Open For Business and well stocked!
On the next evening, Thursday I think, we went Dogging again. I was getting used to the practice, and had dressed in my most casual gear. As none of the men seemed to dress specially, and my clothes weren't likely to stay on, there didn't seem to be any point in what I wore.
     This time we went to a different car park, and there was an entirely different crowd. There were only half a dozen females and again I was by far the youngest, though several of the women were probably in their twenties. I think three of them had come together and there were two other couples apart from Martin and me.
     Even before I got out of the car, I had sucked a couple of the Men off and then one helped me into the back and he got in with me. There wasn't a lot of room, but that didn't stop him getting on top of me and giving me a hard shag. By the time he was finished, I saw one guy who had been watching and wanking himself, had a condom full of spunk hanging from his cock. He pulled it off and handed it to me. I asked him what he wanted me to do with it: “Drink it up,” he ordered and I held it up by the little nipple on the end and poured and squeezed the contents into my mouth. It wasn't warm, but I swirled it around my mouth before swallowing it. He looked quite pleased with himself. “How old are you?” he asked.
     “How old do you want me to be?” I asked him back.
     “Old enough to fuck,” he said with a smile.
     “Well, if you think you can manage, I'm open to suggestions!”
     That was the green light to him and he helped me out of the car and asked me to wrap my legs around his waist. He lifted me up and as I gripped tight with my legs, he slid his cock inside me. I started kinda jiggling about on it and he began to get a pelvic thrust going and soon had me bouncing up and down in time with him. It was strange to be so close, face to face, as most of the men seemed to want to avoid that. I had my arms around his neck and soon he was kissing me too. He wasn't a smoker and his tongue tasted minty, he must have been sucking mints or chewing gum, and I enjoyed the taste of him. Eventually, he stopped bouncing me, and let my weight drive his cock deep inside me, which was when I felt his gush of spunk inside. His cock was in my See You Next Tuesday and his tongue was down my throat and I was really enjoying myself when I felt a pair of hands on my buttocks and another cock being pushed up my bum. The two guys swapped me without my feet touching the ground. The second Man swung me round, one of my legs went over his head and then he had me facing him, with me impaled on his cock, and my arms round his neck. And he began doing what the other had done. I really enjoyed the fact that I didn't have to do much except hank on tight!
     When he came, I squeezed my anal mussel tight round his cock and his eyes lit up, which was when he decided to kiss me and thrust his tongue into my mouth. Eventually, he pulled out and lowered me to the ground. My legs felt like jelly, and I had to sit in the open boot or I would have probably fallen down. Which was how I got my fourth fuck of the night – from a big, fat guy who spread my legs wide and high and leaned right over me. He was pretty heavy, and I was only little, but when he realised that I was in danger of being squashed. He put his hands on the floor and supported himself.
     “Are you alright?” he asked, with a look of genuine concern ion his face. “Am I too big for you?”
     “Oh, your cock is good, I like something that properly fills me, it was just your body on top of me that was pressing the air out of my chest.”
     That seemed to interest him and he slid one of his hands up under my tee-shirt. He seemed amused. “You're not very big there, then,” he said, and I didn't know if it was a question or a statement. He smiled: “It's nice to have a chick instead of the old hens,” he laughed. “Some of them are well past egg-laying!”
     “Are you a Farmer/” I asked, though I didn't really want to know anything about the guys. Martin had told me that these meetings are all about sex, “no names, no pack drill,” he'd advised. “Not me,” said the guy, “I'm a trucker. My wife has lost interest in sex and this is the only way I can get any, but I do really like young girls, and you are quite a find!”
     “Why, thank you, sir, she said,” I said, and he stroked my cheek and popped one of his fingers into my mouth. I sucked it and he looked like he was in some kind of heaven, which was when I felt him cum. I just gave another couple of blow-jobs and Martin suggested we go back to the cottage. And it was on the drive back, that he told me the news!
     He had received a letter from Jimmy. He was coming tomorrow and wanted to spend the weekend with us! Oh WOW! I was so happy, I unzipped his trousers and leaned over. His cock sprang up and I licked it then took it in my mouth. I could taste the women he had been with and that kinda excited me. I'd hardly spoken with any of them that night – which I was a bit sorry about – but now I had the taste of them in my mouth, along with Martin's semen. I was really beginning to be able to identify the different smells and flavours. My sense of smell has never been great – probably an asset for Dogging – but my sense of taste was getting plenty of practice at distinguishing the subtle differences between one man and another, and now I could taste women too. But my heart was going nineteen to the dozen at the thought of finally getting to meet the Great Man Himself! YIPPEE!!!

Men know how to make good use of me!

We went again – of course we did. But not so much for my pleasure, more for Martin's. He obviously enjoyed fucking women, and while he said that he loved me – and I was totally smitten by him – he seemed to get something out of Dogging that was different from making love to me in his cottage. Obviously. But I don't just mean fucking strangers: it was also something about being part of a group of Men, who were all strangers to him, as well as mingling his cum with theirs in the bodies of women. Women who meant nothing to him, who were only receptacles for his sperm. I don't know if I'm explaining this very well, but it was as though the presence of the other men, and sharing the sexual act with them, was even more important than getting his cock up the women. Mind, I'd find out soon enough what he really enjoyed, loved even.
     Anyway, we went back the next two nights, and we were almost the only ones who did. Because each night there was a different group of Men and Women. On the Wednesday, the Women were all Milfs. No-one else younger than forty, I'd say. And the men were older too – older than Martin, and a couple of them were in their sixties.
     The routine was pretty much the same as on the first night. We arrived, and soon there were three or four men around the car. Well, on my side of it, with their cocks out – hoping for a hand or mouth. And I was able to oblige, while martin watched.
     Then, while I was busy, he wandered off to sample some of the Women, and it was about an hour later that we met up again. He looked kinda rumpled, as if he'd been rolling about on the grass. And that was what it was. In addition to the hand-jobs and blow-jobs, there was plenty of opportunity for proper fucking. I'd been shagged on the bonnet of the car, and bending over into the boot. But Martin had taken a mat and put it on an area of grass and fucked one of the Women there. Later, when he was ready, he and one of the other men Spit-roasted me.
     I'd already been fucked kinda like that by Dr Montgomery and Norrie (the first time I met him) and I knew that Men liked doing that. I don't think Martin knew the other guy, but they soon got a rhythm of their own going and just like the previous time, they did their best to match each other, but the other guy came first – in my mouth – while Martin was just working up to his own ejaculation, and when it came it was a real load which left me dripping. And that was when the other guy got between my legs and started licking and sucking Martin's cum out of me. Now that was really weird!
     I almost said: “Why don't you just suck him off?” but I managed to hold my tongue, because I knew that most Men don't like to be asked if they're Gay, even if they are, but it really got me wondering. I mean, here's a few women and girls being sucked or fucked by a load of Men, who put their cocks where the others have been, and cum in the same place and some of them like to suck it out after and they don't seem to care if the women are young or old or plain or pretty, because we're just holes for them to cum in. The only difference between us and those sex-dolls I'd seen is that we can use out tongues or mussels but they don't want to talk with us, or take us on dates, or ask what we like, they just want to use our holes and aren't interested in what's between the holes. They don't want to join up the dots!
     WOW! I felt like I'd really hit on something – though I didn't suppose I was the first. I mean, I knew already that most Men aren't particularly interested in Women as People. They want us to fuck, and to cook their dinner and have their babies and iron their shirts and look pretty on their arms when going out somewhere. But not really much more than that. And probably the fucking is the most important thing to them. Or maybe that's just because of the men I hung around with, come to think of it. I probably shouldn't tar them all with the same brush.
     Speaking of which . . . . . no, not yet!

