{ASS} {Joanna} The Hut Behind the Garage (2/3)
joanna_...@hotmail.com
The Hut Behind the Garage
by Joanna (joanna_...@hotmail.com)
April 1999
Copyright 1999 Joanna de Brito
All commercial rights reserved. Non commercial use of this
story is permitted as long as I am kept informed of that use
by e-mail and all author and copyright messages remain
intact.
Part Two
But the gap in the centre of the wall remained empty. I
broached the subject a number of times and while Beth never
refused, indeed she often teased and led me to think she
would comply sooner rather than later - perhaps by beginning
to unbutton the top of her blouse or the bottom of her skirt
- yet always she managed to evade me.
She had become the de facto leader of our gang; we
gratefully accepted the tidbits she condescended to bestow
upon us.
As we grew older and she blossomed into a beautiful young
woman and I into a lanky young man, the gang game began to
feel more awkward and Terry and Luke fell by the wayside. We
remained friends but we no longer spent as much time
together. Life had moved on. Beth persevered with helping me
with schoolwork, she was still top of the class in anything
that required use of a brain.
"No," she would tell me repeatedly. "That's not right. Do it
again."
"I don't want to do it again," I would protest. "I'd rather
play football."
"If you do it again, I'll give you a treat," she would bribe
with a little saucy glint in her eye.
"What kind of a treat?"
"I'm not saying," she would tease. "Maybe I'll take off my
underwear and let you feel inside my blouse, or under my
skirt, or maybe I'll just give you a kiss."
How could I resist? I was certain that the one time I would
call her bluff and desert her for the football pitch would
be the one time she would have done something wonderful. I
always ended up with the kiss, but those kisses were
secretly prized.
She cajoled and she badgered and she bribed me through
school, and I owe her for it.
And thus things continued until one fateful day in 1985: a
day that is always ironically described as a Good day.
"Do you still draw?" she asked, bending forward to put her
cup back on the tray. Her dress was low enough for me to get
a pleasant reward.
What were we talking about? I didn't know. I'd been dreaming
about days long gone.
Did I still draw? "No," I laughed. "When we were kids I had
an ulterior motive. I only ever drew for one reason, and
then my ambition was fulfilled and after that I had no
inspiration."
She blushed. "You were very good. I thought you might end up
an artist."
"I was no good at anything else," I laughed.
She was looking at her nails. "Do you, do you still have it,
the picture."
"You've come to ask for it back," I jested. "It's upstairs.
Why? Do you want to look?"
She nodded quickly, a little anxiously, like she had just
asked to do something a little naughty and was afraid she
might get caught.
I took her upstairs and showed her into my bedroom.
"If the neighbors hear that I'm taking such an attractive
woman to my room their tongues won't stop wagging," I joked.
"Let them," she teased.
"You better watch it," I warned. "I might not let you go."
She laughed. "Promises, promises, all I get are promises."
On the far wall were four pictures, three were of unknown
models, the other was Beth and she was naked. Her picture
was not large, about the size of an A4 sheet of paper. It
filled a gap between the other three. She was obviously
younger than now, just a teenager; her long hair lay on her
bare shoulders, her immature breasts stood high upon her
chest, her legs were slightly parted. She was leaning
against a wall next to a window and her head was turned to
look out of it.
"You wouldn't believe how much explaining I've had to do
about these," I told her with a wry smile. "Every girlfriend
I've ever had has wanted to get rid of them. No one likes
them. But I've never let them go."
"You shouldn't be so sentimental," she admonished.
"I made a promise. That picture was a precious gift. I think
it must be, well, it's certainly one of my most treasured
possessions."
I couldn't be sure but I thought that maybe she was fighting
back a tear. But maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.
She smiled.
It was a nostalgic moment. "If I remember correctly," she
said. "You drew it on the inside of a large envelope."
"That had been sent to your father," I nodded. "When I
looked later it seemed rather strange, it had been sent to
an address in Devon. But the postmark was foreign, it had
been sent from Switzerland, I think."
