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An Audience with Carstairs Ch. 07

Farming today

"Well, what was that about?" said Samantha when I got back.

"Start driving towards the A10, then go north. We can use Diana's place."

"Really?"

She merged onto the road out of this village. I noticed her dress was hiked up a lot more than was necessary, showing off her legs.

"Do you mean to say she has a place just for... entertaining?"

"Am I talking to a journalist?"

"Not tonight you're not. Trust me."

"Yes. It's where she used to take me."

"So that was serious?"

"Serious enough to break my heart, yes. Oh by the way, she's up for a threesome."

"You're joking!"

"Nope."

"Sorry to miss that. Susan and I have a rule. Get all the dick you want, but pussy is exclusive."

"She didn't say you had to get involved with her pussy."

"I don't think I could stop myself. Did you see the tits on that woman?"

"Yes. Yours are promising too, by the way. Can I just go back to the 'get all the dick you want' part? I'm not really in a position to judge, but recent events have prompted me to be a bit better informed before I dive in, so to speak."

We hit the A414 and she needed a few seconds to focus on merging safely. I do love Volvo's. Boring and reliable, if they're reasonably new that is. I'd be a Volvo if I were a car.

"Okay, here's the deal. I have a son, and I once had a husband. Never really clicked. I divorced him when Sebas' was five, was alone for a while, then met Susan and just instantly fell in love with her. But I do, very occasionally, meet a man I'm attracted to. Now in seven years I've never done anything about it. Susan has, because she had never been with a man before and she found one she wanted to try. That lasted all of a week, though. But I never cashed my chip. Well, I had a kiss and a feel in a store room once. More of a warm goodbye to someone who was leaving the office. But for you... Damn it, even when I was reading about you in The Sun I felt a tingle in my pussy, Martin."

"What, from THAT?! That was hardly my finest hour."

"I think it was. You were right, you know. Women do use sex as currency. I'm a woman, I'm telling you. And as a registered dyke, I also know how frustrating it is when that stops working. I could get anything I wanted from my ex-husband. But on Susan it has no effect whatsoever! I mean, I can seduce her but I have to put in the work. But conversely, she just has to flash her ass a bit and I'm on high alert. So I know you're right. And every woman in the world knows it. We're just pissed you spilled the beans."

I just nodded and looked at the landscape, which is not particularly impressive on that stretch. Fields to the right, some houses to the left. I decided I'd much rather look at her legs. She caught me looking.

"I'd cross them for you but I have a manual transmission to deal with here," she smiled.

"Right. I'm going to tell you something right now I've never said out loud to any woman, certainly not before we ever got naked."

"Exciting!"

"I like feet."

"Lovely. And?"

"What 'and'? That's it. I like feet. I'm telling you I am into feet."

"Yeah, so am I. Girl feet, right?"

I was stunned.

"Please don't tell me you're joking..."

"No?" she laughed. "I love feet. Not male feet, well not unless I'm really hot. But Susan's feet, I could lick 'em all night. She sometimes does it to me but it's not really her thing."

I got so excited I nearly forgot how to English.

"Ja dat heb... det is very much a thing that I like to do also!"

She turned to look at me. I was almost sideways in my seat.

"What's happening to your English? Is it midnight? God dammit, you're not turning into a pumpkin, are you? Or one of those Gouda cheeses?"

"I'm sorry. I'm excited. You have a foot fetish. You're not just okay with it, you HAVE it?"

"Yes. It's a bit early to say if I like your feet though, but I'm mostly in it for the cock. And the male hands. And the stubble between my thighs, I never knew I'd grow to miss THAT, but..."

"You don't have to lick my feet, I'm not interested in that," I said, leaning back. Bloody hell. To think I'd nearly missed out on that.

Pretty soon, though not nearly fast enough, we were on the A10.

"Next exit, head to Tonwell. It's just before the town limit."

"Yes Sir. Say, can I ask you something? Earlier tonight Diana said something when she thought I was your girlfriend."

"Yes. I told her I'd met someone. Just because I didn't want her to think I was still alone. Yesterday was the first time I saw her since the break-up, you see."

"Oh right... So why did she say: 'How did you almost manage to lose her?'"

Quick thinking was in order. Bloody journalists. A female journalist, that's like a human lie detector.

"Okay, for the record; I did NOT tell her you were my girlfriend, that's childish. She just came up with that. Probably because I used something that happened between me and my friend Melody for that. The one that ended up in the Daily Mail. I thought it would be implausible to claim I'd met someone new in just a few days, but I told Diana I was no longer single. If I hadn't, she'd have been in my pants again and she's hard to resist but I don't want that. So I said I was taken. Never occurred to me you'd show up looking like that the next day. She just made that leap."