The Smell of Others
But, do you know what was the worst thing?
     The smell. Or, rather, They Smelt. Which, although it now seems so gross – well, it is, at any time – you have to put into some kind of context. That's something a number of guys have thrown back at me over the years – my need for context. But look at it: these guys weren't out on dates, they weren't out to impress anyone – though I do know that there was sometimes a bit of 'mine's bigger than yours' – they were out to get laid: oral, anal, vaginal, even getting tugged off – that was all it was for them. None of the worries and anxieties of a first date, or a blind date for them: checking their fingernails, teeth brushed, mouth washed, a shower or bath and cock and balls well washed in case, clothes clean, spotless, ironed – none of that. Most of them had come more or less straight from work, or the pub. They were there for one reason only: to fuck.
     And we were there for one reason only: for them to fuck. Regardless.
    
     I never turned one of them down, no matter how scruffy, with dirty work-clothes, mucky boots, grimy hands and nails, greasy hair. I was open for business and my business was getting fucked by them. For Free!!!
     And I was young, and inexperienced (well, relatively) and pretty. And though I won't say they flocked to me, although as I was new I was additionally attractive to the regulars, and the Milfs understood that and didn't object. They really were friendly and kind and supportive – and that's something you sense and just know, without trying to read the signals. No, they were good women   and never changed over the time I spent in their company – because this became a regular feature of my life with Martin.                                  
     Oh, and it wasn't just me getting fucked. No, he got his end away too. I mean, what's the point of going Digging and not fucking a few of the available talent? That would be just plain stupid.
     So while I was getting filled up – and it's one of the benefits of being female that we can have cock, after cock, after cock, after cock, while guys can usually only manage one shag, maybe two, or very rarely three, tops – Martin was making the most of whoever was there.
     But I was the youngest girl, there were another couple of teenagers who were 18 or 19, but most of the women were in their thirties, forties and even fifties. And they had their own clientèle. I know that's not the right word, but customers, punters, johns, the kinds of names working girls apply to their men, aren't right either and I don't really know what else to call them.
     So I tugged and sucked and shagged a whole load of guys, and most just had me once, and those who repeated after a break just wanted a repeat of wherever they had got before. So it seemed to me that each guy had a preference for a hand-job, or a blow-job, or a bum-fuck, or my See You Next Tuesday and wasn't looking to try out different ways. Which was very different for the Men I'd been with before, who may each have had a preference, but all wanted to fuck me every way they could. But not that I was complaining – I got more than I'd expected, when Martin drove me into this quite unexpected Club. And I just knew that he would nring me back here again.
     So when the numbers began to drop as people – mainly the men and the Milfs who had kids and hubbies to see to – got in their cars and drove off, Martin and I did the same. And when we got back to the cottage he surprised me by fucking me on the floor of the living room before I'd a chance to shower and sliuce myself on the bidet! It was as if he wanted to get right in there where all the other guys had already been and when, after he'd cum his load, he shimmied down between my legs and licked and sucked at me I was really surprised – shocked even – at the thought of him drinking and swallowing the cum from all those guys who'd already been there. It was another aspect of Martin that I'd never seen before and just went to show how we never truly know another person and can learn something new about them every day.

The first time
Well, there's always a first time, isn't there. And you never forget it, ever. And although I'd overheard most of the men talking about Dogging and pretended I knew what they meant, I never actually asked, because I didn't want to be a silly girl and admit to a thirteen-year-old's ignorance. But when Martin said “Let's go Dogging tonight!” I just owned up.
     “What's Dogging? We don't have a dog and I prefer cats anyway!”
     “And I love your Pussy,” he said and slid his hand inside my dressing gown and up between my thighs. I tingled when his thumb entered my See You Next Tuesday and I nearly spilt the coffee! And then he told me that it was where you went to fuck strangers. And I suppose I must have looked shocked, because he laughed and reminded me that we had been strangers that first night we met at The Gents and he fucked me for the first time. And I blushed.
     And he explained about these kinda secret places where people met up, usually at night, but sometimes during the day, and some Men liked to fuck while others watched and some just liked to watch and wank, and he said it was a bit like his job as an Advocate, because they are supposed to never turn down a case and take whoever and whatever case they have turns up at their Chambers, and it sounded a bit like a Prostitute, because I had read a bit about that, and he laughed and said “no money changes hands, it's just for fun.” and while I still felt it was much the same thing, even if it was free, I agreed. More out of curiosity, than a burning desire to be fucked by strangers.
     Martin drove us that evening, into an Industrial Estate which had emptied for the night and, at the end of a cul-de-sac where the paved road stopped at the gate into a field, where a car park had been made by widening the road on both sides, and about a dozen other cars were parked in a kind of circle. He pulled up behind a Land Rover and we got out. I was dressed in what Martin called 'Sexy Casual', wearing stockings and suspenders and no panties, and high heel shoes; there were several small groups around several cars and I could see a number of girls and women already giving hand-jobs, blow-jobs or being fucked while several guys stood and watched, with their cocks already in their hands. It wasn't fully dark, and we were quickly spotted.

     The first guy to reach us had a thick cock standing to attention above a hairy scrotum and invited me to have a suck. I bent over – I didn't want to ladder my stockings on the rough ground – and held his cock to guide it into my mouth. I soon licked and sucked him until he was about to cum, when he pulled it out and shot his load over my face. There was a cheer, and he waved as he stepped aside and let another – big and fat – guy take his place: “turn around and bend over,” he ordered and I obeyed. He must have had a tube of KY Jelly in his pocket, for I soon felt him rubbing the cold jell into my arse, followed by his thumb and then his cock which he pushed deep in, before taking hold of my hips and proceeding to rock me back and forth on his pole. I don't know how long it took, but he also pulled out before cumming and shot his load over my buttocks.
          After that it seemed that the whole car park was full of people. Martin led me over to a picnic table sat me on it and I lay back, He entered me, holding my legs up by my ankles, and gave a Master Class. He held on as long as he could, while I sucked off a stranger at the side, and they both came at about the same time, but without withdrawing. I felt Martin's load shoot up inside me and my mouth was filled with the other guy's, which I swallowed. From then it was one after another. There seemed to be more guys than cars, and about half-a-dozen girls. At one point, I had to take a break and smoked a cigarette with a couple of the girls who introduced themselves as Trixie and Sue. They had been doing this regularly for years and both came with the husbands. They said they liked the excitement – especially with a stranger, though most of the guys that night were regulars, and they often saw them around town – but the protocol was that the girls never acknowledged the men, unless the men did it first, or you already know them in town anyway.
         “But why come here if you already know them?” I asked, perhaps in my ignorance.
     “Well,” answered Trixie, “most of them are married and their wives think they are meeting their pals in the pub or the Legion. So we couldn't go to their homes and if they came to ours, someone would see.” Which sounded about right. And then she added: “and we're both married too, see? I've got two kids and Sue's gor three.” I must have looked goggle-eyed, because they both must surely have only been in their twenties, and Sue laughed, and asked, “do you know what the guys call us?”
    I was too ashamed to say the first things that popped into my head, because they were really nice girls, so I shook my head.
     “MILFS!” they chorused and laughed at my look of incomprehension, then Trixie explained: “a Milf is – a 'Mom I'd Love to Fuck', M, I, L, F. I guess it's American, cos who in Scotland calls their Mum 'Mom'?” I laughed with them then, but thinking of Dr Montgomery and my Mum – the MILF he'd certainly begun fucking, stopped me. And thankfully, before this conversation got too personal for me, that was when martin came over and asked if we were ready to Rock and Roll, because the other girls needed a break and there were still Punters ready to enjoy the evening. So we stubbed out our fags and got back into acrtion. My clothes had been pretty much discarded long ago – it was good to be with Martin, because he took care of all that kinda thing. And after the first few guys, which had been quite different from what I expected, I'd been enjoying myself. I didn't bother about what the Men looked like – fat, thin (though usually Fat!) young or old (usually older than Martin) – and just concentrated on getting as much out of their cocks as possible.
     