I grinned. "You see what a mine of useless information I
am?"
"Do you think I could take a look," she asked. "A look at
the address, I mean. It could be important."
But I didn't really hear her, because I was daydreaming
again.
As it was a holiday I slept in late. It must have been about
nine thirty in the morning and I had only just made it to
the shower when the phone rang.
Moments later the coarse tones of my mother came hunting up
the stairwell carrying the silhouette of my name. "I'm in
the shower," I shouted back. There was silence for a few
moments as the message was relayed to the caller, but then
the foghorn was repeated. "It's Beth and she says it's
urgent," it blared.
Sighing, I threw a towel round myself and rushed downstairs.
Mum had already left and was now gainfully employed in the
kitchen.
"Hi," I said, picking up the phone.
"Come round," Beth begged without preamble. "You must come
round. Please, something's happened. I need you. Can you
come over?"
There was a strangeness of tone, a gravity and an urgency
that told me at once that this was serious. "I'll be right
round," I said. "I'll see you in a minute."
I rushed upstairs, threw on some jeans, a sweater, a pair of
socks and my trainers and I was out of the door within five
minutes.
I ran down the road, down the alley and in through her back
gate. Beth was staring through a window as I entered; her
expression was anxious and gloomy. She rushed out to greet
me.
"Something terrible has happened," she said with
earnestness. I had never seen her so upset. "We need to
talk."
"What is it?" I implored, as she took me in through the back
door. "What's going on?"
She poked her head round the door of the lounge, but it must
have been occupied because she immediately moved on.
"Let's go in here," she said pointing towards her father's
study. "It'll be quiet there."
The room was a mess; it had been ransacked. I remember he
word "burglars" springing into my head. Meanwhile, Beth had
closed the door and had turned the key in the lock. I looked
in surprise from the locked door to her.
"What's going on? Tell me, you've got me worried. Tell me,
what's happened?" I begged.
There was a leather chair that was usually behind her
father's desk. It had been pulled out and knocked over. Beth
lifted it upright and sat down upon it. Instantly she broke
down. "It's daddy," she wailed. "The police came early this
morning, they broke in while we were all still in bed. They
were shouting and banging, I was so frightened. They let him
get dressed, but now they've taken him away."
"Why have they taken him away?" I asked, looking round again
at the mess with a fresh insight. "What's happened?"
"I don't know. Mummy doesn't say. She just says we've got to
leave, today, and that we're not coming back."
My mind was in a whirl. Beth had become the centre of my
world and I was upset because she was upset. But, in
addition, she was also telling me that she was leaving. My
world was being pulled apart and it made no sense. "But you
can write; I'll write, I'm sure you won't be gone for long,
do you know where you're going?"
She shook her head. "Mummy won't say. I don't think she
knows. She just says we've got to leave before the shit hits
the fan."
"But you'll write. You'll keep in touch?"
"You know I will. I'll write every day."
"I'll write too," I promised.
"There's something else, something I've been meaning to do
for a while," she said. "You'll have to be quick, I don't
think we'll have long, but I want you to draw me."
I didn't understand. "Draw you? Beth, this isn't the time."
"It is the time," she countered. "Don't you understand, I'm
leaving: mum says I've got to change schools, we're not
coming back. Please, don't let me down, you've wanted to do
it for ages."
I still didn't understand. "But there isn't time!"
"We'll make time. Promise me," she urged. "I want you to
hang my picture on the wall of the hut, in the gap between
the other three, just as you planned. All the time it's
there you'll keep a place for me in your heart and someday
I'll return. It'll be - I don't know, what's the word -
destiny. Promise me."
I solemnly promised.
She smiled. "You are sweet. I don't deserve you."
There was a plastic container holding pens and pencils that
sat on its side upon her father's desk, I searched through
its contents and managed to find a reasonably soft pencil.
"I can't find any paper," she cried. "I don't believe it,
how can there not be any paper?"
I plucked a used envelope from the bin. "This might do," I
improvised. "Hand me the letter opener."
