JUST GOOD FRIENDS?

Was there something sinister about Lewis Carroll's fixation with seven-year-old Alice Liddell? Not necessarily, says Katie Roiphe. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Still-She-Haunts-Katie-Roiphe/dp/0747265585

The Guardian, Monday 29 October 2001

It is true that the Reverend Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, otherwise known as Lewis Carroll, author of the inimitable classics Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass, liked little girls. Or, as he once wrote: "I am fond of children (except boys)." He took exquisite, melancholy photographs of little girls. He befriended little girls on trains, and beaches, and in the houses of friends. And one particular little girl, Alice Liddell, came to be his muse and great passion.

Unfortunately for Dodgson, the 21st century does not look kindly on a single man who is beguiled by seven-year-olds. Feminist critics have darkly suggested that Dodgson was a paedophile. They have condemned the beautiful photographs he took and objected to his objectification of the immature female body, and read all sorts of rapacious nonsense into the Alice books.

At the other extreme, many of Dodgson's defenders have protested too much. They have attempted to argue that he was utterly without feelings for little girls. One of his early biographers wrote, "There is no evidence that he felt or inspired any pangs of tender passion", when of course there was an abundance of evidence that he did. His defenders tend to portray him as a shy, stuttering bachelor with a fondness for children that may as well have been a fondness for stamps or porcelain puppies.

Is it possible that neither view of him is correct - that he was neither the child molester nor the pure, white-haired reverend? It is possible that our crude categories, our black and white views of romantic feeling, cannot contain someone like Dodgson. It is almost impossible for us to contemplate a man who falls in love with little girls without wanting to put him in prison. The subtleties, for those of us still mired in the paranoia’s of the 20th century, are hard to grasp. When one thinks of a paedophile, one thinks of a lustful, over-the-top, drooling Nabokov love, but that is not Lewis Carroll. His love was more delicate and tortured and elusive; his warmth, his strange, terrified passion, more intricate and complicated than anything encompassed by a single word.

Dodgson's affection for what he called his "child friends" was always mingled with a vague yearning. He wrote to one 10-year-old girl, "Extra thanks and kisses for the lock of hair. I have kissed it several times - for want of having you to kiss, you know, even hair is better than nothing." This is typical of his correspondence. He converted whatever his feelings were into the whimsical, quasi-romantic banter that eventually made its way into the Alice books. He wrote to one mother of a potential visit with her daughter, "And would it be de rigueur that there should be a third to dinner? Tête à tête is so much the nicest."

There was a romantic intensity to the friendships that Dodgson struck up with children, a hint of hunger, of never quite getting enough. This was especially true of his relationship with Alice. There was always a sense that he wanted more of her. And yet, can we really blame him for that - as long as he didn't act on his feelings? If he turned himself inside out, turned the world inside out with his powerful imagination, in order to avoid them?

He was not alone in his obsession. The era seemed to breed a certain type of neurasthenic man who had a well-developed and intellectually complicated disdain for overt physicality and who found himself drawn to pre-teens.

Take John Ruskin. He also fell under the spell of an Alice, among other young girls he encountered. One particular street urchin whom he glimpsed in Italy made a big impression on him. It is one of the paradoxes of Victorian culture that the sentimentality, the frilly, sugar-sweet view of the child often coexisted with darker sexual urges; that they fed each other, and the squeamishness about sex led to a perverse attraction to anything innocent and pure. Children were safe, and in their safety, certain thoughts - dirty, sensual thoughts - were allowed to flourish.

It is almost impossible to claim that Dodgson was drawn to little girls on a purely spiritual plane. His deep aesthetic appreciation of their physical presence was too conspicuous. He wrote to Gertrude Thomson, an artist who sketched girlish fairies and nymphs, "I confess I do not admire naked boys in pictures. They always seem... to need clothes, whereas one hardly sees why the lovely forms of girls should ever be covered up."

It's clear, then, that Dodgson had a submerged erotic fascination with the nubile female form. But what to make of it? What if he did love children, and in that love was a sexual element? What if he admired the bodies of little girls and never touched one? There is no doubt that he was tormented by what he called "the inclinations of my sinful heart". Even his mathematical writings were marked by his struggle. In the introduction to Curiosa Mathematica, Part II, he wrote that fixing one's mind on mathematics as one lay in bed could ward off "unholy thoughts, which torture with their hateful presence, the fancy that would fain be pure". Strong language for a book about trigonometry.

