| Hamilton and Gregg Under Canvas by Gregg Dean There is nothing funny about rain. There's nothing funny about pitching a tent in the rain - unless your sitting in front of a log fire in a pub watching some other poor bastard do it, then it's hilarious. When Hamilton suggested a vacation in the South West of England, camping, I was dubious. "It'll rain every day." I argued. "It'll piss down from day one until the day we leave." The idea was bad. It was a non-starter and my attention began to wander back to the soccer match on the box. "Naw, Gregg! The sun'll be out everyday. The birds will sing and the camp site will be wall-to-wall pussy." Now he had my attention. We left Paddington Station in London on a train as my car had lost, by a convincing margin, a dispute with a truck a week earlier. The carriages were mostly empty and we had the pick of seats. A few miles outside London we picked up more passengers and a couple of women sat opposite us. Hamilton nudged me gently and whispered to me. "We're in here, Gregg. Bags I get the younger one!" It was moot as to which one was the younger. They were both ancient; he was going to need carbon dating. One was probably about 160 and she was the younger, but then Hamilton was neither discerning nor fussy. "Bloody hell, Ham." I whispered urgently. "They're older than George Burns - and not so good looking." "Oh no, buddy. Late forties, early fifties." "You mean the eighteen forties?" "Funny guy. Take it from me, an older woman can teach you an awful lot." "What like, you shouldn't fuck older women?" I'd seen some naked old women on the internet. They all looked like they were wrapped in an elephant's scrotum. Hamilton grinned at one of the women. She smiled coyly back and raised her eyebrows. Catching sight of this, the other woman smiled at me and winked, raising her coffee cup to her lips in a manner which was meant to be seductive. That was it. I thought numbly. Destiny. Kismet. Fate. Before we reach Plymouth, I'm gonna fuck someone older than my granny. We fell into an easy conversation and I learnt that Hamilton's hot date for the day was Sheena and mine was Sarah. We talked about our relative destinations, the weather, politics and divorce. Particularly divorce. By making sure I never made eye-contact, I reckoned I might delay the moment until we were pulling into the station at Truro and then it would be too late. Suddenly Hamilton turned to me. "Gregg, go and get coffees." I agreed and sauntered up to buffet. The toilets on trains are always vacant. They're not like toilets on planes where there's always a queue back onto the runway. So I took the opportunity to get rid of my last cup of coffee. As I opened the door I felt a hand on my back and I was propelled into the cubicle. I turned to face Sarah, Methuselah's mother. Close up she didn't appear that bad and as she covered my mouth with her own, I was surprised to experience the old familiar biological reaction. Her hand went down to hold it. Expertly she undid my trousers and lowered them. She pushed me backwards hard against the cistern, stroking my hard flesh. "I know what you're thinking". She whispered urgently. "You're worried about my age." I had been thinking about that. I was now thinking about the toilet flush handle which was almost up my arse. "Sit down." She instructed. I sat on the toilet seat. My dick still in her hand. She straddled my lap, opening her legs wide. "Feel my pussy." She instructed me. I stroked the hair, felt my way through and kneaded the warm flesh. "Open me up." She instructed. "Go on. Wide." Using both hands, I opened the lips to her pussy wide. She moved forward very slightly and rubbed the opening over the tip of my erection. She was wet and the effect was galvanising. I moved my hips very slightly, trying to push myself home, but she slowed me down. Again she placed her generous mouth over mine and kissed me deeply, at the same time, teasing the end of my dick with her open pussy. Sarah opened her blouse and raised her bra allowing he breasts to fall free. They were large yet firm. She began to rub my penis over her clitoris, at the same time pushing one of her breasts into my mouth. I sucked hard on the nipple and she gasped. She moved the other one into my mouth and again let out a moan of pleasure. She sat fully on my lap, still I wasn't inside her, but I could feel my prick against her warm wet flesh. She moved her hips rhythmically and my penis rubbed fully the length of her pussy. She reached around me to grab my buttocks, grinding her pussy hard against my cock. Now she raised her self very slightly and we coupled very slowly. She lowered herself at a deliberately leisurely pace while young