A Mill Hill Valentine
Copyright © 2010 by Ashen White
Jay luxuriated in the steaming water, settling down for a long soak. Usually he’d lay there until the water got cold, often falling asleep or just day-dreaming. The best thing about this apartment was the deep, long bathtub, and Jay liked to bathe as often as possible. “Showers are ok, but you can’t beat a good hot bath!”
He was just starting to doze off when the doorbell rang.
“Shit!” he thought. He wasn’t expecting anyone, in fact, he had had hardly any visitors, and certainly no unplanned visits, since he’d taken over the apartment almost four months earlier. “Maybe they’ll go away if I just ignore them.”
That worked for about two minutes, when the doorbell rang again, a few times.
“Damn,” he thought. He stood up and tried looking through the frosted glass and along the side of the ground floor apartment to the front door, but all he could see was a dark shadow standing in the doorway. “Shit!” he thought again. The last thing he wanted was to waste the hot bath water, not that he was paying the electricity bills!
The doorbell rang again, insistently, followed by a knock on the glass front door. Here was the dilemma: Jay had walked naked from his bedroom into the bathroom, and his house coat was still in the bedroom. He would have to walk, or sneak, past the hallway leading to the front door to get his coat from the bedroom, and the front door was all glass – albeit frosted!
“Darn it,” he sighed one last time, giving up his vision of a nice long bath, and, stepping out of the water, he grabbed a towel and gave himself a perfunctory dry. Then he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed for the bedroom, just as another ring and knock came at the door.
“Just a minute,” he called, as he slipped past the hallway and into the bedroom. There he quickly pulled on his dressing gown, ran his hands through his wet hair to flatten it down, and headed for the front door.
“I must look like a fucking lobster,” he mused to himself. The dark shadow through the frosted glass of the front door stood and watched him approach, resting on an extended arm that leant on the door frame, right next to the bell push. Dressed only in his house coat, Jay opened the front door, letting in a cold blast of wintry February air. In front of him stood a tall, dark haired woman, wrapped in a long, heavy, dark fur coat. Jay looked at her thin, pointed face, estimating her age to be somewhere in the mid-to-late 40’s. Her cool blue eyes looked him up and down, then bored into his steel-grey eyes.
“Are you Jay, the new manager at Mill Hill?” she asked, her voice deep and melodious, with a hint of a Devonian accent.
“I am,” Jay responded. Before he could continue, the woman stepped over the threshold of the door, forcing him to take a step backwards, and threw an angry question at him.
“Then I want to know who the hell you think you are?” Jay stood there, dumbfounded.
“Sorry, but, what?” he asked, stupidly.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she asked again, angrily. “Letting my husband sit at your bar, night after night, getting so drunk he can barely walk home! What kind of barman are you, that does that?”
“I’m sorry,” Jay stammered again. “Who are you, and…”
“I am Frances, Harry Sloan’s wife,” she replied haughtily. Jay knew very well who Harry was – an older, wizened little guy, barely 5 feet of skin and bone, who sat in the corner of the bar every night, and at every daytime session over the weekend, getting absolutely rotten drunk. He was an habitual drinker, rather than an alcoholic, who drank himself blotto at every session for reasons known only to himself.
“Do you think, letting him get rat-arsed every night like that does anything for his family? What kind of life is that?”
“I’m sorry,” Jay said, yet again. “I am really not responsible for the state Harry gets himself into every night. It’s a club, and unless the committee bans him or takes away his membership, there’s nothing I can do to stop him.”
“What do you mean, can’t stop him.” She stepped further into the hallway, forcing Jay to take another step backwards. “You’re the one who pours his drinks and takes his money – you and your barmaids. Tell him to slow down, drink less, go home!”
Jay reflected over her suggestions, discounting them one by one. “I can’t do that,” he said. “I’d get into trouble if I did that. He’d complain that I was interfering with his drinking!”
“Interfering with his drinking,” she mimicked. “So,” she said, stepping further into the hallway, turning and closing the door, then turning to face Jay again, “what am I supposed to do about this?” Emphasizing the last word, she took a step back away from the bemused man, and opened wide the fur coat she was wearing, exposing a completely naked body beneath!
Jay stood there in utter amazement, ogling at the spectacle before him.
had good sized breasts, just starting to sag with age, and with dark maroon aureoles and nipples. From his chats with Harry, Jay knew she had had at least two children, but her stomach was flat, showing only the slightest of paunches, that lead down to a thick, curly thatch of dark pubic hair, slightly flecked with grey, nicely shaped to her bikini line. Beneath this, Jay could just make out the folds of her vulva, her thin, purple labia peeking out. Despite the fur coat, during her walk to Jay’s apartment, the bitter winter wind had broken through the protection the fur provided, teasing her nakedness and stiffening her nipples, and she had goose bumps all over her body. The audacity of the walk had thrilled her intensely, and, coupled with the risk of being discovered and the intentions behind her visit, had given her an inner warmth the cold could not extinguish. Frances
“And what, in particular,” she continued, pointing at her crotch, “am I supposed to do about this?” She glared at him, demanding an answer. Standing almost naked, fully exposed in front of this total stranger sent a wave of sexual excitement pulsing throughout her body and deep into her womb, stimulating her sexual juices. She studied his face carefully, judging his reaction to the sight of her nudity, and was pleased by what she read there. Far from any signs of alarm or disgust, the brat, or so she thought of him, being more than twice his age, was actually interested in what he was seeing.
Now Jay may not have been the quickest guy on the up take when it came to women – he’d certainly made some significant errors in judgment during his first 23 years – but when a woman appears out of nowhere almost naked in front of you, demanding answers to questions regarding her sex equipment, then he kind of figured that anything was fair game.
demanded, tapping her crotch with her long, extended index finger. Frances
“Uh-huh,” Jay started, already feeling stirrings in his groin. “I think this needs to be examined a little further, if that’s ok with you, Frances? Shall we go into here,” he pointed to the bedroom, “rather than investigate in the hallway?”
“Lead on, McDuff,”
replied sarcastically. Frances
Fortunately, Jay always kept the flat, and especially the bedrooms, clean and tidy, just in case he had the good fortune to enjoy some intimate moments with members of the opposite sex. That hadn’t happened since he had come down to
from the north-east of London , but he had a feeling that that was about to change. Words of wisdom his father had imparted to him ran through his head as he lead England into the purple bedroom. “Never miss a slice off a cut loaf, son.” Frances
The only signs of disarray in the room were the rumpled clothes on the bed that Jay had recently vacated. Jay kept the heavy curtains closed permanently, to prevent prying eyes from looking into his ground floor windows.
looked around the room, surveying the basic furnishings, then kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat to the floor, standing fully naked in front of Jay. Frances
“I think you’re wearing too much,” she said, matter of factly. Jay loosened the belt on his house-coat, and dropped it to the floor. Anticipation and imagination had already given him a substantial erection, which
inspected carefully. “My, my, we are a big boy, aren’t we,” she said, anticipation adding to the heat in her womb. She looked him up and down, taking in the muscular shoulders and taught stomach, the cut of muscles in his arms and thighs, the tidiness of his pubic hair. Then she looked him in the eyes, wetness starting to seep from her pussy lips, and said, “you said you wanted to examine something?” Frances
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