The picture we get of is of a man afraid of his own dreams, struggling for command over himself. In one of his most charming analyses, the biographer Morton Cohen actually charted Dodgson's moments of greatest torment and insomnia in his diaries and found that they correlated to the days on which he saw Alice.

But Dodgson's response to any heightened agitation he felt with children was this: he sat with Alice in a boat gliding along the glittering river and made up stories, the more outlandish the better. His feelings rhymed and punned themselves into expression. He chatted her up with the manic energy of Wonderland. His frustration, his alienation, blossomed into the caterpillar at the hookah and Humpty Dumpty and the Mad Hatter. He channelled his devotion into a wild and lovely literary universe; his imagination so dangerous and inflamed, it fled the real world. He called the Alice books a "love-gift". And because this love is unrequited, because it is impossible, ethereal, because he cannot allow himself to fully feel it, there is a hint of sadness. As he puts it, "a shadow of a sigh" trembles through the story.

To me, there is a nobility in a self-restraint so forceful that it spews out stuttering tortoises and talking chess pieces rather than focus on the matter at hand. There is something touching about a man who fights the hardest fight in the world: his own desire.

You can feel the loneliness on the page. You can feel the longing in the photographs. You can witness the self-contempt in his diaries. How can one not feel sympathy for a man who writes in his diary, "I pray to God to give me a new heart", but is stuck, in spite of his astonishing powers of invention, his brilliance, his immortal wit, with the one he has.

He had impure thoughts, yes. What matters, in the end, is what he did with them.

Katie Roiphe's novel about Lewis Carroll and Alice Liddell, “Still She Haunts Me”, is available at Amazon.co.uk 

And at Amazon.com

AGES OF SIN; N.J.WINNINGTON

Ages of Sin

A collection of short Erotic stories exploring age differences as a theme.

By

N.J. Winnington

Copyright N. J Winnington © 2013

All rights reserved.

The Author

By N.J.Winnington

Felicity was the picture of respectability, 64 years old and living in a quaint Staffordshire village. The most shocking thing so far as her chattering neighbours were concerned was her divorce from Rodney, but her cheerful demeanour meant she was popular in the village, and very much involved with the local Women’s Institute, organising their book club and being very active with the flower arranging group for the local church.

Behind the respectable veneer though lay some secrets. She had a healthy collection of sex toys, and was an avid reader of erotic literature. Deep down she harboured a desire to experience some of the adventures she read about, but assumed such excitement was restricted to younger women.

“Why don’t we invite an author to read for us and sign some books?” Barbara asked at the end of their weekly book club meeting.

“Oh yes!” Jane agreed enthusiastically, “that would be wonderful!”

“We could raise some money for the church roof by having them do a book signing too!” added Margaret.

“It does sound like a good idea,” Felicity conceded, “but we probably wouldn’t be able to get a big name,” she cautioned.

“It’s worth a try,” Barbara said, warming even more to her idea with the positive reaction from her peers.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Felicity promised as the chattery women filed out of her cottage.

Several calls to publishers and authors agents drew a blank. A little village WI didn’t offer much commercial attraction to them, and Felicity felt a mixture of disappointment and guilt for letting the other women and the church down.

She had been following a few authors on Twitter, and it occurred to her in a moment of inspiration to contact an author directly. She had nothing to lose and over several evenings she got chatting online to some of the friendlier authors she had encountered.

Jack Dawson had been thrust into the public spotlight when his ex wife, a former model, had appeared on a reality TV series and embarked on an affair with an ex soap star who collected married women like trophies before moving on. The scandal made her a bit of a hate figure and the divorce had brought Jack a degree of sympathy although the fame waned as the public moved on to the next celebrity scandal.

His first novel was written during the media frenzy and his efforts to get an agent and publisher had fallen through because he wasn’t regarded as a commercially attractive prospect after the story broke in the press about his threesome with two young models which one of them sold to the press to help her own desire for fame. The story about some extremely kinky sex, and a sex tape finding its way on to the internet had made any chances of being taken seriously by a publisher a non starter.

The solution was to publish his novels through Createspace and Kindle, both branches of the Amazon Empire. He had to do his own promotion, but his brief flirtation with celebrity status meant he got a lot of followers on Twitter. Yet without the backing of an agent and publisher opportunities to do book signings were few and far between, so the online conversation with Felicity, and the good cause appealed to him.

