A Wooden Heart free porn video

A Wooden Heart

    This tale is re-working of an old fairy story and no doubt you will soon recognise it as you read on.   *****   Prequel     Granny Fay knew when she was going to die. As a witch it was natural for her to know. Her family were aware that she knew, but she had never told them when it would happen. At least, not until her dying day, (which coincidentally fell upon All Hallows Eve).   To all concerned she seemed her usual self that day, still walking around the garden in the morning tending her herbs, still observing everything with her startlingly blue-eyed gaze.   The family were gathered together and informed. By the evening they had arranged the foodstuffs and drink for a ‘farewell’ party.   Close to midnight the old woman retired to her room. Once in bed, the relatives all trooped in and sat or stood around her, the eldest at the back and the youngest – her great grandchildren – at the front. She talked with them all, until finally she tired and closed her eyes to sleep. By the time that the birds began singing their dawn chorus her soft breathing had ceased.   Some of the men trooped out into the garden and made their way towards the far end, where a stile had been crafted out of wood. They stepped over it and began to clear an area of bracken not far from the wall they had just crossed. There they dug a grave for the beloved old woman.   Meanwhile, another group had made their way deeper into the woods in search of a small sapling. Granny had stressed that it must be an Elm tree. At least a dozen were rejected before they finally agreed on one. Then, using their shovels with care, they began to dig up the small tree. By the time they returned with the plant on the back of a handcart, the first group had finished their digging.   In the men’s absence the women had dressed and prepared the old woman and then laid her out in her coffin (one that she had purchased a few years earlier in readiness). Remarkably, nobody seemed distressed by her passing. Saddened, yes, but they were all happy that she had had a good life and in it had achieved a lot for the community. Her potions cured many a malady and her midwifery skills were a legend.   Although she hadn’t asked for it, someone asked for the pastor to attend. While he had never seen Sapphire Fay in his church, he was sure that she was a good and moral woman – even if, as rumour had it, she was a witch. He said a few words over the polished wooden box and it was then lowered into the ground. Every person there threw a handful of soil onto the lid, saying their own silent prayer as they did so.   Most of the earth was shovelled back into the hole before the Elm sapling was planted in it. The remaining soil was cast in before everyone took it in turns to tread the plant in. Six buckets of water were used to give the tree its first drink in its new home.   The tree grew big and strong – even surviving the outbreak of Dutch Elm disease that ravaged the country. In the early days, young men and women of the family would take their newlywed partners to introduce them to Granny (and maybe gain her approval). In later years the Elm became simply a place of quiet reflection for anyone who required it.   *****   Chapter 1     George had just celebrated his sixtieth birthday. Well, celebrated is possibly a strong word. He poured himself a drop of whisky in the evening, but otherwise it was a relatively normal day.   It occurred to the mildly successful sculptor that he should attempt one last major piece. He took his time deciding upon his subject, waiting to see what materials turned up. His preference was to work in wood. He made a reasonable amount of money, certainly enough to get by on. After all, he didn’t go out and he wasn’t interested in television. He didn’t even have a telephone as there was nobody for him to call.   George loved wood. He loved its natural beauty before he began to work on it and he loved its feel as it started to change its shape. He had continued working in the meantime, creating saleable pieces for many months before he found the material that he was really looking for.   The studio was situated alongside a forest. George often took walks in the dense woodland, sometimes finding small pieces of wood that he would take back and use at some stage. On this particular afternoon at the end of October, as he walked along the path dappled by the autumn sunshine filtering through the trees, he heard the unmistakeable sound of an axe. His curiosity aroused, he began to stroll in the general direction of the noise mindful of the possibility of danger.   The tree was at the edge of the forest, next to an old cottage. The property had recently been renovated and the new owners had moved in. When he approached, he saw Fred an ageing, local woodsman taking a rest.   “Hello Fred. How come you’re chopping down that Elm tree?”   “Branch fell off it last week,” he answered. “The missus in there said she didn’t think it was safe and wants it taken down.”   George looked at the tree, at the axe marks that were already scored deep into the wood. “I can’t see much wrong with that. It looks perfectly OK to me.”   “Yeah, well I’ve been told to take it down.” He picked up his axe and began to swing with powerful yet measured strokes. George watched, enjoying the easy manner in which Fred wielding the axe. As he watched, something began to stir within his mind. This could be the one. This could be the piece of wood he had been looking for.   When Fred took another break, George approached him and asked, “What are you going to do with the trunk?”   “I was going to get it down to the lumber mill. They’ll saw it up and kiln-dry it. I thought that they might like it. Maybe they could get a good price for it.”   “How about I take it off of you instead?” said George. “I think that I could do something interesting with it.”   Fred was well aware of George’s talents with wood and had even accepted one of his small carvings in lieu of payment for a favour in the past – a piece that he had been able to sell for a considerable amount. “Alright then, I’ll get it round to your place.”   Just then an old woman walked up the pathway towards them. It was Biddy Johnson, the local ‘historian’. She had no qualifications, nor much of an education, but knew (almost) everything about the past of the local area. As she neared them, they could see that her face was white. “What are you doing?” she whispered.   The two men looked at each other, looked at the tree and then looked back at Biddy. “I’m chopping down a tree,” Fred said simply.   “But you can’t,” she said, shocked. “Not that tree! It’s… its special! Didn’t you know that?”   “Special?” interrupted George. “How?”   Biddy’s voice was very low as she explained, “The tree is about three hundred years old. It was planted there especially. You see, this cottage used to belong to a witch. When she died, her family buried her just outside of the garden over there and then planted a tree above her grave. That’s a Witch’s Elm, that is. It’s supposed to be magical.”   Fred swallowed loudly. “Well Biddy, I’ve got my instructions from the new missus and it has to come down. So that’s that.”   Biddy merely sighed and shook her head. As she turned and walked away she muttered something about consequences, but neither of them could quite make it out.   A few days later Fred delivered the tree to George’s cottage. He had brought his two sons with him to help. The trunk was very heavy and required a lot of manoeuvring using blocks, tackle and wooden poles. Eventually they managed to get it into the studio, where it was laid on a collection of four stout saw horses. It stayed liked this, air drying for nearly twelve months until George considered it was ready. Fred’s sons came round to help him manoeuvre the log into the middle of his working area, in an upright position (having first levelled the base using a two-handed saw).   