Tales Told out of School. 9: A Fell-top Miss-Adventure.

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Learning more.

They kept Brenda awake all night with their amorous antics, but she was still in a different time zone, so was restless. It would take a day or two to adjust.

No one ever shut any bedroom doors in this house. It was a habit no one had got into with a nervous child in the house, so she’d heard everything; creaking bed, bathroom being used (Sheila), creaking bed again. Then, when that ball clock downstairs let go to signal midnight, even though it was three in the morning, Peter came to a boil again with Sheila.

She lost count of how many times they’d made love and talked.

It took her back so many years. She really did envy her daughter now, but she was also pleased for her. Worried, envious, but cautiously pleased, but she desperately needed to know much more about this man.

She was wide awake and would never sleep now, so she climbed out of bed, deciding not to dress and wake everyone up by going into any drawers. It was still too warm, and a simple wrap would suffice. She’d have a coffee and then go back to bed before anyone was up, once her head cleared.

Those two wouldn’t be disturbed by any noise she made, with them buried deep into each other’s arms, and with him buried deep into her daughter’s body another way with that gigantic…, only coming out of her to let her hurry to the bathroom once more to get rid of him from her body down there. Poor Sheila needed to rest, and to ease the discomfort of having him in her all night; and to release those millions of sperm swimming in her daughter’ vagina trying to beat each other to the punch, and then dribbling, poor devils, into the toilet bowl, and then to pee before she hurried back for more of the same. That had once been her own way of life with a man around, but never entertained by anything like that between her legs!

Christ! She should get her mind off that. She was wet herself thinking about it and what was happening to Sheila. She would go mad herself at this rate, lusting after an intimacy that she’d lost two years earlier when her husband had died.


Peter was the first to come downstairs early the next morning, very early, to see Sheila’s mother sitting at the kitchen table, still in her nightclothes, revealing too much of herself with her legs apart like that; her nightdress well above her knees, and with a robe wrapped loosely around her, her head in her hands, not hearing him.

She had been there for some time if the small pile of tissues on the table beside her was any indication, but then her time-frame had been disrupted. It was late morning for her, and she’d been over-tired last night with a lot to deal with.

Peter could see that she had been crying. He was startled for another reason too; she looked so much like Sheila. He hadn’t noticed that last night. Should he go back up and check?

She looked up as he came in, seeing him for the first time in daylight, and had to close her eyes to blot out what she saw. Her heart was beating much faster than it should; she was blushing, and she was now even distinctly wet between her legs. This could not be happening to her. He belonged to Sheila. All of her troubles became ten times heavier upon her shoulders seeing him like that, with old memories and old feelings washing over her and through her, swirling her around the room.

She sat still until the dizzy spell faded. How could he be having this effect on her? He was too much like her former husband in build and looks. She suddenly became conscious of how she was sitting. He would see everything; and brought her legs together, pulling her nightdress down, and her wrap closer around her, for all the good that would do. And her blasted nipples....

And all he had done was appear and smile at her

What was the matter with her?

“Good morning. You're up early.” He sounded cheerful. Where the hell had he got the energy for what had happened so many times last night between him and Sheila? And he still looked too damned big for comfort.

This was the man that would remove her daughter from her; taking everything she valued from her mother's life, but she could not resent him for that, just for fucking her daughter so soon. Maybe it had been inevitable. Everything changed.

She explained. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s later in the day where I came from; almost ten in the morning there.”

Peter felt sorry for her. These were not just simple changes in her life, in all of their lives, but sudden and shocking changes, thanks to him. But all of them better than the alternative that Sheila had faced.

She had taken her daughter for granted. Now, just six days later, she’d discovered that Sheila had turned into a woman she didn’t even recognize. Not just a woman, but one in love and obviously well-loved; full of piss-and-vinegar (as well as being awash with sperm), confident in herself, and no doubt, lying exhausted upstairs having been ridden hard all night.

Peter came and sat by her, feeling no animosity from her for what she had interrupted between Sheila and him the night before. Her feelings were those of a protective mother, and her first instinct had been to lash out at him, but she hadn’t lashed out as bad as she could have.

He rested a comforting hand on hers and she held his hand there in turn, accepting his commiseration. It was also nice to feel his touch, which sent shock waves through her body. She couldn’t hate him for what he was doing to Sheila. It would either be him, or some other man. Or no man at all, and then there would be a life of complete loneliness for both Sheila and her. And no grandchildren; which were all she might be able to look forward to now. Even grandchildren were better than nothing.

