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Rhyl 1965

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Blonde

Norman Cox was a fifty-eight year old geography master at Talbot School. He had attended that morning’s rugby match on the school playing field, a close loss to St Peter’s, and then driven forty miles to Rhyl in his maroon Hillman Minx.

The holiday season was coming to an end. Most of the crowds had gone home for another year and there was a distinct chill in the air.

Norman buttoned his coat against the elements and drew his hat low over his head. The cafe was just where Wills had said it would be; a short walk along the promenade, then two roads inland and up a slight hill.

The Good Company Cafe was situated between a laundrette and a shop that catered for the holiday crowds by selling postcards and rock sweets. Before going into the cafe Norman nipped into the shop and bought a postcard; it said, “Welcome to Rhyl” over a picture of the crowded beach on a sunny day.

He put the postcard in his jacket pocket and entered the Cafe. A bell tinkled as he stepped inside. The Good Company Cafe was empty apart from two women standing behind the counter. They looked rather shocked by the intrusion, but the older woman soon regained her composure, said, “Welcome.” And held out her hand to indicate to Norman that he had his pick of the empty tables.

He chose a table at the back of the cafe but away from the door. There was an exchange of looks between the women before the younger of the two came over to Norman and handed him a menu.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

The girl was quite tall, maybe five feet seven; she had thick black curly hair and an Irish accent. She was by no means slim, she had a generous bust and full hips, and there was the trace of a belly pushing against her black waitress’ dress. Norman watched her fleshy bottom sway as she walked back to take her place behind the counter.

The menu was a yellow card with black print on it. There was a crude map of Rhyl on the front cover and a list of food and drinks on the inside pages. The opening times were also printed on the menu. On Saturdays the Good Company Cafe closed at four-thirty. A look at his wrist watch told Norman that it was three o’clock.

He placed the menu on the table and sat back in his chair to indicate he was ready to order. The Irish girl retraced her steps around the tables to stand at Norman’s side with her pen and notebook poised.

“Yes Sir?”

She stood close; there was a smell of cheap soap that was not quite masking the smell of body odour. It was not an unclean smell, just the odour of skin and hair. The smell a body works up as the day goes on.

“A pot of tea and two slices of toasted cheese please.”

The tip of her pink tongue peeped from the side of her mouth as she wrote down his order.

“Very good Sir.” She picked up the menu and returned to the counter.

Norman smiled to himself as he thought of old Puffy Wills, you dirty old goat Wills. It had to be her. She was just as Wills had described her. Solid, healthy and as innocent looking as the day was long. She had perfect white teeth and big green eyes. Just mention my name and for a few shillings she will give you the time of your life.

Norman hadn’t had anything like the time of his life since being discharged from the army in nineteen fifty-six. He had joined up at the start of the war and by the time it was all over and Hitler defeated he was well into his thirties, nearer forty in fact.

With no-one waiting for him at home and few job prospects Norman had stayed on in the army. Posts in the Far East and the African Continent meant that he saw much of the world and lived a single man’s life to the full. But when the Army was done with him, and with only a small pension to live on, he took up the post of geography master at Talbot School for boys. Apart from shaking the hands of the mothers on speech days and the occasional seat next to the head’s wife to explain the nuances of rugby, Norman had given up female company all together.

That was until a late night drinking session in Puffy Wills’ study had led to a confession of his longing for the comfort of the opposite sex. Puffy was a big round man with a totally bald head and a booming voice. He was one of those men who seemed to sail through life without the troubles that affected everyone else.

Puffy had told Norman that he had to be bold, most young women, or indeed married women, in low paid jobs, the workers, as Puffy liked to call them, were more than willing to provide sexual comforts in return for a few shillings. All Norman had to do was offer.

Norman thanked Puffy for his advice but confessed that he would not have the nerve to proposition a young woman like that. Puffy laughed loudly, slapped Norman on the back and promised to get him started. He riffled through his desk drawer and handed Norman a scrap of paper with the name of the Good Company Cafe on it. Puffy couldn’t remember the girl’s name, she’s Irish, I think. Thick dark hair and lovely emerald eyes. There should ataşehir escort bayan be no problem; but if there is just mention old Puffy Wills.

