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Satisfaction Pt. 05: Ch. 20 to End

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This follows on from Satisfaction Parts 1, 2, 3 and 4: Chapters 1-19. Glen find himself writing his own story as his adventures with the book club members wind down.

All my caveats expressed at the preamble of Part 1 continue to apply to this part.

You’ll get a context to this by reading Part 1 first. Enjoy

*******

Chapter 20

The Party

Glen continued to run the youth program.

In the mail he received a fancy-looking invitation.

Members of the St. Simon’s Book Club seek the pleasure of Glen Garrison’s company at their Annual Tea Party on Saturday, August 8th, 2015, at 11:00 a.m. at the North End Pavilion in Jacob’s Park. RSVP St. Simon’s Church.

A week hence. Glen knew he could miss not this for the world. He responded immediately.

The following day he missed a phone call from Jan. She left a message. “I’m home. See you on Sunday.” He could not wait to hear the stories she had to tell.

********

The weather was sunny and not too warm. The twenty-minute walk to the North End Pavilion at the park took Glen through some pleasant woods. The location was quite remote. As he broke out into the open, he fully expected to see a large gathering around a typical open-sided structure, similar to the one he passed on his way from the car park. Uncharacteristically, Glen was running about fifteen minutes late. From the distance he could see seven people. As he got closer, he could see they were all women. The book club members. Glen felt he was walking into another ambush.

Up close, the table was covered with a colorful plastic tablecloth supporting enough food for thirty. Decorations and balloons adorned the space.

Wendy came out to meet him. She hugged and kissed him on the lips. The audience of six women could never have read the kiss as platonic.

“Welcome. Just us for the next half hour or so. We wanted you to ourselves.”

Glen felt obliged to go around to give equal treatment to the remaining members of the gang. None of the women held back. Jan, Ruth, and Bee all added a little bit of tongue to their greeting.

Jan whispered in Glen’s ear, “Next Saturday my place about seven. I’ll be over my jet lag by then,”

They all sat down on the benches at one end of the table and gestured Glen to join them. He could not resist. “Another ambush?”

Bee replied. “Of course. You didn’t think you were finished with us, did you?”

Glen nodded his head. “Of course not. I am delighted.”

Wendy jumped in. “We don’t have much time. Some of the others may turn up early. Let’s get going.”

Little Ruth stood. “We’ve had a very open discussion between ourselves and find that Glen, you old dog, fucked every one of us. Some of us led you on, and for others the circumstances were, let’s say, complicated. No one complained that you did not use condoms. We all shared that none of us have any communicable diseases. I have to ask, do you?”

“Me? No way. Since we are being open and candid, you should know Ruth you were the first woman I have fucked in three and half years. I have had no symptoms of any type of urinary infection or discomfort. I’m clear.”

“Over three years? No wonder you were primed and ready to go.” They all laughed.

“On a casual basis, some of us are prepared to give you a return engagement if you are willing. Time and place to be negotiated between you and the individual partner. You are perfectly at liberty to decline at any time, but this will not preclude the individual asking again but no sooner than a month. You have an enthusiastic harem, Glen. Understand?”

“Overwhelmed. Oh, my. I sure do understand. I better start working out harder at the gym.”

Wendy spoke. “Two more things. As far as the other families who arrive later are concerned you have joined the book club. I’ll brief you on the books we are looking at. Finally, as far as we are concerned you have a task to officially join the club. On the face of it what we are asking should be simple. To write an original erotic story for us all to read. With your recent experience that should be simple. Here’s the twist: you have to write it from a female’s point of view. Still want to become a member of the club?”

“I’m not much of a writer, but you ladies are such an inspiration to me, I’ll have a go. I’ll be asking how many jilling stars you give the finished work.”

“Deal. Just in time. I see your family, Bee, just leaving the tree line. Have fun and be safe. Glen would you help getting the fire going? I’ll get some music running. Glen, let me talk books to you. “

Glen had the fire roaring in minutes. He met Bee’s husband and four of her children. Ally was absent. The other families arrived. Glen was introduced to them all. He was most uncomfortable talking to the spouses, including John, the minister, knowing he had cuckolded them and likely would be again. He realized he felt embarrassment not guilt. Glen cornered Wendy and told her that he had to get out of here. She understood.

