Unlike my last two offerings of last year, which were recollections of two experiences with workmates) this is pure fiction. WARNING - it does take some time to get going, this story acts as a sort of lead in - so if you want the characters going at it in the first few paragraphs, then you'll be disappointed. Audrey bustled around the Living Room in an agitated manner, a tin of furniture polish in one hand, cleaning cloth in the other. Every few seconds she’d send a jet of polish from the can onto a nearby surface then apply the duster to that surface with a vigour, as though she untended to rub away the entire surface rather than the dust on it. Her husband Bill looked up from the armchair where he’d been sitting for the past half-hour whilst Audrey had started her latest blitz on the perceived dust, and stifled a sigh. The room didn’t need dusting, Audrey cleaned it three times a week; dust never had a chance to settle. The reason for the cleaning, as Bill well knew, was nerves. Bill was 57 and he’d kept himself in good shape; there was a bit of midriff bulge but that was to be expected for a man his age who’d spent most of his working life at a desk. He walked a lot and played bowls two nights a week, he wasn’t much of a drinker and watched what he ate; or, rather, Audrey watched what he ate – she’d been a firm advocate of healthy eating long before it had become fashionable. Bill and Audrey had been married for 32 years and, he had to admit, they’d been happy enough – no real rows, no major disagreements; they’d had a son and a daughter, now both grown, married and with children of their own. They had lived, for the last five years, in a nice two bedroomed semi-detached house in a pleasant suburb. Bill worked for a stationery company in a management capacity and, in the last two years, Audrey had taken a part-time job in a patisserie in the High Street of the town they lived in, more to give her something to do than need of the money She worked there Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturday mornings and seemed to like it well enough. Four months previously, Bill had won a promotion at work, a step into the heady world of middle-management and had stirred the snob in Audrey; they needed a house in a better district, she insisted and Bill, knowing that once Audrey had a bee in her bonnet about something, would not rest until she had what she wanted, has contacted an estate agent, put their des-res on the market and had started the search with Audrey for a “better” house. A month previously they’d found what they (or rather Audrey) had been looking for – a four bedroomed detached house on the edge of town; now all that was left for them was to sell their current place. They’d had a few potential buyers, although most of them were lookers – never intending to buy. Then, the previous Saturday, along had come Pete and Yvonne who were very interested. Pete rang on the following day, asking if he and Yvonne could come back on the Wednesday evening at eight o’clock for another look, just to make sure. Bill and Audrey had agreed and that was why, on a cool early Autumn evening, Audrey was dusting for England. Bill looked at his wife; she was two years younger than him and the grey was yet to show in her dark brown hair, whereas it had been visible in his for the past five years. Not a bad figure for her age, he had to admit, a size twelve, a decent sized bust and backside. She’d not changed that much since he’d first met her, except that, after their daughter was born in the sixth year of their marriage, her interest in sex had decreased, much to Bill’s disappointment and it had reached the almost comedic levels of happening on his birthday, their anniversary and she Audrey got drunk enough not to find any excuses. “Come on, Aud,” he said to her, “it’s clean enough.” “I’m not having them finding fault.” she replied tersely. “Especially her.” “I quite liked her.” said Bill and tried not to wince at the annoyed look Audrey shot him. “You would!” she snapped. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off her breasts, not that she didn’t wear anything that might have hidden them. And that skirt! Talk about mutton dressed as lamb!” Yvonne, Bill recalled, worked in a bank - but you'd never guess to look at her. She'd mentioned that she was 53 but looked a good 15 years younger and dressed as though she was 30 years younger; he remembered the low-cut top she’d worn the previous Saturday and the shortness of her skirt. She seemed not to notice the effects of how she looked had on the occupants of the house she was looking over, either that or she didn’t care! She’d struck Bill as a lively, fun loving sort of woman determined not to let what other people might think disparage her from wearing what she liked. Audrey had thought her common and tarty and Bill had found himself wishing that Audrey would be a bit more like that; his life would be a lot more pleasant if she would. At that exact moment the doorbell rang and Bill heaved himself out of the armchair and Audrey disappeared into the kitchen to put away the duster and polish. Bill opened the door and Pete and Yvonne smiled at him from the front doorstep. Bill smiled back, although he wasn’t feeling that cheerful, and invited them in. Pete was a year younger than Bill and, at 5’ 10” the same height, although he was slightly chubbier than Bill and his hair was sandy-coloured and without the grey that Bill had. Yvonne was about 5’ 6” making her an inch or two taller than Audrey. Her blonde hair was cut in a longish bob style, framing a pretty face with light blue eyes, a snub nose and a mouth with full lips painted in a vivid shade of scarlet. Pete greeted him with a warm handshake and Yvonne planted a kiss on his cheek. Bill took their coats, noticing that Yvonne had not dressed any more soberly than she had on their last visit, a cream scoop-necked top showed off her large breasts (38D if they were an inch, Bill thought) and a maroon coloured skirt which was just about long enough to preserve her modesty. Bill noticed that her legs were covered by what he first thought to be tan tights, then noticed the seams running up the back. Could they possibly be stockings? he asked himself and realised that, between his legs something was stirring. Trying to ignore it, he ushered the pair of them into the Living Room, where Audrey had returned and was waiting with her best “hostess” smile in place. Pete kissed her politely on the cheek and Yvonne followed suit. “Sit down, sit down,” invited Audrey, nervously, “would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” “Oh, coffee, please.” replied Pete and Yvonne informed her that she’d have the same. Audrey nodded and bustled off to the Kitchen. Pete and Yvonne sat themselves down on the couch and Bill sat back in the armchair that he’d been occupying. “I don’t suppose you’d consider dropping the price by five thousand, would you?” asked Pete. more in hope than expectation, having asked a similar question on his last visit. “Sorry, Pete,” replied Bill, “our new place costs an arm and a leg so we need every penny we can get.” Although he’d said it in a light tone it wasn’t too far from the truth; he remembered Pete saying that he and Yvonne lived in a four-bedroomed place in a neighbouring suburb and that, as the last of their three sons was now living with his girlfriend, they’d wanted to downsize, so the price gap hadn’t been so great; still, you couldn’t blame them for trying, Bill mused. “How about if I show you my knickers?” giggled Yvonne and parted her legs to give the surprised Bill a view up her skirt, confirming that she was wearing stockings and giving him an eyeful of her white lacy knickers. Bill had an instant erection and his heartbeat increased alarmingly. “Sorry, Yvonne, not even for that.” Bill informed her in a noticeably shaky tone. “What about if she takes them off?” offered Pete, jokingly. “What do you think, Vonnie?” Whatever Yvonne might have said was postponed by Audrey’s return to the room carrying a tray containing four cups of coffee and a small plate of biscuits. She distributed them to the others and sat down in the remaining armchairs. Bill noticed a surprised look on his wife’s face as she looked at their visitors and realised that she could see what he’d saw a minute before. To get Audrey into a better mood, Bill steered the conversation onto their new house and the neighbourhood it was in, knowing that his snobbish wife would talk all day about that subject if she was allowed to. Audrey quite happily obliged, talking enthusiastically about the upmarket location, the features of the house and how convenient it would be for Bill’s commute. Pete and Yvonne listed obligingly, nodding here and there out of politeness, but Yvonne kept an eye on bill and, every few minutes would cross her legs or adjust her position on the couch to give Bill a tempting glimpse of dark tan stocking top, creamy pink inner thigh and lacy white triangle. After ten minutes or so, Audrey offered to refresh the cups and Yvonne asked to use the bathroom. Bill gave her directions and she hurried out of the room. Pete gave him a knowing smile as the door closed. “Enjoying the show?” he asked, with a wink. “Vonnie’s always been a bit of an exhibitionist; one of the reasons I was first attracted to her. That and the fact that she’s a