Archive | July, 2014


31 Jul


ANGRY GIRL photo: angry*-* Misaki-098.jpg

There can be awkward nights, sleepless nights, wasted nights, and this one was all of them.

Paula found herself in a black place. What had happened had been all her fault, and yet David was getting the blame. And she knew her father: he was a decent man, but when he got the bit between his teeth he held on for grim life. And she also knew that he would go to any lengths to protect her. He had promised as much to her mother before that blessed woman had died, and he was the kind of man to keep his promises whatever might get in the way.

David was confused. He had been asleep and enjoying his favourite train dream. It was one that came upon his sleeping mind every so often and transported him through a fantasy world that was totally and beautifully innocent. He’d been taken along by the same dream since he’d been a small boy (he now thought that, being eighteen, he had left his boyhood behind), and the very familiarity of its world was comforting. And this time he’d been awakened in the middle of it.

The serpent had ventured into his garden of Eden, and the serpent was Paula.

He loved (or lusted after) Paula with an intensity that defied that sad old snake to do his worst, and lose!

Then, in a third bed, Mr Potts was angry. His sweet daughter had been in bed with a boy. The fact that it was the unbelievably decent and naive David didn’t matter – it was a boy. But she’d been in the boy’s bed, not the two of them in hers, and if he had evil intent they would surely both have been in her bed. He would have sneaked past the sleeping father in the caravan and climbed in with Paula, which in every respect made more sense because it was a bigger bed anyway, with more room for two. So his anger was partly with himself for possibly jumping to conclusions that were wrong.

Not that the sweet Paula could have done any sneaking… no, that was unthinkable…

But he knew that, right or wrong, the conclusions he’d jumped to must be adhered to. He mustn’t be seen to waver. He must be firm. He must be the Father in the chaos of teenage angst and … filth.

He shuddered at the word filth. Paula wasn’t … was she? David must be, boys are, but Paula?

Like all awkward nights this one came to an end.

Mr Potts was dreading the end of this particular night because his mind was a chaos of promises to his wonderful but deceased wife, the need to be firm and the absolute certainty that, having made a decision, he must stick with it.

He must not be seen to waver. Wavering was weakness, and he must show strength.

The boy must get out of his sight and never darken his horizon again.

He was first up. He busied himself in the small bathroom, making sure he shaved thoroughly. He might have thought, but didn’t, that tyrants sometimes shave well.

He heard a shuffling, thumping sound, quiet in reality but loud in the silence of the early morning. Then he heard the caravan door open and close, quietly. Then he heard it open and close again. Equally quietly.

Then he heard Paula hissing loud enough to be heard for quite a distance:

“David! David! Wait for me! I’m coming!”

Then one of those brilliant flashes beloved by writers of Italian detective fiction flashed through his mind.

He’d ordered David to go today, to leave on his own, and apparently Paula intended to go with him! Wretched youth! Rapist! Seducer of innocent young girls!

He rushed, in his boxer-shorts and with a foam-covered chin, to the door. There was Paula running towards David, who had paused, carrying his backpack, obviously waiting for her.

“Paula!” he bellowed. Even to himself it sounded all wrong, the way the single word came out, loud, coarse, like the voice of a tyrant.

“Hey! What d’you think you’re doing at this time of the day, making all that noise?” bawled a voice from a nearby holiday caravan, as loud as his one word, but many more.

“What do you want, dad?” demanded Paula. He knew that voice. Feminine, resolute, determined, all those things, and more.


That’s what it was. Accusative.

“Where are you going?” Much quieter. But firm. He had to be firm. She was only seventeen…

Almost eighteen whispered a voice in his head.

“You’ve told David to go, so I’m going too,” she replied.

That might have been her mother’s voice talking … fair, non-judgemental, honest…

“You’re to come home!” he barked, louder again and consequently producing a paragraph of invective from the other caravan.

“No dad. I’m not, if David, who’s done nothing wrong, must go…”

He was closer to her by now. Boxer shorts (union jack and dazzling so early in the day, white foam dripping from his chin, angry eyes).

“You were in bed together in the middle of the night!” he forced through clenched teeth.

“A bit louder, mate, we can’t hear!” mocked the other voice.

“The two of you,” he continued, ignoring the voice “disgusting! He was in your bed!”

“No, dad, he wasn’t in my bed,” she replied, “I was in his. I wanted us to talk without your big flapping ears grabbing hold of every syllable! And if I hadn’t sneaked into it he wouldn’t have woken up!”

“I blame the boy!” He was close to raging and even as he heard his own words he felt ashamed of them. The lack of logic. The dismissal of what he’d already worked out as the truth, the sticking to a misconception because that was the kind of guy he was.

“You’re a bully, dad,” she said, quietly, so quietly he had to strain his ears to hear. “That’s the only word for it: a bully!”

