50 Pages of Grey - Shades of Beige - Chapter One

_{A Searing Expose of the Secret Sex Lives of the Over Fifties,}

_{in Swinging Suburbia.}

_{Part One – Swinging for Beginners.}

_{Time: November, Wednesday, Evening.
Location: Little Hampton Close, a mythical place, situated in an area, we’ll call...Suburbia.}

_{Population: Of Indeterminate Middle Age – most of which are at varying levels of...grey.
It had finally ceased pouring with raining. Now, it was only coming down as cats & dogs, with that new added wind-chill factor, that helps touch the parts that other inclement weather conditions can't reach. A lonely dark figure could be discerned, being swept along in the torrential gale like storm – fortunately, it was heading down-wind.  This particular waterlogged soul, belonged to a Mr George Tuck, resident of aforementioned close, and surviving member of a once special group of  individuals that used to be referred to as...baby-boomers. The street lights shining down from above high-lighted his sharp clean-shaven features as he passed underway, with his long, slow strides. He was hunched unusually over, due to the heavy rain, but his tall thin frame could still be made out. The cold and the wet had long since penetrated George's overcoat, and was well on it's way to numbing what was left of his senses - after a long, hard day at the office. For work, see under: meaningless, under-appreciated, grey existence of a  9-5 occupation at a local fibrous and moulding plant - who were mainly known for their slogan, " Don't get plastered, let us do it for you !"}

_{George had been employed there, almost as long as he had been married – but the hours were more flexible at work – and he had slowly risen through the ranks, to attain a position of junior assistant, to lower, middle management. With aspirations of breaking through to a senior, lower, middle management seat – hopefully, sometime…before retirement, or death, which ever came first.  This is how we find George’s current state of mind, this evening. His only real concern, was the forth coming almanac event, that awaited him, behind closed doors, supposedly in ‘the comfort’ of his own home. Truth be known,  he'd much rather be watching an interesting documentary, on the electrification of the railways, which he had heard about - but his wife, had already, booked the recording schedule for the night, with her weekly dose of " Build Your Own Home in Tuscany" with Kirstie Allwet and " What's in Your Drawers ?," perennial tanned, David Dickinson, visits the home, of some celebrity - or other - of the week, and inspects their family jewels.}    

    _{George, moved listlessly up the garden path, bracing himself for a moment, at the front door. Then, carefully, quietly, he slid the key into the lock, before slowly and gently turning it - so as not to arouse attention, to his arrival. He briefly held himself, before taking a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold.}

_{“ George, is that you ? You're late ! Get your clothes off and give me a hand in the kitchen,” demanded Angela – a.k.a Mrs Tuck, relationship: wife. “ Oh Lord ! Please let her be talking about food !” thought George. After he had finally managed to secure his saturated, overcoat onto the already over furnished coat-rack, he crossed the small hallway, and entered the kitchen, upon which he found Angela bent over, with her head in the oven. He couldn’t help but notice - at this point - that she was completely naked, except for a small kitchen apron, with the quote of “ Good Chef's & Eggs, Like Plenty of Whipping !” emblazoned across the chest – the apron’s, not hers - and a pair of semi-charcoaled oven-gloves. Seeing her stand there, slightly waning, it reminded him, that there was supposed to be a full, blue moon later that night.}

_{George could see that she was attempting to remove her hot delights from the fiery furnace - that masqueraded, jokingly, as their cooker. He stood there for a moment soaking in the scene, and he had to admit that his wife had worn well with age. She was what you might call a fuller figure woman- but she was still quite firm – in all the right places – and was surprisingly agile for someone who expressed little or no signs of interest, in physical exertion, outside of the bedroom, that is. Her hair was was held-up, with the shared assistance of half a can of heat and flame resistant fixative, along with some strategically placed pins, which belied the fact that she still had quite long - only slightly enhanced -  blonde flowing locks. After 26 years together, George, had to admit to himself, that he still found his wife very attractive, he used to tease her that, “Your body mass index is off the Dick-ter graph ! “ but he hadn't said that – or anything else with sexual content - for quite some time, perhaps this was one of the reasons why they found themselves in this position now.}

_{Angela, arose from the darkened oven, and turned to face George, her cheeks were fully flushed, from over exposing herself to the heat and holding an unnatural position – head lower than her breasts - for longer than the prescribed amount of time. “ Look at my buns ! They're completely ruined, “ she offered up a darkened tray, with the still slightly smoking, cremated remains, for a second opinion. Inspecting them, George gave his verdict, “ Sorry, my Dear. I'm afraid my diagnosis is… terminal. But, at least they died tastefully,” he said, picking one up and biting – carefully – into it. Angela, looked at him, her eyes beginning to tear up, then she suddenly tossed her buns onto the preparation, worktop, before consigning the redundant baking tray into the watery depths of the sink. “ If you were where you were supposed to be, instead of somewhere else . Then, this wouldn't of happened here, now. This is all your fault ! “ was the logical conclusion, a noticeably rising tremble in her voice, with a promise of hysteria close behind. George identified a rapid emotional response situation was developing – which consisted mainly of concentrated levels of listening, interspersed with reassuring pressing to the shoulder areas.}

_{As he stepped towards her, to perform his husbandry duty, he was met with a short, sharp slap on his upper arm, “ What do you think you're doing ? Never mind, you can explain yourself later. Right now, we've a lot to do, and some of our guests have arrived already “ Angela pointed out.}

_{“ WHAT ! That's a bit premature isn't it ? I thought the invitations we sent out, clearly stated an 8pm, arrival. I haven't even had a drink yet, and I definitely need a stiff one, before I can face them and everything else tonight ! George responded. “ Hey !If anyone around here deserves a stiff one, it's me ! I've been slaving away all day, to make this party a success. I've been dusting, washing, hovering, polishing, cooking, I moved all the furniture around in the living room, I recovered the cushions and I even puffed the pouffe ! I've virtually been on all fours, bent over backwards, so everyone will feel relaxed, comfortable and have a memorable time tonight ! So, you’d better give me one, right now !” Angela demanded. But, before he could raise a reply, the double sliding glass doors - that led into the main room – were suddenly pulled apart. “ Coooeee ! Only me ! Have you got room for a little one ? I was just wondering if either of you could do with a helping hand ? “ From the narrow opening, she had created, Lucinda thrust her head - closely followed by her ample breasts - through. George looked up towards heaven - for strength – as Lucinda, had clearly landed, and as custom demanded, he knew he was going to have to bite his tongue - as both of her questions were loaded with the usual irony, and if wrongly handled, the ramifications could be explosive !}

_{To be continued...}

For further installments - check out my blog...
lifeandfunnies.blogspot.com