The Woman Who Wanted To Enjoy Sex

Chapter Thirty-Nine - I Spy with my little eye

Never underestimate a moan.

Closed curtains were always a ‘Shagging in progress’ sign between George and his friends, not that George was that friendly with the Coach other than weather talk in the Co op, but he had a feeling in his loins that it could be the same thing.

Beatrice told him he was stupid, and continued to tell him as she pushed the car door open, stating “if everyone did that in Lochgilphead then everyone would know who was having sex.”

George, still fresh with the memory of Beatrice wheeling in on her daughter and husband during a ‘codpiece moment’, thought differently. He, shifting uncomfortably, tried to argue, but Beatrice was hell-bent, and as he headed for the car boot, he, in a last-ditch attempt to warn, shouted in his best foghorn voice. “We can always come back!”

“Shout louder,” snapped Beatrice, shuffling herself into the wheelchair. “I don’t think they heard you in Crinan.”

He watched her speed across the footpath with a sinking feeling. Beatrice was surprisingly prudish; the chances of him getting Beatrice up against the wall were as likely as her getting her nipple pierced. Porn had her gagging like she swallowed a sock, but then she called all sex scenes porn. The mere hint of a tongue, the first sign of a thrust, or God forbid that against-the-wall first shag, and she was off into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle, proclaiming that doing was way better than watching.

George had heard it so many times he stopped listening. Until the other day when she, fed up with not being heard, asked, “Have you ever done it against a wall/ kitchen/alleyway/ car?” stopping George in his tracks; was she taking the mick?

“Have you?” he finally shouted.

“Of course not,” She laughed, sparking distant memories of almost teenage sex in George.

While Beatrice pondered whisky in their coffee, George’s mind wandered back to his youthful days, hanging out with Johnny in his father’s shed, peering at the forbidden stash of magazines full of women in pointy bras, meeting girls in secret places, testing the waters, seeing how far you could go, lost in the wonderment of the ‘fifties’ underwear.

Where the hell else could they almost do it? He wanted to shout. Just like now, but shouting what good did it do? Expecting Beatrice to listen was like expecting a politician to give you a straight answer.

George watched Beatrice’s wheelchair trundle down the drive.

Sex, in a wheelchair, had its limits; he thought, not that they actually did it in a wheelchair, except for that one time he was straddled across her and the brake lost control. He thought about how Beatrice laughed at him as she always did; apparently he had that sort of body.

Fuck it, he thought, let her walk in on a geriatric blow job, catch a glimpse of another man’s arse, maybe it will do her good, teach her to listen… He watched her disappear around the back… Laughing at my bits.

Beatrice, with drone-like aim, headed for the kitchen back door, passing the smash to fuck Manmotion Luba 3 AWD 3000 Robotic mower with hardly a glance. She was too excited to be helping a woman who never wanted help, who was always so cool and unimpressed with her. Well, now she’d show her; now she put her in her friggin place with an ‘I may be in a wheelchair, but I enjoy sex way better than you’ stance. Not that she would rub it.

She smiled to herself; she knew the Coach even before Mrs McKillop did, back in the days when Sheryl, her daughter, was still at primary school. He tried to teach her how to catch a ball. And he did his best despite her daughter having bananas for fingers. Her chances of catching a ball, let alone hitting it, were as likely as George wearing a tutu.

Back then Beatrice’s legs not only worked but looked fantastic. She played tennis with the Coach, and she watched as he shagged his way around the women (apart from her) with the sort of hair you could run your fingers through and the sort of hips that made cycling shorts almost appealing. She could have had him too if she wanted, but she was never the sort to be a mere notch on a bedpost.

With her lovingly wrapped codpiece on her knees, she crashed through the kitchen door, and assuming the moaning over Barry White’s “Can’t Get Enough Of You Love Babe” was from the TV, carried on…

George, with a sigh, wandered over to the buckled-to-buggery Manmotion Luba 3 AWD 3000 Robotic mower, screaming three-year-old temper tantrum, idly wondering if it was fixable…

“Almost there!” the Coach yelled over the throbbing bass of Barry White’s ‘I’ve Got So Much To Give.’

George looked up at the closed curtains.

“Take me now, God damn you!” moaned Mrs Mc Killop.

George tapped the Manmotion Luba 3 AWD 3000 Robotic mower with his foot. Should he stop her?

Beatrice entered the lounge room feeling smug until she saw the naked ankle of Mrs McKillop, thrust into the air, her foot like a fist about to punch.

She stopped.

The Coach's head popped up.

Mrs McKillop’s head followed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Beatrice spun a turn.

‘We got it together, baby!’

“George!” she shouted, retreating like a soldier in The Charge Of The Light Brigade.

… To Be Continued

If you would like to read more of Beatrice and George, then check out

[embed]Available now at your favourite digital store! Three Angry Women And A Baby: A Heart Warming Feel-Good Romantic Comedy by Kerrie Noorbooks2read.com

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