I have already mentioned in my blog that I have published another of my works on Kindle Ebooks, a trilogy of two novellas and one short story; ‘Pennies, Charcoal and Latex’.
A few stories down on this page are the beginnings of two of those stories Cosmetics, Charcoal and Champaign, and Latex Lady. This is the opening chapter of the third in the set, ‘Searching for a Penny’.
Because I have published them already on Kindle, (two days ago,) I will not be able to show more of the content of the trilogy here for some while except for a further two or three snippets as teasers. For those who wish to read on, the link to Amazon is in the right hand column and when you use that link, Big Closet earns a small commission.

Searching for a Penny
by Frances Penwiddy

Contains sexually explicit material further on in the story and is not considered suitable material for minors.

Chapter 1

‘Who is she?’
I studied the picture; an attractive woman, not outrageously beautiful, nor a big busted bimbo, just an attractive late twenties woman who might be the lady next door with a couple of junior school children and a successful husband. Slim; 36, 28ish, 36 with a nicely shaped B cup bust. Light brown, loosely curled hair, a smiling mouth and blue eyes with a hint of green. Dressed in a light green, sunray pleated skirt, a three quarter sleeved, white cotton V necked blouse and button through cardigan that matched the skirt. 3” pale green leather courts helped her in a struggle to attain 5 feet 10 inches, the sort of woman equally at home in Marks and Spencer, Harrods or a supermarket. A woman who one would not escort to a disco or noisy Hooray-Henry bar but perhaps to a quiet restaurant with a small dance floor where she could demonstrate her skills with the waltz or rumba but might, given the right circumstances, be happy to dance cheek to cheek with a man.

I studied the smile, it was not unlike the one on her profile, at times showing a hint of promise, at others just contentment and comfort. A smile that complemented her clothing, front fastening blouses and cardigans, full skirts that might suggest that access to what lay beneath was not necessarily granted but should it be so, would not be difficult. Resting a hand on the derriere of this woman without permission would be a dangerous act but should permission be granted, then the eyes promised a satisfying outcome.

But who was she, this enigma? Certainly not my next door neighbour; above me the flat was occupied by a retired bank manager and his wife and the garden flat by a late middle aged human resources director at the head office of an international civil engineering contractor. She was not married either and had never been so, though she had had lovers two of which had been longish affairs. And it would seem she might now be embarking on a new romantic adventure judging by the nugget of information she had just dropped into my lap, “I’m going out tomorrow to meet somebody, he seems nice judging from the way he has behaved in the chat room. We shall see.”

“Dinner?”

“Perhaps, though it might be the Proms, it’s Beethoven’s Choral if he can get tickets.”
“I’m jealous.”

She smiled a little coquettishly, “I’ll tell you all about it.”

“All?”

Again that smile, “You know me, first, I need to get to know a man, there will be no ‘All’.”

“Taking the car?” Penny was the sort of woman equally at ease in a Vauxhall Vectra as in my vintage Jaguar XK 150.

“No thank you, Peter. A Cab to the station, he’s meeting me under the clock at Waterloo.”

“Under the clock, well at least it’s a romantic start to the evening.”

Who was she?
This enigmatic woman who had come into my life a few months ago.
Penelope Eloise, a woman I didn’t know. Penelope Eloise, a woman I knew almost as well as myself.
Penelope Eloise, a woman who had surprised me when she first made contact. Penelope Eloise, a woman who I had expected.
Penelope Eloise my twin. Penelope Eloise a stranger.

I was making love, I mean it as the acceptable alternative to saying I was copulating and the woman with me was no stranger, it was the first of my longish ‘affairs’. Although I was enjoying the act and not far from my orgasm I found myself studying the woman beneath me, her warm body welded to mine, her eyes wide open but unseeing as they stared straight into mine. Her hands on my buttocks trying to pull me deeper into her, her back arched and pressing against me as if she were trying to pass some of her ecstasy into me. She was gasping lightly one minute and mewling the next, not loudly, just an alternating sound of pure pleasure and excitement and I wondered at it. Despite my own world being at the point of explosion I still found space to wonder at the woman and wanting to know what she was feeling, to go to that wondrous place she was in and share the experience of my whole body being as alive as hers.

The affair ended because my curiosity tended to make me think and act in a manner better suited to an orgasm research professor than a lover and she assumed that my love had paled which I suppose it had in the interests of science of course. Thereafter, whenever I went to bed with a woman, if I found that my curiosity wasn’t aroused by her orgasm or for that matter her lack of one, I lost interest and we drifted off into the ocean of love to seek another ship. My last affair had been just before I met Penny. With this woman I think I may have come a little closer to enjoying what she was experiencing but as with the previous affair, it ended and we drifted away from each other.