George spent days looking at it. He walked around and around, running his hand over the coarse bark. A shape was beginning to form in his mind’s eye. After a couple of weeks he started to strip the bark away, revealing the pale wood beneath. It was in perfect condition, with hardly a blemish. As he worked he talked constantly to the piece.   The artist took his time, spending almost as many hours sitting and looking at the piece, as he did working on it. Gradually it began to take shape. Excluding the base, it stood close to six feet three inches tall. The form was undoubtedly that of a man, but the features were still fairly vague. He scraped here and smoothed there. He ran his hand over the surface of his creation, sanding until the wood felt as though it could be almost soft and yielding.   It had taken almost over days to complete the area around the genitals. George had used the tiniest of tools. He stepped back once finished and took in the whole figure.   “Humph,” he exclaimed. “Out of proportion.” The penis was longer and thicker than looked natural. He hadn’t intended it to be that size in relation to the body. He sighed and put down his tools for the night. Next day he returned to the sculpture and began to carefully correct his error. When he finally stood away from it late into the evening he was satisfied.   George didn’t return to the studio until the following afternoon. When he looked at it he dropped his cup of coffee, which shattered on the tiled floor. He began to question his own memory, wondering if he had merely thought about changing the size of the cock, rather than actually altering it. But the minute shavings and sawdust were there on the floor where they had lain since he finished last night.   He considered many things, but in the end decided that he must have reduced the size, thought he had done enough and, fooled by tiredness finished and the went to bed. He started the process over again and slowly but carefully reworked the wood. When he stepped back, he made sure that he walked all round the piece, checking that he was finally happy with his masterpiece. He was. He went to bed.   George awoke with the dawn. For some reason he felt unsettled. He dressed quickly and walked downstairs and went straight into the studio. Sure enough, the handsome man stood where he had left him, but the penis was back to the size that it had been the day before – and the day before that.   Unnerved, George walked away, shutting the door behind. “OK, if that’s how big it’s going to be, who am I to argue?”   The next few days were spent checking and applying the very final touches. When he was satisfied, George began to mix his preferred finish – a concoction of beeswax, mineral oil and few other unusual ingredients. He painted the still warm liquid very thinly onto the surface and then, when it was dry, he gently buffed it to a satin-like sheen. He completed this task over the entire body three times until it took on the colour of lightly tanned skin.   It was a work of love which had taken just over nine months to complete. George walked away from his work without looking back at it. When he reached the other side of the studio he turned and gazed at the most beautiful object that he had ever seen. A lump rose to his throat as he reminded himself that it was of his own creation.   “You are truly magnificent,” he said.   “Thank you,” replied the wooden man.   *****   Chapter 2     George stood rooted to the spot. He came very close to losing control of his bladder and felt dizzy. He stared at the sculpture which appeared (naturally) to be unmoving. Did it speak? Did its mouth really move?   “You are a piece of wood,” he whispered. “You cannot speak and I cannot have heard you speak. Can I?” His question was rhetorical.   “No, father,” came the instant reply.   With a dry mouth and constricted throat, George felt that breathing was difficult. His heart felt as though it was hammering against his ribcage. He stepped closer and looked up into the face. The grain of the wood seemed to be fading and a translucent, skin-like quality was replacing it. The pupils of the eyes appeared to be taking on a darker hue, as did the lips. As he watched the inanimate object took on life.   The sculptor was more frightened than he had ever been in his life, yet he was fascinated at the same time. Various thoughts were running through his brain, he was mad, he was asleep and dreaming, he was awake and it was all real. How to decide?   Shock finally took over and his vision began to swim and the darkness narrowed his vision until his brain switched off and he passed into a faint.   Falling on a tiled floor will always hurt, possibly fatally. As George began to return from unconsciousness he felt confused, he knew that he was lying on the floor, but he felt comfortable. As he opened his eyes almost the first thing that entered his vision was the figure, standing on its base. He gradually thought about his surroundings and realised that his head was resting on a cushion from one of the chairs in the studio. A canvass picture cover was spread over him, keeping him warm.   George remained confused, wondering who had caught him, laid him down and propped his head on a cushion and then covered him. He decided that he must, indeed, be mad. Surprisingly, having reached this conclusion, he very quickly acknowledged this as a fact and simply accepted it.   “Are you alright now father?” asked the wooden man. “Would you like me to help you up?”   “Yes, please.”   The figure stepped from the plinth with a fluency of movement that belied the nature of its composition. He bent down beside George and pulled the cover aside. Placing his hands under the artist’s armpits he smoothly lifted him to his feet.   By now the figure had acquired human colouring and texture. The hair on its head, having been carefully carved until it gave the impression of individual strands, now moved in a natural way revealing a deep brown colour. George’s eyes moved down, taking in the powerful shoulders and chest. When the piece remained still it was a statue, but when movement was necessary the muscles moved beneath the surface.   George’s eyes wandered down past the stomach and came to rest on the area he had had so much trouble carving. The brown pubic hair framed what could only be described as the most perfect, most beautiful set of male genitalia that could possibly exist. He looked back up at the face.   “Why do you call me father?” he questioned.   The sculpture looked pensive for a moment. “Because you created me with your love and you gave a part of yourself to make me,” it said.   “How can you move?”   “Because the tree you made me from was magical. The witch Sapphire Fay in death gave part of herself to me also. She is my mother.”   “And how can you talk?”   “I don’t know, father. Perhaps I learned when you spoke to me as you made me.”   George was already accepting him as his son, but he needed a name. “I shall call you Peter, after my grandfather,” he said. “Peter Nocchia.”   He looked again at Peter’s lower abdomen. “But I think we will have to get you some clothes young man – although I don’t think that I have anything that will fit you.”   A thought occurred to George. “Will you need to sleep? Will you need a bed?”   “I would like a bed father, but I do not think that I need to sleep. Perhaps I can sit on the bed and learn to read. I would like to do that. It would be interesting.”   For the rest of that day and late into the evening George sat with Peter trying to teach him to read. He was clearly intelligent and learned quite quickly. When the artist went to bed, he showed his son to his own room and gave him four books to read. Each of these publications was about painters and sculptors, with many pictures of their works.   *****   Chapter 3   In the morning, George awoke. He lay very still, thinking. He knew that he had not been dreaming and that everything that had happened was real. He now had a son, who was in the bedroom next door. He arose and put on his bathrobe and walked out of the room. He paused in the act of placing his fingers on the handle of the second bedroom door and then withdrew it. Instead, he knocked on the wooden panel.   “Come in father,” said Peter.   George opened the door and walked in. The young man was lying on the bed with a book opened in front of him. He looked up at his father and said, “The pictures in these books are wonderful. There is so much beauty in the world.”   “Yes Peter, there is a lot of beauty in the world, but alas there is also ugliness,” he replied. “But we can discuss that later. Do you need to eat?”   “No father. I don’t think that I do.”   “I want you to stay in the house today. I’m going to go into town and find some clothes for you. Will you be alright?”   “May I read some more books?”   “Of course, Peter. You can read any of the books that I have.”   Later, George set off down the road. He had to catch the bus from the main road and needed to be sure that he caught the return two hours later, as this was the last one of the day.   The town itself was not exactly small, but neither was it large. There were a number of shops selling both men and women’s clothing, but he was appalled at the prices. He wasn’t exactly poor, but he would never permit himself to spend so much money. He walked along, feeling despondent until he reached one of the charity shops that had taken over many of the premises. He realised that this was where he could find what he needed. He hadn’t thought about Peter’s size at all, but he figured that he would need extra large in t-shirts and trousers.   He delved through the racks and found half a dozen shirts, then three pairs of trousers. He wasn’t worried about the waist size, just so long as it was big. After all, Peter could always wear a belt. What mattered was to ensure that the length was adequate. It was difficult to find what he wanted but he managed eventually.   Shoes were another matter. He guessed that Peter was probably a size 12, but there was only one pair large enough (and these were walking boots). He found a nice, warm-looking jacket and added it to his pile. Finally, before he left, he bought some second hand books, considering that his son would appreciate some more varied reading matter.   It was only as he sat on the bus on the way home that he realised that he hadn’t bought any underwear for Peter, but then wondered if there was any need. Come to that, he hadn’t thought about pyjamas either. Did he need them?   Peter was delighted with the clothes, but his father had to show him how to wear and fasten them. The boots were a little snug, but were otherwise perfect.   One of the books that George had purchased was a thick tome written upon the art of gardening. Peter was fascinated and sat reading it that evening. As the two made their way upstairs to bed he asked, “Father, can I try some gardening? I think it would be interesting.”   “Of course Peter. All of the tools are in the old shed at the bottom of the garden. Help yourself. But best leave it until tomorrow.”   As George prepared his breakfast next day, he watched Peter walk out of the back door and make his way down the path to the little wooden building. He bent into the shed and began to rummage around, eventually pulling out a fork. He then walked back to the overgrown vegetable patch and began to dig. The artist continued with his breakfast and then went out to his studio to look at his raw materials and perhaps start a new project.   It was lunchtime when he finally walked out to see what Peter had been up to. Standing, with his mouth open, he looked out onto a transfigured scene. The vegetable patch, which had for years remained unkempt and overgrown, had been totally cleared and was now freshly dug and turned over. The flower beds (Which George sometimes tended), were neatly hoed. The two apple trees had been trimmed back, as had the hedges. It was as if an army of gardeners had descended and renovated the entire plot. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the small lawn, which remained uncut – but not for long.   George found Peter tinkering with the old lawn mower. He had taken it to pieces, cleaned and sharpened it and was now putting it back together again.   “You’ve done a marvellous job Peter. How did you manage it?”   “I looked at the book and followed its advice. Is the garden satisfactory?”   “It’s probably never looked better. You have a real talent for gardening and plants.” George walked back indoors and wondered if Peter’s background had something to do with his ability.   Shortly after he had eaten his lunch, there was a knock at the front door.   “Hello George. I haven’t seen you for a while, so I thought that I’d pop by for a chat.” It was Mrs Overbury, a neighbour from further down the lane. She was a good looking woman in her mid-forties. Divorced three years ago, rumour had it she was looking for the second Mr Overbury (or whatever his name would be). The sculptor couldn’t believe that she would ever have been interested in him and consequently – unlike most men around – didn’t feel threatened.   They sat talking for a little while, general chit chat, the weather, the new people who had moved in on the other side of the wood. The entire time she seemed animated and distracted until, finally, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Now tell me George, who is that handsome hunk you have working in your garden?”   George was somewhat taken aback. Until now he was convinced that he had become mentally unstable and that it was only him that could see and hear Peter moving and talking. Clearly he was wrong if Milly could see him too.   He thought for a moment before answering, “His name is Peter. Peter Nocchia. He’s… my son.”   Millicent’s smile froze on her face, but her eyebrows betrayed her surprise. Her mind raced. She had never heard George mention a son, or even a liaison close enough to produce one. “Really? Where has he been hiding all this time?”   “He’s been… with his mother,” he replied carefully.   “And where is she?”   George shrugged, “Buried.” He hadn’t told a lie, had he?   There was a twinkle in her eye as Milly asked, “He’s such a good gardener. Would he be interested in working on mine? I’ll pay him well.”   “I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask him.”   They walked out into the garden, where Peter was just finishing the lawn. The garden looked immaculate.   “Peter, Mrs Overbury here would like to know if you would be able to do some work on her garden. How would you feel about that? She would pay you.”   “Pay me?” he asked. “For gardening?” He seemed confused.   “That’s right. You’re good at it and it could earn you some money for clothes and things.”   “I think I’d like to do more gardening father. It will be interesting.”   George escorted Milly back inside. “I’ll bring him along tomorrow morning at about ten o’clock, how’s that?”   “That will be great George. Thank you.”   *****   Chapter 4   “Good morning George. Hello Peter. Thanks for coming round.”   George left Peter with Milly. On the way there he had explained that when he finished working for Mrs Overbury he was to walk straight back home again.   Peter was shown the old outhouse where Milly’s garden tools were kept. The young man looked around the garden, apparently deciding what needed to be done and what to start with. He had brought a small bag of tools with him and opened it up to remove a sharpening stone. He then proceeded to sharpen each of the edged tools he found. When he had finished, he began work proper, starting with a seemingly vicious pruning of the rose bushes that had started to grow a little wild.   