Wendy made eryaman escort bayan an announcement. “Glen, the newest member of our book club, offers his regrets. He has to leave for another engagement. Say goodbye, Glen.”

Glen sucked it in. “Goodbye folks. It’s been a pleasure meeting you all. Have fun this afternoon. The hamburgers look great.” He just walked off, back to the car park.

Glen’s days fell into a pattern following the party. He continued with the church youth activities twice a week. He spent more time in the gym every day. He kept house and he wrote his initiation story for the book club.

Carol and Glen came to an arrangement for him to visit Phil once a week in the early afternoons. Carol always found reason to be out of the house.

Glen visited Jan the Saturday after the party. She talked for a good hour about her travel experiences in Europe, the Middle East and a further trip to South Africa for a safari he knew nothing about. She had a wonderful collection of photos she had taken. She spoke about Cyn in the most general terms as a friend but became curiously reticent about her fiancé.

Jan then asked Glen, “Can we fuck.” Jen was hot. Glen was feeling primed. They went at it hard.

Glen pondered what to write for his initiation story. One evening he thought about his ex-wife. It made him depressed. Part of him still missed her. In thinking about her he found a theme for his story. He wondered if he could pull it off. He pulled out his laptop to make a start and found a flow of words coming to him.

Three weeks later, Glen realized he had not heard from any others of the book club, apart from Carol and Jan.

He called Wendy, “Hi. How’re you doing?” Open-ended question.

“Fine. How’s the story coming along?”

“Also, fine. Almost ready to send it out. One more proofread.”

“That’s good. Looking forward to reading it.”

“Following the party, and the big build-up, I thought I might be hearing from some of your cohort. Carol called and set meetings with Phil. Jan invited me over for a visit to show me a ‘what I did this summer’ set of photos, and, in the interests of full disclosure, a quick bang. That was all. I expected to hear from you at least.”

“You sound a bit hurt, Glen. No need to be. Since you have virtually finished your initiation story, I think I am OK to tell you this. When we met and talked about you and all the furrows you plowed through our little group. We also came up with your future personal relationships with us as explained by Ruth at the party. Then came the story idea. Putting the relationships and the story together produced a concern by three members that you might use one of us to help in the writing of your story with some clever pillow talk. It was becoming a wedge issue between us, so the idea was adopted to give you the cold shoulder until you produced the story and preserve our club’s coherence. Jan always has been a bit of a rebel.”

“Why didn’t you tell me upfront? I might have finished more quickly, if you get my drift?”

“Loud and clear. It was a judgment call. Of course, Jan didn’t abide by it, but then she hadn’t participated originally. Now you know.”

“I can’t hang around talking to you. I’ve a story to finish up.” Glen chuckled. “Seriously, how’s the domestic situation working out? You OK?”

“Not too bad. He hasn’t gone away since we arrived at our modus vivendi. The arrangement has yet to be tested. We sleep in separate rooms for the time being. I agree with you – get finishing with your proofing. I’m first in line buster, remember that. I have to run anyway. I’m meeting the big donor for the roof. I gather he’s mobile now. Might just test out my lust to stay in training. Just saying. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Motivated by the conversation, Glen sat down to give one last read through his story.

Glen felt rather proud of his effort. He was not a natural writer. He had to work at it. He worried that the struggle he sometimes had with words would show through. Now was the moment for his big reveal: he attached the Madeline Word file to an email he sent to the members of the book club with a note to call him for the access password.

The calls from the book club members started five minutes after he had sent the email. Ruth was off the mark like a shot. She did not chat for long, wanting to get on with reading Madeline’s Adventure. Similar conversations occurred with Bee, Carol, Wendy, and Daphne who all called at intervals later in the day. Abby called the following evening. All seemed anxious to get reading. All told him they would be in touch again soon.

Wendy was the first to call two days later. Glen was not surprised.

“We have consulted together. The consensus was very positive about your story. You are now officially a member of the St. Simon’s Book Club. Congratulations. There was some surprise you wrote in the present tense, but that’s just a niggle. We have decided not to give a full-blown critique, so to speak. We did find ankara escort it was worth four jills out of five. You still have work to do to get perfection for your written skills although we were unanimous that your oral work has met the highest standards. The ‘no talk’ sanction on our members has been removed.”