“Oh that’s wonderful news!” Margaret responded upon hearing the news at the next book club meeting.

“Yes,” agreed Barbara, “Well done Felicity!”

“What kind of novel has he written?” enquired Jane.

“It’s a spy thriller,” Felicity explained, “I took the liberty of ordering some copies for the book club.”

“Good idea!” Barbara cooed.

“He has a bit of a reputation,” cautioned one of the younger women.

“What do you mean?” asked Jane nervously

“Well he was in a sex scandal with two teenage models!”

“Oh my!” Jane worried, “I’d better keep my Nikki away!”

“Nikki is only 13!” Barbara retorted, “I’m sure those models were older than that!”

“Well done Felicity,” Margaret repeated, trying to change the subject from sex scandals.

It was agreed they would contact the local newspaper and make posters to promote the event, while Felicity would be left to arrange accommodation for the author and for everything to run smoothly.

“I was thinking of inviting him to stay at my cottage,” Felicity ventured.

“That’s a good idea,” Margaret agreed, “We could bring some cakes and give him a taste of village home cooking.”

“That’s a splendid idea!” Barbara beamed, being the organiser of the WI baking activities for local fetes etc… and so the women busied themselves preparing for the visit of their celebrity author, and Felicity gradually got to know him through their conversations on the internet.

Barbara and the others did a splendid job of putting posters up in their own village, and all the villages between there and town. The local newspaper welcomed having a story more interesting than the usual fare and the day drew closer, leading Barbara into full on control mode organising baking on an almost industrial scale.

Felicity decided to escape the madness for a few minutes and sneaked outside the village hall for some air, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. She deftly flicked a fire-stick out and was just putting it to her lips when a voice from behind almost made her jump out of her skin!

“That’s a dirty little habit, if you don’t mind me saying so, Felicity!” Barbara retorted.

Felicity DID mind, but doubted saying so would make a difference.

“I just popped out for a few minutes,” she responded.

“There will be fairy cakes and tea available for the visitors coming to the book signing,” Barbara announced triumphantly, “and Margaret is making one of her famous steak and ale pies to bring to your house for Mr Dawson’s reception and I will do a Victoria sponge cake!”

“…Very nice!” Felicity responded, trying once more to put a cigarette to her lips.

“You won’t be doing THAT in front of Mr Dawson I hope!”

“I thought I’d do a fan dance instead!”

Barbara didn’t flinch, so whether Felicity’s sarcastic answer had registered couldn’t be ascertained. She just turned on her heels and went back inside to take charge as the janitor put up bunting and decorations with the middle aged women cooing around him and being as indecisive as ever.

The day arrived, and Barbara, along with Margaret had invaded Felicity’s home ready to greet Jack Dawson on his arrival. Margaret cooed as the Mercedes drew up on the driveway, a benefit of the reality TV money that briefly enriched its owner, and it pulled up alongside Felicity’s more modest VW Polo on the gravel.

Felicity stepped outside flanked by Barbara and Margaret, looking for all the World like a middle aged female heavy mob, albeit clothed in a hand knitted beige sweater in Margaret’s case. Barbara’s navy blue suit seemed to be straight out of the wardrobe of her heroine Margaret Thatcher, while Felicity in a lemon blouse and brown skirt provided a compromise between the two.

The Mercedes door swung open, and Barbara’s face dropped visibly as a leg clad in tatty jeans and a trainer, rather than a polished shoe touched down on the gravel drive. The man in his early forties was attractive, in a rugged way, but his designer tee shirt and unshaven face reminded Barbara more of a builder than a respectable author.

“You found it okay then…” Felicity smiled, having stated the obvious and failed miserably to set the tone the Thatcher clone would have liked for an important visitor.

“Yes, thank you,” Jack replied politely, much to Barbara’s surprise.

“This is Barbara and Margaret, fellow members of the WI who have helped organise the book signing.”

Jack smiled and greeted them both warmly before following the trio into Felicity’s cottage and into the kitchen where an incredibly impressive spread greeted him, and the amazingly inviting pie Margaret had made waited to one side ready for his evening meal.

“…Ladies, I’m overwhelmed,” Jack smiled, after having the different sandwiches, rolls, pastries and their contributors from the WI explained to him. “I left the books in the boot of the car. It seemed wiser to leave them there until the day of the book signing,” he went on.

“An excellent idea,” agreed Barbara, who was warming to the young man once his uncouth appearance had clearly been in contrast to his politeness and good breeding, “we have arranged for the reporter from the local paper to interview you at the village hall tomorrow,” she continued.