He got another two cups down for coffee. Her coffee was cold, and he pushed the percolator back onto the heat. As he turned back, he noticed the camera by her elbow, and an open laptop still playing a film clip. He also saw Sheila’s open journal which Brenda had been reading. She had been watching all of the shocking things they had done on the Fell together yesterday, and she'd been reading her daughter's outspoken journal which pulled no punches either, especially when Sheila had invited him to add a few paragraphs of his own feelings, desires, recollections.

He laughed. He could not object now. It was too late for everything. Her mother would have found out, eventually. All mothers wanted to know, though some couldn’t handle it.

She was watching everything that they’d done together on the Fell at their various stops the previous day.

He saw it, looked at her and began to laugh nervously; hoping she would not be too outrageously offended by it as any mother would be, seeing all of that happening to her daughter, and demand that he leave her house, immediately.

He didn’t want her to be offended, but to understand.

“Ouch. Really caught in the act, weren’t we?” He tried to make light of it. “I was about to tell you that nothing is ever as bad as we fear, but then you’ve already seen the worst of me in every way.”

She blinked up at him and tried to explain.

“I didn’t mean to see these. I thought it was my own camera I had picked up to refresh my memories, and then I saw….” She shook her head. “What didn’t I see?” She sniffed back more tears. “But I can recognize love when I see it. I once knew a love like that for myself.”

She had seen true love between her daughter and this man in the way they came together, laughing, encouraging, caressing, mutually interacting; never-ending love. What a memory they had managed to capture and to preserve, while she and her husband had managed not to preserve any of them, other than for Sheila herself.

He laughed again, and patted her hand, as though he was not offended or shocked by her seeing those stills, and film clips, when she was the one shocked and offended.

She was, should be, but she wasn't.

He sat down beside her, feeling her warmth through her thin robe. She didn’t push him away as she could have done, but looked at him with tears still in her eyes. He reached out to her face and brushed the tears away with his fingers. He felt sorry for her.

She even smelled as Sheila smelled, looked like Sheila looked. Her hair smelled the same. If he had not just left Sheila in bed asleep, after making love to her again, he might have assumed Sheila had beaten him downstairs.

“You watched them all?”

She nodded. “Twice. I couldn’t sleep. I was drawn to watch everything once I got started." She fought to find the words.

“As old as I am, I thought I knew everything about love and intimacy, and sex. I am learning that I knew nothing.” She was actually blushing.

Peter turned to her and tried to comfort her. “You are not old... may I call you Brenda?" She nodded. "You are not old, Brenda, and I’m sorry you saw those, but not sorry about what Sheila and I did, in discovering our love. They are not what a mother needs to find out about her daughter and the man she just met.”

She protested. “You are wrong. I did need to see them. I am so glad that I saw them. I was very shocked at first, offended, even judging you both… and then…I watched them again. I saw true love in everything you did together. I have never seen Sheila so outgoing and so happy. I was so happy myself for Sheila, and I don’t know how I can say that or feel it, but I do."

She sniffed and dabbed at her nose. “I feel as though the world has left me behind.”

That was why she had been crying.

He covered her hand with his, put his other arm under her arm, and picked that hand up, to hold between both of his, taking possession of it. She did not pull away as he half expected but looked up at him, tears still brimming in her eyes. He wanted to kiss them away.

“One can never imagine one’s own daughter experiencing a love like that. But she was… you both were… loving, and so eager for each other. I was worried that you were hurting her. I thought you had, last night when I saw… and then when I saw even more of you.” Words failed her.

He closed the laptop still playing that scene at the sheepfold with them dressing each other at the end, then moved the journal, the computer, and the camera back to the pantry top.

“It might be better if Sheila doesn’t know you’ve seen those just yet. She’ll show you when she’s ready. I think you two are close enough not to have many secrets.”

He refilled both of their cups with fresh coffee. The aroma would drift upstairs and would soon bring Sheila down. He needed time to decide what to say after that awkward development.

“And all in week?” She hadn’t meant to ask it aloud but had.

He nodded. “I expect I must be a hell of shock for you to deal with, being as far away as you were, and I’m sorry for that.”

'Hell of a shock', was a wild understatement in more ways than one.

