, Lorna, I’m shattered as it. I really couldn’t.”
Lorna seemed disappointed, but did not try to force the issue, “Oh well, there
will plenty of other times.”
“Of course there will.”
I continued arranging my things throughout the early evening. Lorna stopped in
before she went out to say good-bye. I have to say she looked amazing, (though a
girl like her would have looked beautiful in a sack cloth). She was wearing very
tight faded Moto jeans and a sleeveless white top which revealed a thin slither
of tanned belly. I saw that it was pierced with a tiny diamond stud. In one hand
she was clutching her mobile and a packet of Marlboro Lights.
“Hope you have a nice time.” I said.
“I will. Still not too late you know?”
I smiled, “Good-bye Lorna. I’ll see you in the morning.
I finally finished at nine and spent the evening watching television before
taking a bath. I read for a little in bed and then dozed off, still excited
about the novelty of the move. I totally forgot about Lorna.
I slept well until about four am, when I was awoken by the sound of the front
door closing. There was some giggling, and then a dull thud as something was
knocked over, followed by a loud “Sshhh.” I could hear feet on the landing and
then Lorna’s voice again. I lay for maybe ten or fifteen minutes deciding what
to do. I suppose in the end it was a mixture of curiosity and downright nosiness
that lead me to get out of bed to investigate. The outside landing lights were
off but Lorna’s bedroom light was shining through the gap in the door. As
quietly as I could I approached and peered through the crack.
The room looked a bit of mess, clothes strewn all over the floor. Lorna was
lying on the bed, her eyes gazing up at the ceiling, a look of dazed delight on
her face. I must admit that she had an amazing body naked, in every way
fulfilling its curvy promise while clothed. I watched as a well muscled back
writhed before her, a dark head buried deep between her legs. Lorna was very
vocal and moaned loudly as the stud pleasured her with his mouth. They switched
positions after a while so that the man was lying on his back.
I now had a better view of him. He was a good looking, Latin type, somewhere
between Enrique Inglesias and Andy Garcia with slicked back hair and a slim,
muscular body. He had some kind of weird tattoo on his shoulder and wore beads.
I’m no great judge of measurements, but I was slightly taken aback by the size
of his cock, a tanned, rigid effort of about eight inches, characterised by
prominent veins and a shiny purple head. Certainly bigger than anything that had
ever come near me. Lorna moved herself on to her knees beside him and leaned
forward, her long hair obscuring her face. She took his impressive erection
around her hand and went down on him, taking the swollen glans of his cock
between her lips. To begin with, she was slow, deliberate and delicate, like a
little girl wanting to make her favourite flavoured lollipop last as long as
possible. I could see that her flute playing background had placed her in good
stead. Then she began to bob up and down faster and faster and the guy ran his
hands through her hair, his face one broad ecstatic smile of snowy white teeth.
Involuntarily, I moved my hand down between my legs, and felt the inevitable
warm sticky sensation around my vagina.
Then, still on all fours, Lorna pulled away, and shifted around on the bed so
that she was now facing the door. I stepped aside, a rush of fear running
through me, not sure whether or not I had been spied. I toyed with the idea of
going back to my room, but by now I was entranced, and could not make myself do
it. Don’t get me wrong, I was reasonably experienced, and certainly wasn’t a
virgin, but I had never seen other people having sex before in my life, and I
was curiously entranced. I moved back to look again. Lorna was still facing the
door, but was looking in another direction. Her beau was now making love to her
from behind, his hands tracing patterns on her buttocks, his thrusts controlled
by powerful hip and abdominal muscles. He and Lorna were still very loud, and I
at once thought of the neighbours. Lorna was squealing with pleasure now and
groaned, “Oh Jesus fuck me hard. fuck me harder you stud, give it to me, come
on!”
As the stranger’s thrusts quickened, I found that my hand was caressing my
clitoris to match his movements, and I could feel warm juices dribbling down my
inner thigh. Heaven forbid, I was imagining it was me there on that bed, that it
was me this gorgeous specimen was screwing the living daylights out of! I felt
suddenly ashamed. Me, that nice farmer’s daughter from North Dalton! Then with
one last mighty heave the Latin hunk plunged into Lorna for all he was worth and
let out a loud war cry, his facial expression a study of agony and pleasure
rolled into one. He collapsed on her back panting heavily, his torso soaked in
sweat whilst Lorna rested her head against the sheets with a kind of dreamy
smile. She looked like the cat the got that had got the cream. Or should that
have been the cat that got creamed? I was by now very close to my own orgasm and
simply had to keep going. I felt so sexy, I closed my eyes for a second and….