“What time?”

“One thirty!”

“I’ll make sure I arrive a little early so we can set up a display with the books,” Jack suggested.

“Oh excellent!” purred Barbara, warming significantly to the new arrival.

Once Barbara and Margaret had left, and her guest had headed up to his room to unpack after his home cooked meal, Felicity sneaked outside to have a sneaky cigarette.

“Ah, there you are!” Jack interrupted as the cigarette reached Felicity’s lips.

“Er, yes,” she replied, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, taking a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.

“Oh you smoke too?” she beamed.

“Yes… A dirty habit,” he laughed.

Felicity agreed, giggling as the pair lit up and enjoyed their smoke.

“What would you like to do this evening?” Felicity asked.

“I thought I’d walk into the village and check out the pub.” Jack replied.

“Well I’ll give you a spare key so you can let yourself back in.”

“Thanks.”

As Jack entered the Kings Head and made his way to the bar where Samantha the young barmaid, and fan of reality TV, instantly recognised him.

“Jack Dawson!” she declared.

Jack just smiled.

“What can I get you?”

“A Pint...”

“…of?”

“…Lager!”

Samantha poured the drink, and stayed to chat, breaking away occasionally to serve customers in the quiet bar.

“So is it true about you and those two girls?” she asked.

Again, Jack just smiled.

“…and the story about fucking that girl outside a nightclub?” she probed.

…Another smile.

“You are a very naughty boy!” she added, before heading down the bar to serve another customer before returning.

As the evening went on Samantha hinted at her own naughty past, and willingness to be the latest notch on his bedpost. “…and if you stick around after we close up you might get lucky!”

“I’ll take you up on that!” he grinned.

Flirtatious looks and comments flowed in both directions as the next hour passed and the locals filed out until Jack was the only customer left.

“The landlord will be down to lock up soon,” Samantha mentioned as she put glasses away and started cashing up.

“Do you want me to wait outside?” he asked.

“No, it’s okay. He’ll be down soon and we can go out together.”

The landlord stepped through behind the bar, so Samantha grabbed her jacket and led Jack out into the car park at the rear of the pub where her car lay hidden in a dark corner. They hardly spoke as they walked across, and Samantha waited until she reached the bonnet of the car, turning to face the former reality TV star and pulled him toward her.

They kissed passionately… hungrily… and he pushed her back until she backed into the car. Samantha sat up on the bonnet and reached down to unfasten his jeans and the kissing became frantic as they became animalistic.

He reached up under her short skirt and grabbed at her thong, pulling it down past her knees, Samantha then opening her legs, inviting him in.

He didn’t need any persuading his cock hard in anticipation as she discovered once her hand reached inside his boxers. In a well rehearsed move he produced a condom from his back pocket, and Samantha ripped the packet open, placing the contraceptive and rolling it back over his throbbing shaft.

She kept hold of his penis as Jack grabbed her thighs and guided him toward her pussy, gasping with a mixture of excitement and enthusiasm as she felt it touch the entrance of her hungry vagina. It was the signal he’d been waiting for, poking his cock home pulling her thighs for extra thrust and making Samantha grunt with every stabbing poke…

“…Urgh …Urgh …Urgh …Ah …Ah …AH!” she whimpered as her pussy lubricated to reduce the friction, allowing him to rifle in and out.

“…Ah …AH …AHH …AAHH …AAAHHH!” She scratched his waist as he suddenly thrust deep inside, his cock stiffening and the condom filling with cum.

He pulled out and removed the condom as Samantha pulled her knickers up and hopped off the car bonnet, kissing him on the cheek and opening the door to get inside.

They kissed a few more times, before the barmaid sped off and Jack walked, smiling to himself, back to Felicity’s cottage.

With her guest out for a few hours, Felicity had succumbed to her secret sex drive, which had accelerated ever since her menopause, and having read a short story from her latest book of erotica she was laid back on her bed, her nightie lifted up and her powerful Hitachi clit stimulator pressed firmly on her clitoris.

As Jack had been pounding Samantha’s hungry little pussy, the powerful pulsing of the Hitachi and eyes closed thinking of Sebastian from the erotica ravaging Felicity with the strong vibrations sending tingles through her body. Her moans were longer and much louder than the young barmaid, but she also had the luxury of an empty cottage, although she wouldn’t have noticed the entire WI storming into the building as her head spun and the oncoming orgasm took hold.