I pointed to where it lay on the floor behind her father's
desk. "The outside is no good, but I may be able to salvage
the inside."
I cut the envelope into two and discarded the rear half. I
showed her the inside of the front half. It was clean and an
acceptable canvas.
"Where do you want me?" she asked nervously.
"By the window, the light's better."
She went across and stood there. I waited patiently. I
wasn't consciously waiting for her to undress, but I guess
through her teasing I had grown so accustomed to the idea
that I was to draw her nude that the notion that I might
draw her in some other way didn't even occur to me.
However, quite obviously the notion had occurred to her.
"Does it have to be without clothes?" she whispered.
She saw my disappointment, it had registered upon my face
before I had the cognizance to conceal it, and she reacted
immediately. "Of course, of course, yes I know it must."
"Beth, if you don't want to, I don't want to force you..."
She gave me a nervous, uncertain smile. "But you must, you
must make me undress. I want to be the girl you've kidnapped
and who has to do whatever you tell her. Please," she
whispered. "Turn me into that girl again. Like it was behind
the garage. I shan't take anything off unless you do."
What was she playing at? Her mother might come by at any
time, she was about to leave me and now she was playing
games. "Beth!" I hissed.
"I mean it," she replied earnestly. "You must make me."
I composed myself. I looked at what she was wearing, and I
imagined it all gone. That, and the disappointment of
countless broken promises, colored my judgement. How could I
resist? "Beth, take off your top," I ordered.
"No," she replied.
"Beth!" I exclaimed, feeling rather exasperated. "I've done
what you wanted, I've asked you to take it off, what are you
playing at?"
She shrugged. "You asked and I refused. Why should I do what
you say?"
I understood, but she had me frustrated. You must make me,
she had said. She obviously didn't feel that my command was
sufficient coercion. How could I make her?
"Beth," I hissed. "If you don't remove your top right now
then I stall tell your mum about some of the things you got
up to in our hut. I'll tell her that you perform strip shows
for all the boys in class and that you regularly give them
head."
"But that's not true," she protested.
"You know that; I know that; but your mum won't know it.
I'll tell her that you're our whore. That we use you to get
extra money."
She flushed. "Mum would never believe you. You're not trying
to convince ten year olds now."
"She might believe me if I show her some proof," I
responded.
"What kind of proof?"
"You forget, I still have a pair of your knickers. Shall I
tell her how I came by them?"
Her fingers moved to the bottom of her top. "Tell me," she
breathed softly.
"You stood over me one day when I was lying in the hut,
don't you remember? You told me to kiss you on a private
place. When I did, you told me that if I could pull your
knickers off with my teeth, then I could have them. The fact
that I now own them shows what happened next."
"You beast," she moaned, pulling her top over her head.
Underneath she wore a white lace bra.
"Keep going," I demanded, no longer sure whether we were
still playing or whether this was real.
"You could draw me like this," she suggested. "Don't make me
take everything off. This would look quite sexy."
"Quite sexy is not what I'm after," I said, slipping further
into the character she had created for me. "Take off the
bra."
She hesitated. "If you don't then I'll get those knickers
and show them to your mum," I warned.
Her expression seemed to dare me to try, but nevertheless,
she reached round her back and unfastened her bra.
It was strange but I'd never seen her tits before. When we'd
been younger, tits had never held any interest. It was
always her pussy we wanted to see, and then as our interest
had grown at a similar pace to her chest, she'd got wise and
despite numerous promises, would no longer show us.
I began drawing an outline on the paper. "And the jeans
next," I ordered.
I sensed her reluctance, was it feigned or was it real?
Hesitantly, she pulled her jeans over her hips and struggled
to pull her feet through the legs, first one, then the
other. She stood facing me in just her knickers.
I let her keep her knickers while I drew the top half of
her. Not that she would have gained great comfort from this,
for she wasn't wearing the robust cotton of the little girl:
she wore a cream silky thong.
"They're rather daring," I observed.
