They had a lovely traditional English roast beef with Yorkshire pudding in formal setting at the old English farm house situated in the small agricultural town of Scoulton north of London. They were surrounded by sugar beet fields. The farm house was owned by a popular writer and bon vivant who entertained artsy people nearly every weekend.
The owner, Cressida, also rented out rooms and bed sitters to international students. Along with her five kids and multiple husbands, the house was always full of people. Dinner was usually on their own for the student tenants, so it was an honor to be invited up to the big house for this soiree.
Kristie was not keen on English cuisine. Everything they ever said about it was true, but she was interested in the company of the artsy community. She loved art in all of its forms – music, dance, theater, poetry, painting, pottery, dress design, and jewelry. She needed focus and she was appreciative of those artists who were able to support themselves with their muses.
After dinner she excused herself to use the facilities and when she returned the table had been cleared. Right in the middle of the table like the centerpiece of an ornate flower arrangement, in between two tall burning taper candles, and strewn with rose petals the dildo stood like a Statue of Liberty.
Butch had obviously just told the story of their three way the night before when Kristie had strapped the thing on and given it to him the way he liked it. The whole table was smiling at her broadly, knowingly… picturing the whole scene in their individual fantasies.
Kristie could see where this was going. Another set up where she would play a part in satisfying other people’s needs – physical needs. She had needs too. Needs that didn’t involve sex parties every night with multiple partners… and dildos.
She figured she had already tried everything she wanted to. These sexual games didn’t bother her. They had been fun. It was something she had to go through. She had wanted to fully explore her sexuality. Now she was looking for something else. Something more satisfying. She was looking for a deep commitment from someone she could trust. She was looking for love.
She knew as she laughed uncomfortably and turned to walk away that Butch would hook up with the debonair European gentleman, who happened to be one of Cressida’s former husbands, and who was eyeing him lasciviously. She and Cressida exchanged a knowing look and left the men to sort it out.
Later she quietly came back into the house to see Cressida at the sink in her nightly “dish pen.” The candles had burned down, the rose petals were beginning to curl at the edges, and the dildo was missing from its central spot in the arrangement. Her own fantasy at that moment was that Butch was having the dildo force fed into his mouth while the debonair gentleman was plunging his wanker up Butch’s ass…
She was seeking some direction or an epiphany from the older woman who had obviously been going through this for decades. Cressida was not in the mood to converse as she went about her chores. Kristie did not offer to help and retreated to her rooms where she struggled against the cold to sleep.
Both women were sleeping alone this night. Kristie had become disappointed in this cold English adventure. She longed for the dry heat of the desert, some good Mexican food, and more familiar surroundings.
The next night Cressida came to visit her in her rooms and brought along a joint and a huge can of Watney’s Red which held at least two liters of beer. They shared both of the intoxicants as they had a long talk about “things.” Kristie decided to make plans to fly home. If she ever went to England again, it would not be in the bone chilling winter.
(First published 2/28/12)
