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From: andrewharvey <andrew_a_harvey@msn.com>
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Subject: Internet Chatroom Swingers In Gaol
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Date: Sun, 04 Jun 2006 07:53:53 -0700
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===================
Author's note to the reader:
Very loosely based on a true story. See footnotes for details.
"How many people have you had sex with?" Derek asked.
"I'm not sure," Vanessa replied. "If you count the boys I fucked
when I was at school, probably five hundred. Something like that
anyway. How about you?"
Derek Summons wasn't replying. Vanessa couldn't hear what he was
saying clearly, because he had muffled his microphone. But what
she could make out was, "leave them inside. No, I told you not to
put them out in the rain, didn't I?"
"Kids!" she remarked. "How old are yours?"
"Eleven and nine," Derek replied. "Look when and where do you
want to meet up? And, how many men can you handle at once?"
Vanessa paused for a bit.
"Hmmm," she replied. "Well, the most I've even done in one go
was sixteen. But you can't really call it one go. Because it was
over several days."
"Sixteen!" Derek exclaimed.
His voice sounded shrill.
"What's that?" a female stranger's voice in the background asked.
"Derek, Who's that you're talking to?"
There was a shuffling noise, which Vanessa couldn't make out. And then
her sexual confidant replied, "No-one in particular, dear. I'm speaking
to the Inland Revenue."
"Do you want to talk later?" the nymphomaniac suggested. "I mean,
if things are, you know, difficult, for you at the moment, we could
always arrange a meeting at another time."
Derek's voice changed. He sounded almost harsh.
"No!" he spat. "I need to do this now. Primrose Hill, tomorrow
night. I'll meet you outside the Dog And Duck's front entrance at eight
o'clock. Don't be late, OK?"
When Derek had gone Vanessa switched back to her computer screen.
She had arranged several explicit pictures of herself in various poses.
But she wasn't really happy with any of them. The flab around her waist
and thighs showed in every image. And she'd tried using Photoshop to
enhance the pictures. But every time she saved the results her display
ended up looking even worse. Once she had even swapped her own
photograph
for that of a younger woman. But, when she met a real-life sex-partner
from
an Internet swingers' website, the man was obviously extremely
disappointed
by the enormous discrepancy between the busty temptress that he'd
lusted
after on his computer screen, and the considerably plainer and more
crumpled
female form that had ventured out to greet him. In fact, he became so
incensed
by Vanessa's act of deception, that he struck her. Vanessa didn't want
a
repeat of that particular episode.
Derek Summons was the solution. He was the director of a computing
firm. And what he didn't know about computers wasn't worth knowing.
Derek
had send her some images of himself which clearly showed him defying
the
laws of gravity. And Vanessa was so impressed by what he could do that
she
readily agreed to perform any stunt which pleased him. When Derek had
finally
emailed over his wish-list, Rebecca was forced to admit that some of
Derek's
fantasies could only be described as bizarre. And, not to put too fine
a
point on it, others were plainly illegal. But Rebecca checked the list
in
its entirety, and agreed to assist with each of its components.
And, so that's how Vanessa Philips, a forty-seven-year-old
divorcee
from Birmingham, who could only, in most senses be described as dowdy,
came
to find herself wearing a silk negligee and suspenders, kneeling on her
living-room floor, exposing her bare bottom to a household pet.
Vanessa wasn't greatly skilled in the art of seducing animals.
And,
on this particular occasion the beast in question was far more
interested
in quenching its thirst than performing acts of extreme depravity for
the
benefit of Vanessa's camera. After offering the reluctant mongrel
several
Doggie Treats, and failing to elicit an adequate response, Vanessa gave
up.
She then appended the comment, (Tried the dog. Dog no good,) to the
foot
of Derek's list.
But, as things turned out, that was only the beginning of
Vanessa's
emergency. Not being terribly experienced in the art of computing
either,
the mother-of-two had neglected to password-protect her handiwork. And,
while
she was entering her house which two enormous bags of shopping, she
caught
sight of one of her teenaged sons logging into her email-box. Vanessa's
canine,
who had so spectacularly failed to rise to the occasion of his
Hollywood
debut,
had no such qualms about removing her sausages from the grocery bags
which
were
now lying on the floor.
"Fucking you get the fuck out of my fucking stuff! Haven't I
fucking
told you not to fucking look at my fucking stuff?" the householder
screamed.
The red-handed offspring darted from the terminal with a look of hurt
amazement.
"Ow. Mum!" the boy exclaimed. "I was only going to email Jenny.
I
wasn't
looking at your stuff, honest!"
"Fuck off!" the woman yelled.
The veins on her neck, by this time, were protruding. And her temples
had
turned both blotchy and reddish-white in colour. It was at that point
that
Vanessa's mobile phone rang, and she spoke to Derek.
"I'm outside your house," he said. "I want to fuck you now."
Vanessa Philips was a great lover of spontaneity. She believed that it
was a
quality, especially in a man, which greatly revealed his character.
But, in
the middle of a family crisis, she didn't find it mightily helpful.
"I can't now!" the woman protested. "I'm up to my neck in
screaming
kids. What's wrong with tomorrow night, like we agreed?"
"What's wrong with it?" Derek barked. "When I say now, I mean
now!