“How dared…” she? How dared she call him a bully, who’d protected her and made sure she was safe from passing youth (he remembered his own youth and the jostling of his hormones), the one who’d brought her up…

“The last thing I said to your mother before she died was that I’d take care of you, and letting you run off with any Tom, Dick or Harry isn’t taking care of you!”

“David’s not a Tom, Dick or Harry, dad . But you’re fond of reminding me of that, dad,” she said, half in tears, “and you know what the last thing mum said to me was, dad..?”

“You weren’t there…” he stumbled on his words.

“Oh, I saw her, dad, all right. You know I did. And the last thing her painful breaths said to me was don’t let him bully you, Paula, like he’s bullied me

“And I won’t!”

© Peter Rogerson 31.07.14



30 Jul


drawing boy and girl in bed photo: tumblr_lmwvbwwH611qexxg4o1_500_large.png

The inside of a cloud, maybe, the swirling chaos of either creation or destruction… even anti-creation in a fire of ice … and from it he drove his multi-coloured train, chugging from a crumbling tunnel like the toy train he’d had as a kid, smoke billowing from its stack; and suddenly, like magic, the whole world turning bright with green in fields and blue in the sky and a rainbow in the flowers… and the train chugged, smoky, steamy, on…

“Don’t make a sound!” it said, its steam forming the words with a beautiful, startling clarity, “don’t make a sound, don’t make a sound, don’t make a sound…”

He stirred and the flowers popped out in one silent explosion, the train wibbled and wobbled and became darkness … and he opened his eyes.

“Sshh!” mouthed Paula, “shift along…”

He was in his bed on the holiday caravan, a single bed, barely big enough for one, and Paula, the forbidden jewel in the crown of his young life, wanted to squeeze in next to him.

And he was in two halves.

One half wanted her to with a desperation amplified by the megaphone in his pyjama bottoms. It desired her, the physical her, the beautiful almost naked her … he could see how small her night-dress was, how it advertised rather than covered, and the megaphone got close to exploding, unbidden.

The other half was terrified. Never before had he been this close to his princess, his angel, the wonder his eyes beheld each day, and now that he could feel her breath all over him and smell the sweetness of that breath … and it was sweet, the last sourness of her glass of white wine sipped earlier was gone…

So he did the only thing he could do.

He groaned.

And only then did he move as far across as he could and try and make room for her to squeeze in next to him. And it wasn’t easy. He got the insane notion that he might push the caravan wall out, exposing the two of them to public scrutiny should any public eyes drift past.

“I couldn’t hep it,” she breathed.

Couldn’t help what? Had she somehow managed to do something wrong, something she needed to apologise for, something she had come to him in order to beg forgiveness? No – that couldn’t be the case.

Paula never did anything wrong.

Paula was perfect. She was incapable of error.

“I needed to see you,” she whispered, continuing the theme.

Why would she need to see him now, in the middle of the night, with darkness all around and her dad snoring mere feet away? Was she going somewhere? Had their holiday been drawn to a sudden unwanted ending, and was she off on a trip of her own, in the night, without him?

Mr Potts, so close, snorted in his sleep, and then resumed snoring.

Paula squeezed into David’s bed, her warm flesh so close to his that it seemed to set his heart racing. With the fragrance of her all around him and over him he eased his pressure on the caravan wall until the two of them seemed to be occupying the same small sliver of space. David wanted to to say things like this is so nice, Paula, and I was asleep and suddenly I’m in Heaven … did I die … is that what this is all about?But his mouth was unaccountably dry and all words failed him.

“What do you think of this then?” asked Paula in a breathy whisper. “Isn’t this what you want?”

He nodded in the absence of finding any words.

Then she did the impossible.

In a wild moment of splendid magic her face approached his face, then her whole mouth, those wonderful moist lips, and suddenly she occupied all of his personal space, every morsel of it as her tongue reached out and somehow managed to touch his.

Time stopped still. It had to, or he wouldn’t have been able to stand it.

Then her lips moved round until they were touching his right ear.

“You’ve got a hard-on,” she breathed, her syllables, cheeky, knowing, understanding. “Haven’t you?” she added.

The sound of snoring from the Mr Potts’ bed snorted again, and then became silent.

He nodded.

You don’t lie to Paulas,he told himself, you never lie to Paulas, and it’s true, I have…

“Just keep it under control,” she whispered, “and we can stay like this awhile. Dad’s asleep. David, I think I love you…”

Does she know how I feel about her, how her proximity to me is driving me to distraction, that any moment now I’m going to burst and I’m not capable of doing anything to stop it…

But “I know thatI love you too…” came tumbling from him in a cascade of syllabic chaos.

Then in a fragmented moment Heaven became Hell.

“What the f… What’s going on here!” demanded Paula’s father’s voice, suddenly in the night, in the dark, like the intrusion of a serpent into the mythical Eden.

And his shadow was standing there, black of flesh against the black of night, and though neither youngster could see his face they both knew that it was just as black.

It was like thunder on a summer’s idyll.