While Peter worked Milly watched from her upstairs window. He didn’t seem to work very fast, but he didn’t take a rest at all and so the work seemed to show an effect very quickly. Unfortunately, the garden wasn’t really what she was observing at the moment. Her eyes were on Peter. He was tall, strong and handsome and his body looked like that of an Adonis. She couldn’t help but admire how the muscles moved under his shirt – and his trousers! Oh, and she couldn’t help but notice that something substantial seemed to be down the front of them.   At midday, she walked out into the garden with a sandwich and a cold drink. She didn’t know if he drank alcohol – in fact she didn’t even know if he was old enough to drink, so she poured him a glass of lemonade. When she handed the tray to him he thanked her and put it to one side while he worked on.   The divorcee went back to watching, gradually becoming more and more turned on by thoughts about Peter’s body. What would it look like naked? Just how well endowed was he? Milly hadn’t had a man for many years. Prior to her divorce, she and her husband had slept separately for some time.   Without realising it, a hand had crept up to her breast and was squeezing it and teasing the nipple. She tried to tell herself to stop, but watched helplessly as her other hand slid up under her skirt. Her hand reached the top of her thigh and she fought to stop what was inevitable, her hand slid down under the waistband of her panties and pushed through her damp pubic hair. The touch of her finger on the hardened clitoris was like an electric shock. She gasped and slipped her middle finger further round. Her labia parted and she began slip the digit in and out.   Milly forced her eyes to remain open so that she could keep Peter in sight while she masturbated. She imagined all sorts of things, but in particular him taking her on the bed. Thrusting and plunging rapidly, not stopping, never pausing, keeping going until she finally reached her crescendo.   The woman’s knees buckled beneath her and she sank to the floor, where she sat panting.   A long time later, Milly managed to pull herself back to her feet. When she looked out of the window again Peter appeared to be putting the tools away, having finished his work for the day. She took a deep breath in order to compose herself and then began to walk downstairs.   “How has it been going?” she smiled.   “Pretty well. I need to do some more, but I promised my father that I wouldn’t be back too late. Can I come again and finish tomorrow?”   “Of course!” Milly tried to calm the excitement in her voice in order to continue, “I’ll expect you at ten o’clock.”   Peter smiled and walked away. When he arrived home his father asked how the work had gone. He explained that he was going to return the next day to complete his work. When he finished speaking, the young man looked puzzled.   “What’s wrong Peter?” he asked.   “She gave me food and drink.”   “Oh… What did you do?”   “When she wasn’t watching I threw the sandwich and drink away.”   “So why does that worry you?”   “She may offer me more tomorrow, but I may not have the opportunity to dispose of it. Do you think that I can eat and drink?”   George saw the problem. He also saw that this opened up a multitude of questions. Assuming that Peter could consume food and liquids, could he digest it? And if so, what happened then?   “Perhaps you could try drinking some water and then see what happens,” he suggested. “Then maybe we can progress from there.”   Peter looked at the glass of water that his father had fetched from the kitchen. He raised it to his lips and tipped some of the contents into his mouth. He did not have a swallow reflex, so the liquid followed gravity downwards. Nothing more seemed to happen, so he drank some more and continued doing so until the glass was empty.   “Well?” asked his father. Peter looked thoughtful for a moment, but then shrugged.   “I drink, but nothing more seems to happen. The liquid is no longer in my mouth, but it doesn’t seem to be inside me either.”   George gave Peter a slice of bread. “Try this. You’ll need to bite pieces off, chew them and then swallow them.”   Unlike walking and talking, eating did not come quite so naturally to Peter. Using his teeth was something that took a number of attempts to get right. It was the side-to-side grinding motion that was the trickiest to master. When it came time to swallow, he simply had no mechanism to help the food go down. George fetched him another glass of water, which he used to help push the food down his (for want of another word) throat.   There did not appear to be any ill-effects to the experiment, so George decided that Peter need not worry what would happen if Milly offered him food and drink again.   *****   Chapter 5   The next day, Peter set off down the lane to Milly’s house. He began working as soon as he arrived and didn’t pause until he had completed all of the tasks that had been left.   Mrs. Overbury had been watching from an upstairs window again. She realised that Peter had nearly finished, but didn’t want him to leave just yet. She struggled desperately to come up with a way to detain him.   Milly opened the door as Peter approached. “You’ve done a marvellous job Peter. Thank you. I’d better pay you for your work now, won’t you come in?”   The young man followed the woman down the passage into the kitchen. She motioned to him to sit down at the wooden table. “I expect you could do with a drink after all of your hard work?”   “That would be nice. Thank you.”   She poured him a glass of lemonade and placed it in front of him, then turned to pick up her handbag. She realised what she was doing, but couldn’t prevent herself from keeping her legs straight and bending from her waist as she grabbed the handles. She knew that her skirt would rise and that the material would pull tightly across the cheeks of her bum. She had no time to analyse what she was doing, but if she had, she would have had to admit to trying to tease him. When she rose and turned round she was disappointed to see that her actions appeared to have no effect.   Peter sat quietly sipping at his drink as Milly delved into her purse and retrieved some money. She passed it across to him and he took it. He seemed a little puzzled as to what to do with it at first, but then pushed the notes into his trousers pocket.   “Tell me Peter, are you any good at decorating?” she asked.   “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”   “Well, my window frames need a fresh coat of paint and Fred has broken his arm, so he can’t do it for me. He usually uses sandpaper to rub them down first and then puts on some gloss. I’ve got plenty of both. Would you be an angel and do them for me?”   “Yes, OK Milly. I think it would be interesting to learn how to paint.”   “Good. But I don’t want you to spoil your clothes. Why don’t you come upstairs with me and I’ll see if I can find some old things for you to wear.”   They walked into the master bedroom and Milly asked Peter to take down an old suitcase that was sitting on top of a tall wardrobe. “They’re the things my ex-husband left behind. I figure that as he hasn’t asked for them he doesn’t want them. He wasn’t as tall as you, but I think that they should do for decorating.”   Milly pulled out a checked, long-sleeved shirt and an old pair of corduroy trousers. She handed them to Peter, who placed them on a chair before removing his boots and socks. He then began to pull his t-shirt off. The woman watched carefully, drinking in the magnificent torso, feeling let down when he donned the loaned shirt. She stopped breathing when the young man unconcernedly began to unfasten his trousers. She was trying not to smirk and give away her pleasure, but when he pushed the garment down around his ankles she discovered that he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

