Timothy Lea - Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions

‘I made it myself. Can I open my eyes now?’

‘Of course. How do you feel?’

‘Frightened.’

‘That’s nothing new, is it?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Well, I’m not frightened, I’m excited.’ I take her hand and guide it down the front of my body. ‘Feel.’

She touches me gingerly as if trying to remove a piece of cheese from a mousetrap.

‘It’s huge,’ she says.

I shake my head sadly. ‘I wish you were right. It just feels like that because you’re not used to it and you can’t see it.’

‘I could never get that inside me.’

‘Let me worry about that,’ I kiss her gently on the lips and slip my hand under her nightie.

‘Relax. Don’t stiffen up. Come on, you’re very pretty.’

Slowly but surely her tongue darts out and stays pinned between her teeth. Her small breasts seem to grow beneath my hands and her hard nipples quiver expectantly.

‘You like that, don’t you?’

‘Um. Lovely! You have very gentle hands. Are you going to touch me there?’

‘In a minute. There’s no hurry.’

This is not strictly true but I have left the key in the lock in case somebody comes to see what’s happened to me.

‘Oh, that’s heaven.’

I run my fingers over her belly and lightly brush against the soft hairs that nestle below it. Tiptoe to the two lips, in fact. Very gently I plough the moist furrow and–

‘Oh, be careful.’

‘This doesn’t hurt, does it?’

‘A little.’

‘I’m going to move my finger about a bit. How’s that?’

‘Alright. In fact it’s quite nice, really.’

We go on like this for a bit and I am beginning to feel fruitier than Covent Garden. There is a nice pink flush in her cheeks and her eyes are closed contentedly. It must be chronic, if you can’t get your end away, mustn’t it? You forget what some poor devils have to go through–or not go through as seems more the case.

‘I’m going to try it with two, now,’ says kindly Doctor Lea .’Try and grin and bear it. Remember it’s in a good cause.’

‘Think of Roger.’

‘That’s right. Think of Roger.’

‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?’

‘Positive. Anyway, it’s a bit late to worry about it now, isn’t it? Now, we’ve got this far.’

‘Ouch!’ Her hands close around my wrists. ‘This is the bit that always hurts.’

‘I know. But we’ve got to do it. Come on. Think how nice it’s going to be later on.’

‘I hope you’re right. Ouch!’

I pull her close to me and make her move her legs around while I offer encouraging noises. It is all a bit clinical for a bloke of my tastes and I can feel J.T. Superstar beginning to get perplexed. It would be a disaster to do a Roger, wouldn’t it? The very thought sends cold shivers down my spine. Luckily, the bird is far from passive as far as the old moaning and groaning goes and this helps to keep me on the boil. I can’t stand the ones who lie there as if they are wondering what shade of brown to paint the ceiling.

At last I reckon the time has come to do some real plumbing and I gently lever myself between her legs. Such a tiny bird, she is. Her nose is practically pressing against my belly button.

‘Here we go,’ I say. ‘Stand by for blast off.’

For some reason I think of one of those old-fashioned costume movies with a battering ram being positioned outside the gates of the castle. At least nobody is pouring boiling oil down my neck.

‘Ouch! Oh, no! Oh!’

‘Hang on, we’re nearly there. There!’

‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ Her voice rises in a series of shouts progressing from the pained to the triumphant. ‘Hurrah!’

‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

‘Wasn’t too good, either, but thank you very much. You don’t know what this means to me.’

She puts her little hands around my big end and hugs me to her.

‘It’s nothing. All part of the room service.’

She kisses me warmly on the mouth and together we engage full revs and rocket off into the stratosphere–well, would you believe the bed hopped six inches from the wall?

Yes folks, another satisfied patient learns to live again. Just whistle the Dr Kildare theme while I put on my Y-fronts.

Despite the fact that I only did it out of sheer goodness of heart, I am a bit choked when her old man rolls up around tea-time. I had anticipated that the patient might need a bit more treatment that evening. I see them sitting there in the lounge with half a plate of digestives, and their little hands creeping into each other, and I think: that’s it, Lea, close your casebook, zip up your fly, it’s ten bob to a tin of Vaseline that things are going to be alright from now on. Just sit back and wait for your Duke of Edinburgh award.

But, not for the first time in my life, I am wrong. Mrs R. has a strained expression by supper time and at the breakfast table next morning, there are definite signs of tears. Roger is fiddling with his camera strap. Oh dear. It looks as if all my hard work has gone by the board–or bored maybe. No? You’re probably right. Anyway, later that morning Mrs R. approaches me as I am subjecting the silver to a spot of spit and polish in the deserted dining room.

‘No good, huh?’ I say, reading her face.

She shakes her head. ‘If you’re like other men, he’s not like you. Do you think there’s something wrong with him? Maybe he should see a doctor?’

‘Don’t suggest that to him. That’ll turn him right off. No, he just needs a bit of a boost somehow.’

As I speak my eyes wander down to the end of the room to where Carmen is bending over to adjust a table leg. Yeah. That chick could defrost your refrigerator by brushing against it. At the back of my horrible little mind an idea begins to lurch forward.

‘Banging away with his camera, is he?’ I ask.

‘Yes, it’s the–’ she bites back what she was going to say and gives a resigned little shrug. ‘How long is this likely to go on for?’

‘It’s only temporary. I’m sure of that, but–’

‘But what?’

‘Well, just to be on the safe side, we ought to give him a feel-up, or whatever it’s called.’

‘A fillip?’

‘Precisely. I mean, you’re only here for two weeks, I suppose. You don’t want to hang about any longer than you have to.’

‘But surely you can’t do anything to him–I mean physical?’

‘Blimey no. What kind of bloke do you think I am? No, there are pills and stuff like that but I don’t recommend them. They can get a bit out of control if you know what I mean.’ I think of the Shermer Rugby Club and my blood runs colder than an Eskimo’s chuff.

‘So, what then?’

‘I haven’t quite worked out the details yet, but I think he needs a bit of mental stimulation. He’s concentrating on you so much he gets uptight every time he lays a finger on you. If we can broaden his horizons a bit–’

Later that day I get Carmen, June and Audrey on one side and fill them in on my plan of campaign. Being the kind of gay, fun-loving girls they are, they express themselves as being only too glad to oblige. My real stroke of luck is when I find that the apartment next to the Richards’ bedroom is falling vacant the following morning. Not only that but there is a connecting door between the two suites and it opens into the Richards’ bedroom. My cup over-runneth!

A spot more organisation and next morning finds me gliding up behind Mr Richards as he makes for the front entrance clasping his Leica as if it is the only thing left in the world.

‘Oh, Mr Richards. Sorry to trouble you but I wonder if I could ask you something?’ He shrinks away from me as if the only thing I could be asking him is ‘Why can’t you get it up your old lady?’ But luckily my up-bringing has protected me against such crudity.