“I hear Sheila stirring. I’ll go and do the animals now and give you two, more of a chance to speak together than I did last night.”

He intercepted Sheila at the bottom of the stairs, seeing that she was dressed almost as her mother was—he had to look back to check that he was seeing Sheila in front of him—but with only a robe about herself, unfastened, and nothing else underneath that; just as she had climbed out of bed, warm, soft, loving.

He put his arms around her inside of it, and kissed her, caressing and kissing her breasts as he retreated from her, leaning in to kiss her again and pausing to touch her down there, feeling tissues trapped in her there, between her legs.

He smiled at her. “I’ll go and do the calves and hens. Coffee’s made. There’s a cup on the table for you that I didn’t have time to drink. I’ll start breakfast when I get back.”

They both watched him go as Sheila brought her robe about herself more securely and sat with her mother.

She wouldn’t ask if her mother had slept well. She knew she hadn’t, listening to them making love all night, seeing her mother's eyes were open each time she had gone to the bathroom.

She took Sheila’s hand. “You’ll be heading back to university tomorrow. I don’t know where the summer went. “Why do I feel as though I am losing a daughter now, where I didn’t feel it two years ago when you first went away? But at least I know now that you are loved, and that you are happy.”

“Yes Mom, I am happy. So happy. You know you won’t lose me. You will actually be gaining a son, and more.”

Her mother wasn’t fooled by that. “That’s the traditional view of it; a sop, to try and comfort mothers for their loss, but the reality is that you will soon be gone. A woman should be with the man she loves.” That thought tormented her dreadfully. “But I don’t want to lose you. I couldn’t stand losing you and your father too. I regret so much not bringing more children into the world before that slipped from me. Your father and I discussed it when you were sixteen and we even got started on it soon after, trying so hard, but it never happened. Time, beat us to the punch.”

Now, she was feeling it.

“You should marry again, Mom. Your life is not ended yet. You’re only thirty-seven.”

“I’ll not marry again. I never met the man I could ever have lived with, until….”

Until her daughter had brought him into their lives.

She looked toward the back door, and left that shocking thought unsaid, hoping Sheila had not noticed, but any young and virile man brought into a home, affected most of the women there in one way or another for good or ill, no matter their age. It was what young men did.

“No one would want to live out here, and I have no intention of moving back to the city now."

"I want to live here too, Mom. This place is central to so many schools, colleges, and a couple of universities in every direction, and no more that twenty or thirty miles away, that Peter could work in, even if we are off the beaten track here, where we live. There’s not much we can’t get to with a twenty- or thirty-minute drive. You will not lose me, Mother. We’ll have to live somewhere, and he loves this area as much as I do.”

He mother sighed and appreciated the effort to cheer her up. “It will be out of your hands, my dear. He has family of his own; sisters—you told me—and will make plans of his own for you. I no longer count.”

“You shouldn’t look at it that way, Mom. He has four sisters. I would say that you will be gaining not only a son, but another four daughters. And two of them are footloose and will be here more often than you might like, even most weekends, with us, when they find out about me and where I live. They are all very close. That is the only family he has. and you know I will be working near here when I get my diploma. I’ll be only thirty miles away at the high school I went to, and he could get a job in the same high school too, with all of the additions they made. We’ve already talked about it. He can teach almost any science subject.

“When that happens, Mom, and even now, if you don’t mind, this will be his home with us, with me, if you can stand us being underfoot.”

“I would like that, Sheila. But what about a home of your own?”

“This is my home. It will take us several years to decide what we will do, and where we live, and this is more than convenient and big enough for all of us. We can clean out the two front bedrooms for visitors when his sisters come. We already touched on it.

“We will both come home; here, each weekend from university until we get our degrees and diplomas. We already talked about it last night, so there will be at least two years that we’ll be here. There are so many things he can do here around the house too, and so much he has done.”

Her mother knew that. She had seen some of it with the bathroom door, and even the front door, allowing her to get into the house without awakening everyone within half a mile.

The week she had been away had seen her daughter get back onto her feet after losing her father. Now Brenda had to learn to do the same, but it would be difficult with a man coming into their world, and she could also soon lose her daughter despite what Sheila was telling her.

“What are your plans for today, Sheila, if you have any?”