hormones wanted to thrash my little man around inside her. Now Sarah was fully impaled on my penis. She raised an ample tit up to her own mouth, sucking the nipple, then pushing it into my mouth. Suddenly there a small movement around my cock. I gasped in surprise and pleasure. "What . . ?" she covered my mouth his her hand and again I felt her pussy ripple inside. My breathing caught in my throat. Again another ripple and the pleasure rose inside me. "Don't." I pleaded. "I don't think I can stop myself otherwise." Regardless of this she did it again. The strange ripple of muscles inside her like a warm wave of pleasure started at the base of my penis, working up to the top in a small climax of intense pleasure. "What about that then?" She gasped and began to grind her lap over my cock. As she worked a curious circular motion, she caused the rippling sensation again and again. Taking my hand she guided it down between us onto her clitoris. It was swollen and wet. I could only reach it with my thumb and I played small circular patterns over it, every complete circle making her groan with pleasure. Her movements on my lap became faster and faster. Then the rippling stopped and this was old fashioned fucking again. I worked faster circles over her clitty until she started to cry softly, jerking and moaning. It was then I felt myself release inside her. Sarah threw her head back stifling a low scream. I jerked several more times, shooting inside her then slumped back, spent. Aware of people outside the door, we dressed again. She kissed me quickly and there was a thumping on the door. "This is the conductor. Are you alright in there?" Sarah stifled a grin. I scowled. It was alright for her I mused. "At-a-girl granny has a have-it away day" would make a better headline for her than "Granny-shagging youth in train toilet shame". "Pretend to be a retard." Sarah whispered. There was a small blue toilet block on the window ledge. I grabbed the sanitising block to improvise with. As she opened the door I did my best to look impaired. Sarah grinned at the conductor and waiting passengers. I duly dribbled down my 'T' shirt, warming to the part. "Come on Gregg. Toilet's finished. All done. Sarah take you back to the seat now." There were groans of sympathy and smiles all round as the nice lady took the retarded passenger back to his seat. I waved at them with my perfumed sanitary block. "He'll wet his pants if I don't do this." She explained. We managed to fool everyone. Well almost everyone. I'm still suspicious of the man who when I passed hissed: "Fucking idiot!" We arrived at our destination late afternoon. The weather was good. The field was dry and spacious and the owner, a hard-bitten old farmer, pointed out where we should we pitch. "But you're to stay well out of yon field." He pointed vaguely over to the south. "Oh?" I said. "Yeah. Them naturalists are having a nudist weekend here. Folk what are clothed are most unwelcome, so I believe." His brow knitted, obviously unable to believe it. With a straight face Hamilton rose heroically to the bait. "Gregg and me, well we don't hold with that sort of thing anyway. We've come down to get brass rubbings from the old church." I though for one second he said "Rubbings from the old crotch" but for once he had allowed his brain to do the speaking and not his willy. "Course, you can pay a deposit." He asked. We hadn't got the money right then as we had to find a cash machine so I pathetically passed him the sanitation block, stolen from the train by way of a deposit. "It perfumes your toilet". I said. "Nothing wrong with the honest smell of shit." He growled, putting the block into his pocket. The weather stayed good all evening and the tent went up easily. In shockingly loud tones for other campers to hear, Hamilton asked about "erecting this thing so that it would stay up" and "where am I supposed to put my pole then?" However, it stayed erect and we found a place for Hamilton's pole, but the site wasn't living up to promise of "wall-to-wall pussy". Most of the other campers were middle aged couples or young couples with kids who kept wanting a wee wee. A glimmer of hope came in the comely shape and form of the farmer's daughter who collected the site fee. Broad of accent and chest, she asked for the night's rent. Her legs were tanned and long and went all the way to the ground. She smiled at Hamilton (why do they always smile at him?) and bent forward to give him the change, allowing a generous view of her ripe breasts. "So, what do they call you?" I asked. "Sandy." She breathed moving her shoulders coyly so that those breasts beat the sides of the tent, ripping out the guy ropes. She crouched down