“All good to hear.”

“Now to serious business. I have to come over to you for a long discussion about the youth program.”

“Oh, really? I thought it was beginning to work fine.”

Glen could not see Wendy roll her eyes. “Sometimes you are just hopeless.”

Glen thought, at least she didn’t say clueless. The light went on in Glen’s brain. “Oh, I see. Yes. You are right. It needs discussion. About two to three hours I would say.”

“Good boy. When?”

“Soon. I have few commitments so far. Yours is the first call I’ve received. I’m sure my dance card will fill up quickly. I hope.”

“You’re horny by the sound of it. Tomorrow at four work for you?”

“I’ll be ready and waiting.”

Glen’s dance card did fill up quickly.

In the remaining days of the summer vacation he did all that was expected of him by the energized book club membership.

For his own part, Glen found a facet of life he could only dream about three months earlier.

Sex. Friends. Satisfaction. Complete satisfaction.

Chapter 21

Glen’s Story

Madeline’s Adventure

Madeline looks out of the open kitchen window. It is still too early in the day for the languid summer heat to take away the pleasure of opening up the house to the outside. The scent of the bright red roses drifts in on the soft humid air.

Alone. Monday. The kids’ routine weekend visit passed with fun and humor. They were now at work. The training manual complete and delivered. No comments were expected back for at least two weeks with everyone away on vacation. Madeline smiles at her joy for the computer revolution that allows her to work from home, at her own rhythm.

She also smiles at the happy confluence of her hubby Alfred’s, absence at a leadership development course, stemming from his recent promotion. Not that she can figure out how it will really benefit an aging accountant who works mainly on his own. Corporate policies are often baffling.

“The whole week”, she thinks, and rolls the freedom and delicious solitude around in her mind. It had been so long since she was last alone and free. Time for reflection. Time for discovery and adventure. Time for making plans.

Yet her thoughts momentarily turn back to the past. Her upbringing in the big city. The move to this provincial center. The husband who died. The transitional gap for grieving. The Good Man who is now her husband and companion; a safe haven to take her into her old age. Religious and modest, making no demands. Always seeking a consensus. The kids now settled into jobs “with prospects,” as her authoritarian mother used to say. Life was good. And sometimes dull.

She remembered the small incident about ten years earlier when she had a one-afternoon “stand” in a shoe shop. There was the wild and silly orgy at the Spa where she finally came out of her grieving, and long before she met staid Alfred, with his once a month, whether they needed it or not.

Madeline’s random retrospective thoughts make her horny. She shakes herself and decides quickly she would go into town to have a leisurely coffee at the highly touted new coffee bar. She dresses in fashionable light slacks and summer sleeveless blouse with one of her fancier lacy bras, since her bra tended to show through the thin material of the outer garment. She finishes her ensemble with the wide-brimmed straw hat with the outrageous red, mock flower sewn onto the hatband.

Shoes are a problem since her favorite pumps had developed a hole in the sole. She chooses some nondescript white summer sailing shoes with tan canvas tops to them. She sails out the door and arrives at the bus stop just in time to catch the 9:30 bus. Madeline quietly curses that they no longer have two cars, and Alfred had taken their wagon to the airport long term parking because he was too cheap to take the limousine. But Madeline always copes with every situation.

The coffee bar proves to be a disappointment and the phalanx of older women, who, along with herself, had the same idea, were not the people she wishes to be around. Later, the slow, meandering window-shopping takes Madeline away from the center of town to nearly the end of the shopping area. A parallel road two blocks over also have shops, so Madeline cuts into a narrow side street, not much more than an alley, to traverse to the second street that can take her back into the center.

The cool of the shade makes Madeline realize that the sun is getting fierce. After a few moments to become accustomed to the chill of the shadowed streetscape, she realizes there are a series of older stores that immediately remind her of the neighborhood she grew up in. Memories of her childhood sincan escort bayan in the large city flood back to her. As quickly as these memory flashes take hold, they ebb away. She suddenly feels right at home in this older part of town.

