Yesterday, when looking back over the year looking for highlights to include in my end-of-year State-of-the-Blog report, I took another quick peep at Anna Louise’s video, which always cheers me up. (Watch it again here.) I was suddenly reminded of my deputy, Brenda G, whose photograph this is on the left. Shortly after my promotion to Head of Department, Brenda prepared an end-of-term dinner-party for the four members of the Department. Her husband was away on a course. We all got rather drunk, and when the other two teachers left, Brenda and I finished the last bottle of wine. As she poured me a glass, Brenda brushed my arm with her ample bosom. I remember saying something like, “You don’t get many of those to the pound.” With that, she pulled up her sweater, turned her back to me and asked me to unfasten her bra, which I did. And reaching round from behind, I weighed her fantastic breasts, one in each hand. I had never imagined anything so full and round and heavy. Nice. Cutting a short story even shorter, I politely declined her invitation to a fuck. I said it was the wine, but in fact I really didn’t want to. Emma was waiting for me at home - no contest. However, Emma’s invitation was also declined - but this time it really was because of the wine.

[1971] It was following one of those “Save your marriage” programmes on television that we made our separate lists - not that our ten-year marriage needed saving. Far from it. But the lists were a bit of fun - your ten sexual fantasies in order of preference. Emma Jane cheated of course, insisting that I had already fulfilled all her fantasies. Flattery, was it, or lack of imagination? Either way, I thought it was bending the rules, although I too found it difficult to think of anything after the first six. Emma read my list with the occasional raised eyebrow.
It was a week later that we ate out at our favourite restaurant, making eyes at each other across the table. While we were waiting for dessert, Emma leaned forward and whispered, “Drop your fork.” “Sorry?” I responded. “I thought you said ‘Drop your fork.’” “I did,” she whispered impatiently - then reached over and deftly flicked my fork off the table onto the floor. When I bent down to pick it up, I watched as Emma deliberately spread her legs. She had no panties on, and her neatly-trimmed bush was gloriously on display!