As it was her approaching climax coincided with her already satisfied guest trudging up the gravel drive…

“AH …AAHH …AAAHH …AAAAAAH …..OH GOD …..O-O-O-O-OH!”

Slam the front door closed as she fell silent with only the loud buzzing from her clit stimulator breaking the silence pervading the cottage. Jack having slipped his trainers off was tip toe-ing up the stairs to avoid waking his sleeping host.

Felicity, now wide eyed and wide awake was staring at the door, knees bent and spread wide, her wet pussy exposed by her hitched up nightie and facing the door. Had Jack’s curiosity been aroused by the buzzing she couldn’t be more exposed. She contemplated turning off the vibrator, but was frozen by fear and worry that the change sound might in fact draw his attention anyway!

Jack did notice a faint buzz, but dismissed it as probably being innocent, smiling to himself as his dirty mind briefly pictured a respected member of the local women’s institute playing with a vibrator. He gave himself a ticking off and wiped the smile off his face before entering his bedroom.

Felicity collapsed on the bed once she heard the bedroom door closing beyond her own doorway, and sighed a big sigh of relief, before quickly cleaning herself up, putting the erotica and toys away in her top drawer and settling down to sleep.

In the morning Jack awoke first and treated himself to an early morning shower to wash off the sex from the night before. He smiled to himself as memories of the car park fuck drifted into his head as the water cascaded over his body, but this left him with a semi-hard erection stepping out of the shower, so he dried himself off and wrapped the towel tightly around his waist.

Felicity had the same idea when she woke up and wanted to sneak into the shower before her guest woke up. She got out of bed and donned a robe over her nightie and rushed toward the bathroom, getting to the door at the very moment it swung open.

“OH… I’m sorry!” she gasped, her gaze falling at that moment to the bulge so visible in the towel.

“…Er, it’s okay!” he mumbled

“Erm, full English?” she asked, breaking her gaze from his hypnotic erection up to eye level.

“That would be great!” He smiled, suddenly feeling very conscious of his predicament.

The pair rushed in their different directions with a mixture of embarrassment and guilt.

Breakfast out of the way they drove to the village hall to prepare for the newspaper interview with Jack allowing Barbara to organise the preparation of a table with an elegant table cloth and the books he’d supplied arranged and re-arranged by two of Barbara’s minions until she declared herself happy, before turning to accept the expected praise from the Author.

Jack smiled and nodded, which wasn’t quite the rapturous response she had expected. She then fussed and flapped which was the opportunity Felicity needed to sneak outside for a cigarette. Jack realising what she was doing and slipping outside un-noticed by Barbara who had, as usual reduced one of the more delicate members of the WI to tears, and was doing her best to calm the “silly little girl” down.

With her victim rushing home in tears, being comforted by another WI member, Barbara had suddenly realised she had “lost” her celebrity, and that Felicity was nowhere to be seen, although she was pretty sure where her colleague would be, and burst through the fire exit to give her a ticking off.

“Felicity!” she began as she burst through the door and turned the corner to Felicity’s secret smoking bolt hole, “…you really do need to do something about your dirty little habit… Mr Dawson has disappeared, and silly little Agnes has… Oh!” she exclaimed upon finding Jack enjoying a cigarette along with Felicity, “…you’re here!”

The pair didn’t have time to answer when a car drew up into the village hall car park around the corner. It was the journalist from the local newspaper.

Penny was the editor’s daughter and had insisted on doing this particular story as it fell within her arts and entertainment remit, and there hadn’t been a great deal of celebrity news going on to really justify anything more than cinema reviews of late.

In her early twenties and singularly devoted to her career and the steady climb up to major prominence as a journalist and broadcaster, she wasn’t going to led even a z-list celeb’ slip through her fingers.

Barbara rushed through the village hall to greet Penny as she climbed out of the car, cursing because the photographer was late. They exchanged pleasantries and Penny wasted no time in getting into her interview with Jack.

As with so many journalists, she already knew the story she wanted to tell and the interview almost completely ignored the book apart from a brief glossary of the plot, as Penny focused on the reality TV, his ex girlfriend and the scandals of recent times.

As the interview drew to a close the photographer turned up, so Penny explained the requirements and promptly left. The photographer looked at the display of books Barbara was so proud of and decided it looked too fussy, and instead took Jack outside to pose in the sunshine holding a single book with the village hall in the background. Even Barbara had to admit it was a good idea and a perfect advert for the event.

