We don’t have a set routine, like first this, then that. For it to be good, it has to be spontaneous, doing what we feel like at the time. And it would be nice if you wanted to join in, wouldn’t it, Char?” “For both of us, yes it would.” I looked at Laura. “We’ll see,” she said. “But tell us how you got started with – well, with this.” “It was funny really,” said Harold. “In the summer we like to go for a picnic – there’s an area in Epping Forest we enjoy. Usually fairly quiet, not too many noisy kids. We take a few sandwiches and a thermos of tea and just wind down after a week at work. And this particular Sunday we had it all to ourselves.” “So there I was, minding my own business, lying back on a blanket with my eyes closed, half dozing, when this devil,” she nodded towards Harold, “this devil put his hand up my skirt. Well, one thing led to another and before I knew it my knickers were off, I was on my knees and Harold was in me from behind.” “Very good it was, too,” said her. Not, mind you, a woman. But women. Pleural. That both the broad brush strokes of our culture as well as the more narrowly defined constraints of our local society didn't condone such a view was clear, even to an insensitive teenage male such as me. I may have been a libertine at heart, but I wasn't dumb about it. I kept my views to myself.I was, at the time, dating a girl, a high-school cheerleader, named Sally. Our relationship wasn't "serious" - there was never anything approaching commitment, at least on my part. I was spared that near-fatal, teen-age malady known as "falling in love." Oh, I recognized readily that I'd fallen in lust, but that's quite another matter.Sally was attractive, sexy, and very enthusiastic. She loved to fuck. That was it, the whole of it, readily summarized. Aside from that, we didn't have much of a relationship. Part of that was due to my own superficiality, I'm sure. Another part was a consequence of Sally's limited interest in life's matters distanced.
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