nympho, believe you me, mate, she likes shagging, she could win medals for it. I’ve always been the envy of my mates. She really has a bit of a naughty streak and loves flashing people.” “Well, you’re very lucky man.” said Bill. “I know.” smiled Pete and lowered his voice and gave Bill a conspiratorial wink. “Last year, on holiday, we met up with this German couple and ended up swapping with them.” “I can’t imagine Audrey doing anything like that.” said Bill, figuring that he was meant to say something. “Pity,” sighed Pete. “Still, it was such a thrill to see Vonnie getting shagged while I was screwing the German girl; we still use it as a memory when we’re shagging.” Audrey popped her head around the door of the Kitchen. “Bill, could you give me a hand with something, please?” she asked. “No peace for the wicked, eh.” Bill remarked and went into the Kitchen. The first thing he saw was Audrey with a face like thunder, which was disconcerting at the best of times and set Bill off wondering what was the matter – although he had a good idea exactly what it was. “What’s up, love?” he asked. “What’s up?” hissed Audrey furiously. “What’s up? You, looking up that tart’s skirt, that’s what’s up – and don’t pretend that you haven’t! My God, that woman has not self-respect whatsoever; mind you, she looks the type – mutton dressed as lamb! How would you feel if I dressed like that?” Inside Bill’s mind, something went “snap”; he could usually let Audrey’s little rants wash over him, saying nothing and just nodding here and there. For some reason, this time he didn’t, his usual reasoning faltered and his patience vanished. “Do you know what, Aud?” he said, bitterly, “I’d bloody love it if you dressed like that! If you wore something sexy that showed your legs and your boobs off, instead of those shapeless cardigans and baggy slacks you’re always wearing. I’d absolutely love it if you wore something that made other men turn and look at you when you walked past, but you don’t, you’re utterly, utterly sexless. I know you’re in your fifties, but do you really have to dress like an old woman? Yvonne might be dressing younger than her age, but at least she looks good and looks sexy and I’ll admit I was looking up her skirt, but I don’t apologise for that, I’m a normal, healthy male and, like any other normal, healthy male, I took the opportunity of getting a sneaky peak at an attractive woman’s stocking tops and knickers and, if I get another opportunity, I’ll take it! It’s a bloody long time since I had an erection through looking at you.” Inside Audrey a cocktail of emotions battled it out for supremacy; she was furious at Bill for admitting that he’d been looking up Yvonne’s skirt, she was also stunned at Bill’s admission and the fact that he wasn’t in the least bit sorry for doing it or repentant at her knowing it and hurt at what he’d just said about her. Was that really how Bill saw her? Frumpy and dowdy and unattractive? She knew that they no longer had a sex-life, but that was because they both knew that they were too old for that sort of thing – or so she’d thought. She’d thought that Bill would have been as horrified as she had been at Yvonne’s behaviour but, instead, he’d like it! enjoyed it! hoped she’d continue doing it. “Well I’m sorry I don’t dress like a bloody whore.” snapped Audrey, slamming the carton of milk which she’d been holding, down on the table in anger and causing a jet of milk to spurt out of the spout and splatter against her midriff, soaking her top and trousers. “Now look what you’ve made me do!” she grated, looking down at the damp patch. “I’ll have to go and change. You make the coffee and take it out to that slut and her husband!” Before Bill could say anything, Audrey had stormed out into the living room leaving him to shake his head and prepare for the coming storm to break after Pete and Yvonne had left. It was going to be a very difficult few days, he told himself and began to mop up the spilt milk from the counter. Audrey hurried through the Living room as quickly as politeness would allow. Hastily advising Pete and Yvonne that there’s been an accident with the milk and she needed to change, she closed the door and ascended the stairs as quickly as she could, resisting the urge to stomp. Entering the main bedroom she took a look at herself in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. She had to admit it, she did look dowdy; baggy grey knitted top, loose fitting beige slacks – comfortable to wear but not in any way flattering. She sighed, Bill was right, she did look sexless and she knew it; she’d been “properly” brought up and had always considered sex to be something of a duty, to procreate