The rest of the day was spent doing promotional work and Felicity acted as a guide for her guest, giving the pair a chance to get to know each other better.

“You’re a bit of a rebel, aren’t you?” Jack laughed as they tucked into a KFC meal that evening.

“Oh I wouldn’t describe myself as being very bad,” she replied slightly defensively.

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Oh… Well thank you!”

“I’m sure Barbara would choke if a KFC was suggested to her!”

Felicity giggled as the image of Barbara presented by a fast food experience entered her mind.

“So what did you think of my book?”

“It’s good, but not really my kind of book,” she answered honestly, “…but I did quite enjoy it!”

“I bet you like your romance stories,” he probed mischievously.

Felicity blushed.

“Have you heard of Christine Devine?”

“Yes, I have one of her books!” Felicity confessed, forgetting until it was too late that Felicity Devine wrote some of the naughtiest Erotica in her well thumbed collection.

“I’ll have to sign it for you!” Jack smiled, winking at her.

“You’re…?” Felicity asked as the penny dropped and she realised she was in fact also in the company of Ms Devine.

Jack explained that a friend suggested he should write some erotica because it was so popular, but not wanting to lose potential readers because he is a man he used a pen name and Christine Devine was born.

“That’s why you’ll never see a book signing by Christine,” he laughed.

“…Unless you put on a dress!”

“I have done many things, but I draw the line there!” he giggled.

“Or you could find an unknown actress to pose as Christine Devine…”

“Now that’s not a bad idea,” he conceded, “…are you auditioning?”

“…those books are pretty steamy,” she gasped, “and people would think I’d done those things!” she laughed.

“I bet you’ve got a few secrets,” Jack teased.

Felicity blushed, but nodded.

The conversation drifted into other areas as the pair opened a bottle of wine and the film on TV took them up into the dark hours, with low lighting for the film, and the last drop of wine making their sense of self control more relaxed and the conversation returned to confessionals, with the pair sitting very close together on the sofa…

“So how much of the Christine Devine stories are autobiographical?” teased Felicity.

“Well I’m not a woman, as you may have noticed,” he laughed.

“…you know what I mean!”

“Well…” he began, “…the scene in the alleyway in Body of Evidence had a lot to do with a girl from Bradford.”

“Oh my!” Felicity blushed, “…I found that scene very exciting.

By now her hand was on his and the alcohol seemed to be adding to the atmosphere of sexual tension, and a moment of silence followed with Jack finally breaking the impasse by leaning forward and kissing Felicity, which shocked both of them and sobered them up slightly.

“I’m sorry!” Jack apologised.

“It’s ok,” she reassured him, putting her hand back on his, “it was nice!”

They decided to call it a night and both slightly embarrassed, but at the top of the stairs Felicity stepped toward Jack and planed another kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks for that. It was nice.”

Before Jack could respond, she retreated into her bedroom and reached into her drawer containing Body of Evidence by Christine Devine to refresh her memory and to assist her to “a conclusion” as Rodney used to put it.

The next day Felicity and Jack arrived at the village hall an hour before the book signing was due to begin and were surprised to see a few girls already hanging around. Barbara had set up a table by the door with members of the WI stationed to sell copies of Jack’s book to those who hadn’t brought their own for him to sign, another table sold cups of tea and cake to the punters who would be queuing. Both Jack and Felicity had to confess they were impressed.

Jack brought two large boxes full to the brim with copies of the book and placed them near the book selling table. He then set himself up on his book signing table, while Margaret and Felicity tried unsuccessfully to persuade Barbara not to give a “little speech” to set the event underway.

In spite of Barbara’s ten minute sermon the queue had grown to leave a long line of readers bolstered by young women who were keen to meet a real celebrity. The line reached right through the village hall as far as the car park outside.

By all accounts the event was going incredibly well, and even Barbara pointed out, as the never ending line of giggly teenage girls mingled with more traditional readers, that Jack’s celebrity status, dubious as it was, at least seemed to be leading to an increase in literacy.

Two girls in their late teens to early twenties asked Jack to sign their t-shirts, and this started a trend among the other young girls, offering arms, t-shirts and in one case a partially exposed breast.

Barbara huffed and made disapproving noises, but came back beaming after visiting the various tables to discover that the money coming in, and the proportion set aside for their cause had already exceeded expectations with a few hours to go!