I wasn't single, though. I had not lied to Diana, because I had Kate now. Lying is hard. I should keep notes.

"I see. Hey, it's fine. I didn't mind being your cover. So you had a fling with her. With Melody."

"Yes. But we want different things from life. She wants kids. She wants to go out, party. Experiment with drugs. I'm forty. I want dinner and a movie, but not more than once a week because it wears me out."

It was shameful, as easy as I managed to string one lie to another one. I hardly ever lied, well certainly not back in Holland. But it made her laugh, fortunately.

"I can see how that works. I'm thirty-five. Haven't been drunk in three years. How old is she?"

"Twenty-six. You know, I do love her. Or I could love her, maybe that's a better way to put it. But she needs a man her own age. Build a life together. And at that age, when she's working fifty hour weeks just to live in a flat share, she doesn't need a broke, middle-aged loser to set her back even more and steal years off her life. So I let her go."

Samantha went quiet for a while. Her voice was much softer when she spoke again.

"Martin, you are not a loser. Broke and middle-aged perhaps, but not a loser. You are fucking magnificent. Men like you generally cross the Alps on elephants. You know, I became a lesbian because I was convinced there were only three types of men left."

"This will be good," I said, settling in.

"One: my ex-husband. Stupid, belching, soccer-loving, book-hating cavemen that think being a salesman is a CAREER. Two... this exit, right?"

"Yes, hit the A602. Go on."

"Two: metro-flipping-sexuals. Men who go to the gym and have those eternal 3 millimetre beards. Men who wear T-shirts and have hobbies such as wakeboarding. Who pretend to like poetry and art because it gets them laid. Men who buy overpriced coffee from Starbucks and who think organising dance events is a JOB."

"Okay. And what's behind door number three?"

"Those weedy, fey, bookish types that can't hold a screwdriver to save their lives, that seem to think reciting Shakespeare is somehow more important than changing a tyre. Men who get weird hair when they're thirty and wear striped jackets and drink sodding CHAI."

"Right. Boy, are you lucky I don't work for The Sun."

"I know. So do you want to know what you are?"

"At this point I'm actually scared to say no. Could you drive a bit slower, like for instance 50 as it says on the sign?"

"I'm sorry. I'm horny. Okay, you're the white unicorn, Martin. You have a mind like a steel trap. You actually understand the point of art. You don't give a shit what you look like because you could wear a garbage bag and ski boots and still look like you're in command of the 7th fleet. You're a man of honour, who literally ruins himself because he feels obligated to others. Your wife abused you all through your marriage and you have yet to say a thing against her. You're enormously kind even though you're at the top of the food chain. And you treat others, like Melody and your landlord and old Indian men and even the woman who ripped out your heart recently, with respect. Even when nobody is looking. Honestly, you could fuck every damned woman you wanted. Nobody is that much of a lesbian, believe me."

"Right. Thanks. Could you write that down for me later on? My mom would love to hear that speech. Slow down more, there's a country road we're turning onto in about half a mile."

"Give me your phone and I'll tell her. Left or right?"

"Right. Oh hang on, first we take the roundabout. First left. I've not been here all that often. And last time she was naked in the car. Kind of hard to focus on signs."

"Oh yeah," said Samantha, as if I had mentioned gas prices were insane these days. Yeah mate, naked chicks in the passenger seat? Know all about that.

We had amazing sex. She was overjoyed with everything I suggested, she catered to my foot fetish like no other woman ever had (there had been two so far, but still), she moaned like a Japanese schoolgirl and she was so completely enamoured of my dick she almost gave it a name. Which I forbade. Apparently going without sperm for seven years had made her long for that, so when I came after a tug job she rubbed it on her tits like it was oil of Olaz.

We were at it for four hours, during which time I made her orgasm so hard she actually fell off the bed before I could grab her. I had to take her into the shower and cuddle with her under warm running water before she came to her senses again.

"Oh Jesus. Oh fuck. Oh Jesus. Oh fuck," was all she said, over and over again. It began to get on my nerves, actually.

"Sam, I get the idea. You're happy."

"Happy? Martin, you rocked my world. I've been fucking rubber dicks for seven years, how can I go back to that? Susan actually has a dildo mounted to an electric power drill, on of those lithium powered ones. I have to pound her pussy like I'm removing drywall, for up to ten minutes. I bet you could do it with just the one hand. How... I mean what... just... where the FUCK did you learn to do all that?! And how did your wife ever let you go?"