and nothing else and was never happy about it being mentioned. In the two years that she’d worked at the patisserie she’d listened to some of the conversations the other girls had, usually about sex and found that not everybody was so reserved or secretive about the subject. At first, she’d been horrified at what she’d overheard; especially the two younger girls Courtney and Melanie, who readily discussed their sex lives and often used the most coarse language in doing so. Audrey remembered blushing furiously at the two mentioning Melanie’s boyfriend’s “massive cock” and how Courtney’s latest boyfriend could “fuck all night” and how he’d “ripped my knickers off and licked my cunt out” and how Courtney wanted to try a threesome with two men. As the months passed, Audrey had gone from horrified, to shocked, to slightly embarrassed, to actually looking forward to overhearing what the girls had been up to. A couple of months previously they’d even been talking to Audrey and the other server Norma, a lady in her late 40s after the shop had closed and Melanie joking that Norma and Audrey, both being married, had “cock on tap, anytime they want it” and Courtney saying that she couldn’t imagine “shagging just the one man forever”. Audrey gave a little smile at recalling the previous Friday when Norma had dashed up to her at three o’clock, an excited look on her face. The shop had been visited that day by one of the company’s area managers to check everything was ok and to go over the books with the shop’s manageress, a rather starchy lady in her late forties named Jean Hobley. Norma looked as if she had a piece of very hot gossip that she wanted to impart and, as the shop was empty, she had the ideal chance to impart it. Audrey and the other two girls clustered around her and Norma whispered to them. “I’ve just been past Jean’s little office and I heard this odd noise. So, I looked through the keyhole and you’ll never guess what!” “No, we won’t.” said Courtney. “Tell us, Norm.” A look of naughty glee formed on Norma’s face and she suppressed a giggle as she continued, “There’s Mr Braithwaite getting a blowjob off Jean!” “Never!” Meanie gasped, a look of disbelief on her face. “The dirty old mare!” opined Courtney. “She was getting a what?” asked Audrey, earning herself of look of disbelief from the other three. “She was sucking his cock, Aud.” Melanie explained, and Audrey went bright red, more through shock than embarrassment; she’d never have had thought such a prim and proper woman as Jean Hobley performing such an act. “She seemed to be enjoying it,” Norma revealed, “She was taking it all in her mouth and there was a lot to take.” “Big lad is he?” Courtney asked, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty big.” replied Norma. “She was like a kid with a stick of rock. I’ll bet her poor bloody husband doesn’t get that done to him. I wouldn’t mind having the chance to suck a prick like that! After a minute I had my hand in my knickers frigging myself daft.” At five o’clock, after Melanie and Courtney had left and Jean Hobley had gone home with a cheery valediction of “Night, Mrs Gobbley, sorry, Hobley!” from Norma, Audrey had walked to the bus stop with Norma, both still talking about what Norma had seen through the keyhole. “I still can’t believe that Jean did something like that, she’s a married woman.” said Audrey. “I suppose that she’s not the dried up old stick we like to think she is.” replied Norma, “Makes her a bit more human, nice to know she’s got desires and she takes a chance when it arrives. All I know is that my Alan’s going to get them benefit when I get home. He’ll be naked so fast he won’t believe it; I’ve never been so turned on in my life!” “Don’t you think you’re too old for that kind of thing?” ventured Audrey and Norma had chuckled. “Audrey, at our age there’s very little else that’s worth doing. I hope I never get too old for a bit of sex.” she replied. Audrey had to admit, even if it was only to herself, that she wished that she could have seen what Norma had seen and that it had in a small way turned her on. In bed that night, she lay thinking about it and then imagined it was her sucking Mr Braithwaite’s erect penis and, for the first time didn’t feel any kind of revulsion about it; after all, Mr Braithwaite was a handsome man, tall, distinguished, stylish. Now, standing in front of her mirror, Bill’s words of a moment or two ago, came back to her and a flush of anger swept through her. Hauling off her top and wriggling out of her slacks, Audrey slid open the wardrobe. “So, Bill Wainwright, you want me to dress like a tart, do you?” she muttered, “Right, my lad, let’s see how you like it!”