“I never doubted him for a minute!” she declared, making Margaret almost choke on a fairy cake.

A few feet back from the table where Jack was politely signing books, Jessica was easing toward the front of the queue. She had brought her own copy of Jack’s book, and had slipped a piece of paper inside the front cover with a photo of her headless but naked body complete with phone number neatly folded and awaiting discovery by the celebrity she was determined to bed.

Felicity was at this point standing behind, so saw the content of the paper Jack was carefully opening to hide it from prying eyes. He smiled, folded the paper up again and put it in his pocket, giving the attractive wannabe model a knowing nod and a wink, before signing her book with an extra message Felicity couldn’t quite make out. He handed the novel to its owner who clutched it to her breast and turned on her heels to leave.

“Two hundred and thirty five pounds!” beamed Barbara, “We’ve made two hundred and thirty five pounds in donations, tea and cake sales for the church roof!”

“That’s wonderful Barbara!” Margaret gushed.

“Well done ladies,” Jack smiled, “I’ll match that from my book sales. I’ll still make a little money.”

“That’s very generous of you, Jack,” Felicity responded.

“Well you provided me with accommodation, which would have cost at least that much!”

“Well thank you, Mr Dawson!” Barbara smiled giving him a handshake so firm The Stepford Wives crossed his mind.

As they put the few unsold books in his car and got in for the short drive back to her cottage, Felicity asked the question burning away in her mind…

“Are you going to spend the night with that girl who gave you that piece of paper?”

“Not tonight, unless you want me to leave a day early?” he asked.

“NO, no, I’d be delighted if you’d stay.”

“Good. I thought we might celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Celebrate, and I’ve still got to sign your book.”

“Oh yes!”

After another fine meal Jack sat on the sofa in the living room, while Felicity went upstairs to get her book.

She came back and sat alongside him. He signed the book and handed it back.

“That’s a rarity,” he laughed

“I suppose it is,” agreed Felicity.

“I would like to apologise too!”

“…What for?”

“Kissing you last night…”

“Oh that was nice,” Felicity confessed, “It’s been a while since my divorce.”

“That was your first kiss since your divorce?”

Felicity nodded, smiling meekly.

Jack lifted her chin with his finger and leaned forward. Their lips met and as their mouths opened she felt his tongue meet hers. Their tongues entwined in an erotic dance of their own and Jack’s hand resting almost innocently on top of her thigh felt far more exciting, and Felicity felt herself blushing like a teenager, and getting aroused… feelings she didn’t think she’d get to feel again in combination with real skin on skin contact.

This time though the kiss didn’t suddenly stop in embarrassment or stop with a kiss, it went on, and that hand worked its way up her thigh, resting on her waist. Her breathing got heavier and she could feel a tingle as the first droplets of lubricating juices trickled past the nerves in her soft ribbed pussy. Felicity lubricated faster than she remembered doing in her youth, and it wasn’t more than a minute of this wonderful sensory experience between that first tingle and a pool of juices threatening to dribble out.

Jack’s other hand was on the back of her head, and their tongues were now exploring each other enthusiastically. Her breathing was already getting heavier, but now the hand on her waist was slowly rising until it reached her breast, squeezing it through her summer dress.

It wasn’t co-ordinated or planned, but Felicity gradually lay back on the sofa with Jack mirroring her movement, his kisses moving from her lips to her neck. No longer squeezing her breast, his hand was now pulling the hemline of her dress further and further up her thighs until it reached her cotton knickers and started pulling them down.

She wasn’t resisting, no, Felicity wanted this. As her knickers passed her knees they parted invitingly, and Jack’s hand slid slowly up the inside of one thigh, sending a bow wave of sensations rushing ahead and the air out of her lungs with a gasp.

By the time his fingers danced gently across her swollen pussy lips and tickled around her hardening clitoris. Another gasp left her lungs as his finger tickled and teased her clitoris which Jack then focused his attention on, the tickle turning to a gentle flick, and then a rub. Felicity’s panting turned to whimpers and the first dribble of juices escaped her pussy and making a run toward her arse.

By now jack had mounted her and was looking down as they both combined their efforts to unfasten his belt, and jeans. Felicity reached into his boxers and gasped once more as the hard throbbing shaft flicked into her grasp. She gripped it firmly and rubbed it.