My curiosity increased but rather than seek a new partner, I went off to investigate this phenomenon of the female orgasm and its source. I don’t mean I travelled the world in search of a fountain of female ecstasy in the literal sense. I seriously doubt such a thing exists and if I discovered that it did I would have sold my soul and gone in search of it but not for a desire to find a job that would give me the opportunity to leave this world a better place. No my research would be for pecuniary reasons, a desire to enable me to become stinking rich. How many people have gained degrees in biology, medicine, chemistry or geology and gravitated towards the financial centres of the world so that they could make themselves richer rather than find a cure for a cruel disease or an alternative to carbon based fuels that fitted into a cupboard and supplied all the energy a house needed and was powered by chlorophyll extracted from fallen leaves.

My first revelation or perhaps simple clue was whilst passing a department store window behind which was a large display of lingerie. I stopped and studied the materials, colours and combinations of satin decorations, delicate lace and the manner in which everything though appearing to have been designed to conceal, warm and protect that which it covered had the opposite effect. Perhaps this is where the secret elixir lay, something that gave a woman the opportunity to lie, to deceive herself as much as a male admirer with her petite cloche. A covering that rather than conceal did in fact beckon and invite further investigation.

My next piece of research was centred on the make-over and hair-do. For most men, a make-over consists of a shave and most men dislike shaving and some go as far as growing a beard to avoid this annoying, time wasting daily chore. The haircut was, more often than not, something that was undertaken under the orders of a spouse or mother and was done as quickly as possible. A woman however treats a visit to a beauty salon as a period of sheer luxury and pampering and indulges herself as often as fiscal limits allow. Furthermore, anything less than an hour is beyond the pale. Perhaps this is what excited the female body and enhanced their physical responses to love-play. Could there be a secret ingredient in cosmetics that made nerve ends increase in quantity and become centred on the pleasure receptors in the brain? Does a hair dryer or an evil smelling perm lotion have a similar effect?

It was whilst sitting in a pub considering all this that Penelope Eloise revealed herself. “Do you think that wearing a flattering dress, shoes that enhance the appearance of the calves, pretty jewellery excite a woman’s endorphins in the way a nuclear scientist excites hydrogen atoms to produce fusion and fission?” she asked by way of introducing herself.
I looked at her, she was a most attractive woman, not only her physical appearance, this indeed was something that would turn a man’s head but not in a heaving bosom, provocative hips, curvaceous bubble-butt way. It was subtle, a delicate, warm inviting smile, eyes alive with life. A sense of fashion that flattered her figure but also suggested an invitation, an invitation that carried a warning; you are welcome but first you must court me. We won’t sleep together tonight but there is a potential for such an adventure in the future. Come and explore the unknown but do so without a machete, use delicacy when parting the undergrowth, the path is there, concealed with orchids not brambles.

“Would you like to join me?” I asked, “Perhaps a drink?”

She sat beside me on the bench seat, her shoulder, bottom and thighs touching me lightly, not pressing, “I have a drink but would love to join you and perhaps help with your mission.”

“I couldn’t wish for a better guide,” and I meant it.

“He was there, under the clock as promised,” Penny began. “I walked towards him controlling my pace, not rushing over with teenage enthusiasm nor dawdling with a pace designed to say look at me, admire me, I’m gorgeous. No I walked steadily giving him time to recognise me then remind himself that it was his good fortune that I had agreed to this date and was an attractive woman.” She smiled, “Well I think I am and so must he because as I had anticipated, first he smiled and then rather than wait and let his eyes devour me he started in my direction, his pace a little more excited, a good sign I thought, he was eager to close the space that separated us. ‘You look lovely, I did manage to get tickets for the Royal Albert Hall and I know that tonight with you sitting beside me, even the Salvation Army band and choir would play The Choral with perfection.’

“The taxi driver was very sympathetic, not because we were in a hurry but we were a far better choice than a cab full of suitcases and tired, irritable children so he broke the rules and allowed us to get in.”

“The BBC Symphony excelled, they couldn’t have played better if Henry Woods himself had been conducting and the choir sang as they would when entering heaven. When the Prom ended we left, so uplifted we chose to walk the half mile or so to Kensington High Street for dinner.
“There was no hurry so we had time to pause at shop windows and stop to listen to a busker offering a reasonable rendition of Lark Ascending on a pawn shop violin. Closer to our chosen restaurant a traffic warden and irate van driver entertained us with a vigorous debate on the numerous bastards that lurked amongst each other’s ancestors.
“At dinner my date looked into my eyes when he spoke to me and didn’t try to open the buttons of my blouse with them whilst I was speaking. He had shown me the sophisticated way of finding taxis at times of peak demand, could discuss music intelligently and had sufficient business acumen to point out that had the busker owned a Stradivarius violin rather than a pawn shop model, his returns on the labour and time investment would have more than doubled. I have concluded that I made a sensible choice when accepting his invitation to meet.
“He saw me to my apartment in Shepherds Bush in a taxi and when I invited him in for coffee, he had the sense to decline politely but his goodnight kiss, though not exactly chaste was enough to convince me that I should invite him to a supper I would prepare after our visit to the Royal Opera House to see and hear Madame Butterfly in ten days’ time.”

As I mentioned above, the trilogy is now live on Amazon.
Later, about 5 weeks I think I will be publishing Volume 5 of Footprints in the Sea.

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