Kiss Me Quick and Shag me Slowly
We spent the next day quietly, just lying about in the garden or the bedroom, reading our books, listening to the radio, Martin did his daily crossword, and having slow, lazy fucks. The kind that are just in time to the rhythm of your body, in which I slowly licked and sucked his Cock, but not all the

way; I then held it just kissing the entry into my See you Next Tuesday, slightly nuzzling and then

ever so slowly inching it it; I was well oily by this time and once the gleaming Head was inside me, I

let him slide all the way in and I just lay back and he raised my legs up and put them over his
shoulders, and he raised himself up with his arms, just like as if he was doing Press-Ups, but it was actually Push-Ins, that way when the man withdraws all but the Head of his Cock and then slides it back in Balls deep, and does this again and again and again, and you just keep very quiet and don't actually do anything for as long as possible until he increases the pace of his Pushes gradually and he's forcing his cock in a bit harder each time and his Balls are slapping against your Bum Cheeks and his curly hairs are starting to chafe your lips and he reaches that ramming stage where you're almost getting pushed a bit further up the bed each time, till your head's up against the headboard and you cant go any further so that when he pulls out, you move slightly down the bed and then he rams into you and you bang the top of your head and it starts to get sore but still you don't make a sound, and by now he's like a piston, slamming into you and you're banging your head and he's dripping sweat from his face onto yours and he's staring at you and you stare back and then he smiles and you smile back and he dips his face towards you and sticks his tongue out and you make a bite for it and just miss and eventually you get it and draw it into your mouth and suck it so hard that he can't pull it back and then he grunts and groans and the pace is frantic and then HE CUMS! Wham and you Cum Too and he flops down on top of you and I really love that weight so heavy and sweaty and sweet and salty and slippery on top of me and his Cock is still throbbing and spurting out more Cum and you hold it tight with your interior mussels and squeeze it hard and don't let go until you feel it start to get soft and floppy and you just raise your pelvis and it slips out and you squeeze it between your inner thighs and then you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms round his neck and snog away for all your worth and bite his lips and then he bites your neck and after a while you feel his Cock stirring again and it goes on and on all through the heat of the afternoon until at about 4pm you go for a pee and have a shower and go back into the bedroom with two mugs of coffee and he says: “Let's go Dogging tonight!”

Counting the Days and Hours
Over the next few days, up to the middle weekend of our Holiday, Martin and I were just like young lovers everywhere: the days were sunny and warm and we walked along the valley and up to the top of the Cheviots, where The Pennine Way descends to it's Northern End in Yetholm; and arriving in Kirk Yetholm we may have covered the last few miles of The Way but did not qualify for a Free Pint at the Inn where bona fide walkers who have done the entire distance from Bakewell in Derbyshire can often be seen crowding the bar and spilling  (not always literally) out into the garden. We saw the cottage which had been the Palace of the Last Queen of the Gypsies, Esther Faa Blythe; and I wished we had met a true Gypsy that day who might have read my palms and told my future – though, looking back on it now, I wonder how I would have reacted to that forecast: shock and dismay? stubborn denial? A stoic 'what will be, will be'? I doubt now that Martin would have permitted me to have my fortune told, for in fucking me he was breaking the law – I was well under-age – and he would hardly have risked losing his career through such a scandal being made public. But now, I also know better than to imagine that any scandal would ever have reached the Papers or the Courts. His Father would have quickly suppressed it and anyone 'in the know', whether civilian or Police Officer would have been silenced by 30 pieces of silver or threats of retribution (and threats which would quite definitely have been carried out) to career or the body. But at the time I was so swept up in my adoration of Martin and gratitude for his attentions, which had become the most effusive I had ever known, that I doubt I would have believed a word of it.






     So as we strolled hand-in-hand, or sat in the Beer Garden sipping our drinks and watching the Walkers unload their heavy packs, rub liniment into their aching calves or feet, and stretch their bodies we both admired the dedication which had brought them through sun and rain, gales and icy mists. Martin told me that Jimmy had done The Way many times, and I'd noticed a few photos of him inside, with his Free Pints and groups of well-wishers, for he was one of the first to turn these endurance feats into massive Fund Raisers for the charities he supported, so tirelessly.
     And this was the Man who was coming to our holiday cottage in a nearby River Valley, just to see me! I felt like I was walking on air and could have bounced along the hill tops from Derbyshire to Yetholm without any trouble. Secretly, I wanted to ell everyone we met! Especially the girls. I just knew how jealous they would all be, because I'd have felt the same if I'd met someone who was going to meet Jimmy and get on his Show and get Fixed. And now The Great Man was going to Fix Me! I was fizzing with excitement. And it was only Tuesday!
     When we got back to the cottage, Martin bent me over and fucked me from behind and I wanted it to last and last and when he pulled me back so that his cock was so deep inside me I thought it would pop out of my tummy and shot his load of cum into me, I wanted to kiss him, so I turned my face up and he held my head and bent his face down and kissed me upside down and I sucked his tongue for ages, till his cock eventually slipped out and he spun me around and carried on kissing till there was a knock at the front door as our Fish Suppers arrived! Gosh! I could have eaten a Horse.
     Writing this now in the aftermath of the scandals that broke after Jimmy Savile's death, I have to put myself back into the mind of the thirteen-year-old I was then. I wasn't innocent – I had already been the plaything of quite a number of the men who made up that Magic Circle which included Savile, but I never yet considered myself to have been abused or made use of. I had become so dependent on them, particularly on Martin, which had given me my identity. Before them, I had felt lonely and without any self-esteem. They had made me feel important and the centre of their attentions and I was so hungry for love and affection that I had lapped it up, along with their cum. They could fuck me any way they wanted, because it was the sex with them that defined me. If I had walked away, or been cast aside, I would have simply ceased to exist. For I thought they loved me as I had loved each one of them, and especially Martin. And was now looking forward and counting the days and hours till I would meet Jimmy, a National Hero whose whole life was dedicated to helping people and raising money for all the Charities he supported.
     I wasn't the only one who believed it. But I was going to be the Chosen One on Friday or Saturday for this Great Man was coming to meet ME!
    

