Time Once More for Marilyn: Captivated & Rekindled Romance (2 page)

              Under instructions from my parents, I had packed for the journey home that last evening. I slept with dreams of Marilyn and the inevitable erection. I was awakened in the morning by a knock on the door, anticipating that it could be Marilyn I opened the door wearing just my pyjama trousers. It wasn’t Marilyn, it was Lisa. I had seen a lot of Lisa around the hotel; she was very friendly and encouraging of my relationship with Marilyn.

              “I have some tea for you.” She told me. “May I come in?” My parents had ordered early morning tea for themselves, but not for me, so Lisa was breaking the rules a little.

              “Yes of course.” I replied somewhat shyly as I was wearing so little. Lisa entered with a tray in one hand and closed the door behind her. She eyed my bulging trousers.

              “I think that Marilyn has been a little unfair on you, getting you all worked up and leaving you like this.” She indicated my erection. “Lay down and I will help you with that.” I did so, wondering what delights I was going to experience. Lisa pulled on the draw cord of my pyjamas and grasped my erection. “Ooh. This is a lovely one. I think I was wrong to let Marilyn have you all to herself.” With that, she started to manipulate me, bringing me to a state of imminent eruption. I am ashamed to say that I came quickly, but then I would defy any young man to be any different given the circumstances, after all this was the first time that a girl had handled me so intimately and this was a girl who knew exactly what she was doing. Lisa was quite experienced I discovered and she was equal to the task. At the optimum moment she popped my erection in her mouth and swallowed my spending. I lay there in a delicious stupor; I had heard of this, but never in a week of Sundays could I imagine any girl doing that for me; and she didn't spit it out! She ran the hot tap and wet my flannel in warm water to clean me up..

              “There, that should sort your problem.”  She smiled as she poured the tea and drank it. Obviously the tea was never intended for me! I got up forgetting that my pyjamas were undone. The trousers slid to the floor and I presented myself naked to this pretty girl. She grinned as I, in confusion tried to pull them up. My blush extended further than just my face, I felt warm all over. “No.” She said. “Don’t bother. You would be astonished at the sights I have seen. Silly fat old men who think that I will drop my panties at seeing them naked. But you, young man is definitely much better on the eye. I should have brought you tea every morning. That would have set me up for the day.” I wondered later if I also would have been set up for the day if that happened.

              Marilyn waved from a first floor window as I got into the car. I had a lump in my throat and was very quiet for most of our journey home.

CHAPTER TWO

              We had promised to write and we did. Every week brought a letter from Marilyn and I replied about every two weeks. Writing letters was not a problem, it was what you said in them that taxed the mental processes and I could never think of anything to say. But as is the way of things gradually the letters eased to once every two weeks from Marilyn, then three weeks then once a month then nothing. I was as much to blame as she, for I had written less often than Marilyn. It was not that I didn’t want to keep the correspondence going, but with little chance of seeing Marilyn for some time if at all,  there seemed to be no point in the exercise. I am not certain whether it was the paucity of my letters, or if she had found another young man visiting the hotel to keep her company. Whatever the contact, and as fleeting as it was, it fell by the wayside. Next year, Frankie Vaughan also recorded 'Kisses Sweeter than Wine' and every time I heard it, I experienced a moment of melancholy for the days I had spent with Marilyn.

              My life went on, the question at that time was should I go to University. My parents were very much in favour of that. I on the other hand, knew that I would be wasting time and money. I doubted that I would get even a minor degree. I was bored with education. Things were happening and there were good jobs available for everyone with or without a degree. Having said that my first job was a mistake from the start. With my mind set on independence I joined a large department store as a management trainee, I soon found out the management part of the contract was quietly forgotten by the top floor and I was simply a department assistant. I left after ten months and took a position as assistant to the Sales Director of a company offering heavy haulage. My father had pulled some strings to get me there, and to be honest, I wish he hadn’t bothered, although I never told him that.. The director was one of the most self-absorbed, loud mouthed, egotistical pedagogues you would ever meet. According to him he had never put a foot wrong, and he knew better than any expert no matter what the topic. He boasted of his fine war record, yet one of our representatives who had been a Commando during the war and didn't boast about it, treated the Director's bragging with cynicism. You may ask how he got to this position. He was there because he knew somebody. It was the typical system of British industry at the time; know the right people and you got the top job. Whether you were competent was not a concern. Faced with incompetent bosses the unions found that they could take everyone for a ride, no wonder the UK industrial base collapsed. Of course the irony that I was there because someone pulled strings passed me by; anyway, I was in no position to either create success or failure.