That conversation had taken place on Thursday night, it was now the following Saturday. Such was Norman’s longing for the opposite sex.

When the young waitress returned with his pot of tea Norman made sure that his wallet was laying on the red and white chequered table cloth. It was folded over with the notes protruding from the top. He saw her glance at it as she set the teapot down.

“Your tea. Sir.”

“Thank-you.” As she started back towards the counter Norman asked, “What’s your name?”

“Rosie.” She smiled to reveal small, white teeth. Norman noticed that she didn’t call him Sir this time.

The tea was hot and welcome on such a cold day. Norman finished the first cup and was squeezing a second from the pot as Rosie brought over his two slices of toasted cheese.

“Thank you, Rosie. You have an accent. Would I be right in thinking you are Irish?”

She smiled and looked Norman in the eyes as she replied. “Yes Sir, Cork.”

“Cork. Are you over here with you parents?”

“No Sir. I came over last year looking for work. I am nineteen and there is little work in Ireland.” She seemed keen to talk, not at all shy.

“And this is your job?”

She made sure the old woman behind the counter wasn’t listening before answering. “It is until the holiday season shuts for good next week, then I don’t know. I will probably have to go back home for the winter. If I can find the fare.”

“Is that what you did last year? Went home for the winter.”

“No I managed to keep a bit by to see me through the winter. Plus,” She seemed to be weighing Norman up before continuing, “I found bits of work.”

“Oh, what type of work is there around here when the holiday season closes?”

Norman saw her glance at his wallet again. “Modelling mainly.”

“Modelling, at the University?”

She bit her lip. “Private photographers, they’re always keen on young women.”

The woman behind the counter coughed, Rosie smiled at Norman and left him with his toasted cheese.

He took his time eating; there was a clock on the wall behind the counter next to a large version of the menu that could be read from anywhere within the cafe. When the clock got to ten minutes to four he asked for the bill.

Norman was already standing up when Rosie arrived with the slip of paper in her hand. He gave her a pound note and closed his wallet.

“Thank you, Sir. I’ll just fetch your change.”

“No wait.” Norman said. The Irish girl turned around and waited for him to continue. Norman looked over at the counter; the old woman had gone through the beaded curtain that led to the kitchen. “You can keep the change. And,” he opened his wallet to show her the bills, “there’s more where that came from.”

Rose lost no time. She spoke in a firm whisper, “I get off at four-thirty. There is a newspaper stand up the hill, meet me there just after half past.”

“Where can we?”

“I have a place, now go. Meet me by the newspaper stand.”

The rain was falling heavily as Norman left the Cafe. He hurried up the hill. The newspaper stand was a green wooden hut, there was an old man wearing glasses and huddled inside a grey overcoat sitting behind a pile of newspapers. Norman took refuge from the rain in a bus stop opposite and lit a cigarette.

He couldn’t help but smile. He felt like shouting “Thank you Puffy Wills!” at the top of his voice. He wondered how much he should give the girl, but she seemed experienced at this sort of thing. He would pay whatever she asked.

Two busses went past; Norman smoked three cigarettes and must have looked at his watch a hundred times while he waited. The old man in the newspaper kiosk seemed to be keeping an eye on him. When he boarded up the kiosk for the night he gave Norman one last lingering look before mounting his bicycle and gliding down the hill.

A sense of doom started to envelope Norman as the time got to a quarter to five and there was no sign of Rosie. Had she got cold feet? Was she playing him along all the time? Maybe it was all a trick to get a generous tip out of him.

He braved the rain and crossed the road to stand next to the kiosk. Farther down the road, towards the bottom of the hill, a figure was standing underneath a clear plastic umbrella. The figure turned to look in Norman’s direction, and then waved. It was Rosie. Norman waved back and she started up the hill.

“I was getting worried. It’s nearly ten to.” Norman said as she got to the kiosk.

The rain was smacking off the plastic umbrella. “I said by the kiosk. I’ve been watching from the bottom of the road for ten minutes. I thought you’d got cold feet.”

“Come on we’ll both catch a cold if we stay out here much longer.” Norman said.

“This way then.” Rosie said as she led him up the hill, through a gate in the railings and down a set of escort kadıköy steps that led to a row of terraced houses.