If Millicent thought that Peter’s upper body was gorgeous, what she saw hanging between his legs, framed by the smoothly powerful thighs, made her mouth go dry, her legs go weak and her panties go suddenly very, very damp. Her face flushed and she turned away to hide her obvious reaction. However, immediately behind her stood the mirrored wardrobe and, having spun round she was now looking at the reflection of an almost naked man. Her libido suddenly exploded beyond her control.   The lust-driven woman turned back round and moved closer to Peter. “My, you are a big boy aren’t you?” she said. “Oh God how clichéd was that?” she thought.   “Tell me, do you always go commando?”   Peter stopped in the process of putting one leg into his trousers. He cocked his head to one side and said, “Go commando? I don’t understand.”   “It’s when you walk around without any underwear on. I must admit that from time to time I like to do it, especially when it’s a warm day. Do you think it’s warm today Peter?”   “Yes, I suppose it might be Milly.”   “If that’s the case, I suppose that I should really take these off.” She reached up under her skirt and tugged her panties down her legs. They were brief and lacy and she held them up to show him, before tossing them onto the bed.   “Would you like me to take anything else off Peter?”   Again, the young man cocked his head on one side and said, “I have wondered what a woman looks like underneath all of those clothes”.   “You want me to undress?”   “Yes, if you would like to do so.” Peter had let go of his trousers and stood up to watch Milly.   She slowly unbuttoned her blouse, deliberately taking her time in order to arouse Peter. She threw the garment onto the bed, where it lay covering her panties. Her hands then moved round to unfasten her heavily laden bra. One arm held the cups in place as the other removed the straps from her arms. With one hand now on each cup, she swivelled round revealing her bare back and then dangled the bra out to one side with her left hand. It too flew onto the bed.   When Milly turned back, her hands were caressing her breasts, playing with the nipples. They dropped down to her waist and began to unfasten her skirt, which then fell to the floor. She stepped out with one foot and, with a flick of the other sent it flying. She stood with her hands on her hips in a challenging pose. “Well, what do you think Peter?” she asked. To her chagrin, she noticed that there had been no physical reaction to her striptease. The head of his penis still pointed towards the floor.   “Yes,” he said. “That was very interesting. Thank you.”   Milly was crestfallen. Did he really find her that unattractive? She walked closer to him. Near enough that she could reach out and touch his dick. “Most men react when they see me naked,” she told him. “Not that many men have, of course!” she corrected.   “React? How?”   “Well… I would expect this to be standing to attention by now.” Peter looked down as Milly held his cock and pointed it upwards. She rubbed up and down its length a few times and then gasped at the rapidity with which it suddenly hardened and became erect – it was almost supernatural.   “Oh, Peter. I have never, ever seen anything like this before in my life.” She dropped down to her knees and used both hands to stroke and caress the shaft and testicles. She had never really liked giving head to her husband (or even her boyfriends before), but suddenly felt the urge to taste the young man. She extended her tongue and flicked it at the base, then ran it all the way up to the tip. The head looked shiny, almost polished and she opened her mouth to take it in. It wouldn’t go very far – it was much too thick and long. It took some time and quite a few attempts before she was able to get as much as the helmet past her lips.   The woman sucked and rubbed for some time while Peter watched. A sheen of sweat had begun to bathe her body. One of her hands dropped down between her legs. Finally, she lifted her head and looked up into his face. “I want you Peter. I want you now,” she breathed.   He didn’t know or understand what she meant and waited patiently as she rose to her feet and took him by the hand. She led him to the bed, where she encouraged him to climb on it and lay down on his back.   “I’m sure this isn’t going to be possible, but I’m damned well going to give it a try.” She swung a leg across and straddled Peter’s body. Taking hold of the penis, she positioned it at the entrance to her vagina. She knew she was wet and well lubricated, but she was concerned that his girth may make entry impossible. She pressed herself down, moving her body around to try and ease the enlarged head inside.   She was almost at the point of giving in, feeling exhausted by the effort, when her vagina suddenly relaxed and the shaft began its long penetration. Gradually, by gently moving up and down, the phallus moved deeper and deeper inside of her. Part of it was still visible when Milly felt she couldn’t take any more. Now she started to slide up and down the length. “Oh Peter, you’re so big. You’re filling me up.”   As she fucked Peter, Milly took hold of his hands and brought them up to her breasts. She demonstrated what she wanted him to do and then let him stroke and pinch the nipples. Perspiration was running down the contours of her body and her face was flushed. Her breathing was becoming rapid and shallow until a sudden gasp signalled the cessation of breathing for as much as twenty seconds, after which the woman, began grunting and moaning as she reached her orgasm.   Milly collapsed down upon Peter’s chest and almost passed out. She lay gasping for some time, before she found the energy to be able to lift herself off of him.   Peter, seeing that she was struggling, helped Milly to free herself. His penis relaxed and reduced, almost immediately and made withdrawal very much easier. The woman fell asleep in his arms.   “How interesting,” Peter said quietly.   *****   Chapter 6   No decorating was achieved that day. Peter returned home and told his father that he would be returning to Milly’s house tomorrow.   “Are you sure you can paint?”   “I don’t know. But Milly is happy for me to try.”   As Peter once again walked along the road, he noticed a sign pinned to some of the telegraph poles. It was advertising a Circus which was coming to the area. He wasn’t sure where it was due to be held, but he decided that it couldn’t be far away.   Further along, he saw a man stapling another poster. As he approached, the man turned and greeted him, “Hello young man. It’s a fine day isn’t it? Will you be going to the Circus? Its very good you know.”   Peter looked at the poster, which effectively gave him a good idea as to what a Circus was, animals, acrobats and clowns. “I don’t really know. I’ll have to ask my father.”   Something about the youth had sparked a light deep in the recesses of Joseph Cockcroft’s mind. There was something special about this… this being in front of him. Oh yes, he certainly knew that Peter wasn’t a normal person. He just wasn’t sure exactly what he was yet.   Joe reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “Here,” he said. “Have a pair of complimentary tickets. Bring your father along.”   “Thank you,” said Peter. “That’s very kind of you.”   The young man walked on along the lane and Joe watched him as he walked. He still wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but his instincts were telling him that wood had something to do with it. The showman kept his secret from others, but he was descended from wizards. He used his powers sparingly and usually to make a profit. He left the fortune telling to the old woman who was his mother, but he portrayed himself as a medium and organised séances to contact ‘the lost ones’ as he put it. His real talent was in being able to take advantage of people. Oh, he could read something in a face and understand so much more than anybody else from a look, or a timid smile. But he could no more talk to the deceased than you or I.   Milly was sitting watching for Peter when she saw him walk around the bend in the road. Yesterday was the experience of a lifetime and, although she was a little sore, she was desperately trying to stop herself from thinking about the possibilities of another such romp on the bed. Yet, so much pleasure did she gain, that she hadn’t even noticed that her partner had taken none.   