The next thing I knew a stark naked Lorna was dancing past me through the door
on her way to the kitchen.
“Oh hello Claire,” she said brightly, “You okay?”
I could have died with embarrassment.
The next morning I sat in awkward silence as Lorna merrily ate her cornflakes. I
presumed that her lover for the night had long since departed. When she had
polished off her second round of toast she looked at me and smiled;
“Its nothing to be ashamed of you know.”
“What sorry?” I mumbled weakly.
Lorna poured herself some tea, “Watching other people. When I was about fourteen
or fifteen I used to love it when my older sister brought boys home. I would
watch them screwing in her bedroom while my parents sat downstairs having their
dinner. Sometimes I hoped that she would get caught. I think I learned a lot
from watching her.”
I noticed that Lorna took particular delight in that last remark.
“She didn’t mind?”
“Dunno. Not too sure if she was aware I was watching.”
I poured some tea of my own, “How long did you know I had been there?”
“Oh from the beginning.” she said matter of factly, “Why do you think I left the
door ajar?”
I was speechless for a moment, “You mean…”
“Exactly. Living with me you’ll have to get used to seeing guys coming and
going, so I thought it best to bring you up to speed straight off. Then if you
don’t like it you don’t have to stay.”
“I see.”
Lorna could sense my embarrassment, but said nothing.
To fill the gap I said, “Will you see that guy again? The one you were with last
night I mean?”
Lorna almost choked on her tea, as if it was the most absurd question anyone had
ever asked her.
“Him? You must be joking. Don’t even know his name. Just someone I picked up at
the Paramount. Good dancer though, great hip movement. That’s why I chose him”
“So it was a one night stand?”
Lorna looked at me with amusement, “Claire. Please.”
I was starting to feel very foolish but for some reason persisted, “Aren’t you
worried, what people will think?”
Lorna shook her head. The air was now thick with my naiveté.
“Look Claire, get real. This is 2002. Girls do it all the time. And why? Because
we can. And yes, one day I want to meet the man of my dreams and do all the
luvvy duvvy stuff, be blown off my feet, marriage and kids and all the rest of
it. Just not yet. While I’m young I want to have fun, and if that involves
picking up random men and having sex with them, then so be it.” She glanced at
her watch, “Oh God is that the time? We’ll be late for work.”
The next couple of days went by very uneventfully and Lorna and I didn’t have
that much contact. During the week she tended to be very focused and often
brought lots of work home with her, mostly specs of houses that were coming on
the market or trade magazines where she had spotted a useful article. Wearing
spectacles, she would sit in her pyjamas on the sofa pouring over this
information for hours, imbedding it into her subconscious. It was easy to see
why she was good at her job. She was also quite a healthy person all told; she
rarely drank or smoked in the flat and ate sparingly. When her work was done she
usually disappeared to the gym for an hour or two or went for a run in the local
park. For my part I tried to follow her lead at work, but she was a tough act to
match and it was all still a bit much for me. On the Thursday morning, she
bounced over to me and announced that I be going on my first house tour with a
client. I wouldn’t actually have to do anything, rather just watch and make
mental notes. Experience really. Even though my role would be minimal, I was
very excited and the hours till it was time to go wouldn’t pass quickly enough.
Then come twelve we were ready to depart, and we left the office armed with
various files and bits of paper about the house. As we made out way to one of
the pool cars Lorna looked at me;
“Our client is rather famous by the way.”
“Really?” I said, “Who is it?”
“Jeff Wilson. Have you heard of him?”
I raised my eyebrows. Heard of him? Course I had heard of him! Jeff Wilson was
one of England’s best soccer players in years and at that moment the darling of
the tabloids. He had just returned to his native country after a highly
successful four year stint at Spanish giants Real Madrid. North London side
Arsenal had stolen the player from under the noses of Liverpool and Manchester
United and signed him for an undisclosed fee in a blaze of publicity. At 29 he
was in the form of his life and was hotly tipped to be England’s next captain.