That's what's wrong with it. Now get your arse out here now. I can't
wait
long.
I'm busy!"
The stressed woman did go outside. And she left the rear door
of
her
estate car open, with all of her shopping in it, as she climbed into
Derek's
four-wheel-drive vehicle.
"Why now?" Vanessa complained, as she buckled herself into the
passenger's seat. "Why can't you wait?"
Derek unfastened his trousers as he turned his car around, releasing
his
erection.
"Does that look like something that can wait, to you?" he
grunted.
"I can't now. I've got the children!" Vanessa protested. "Fuck
the
children. I need sucking," Derek insisted. "If you make a good job of
satisfying my demands, then I won't publish pictures of you and your
dog on
my website."
Vanessa's temples had become blotchy once again.
"You bastard!" she screamed. "You bastard! Stop the car!"
"It's too late," the grinning man replied. "You're in it for
the
ride now, literally. Just be a good girl and suck me off. I'll tell you
when
to stop."
Vanessa could feel the vehicle swerving across the causeway while she
held
Derek's penis in her mouth. Twice she attempted to raise her head, but
the
driver pushed her down again.
"Oh, aah, oh, ooh! Ah. Don't stop. Don't stop!" Derek cried.
"Aaah,
ug, ah."
There was an almightily crunch.
"What was that?" Vanessa stammered, wiping dribbles from
her
chin.
"Oh, that?" the car-owner replied. "I think I must have
bumped
into something. But it doesn't matter. I didn't stop to find out who I
hit."
"Where are you taking me?" the passenger asked, realising
that
she didn't have any tissues to wipe her face with, and using the sleeve
of
her
blouse instead.
"Oh, to see some friends of mine," the company director
replied.
"A few of us are having a little get-together. And you're being brought
on
as
the entertainment."
Derek Summons was turning the car into what appeared to
Vanessa
to be a farmyard. As their vehicle passed a stallion in a holding pen,
she
began to feel real fear for the first time.
"I think I want to go home," the shaking woman protested.
"Derek,
I don't like this. I want to go home."
The computer expert switched his engine off.
"Don't be silly. You'll be fine," he replied. "Anyway,
no-one's
going to hurt you. We're just going to have a little fun with you.
That's
all.
You'll see. I'll be fine. I promise."
Two muscle-bound men, neither of whom Vanessa had ever seen before
opened
her
car door.
"Alright?" one of them asked.
Vanessa didn't reply. But she alighted from the vehicle. As she stepped
forward
she overheard one of her hosts remarking to the other, "I'm going
first."
Two more men were waiting in front out what must once have been an
outbuilding.
It had been converted into living-quarters now, and sported modern,
sparkling-white
UPVC windows and doors.
Vanessa could hear sounds of sexual ecstasy emanating from inside
the
building.
And she wasn't in the least surprised to see a group of partially
dressed
men
sharing a sofa. In front of them, an enormous television screen showed
images of
various acts of debauchery, which the all-male audience clearly found
entertaining.
"Here she is! Whey-hey!" one naked man exclaimed, rising,
with
his
erection pointing towards Vanessa. "Get a load of this!"
But he didn't have time to consummate the meeting. And nor did anyone
else.
For
at that precise moment a squad of wailing police vans descended upon
their
location.
"I'm arresting you for violations contravening Section Two
of
the
Obscene Publications Act of Nineteen Fifty Nine and Section One of the
act
of
Nineteen Sixty Four," a uniformed constable informed Vanessa.
"What have I done?" the woman exclaimed. "I haven't
contravened
anything. I haven't even taken my clothes off!"
"Is this your handwriting, Ma'am?" a plain-clothed officer
asked.
Vanessa studied a writing pad that the detective held out towards her.
It
had
a copy of Derek's wish-list scrawled upon it in a script which was
particularly
familiar to Vanessa, because it was her own.
"Yes, it's mine," the captured nymphomaniac admitted. "I
wrote
it."
"And you see here," the detective continued, "where it
says get
young kids involved? Did you write that too?"
"It wasn't my idea!" Vanessa pleaded. "I was only copying
what
Derek wrote. It wasn't my idea!"
"And this?" the leading investigator added, holding up a
photograph
of a partially clothed woman trying to seduce a dog. "Whose idea was
this?"
Vanessa didn't answer that question. Tears were running down her cheeks
and
her
entire body was shaking.
The courtroom was silent.
"Vanessa Philips: One remitting fact which may be
admitted in
your
defence is that you have not only plainly accepted your guilt, but have
expressed
remorse," a circuit judge explained to a smartly-dressed prisoner, as
she
stood
in the dock of a district court. "It gives me no pleasure to sentence
you to
a
term of imprisonment of no less than four years, of which at least
three
quarters
must be served before any considerations of parole may be given. I've
only
one
further question to ask you," the recorder added.
"Yes, M'laud?" Vanessa replied.
The authoritative man in ermine robes and woollen wig paused for a
suitably
sombre
period. And then he leaned across his bench to stare into the eyes of
the
defendant.
"What on earth were you thinking of?"
(By Andrew Harvey)
Reader's Notes:
A woman and a man were both sentenced to terms of imprisonment for
offences
commited after having met online in a swingers' Internet chatroom. Read
the BBC
report here:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/west_midlands/5037848.stm