She opened the door as Peter walked up the path. “Hello. Are you ready to do some decorating?”   “Yes, I’ve been looking forward to it.”   The divorcee had donned an old boiler suit prior to Peter’s arrival. Clearly she was expecting to work with him. The suit may have been aged, but to the trained eye it looked flattering on Milly. It was probably highly fashionable back in the 1980s, when she had bought it, but by now she filled it much more effectively. That trained eye would also have deduced that she was not wearing any underwear beneath.   Milly showed Peter upstairs and gave him the same clothes she had offered yesterday. This time, however, she turned and walked out of the room to allow him to change in private.   Most of the morning was spent in carefully rubbing down the window frames with sandpaper. Peter, once he got the hang of it, worked very quickly. He simply didn’t seem to tire. When the downstairs windows were finished and had been cleaned of any residue, Milly showed him where she kept a ladder in order to reach the upper windows.   The bedroom windows weren’t very high, but Milly though it only right that she held the ladder for Peter. She particularly enjoyed the closeness as he made his way up and down the rungs.   They finished the sanding and stopped for lunch at about 1pm. The work had been warm and Milly had gradually pulled the zip on her boiler suit lower in order to aid cooling. By the time they reached the kitchen, she was showing a large amount of cleavage.   “So, what do you fancy? A cheese-salad sandwich? How about a beer?”   “Yes, thank you.” Peter sat on a stool and Milly fetched a beer from the fridge. She opened it and handed the bottle to him. He began to sip the liquid while he watched her prepare the food. He had noticed that her garment had been unzipped as she got warmer and now wondered if he should undo a few buttons himself. He didn’t feel the heat in the same way – indeed the warmth of the sun on his body energised him. He unfastened the shirt to about half way. Milly noticed and, although she was trying not to be obvious, was drinking in the sight of his firm muscles. She began to feel warm, in a very special way.   Lunch continued in pleasant conversation, mostly from Milly’s side. Peter mostly asked questions and listened carefully to the answers. Although 45, she felt like a schoolgirl again and realised that she was gabbling. It seemed a sensible idea to get back to work.   Milly showed Peter how to use the brush, how not to put too much paint on at a time and how to stroke gently. He quickly understood and worked quickly. Whereas Jim would normally take at least two days, he was going to be finished in single one.   When he had finished, Milly took him into the kitchen and explained how the brushes should be cleaned and stored. She told him that she had been shown how to do this by her father and had never forgotten it. “In fact,” she told him. “I would do all of the painting myself if it wasn’t for the ladders.”   The boiler suit had been zipped back up to a more modest level while they were outside, but once they came inside it started to descend. By the time she had closed the cupboard on the paints and brushes the gap was revealing her navel.   “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a shower.” She thought for a moment, seeing but not understanding that Peter appeared not to perspire at all. Indeed, from what she recalled of last night, he had only a faint aroma of… what? She wasn’t sure. A slight hint of oil mixed with something else? But no real body smell. She shook herself out her reverie. “Come on,” she said.   In the bathroom, Milly opened the door to the large shower compartment and turned it on. It was already set to the temperature she liked, so she shut the door and allowed it to reach the correct heat. Turning to face Peter, she smiled a naughty sort of smile and unzipped her boiler suit the rest of the way. She shrugged the garment off of her shoulders and pulled her arms out. The garment dropped towards her ankles, where she shuffled her feet and kicked it off. “Are you going to join me?”   She stepped into the shower and manoeuvred under the oversized shower head. Peter watched for a moment and then undressed. He didn’t know what effect a shower would have on his body, but he thought it would be interesting to find out.   The shower door opened and Peter stepped in. There was plenty of room for both of them.   “Here,” she said, handing him a bottle of shower gel. You can do my back for me.” Peter had been watching Milly soaping and massaging the suds into her breasts. He squeezed some of the liquid onto his hand and she turned away from him so that he could begin. He started at her shoulders and gradually worked down. Milly shivered slightly at his touch and her breathing came in short gasps. He reached the top of her cheeks and because she hadn’t told him otherwise continued.   Her feet shuffled apart and she bent slightly forward as Peter stroked her bottom. As his hand slipped into the crack, Milly bent even further forward, allowing his fingers travel further round between her legs. He understood that she was enjoying this, but he had not finished washing her, so he continued down her legs until he reached her feet.   Milly turned back to face him. “Stand up,” she ordered. “Now wash my front. And take your time.” This was almost in a whisper.   Peter did as he was told. He found it difficult as Milly was beginning to writhe a lot. As he neared her pussy, she opened her eyes and looked straight into his. That bit needs a lot of washing. Make sure you do it properly. Don’t stop until I tell you otherwise.”   His hand stroked down and round between her legs. One of her hands flew up onto his shoulder to stabilise herself. The other rested on top of Peter’s and guided it to where she wanted. As he rubbed, her legs parted more and she began to moan. “Push a finger into me,” she groaned. “That’s it, finger fuck me.” She guided his digit it in and out of her vagina, while the palm of his hand rubbed across her clitoris. Eventually, her second hand flew up onto his other shoulder and she held on tightly to prevent herself falling to the floor as she came. Peter slowed his pace and finally removed his finger.   It took a couple of minutes for the woman to recover. While she did, Peter took the opportunity to study her body closely. He was fascinated by the way the water formed in droplets on the skin and then ran downwards. The hair looked thick, but was made up of thousands of thin strands. The way the flesh moved about under his touch. All this was imply amazing.   They stepped out of the shower and towelled each other down. When they were dry, she asked him, “Is there anything you would like?” She was somewhat taken aback by his reply.   “No thank you very much. It’s been a very pleasant day, but I think that I should be getting back to my father now. It’s getting late.”   Milly couldn’t understand. “Why doesn’t he want to fuck me?” she thought. “Or at least let me give him a blow job?”   She watched him dress in his own clothes and then, because he thought it was the right thing to do, he walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for having me, Milly. Goodbye”. He turned and walked out of the door and the house.   *****   Chapter 7   “Can we go please, father? I think I would like that. It would be interesting.”   “Well, I haven’t been to the Circus for forty years or more. I suppose it would make a nice change. Why not?” said George.   Later that evening the two men set off for the field on the other side of the village, where the circus tents had been set up. It took them about an hour to get there and it was already dark, so the bright lights could be seen from some distance away. Fortunately, they had brought a torch with them, although Peter didn’t appear to need artificial light. His eyes seemed to work as well at night as they did during the day.   