It was what happens when a perfect dream is ended and the real world creeps in.

“It’s me, dad,” explained Paula.

“Tomorrow!” thundered Mr Potts,

“He was asleep, and I woke him, dad,” continued Paula.

“Tomorrow, young man, you can get out of this caravan and take yourself home! I trusted you, I really did. I thought you were good and decent and just what my daughter needs, but look at you! Sharing the same bed! At night, when decent souls are asleep… Tomorrow you can bugger off, and I never want to see you again!”

“But, Mr Potts…”

“It wasn’t David, dad, it was me!” insisted Paula.

“I don’t care who it was I only know who’s got the blame!” thundered Mr Potts. “Now you, Paula, get to your bed! I’ve never been so … so … so…”

“Irrational,” said Paula, quietly, finishing his sentence. “No, dad, you haven’t.”

“You’re not too old to get a good hiding, girl,” he growled. “Now get to your bed before … before … before…”

She had to obey. She had to crawl like a whipped cur back to her own bed, and David, being the lad he was, wept as she crawled away.

©Peter Rogerson 30.07.14


28 Jul


glass of wine photo: Wine Glass and Ice IMG_0369.jpg

“I hope I don’t have to mention appropriate behaviour during the night when old timers might be asleep and not aware of what’s going on,” murmured Mr Potts over a seemingly never-emptying pint of beer in the holiday camp bar that first evening.

“What do you mean, dad?” asked Paula, her face the image of total innocence.

David glanced at her and grinned. He knew what her father meant, and so did she. But he knew she also liked embarrassing him, in the kindest possible way.

“Your mother was always careful before she and I were married,” sighed her father. This was awkward for him. He knew how David most probably felt, that the lad was near the start of a road with its winding and soaring hills that he remembered so well – and being so close to the beginning he yet had to learn adult control.

“And you, dad? Were you … careful?” teased Paula.

“Paula, I respected her and I suspect that was enough,” came the almost mumbled reply.

“And I respect Paula, sir,” said David. “I would never do anything to hurt her and I rather suspect that what you have in mind but don’t like to say might just do that…”

“Hurt me? How?” Paula was almost whispering. Maybe it was time to put her father’s mind at rest. After all, she would be eighteen in a few weeks time, and eighteen was old enough for just about anything.

“Do I have to be explicit?” There was a groan in the older man’s voice. He’d never been comfortable when discussing personal matters with his daughter, and since her mother’s death he’d tried to play his role of wise guardian to perfection – and knew he’d failed.

He had known Paula all her life, but he was still irrationally aware that she was once part of a cascading orgasm that had been the physical manifestation of how he had felt for his beloved wife at the time, and had continued so to do down the years since then as well, until she had passed away at such a relatively young age.

“No dad, you don’t,” she said, “and if it puts your mind at rest, I am on the pill…”

“You are?” interposed David, surprised. Her dad noticed that, and the lad soared in his estimation. And, strangely, so did Paula. She had clearly decided to take control of her own life, and because the sensitive nature of her sexuality was something she felt uncomfortable discussing with her dad, she had done it without any reference to him.

“Simone was always going on about the boys she had slept with in all manner of weird places, and that it was perfectly all right because she took the contraceptive pill,” explained Paula, bravely bearing in mind the two she was addressing. “I had no intention of behaving like she claimed to behave, but the more I thought about it the more I thought it would be wise to take precautions just in case…”

“Just in case of what?” asked David, beginning to feel aggrieved.

“Girls can get raped,” Paula told him. “It’s not a nice idea, but it does happen. I like to look … attractive … not because I want boys to notice me particularly, or get the hots for me, for goodness’ sake, but because it makes me feel good. But everyone knows how weak some strong lads can be when it comes to girlie flesh!”

“You’d be attractive even in a burqa!” declared David, sincerely.

“That I would not!” laughed Paula. “I’d feel horrible! I’m not the sort of girl who wants to become just one of a parade of overdressed and sweaty women of indeterminate age or beauty wearing identical de-sexing things! I happen to both like and respect myself, which is why I can’t be like Simone…”

“Simone, the virgin,” reminded Mr Potts.

“Then the person Simone wants the world to think she is. Not that she’s much bothered what the world thinks, what with a manslaughter charge hanging over her head.”

“I feel sorry for her,” murmured Mr Potts. “She didn’t ask for that lad to buy her a drink and by doing so think he’d also bought rights to squeeze her you-know-whats all night!”

“Why would any self-respecting girl want the world to think she was easy?” asked David. “I mean, we lads might be tempted to have a one night stand with a lass like that, but there’s no way we’d look beyond that, to a relationship.”

“Is that what you did? Have a one-night stand with Simone?” asked Paula.

He looked at her, shocked. “I’ve never particularly liked Simone,” he said, curtly. “She’s not my sort: not my sort at all.”

“Who is your sort?” asked Paula, teasing him.