"Yeah. People have wondered about that. For a while I actually thought I was bad at sex, but that's because I'd only ever had it with her."

"I need to sit down. My knees keep buckling. Can we get that stool in here?"

She pointed at a small white plastic footstool, which I brought into the shower as she held on to my shoulder. As soon as she sat down she said:

"Perfect BJ height."

"Thanks, but I'm sore too. If you yank it any longer blood will come out."

"Can I just nuzzle it then? Oh God, I've missed proper dick. I hate that rubber smell, you know?"

"I don't. I've never seen one of those and my life goal is to keep it like that."

"Oh God... How am I going to drive home like this? You should definitely have a threesome with us."

"That's very kind of you. Send me some pictures then."

Honestly, I was only being sarcastic. Who invites people to a threesome like it's a fundraiser? Well, apparently Samantha does. She wasn't fazed at all.

"Of her? I've got nudes on my phone. Of both of us. I'll send them to you. Oh man, you'd love her pussy. We could both lick it. Or we could both lie on our backs with our feet up and... ooooh! Hmmmm, more sperm! Oh yes, come here, let momma taste it..."

Early in the morning I overheard her calling her wife, or whatever Susan was. Now that's a review I'd like to see in The Guardian. They spoke for half an hour and at one point she actually popped in to ask me if I was okay with her sending Susan a picture of my dick, which she wanted to take then and there. She seemed surprised when I said no.

Eventually she was done and found me in the shower.

"You have that thing at the National Gallery, right?"

"Yes. Two o'clock."

"Any reason you'd want to swing by your house? I mean, it's a long drive. We might as well spend the morning here, Susan's okay with it. And jealous. As in, she wants in."

"I'll need fresh underwear. I can shave here. And there's probably an iron and a board, for my shirt. But I won't spend the day in those same briefs."

"Right. How about I drive to Ware, get you some clean pants and something other than a croissant for breakfast? She's not coming here, is she?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Well then let's stay here, clean the place up and leave for London when it's time."

I was just done with washing my hair, or rather my head. Now I could look at her again.

"You're not getting another session like that. I'm spent."

"I know. But I bet I can get a kiss out of you. Oh hey, I'll need to restock the condoms too."Farming today

"Well, what was that about?" said Samantha when I got back.

"Start driving towards the A10, then go north. We can use Diana's place."

"Really?"

She merged onto the road out of this village. I noticed her dress was hiked up a lot more than was necessary, showing off her legs.

"Do you mean to say she has a place just for... entertaining?"

"Am I talking to a journalist?"

"Not tonight you're not. Trust me."

"Yes. It's where she used to take me."

"So that was serious?"

"Serious enough to break my heart, yes. Oh by the way, she's up for a threesome."

"You're joking!"

"Nope."

"Sorry to miss that. Susan and I have a rule. Get all the dick you want, but pussy is exclusive."

"She didn't say you had to get involved with her pussy."

"I don't think I could stop myself. Did you see the tits on that woman?"

"Yes. Yours are promising too, by the way. Can I just go back to the 'get all the dick you want' part? I'm not really in a position to judge, but recent events have prompted me to be a bit better informed before I dive in, so to speak."

We hit the A414 and she needed a few seconds to focus on merging safely. I do love Volvo's. Boring and reliable, if they're reasonably new that is. I'd be a Volvo if I were a car.

"Okay, here's the deal. I have a son, and I once had a husband. Never really clicked. I divorced him when Sebas' was five, was alone for a while, then met Susan and just instantly fell in love with her. But I do, very occasionally, meet a man I'm attracted to. Now in seven years I've never done anything about it. Susan has, because she had never been with a man before and she found one she wanted to try. That lasted all of a week, though. But I never cashed my chip. Well, I had a kiss and a feel in a store room once. More of a warm goodbye to someone who was leaving the office. But for you... Damn it, even when I was reading about you in The Sun I felt a tingle in my pussy, Martin."

"What, from THAT?! That was hardly my finest hour."

"I think it was. You were right, you know. Women do use sex as currency. I'm a woman, I'm telling you. And as a registered dyke, I also know how frustrating it is when that stops working. I could get anything I wanted from my ex-husband. But on Susan it has no effect whatsoever! I mean, I can seduce her but I have to put in the work. But conversely, she just has to flash her ass a bit and I'm on high alert. So I know you're right. And every woman in the world knows it. We're just pissed you spilled the beans."