Unlike most footballers he was urbane, articulate and thoughtful and had
numerous business interests outside the game. He was also different to most
players in that he had actually written his own autobiography, a highly
successful book which had lifted the lid on several issues including crooked
sports agents and a highly publicised drugs scandal. He had divorced from his
wife about a year previously and had since dated a string of glamorous
girlfriends, including two TV presenters, a pop star and a Versace model. Robin,
my little brother, idolised Jeff Wilson and his bedroom wall was plastered with
posters and newspaper cuttings. I immediately thought of maybe asking the star
for an autograph when we met – if the situation seemed appropriate of course.
Robin would be so excited, and not a little jealous.
“That’s amazing.” I gushed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, “I’ve never met
anybody famous before.”
Lorna shrugged, “Told you we deal with the great and the good. Its no big deal
though. Every client is a good client, whether they’re Jeff Wilson or Joe
Bloggs.”
After about a forty minute drive, we arrived at the house, a huge detached
building in the middle of a very well heeled suburb of Richmond. Our client was
already there when we arrived, waiting patiently in his BMW convertible. He
stepped out of the car to greet us. He was even better looking in the flesh than
on TV, around six foot, short brown hair, blue eyes, quite chiseled. Great skin
and teeth too, the rewards of doing exercise for a living and being able to
afford Harley Street dentists. He was dressed in what looked like a Saville Row
suit, a very classic look and tailored to perfection. So much for the
stereotypical meathead professional sportsman with no class.
“Hello Mr Wilson.” said Lorna, beaming her trademark Hollywood smile, “We spoke
on the phone. This is my colleague Claire. She’ll be helping me show you round.”
“Hello.” said our client, holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“And you.” I replied, deigning that this was not the time to mention autographs.
“Well,” said Lorna, consulting her file, “Shall we go inside?”
Jeff smiled and gestured us forward. “Ladies first.”
The house was like nothing I had ever seen. It was the height of luxury, how the
other half live. Everything, from the door handle to the carpets, the stereo to
the wallpaper were the very best. I worked out that I would probably have had to
have worked for about twenty years before I could afford something like that. I
was also very impressed with Lorna. She knew the spec of the house inside out
and was always on hand to answer any questions our client had.
“What do you think so far?” said Lorna after we had visited several rooms.
Jeff continued to gaze round with a critical eye. He did not come across as one
given over to speedy and ill thought out decisions. He nodded and turned to face
us.
“Its pretty close to what I’m after. Certainly the best of all the properties
I’ve seen so far.”
“That’s good news…” began Lorna.
“However….” he interrupted, “I’m not sure about the asking price. It’s about
ten thousand more than I’m prepared to pay for something of this size and in
this location. How negotiable are the owners?”
Lorna looked uneasy, “There has been a lot of interest. I’m not sure if they are
accepting offers any more. Two buyers have been turned down already.”
“I see. Let’s finish the tour and then we can discuss things like that in more
detail.”
With that he turned and walked away. Lorna shot me a concerned glance as our
client disappeared through the door.
We moved into the dining room, an elegant affair adorned with an antique dresser
and a magnificent 12 person dinner table. Then, as we were examining our
surroundings, there was a noise, a mobile phone. Lorna and Jeff looked at each
other with innocent expressions, and then in my direction.
“Er, its me.” I said, a rather sheepish look on my face. I retrieved the
offending article from my bag. The name coming up was that of my former
housemate Natalie. I cursed myself for having left the bloody thing on, very
unprofessional given the circumstances. I glanced at Lorna for signs of
disapproval. I pleased to see that she wasn’t at all pissed off we with me.
“I’ll get rid of them.” I mumbled.
“No, no.” said Lorna, “Take the call, it could be something important.”
“You sure?”
“Oh yeah. You don’t mind, do you Mr Wilson?”
Jeff shook his head, not seeming to give a damn either way.
I went outside and talked to Natalie for about ten minutes. Mostly
inconsequential stuff about some gear I had left behind and what I still owed on
the bills. When I had finished my conversation I went back inside the house to
meet up with Lorna and Jeff again. I checked all the downstairs rooms but they
were nowhere to be found. I wondered whether they had already left, but then I
realised that that was impossible because Jeff’s and our car were still parked
outside. In any case they wouldn’t do something like that and would have had to
have walked right past me when leaving the house anyway.