She gave me her look. "How would you know what kind of
knickers real women wear?" she retaliated. "You're hardly an
expert."
I refused to rise to the bait. "You can take them off now,"
I told her.
It was the perfect retort; it took the wind from her sails.
"No," she said petulantly.
"No?" I repeated. "Have you forgotten that I have a pair of
your knickers?"
"So what?" she sneered. "Do you really think my mum is going
to remember a pair of knickers I last wore five years ago?"
I figured she was right, but I wasn't finished yet. I darted
forward and pounced upon her bra, snatching it from where
she had discarded it on the floor with the other debris.
"Maybe not," I jeered. "But I'm sure she'll remember this,
especially when she sees that you don't have a bra to wear
right now. Shall I call her?"
I could see her mind working, trying to find an escape.
There obviously wasn't one. "No," she whispered. "Don't do
that."
She placed her fingers in the waistband of the thong and
pulled it off. In the years since I had last seen her, she
had changed; indeed she had changed a great deal. Where
before there had been a bare slit, there now grew a well-
tended carpet of hair.
I smiled reassuringly. "You look lovely," I said.
She smiled back nervously. I remember that smile and know
now what it means. She had made me undress her; it was all
part of her game, and she was the master of it. She had seen
my earlier disappointment and had reacted accordingly. This
was her act of love, what I now know to be her goodbye gift.
It was precious and special because she found it
embarrassing and it came at a sacrifice.
Her actions have often made me think: since she made me,
forced me to dominate her, who really was in command?
"Do you still want me by the window?" she asked shyly.
I nodded. "Just make sure you keep to the side, then there's
no way anyone will see you."
She leaned against the frame, her body facing me but her
head turned to the side looking out of the window. "Yes,
stay like that," I said. "That's the pose."
"Do a good job," she said. "I don't know when you'll get a
chance to make any corrections."
I wouldn't need another chance. The imprint of her figure,
the shape of her breasts, young and pert and high, that lazy
expression was burned on my memory and would never be
erased.
"You'll have to come back," I reassured her, setting out the
character of her face upon the paper, adding to it that
expression I most loved about her. "Think about it. All your
things are here, the furniture, your clothes, everything.
You'll have to come back to pack them."
"I hope so," she asserted. "I just keep thinking, what is it
that they think daddy could have done?"
There was no way I could reveal this to her, but my mother
had often told me that she thought Beth's father was a
crook. After all, he had "form", she had said.
I kept my head down and got on with my drawing. There is
something incredibly erotic about drawing a naked woman,
painting the lines of breasts and hips. Especially was this
true of Beth, because she was determined to drive me to the
limit.
From the corner of her eye she could see me and could tell
what part of her I was drawing.
"What part of me are you drawing now?" she asked, when she
noticed me staring straight at her bust.
"I'm drawing your breasts," I told her.
"Do you think they're sexy?" she asked shyly, although I
think it likely that her coyness was assumed for my benefit.
"I think they're superb," I declared.
"And are my nipples hard," she asked. "They feel hard, but
how are you drawing them?"
"I'm making them very long and excited and aroused," I said,
candidly. "Is that how you want me to draw them?"
"I want you to draw what you see," she replied, playing the
coquette. She remained silent for a while, but I could tell
that she was still watching me. My cock had made an
embarrassing lump in my trousers and I felt as naked to her
as she was to me.
"What are you drawing now?" she asked, a little later.
She knew very well what I was drawing.
"I'm drawing between your legs, they're slightly open and
from here I can see your labia."
"And does that turn you on?"
"You can see that it does," I remonstrated. "You know that
I'm crazy about you."
"I don't want to leave Longfield," she said suddenly, and
her voice was wavering. "Tony, I'm scared, what's going to
happen to us?"
"I don't know," I replied, steadily. "And I don't want you
to go either."
I put down both pencil and paper and rushed to the window,
taking her in my arms. God, she felt so good, her naked
breasts pressing into my shirt, but I felt, oh so wretched.