She guided it slowly toward her now soaking pussy and felt it pressing against the entrance of her soft fleshed orifice. She didn’t have time to get used to this sensation, Jack poking the first two inches of his cock into her…

“OH!” she gasped.

“OH…”

“OH…”

“OHHH”

“OH …OH …OH …O-O-OH!”

The pool of juices made a “Flosh!” noise as is entered each time and as he started fucking deeper his balls slap, slap, slapped into her juice spattered pussy lips and she moaned as she felt the hard shaft rifling in and out, giving a sensation so different to even the most realistic sex toy that comparisons were beyond explanation, and right now she wasn’t in a mood to try, but even in her pussy so wet that his cock slid like a bar of soap she could feel the difference as his foreskin rolled back and forth as his cock poked enthusiastically into her. All this with the added sensations of his body between her thighs and pressed against her breasts. This was skin on skin, and as his cock stiffened and hot jets of cum squirted into her it mattered not that she was incredibly close to an orgasm of her own. He stayed with his cock deep inside her for a few minutes and they exchanged a tender kiss.

They eventually uncoupled and after some more kissing they went to bed in their separate rooms.

In the morning Felicity served up another full English breakfast, and they exchanged glances, smiling as their eyes met. Nothing was said, it wasn’t needed.

He brought his bag down and they met once more by the front door. Jack leaned forward and kissed Felicity once more, with all the passion they’d shared the night before, tongue deep into her mouth. By the time he broke off she was aroused again and smiling like a teenager.

He went to pick up his bag, but then unzipped a side pocket and from it produced an unfamiliar book. It was unmistakably a book of erotica. He opened the front cover, produced a pen from his pocket and signed it, before handing it to Felicity, who looked at the cover and recognised it as a new Christine Devine novel.

“It’s a proof copy,” Jack explained, “It’s not been released yet.”

“…For me?”

“I thought you might like it…”

“Oh, I’ll treasure it!” she beamed and stepped forward for another kiss.

The kiss didn’t stop, it just got hungrier, animalistic, and Jack started pulling her skirt up as they staggered back toward the kitchen table, almost tripping over his bag on the way.

He helped her up onto the edge of the table and then pulled her knickers down to her ankles…

“…I’ve never done anything like this!” she gasped as they briefly broke off from kissing each other frantically.

“You want it, don’t you?”

“Oh God, YES!” she yelled as he fumbled to release his cock and guide it to her already moist pussy.

She opened her legs as wide as she could and he grabbed her thighs for extra thrust as he poked his cock into her and kept jabbing it home with a ferocity born of hunger and desire rather than aggression. The internal shock of her pussy being hammered like this was the same though, and sex on her kitchen table… during the DAY… was exciting her more than she ever imagined it would. It was like a scene from a Christine Devine book, as Jack thrust his eager shaft into her wet pussy

As he poked into her getting faster and faster his balls slap, slap, slapped hard into her and Felicity grunted and whimpered as the younger man fucked her with an intensity she had never experienced before. His penis poked into her like a pneumatic drill, and she grunted loudly as she gasped for air.

This time, with the added excitement and danger added to the physical experience of a rough, relentless fuck, Felicity wasn’t going to be denied her orgasm, and her head starting spinning, her grunts turned into moans, rising in pitch and approaching a squeak by the climax. Her pussy tightened onto his shaft repeatedly and she felt all her muscles tense up.

“Cum for me…. Please! …I want you to cum!” she begged.

His cock was now a blur and he pulled against her thighs for even harder thrusts and her moans were getting louder as she started yelping with every pop, pop, pop into her. Then he slammed it home and held it hard into her as it stiffened. Once more Felicity felt Jack’s cum inside her.

“I wasn’t expecting that to happen!” she panted as he finally withdrew, his cock glistening with a combination of her juices and white streaks of his own cum.

“Neither did I to be honest,” he confessed as he cleaned himself with kitchen towel and smiled as his cum dribbled out of Felicity’s well stoked pussy. It was an impressive creampie with her pussy staying open to reveal a creamy pool of her own juices mixed with cum inside.

A few minutes of cleaning up later the couple straightened themselves up and kissed once more before Jack picked up his bag and finally went through the door.

Jack glanced up and waved at the woman standing in the doorway, his cum still dribbling into her knickers. He checked the address texted by the girl who had slipped that piece of paper into the cover of her book at the signing, and punched it into the satellite navigation on his Mercedes and pulled off up the drive on his way to sample the body in that picture.

Ages of Sin is available at Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk