Marilyn kept in constant touch during her stay in Brighton. She had tracked down the church where her great grandparents were buried and traced some of their ancestry through church records and the indulgence of the local priest. She would send me short text messages with the data and I would log it for her on software designed for the purpose.
She had made me laugh one evening during a phone call. She is quite a funny person anyway, with a puckish sort of humour and a throwaway wit, but is disarmingly naive in some departments.
“That priest I met today was real nice, he was so patient and helpful and spoke perfect English, most priests I ever met were Irish, even the American ones.”
“You can’t tell a cockney from a scouser, how do you know he was English?”
“He was polite, quite good looking in a kinda newsreader way and he talked about the weather a lot. He also blushed like a girl when I kissed his cheeks as I left.”
“He is a priest, Marilyn, a celibate, he isn’t accustomed to blousy women snogging him”
“I know that, honey, but he is also a man and I just wanted to remind him, so to reinforce the point, I just wiggled my bottom at him as I left….and when I opened the door to leave, I turned to wave and he was sitting on a pew with his head in his hands. Do you think he will be ok?”
“He will be fine, lass, he is probably still standing in a cold shower, looking down on the unemployed…..”
She seemed content that she had exhausted all the available resources and delighted that she had discovered some ancient photographs in the local newspaper’s archives. She took copies of these to add to the steadily expanding family tree with which she planned to excite her relatives in Somewheresville on rainy evenings.
Marilyn’s flight was on the Sunday morning from Gatwick. Further from here than Heathrow, but way less stressful to negotiate. She had designed her vacational route quite cannily, a hire car here, a train journey there and all designed to gain the most of the English experience. She assured me that she had enjoyed a wonderful and interesting time in our quaint and beautiful country.
“I just adore those stone walls you have everywhere and cute churches and those circly things on the freeway.”
“They are roundabouts, Marilyn, designed to smooth the flow of traffic at busy junctions.”
“They didn’t smooth the flow when I was on them, some of them were on the wrong side of the road…we have traffic lights in those situations, clear as crystal, and while we are on the subject, what are those yellow chequerboards for? they seem to cause a lot of honking”
“You lead a charmed life, lass”
Marilyn suggested that we meet one final time before her flight on the Sunday. Consequently, I told the missus I was having a fishing weekend and had found a place that looked promising, waving vaguely in the direction of Essex.She doesn’t know North from South or where she is in the universe, if I had said Azerbaijan she would have been equally unimpressed.
“Catch çankaya escort me some of those nice rainbow trout and don’t fall in.”
This was her stock response but I laughed with her anyway.
We arranged to meet in a small hotel in Burgess Hill, about 10 miles equidistant from Brighton and Gatwick. I had been slightly despondent when she left the previous week, we’d had good fun together and some amazing frolics, so I was sorry to see her go. However, my spirits lifted when I stopped at a service station on the M25 for coffee and a text message came through.
B SURE 2 B HERE B4 12.NICE THINGS @ 12 🙂 ….M xx
I was easily on schedule and switched on the radio to supplement my rapidly improving mood.It may have been Capitol radio or Virgin, I can’t quite recall. Fate is funny like that, all the songs for the next half hour were perfect, memory prodders of good times with good people in good places. Harry Nillson singing “Always” was followed by Sinead O Connor’s cover of Kurt Cobain’s ” All apologies” then Extreme singing “More than words” and a beautiful a capella version of Neil Young’s “After the goldrush”
The journey disappeared in a flash and I pulled up in the courtyard a classic Victorian manor house hotel. Alighting from the car, I spotted Marilyn exiting from the porticoed front door and skipping bouncily down the steps. She was wearing a strawberry coloured dress with a little white belt, white court shoes and a white cardigan tied around her shoulders…..she favoured the 1950’s thing and was mature enough to look good in it. To my mind she has a sort of Anne Bancroft thing going on in her appearance and if I had to pigeonhole her, that’s where she’d be.
“My Scotch honey lamb!!” she squealed “Come here and let me eat you!!”
“Hello Yankee, gimme a squeeze!!”
“mmm you smell like Givenchy”
“You smell like fruit…lemony and coconut”
“You can nibble on my coconuts later, honey, you have perfect timing, the afternoon shift starts in 10 minutes and we have to get a ringside seat”
Bemused and bewilderd, but with growing excitement, I begged the question “What is the big secret Mazza? why 12 particularly?”
“We have just got time to order a glass of wine and relax before the show” she said mysteriously.
We ordered some bone-dry white burgundy and sat in the galleried foyer, which quirkily had a huge mahogany wall clock immediately opposite. I slowly soaked in the Architecture. Our richly padded sofa was set in a niche, beneath and between the lower and upper flights. The 3 sided staircase was beautiful; Baltic oak panelled on the flank walls with turned barley-sugar balusters and ramshorn scrolling on the newels.
The walls above the dado were painted with very expensive Wedgewood blue eggshell paint and between the quarter landings a spectacular stained glass window threw shards of violent coloured light over our heads onto the mosaic tiled floor.Although it was a classical Victorian çankırı escort whimsy with fawns and ivy and pretty girls, it reminded me, ironically, of a striking, yet austere black and white image taken in Central station, New York.