“Lorna!” I called, peering up the stairway, “Where are you?”
There was no reply so I climbed the stairs. After a fruitless search of all the
upstairs rooms I came down and sat in the lounge, completely mystified. I sat
for a couple of minutes wondering what to do. I was getting rather worried and
was just on the verge of calling the office when I noticed that the French
windows were slightly ajar. Silly me. Lorna must be showing Jeff around the
garden.
I pushed the doors open and went outside. The garden was very well kept with a
wide expanse of lawn and some pretty flowerbeds and well pruned shrubs. The
patio area was impressive, adorned with a collection of fine garden furniture
and had one of those fancy barbecues built into the wall. I could still not see
Lorna and Jeff anywhere so I made my way across the lawn towards the greenhouse
at the bottom of the garden. There was a pleasant smell of spring petals in the
air and a black and white cat darted out from behind a bush in front of me as I
walked. The lawn seemed to go forever but eventually I reached the greenhouse.
The door was open and I could hear faint noises from within. I was starting to
put two and two together. Rather than go in, I made my way around the side and
peered in through one of the glass panes.
Inside there was a long sturdy trestle table, presumably used for potting
plants. Everything on it had been cleared away. Jeff was lying on the table, his
shirt unbuttoned and his trousers around his ankles. Lorna was sitting astride
the footballer caressing his chest, her back to me. She was naked except for her
blouse which was also unbuttoned and flapping around her torso as she rocked up
and down on top of our client, her bum cheeks jiggling energetically as she rode
his prick. Her bra and panties hung from a nearby cheese plant like some bizarre
set of Christmas decorations, though I noticed that her Prada suit had been
neatly folded and placed out of harm’s way. The nation’s hero was reaching
upwards to cup Lorna’s breasts as she gyrated above him, groaning loudly.
I turned away for a moment, and stared back at the house, completely astounded.
This was ridiculous! The girl was an incorrigible nymphomaniac! All those years
at a girls school had turned her into a deranged, sex obsessed man-eater! Here
was I thinking that I might just pluck up courage to ask the country’s finest
soccer player for an autograph for my ten year old brother, and here he was
signing his name in Lorna’s pussy with his cock.! On a more serious note, I was
outraged by my colleague’s total lack of professionalism in her desire to
satisfy her own personal lusts and for a moment considered reporting the whole
thing to our boss Mr Sanderson. After all, we were being paid to do a job and
I’m sure he would not exactly endorse this kind of Behaviour. As before, that
didn’t stop me looking back though, nor did it prevent me from sliding a hand
inside my own blouse to caress my breast. The opposing forces of reason and
libido were fighting a ferocious battle again and it was hard to say which was
winning.
While I had been turned away Lorna had rotated herself through 360 degrees so
that she was now in a reverse cowgirl position, still squatting above her lover
but so her ass was facing him. Going “round the world” I believe they call it.
She was completely naked now, for the blouse had been discarded and lay in a
crumpled heap on the floor. She was moving faster and faster, and Jeff’s hands
clutched her buttocks tightly as his prick flashed in and out of her dripping
pussy with jackhammer speed. Like the true professional he was, I noticed he was
wearing a condom, probably a very wise move for someone in his position, or
anyone’s for that matter. Lorna was evidently enjoying herself and grinned with
the same smug satisfaction of some rich school girl whose daddy had bought her
that longed for pony. In fact, she was a rich school girl and daddy had probably
bought her several ponies.
“Oh yes Jeff, you’re so good!” she crooned, running her hands over his muscular
thighs, “Score with me, come on! Do it for England!”
By this stage, although I was completely focused on their frenetic coupling, I
became wise to the uncomfortable awareness that I wasn’t the only one watching.
The far end of the greenhouse backed onto another garden. One of the glass panes
was missing and from the corner of my eye I could see two teenage boys in school
uniforms, presumably on some bunk from class, peering at the show through the
gap with open mouthed expressions. I supposed that they were learning more from
watching this than any number of GCSE biology lessons or furtive go’s on their
parents internet connection. I decided this was enough for me. The whole thing
was turning into an absurd kind of freakshow and I wanted no more part of it. I
stole quickly back across the lawn, the sound of ecstatic groans ringing in my
ear.

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