“If you don’t know the answer to that you must have spent the last few months with your eyes and ears shut!”

“She’s teasing you, David,” soothed Mr Potts. “Now then, children, who’s going to the bar to replenish the glasses? I’ll pay…”

David stood up. “I ‘ll go,” he said, quietly.

“Three the same again then,” said Paula’s father.

“Except I want white wine instead of fruit juice,” put in Paula.

“You’re still not eighteen,” warned her father.

“Oh come on! Everyone does it. White wine, please,” retorted Paula.

Her father wasn’t in the mood for a fight and anyway he had memories of his first alcoholic drink in a pub, aged sixteen, and in this instance he reasoned that a young woman old enough to have contraceptive pills prescribed for her must surely be old enough for the odd glass of white wine.

“Tell me about when you met mum,” suggested Paula.

“You really want to know?”

“You’re my parents,” said Paula quietly. “I’ll never hear mum’s version since…”

“And you want to hear mine before I die too?”

“I dunno.” Paula felt embarrassed. “You’re not dying are you?”

“No more than anyone else,” replied her father drily. “Nobody lives for very long, you know.”

“Three score years and ten,” sighed Paula, “like it says in the good book.”

“Bad book, you mean,” growled Mr Potts. “Don’t get me on that one! But look, here’s David with a tray. I do hope you deserve him, Paula. He’s decent.”

©Peter Rogerson 28.07.14


25 Jul

Part One of this tale is The Sports People.

Part Two is The Real Simone

Part Three is A Drink in Time

Part Four is A Sunday Lunch for Three

Part Five is Salutary Tales and Downright Lies

Part Six is The Monster Next Door

Part Seven is Quizzing the Night Away

Part Eight is Truth and Lies

Part Nine is The Very Short Skirt

Part Ten is Simone in the Shadows

Part Eleven is To Kill Or Not to Kill

Part Twelve is The Toytown Cemetary

Part Thirteen is A Slightly Naughty Suggestion

Part Fourteen is The Gorgeousness of Plans

Part Fifteen is The Love Bite


skegness photo: Skegness Caravan Outside 2 Veranda1.jpg

“It makes sense that if we’re an island race we should want to walk along the beach,” mused Mr Potts. He was dressed in shorts that he’d bought years earlier when the fashion was for very short, and his legs were a deathly white in comparison to the faded fabric which may, once, have been pristine white.

“I’d prefer to go to the arcades in town,” said Paula. “Walking along beaches is for old fogies like you!”

“And sand gets in your shoes,” added David, beginning to understand the relationship between his beloved Paula and her father better.

“I’ll tell you what,” suggested the older man, Paula, I’ll not frown if you wear that ridiculously tiny summer dress I saw you clutching behind your back just now if you agree to walk into town with me. It’s no more than a mile and a bit, and by the time we get there we’ll all be ready for fish and chips followed by a pint in a pub – and think how much money you’ll save, not wasting it on arcade machines!!”

“I could manage the food right now, sir,” nodded David. His own shorts were whiter and considerably more fashionable than the older man’s, being the ones he wore for tennis on the rec. back home and which were kept well-laundered.

“You mean you won’t frown if I wear this dress?” asked Paula, and she vanished into the caravan’s bathroom to slip into the tiniest possible fragment of cloth that could still be rightly called a dress.

Her dad shuddered. He’d been a young man once and he knew the effect that a great deal of lovely female flesh can have on a male – and he was aware of the expression on David’s face as his daughter stepped out, clad in almost nothing and smiling broadly. And Paula was his daughter, and in his eyes, at almost eighteen she still needed a great deal of paternal protection, especially from young men with drives not unlike those he’d once had.

“Do you know what looking at you can do to a lad?” he asked, trying to sound severe, and failing.

She shook her head, innocently.

“Tell her, David,” muttered Mr Potts.

“You’re like an angel,” sighed David. Then he looked at the father. “She’s okay, sir,” he said quietly. “She’s with me and I won’t do anything to upset her. I promise.”

“Harrumph,” snorted her father, “I might have said that when I was your age, and meant it until the testosterone tap got turned on by a shapely pair of legs…”

“Dad!” exploded Paula, “David is not like that!”

“Come on, then,” he muttered doubtfully. “It’s a lovely walk along the beach and I know we’ll all enjoy it…”

“…or else…” growled Paula.

“It’ll be okay, love,” promised David. He’d never called her love before, and she noticed, and stared at him.

“All right, granddad,” she murmured.

The caravan site where they were staying was right against the beach and minutes later they were strolling along the sand. Paula’s father had led them down to where the summer waves were idly lapping on their retreat with the tide, leaving the sand firm beneath their feet.

“My dad, Granddad Potts, used to bring me here,” sighed the older man. “I dared say we’re now walking on the same sand that he used to walk me along when I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

“When the world was black and white, dad?” teased Paula.