Although Marilyn would have appreciated all of this, she was visibly excited for patently other reasons. She grasped my hand as the clock struck the hour, her breasts were palpably heaving and she was grinning at me like an idiot.
“What the hell is going to happen” I thought “This is a little like being in a film”
The impressive 8 panelled door beneath the clock sprung open, making me jump. A young man dressed in a beautifully tailored black suit and waistcoat, with sky-blue bowtie and shiny white shirt strode purposefully towards us, looking very busy and veered to take the steps 2/3 at a time till he disappeared from view.
Marilyn whispered “Maitre D”
20 seconds later, The door opened with slightly less haste and a scrubbed young lad dressed in a bellhboy suit strolled towards the lift, doffing his cap at us and smiling, obviously pleased to be doing whatever he does. I strangely began to slightly envy him working in this place.
Marilyn whispered “Bellhop”
Marilyn began to move her hand from mine and rest it on my leg. It lazily lay mid-thigh for a few seconds, then the door opened again.
A girl appeared, slightly silhouetted by the powerful rays from the stained glass behind us. Slender, dark and very pretty, she smiled a shy, even coy smile in our direction and busied herself with keys and armsful of fluffy white towels.
Marilyn whispered “Chambermaid” and began to mover her hand around my thigh.
I couldn’t help but watch. The girl was in her early 20’s, slightly Italian looking with chocolate brown eyes. A mass of curly black hair was partly disciplined beneath a little white maid’s hat. She had a long forgotten pair of spectacles tucked into the V of her tiny, pert and perfect little bosom.
The dress of the outfit itself was classically chambermaid. Black, just above the knee, waisted and sexy. As she placed her foot on the first riser of the stair, she turned her head to look at us.
Boldly she gazed, retaining her smile, yet suddenly confident and glowing.
She began to climb, never taking her eyes from us for a second. alternating between us. Something in my instincts told me that I should focus like a cat on what was happening. The girl had reached midway on the first flight when I felt Marilyn’s hand move. Her fingers were almost at the top of my thigh.
She leant towards me, never taking her eyes from the girl and whispered conspiratorially “She has done this every day this week. She even did it just for me one afternoon, she just loves showing off and making people horny.”
Her hand was now nudging the quietly swelling bulge in my jeans.She seemed impervious to anyone watching, though I was wishing that I had an extra couple of eyes to cope with this hedonistic miracle.
“I çayyolu escort watched her 2 nights ago doing it to a man and his wife, they vanished minutes later and I haven’t seen them since….”
The girl began to skip a little, sometimes even down a tread, the skirt of her little frock dancing up and down. Coquettishly she did a little twirl on the 2nd quarter landing and as her skirts flicked up, a little flash of thigh caught a shaft of blue light. I am caught in a cabaret dream sequence.
Marilyn’s hand, now covered by her cardigan was gently massaging my manhood which had adopted a scary size.
I am certain that only the 3 of us shared this moment…the girl rested her hands on the balcony handrail almost directly overhead, leant slightly backwards and slowly slid her legs apart. We could both see right up her dress, albeit 10 feet above us. Marilyn was mewing like a kitten. I was about to faint with lust. Her thighs were spread sufficiently for us to see the hourglass of her knickers. Shiny white satin knickers, soft and gorgeous set within a canopy of Belgian lace petticoats. Puffy mound swollen into a peach. It lasted maybe 10 – 15 seconds before she slowly turned her back.
Marilyn whispered “I can’t describe how horny I am”
The girl now had her back to us and dropped a towel on the carpet. She bent to pick it up providing us with an unforgettable flash of her perfect derriere. Her bottom curves were smooth bubbles of satin, the plump orbs stretching my muscle to the limit. One final smile and she was gone. All around us was just as serene as when I entered, the whole episode had lasted maybe 3 minutes and I was completely shellshocked.
Marilyn whispered “You owe me one, buster!”
I remember saying “I think you are the best, Mazza. you have been a great big friend to me for years and without a doubt the sexiest woman I know, we will have fun tonight, and lovely warm cosy sleep. Enjoy your flight tomorrow and call me when you’re home.”
Marilyn whispered one final time “I have a small request, honey, would you mind taking me upstairs and jamming your mouth up my cunt?”
I followed her as we climbed the stair, 2 steps behind, watching her plumptious bottom rocking and rolling in a strawberry sea. In moments, my face would be in there somewhere and I speculated thoughtfully on the colour of her knickers. I had a glimpse of her brassiere as we sat on the sofa and she leaned forward. It was a sort of terracotta colour with a lacy trim, unusual but warm and inviting. I had no doubts in my mind that her knickers would be the same.
Our room was conveniently at the top of the stairs and I followed her in. I closed the door and turned to see Marilyn propped on one elbow on the bed. one leg was cocked and her dress had slid to mid-thigh. As I walked slowly towards her, she lay back on the elegant four poster bed and slowly spread her thighs apart. My guess was good; silky terracotta knickers with a little white, lace hem, rolled around her inner curves, disappearing into the hollow of her bottom.
I knelt before her, drinking in the whole erotic feast and stooped my mouth to kiss her darkening mound. The scent of her musk was so heady, I began to unbutton my jeans……
to be continued…..