There's No Knowing What a Man Wants except to Fuck You
Martin read the letter I had received and looked up at me.
     “My goodness, Teri, Jimmy Savile really does want to meet you! This weekend! You should feel honoured.”
    “I do, and I suppose a bit scared!”
     “Why? What is there to be scared about?” asked Martin, handing me a glass of vodka and orange.
     “Well, it's just, that's he's so famous and important and knows all sorts of people, film stars and prime Ministers and all the pop Stars and just, everyone – and who am I? I'm just a wee lassie! Why would anyone really want to meet me? I can't believe it's really happening!” and I jumped about until Martin got hold of me and sat me down on the bed.
     “Listen Teri, my Father, and Ronnie and George Gill and Graham Montgomery all know Jimmy and they've all been in contact with him, telling him about you and what a great girl you are and about your cousin Jo and wanting to go on Jim'll Fix It! So it's only natural that he wants to meet you and spend some time with you and get to know you himself. To be honest, I should be feeling jealous, but I'm happy for you!”
      “Why would you feel jealous?”
      “Well, obviously he'll want some time alone with you.”
      “And?”
      “He'll want to fuck you!”
      “Jimmy Savile?”
      “Of course.”
      “But why would he want to fuck me? I mean he's got women hanging out of windows calling to him, he's got all those girls on Top Of The Pops, hanging on him while he's doing the Show, everywhere he goes women are throwing themselves at him, why would he be bothered about me?”
      Well, obviously because the others have told him how good you are, and because he specially likes girls about your age, and because he just likes fucking them. I mean who wouldn't? That's what holds us all together – we haven't got a lot of other things in common.”
      “You mean fucking young girls is all you do?”
      “No, of course not, but it's the thing that connects us all, and for some of us, well not so much me or George, but the others, it's the most important part of their lives, even if they have jobs, important jobs, the thing that's at the front of their mind all the time is finding and fucking more girls. And someone as good as you is special!”
      “But how do you mean 'as good as me'? Good at what?”
      “Sex! You enjoy it and you do it so well. And you let us do whatever we went to you.”
      And I sat down away from him – there were a lot of things whizzing about in my head, things I couldn't pin down, questions I wanted to ask, but just couldn't quite get a hold of.
     “Don't you love me? You said you did?”
     “I do love you, Teri, I want to spend all my time with you, showing you things, teaching you things, listening to you talk about things that interest you, and we have fun, don't we?”
     “Oh, yes, Martin, I love the way you explain things to me and tell me about history and art and films and people you've met and all sorts of stuff.”
     “And we have good sex too?”
     “Oh, yes, Martin. When you're fucking me I feel like I’m really important to you and that I belong with you, belong to you, and that having you inside me is really what I'm here for. Do you know what I men?”
     “Yes, I do Teri. But I'm not the only man who wants to be in you. And Jimmy is probably the most important person you ere ever likely to have inside you – and you are right, lots of women and girls would love the chance for that. And because I love you, I do feel a wee bit jealous. Even though I can fuck you tonight and all day tomorrow and the next day and the one after that, before Jimmy gets here, and then, after he's gone, we can do it again and again, I'll never tire of you, Teri.”
     “But when Jimmy's here, you want me to be with him?”
     “Well, that's the idea, Teri. A lot of your friends have been working very hard to bring Jimmy here, so that you can tell him about Jo and go on Jim'll Fix It and get Jo that holiday in Disneyland, I mean, that's what you want and we all want it for you, and of course Jimmy will want to fuck you, why on earth wouldn't he?”
     “I don't know. I suppose I just feel a bit bewildered by it all, by the thought of someone famous even wanting to talk to me, never mind ask me to suck him or want to fuck me. I mean it,' not the kind of thing you expect, is it?”
     “I guess not,” said Martin, giving me a cuddle and pulling me closer to him and laying me down with my head in his lap, which usually meant he wanted me to suck him, but this time he just wanted to stroke my hair and talk to me.

Dear Teri,
Thanks for your note, I'm always happy to hear fron you. Now then, now then, Teri, don't get so upset. Does it really matter of you don't tell a story in a linear fashion, but cut between different periods as well as people and locations? And okey dokey, I know you're now telling the same story on two different platforms and that might mean some readers miss a post or other readers miss a different post, but in five hundred years time will it matter? Not on your Nellie! It won't matter in five years time, five weeks, or five days or even five minutes! The whole thing about life is we don't get to know it all. I know you don't like to miss an episode of Doctor Who or Eastenders and if you miss the first episode of a new serial you then avoid the rest, but Teri, that's because when you saw Play It Again, Sam you realised that you weren't the only person who can't miss the opening titles or the closing credits on the principle that you start a book on page 1 and read every page to the end but not everybody does that, some don't mind missing a quarter of an hour or an entire episode, and now that every show seems to begin with “Previously on The News . . . . .” and “Previously on The Weather Forecast . . . . .” it really doesn't matter what you missed, it'll carch up with you.
     What's that? You just can't help worrying?
     I know, nut that's just because you are a perfectionist and you worry about missing a typo somewhere or Posting a piece that has a letter missing somewhere so that instead of 'there wasn't any bread to be had,' we find 'there wasn't any read to be had,' and readers will either read it as you meant it to be, their mind will insert the correct letter, or they'll just think, oh? That's odd, and carry on. They aren't gonna write and complain, they aren't all Disgusted, Tonbridge Wells!
     But that's not why I'm writing, Teri, it's because I'm coming up your way at the weekend and I wondered if you and Martin would mind if I pop in to the cottage – it's a bit grander than mine up in Glen Coe – and maybe stay the night before I continue to Edinburgh?
     Now then, don't get all in a tizz, I just take folks as I find them, so don't get anything special in – I like a bit of haggis, turnip and spuds, or neeps and tatties as you Highland Lassies probably say, but just a bit of toast and a cuppa will do me, you know I'm just a Yorkshire Lad.
     So either Friday or Saturday, I'm not sure of the time, but I'll see you then unless you're not there. Tarrarra Noo!
 Jimmy
PS - we'll have a chat bout you and your cousin coming on JFI
 