              Dissatisfied, I looked around and eventually found the right slot for me. I went to work as a Sales Representative for a well established household textile producer. My new company insisted that their representatives had a thorough knowledge of weaving and fabric printing technology; to that end they would send the new boy on a course of seeing all the work that went into making a yard of cloth. This induction lasted for six months, interspersed with training on the ground. I found these visits fascinating and learned a lot. My interest was such that I then, of my own volition, enrolled for an evening college course in weaving technology. I had found my niche in life. I was busy, working and attending the college, learning all the time. However, I did find time to get married, although I had little choice in the matter. It was a shotgun marriage as the girl in question was pregnant at the time.

              Jane, my wife was a very attractive girl who at first demonstrated an active libido, hence the pregnancy. As we settled down to life as partners and parents her attitude changed and she came under the thumb of her mother. It didn’t matter that I had a good job, that with hard work I would advance. It was never good enough for her, or should I say her mother. Life could be difficult enough without the interventions of the dreaded mother in law. Our love life became spasmodic and when I was allowed physical pleasure, it was of the religious variety only.

              My Dad had an offer of a very prestigious job which would involve mum and him moving up North. I had mixed feelings about their going, but as dad said Lancashire was not too far away and they would be back often to see all their relatives. Jane, my daughter Sarah and I would visit from time to time, but there was no rapport between Jane and my parents, although they loved to see their granddaughter.

              I worked hard for my employer for six years and having unsuccessfully applied for promotion I took stock and considered my future. Opportunities for advancement were few, and having failed once the likelihood of another chance was minimal. Luckily I was approached by a wholesaler in the same trade offering me a position so with a minimum of thought I transferred my allegiance.  Funny enough, my new employer was prepared to pay more than I would have, had I been successful in the promotion! Life went on its usual bumpy way. My new job was going well and I was rewarded with more responsibility and an increase in salary. In my personal life things weren’t so good. My wife and I were not getting along. We didn't talk to each other and our love life, to all intents and purposes was zero. The only serious talk we did have was to agree that our marriage was a mistake and we decided to split. It should have been a simple matter. But for some reason, her mother wanted to make me the scapegoat, by trying to prove that I had been unfaithful. I found out that she had taken to phoning my customers asking if I had actually made the calls that my report sheet showed. My customer records and copy report sheets were filed at home so easily accessed; I had nothing to hide so did not lock them away. It was my Sales Manager who brought this to my attention as he had had calls asking why this Mrs. Amerton was making these inquiries. My solicitor fired off a threatening letter to my wife's solicitor who promptly advised my mother in law to stop this harassment.

              After that the divorce went through quickly. Jane's family were wealthy and the house was hers, so I had no spousal support to pay, just support for my daughter, Sarah. My mother in law, far from blackening my name had actually weakened their position. Although Sarah lived with her mother, my solicitor had fought long and hard to get me visiting rights. My mother in law was furious when he succeeded and I made certain that I used every visiting slot possible, probably more to upset the old witch than anything else. Her attitude had no effect as Sarah was always happy to see me, our relationship became stronger and in later years the Court changed the conditions so that Sarah could spend two weekends a month resident with me.

              I found a good apartment to rent and became a single man again. Strangely, I was not too embittered, my wife’s attitude; by proxy of her mother's attitude over the years had warned me that this could happen, and forewarned was forearmed. I was free now to get on with my life despite the circumstances of being freed were not ideal. As a single man I determined to find pleasure wherever I could. I did and there were quite a few young ladies who were happy to help in sipping sweetly the pleasures of life. I would not describe myself as a player; my associations were usually quite long averaging four or five months. Of one thing I was certain. My paramours were welcome to stay for a night or a weekend, but the moment they started to use my wardrobe on a more than day to day basis, or their toothbrush took up a more or less permanent residence in my bathroom  they were gone.