“Down here.” Rosie stepped into an entry that was lined with metal rubbish bins. Their footsteps echoed as they went to the very end of the narrow alleyway and through a green wooden gate.

The yard was small and cluttered. Rosie led the way to a set or iron steps that went up the side of the house. Norman stayed three stairs behind Rosie as they climbed; his eyes were level with her bottom. It was covered by a coat, her dress and whatever she had on underneath but it was obvious that there was a firm bottom beneath all the layers.

The door at the top of the stairs opened after some fiddling with a key that Rosie had taken from her purse. She stepped inside and Norman followed. It was a flat. There was one room with a small kitchen in one corner and an unmade bed in the other. A sofa and a radio were the only other items of furniture. There was an open door to the side that led to a bathroom.

“I’ll try and get this started.” Rosie screwed up some pieces of newspaper, pushed them into a coal fire and lit them with a match.

As she stood up she took her coat off and said to Norman, “Don’t be nervous.” The young woman threw her arms around Norman’s neck and gave him a kiss. Her lips parted and she thrust her moist tongue into his mouth. Norman wrapped his arms around her waist. Her body was warm against his; there was a slight minty taste on her breath. He let his hands roam down her back and rested them on the upper slope of her buttocks.

She broke off the kiss and let out a giggle. “Give me five minutes, you make yourself comfortable.” She went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Norman took off his hat, coat and jacket and sat on the bed; it looked as though it hadn’t been made in days. There was a dent in the pillow where Rosie’s head must have rested that morning and the sheets beneath the covers were ruffled.

From the bathroom there was the noise of the toilet flushing and a tap running. Norman was loosening hit tie when the bathroom door opened. Rosie emerged totally naked, her skin was ivory white, she had let down her hair so that it now fell to her shoulders, her large firm breasts with their large pink nipples jiggled as she walked. Her body was fleshy and firm. Below her waist, at the juncture of her thighs was a thick patch of black hair.

“Come on slow coach.” She said as she paddled bare footed over the floor towards him. “Need a hand?” She stood directly in front of him and started to unbutton his shirt.

Norman let his tie hang around his neck and stared at the nineteen year old women less than a foot away from him. She had washed in the bathroom; the smell of soap was strong with her naked body so close. Her belly was soft and round, her thighs touched at the top, everything in between those thighs was masked by the thick curls of her pubic hair. Norman reached out his hands to her breasts and flicked his thumbs over the thick pink nipples. Rosie sighed and took a step forward as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders. Norman let himself fall backwards onto the bed and Rosie tumbled on top of him.

They stayed like that for some minutes, kissing and letting the flesh of their naked torsos rub together. Rosie moved down his body, kissing his chin, neck and chest. Norman lay back and enjoyed the soft touches of her lips. She got to the thin line of pubic hair beneath his belly button and lingered. Her lips continued to tease him as she loosened his belt. Norman lifted his hips from the bed as she pulled his trousers and undershorts down his legs. His cock came free from his shorts and rested limply between his thighs.

Rosie took the limp flesh in her hand and gently massaged the skin. She looked Norman in the eyes, smiled and put all of it in her mouth. Norman let out a gasp as the warmth of her mouth covered his genitals. She was rough, rolling his cock between her lips and flicking her wet tongue around the shaft.

She worked his cock for some minutes in her mouth and caressed his balls with the backs of her fingers. Norman stared at the ceiling willing his cock to get hard. ‘Relax.’ Rosie said, sitting up and pulling on the skin of his penis. ‘This will help.’ She leaned over and let one of her breasts fall over his face. Norman took the nipple in his mouth and sucked. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the sensations in his mouth and on his cock.

It was no good, his cock stayed flaccid in Rosie’s hand. She let go and lay down beside him.

‘It’s ok. We can stay like this and catch our breath.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s been a while.’

They both stared at the ceiling in silence. Norman let the back of his hand fall onto her thigh. The silence was awkward; in his haste to find something to say Norman asked, ‘Do you see many men?’

Rosie leaned up on her elbow so that she was facing Norman. ‘I don’t advertise, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Oh bostancı escort no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’ Norman tried to sit up himself, but on seeing his concern Rosie put her hand to his chest and guided him back down.

‘I get my contacts through word of mouth. Or gentlemen like yourself who can spot a willing girl and are bold enough to approach me.’