Let Me Give You Back Your Smile!
What Martin didn't know was that Timmy Poorless had been befriended by Kenny McCann, known among his friends as Genghis McCann and his patients as Genghis The Dentist, whose Practice was in Kelso and who lived in the Valley Village with his long-time companion, lover, partner, Dr Christopher Lees, one of Kelso's most popular GPs; now, as it happens, Genghis wasn't quite so faithful to Christopher as Christopher was to him, indeed Genghis had a complicated sex-life which he kept separate from his love-life and which he conducted with military precision, having previously been an Army Dentist; he had discovered that the activities of Poor Timmy – who was tolerated as a harmless, unobtrusive witness to the sexual practices of the valley village community, but who never told what he saw, until Genghis extracted that information with the same painless skill he employed with wisdom teeth; and he taught Timmy, in return for his product, how to load film into his camera, focus using the telephoto lens, and snap away; Genghis would later develop that film and give
Timmy ample prints for his private stimulation; as a result, therefore, of Poor Timmy's quite well-developed latent skill as a 'wild-life' photographer, Genghis soon had a detailed and highly instructive photographic record of every one of his neighbours' sexual, marital, extra-marital and extra-curricular activities – he knew who slept with whom, who was sucked off by who, whom it was who had a special fondness for under-age partners, who liked a bit of rough behind the cowshed, who didn't take her poodle dogging with strangers, who needed to suffer corporal punishment before he could consummate anything, and which threesome played with a dummy! And this knowledge placed a great deal of power under the bold Dentist's control. And it acted as a stimulant for one of his own private activities; but, private does not mean he acted alone, although it was an enterprise which required quite a lot of 'sleeping partners' but there was no shortage of them! Genghis had a reputation in the wider District around Kelso of being 'a dab hand' with ether and chloroform which ensured that once they were 'under', his patients were absolutely oblivious, felt absolutely nothing, and when they wakened in the 'recovery room' their pain relief was so well managed  that there were no after effects and they could reduce their medication after 24 hours and give the 'thumbs-up' for a satisfactory experience at the hands of their charismatic Dental Surgeon! Now, unbeknownst to all and sundry, patients, nurses, friends and colleagues, Genghis had a quite unique approach to his pre-surgery preparations: once patients were satisfactorily sedated and in that dreamless state when we are all at our most vulnerable, he would send his nurse out for a break, while he made various checks preparatory to undertaking the dental work which was planned; this left him with ample time and opportunity to carry out a variety of assaults – exactly which varied from patient to patient,
depending on age and gender, varying from touching and sucking, to penetration, which might be oral, anal or vaginal, and many of his patients left after an extensive procedure with quantities of Genghis' semen within their bodily cavities, and all in blissful ignorance!

A Place in the Country
And when Martin said we were going on Friday afternoon to his little cottage down in the Borders, out of Kelso and into the Cheviots, I was bowled over! But quickly remembered to cover my tracks, so I phoned home and told Mum and dad it was Laura's family's cottage and that it had no phone (true) or even a phone box in the village (true) but did have a pillar box so I'd be able to send postcards (true) but only one collection a day (true) that it would be me and Laura, her mum and wee sister (lies, all lies) and we'd be taking our books and doing revision because, anyway, there wouldn't be a lot to do, Laura's mum's expecting again so we'd just be relaxing and studying and stuffing and that (all lies except the bit about stuffing) and off we went. Martin bought me some holiday clothes and sexy underwear and we just piled everything into his car and were on our way.
     Oh the cottage was gorgeous – very pretty and surrounded by lots of flowers and sheltered by trees on three sides and a lovely view down the valley on the fourth, the front. I kind of lost my bearings coming from Kelso, because the roads seem to wind about and unless you know where the sun is and the time of day it's hard to know whether you're looking north or south or the others. But Martin told me the cottage is actually facing South-West and the garden gets the sun all day, even at this time of year,
     And no-one could see us, The gardener is on holiday and the only person who might come up would be the postman, but we might not even be up when he delivers, I think in the morning. So we have it all to ourselves.
     O, I was so happy – I found a trampoline rolled around the back of the shed. It doesn't have the net, but who cares. So I was soon bouncing quite high on it and when Martin came out I asked him to come on too, but he wouldn't, he said he never had used it as a kid, it was just used by any kinds who might visit with their parents, but it was fine for me to play on it.
     That gave me a funny feeling, like he was saying I was a kid. I jumped a bit more, but I was self-conscious now and just put it back, I wouldn't be using it again.
     We soon settled into a routine – there wasn't any sight-seeing or exploring the area, because all Martin wanted to do was fuck me. It usually started with me sucking him off and swallowing most of his Cum, and then he would kiss me and swallow some of it himself. Then we'd doze in bed for a while and then he would fuck me. Only in my See You Next Tuesday, he didn't want to fuck me in my bum – well not so much.
     And after another snooze, we'd do it again. Through the evening and night we did it in bed, and during the day – and most of the days were warm and sunny, we'd do it outside. There was a nice bench on the veranda and in between times we'd sit there and he talked. He knew lots of history and told me about how the house was on the site of an old Border Peel Tower which belonged to the Kerr family, until his Father got it to settle a bill for work he had done for them. And as the old Tower was falling down, he had it demolished and built this cottage. Well, Martin called it a cottage, but it was pretty big. Two stories and four double bedroom upstairs, with a big living-room,, kitchen, Dining Room downstairs. Three toilets and two bathrooms. So you could easily have quite a lot of people staying in it.
     I wondered if there was any chance of his father turning up, but Martin told me he'd gone to Tangier or somewhere to meet some friends. One of them has a luxury Yacht and they were going to sail along the North Africa coast with a crew of Arab boys for them to fuck as much as they wanted to. Martin told me his Father liked Girls and Boys, and especially Arab boys. I don't know why Arab boys in particular and Martin didn't explain that. He did say that when he was young, about my age, his Father used to fuck him nearly every night, until he went to University. And that was when he started looking for girls – not his own age, he wasn't interested in women, only girls about my age. He didn't tell me how he found them, but he did say that the first time he fell in love it was with a girl of 11 he had met at a big Wedding he went to as a guest. There was this girl who seemed a bit left out of it. He parents were heavy drinkers and the girl was more or less left to fend for herself. So Martin 'looked after' her over the weekend. It was a Friday afternoon till Monday morning do and so he was able to spend a lot of time with her and he fucked her, for the first time, in her bedroom. Then she spent the three nights in his.
     He said he felt really confused, because he'd never fallen in love with anyone before and he swore it was the real thing. But on the Monday she went off the Carnoustie, where they lived and he came back to Edinburgh. But he managed to keep in touch with her and used to go to Carnoustie every weekend and she would visit him there while her parents were drunk and not bothered about where she was. And this went on for about six months but then the girl's father got a job in America and the family moved there – so that was it. He'd once met her when he was on a business trip, about three years later, but she was too old and not interested in him by then. She had a boyfriend who was 19 and there wasn't any point in him trying to win her back because he lived too far away.
     Och, it was a sad story and I felt sorry for Martin. So I gave him my best. I sucked his fingers and toes, kissed my way up his legs, then along his arms, then down his chest. I sucked his nipples and bit them and then worked my way down his chest. By the time I got near his Cock it was standing up straight and hard. This time, I only sucked him briefly, then I kinda mounted him. I sat on top of him with his Cock deep inside me and I started to ride him and he bucked like a Bronco. And I used mu internal mussels to squeeze him and hold him tight inside me. And when he Came it was a whopper!
    