The pharmacy inside is much like any other pharmacy. Madeline buys some suntan lotion for her arms, after checking it has no scent. Moving on she lingers at the windows of the series of antique stores that have taken root in this quiet alley. One store catches her attention, so she wanders in, and ends up purchasing a silver spoon.

As Madeline approaches the far end of the alley her attention is caught by a double shop front with the front door deeply centered between the two display windows. One window had a wonderful collection of old wooden shoe lasts of various sizes and shapes. In the other window she spots beautiful low-heeled pumps in an opalescent green-blue, flanked by the most magnificent pair of thigh-high patent leather boots. Looking up she spots the hand-painted sign, “William Edward T. Quinn.” With a smaller sub-announcement, “Fine Leather Works.”

Madeline is immediately drawn to the door to sample the fine leather works. As she enters, the tall door creaks a little, and an old-fashioned spiral spring with a bell on it announces her arrival.

Madeline is immediately struck by the soft smell of tanned leather. The richness of the odor makes her shudder and relax at the same time, A sense of luxury is created.

She finds herself on a wide soft blue carpet runner that stretches down the center to mirrors at the back of the store. Facing onto, and either side, of the carpet are three blue leather chairs with arms. Both flank walls display the shoes on neat wooden shelves resembling an old library. The look is modern though, with the lighting carefully placed to show the merchandise off to best advantage. The floor in front of the display cases has been left bare to show the old wide, pine planks. The floor squeaks underfoot.

At the back of the store there are two tall mirrors set at forty-five-degree angles away from each other, jutting out like the prow of a boat. The mirror is flanked by doorways. The right-hand door is open and is clearly the stock room, and the other door is firmly closed with a clear “Staff Only” label on it. Madeline assumes that the staff doorway leads to the workshop.

Madeline suddenly becomes aware of being watched. Over her right shoulder, she spots a totally bald-headed man who was reading in a chair in a slight recess behind the window display of lasts. He smiles at her, and then nods in a friendly, almost-knowing manner.

“Look around”, he says, waving his hand toward the displays.

“Women’s shoes on the left.” Madeline, a little flustered from the surprise at the sudden appearance of the man, does as she is bid. And immediately her eyes alight on the shoes she saw in the window.

“May I try these on, please?”

The man raises his heavy-set frame and moves lightly towards Madeline.

“What size?”

“Oh, six and a half, double A width.”

“Do you mind if I measure them?”

“No, of course not.”

The man brings the measuring frame, indicates where Madeline should sit, but before she can sit, he proffers a hand.

“William Quinn but call me Bill.”

“Madeline Treasure. Yes, as in island.”

She smiles breezily to forestall the usual burden of her married name. Madeline removes her hat and places it on the chair beside her. Bill sits on a stool in front of Madeline, lifts her left leg onto the angled stool face and removes her canvas-topped pump. He gives the foot a gentle squeeze that echoes deep in Madeline’s memory before moving to the right. The impulse stays only a moment. Bill measures the right foot and gives it another cursory squeeze.

“Do you know your left foot is almost half a size larger than your right? I have the six and a half in stock but not the seven. I can stretch the left one overnight, but it takes about a day and a half to stretch it properly. It has to be done slowly. It would take me a week to get sevens. We buy these shoes in. We do not make this one.”

Madeline thinks for a moment. “Let me try them on. If I like them on me, I can come back for them tomorrow.” Madeline falls in love with the shoes on her feet. The left foot was tight as was usually the case. She walks up and down the carpet and has no hesitation is telling Bill she will take them and come back the following day.

As she pays for the shoes with her Visa, Bill remarks, “Could you make it late in the day, just before we close, at say six o’clock?”

Bill then adds, “May I suggest you wear a skirt.”

Pointing to the shoes, “These will look so much better with a skirt. Wear thigh high stockings. You know the type with the grip tops. And one final thing put on matching blue panties.”

Madeline’s eyes bulge wide at the last observation, and she blushes. She was flustered, gathering her Visa receipt, flying out towards the door, and remembering, retraces her steps to grab her hat, before bolting out. Going into the sunlight and taking one last glance at the display window she has an almost photographic image of the thigh-high boots impressed on her retina and then her mind.

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