“Cheeky! Anyway, I remember once when his granny gave me a pair of swimming trunks she’d knitted. As far as I was concerned she was older than the hills, and I must admit to being a bit scared of her. I dared say I was … I don’t know, maybe six or seven years old.

“Anyway, I wore those swimming trunks and they were really very comfortable … until I got them wet, splashing in the sea. You know what knitted wool gets like when it’s wet? It sort of stretches and stretches until a pair of trunks that are comfortable on a lad of six would be too big for a sumo-wrestler of sixty! And that’s what happened to mine!

“The trouble is, she was with us at the time, hobbling along with a gnarled old walking stick, and my trunks kept trying to slip down to the sand. I had to hold them up with my fingers gripping really tight. And she saw me tugging them up and I dared say her eyes were getting dim and she wasn’t quite sure what I was doing.

The boy’s playing with himself, she announced to my father in a voice loud enough to waken the dead of the ages, don’t you think you should smack his legs?

“My dad said something to her, I can’t remember what, I probably didn’t hear because we weren’t along on the beach, and as I remember it loads of people, strangers, heard her and stared at me and my skinny white legs and wretched knitted swimming trunks, and I was blushing fit to burst!”

“I hope you’re not wearing the same shorts, dad,” laughed Paula, “they’re small enough, and to think you criticised my dress!”

“I’ve only had these a year or two!” retorted Mr Potts. “They’re the height of fashion!”

“They were when you bought them, dad,” laughed Paula, “and I reckon you only wear them about once a year and I remember you wearing them when I was in my pram!”

“Now, Paula, they’re more modest than that dress you’re wearing!”

“You know, dad, people have so many contrasting standards! You say this dress is too short, but wouldn’t say anything if I was wearing an itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-yellow-polka-dot bikini, which would cover up a lot less of me!”

“I think you look really nice anyway,” murmured David.

“The big problem is you’re my daughter, and I know the minds of testosterone-fuelled young males because I was one myself,” growled her father, “and wear a bikini on this beach at your peril! You’re not too old to get a smacked bottom, you know, for your own good!”

A laugh from a group walking behind them was proof that their conversation was being overheard, and Mr Potts chuntered inaudibly and accelerated towards the distant seaside town.

© Peter Rogerson 25.07.14


22 Jul

Part One of this tale is The Sports People.

Part Two is The Real Simone

Part Three is A Drink in Time

Part Four is A Sunday Lunch for Three

Part Five is Salutary Tales and Downright Lies

Part Six is The Monster Next Door

Part Seven is Quizzing the Night Away

Part Eight is Truth and Lies

Part Nine is The Very Short Skirt

Part Ten is Simone in the Shadows

Part Eleven is To Kill Or Not to Kill

Part Twelve is The Toytown Cemetary

Part Thirteen is A Slightly Naughty Suggestion

Part Fourteen is The Gorgeousness of Plans


babydoll nightie photo Product635023234499133292_zps17fec4ba.jpg

You know what I’ve forgot to bring with me, don’t you?” almost wailed David, searching inside his suitcase and failing to find whatever it was he had forgotten to pack before they left home.

Give us a clue,”suggested Mr Potts.

I was sure I’d put it in … I remember picking it up … something must have distracted me…” There was despair in the teenager’s voice as his fumbling in his suitcase became ever more frenetic.

But what is it?” asked Paula, looking up from her own suitcase, a handful of scraps of frilly cloth she fondly looked on as knickers in her hands.

My shaving stuff!” he mumbled. “I need my shaving stuff!”

If you left it at home it’s above a hundred miles away, and I’m not driving all that way to fetch it” admonished Paula’s father.

I’ll start looking scruffy, and by the end of the week I’ll be like one of those fakirs or whatever they are who never shave,” he moaned. “I’ll have the sort of beard that needs plaiting!”

I’ve got a spare battery shaver you can borrow,” said Mr Potts. “It’s my spare. I put fresh batteries in before we left home just in case…”

Are you sure?” queried David.

I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t sure,” the older man assured him. “Here you are – see how you get on with it.”

I’ve never electric-shaved before,” said David, taking the instrument and peering at it.

It’s child’s play,” nodded Mr Potts, “just switch it on and away you go! I never shave any other way.”

I’ll just have a try,” said David, going into the small enclosed bathroom of the caravan for privacy – and a mirror.

I’m sorry he forgot his stuff, dad,” muttered Paula. “It’s not been a very good start, has it?”

Don’t be daft, lass, we all forget things sometimes,” her father told her. “I remember, years ago, when I was at college, away from home…”

I never knew you went to college, dad! This isn’t going to be one of your tall stories, by any chance, is it?”

Well I did, and it’s perfectly true! Anyway, I arrived there full of enthusiasm and the joys of spring only to discover, that night, that I seemed to have forgotten my toothbrush. And you know me, Paula: I can’t even get to sleep if I haven’t cleaned my teeth properly. It’s not something I’ve ever been able to do. I was probably brainwashed as a child into believing all my teeth would fall out if I neglected them, or something like that.