As they neared the Big Top, they found themselves walking along with crowds of local people. A car park had been made out of a neighbouring field and even more people were heading from that direction.   Joe had been watching the arriving customers carefully and smiled when he saw the tall figure of Peter. He had been thinking about the young ‘man’ and had plans for him. But that was for later, now he had to put on a show that would make him want to run away with the circus.   George and his son sat in one of the front rows, right by the ring. Peter was impressed by the way that the enormous tent was held up and kept looking at the mechanics of it. Just inside the ring was a circular cage, reaching up to a height of four metres. Leading from a curtained entrance at the side of the canvass, was a metal tunnel which was connected to the cage. There were a number of round boxes positioned inside of the construction.   Suddenly, the lights dimmed and there was an elongated drum roll which came from a band area somewhere above the curtained entrance. A spotlight switched on and there in the centre of the ring, illuminated by the beam, stood Joe the Ring Master. Dressed in a black top hat, long frock coat with tails, a red waistcoat and white trousers, he looked a commanding figure. His moustache was the finishing touch (which he hadn’t been wearing when Peter saw him last).   “Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls,” he began. “Welcome to the Circus! Tonight we have an amazing range of entertainment for you. Please feel free to clap and cheer as much as you like!”   The audience dutifully applauded his opening speech. “And now, on with the show! Direct from the jungles of Africa , comes Alfredo and his assistant Jenny!”   The spotlight was extinguished and some movement could be perceived, but not seen. Then the lights came up and where Joe had stood was now a man in riding boots, jodhpurs and an ornate jacket covered in delicate braid and polished brass buttons. In one hand he held a riding whip, in the other was a wooden chair. The man strutted around inside the cage cracking the long leather implement.   So impressive was his presence, that at first nobody noticed his assistant standing in the corner. When he introduced her she stepped out from the shadows into the bright lights. She appeared to be wearing very little in the way of clothing. In essence, she wore a thong bikini over a nylon body stocking. Her hair was piled up, with a sparkling tiara wrapped around it. The costume itself was covered in sequins and coruscated as she walked. When Jenny turned, she revealed a shapely and firm bottom. Intriguingly, a seam ran up the back of both legs and disappeared beneath the brief waistband.   With a slight scraping sound, the cage doors at the ends of the tunnel were lifted and the lions came loping into the ring. The lion tamer gave indecipherable commands accompanied by cracks of the whip and the animals obediently arranged themselves on the round boxes. He walked to each of them and caused them to sit up on their haunches, with their forepaws held up as if they were a begging dog. The male was teased a little, making him roar his disapproval, but still he remained where he had been sent.   The show continued, with various lions leaving their box and performing. Then came the finale, Jenny stood between the two tallest boxes holding a large ring. As if by magic, it suddenly became a circle of fire. One by one each of the lions leapt through the flames. As they finished they immediately made their way back out through the tunnel.   Alfredo and Jenny took their bows. As circus hands began dismantling the cage they walked away from the ring the clowns came out to entertain. Peter was intrigued to see how their antics made everyone laugh. Even his father beside him was chuckling. There appeared to be lots of water, foam and trickery involved. At one point a clown had been drenched by a bucket. He then picked up another container and chased his assailant. When he threw the contents the other clown ducked and seemed as though the audience were going to be soaked. But the bucket was empty save for confetti. The audience roared.   The evening went quickly. Tumblers, jugglers, acrobats, more clowns, dogs and horses all took their turns. The women were invariably scantily clad, but the men remained pretty much fully clothed. Peter found this discrepancy interesting and wondered why it was.   As the show was beginning to wind up and all of the performers were coming on for a last bow, somebody tapped Peter on the shoulder and passed him an envelope. It was Jenny. She was still wearing her costume, but had put a robe over the top. “The Ring Master asked me to give you this,” she said, then walked away quickly.   “What’s that?” asked George.   “I don’t know. Jenny just gave it to me. It’s from the Ring Master.”   “Well, you’d better open it and find out what it’s about.”   The short note inside was hand-written by Joe and invited Peter to come back to the Circus the next day, where he would be shown ‘behind the scenes’.   As the two walked back home along the darkened lane, George said to Peter, “I can’t imagine why you would want to go there again tomorrow. What you saw in the ring is the best part. The sideshows are just a way of grabbing people’s money. In reality most of it is a messy hard job. I wouldn’t bother going if I were you.”   Peter didn’t want to upset his father by disobeying him, but he hadn’t actually forbade him from going, had he? So, the following afternoon, when George was busy working on a new sculpture, he set off. He figured that he would get there and back quicker if he ran, so he loped along at a seemingly impossible pace. He slowed to a walk as he neared the big tent. He hadn’t seen the sideshows last night in the dark, but now he could see that there were various stalls where people could test their skills and luck. There was a small queue at one enclosed booth, where the sign read, ‘Madame Dumont – Fortune Teller’.   Walking past the various caravans that the members of the Circus lived in, he eventually came to the one that he had been directed to in the note. He knocked on the door and waited. He heard a muffled profanity and then sensed some movement inside. The door opened outwards and the bulk of Joe filled it, a scowl upon his face.   As soon as he recognised Peter, his manner changed. “Ah, welcome! He bellowed. Come along inside Young man!”   Peter followed him inside. To his surprise, he came face to face with Jenny. She looked flushed and appeared to be finishing putting her clothes on. As she walked out of the door Joe called after her, “Keep it warm for me, I’ll see you later!” As she walked away, a pair of panties dropped out of her pocket and fell into the mud.   Joe offered his guest a cup of coffee. He accepted and sat sipping it while they talked. The questions that Joe asked were more about what Peter would like to do with his life, rather than what had gone before. Somehow the showman seemed to known that there wasn’t much to his past.   “I want to learn,” he said. “I’m interested in knowing… everything. I want to see the world.”   “Ah, well you’ve come to the right place young man. Travel and opportunity are yours when you join the Circus.”   “But there isn’t anything I can do. I can’t tame lions, or juggle, or anything like that. Wouldn’t I need to earn some money for my keep?”   “Oh, I’m sure that there are plenty of things that you could do. I get the feeling that you could probably do most of the jobs in the show – including mine!”   The tour showed Peter where the animals were kept and how they moved them into the ring for each of the shows. He was introduced to many of the shows participants. The queue outside the fortune tellers booth had, for now, petered out and the old woman had put up her ‘Gone for Tea’ sign.   