 I was only 13 years of age!                                                                                                                              But Martin – MY Martin, that is – explained to me how his Father had abused him as a boy, and then, when he was sent awat to School, he was bullied and abused there too. Oh it was awfully sad to hear how even someone from such a background, with a rich and successful Father, could have been so unhappy. He'd tried to commit suicide twice, and one time was when he was only eleven, That really made me cry, to think how brutal his Father was then, with his own Son. FFS!
     And at School he was picked on by older boys because he was small and weak, and with some of them it was because of his name and his Father – some of their own Fathers were in prison because of Martin's Father. “I didn't know he was a Prosecutor,” I said, not that I knew much at all, just what little Martin had said on the few previous occasions he had mentioned his Father. He seemed mostly to be involved in Copyrights and Commercial Law, but did occasionally Defend some of his clients in Criminal Courts.
     “Well no, but when he's been defending he's sometimes given his own Clients the special defence of naming the people who were really guilty – and then the Police and the Procurator Fiscal follow that up, particularly if his own client is acquitted.” And he said that some of those people, the guilty ones, were particularly nas             ty about his Father.
     My own knowledge of the Police and The Law was based on watching every episode I could of The Bill! So I couldn't argue with him, not that I wanted to anyway. He was so kind and considerate to me. I just wanted to be with him all the time and I was falling behind with my School work, spending most of my time with Martin, even through the week, coming straight from School to his house and going from there to School in the morning. And it was only occasionally that his Father came and fucked me, so most of the time we were together it was only us, and I gave him everything, my Love and my Body. Really, they were the only things I had and the belonged to Martin.
     But that was when I decided to join the Police when I grew up. I told Martin and he laughed at me – not cruelly, just fondly, and a bit like he was my Dad. And I said I wanted to wear a uniform and catch murderers. And he asked what my own Dad would say about that. “he'd probably say they were The Instrument of State Repression of The Working Classes and The Running Dogs of Capitalism but I don't care, he doesn't love me and isn't interested in me. Not like you are.” And Martin would carry me through to our bedroom – unless we were there already, of course, and undress me – sometimes not even do that – and caress me and gently, with all the time in the world, make sweet love to me. And when he fucked me it was so unlike his Father. It was with a gentleness and attention to me that his Father never showed. He told me that he'd studied something called Transactional Analysis and explained that we all Play Games – not like when we play Monopoly, or Cluedo – and that in our lives we adopt a Role and that determines who we are in this big Game of Life! He said that he had decided to be a Man, but not just any man, a particular type of Man: Brave, Strong and Fearless and that when he went to work every morning, he put on his Suit of Armour and felt that he was a Knight, like Sir Lancelot, riding into the Sun to defend the weak and helpless and destitute.
     It was only years later that I learned the only people any of the successive generations of Martin Elginbrods defended was themselves and their own position, wealth and power! That they crushed any opposition and punched out the lights of anyone rash enough to stand against them. But at the time of which I write, I swallowed it whole, along with the squirts of his rather tasty cum he jetted into my wide open and thankful mouth.
     How could I be so fooled? How couldn't I?
     How did I square what he and other Men said to me against the evidence of what they did, or permitted others to do? Where was my bench-mark, my grounding, my basis for any values or expectations? These Men all showed me consideration, kindness and friendship – and Love, of a kind I'd never received before. And the changes were never so swift that the one contradicted the other. They crept along with a pace that a Sloth might consider tardy. And I was cocooned, completely in their debt for I had nothing and they gave me everything a Girl could want. And they displayed a degree of cognitive dissonance that I'd never experienced before: they treated me as a young girl and a grown woman. They made my emotional and even spiritual being their prime focus while they were shagging the arse off me, and handing me to other men, some absolute strangers, to do the same, and then when I came back, they cosseted me and fed me the sweet little lies I was desperate for and grateful to believe. Remember – I was only 13 years of age! And they were me elders and betters and the people I had come to trust and believe and was totally dependent on for everything!

Oh Martin, How Do I Adore Thee? Let me Count The Ways
The one particular way that Martin was like the other Men – I supposed it was just a thing that all Men did, certainly all the ones I slept with (though we never actually slept) – was take photographs. They all seemed to have fancy heavy 35mm cameras, with remote control cables so that they could position it a bit away from us. It never bothered me, because what was happening on the bed or the dfloor or up against the wall, or on the table or wherever it was, took all my attention. I felt I was learning all the time, and I tried to learn new things with each Man – because early on, I worked out that they were all ever so slightly different in the way they liked to fuck, be sucked, or even jerked off by hand. I actually found it quite fascinating and I tried, if I had some time afterwards, to make a few notes – not so much to actually keep, but I've always found that if I write something down, I remember it better. So I always asked the Man, whoever it was, or if there were several, the one whose camera was being used, to give me some prints for my album. It didn't matter that the men's faces were rarely shown – I suppose in case of blackmail – I only suppose that now, at the time I didn't care, it was ME I wanted, whether it was all of me or a close-up, I wanted to be able to look back at what I had done on a particular date and I'd make a note of who I was with. And that list grew longer over the next few years.
     But right there and then and for a period of time I was totally wrapped up in Martin Elginbrod and he could have done absolutely anything to me and I would have been blissfully happy because it was me he was doing it to – me he handcuffed to the bed, arms and legs akimbo and all ready for him to
Fuck. And then there came the time that I was ready for him but it wasn't him - I had been prepared as a gift for hs Father to fuck! That wasn't expected. It was the last thing I expected. Or wanted. It was quite a shock emotionally. And more.
      And he was a Hard Fucker! His Cock was bigger and thicker than Martin's and when it was erect it felt as hard as ebony and it was dark and when he first penetrated me – without any lubrication or even stimulation to prepare me for it, it felt like I was being torn apart by something covered in sandpaper and I screamed and he seemed to like that so he drove it in deeper and harder and kept doing it but not because he was waiting for me to reach my orgasm. Because there was no way this would ever bring me to that, it was so brutal, no, it was because his Cock had been so hardened over the years that it took more and more and more thrusting and pushing and battering before he could ever reach that point where he was going to Cum and once he had – and it was still a load, still a gush, sometimes inside or mostly over my belly or my face, because he really seemed to like seeing it spurt over me – that was him, he'd shake off the last drops, perhaps wipe the head on my skin somewhere and go off for a drink and a smoke. And then Martin came in – every time. After his Father had Shagged me – and he released my wrists and ankles, and I curled up on the bed, and he covered me with a blanket, and he slid under it and wrapped himself around me, and soothed and hushed me and kissed away my tears, and wiped his Father's spunk off me and held me safe and then, when I was relaxed and calm, he applied cream to my See You Next Tuesday, outside and in, and it eased away the pain and the hurt and the degradation and so still I adored Martin. 

Here Stands Martin Elginbrod
While Martin was out talking with his Father on the phone, I took a book down from one of the bookcases that lined one wall. It was called The Most Dangerous Man in Scotland – the Life and Times of Sir Parlane MacFarlane' written by Martin Elginbrod. But the photograph of the Author on the dust-jacket wasn't my Martin, nor even his Father – it must have been his grandfather, he had told me that all boys in the family have the name Martin, even brothers, though they have different middle names. His, that is my Martin's middle name was David. I knew he'd been to George Watson's, one of the top Edinburgh Boy's Schools, and he played Rugby for the Former Pupils Team. I'd never been interested in the Rugger-Bugger boys I used to see in town, or playing in the Park. I didn't like Rugby on TV because most of the players looked like Neanderthals, but Martin was very different from them: he was good-looking, in a boyish way, so that he didn't look that much older than me – well, I'm maybe stretching the reality a bit, but he could pass for someone in their mid-20s. And he wasn't like those narcissists who're always posing in front of mirrors, or even shop windows, checking their tone and their hair – it's us who're supposed to do that, but some of the boys are total wankers.