I just nodded and looked at the landscape, which is not particularly impressive on that stretch. Fields to the right, some houses to the left. I decided I'd much rather look at her legs. She caught me looking.

"I'd cross them for you but I have a manual transmission to deal with here," she smiled.

"Right. I'm going to tell you something right now I've never said out loud to any woman, certainly not before we ever got naked."

"Exciting!"

"I like feet."

"Lovely. And?"

"What 'and'? That's it. I like feet. I'm telling you I am into feet."

"Yeah, so am I. Girl feet, right?"

I was stunned.

"Please don't tell me you're joking..."

"No?" she laughed. "I love feet. Not male feet, well not unless I'm really hot. But Susan's feet, I could lick 'em all night. She sometimes does it to me but it's not really her thing."

I got so excited I nearly forgot how to English.

"Ja dat heb... det is very much a thing that I like to do also!"

She turned to look at me. I was almost sideways in my seat.

"What's happening to your English? Is it midnight? God dammit, you're not turning into a pumpkin, are you? Or one of those Gouda cheeses?"

"I'm sorry. I'm excited. You have a foot fetish. You're not just okay with it, you HAVE it?"

"Yes. It's a bit early to say if I like your feet though, but I'm mostly in it for the cock. And the male hands. And the stubble between my thighs, I never knew I'd grow to miss THAT, but..."

"You don't have to lick my feet, I'm not interested in that," I said, leaning back. Bloody hell. To think I'd nearly missed out on that.

Pretty soon, though not nearly fast enough, we were on the A10.

"Next exit, head to Tonwell. It's just before the town limit."

"Yes Sir. Say, can I ask you something? Earlier tonight Diana said something when she thought I was your girlfriend."

"Yes. I told her I'd met someone. Just because I didn't want her to think I was still alone. Yesterday was the first time I saw her since the break-up, you see."

"Oh right... So why did she say: 'How did you almost manage to lose her?'"

Quick thinking was in order. Bloody journalists. A female journalist, that's like a human lie detector.

"Okay, for the record; I did NOT tell her you were my girlfriend, that's childish. She just came up with that. Probably because I used something that happened between me and my friend Melody for that. The one that ended up in the Daily Mail. I thought it would be implausible to claim I'd met someone new in just a few days, but I told Diana I was no longer single. If I hadn't, she'd have been in my pants again and she's hard to resist but I don't want that. So I said I was taken. Never occurred to me you'd show up looking like that the next day. She just made that leap."

I wasn't single, though. I had not lied to Diana, because I had Kate now. Lying is hard. I should keep notes.

"I see. Hey, it's fine. I didn't mind being your cover. So you had a fling with her. With Melody."

"Yes. But we want different things from life. She wants kids. She wants to go out, party. Experiment with drugs. I'm forty. I want dinner and a movie, but not more than once a week because it wears me out."

It was shameful, as easy as I managed to string one lie to another one. I hardly ever lied, well certainly not back in Holland. But it made her laugh, fortunately.

"I can see how that works. I'm thirty-five. Haven't been drunk in three years. How old is she?"

"Twenty-six. You know, I do love her. Or I could love her, maybe that's a better way to put it. But she needs a man her own age. Build a life together. And at that age, when she's working fifty hour weeks just to live in a flat share, she doesn't need a broke, middle-aged loser to set her back even more and steal years off her life. So I let her go."

Samantha went quiet for a while. Her voice was much softer when she spoke again.

"Martin, you are not a loser. Broke and middle-aged perhaps, but not a loser. You are fucking magnificent. Men like you generally cross the Alps on elephants. You know, I became a lesbian because I was convinced there were only three types of men left."

"This will be good," I said, settling in.

"One: my ex-husband. Stupid, belching, soccer-loving, book-hating cavemen that think being a salesman is a CAREER. Two... this exit, right?"

"Yes, hit the A602. Go on."

"Two: metro-flipping-sexuals. Men who go to the gym and have those eternal 3 millimetre beards. Men who wear T-shirts and have hobbies such as wakeboarding. Who pretend to like poetry and art because it gets them laid. Men who buy overpriced coffee from Starbucks and who think organising dance events is a JOB."

"Okay. And what's behind door number three?"

"Those weedy, fey, bookish types that can't hold a screwdriver to save their lives, that seem to think reciting Shakespeare is somehow more important than changing a tyre. Men who get weird hair when they're thirty and wear striped jackets and drink sodding CHAI."

"Right. Boy, are you lucky I don't work for The Sun."

"I know. So do you want to know what you are?"

"At this point I'm actually scared to say no. Could you drive a bit slower, like for instance 50 as it says on the sign?"