When she took Peter’s hand to shake it she froze and looked down. A dark frown crossed her face and she quickly let go. She stumbled a few steps backwards and put her fist to her mouth. She looked terrified and crossed herself, then turned and hurried away.   Joe smiled, pleased that his mother had seen in the boy what he had. “Don’t worry about her lad. It’s the nature of her work. It makes her very nervous.”   They talked as they walked back towards the road. “It really will be an exciting opportunity for you Peter. You can travel with us, learn all about the Circus, meet people, see wonderful things. You can save all of your money and take it home to your father when you’ve had enough.”   By the time Peter arrived home (having run all the way again) it was getting late, but his father had been so tied up in his work that he hadn’t even noticed his son’s absence.   *****   Chapter 8   Throughout the next day Peter considered the offer that Joe had made. He hadn’t told George about it and by the things he had already said, he knew his father would not approve. But he wanted to find out about the world out there. The limited number of books that he had read had opened his eyes and made him aware that there was so much more to know.   He made a decision, he would leave the house early, before George arose and would leave a note explaining where he was going. Joe had told him that the Circus would be packing up overnight and leaving early the next morning and that if he wanted to go with them he would need to be ready by 7am.   Peter propped the letter on the table near the front door. Unfortunately, as he opened it to leave, a freak gust of wind blew in and flipped the envelope against the wall, where it fell down behind the table and lay out of sight.   When he arrived at the field, almost all of the equipment was dismantled and stowed on the trucks. There was a little bit of heavy lifting remaining, so Joe asked Peter to help. The other crewmen, strong and experienced, were impressed by the ease with which he picked up and carried heavy objects.   Joe invited the young man to travel with him in his Range Rover (which he used to tow his caravan). This was the first vehicle off of the site and the rest of the vehicles followed in convoy. “Where are we going?” asked Peter as they set off.   “Well, this was the last venue in this region. We normally arrive in an area and set up about six sites over two months, then move towards the opposite end of the country to start all over again. Generally speaking, we do South East, North West , Central, South West and then North East. That’s where we’re headed now. We don’t move very fast, so the journey is probably going to take about seven hours. We won’t open until the end of the week, which will give us a chance to get posters out.”   Peter had never actually seen a map, so he had no idea of where the North East was. But he could understand the concept of time and, having now experience the speed of the vehicle, he could comprehend the distance.   After a few hours of travelling the convoy stopped at a service area. All of the vehicles pulled into the truck stop area. Some of the crew checked on the animals, one opened the front of a vehicle to check the water level in the radiator. The remainder made their way into the ‘greasy spoon’ style café, where Joe introduced Peter to a full English breakfast. The meal was large and Peter needed three giant cups of tea to push it down. By now he was used to the idea that the food and drink went down and then simply ceased to exist, but others were surprised when he didn’t seem to need a toilet break – especially after the amount he had consumed.   When they returned to the vehicles, Joe stopped and called to Jenny, “Hey girlie, come and ride with us and keep us company.” She looked reluctant, but altered course and made her way to the Range Rover. “This is Peter Nocchia, he’s joining us. Peter, this is Jenny Cricket.”   They all climbed into the car, Joe indicating that Peter should sit in the back, so that Jenny could sit next to the driver. Once more the convoy hit the road.   Not long after they were back on the motorway, Joe turned and looked at Jenny with a wicked grin. “So how are you feeling today Jenny? Horny? You certainly were yesterday afternoon.”   The young woman flushed, but didn’t answer. Joe laughed, “Hah! I but you are as well. Let’s find out shall we?” He reached across and grabbed at the button at the top of her jeans. He tugged it undone and then pulled the zip down. Jenny grimaced, but didn’t object as his hand pushed down inside her panties. She opened her legs without having to be told.   “Just as I thought, you’re sopping wet again. Has Alfredo been playing with you in the truck, eh? Has he been slipping a finger up you? Like this?” Jenny gasped as Joe’s digit forced its way up inside her. He moved it in and out of her for a while until, sensing that she was getting close, he pulled it back out and concentrated on her hardened clitoris. She began to writhe as an orgasm racked her body and moaning sounds escaped her lips.   When Joe removed his hand Jenny quickly re-fastened her jeans.   Joe looked at Peter in the driving mirror and said, “How about that eh? She is such a horny little bitch.”   The convoy drove on for another two hours before stopping again. This was a relatively short stop, mainly to allow people to visit the toilets. Peter decided that perhaps he should go along with everyone else. Fortunately, he naturally assumed that he should follow the men. Inside, he observed most of them walking up to the porcelain urinals, whilst some of them made their way into the cubicles. He stood and unzipped his trousers as the others had done. When they pulled their penises out, he observed a stream of golden liquid pouring into the bowl from them. Of course, nothing emitted from his own, but everybody was studiously staring straight ahead at the wall and didn’t notice.   Back at the car, Joe and Jenny were already waiting for him. He climbed into the back seat, but once he had sat down Jenny joined him. She smiled shyly at him.   Back on the road, Joe looked in the mirror at Peter again. “So, tell me Peter, how much experience do you have with women?”   “Experience? What do you mean?”   “I mean, have you had a woman? You know, sex.” Peter still looked uncertain. “Have you fucked?”   Peter recognised that word. Milly had used it. “Oh, yes,” he replied honestly.   “Good. Did you enjoy it?”   Peter thought about the question for a moment. He still had no concept of emotions and therefore the word ‘enjoy’ had little meaning for him. However, on this occasion he interpreted it this way, he learned something new, he always wanted to learn, he was therefore satisfied. “Yes,” he said.   “I’m pleased to hear that Peter. You see I’ve had a great idea how you can earn a living with us. When we travel around the country we come across a lot of lonely women. I think that you will be able to provide a service as an escort.”   “What’s an escort?” Peter asked.   “Well, you might have to dress smartly and accompany the lady. You might go to the theatre or a cinema, or a dance, or just out for a meal. And afterwards she might want you to take her home and keep her amused for a while.”   It sounded and interesting job, but it raised one question, “How do I keep her amused?”   “Ah, I’m glad you asked that. Jenny here is going to help to educate you in that department.”   Peter looked across at her, but she didn’t look back. He got the impression that Joe had already talked to her about his ‘education’ – whatever that meant.   “No time like the present, as they say Jenny. Why don’t you two get to work in the back there?”   Jenny had been looking out of the heavily tinted window until now. Still she didn’t speak, but she unfastened her seatbelt and turned towards Peter. She moved closer and put her hands up to gently hold h