Norman protested again, ‘I wouldn’t know a willing girl. You were recommended to me; by Puffy. Puffy Wills.’

Rosie looked confused; she sat up so that her legs were folded under her bottom. ‘Who?’

‘Puffy, Mr Wills the science master. He’s a big fat man with a totally bald head.’

‘You mean Mr Gregory?’

‘I suppose so.’ Norman shrugged. Gregory was either Puffy’s real Christian name or the name he uses when out bedding young women.

Rosie lay down next to Norman again, snuggling up close so that her lips were softly touching his ear and whispered, ‘Do you like what Mr Gregory likes?’ She brushed Norman’s cock with her fingers, ‘Is that what you need to get him working?’

‘I don’t know. What does Puff… erm Mr Gregory like.’

Rosie gave Norman a deep kiss then indicated the bathroom with her eyes. ‘He likes to watch me.’

‘Watch you?’

‘Watch me in the bathroom.’

Norman tried to keep his voice even. ‘What exactly does he like you to do?’

‘Wee wee, in the bath.’

Norman laughed, ‘Well well, old Puffy Wills. Tell me more.’

‘Oh he’s very direct Mr Gregory. Not at all shy. He likes me to stand with my feet on either side of the bath and do a wee. Sometimes he stands in front of me but I think he prefers to watch from behind. He says my bumhole winks at him. After that he’s as stiff as a poker.’

‘Well I never.’ Norman laughed. Looking down at his flaccid cock he continued, ‘I’m sorry; it’s just that it’s been a while. I just wish I could think of something to get it working.’

‘That’s ok; let’s forget about it at the moment. Would you like to see some of my photographs?’

Before Norman could answer Rosie was leaning off the bed so that she could get to the bottom drawer of her bedside cabinet. She kept her knees on the bed so that her bottom was raised in the air. This gave Norman an exquisite view of her charms from the rear. Everything was a mass of thick black hair with just the slightest hint of her clitoris peeping from the top of her vagina.

‘Here we are.’ She said as she got herself back on the bed. She produced a large brown envelope which she turned upside down. A stack of black and white photographs fell out.

‘I let the photographer take these cheap, in exchange for the copies. I was supposed to be sending them off.’

‘Where to?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

The photographs were all taken at the beach. The first few showed Rosie, dressed in a summer dress and with her shoes in her hand, walking along the shoreline with the dunes in the background. There were also some of her in a two piece swimsuit. They were quite tame; she was either standing in the dunes or sitting on a tartan blanket in conventional poses with her hands either on her knees or in her hair.

Norman shuffled his way through the photographs occasionally complementing her on her pose or how photogenic she was. He was beginning to feel relieved that there was only one envelope as he came to a photograph of Rosie laying on her side facing the camera.

‘That’s nice.’ He said idly as he put it to the back of the pile.

The next image took Norman by surprise. Rosie was laying on her back with her bikini top on, her legs were pulled back so that her knees were on her chest and her heels were about six inches off the blanket. What was even more remarkable was that her bikini bottoms had been pushed down to her knees. The photograph had been taken from directly in front of her so that she had to lift her head from the blanket so that she could look at the camera.

But the thing that caught Norman’s attention was that all of her pubic hair had been shaved off. The camera had a perfect view of her thick outer pussy lips, the darker inner lips, and at the top of her opening her clitoris was protruding and falling slightly to one side.

‘He he,’ Rosie giggled from over his shoulder, ‘that photographer likes my bum bum.’ She pointed with the long nail of her little finger to her anus. Norman looked at her anus that was the centre of the entire photograph, it was dark and perfectly round. In this position, with her knees pulled back and her head straining to look at the camera, her bumhole was pouted, pushed out to reveal every crease and crinkle.

There was only one more photograph left and it had also obviously been taken by the same photographer that was so enamoured with Rosie’s bumhole. Rosie was laying on her side with her back to the camera and her legs pulled up to her tummy so that she was in a ball. Her left hand was on her bottom cheek and she was pulling it away from her other cheek to give the camera an unobstructed view of her anus and vagina. She was looking back over her shoulder and smiling at the camera. The movement of her hand had stretched her bottom to such an extent that her anus was a misshapen dark area of skin with a slightly open hole in the middle.

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