in the tent and small tuffs of light brown muff were visible through the legs of her tiny shorts. She looked a little young though. "What are you studying?" asked Hamilton, always careful about such things. "Oh I'm not studying. I'm at work." Alright. We were putting a dime in the slot machine here. A cracking maid, all tits and come-on and above the age of consent. "Have you got a friend?" pressed Hamilton, conscious of the sudden need to match the number of males to an equal number of females. "Oh yes." We were pulling back the handle on the slot machine. "And what does she do?" "Oh, She's - she's at work too." We were letting go of the handle now! "And are you ladies doing anything tonight?" asked Hamilton finally, his voice reduced to a croak with anticipation and his tight jeans. "We are now, aren't we?" Oh yes. Money poured from the chute. Ladies and gentlemen, we had a jackpot winner. Hamilton argued that he had first choice and bagged Sarah. She was his, he saw her first. He was going to give a seeing to. It was immutable, written in stone in the law of the Medes and the Persians. No way was he going to give her up. Once again, I was to have the friend. "Come on Ham. Just once, you always do this to me. Meet a girl, fix a double and I end up with the one who likes like an baboon in a short skirt". "I thought you liked a bit of monkey business." "Not funny Ham. I'm getting really pissed off here." I remember doing the double date bit before. Hamilton and the girl shagging each other's brains out with mega-decibel sound effects while I tried to prise loose the female product of a failed genetic experiment. "Okay. Here's what we do. We'll swap. Sight unseen. I'll bang anything, you know me." This is true. Drunk as a lord, Hamilton had once been arrested for trying to fuck a street lamp. We washed and shaved in cold water and cramped conditions and Hamilton completed his ablutions going through the medically unwise course of splashing after-shave on his genitals. We left for the date. The local pub was small, poorly stocked and still thought the height of culture involved putting a ferret down your trousers. We waited for our respective dates and Sandy walked in soon after we arrived. She looked gorgeous and I could see already that Hamilton was ready to go back on our arrangement. We ordered cider and waited for Eunice. Eunice? Only your Great Aunt was called Eunice. She had to be another octogenarian, surely. I was doomed to end up with Mother Teresa's clone. "This Eunice - she's not your boss is she?" I ventured tactfully. "No. We work together." "Great" I sighed with relief. "But she's been there for years." "Oh!" "So where is she?" I asked. "Parking the car. Its the white Renault." I went outside to help her. I could still make an run for it if she looked like Rasputin in drag. Sure enough there was the white Renault and Eunice was having trouble parking it. She turned to face me and she was a stunner. Okay, older than me by ten years perhaps, but dressed in a white crop top with neat breasts and a dazzling smile. I offered to park it the vehicle. "My name's Gregg. Do you need a hand? Or shall we just go for a ride?." She looked puzzled. "While's the engine's running". I suggested reasonably. She smiled and I vanished back inside to put Hamilton in the picture. We parked Eunice's car on the cliff top and walked in the long warm grass. The evening was turning to rad and gold with a glorious Atlantic sunset and the air was warm and balmy. As soon as I lay back in the grass Eunice placed her full moist lips on mine. Her tongue probed my mouth and her I ran my hands through her hair. Sarah had been expert and professional and incredibly erotic, but here was something simple and sweet about Eunice though no less arousing. I pulled her top clear of her small breasts rubbing them briefly until the nipples were firm beneath my fingers. I raised he skirt above her thighs and ran my hand gently into the waistline of her panties, over her firm buttocks. Her hair was wispy and delicate and her mound soft and warm. I parted her pussy lips and ran my finger up and down the length of her pussy, catching her clitoris on each journey. Without taking her mouth from mine she undid my trousers and for the second time that day, my little feller sprang loose. Relieved to get out of the confined space, it was soon hard and under her tender massaging, ready for action. I worked her pussy gently, evenly and she moaned with each stroke. Her mouth left mine and turning round she straddled my face, placing her now damp pussy over my mouth. I placed my hand on her buttocks. Leaning forward, I felt her take me in her mouth. I teased her clitoris with short