So there I was, in my lonely little room for one, and no toothbrush – and a whole night in front of me to fret about it. And I would have, you know. I would have fretted about it.

And then a miracle happened. There was a knock on my door – and remember, I didn’t know anyone there, it was my first day and I hadn’t yet had a chance to meet anyone more than just to say a nervous hello to strangers.

So I opened the door, and there was a girl of about my own age – I was in my very late teens back then, remember, probably no more than a year older than you are now, Paula, and she was, at the time, the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. She had the sort of hair that seemed to cascade off her head, fragrant and impossibly clean, beautiful blue eyes and a complexion most women would die for. And, more than that, she was wearing one of those baby-doll nighties that were popular back then, little more than a scrap of diaphanous cloth and tiny panties that left very little to the imagination…”


Just a minute Paula, I was human and a teenager, remember, so don’t interrupt me! Anyway, I must have gawped at her like a simpleton because she was so ravishingly beautiful … and so nearly naked!”


Anyway, she looked at me and smiled and said excuse me for interrupting, but I was about to go to bed and I realise I’ve forgotten my toothbrush … I hate to ask, but you wouldn’t have a spare, would you?

And you know, Paula, I was so shaken by her her appearance and everything that I automatically reached into my bag and brought out a package containing two toothbrushes! I hadn’t forgotten to take them at all, just forgotten where I’d packed them! And what with the jingle of nerves woken up by an angel in a baby-doll nightie I went into automatic mode and found them exactly where I’d put them! I gave her one, said she could keep it, and she smiled so sweetly in thanks … and went back to her room. And I cleaned my own teeth and went to my own bed and had all sorts of dreams involving cascades of beautiful hair, lovely white teeth – and a nightie I’ll never forget!”

And the moral, dad?”

There isn’t one,” smirked her father, “and I did enjoy remembering the episode. But it goes to show that even someone as well-nigh perfect as myself is capable of forgetting things on the odd occasion…”

I’ve lived with you all my life and I know that it’s not…” began Paula, and her sentence was cut short by a sharp exclamation of pain from the bathroom as the buzzing of the electric shaver suddenly stopped.

Are you all right, lad?” called Mr Potts.

Er yes…” came the strangled reply, and the bathroom door slowly opened.

David stood there, battery razor in one hand, his other hand grasping his own neck, and Paula noticed that there were tears welling up in his eyes.

What is it?” she asked.

It bit me!” almost wept David, “the razor bit me…”

He slowly removed his hand from his neck to reveal an inflamed patch of skin, in appearance very much like the marks left on their partner’s necks by over-amorous lovers.

Oh dear – I should have warned you,” apologised Paula’s dad.

What…?” asked Paula.

He hasn’t used electric before … he’s pressed it very hard against some soft skin and it’s kind of ripped a bit of the surface skin off…” explained the older man. “It’ll be all right soon enough, but for a little while you’re going to look as if someone has given you a very juicy love-bite!”

© Peter Rogerson 22.07.14



20 Jul

Part One of this tale is The Sports People.

Part Two is The Real Simone

Part Three is A Drink in Time

Part Four is A Sunday Lunch for Three

Part Five is Salutary Tales and Downright Lies

Part Six is The Monster Next Door

Part Seven is Quizzing the Night Away

Part Eight is Truth and Lies

Part Nine is The Very Short Skirt

Part Ten is Simone in the Shadows

Part Eleven is To Kill Or Not to Kill

Part Twelve is The Toytown Cemetary

Part Thirteen is A Slightly Naughty Suggestion


BOY AND GIRL photo: Emo Boy And Girl 2zyla90.jpg

Now then, young David, what are you up to for the next ten days?” asked Mr Potts. Paula looked at her father with raised eyebrows. He wasn’t famous for asking questions about the future. He was, in short, a take one day at a time sort of guy.

Nothing much,” admitted David. “My folks wanted me to join them on holiday, but I don’t fancy it. They’ve gone to the Norfolk Broads for a couple of months and the last thing I wanted to do was go there … without Rusty.”

Your dog?”

David nodded. “He died, you know. I knew him all my life,” he said quietly, “and it never crossed my mind that he’d die before me. But he did, and all the holidays my family had were on the Broads with Rusty. I don’t want to go there without him. Not yet. I … I couldn’t bear it.”

Two months is more than a holiday!” exclaimed Paula. “It’s a vacation from life!”

Well, this is the first time they’ve gone for so long. Dad retired and so he’s got all the time in the world and says he’s going to make the best of it while he’s still got the strength to do it..”

So you’re dead against holidays?” asked Paula’s dad.

No! Just on the Broads at the moment, without Rusty! I’m sure I’ll feel … less sad … one day. People do, don’t they?”

Mr Potts nodded. He’d lost the love of his life, his wife and Paula’s mother, and he still found the grief hard to cope with when his mind trailed back to the times they’d spent together, and the things they’d done.