There are one or two moments that stay within the heart
forever, that remain fresh and alive however much sand
drains through the hourglass. For me, this was one of those
moments. I remember every detail as though someone had burst
in with a camera and snapped our photograph. Yet even that
would be inferior, for a photograph only records what passes
through one of the senses, and I hold a record of all five
of mine.
I remember her head pressed into my shoulder and the
desperation in her eyes. I remember the taste of her skin as
I kissed it firmly just under her left temple. I remember
the smell of her perfume mingled with the scent of cut
roses, I don't recall ever seeing roses in that room, but I
recollect their sweet scent that day. I remember the sound
of the clock ticking on the desk, the birds outside the
window, and the chaos of distant traffic. Best of all I
remember how it felt to have her body touching mine, her
breasts pressed hard into my chest and her pussy into my
groin.
This is the picture I carry with me always, not just on my
wall to look at occasionally, but in my heart where it can
never be destroyed.
"I want to make love with you," she whispered. I didn't need
to ask whether she had done it before, I knew that she
hadn't; and neither had I. I was scared, yet I wanted her
so. I pulled her towards me and kissed her hard. I pressed
my lips into hers.
Suddenly we were interrupted; there was a knock; it was her
mother. "Beth, are you in there?" she called, pulling on the
handle of the locked door.
"Oh my God!" Beth exclaimed in a whisper, her eyes darting
immediately to her clothes.
She struggled to escape from my grasp but I held her firm,
my arm about her waist holding her hard to me. There was a
void yawning in front of us and there was no way I was going
to let it consume Beth just yet. "I'm not letting you go," I
said into her ear.
"Please!" she hissed, still struggling.
"Tell her you'll be out in a minute."
"Beth, have you got someone in there?" her mum called out.
Beth gulped. "Yes," I called out. I was not afraid of her; I
was only afraid of losing Beth. "It's me, Mrs. Harris, Tony.
Beth was upset and I brought her in here for a few moments
to recover. We'll be with you in a second."
I knelt down and kissed Beth on her breasts, feeling for
myself the hardness of her nipples. "Oh my God," she sighed.
"She'll kill me."
"Trust me," I whispered. "It'll be all right. We won't get
caught."
Beth relaxed.
"I've booked a taxi and it'll be here in fifteen minutes,"
her mother called back. "You need to hurry, Beth. I expect
you to be packed and ready by then."
Kneeling I stared at her mound, I pulled it to me and kissed
it just above her slit. I remember the sweet smell and the
rough texture of her hair in my mouth.
Beth's mother had left us; she also had only fifteen minutes
and much to do. Whatever her suspicions, at this moment she
had more urgent priorities. I also had the burden of time on
my shoulders.
"Next time," I promised her, rising to my feet. "Next time
we meet I'll make love to you."
She kissed me. "You'll always have a place in my heart," she
said. She wiped her tears onto my shirt. "I think you could
make me do anything if you really wanted to."
I looked at her earnestly; I was aroused, I was sixteen and
I was holding a naked nymph in my arms. "Then next time we
meet," I said firmly, "I want you to seduce me."
It only took her a second to respond. "If I seduce you," she
said. "Then you must marry me afterwards."
It was a moment of youthful idealism, infatuation and
eroticism. What else could I do? I promised.
She never came back; not Beth nor any of her family. The
next day the rumors began to spread, her dad had been
arrested. I learned more from the papers; he had defrauded
an enormous sum of money, most of which had been secreted
away. One day while I was at school, a removal company came
with a van; they packed up the contents of Beth's house, her
possessions, our life, and took everything away. I never
found out where.
Later, I completed the picture I had drawn; I didn't need
Beth in front of me to finish it, I remembered every line of
her. I pinned it in the place for which it had been
destined, on the back wall of the shed, filling the gap
between the other three pictures, and there it remained
until I left home about six years later. When I left, I took
all four pictures with me and had them framed. They have
been with me ever since.
End Of Part Two
The Hut Behind the Garage
by Joanna (joanna_...@hotmail.com)
April 1999
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