even strokes of my tongue. I moved it around in circles, and sucked her into my mouth. I probed her inside with my tongue and I felt her buttocks writhe under my hands. Her tongue played delicately with the end of my penis and she stroked the inside of my thighs. Then she began sucking and moving her lips up and down around my stiff member. I moved my tongue in more urgent strokes and her bottom moved vigorously with the ecstasy. At last she got off me and moving forward on all fours, threw her skirt over her hips to show her smooth white buttocks and the inviting fleshy mound below. I moved in closely behind her, teasing her breasts again, playing with her erect nipples. I felt her hand come down between her thighs slotting me inside the waiting warmth. I began to move gently at first. Savouring every thrust. She moved in unison, heightening the pleasure. My hands continued to rub her nipples and massage the firm flesh. Then I move a hand down between her thighs. I placed a finger inside her with my cock until it was moist then rubbed it over her tender clitoris. She bent forward her arms collapsing. "Carry on" she urged. "Don't stop, with my clitty." Her bottom was now high in the air, and I continued the long thrusts and movements on her clit. Her breathing became harder and at each thrust she cried out harder and harder. "Go on. Go on. Harder." She cried. I felt an orgasm rise inside me but I held back. Finally she gasped and collapsed onto the grass, my dick coming out of her. Turning round she took me once again in her mouth. She played and flicked her tongue under the end moving her lips along the shaft. My orgasm welled up inside me and I released a stream of cum into her mouth. We fell to the grass, exhausted and sated waiting for our strength to return. It was dark when I returned to the camp site. The tent was empty and I could hear shouting over at the farmhouse. Now my courage has never been is question. Simply, I don't have any. Gregg Dean is a born coward. This way I intended keeping myself beautiful, intact and more importantly, alive. If there was trouble in the farmhouse, a hold up, a domestic, a mad bull in the kitchen, I was going in the opposite direction. Many other campers were coming out their tents to see what was going on. It was only hearing Hamilton's plaintive cries that made me decide to investigate. The sounds were coming from upstairs. Hamilton was stood stark-bollock naked with the farmer's gun aimed at his groin. Sandy was sat on the bed naked except for a worried expression. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I found my stare fixed on her gorgeous breasts and inviting light brown muff. She was begging her Father - from a distance of course - no one wants to get splattered with the contents of a stranger's scrotum. I moved myself into a position behind the door for tactical reasons. Here I could safely hide if Hamilton testicles were going to take flight. "You've been doinking my girl?" He demanded, poking Hamilton's parts with muzzle of the gun. "Um, that depends, sir." Hamilton was right. Always call the man holding the gun, "Sir". "On what?" "On your definition of doinking." "Were you furzelling my girl?" "Furzelling?" "You know, boy." Hamilton looked at me and scowled. "Do something, Gregg". I rolled into a ball. Suddenly, the Farmer started to squirm then lay down the gun. We watched in amazement as he clawed at his groin and loosened his trousers. His daughter appeared concerned. "What's happened?" She asked me? I shrugged. Perhaps he had a massive erection come and found there wasn't room for him and his prick in the same trousers at the same time. Tearing off his trousers I saw the flesh around his groin angry and blue. Blue? It was now I realised that the toilet block in his pocket had become moist with sweat and was releasing concentrated bleach onto his tender areas. We made good our escape to the sounds of a mad farmer trying to douse his blazing groin. The tent came down faster than it went up and we managed to sneak off the site before the farmer, his loins wrapped in damp towels, came looking for us with his shot gun. We sat for an hour or more on the beach lamenting our fate. "That's it Gregg. No more shagging for me. I can't recall a time it didn't get me into trouble". "Too true". I agreed. "No more girls, sex, shagging, blow jobs, muff-diving, strip clubs, brothels, nipple-sucking, anything else for me". "Huh. You got that right"! We sat in silence watching the moon swimming in a thousand pieces on a calm night sea. Hamilton coughed and turned to me. "So shall we check out all that nudist stuff tomorrow then"? "Sounds good to me". I conceded. Copyright Gregg Dean 2002