"I'm sorry. I'm horny. Okay, you're the white unicorn, Martin. You have a mind like a steel trap. You actually understand the point of art. You don't give a shit what you look like because you could wear a garbage bag and ski boots and still look like you're in command of the 7th fleet. You're a man of honour, who literally ruins himself because he feels obligated to others. Your wife abused you all through your marriage and you have yet to say a thing against her. You're enormously kind even though you're at the top of the food chain. And you treat others, like Melody and your landlord and old Indian men and even the woman who ripped out your heart recently, with respect. Even when nobody is looking. Honestly, you could fuck every damned woman you wanted. Nobody is that much of a lesbian, believe me."

"Right. Thanks. Could you write that down for me later on? My mom would love to hear that speech. Slow down more, there's a country road we're turning onto in about half a mile."

"Give me your phone and I'll tell her. Left or right?"

"Right. Oh hang on, first we take the roundabout. First left. I've not been here all that often. And last time she was naked in the car. Kind of hard to focus on signs."

"Oh yeah," said Samantha, as if I had mentioned gas prices were insane these days. Yeah mate, naked chicks in the passenger seat? Know all about that.

We had amazing sex. She was overjoyed with everything I suggested, she catered to my foot fetish like no other woman ever had (there had been two so far, but still), she moaned like a Japanese schoolgirl and she was so completely enamoured of my dick she almost gave it a name. Which I forbade. Apparently going without sperm for seven years had made her long for that, so when I came after a tug job she rubbed it on her tits like it was oil of Olaz.

We were at it for four hours, during which time I made her orgasm so hard she actually fell off the bed before I could grab her. I had to take her into the shower and cuddle with her under warm running water before she came to her senses again.

"Oh Jesus. Oh fuck. Oh Jesus. Oh fuck," was all she said, over and over again. It began to get on my nerves, actually.

"Sam, I get the idea. You're happy."

"Happy? Martin, you rocked my world. I've been fucking rubber dicks for seven years, how can I go back to that? Susan actually has a dildo mounted to an electric power drill, on of those lithium powered ones. I have to pound her pussy like I'm removing drywall, for up to ten minutes. I bet you could do it with just the one hand. How... I mean what... just... where the FUCK did you learn to do all that?! And how did your wife ever let you go?"

"Yeah. People have wondered about that. For a while I actually thought I was bad at sex, but that's because I'd only ever had it with her."

"I need to sit down. My knees keep buckling. Can we get that stool in here?"

She pointed at a small white plastic footstool, which I brought into the shower as she held on to my shoulder. As soon as she sat down she said:

"Perfect BJ height."

"Thanks, but I'm sore too. If you yank it any longer blood will come out."

"Can I just nuzzle it then? Oh God, I've missed proper dick. I hate that rubber smell, you know?"

"I don't. I've never seen one of those and my life goal is to keep it like that."

"Oh God... How am I going to drive home like this? You should definitely have a threesome with us."

"That's very kind of you. Send me some pictures then."

Honestly, I was only being sarcastic. Who invites people to a threesome like it's a fundraiser? Well, apparently Samantha does. She wasn't fazed at all.

"Of her? I've got nudes on my phone. Of both of us. I'll send them to you. Oh man, you'd love her pussy. We could both lick it. Or we could both lie on our backs with our feet up and... ooooh! Hmmmm, more sperm! Oh yes, come here, let momma taste it..."

Early in the morning I overheard her calling her wife, or whatever Susan was. Now that's a review I'd like to see in The Guardian. They spoke for half an hour and at one point she actually popped in to ask me if I was okay with her sending Susan a picture of my dick, which she wanted to take then and there. She seemed surprised when I said no.

Eventually she was done and found me in the shower.

"You have that thing at the National Gallery, right?"

"Yes. Two o'clock."

"Any reason you'd want to swing by your house? I mean, it's a long drive. We might as well spend the morning here, Susan's okay with it. And jealous. As in, she wants in."

"I'll need fresh underwear. I can shave here. And there's probably an iron and a board, for my shirt. But I won't spend the day in those same briefs."

"Right. How about I drive to Ware, get you some clean pants and something other than a croissant for breakfast? She's not coming here, is she?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Well then let's stay here, clean the place up and leave for London when it's time."

I was just done with washing my hair, or rather my head. Now I could look at her again.

"You're not getting another session like that. I'm spent."

"I know. But I bet I can get a kiss out of you. Oh hey, I'll need to restock the condoms too."

with   audience   carstairs  

Mar 11, 2018 in romance

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