     Anyway, I had started reading about this MacFarlane guy who sounds like a one-man stud farm, according to the Elginbrod who wrote the book, most of the British aristocracy and probably even the Royal Family, are descended from Him! I checked the publication date – 1933 – so there wouldn't be any blood testing like nowadays, I didn't think they would have fingerprints or stuff like that, so how could you prove this was either true or false.
     Which was when my Martin came back in. “Hey, you're looking at Pappa's book; my Grandfather was fascinated by genealogy and it seems he was pretty certain that the entire ruling class of Great Britain and probably a lot of Europe as well, Royalty anyway, can be traced back to Sir Parlane MacFarlane. And I bet you hadn't heard of him before?”
     “You win, Sir Martin, I haven't. Is it worth reading? Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't meaning that it might be boring, but do you need to know certain stuff to understand it?”
     “No, Baby,” he laughed and ruffled my hair, planting a kiss on my nose and then my lips. “It's actually very clear and lucid – Pappa new that none of his readers would have done the research he had, so he takes you by the hand, as it were, and leads you, step by step, generation by generation, back through time to the Late Middle Ages, well it's before Mary, Queen of Scots, who's about as far back as most people know – apart from MacBeth – and Sir Parlane lived and seduced most of the female aristocracy and gentry, not neglecting their servants, in Edinburgh, and quite a few in the Borders, Lowlands and Highlands. There's no was to prove his thesis conclusively, but who knows, maybe in a few years time, scientists might be able to do just that.”
     “Wow, this Parlane guy sounds quite a rascal!” and it was my turn to laugh and fall over from where I was sitting on the sofa, towards Martin and land with my head in his lap. 'Good aim' I thought to myself, as I could feel his cock stirring inside his trousers. I nuzzled it with my head.
     “Pappa wrote that he was probably a more successful seducer than Casanova, and would also include Don Juan, but he is mythical.”
     “Casanova was the Italian Guy?” I had heard the name but didn't know a lot about him – well, anything, to be truthful.
     “Yes, and he was, according to his own account, the lover of more than a thousand women.” I whistled – it was one of my natural abilities: I could wolf-whistle, carry a tune pretty well, and even get someone's attention with a blast from two fingers in my mouth. I was proud of my ability – for some reason a lot of girls can't, or say they can't do it and consider it 'boyish' which is the ultimate put down as in 'you are such a BOY!'
     “And this Parlane guy had more?” I was getting seriously interested in this story, it sounded quite exciting. I never came across anything like this at home and felt my education at home and school to be seriously lacking in excitement these days. It had only been my Man friends who had shown me any love, care, attention and understanding. I realised that I'd been a bit fickle in letting my affections drift from George Gill, because
he had been the first person in the whole world to actually notice me and want to do things for me. All he asked in return was some fun, which was fun for me too. Apart from Shangri La and I didn't know who had been the real offender there.
     And although Dr Montgomery had really only wanted to use me – and my Mum – he had introduced me to Ronnie Albright, who was probably Jimmy Savile's best pal, and had been working really hard to get me to meet Jimmy, so that I could go on Jim'll Fix It and get a holiday at Disneyland for my cousin Jo, who had leukaemia. And, of course, it was through Ronnie, that I'd met Martin – and I really felt that Martin was serious about me.
     I remembered reading that in some American States girls can marry at 13. I wondered if Martin would be serious enough about me to take me there so we could get married. But I was racing ahead and had to pull myself back. This was only my second weekend with Martin, we still had a lot of getting to know each other to go through. So I told myself not to get all moony and clingy, just relax and do whatever he wants to do.
     And right then, it was obvious what he wanted to do: he had unzipped his trousers and pulled out his cock. It was big and thick, from where I was looking, which was right beside it. It was stiff and erect and looked far too big either to fit inside my mouth, which I knew would be where Martin wanted it to go first, and then in my other two places – but it had been in all three last weekend, so I knew it would, even if it looked like trying to put a quart of milk into a pint bottle. Which was the kind of stuff we had to work out in Maths, dead Bo-ring. Now this lesson, on the other hand, was real life and great fun too.
     So I took hold of Martin's cock with one hand and started doing what George, Graham and Ronnie had taught me, and soon it was ready for my lips and mouth to get to work. I rolled over onto my knees and bent over martin's groin, licking his Cock all the way up from base to head and down again. And I could hear and see that he was enjoying it, just fine.
     Now I still thought it was pretty amazing that something so firm and rigid could also feel soft to the touch, with a very sensitive layer of skin covering it and flexible, so that when I gripped it I could rub up and down the length and my hand was actually holding one area of skin that moved all the way up and then all the way back down again, without tearing or sticking. It was amazing too that my Mouth, Anus (I'd learnt the proper name for my arse) and my See You Next Tuesday – you will not get me to use that other word, ever! - could stretch in width and depth too, to be able to accommodate, and I was amazed at my own mussel control too, I could grip and squeeze that great truncheon of a Cock with the many mussels in my small and innocent body. WOW! Doesn't do it justice. It was A-Fucking-mazing!
     And it was mine, all mine, it was MY body and I was choosing what I wanted to do with or have done to MY very own Body. That made me feel very grown-up and I was determined to give Martin a really good weekend,  I was His Guest and must show my appreciation to the best of my 13-year-old ability.
     By this time, we had both somehow shed our clothes, my School Uniform was in a heap on the floor, together with Martin's trousers, shirt and underwear. His hands on my head guided my mouth to his massive cock that I had aroused even further with my hand. I opened my mouth and licked the Head of his Cock with my tongue. He groaned with what I took to be pleasure. I licked all around and over the Head, shiny with it's own urgency and now slick with my saliva. I licked all around the shaft and kept returning to the Head, then I closed my lips around it and slowly, still guided with his hands, which gave me a great feeling of happiness that Martin was in charge of me and that what I was doing was exactly what he wanted.
     His cock soon filled my mouth, and my tongue was still darting around, and still he pressed down and even more of his Cock pushed into my mouth, it seemed to be going down my throat, and then he gripped my hair and began to pull my head up and then push it down, so that it felt as if he – or his Cock – was fucking my mouth.
     I'd given blow-jobs plenty of times before to the other Men, but because I felt even more emotionally connected to Martin, this new thing that was happening felt much more involving for me. We were doing it together. The push down and pull up got faster and I was also sucking, creating a pull on Martin's Cock that made him groan louder. He was gasping as this thing that was happening to us got closer to his climax. There was one hard thrust down on my head at the same time as his pelvis rose and his Cock was thrust deep into my throat, I was afraid I might gag, but instead, he shuddered and his cock shot out a massive stream of semen that filled my throat and my mouth and then he came again, and again. I knew that hard as I was swallowing, some was leaking out around my lips which hadn't managed a complete seal, And we stayed like this for what felt like ages, until he put his hands on my cheeks and slowly raised me up and his Cock slipped out with a Plop! And dropped, limp and spent now, onto the top of one of his legs.
     With his hands on my face, he pulled me up and I snuggled against him and he kissed me on the lips and with his open mouth, his tongue entered mine and he sucked out as much of his cum as he could. And I looked into his eyes and saw only what I recognised as sheer Joy, He was truly happy and so was I. I had shown him that I was content to do his bidding and always would. That so long as he wanted me, I was his. I knew that this was just the beginning and felt a glow of love suffuse my whole body. Even my toes tingled. I was ready to accept whatever Martin gave me and to give back to him everything I was. This was real, this was true and as far as I could tell, this was True Love!

