with.’
‘U-m-m-m. What a pity we’re not in my studio at the moment. I could show you what I meant. Maybe when I get out.’
Mrs. S. leans forward again and I have to avert my eyes.
‘Oh yes. That would be marvellous. I’d be ever so grateful.’
‘You’re very keen, aren’t you?’
‘Well, you get fed up with doing the same thing all your life, don’t you? Being a warder’s – I mean – guardian’s wife isn’t much to write home about. I long for a change sometimes. And I’ve always reckoned I’m as good as those girls you see in the papers.’
‘Better.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Very. Of course, I can’t be absolutely certain when you’ve got that thing on.’ I smother a non-existent yawn to show that my interest is on the level.
‘Would you – would you be prepared to give me your professional opinion?’
I pretend to give the matter serious thought.
‘I don’t know if I should, really,’ I say eventually. ‘I mean, your husband probably wouldn’t like it.’
‘He won’t know. He’s picking up a new intake from town.’
Boy, oh boy! When Percy hears that, he is jumping up and down the front of my jeans like a restless bull mastiff being told it is walkies time.
‘We’d better go upstairs,’ I say, a shade too hurriedly. ‘The light’s not so good down here.’
She leads the way and I can hardly keep my hand on the bannister.
‘I’m afraid the bedroom is a bit of a mess,’ she says. ‘You’ll have to forgive me.’
‘I won’t look,’ I say skittishly.
‘Of course, I know I’ve put on a bit of weight since those photos were taken. I can get that off again if you think I’ve got the potential.’
You’ve got the potential all right, darling, I think to myself. Lots and lots of it.
‘Shall I do some poses?’ says Mrs. S. eagerly.
Why not? In fact, what a good idea.
‘Yes, you do your stuff and I’ll see if I can make any suggestions.’
Mrs. S. takes a deep breath – and with those knockers the breaths have to be deep, believe me, and wriggles out of one sleeve of her housecoat. A tasty titty pops into view and she cocks her head to one side. I darn nearly head my cock to her side, but manage to restrain myself. With difficulty.
‘How’s that?’
‘Very good, but a little more posed, if you know what I mean. Try and flex your – yes! That’s it. Smashing.’
‘Shall I do another one?’
‘Please.’
This time both bristols gallop out into the open and a spontaneous burst of applause would not be out of order. This girl has certainly got what it takes and I can’t wait to take it. She arches backwards and her robe flops on to the floor. There is not much else flopping, I can tell you.
‘How’s this?’ she gasps.
‘Unbelievable. Now, careful. Don’t break anything. Let me – that’s it. Now, a bit more. Fantastic! Back a bit more. Hey, wait a minute. I know what. Get on the bed. Yes. Good. Oh, that’s great!’
‘Yes it is,’ she squeaks. ‘But should you be doing it?’
‘Tones up the flesh a treat,’ I mumble idiotically from the gorge between her breasts. ‘My goodness me, but you’re gollumptuous. I can’t see what “Bedtime Wankie” were on about.’
‘Bedside Winkie,’ she corrects me. ‘Oh. Do you really think I’ve got a chance?’
‘Chance?’ I tell her, kicking my jeans over my heels. ‘I think you’re a blooming certainty.’
When I leave Mrs. Sinden’s, a large weight is off my mind and the rest of me is feeling much lighter, as well. What a performer that lady is! I feel as if I have been through a suction cleaner a couple of times. Talk about being taken out of yourself. I have to skate round the rest of the lodgings to pick up all the laundry before lunch and the strain of my morning obviously shows.
‘Ooh, you’re looking completely drained,’ says Petal resting his hand on my forearm. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Don’t do that,’ I tell him. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? I’m allergic to being touched.’
‘Ooh, you are sensitive. I can see you had a bad morning. I had a lovely time in the library. They’re ever so nice there. One of the boys, well he’s called Jeremy and he’s my favourite. He said that his whole life-style had been changed since he worked there. His basics have been broadened out of all recognition.’
This comes as no surprise to me and I only hope he will be able to cope with Mr. Warren. Maybe they will be able to strike up a deep and meaningful relationship that will relieve the pressure on my toecap.
Before I can comment further on the subject I hear the crunch of motor car against gravel and look out of the window to see a Rolls pulling up outside the front door. To my amazement, four groovy chicks pile out of it, all fun furs and thigh-length boots, giggling and looking up at the windows.
‘Who the hell are they?’ I say to myself as much as to anyone else.
‘They’re wives, ain’t they?’ says the inmate Legend addressed as Grass, matter-of-factly.
‘Wives!?’
‘Yeah. Every Wednesday your wife can visit you for the afternoon.’
‘Ooh, there’s no getting away from them,’ says Fran distastefully.
‘Supposing you don’t have a wife, then?’ I ask.
‘Well, you’ve had it, haven’t you? Old shit-face is dead against immorality.’
‘But I’ve got feelings. Just the same as any married bloke.’
‘If you had ’em strong enough, you’d get married. That’s what the Governor thinks, anyhow.’
I return my eyes to the crumpet, thinking how unfair it all is. At least, it is good to know that there is some advantage in being married – if you ever got stuck in the nick. Looking at those birds it is difficult to believe that they are spliced. They seem so blooming cheerful compared to most of the wives I know. Maybe this is another result of their old men being in the chokey. Absence