              My world went on in this pleasant, slightly irresponsible manner for three years. I worked hard and I took my pleasures as well, learning as I went. The lessons opened my eyes and in addition were very enjoyable as I learned how to please a woman. My adventure with Marilyn had not really taught me this valuable lesson and my wife once married would not consider doing anything that she decided her mother would deem immoral. So I had a diet of infrequent missionary sex with the lights out before it finished completely. For a while, after my divorce, I had a dalliance with an older lady, she was forty eight while I am thirty two. To the world she was an elegant, refined lady, well spoken, well dressed and well mannered. However, once she was naked in bed, she turned into an animal. She taught me much, usually in the coarsest language, telling me exactly what she wanted in her upper class tones. Her appetites transcended what most people would think normal; I was shocked frequently by her demands, yet seeing her in the throes of orgasm taught me that sometimes anything goes.  These delightful interludes with her was certainly interesting and informative. I would like to think that I was the only one enjoying her charms, but I suspected that I was not alone

              The company I worked for appointed a chap called Gerry Porter as our new Managing Director about that time. Gerry was a breath of fresh air in an industry that was to a certain extent hidebound. He had a revolutionary idea that customers actually mattered. We sold our products mainly through High Street soft furnishers and interior decorators. When complaints arose about faulty fabric there was a game played with the soft furnisher placing the blame on us, whilst we placed the blame on the soft furnisher. The industry at large played this game with the idea that the customer would eventually get fed up and go away.  My new M. D. wanted to change that. This was when my initiative of attending those college classes paid off. He called me in to discuss his plans. When your boss, the big boss calls you in, your immediate thought is that you have done something wrong. I was no different. I started examining my work over the last few weeks. Was my call rate acceptable? Was my order rate good? Then my thoughts went over anything else that could lead to my being on the carpet.

              I got a surprise. He wanted to make me our Technical Representative. It would be my job to examine every complaint factually and make suggestions as to how the complaint could be resolved should our fabric be found at fault. I would no longer have a sales territory.  In addition, he wanted me to visit all our suppliers and thoroughly assess their quality control methods. We bought fabrics from all over the world. We had suppliers in the States, South Africa, India, and Australia and of course most of the countries in Europe. He was giving me the opportunity to become a world traveller at the company’s expense.  “You Dal, have more technical knowledge than anyone else in this company. I am pleased that you don’t have commercial skills as well, else you would probably be sitting in my chair.”

              I grinned at him. “I could learn them.”

              Gerry returned the grin. “I would sack you before you became that competent.”  He went on. “I want you to be completely honest with the customer. If it’s a fault, say so, and immediately put in place measures to correct the fault. If you say we have to replace the fabric and pay for re-making, then we will do so. If you say the complaint is spurious then we will write, enclosing a copy of your report. I believe that by handling things this way we will earn a lot of respect in the trade, and our high street customers will push our products, knowing that we will back them up.”

              He was right. As the news got around the trade our business share did increase as retailers were interested in doing business with a supplier who stood by their responsibilities. We didn't have that many complaints, but the few that were placed I investigated thoroughly. When the customer received a visit from a representative of the supplying company, armed with a camera, Thread Count Glass (a small optical instrument allowing you to examine and count threads in the weave) notebooks and tape measure, they were happy that someone was taking them seriously. Amusingly, this charade worked both ways as a rejection of the complaint was accepted more easily because it had been investigated thoroughly. I also become quite conversant with making up charges and was able to spot the retailer who tried slipping exorbitant charges past us in order to alleviate his factor of the costs.

              Since I would be office based now, I gave notice to my landlord and moved to be close to the Head Office which was on the South Coast. I was grateful for the increase in salary as renting in this location was much more expensive.

              I had travelled quite a lot for three years in this new job, I was baked in the heat of Australia, India and South Africa, and found my way around Europe. My travels gave me the opportunity of seducing and being seduced by girls of different shades and traditions, a sort of United Nations orgy, and yes, I did join one of those; in South Africa of all places. I also found that Chinese girls are not built differently; as some would have you believe, had quite healthy appetites and giggled a lot during the encounters. It was amazing that two people who had little of each other's language could nonetheless indicate by gestures and actions the desire to go to bed together. The cries of orgasm sound the same whatever the language.  I loved Australia and the States. Their cultures were such a shock after the United Kingdom; they were so open and happy. Then there were their girls, so gorgeous and as willing as I to indulge in bedroom games. I was enjoying my life, yet despite all this as the years went by, travelling and tasting the sweet flavours of the sensual life, I started to yearn for the one woman, that special woman with whom I could connect on all levels and walk with side by side for the rest of my life.