We’re going off for ten days,” he murmured, “nothing as romantic as the Norfolk Broads, though, just a caravan near Skeggy. You can come if you like.”

Paula’s eyes opened wide. “Can he dad?” she almost chirruped.

I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it, lass,” said her dad. “But as I say, it’s nothing fancy. Just a change from home and a chance to get drunk without the neighbours watching!”

You never get drunk dad!” exclaimed Paula.

His eyes twinkled. There was a lot this daughter of his had to learn, though he had to admit he rarely had more beer than he could comfortably accommodate soberly.

I was thinking about you and David,” he murmured. “You’re only young once, you know. Well, lad, what about it?”

There was nothing on planet Earth that David would have wanted more than spending a week or ten days away from home in the company of Paula. He wasn’t really sure, being only eighteen and sensible enough to know his limited emotional experience, but he reckoned he must love her. If he didn’t it could only be because he didn’t really know what love was. He knew deep inside that there were still things about his own heart that he had yet to discover, but if there was, somewhere and hidden, a deeper feeling then he almost feared discovering it.

After all, he’d loved Rusty.

Boys do love their dogs.

Then he remembered that it would be more than the two of them. Paula’s dad would be there too, and being a dad he would have eagle eyes on any perceived threat towards his daughter.

What’s his attitude to holding hands?

Or kissing?

He became suddenly aware of an awkward stirring in his underwear when it crossed his mind that sharing a caravan holiday with Paula would mean sharing the same small home with all the intimate proximity that might offer. An image of he lying close enough to touch her at night, with her father snoring heavily nearby, flashed through his mind, and that awkward stirring became so obvious that Paula’s eyes opened wide when she glimpsed it and he was thankful that her dad’s back was turned.

When you’re eighteen there is usually only one dominant driving force, the one that makes you get up in the morning and the one that sends you hurtling through every day, and in the driving seat of that driving force is an over-abundant supply of testosterone. Not that any young man sees it that way at the time. All he knows is that he’s greedy for life … and aren’t girls pretty?

Pretty enough to want to touch.

Pretty enough to kiss.

After all, he thought with all of his mind that he loved Paula. If it wasn’t love he was hard pressed to know what it was.

Maybe lust?

Or weren’t they the same thing?

How could anyone expect him to know!

Well?” asked Mr Potts. “If you’re at a loose end, I mean…?”

Is it … all right…?” stammered David, keeping his legs crossed.

I’ll be there, don’t forget, to keep you in line,” joked Paula’s dad with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. Has he noticed what’s happened to me? Is he teasing me because of it? “But if you’re coming with us you’d best go and pack right now. I’m thinking of going tomorrow. It was a last minute thing, that caravan. Granddad Potts got let down by a punter and it’s going spare for a few days, so I said we’d go, keep an eye on it, fix anything that needs fixing…”

Fix, dad?”

Well, it’s not as new as it was, as you know, and it might need a bit of screwdriver…”

I might have guessed,” murmured Paula. “A working holiday!”

It’s probably in perfect order,” declared her dad. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to…”

You mean, I can stay here with David?” grinned Paula, knowing every detail of the shocked expression that would form on her father’s face before it happened.

Doing what?” he asked, mildly.

I’ll leave that to your imagination,” she replied, suggestively thrusting her adequate chest in the direction of the younger man.

Well…” said her father slowly, “I guess you’d best come with me. You never know … a curtain might need a few stitches or the floors a bit of scrubbing…”

That’s all he wants: slaves!” moaned Paula.

We’ll come, Mr Potts, and thanks ever so much for inviting me,” put in David, needing to confirm the adventure before it was prematurely cancelled.

I know,” smiled the older man. “It’s Paula: she’s a wicked tease!”

She’s lovely, sir…” murmured David, unable to stop himself.

© Peter Rogerson 20.07.14



18 Jul

Part One of this tale is The Sports People.

Part Two is The Real Simone

Part Three is A Drink in Time

Part Four is A Sunday Lunch for Three

Part Five is Salutary Tales and Downright Lies

Part Six is The Monster Next Door

Part Seven is Quizzing the Night Away

Part Eight is Truth and Lies

Part Nine is The Very Short Skirt

Part Ten is Simone in the Shadows

Part Eleven is To Kill Or Not to Kill

Part Twelve is The Toytown Cemetary


boy and girl photo: boy and girl Boy_and_girl_by_KawaiiShi89.jpg

Mr Potts put one hand on his daughter’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.

He was well known way back,” he said, “Alfred Oliver. He was a bit of a celebrity in his own way. That model you saw, of his part of the county was on the television at one time, had a documentary all of its own, and he got an award for it, I forget who from.”

His wife seemed such a pleasant person too,” sighed Paula.

I remember when I was a kid,” put in David, who’d called for Paula just before a summer shower had arrived to trap them indoors, “My mum used to take me there. And the old man’s wife was just like she is now. She seemed old to me back then!”

