Free Lust Call by Ray Gordon Page A

intended to do when the first few emails had arrived. Had I ignored them, I’d never have fucked Derek or masturbated in the garden knowing that Barry was watching me . . . I couldn’t blame the emails, I reflected. The wrongdoing was mine, and I couldn’t blame anything or anyone else.
    No emails arrived until six o’clock. Why had Barry waited so long? Maybe he’d had to get on with the kitchen. After deleting the junk mail, I noticed an email from Dave. He loved me, he missed me, he was thinking about me . . . Little did he know that I was a slut. He’d probably been imagining me doing the washing and housework. Perhaps he’d thought that I’d been working in the garden. Never would he have dreamt that I’d been fucking my cunt with the fork handle while Barry was watching. Taking a deepbreath, I finally opened the email from Brian. This was going to prove that Barry was my man, I was sure.
    My lovely Sarah,
    How nice it was to see you working in your back garden today. It was even nicer to see that you were wearing a very short skirt. But the best part was watching you fuck yourself with the fork handle. I wanked when I was watching you and I spunked all over the ground. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a very good view of you. Why don’t you go down to the end of the garden this evening? Masturbate again and, this time, give me a proper view of your cunt lips rolling back and forth along the handle as you fuck yourself senseless
.
    Brian.
    He didn’t have a very good view of me? I was now one hundred per cent certain that Barry was my man. But why couldn’t he see me properly? The fence, I mused, my excitement rising as I wandered out into the back garden. He would have to have crawled into the bushes and spied through a small hole in the fence. The next time I used the fork handle, I’d position myself so that he could . . . What was I thinking? The next time? There would be no next time. I’d discovered who my secret admirer was, and that was the end of it.
    I poured myself a glass of wine, walked to the end of the garden and pondered on the email.
Why don’t you go down to the end of the garden this evening?
What was it about the end of the garden? Looking around, I noticed that the fence had rotted and broken away from the post, leaving the bushes in Barry’s garden exposed. That’s where he planned tospy on me, I was sure. Was he there now, I wondered, peering into the thick foliage. Why the hell was I feeling so horny? Sipping my wine, I looked back at the houses to make sure that I couldn’t be seen by the neighbours. The windows in the houses either side of mine were obscured by tall bushes. I could sunbathe naked at the end of my garden, I could masturbate, and no one would see me. Apart from Barry.
    Noticing the holly bush Dave and I had planted, I became confused about my feelings. I’d always been loyal and faithful to him, but he wasn’t there. Did I need him now? Had he been there, we’d probably have been watching television or going out for a walk. But he wasn’t there. Trustingly, he’d left me to my own devices. What had he expected me to do while he was away? The housework? Washing and ironing? I’d wanted to go with him to Morocco, but he’d not wanted me there. My going with him would eat into his profit. Would I have cramped his style? Would I have been in the way during his few days of freedom and fun? In the short time since he’d been away, I’d changed dramatically. Had he allowed me to go with him, had he wanted me . . . I’d never been a slut, but I was changing. Had I been a slut during my teens? Maybe, maybe not. I’d been innocently discovering sex during those heady years. I’d never considered myself a slut. Or had I?
    Sitting on the soft grass and resting my back against the old apple tree, I downed my wine and relaxed. Was Barry watching me? I stared at the broken