“We don’t have any, other than that we need to do a big shop now that the car’s here. We’re running out of everything. That will take the better part of three or four hours in town. After that, I thought we’d spend the day with you. You should also go and see Annie, sometime today. Let her know you’re home. We can have an early lunch over at the Inn, and talk if you like, and that will take care of most of the day even before we go shopping.

“You should go and get ready, Mom, before Peter comes in. It won’t take Peter long, once he’s finished with the calves and hens, and then he’ll come in for a shower.”

No doubt Sheila would shower with him and pick up where they’d left off this morning. It must have been an hour since he’d had her. With everything they might have to do with each other, it might be early afternoon before they managed to get out to do a shop.


They were organized much better than Brenda had expected, and they were out of the house only an hour later, heading to the Inn for brunch.

Annie was surprised to see Brenda home so soon, but had half expected it after the telephone conversation they’d had three nights earlier, when the questions had flown:

I just spoke with Sheila. Who is this man? What do you know about him? What are they getting up to while I’m away? Is he…? Did he…?

She must have got an earlier flight. Annie had expected her home on Thursday night or Friday morning.

Annie made them a late breakfast and even sat with them, sensing that Brenda had found out for herself that Peter wasn’t sprouting horns or a tail, even though he had been waiting patiently for most of the week, to nail Sheila at last.

The discussion was easier than anyone expected, and Peter could feel the gradual lessening of tension between them as the morning moved along.

They drove into the nearby town to shop; the same one they would leave from when they caught the train the next day to go back to University.

Brenda accepted him so much easier than he expected after she’d watched that explicit video of Sheila and him both going at each other in naked abandon at each of the various stops on the Fell. However, he did notice her looking at him peculiarly from time to time, still wondering about him, probably wondering if he was a budding Rasputin, having an oversized libido that matched the size of his prick.

He knew she’d been shaken up by watching that, just as she had, when she had seen him coming out of Sheila the previous evening after she’d walked in on them. Her look, frozen on her face, had given her away. She hadn’t seen him; only that part of him, seeing an over-endowed, much too generous gift that kept going in, then going farther in. A gift that then gave just as generously, and kept on giving, and giving, and giving, in a way that must have damaged her daughter down there, except she hadn’t actually seen him coming, though Sheila must have felt it, being on the receiving end of it all. Even so, she hadn’t been damaged by him.

They walked the town together with Peter staying behind them most of the way, happy to let mother and daughter lead the way, arm in arm, so that they could talk freely.

He and Sheila had discussed it in the shower, how they would need to keep her mother involved in everything they did. She would need to feel included, to stop her dropping into being depressed with the suddenly changing circumstance.

They would also have to talk more about their plans, and to make sure that she would not mind them being with her every weekend. But of course she wouldn’t mind that. It would give her something to hang on to.

With encouragement from Peter, she and her mother had taken advantage of an opportunity to get their hair done together, something that rarely happened, while he went to see to other things that would not interest them.

He had been shocked to see them after that, after he’d got back from his own shopping for hardware to do other repairs on the house.

His first words were, ‘The Wheately sisters! I swear you are hard to tell apart. Mother, daughter.’ He looked again from one to the other. ‘Daughter, mother. You’d better tell me which, is which, before I have to kiss you both.’

He did anyway.

Her mother had been both flattered and embarrassed by that comment, and what he did, but he was only being kind.


They got back from shopping, much later than they’d intended, hearing the calves complaining.

Peter changed, and went to do them, leaving Sheila and her mother to unpack the groceries and to talk again, though most secrets had soon been shed from between them.

There had never been so much food in the house, and Peter had insisted on paying for it, using the excuse that it was only fair, as he had been the one to empty the larder.

They sat and talked at length that evening over a glass of wine, discussing future plans, hopes, dreams, desires, before her mother made her excuses and went to bed, pleading that she was still tired.

Her mother had seemed, happy, bouncy, maybe even feeling that she really was being included, and that as Peter had told her, nothing was ever as bad as it seemed.

There was always that other nagging voice, telling her that this had happened before.

When things appeared to be at their best was when things also went wrong, as when her husband had been suddenly taken ill, and had died.

Sheila kept an eye on her mother all of the time they had been out, not being fooled by her outward show of happiness and her acceptance of Peter.

She slowly become conscious of other things about her mother throughout that day as they had all shopped together, and that got her thinking. She wasn’t sure what she was seeing or if she could even believe it.

She and Peter would need to talk tonight.

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