Anyone over forty seems old to a child,” suggested Mr Potts. “What are you two planning to do today?”

I wanted to find out about Simone,” said Paula. “It’s hard to believe now, but we were friends once.”

I can help you there,” said her father. “I saw her, in town, only a couple of hours ago, and had a word with her. She looks strained.”

What happened, dad?” asked Paula quickly.

You mean, to get her into trouble?”

What else could I mean?”

I thought you might be suggesting I shouldn’t have bumped into her!”

No. I didn’t mean that.”

I’ll tell you how she explained it to me. She was in that big club in town, you know, where the young ‘uns go when they want to let the world they’re old enough to stay up beyond midnight and like to bop to ear-shattering music…”

I know, Mr Potts,” said David. “I went once. And only once! It’s not my scene at all. Too noisy, and everyone was off their heads on this or that! I know for a fact that there are drugs around.”

Well, a lad she didn’t know came up to her and bought her a drink. She said she’d never seen him before and realises now she shouldn’t have accepted, but at the time it just seemed a friendly move by a lad with more money than sense! She didn’t think anything was wrong until he moved in on her and started groping her. Apparently he’d said that buying her a drink was part and parcel of buying her body and now he wanted to have a good feel of what he’d bought!”

If a strange lad tried … groping … me I’d see red,” declared Paula. “I don’t know what I’d do!”

I should hope you would be angry! Anyway, Simone felt around in her handbag for something – anything – to poke him away with, and it as a choice between her purse and a nail file. A humble little nail file! She says she grabbed it as tightly as she could and slashed out at him with it, not meaning to hurt him but to let him know that she wasn’t his plaything. And by one of those zillion-to-one miracles she managed to stick it into him, and by a staggering bit of rotten luck, into his heart. It shouldn’t be possible, she’d probably never do it again even if she tried to repeat it a million times – but it happened.”

So is it murder?” asked David doubtfully.

I don’t think it’s even manslaughter,” said Mr Potts, “but it’s going to court, of course. I don’t think she even wanted to hurt him. She just wanted him to get his hands from out of her top and off her breasts! And there were plenty of witnesses who apparently saw what happened and confirm her story. Apparently there’s a tribe of women willing to say he was always doing that kind of thing, buying a drink and looking on it as a cash deposit for some sort of sexual grope! It seems he had quite a breast fetish!”

It’s all horrible,” sighed Paula.

Simone being a virgin helps her story too,” said her father.

Paula’s eyes opened wide at that. “Simone a virgin? That’s never true!” she exclaimed. “She’s always boasting about the boys she’s had in this or that shed or on the back seat of whoever’s car! From what she says she’s more experienced than most, and that’s saying a lot. She even came here and announced she was pregnant, remember? And with David to boot!””

She’s been examined by a gynaecologist,” murmured Mr Potts. “Not everyone tells the truth about themselves or what they do, you know, and apparently Simone was big when it comes to boasting and far more sensible when it comes to activities. But don’t feel too bad about it: even her parents were surprised when they found that she was intact still.”

So I’m not the father of her child?” said David, grinning. “I rather suspected I couldn’t be!”

What’s going to happen now, dad?” asked Paula.

It’ll go to court, of course, she being charged with manslaughter, and the chances are the case will be dismissed on grounds of self-defence. After all, it was just that and in all truth she can’t have thought she’d do any more than scratch the youth with that nail file. All she wanted was for him to get his hands out of her blouse, and if you were in the same situation, Paula, I hope you’d do the same as Simone did.”

You mean, kill someone?” asked Paula, eyes open wide, shocked.

No, silly: defend yourself with whatever apparently harmless implement happened to be at hand, and if it went wrong like in Simone’s case I hope the rest of the world would be prepared to give you the right to self-defence.”

I’d have to think twice…” began Paula.

Sometimes we don’t have time to think even once,” said her father gently. “Now I’m off round the Girdler’s for half an hour. If I leave you two alone you won’t start pricking poor young David with the contents of your handbag, will you, Paula?”


Grinning, Mr Potts walked off.

Hey, you’re not likely to stab me, are you, now that we’re alone?” said David with an uncomfortable smile.

What? For nothing?” asked Paula.

If I … accidentally … you know…” he stammered.

Rubbed against my tits?” she teased.

Accidentally,” he reinforced.

Or deliberately. Deliberately would be better.” Paula’s voice was suddenly quiet, thoughtful, almost seductive.

David groaned. “There’s one thing I’ve never been able to get my head around,” he muttered.

What?” Paula was suddenly in an impish mood.

I can never tell when you really mean something or only say you mean it,” he murmured.

I know. Life is such a bitch, isn’t it, and so confusing…” laughed Paula. “Why don’t you find out the practical way? I wouldn’t even think of stabbing you, you know, even if you got it wrong…”

© Peter Rogerson 18.07.14