Thursday, 10 January 2013

Waterlines 13 won't be published. Here's why....


The latest edition of Waterlines has just been finished and will be ready for sale in the next day or so.  I'm superstitious, so it's not going to be called Waterlines 13.  I've called it Waterlines 12A. The next one will be called Waterlines 14 - I won't break the numerical sequence again unless I write a longer, single story (like Sibling Rivals and Business Incentives).

Here's the blurb for Waterlines 12A:

Larry is a soldier returning from operations. After six months he's eager to see his girlfriend, but he's horny as hell and hasn't even seen a woman in six months.  Temptations are placed in his way on the journey home - can he keep his self-control, or will he succumb to any of the enticements of any of the girls he meets?

The Coach Pot
Colin is at an auction and meets Leslie, an old flame from his days when working in Oxford.  She's bidding for an antique bourdaloue; what's it for?  When she shows him, he becomes sexually excited and they re-establish their "connection".  Although he's tempted, he doesn't want a full-on relationship with her.  How can he escape?

The Men's Room
Margaret is working overtime one weekend, alone with Ted in a building.  She's sexually attracted to him for a long time and, she discovers, he feels the same way about her.  But there's a job to be done.  How can they get their act together?  Thanks to the half-finished work of the plumbing contractors, an opportunity presents itself....



     “There’s some beer in the fridge.  Help yourself.  I’m going to change into one of my Regency outfits.”
     I went to the kitchen and cracked open a can of lager.  I heard her come out of her bedroom and throw something on an armchair.
     “You can try these on, if you like.  But take off your underpants before you wear them.  Then we’ll both be ‘in period’.”
     She’d returned to the bedroom by the time I got back to her living room.  She’d left me a pair of light grey breeches to put on.  I stripped off and tried to step into this apparel, but found them too constricting round my crotch.  “I’m sorry, Leslie, but they’re too tight.  I can’t wear them.”
     “They’re meant to be tight.  I’ll explain in a minute.  Try again.”
     I sat down and edged them up my thighs and over my hips.  When I finally stood up, I found my manhood bulged through the drop-front fly.  It was like being back at the auction, trying to suppress my erection under the catalogue.
     She emerged from her bedroom shortly, dressed beautifully in a white full-length plain gown that could easily have come from the props department of a film studio where a Jane Austen film had been produced.  Pride and Prejudice immediately sprang to mind.  Her large bust was somehow less noticeable now; she wore a high waistband, and perhaps she had taken off her bra.
     Leslie was one of life’s larger ladies but, wearing her Regency gown now, she looked truly beautiful.  She wore her hair up, too, and seemed quite a different person.
     “Wow,” I said.  “Just look at you.”
     “You like?” she asked, twirling round slowly.
     “Yes.  I’m amazed.”
     “Now I need a drink before I use my coaching pot.”
     I moved quickly to the kitchen.  “Hey, Colin.  Your butt looks good in those pantaloons.”
     “I thought they were breeches?”
     “No.  The tight-fitting fashionable ones like those were called pantaloons.”
     “I knew there was a reason you wanted me to wear them.”  I filled a glass and returned.
     “And look at your....”  She pointed down to my crotch.  “He’s struggling to get out of there, isn’t he?  Looking at the outline of your tight cock and balls is making me go wet and excited.”  Leslie drank her glass of water.
     “And now for your demonstration,” I prompted her.
     She turned and grabbed a coach pot from a shelf – I hadn’t noticed it there before – and held it up.  “Voil√† la bourdaloue, Monsieur,” she announced.  It looked exactly like the items I’d seen at the auction and in the catalogue. 
     Next, Leslie raised her skirt to her waist and placed the pot between her open thighs, holding it low enough for me to watch her.


Just in case you're wondering what a coach pot, or bourdaloue, looks like... here's one:

The Men's Room is a minor departure from my usual style in that it's written from a girl's point of view.  I started it in the usual fashion, from the guy's angle, but realised it would be more interesting from her viewpoint. 

I hope you get as much enjoyment out of reading this issue as I did when I wrote it.

All the best for 2013,

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