In Praise of Older Men (but not too much)
And that was why, all through the week, my step was light, my cheeks glowed, my eyes sparkled and my heart was a-flutter! This was different from all my three relationships to date – a real live actual Date! Not just creep around discreet meetings with George in the Back Shop, before he went home to his wife and boys, not just kneeling under Graham's desk in his Surgery sucking him off, not just mooning around the Hotel Room waiting for Ronnie to come back from wherever he went and then be his Fuck-Toy till he next went off to do business: No! This was an actual date with an actual Man, younger than the others, single, a professional man, with his own place in The New Town, whose demands were a lot simpler and more 'normal' than any of the others. Oh I floated on a cloud of dreams in sunlit glades and resting on mossy banks by tinkling streams. No-one spoke sharply to me, Home was quiet and peaceful and I spent most of my time in my own room, playing Radio 1 and reading love stories. 

     I think meeting Martin had forced me to reconsider the direction my life had taken ever since George Gill first winked at me. I felt that none of them ever really wanted to know what I wanted, or were all that interested in me, me as a person. I was just an object to them, something for them to use, and the more I thought about it the main thing they were interested in was my age. Like I'd heard of guys that were only interested in blondes, or tall girls, or wee girls or particularly young ones. They weren't interested in what was in her head or her heart, just her age. Pre-pubescent girls seemed to be the most popular and I was on the cusp – soft downy golden curls below my tummy and slight swellings on my chest. I can't say I was womanly yet – Laura was quite far advanced in development compared to me. And I think that was why Marting was so inquisitive about my age – he must be comparing my body with other girls he'd known and perhaps I was a bit behind the average 13 year old.
     Maybe that was why George, Graham and Ronnie were so keen on me – I could easily pass for eleven and I had a feeling that was their preference. But, hey – they'd certainly had no complaints about me: I had quickly mastered the art of sucking cocks and my See You Next Tuesday easily accommodated them, now. It had been a bit painful at first, with George. But he was very gentle and found ways of applying KY Jelly that made the whole process much better for both of us.
     And Martin was so different from them in many ways – he was younger, only about 20 years older than me – if that! I had no idea what age an Advocate is, or a Solicitor – he was one or the other. But Ronnie had said his dad, Marting Senior was one of the top Advocates in Edinburgh, maybe even Scotland. They were fabulously rich, yet martin didn't flaunt that at all. His Flat was spacious and nicely decorated and furnished but no way OTT!
     And when Friday came I knew when Yuri collected Laura, Sandy, Jasmine and Soo (our three new girls) and me at the School gates that I was being delivered to Martin's rather than going to The Gents! Oh, I was so excited. I would miss the three new girls first night – but they'd all had an evening at Ronnie's with him, Boris and Yuri during the week. “To Break Them In,” Yuri said, which sounded a bit OTT to me, it made them sound like wild horses who have to be tamed. But then, maybe that's how they see Girls?
     Martin was waiting at the door for me – he took my bag and stood back to give me a good look – I was still in my School Uniform and he was obviously delighted with what he saw. I'd dyed my hair Red on Wednesday night, while the others were being fucked, I had to cheer myself up, it felt so lonely being on my own when the others were having a Party.
     Martin helped me out of my coat and took me through to the living room, offering me a drink – “absolutely anything, I've got it.” So I had a Voddie and Orange and sat on his big sofa while he made the drinks and brought them over. As I sipped, very conscious of him sitting close to me, he said “I've thought of nothing but you all week, Teri,” and I felt kinda shy as I glanced at him. “Me too,” was all I said. He put his drink on the coffee table, took mine and put it there, took me in his arms and started kissing me. Now, it wasn't the same as the way the other men all kissed, with the tongue straight in filling your mouth – this was much gentler, slower, shyly, as though he was testing me to make sure he wasn't rebuffed.
     Of course his tongue did come in after a bit, and I slipped mine into his mouth – this was actually the first time in my life I'd ever done this. He sucked it and nibbled it, but not sharply. We took it in turns to explore each other's mouths and teeth and gums and inner lips and then he was kissing me all over my face – my cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, my nose! Mt chin, my neck and WOW! He gave me some Love Bites that were so intense and erotic I was afraid I'd Cum in my pants!
     And then his hands started to explore my body – still with my Uniform on! And it was slow and lazy and gentle, as they slid up my back and over my shoulders and down my arms and he kissed my hands, backs and palms, and sucked all my fingers, and then back to my face and another love bite on the other side of my neck, while his hands moved under my blazer and up under my arms to my oxters where he held me tight and close as though he was afraid I'd go somewhere. Although I'd had fun with the other Men, this felt different, much more personal. I had wondered why Martin had come to The Gents with his Father. I'd read stuff in books about Fathers who introduced their Sons to sex through Courtesans and Mistresses – if I sound a bit coy here, it's probably because I didn't think of myself or my friends as Prostitutes (there! I've said it) or Call-Girls, or Hookers or Whores (not that I knew much, if anything, about them. But most of my reading had been Victorian novels – we read Jane Austin at School and that didn't exactly prepare me for the outside world, and nor did my Dad's Library at home, which was mostly Politics and History. It sounds very simplistic writing this, but really, good girls at expensive all-girl Schools in Edinburgh had a pretty restricted view of the world – especially when we only had the four terrestrial TV channels at home. Not mush sexual education there!
     And while I was thinking about Martin, he was clearly thinking about me. His hands had moved round to me 'Breasts. And I put them in quotes because they were still only very early promises of what was yet to come. He didn't seem to mind that. He gently squeezed and massaged them with his hands. While giving me another Love Bite – I though he was maybe intending to put them right round my neck!
     And then one hand – he was on my left side, with his right arm around my body, so it was his left hand – landed on my left knee. This every so slightly upped the ante and I knew where I was now. This was a move on from kissing and cuddling towards where the other Men always went first. And it didn't decrease my loving regard for him – it told me that he was serious about me: as serious about me as I was about him.
     Slowly it inched up under my skirt, I don't know how long it took, because our kissing had taken on an urgency that was mutual. Deep French Kisses on both sides.
. Ooooh it was lovely to feel myself wrapped up in the arms of this sweet and loving Man after the mechanics of sex with the others, which was all about their pleasure, not mine. And my body responded without my having to think about it. As his hand moved slowly, centimetre my inch up my leg, sometimes on top of my thigh, sometimes round on the outside, sometimes gently trying to push my other leg aside so it might feel some of the warmth of my inner thigh – I was still wearing my School Tights, remember, I slightly parted my legs and felt his hand, soft and smooth unlike the older, wrinkled, knobbly hands of the other Men who'd been there, slid towards my crotch – where he would find his was barred by the three layers I wore: a pair of knickers to ensure my tights didn't sag or slip down, the tights themselves, and another, smaller, wispier, more fragrant and feminine pair of panties covering my bottom and my See You Next Tuesday. My Mum had bought the outer, stouter, knickers from M&S of course, where every Scottish Housewife and some of their daughters always bought their underwear in those days. I had sneakily bought myself some under-panties from Top Shop! And the ones I was wearing were ivory coloured. Almost the same as my skin.
     And he was just touching the first gusset when his phone rang, and rang, and rang and he eventually pulled himself away, face crimson with embarrassment: “I'm dreadfully sorry, Teri, I'll need to answer that, it's my Father, please, I'm so sorry, stay just where you are, I'll be back as soon as possible!” And he actually said the words, rather than the asap that most people used. I hoped he'd be even sooner: PDQ – Pretty Damn Quick!