John D
Growing Pains: The wooing of a London soubrette
Preface
This story is part of the “Growing Pains” world and shows how Grace Hardy and Terry Williams, the parents of Julie, Andy and Rhea, met and got together as well, as the disturbing death of Sandy Poulsen.
The setting for this story is in the summer months of 1978 in London.
I would like to thank my wife for her understanding while writing all of my stories. Alas, as I choose to remain semi-anonymous I cannot name her!
Please let me know what you think of the story; I cannot hope to improve as an author if the readers don't tell me where I succeeded and where I failed!
This book is part of a bigger story containing a series of erotic novels — all freely downloadable for all formats — but many contain depictions of graphic sex with characters between the ages of sixteen, the legal age of consent in the UK, and eighteen, the minimum age for Smashwords and Amazon. If you want to see more of Grace, then please check out the Growing Pains section on my website below.
John D
October 2012
Chapter I
“Well at least it's better than that place in Innsbruck,” Grace said matter-of-factly as she peered into one of the bare cupboards. “That place was absolutely awful.”
Sandy sniffed the stuffy room as the cupboard swung open and was grateful when Grace closed it again; it was musty and stunk. “Yeah, OK, we had to share a bed, but that wasn't too bad. My feet don't smell that badly!”
“It wasn't sharing with you that I didn't like,” Grace muttered. “I actually quite liked that. It was sharing with the cockroaches that I hated.”
“Yeah, but they left after a few days.”
“I know, they couldn't stand the smell of your feet.” Grace teased and smiled at Sandy who put her giant rucksack on the table and pulled out some teabags from a side pocket.
“Drink, my dear Gracie?”
“Lovely,” replied the nineteen-year-old who had opened the fridge and quickly closed it again when she smelt the inside. “What did Ronnie and Reggie have to say?”
Sandy grinned, and giggled. “Neville and Jack, you mean,” she told her, in her soft Danish accent. “Twenty- five pounds a week, I paid for five weeks up front while you were messing about in town.”
“I was getting some essentials,” Grace corrected her abruptly and then asked, “I meant about the parlour.” She took the black tea from her friend who raised an eyebrow.
Sandy grinned. “They said they'd give us a go in a couple of days' time. Boris had already spoken to him a few weeks ago and said we were pretty good.”
Grace smiled. “Ahh, Boris. The hairiest man I have ever met!”
“And weirdest,” Sandy moaned.
“He has some unusual tastes,” Grace admitted. “But then I don't mind if he wants us to do that to him. I gotta pee somewhere!” Sandy winced as Grace reminded her of the kinkier side to one of their previous hosts. “And he knows everyone.”
“True, he has good contacts all over Europe,” Sandy mused.
Grace nodded. “I think we've met most of them. Thank God for him knowing Ronnie and Reggie!”. Grace was acutely aware that their cash reserves were getting lower than she would have liked and they did need to start earning soon, but Sandy detected another reason for the smirk.
“You're getting desperate, how long without sex?”
Grace shook her shoulder-length hair back and put a bobble in it while contemplating the question. “Six days, not since Daniel in Madrid. If you don't count the blowjob the lorry driver got for the lift.”
Sandy gave her friend a wry smile, they had both enjoyed the attentions of Daniel who was particularly attracted to Sandy, but Madrid was not the city of sordid opportunities they had hoped for and after spending two weeks doing restaurant work and getting paid very little, they decided to cut their losses and crossed Spain to a small port on the Northern coast to catch a ferry to Plymouth. “A week,” Sandy teased. “That's almost celibate for you!”
Grace spluttered and sat down in one the rickety chairs around a scratched dining table. “Hang on, you're calling me and you're the one who's had hundreds of partners! And I'm sure it was your turn to pay for the ride.”
Sandy spluttered. “No. I paid to get us into Spain. And he wanted it up the backside. You try doing that while he is driving, there just isn't 'nough room in the cab for that!”
Grace hummed as Sandy took a seat opposite and looked around the kitchen. The flat was dated, it was the ground floor of a three-storey house. The landlord had told them that the upper floor was vacant but the middle floor was occupied with some Eastern Europeans, although he rarely saw them and they just dropped off their rent money at his office once a week.
The area itself wasn't bad, located a brisk twenty minute walk from the wilds of Soho, the houses in the immediate vicinity looked, by and large, well maintained and lived in. At the end of the street, the big detached house had fallen down and there was now a pile of rubble on some waste ground that was once a large expansive garden, and the pub a few doors down from their flat was boarded up, but it on the whole, the neighbourhood wasn't too shabby. They had certainly lived in far worse in the previous eighteen months.
“It's not too bad, I suppose. It'll be home soon enough,” Grace admitted and took a long slurp of her hot drink. “Also I really need you shave me tonight.”
Sandy gave Grace her familiar smile. “Of course, love.”
“It rubbed a bit on the boat coming over. And I could hardly ask you to do it in the hostel.”
“What with that gal?”
“Yeah, she was freaky, but it is very uncomfortable.”
“You could be more natural. As nature intended.”
Grace stared at her friend and shook her head. “I know you like the more natural look but I am fed up cleaning men's spunk from my pubes when they want to come over my cunt. It's just messy.”
Sandy gave her friend a wide grin. She knew exactly what Grace meant, although it had been months since she had permitted a partner to have sex with her without a condom.
Grace liked being bare “down there,” because she thought it looked nicer and said it felt better; she was lying if she said it was for practical reasons!
Grace lay with a towel underneath her as the well-dressed Sandy liberally applied some shaving foam to her nether regions. “I could do this to you, you know,” Grace offered.
“No I like my trimmed pussy,” Sandy replied and picked up Grace's razor, dragging over the stubble. “I am very attached to playing with it when I am bored.” Grace took a breath every time Sandy went near her labia but she needn't have worried. Sandy had been doing this three or four times a week for months, and had not cut her yet, but she was still nervous.
She finished and dowsed Grace's nether regions with some warm water to wash away any foam residue.
