Confessions of a Milkman

by Timothy Lea

  It is at this moment that there is a loud crackling noise and I wonder if the bed has bust. I raise my head and see that the wardrobe door has sprung open to reveal a naked geezer trying to conceal an enormous hard. What I have heard described as conflicting emotions race through my system. The bloke is scarlet and I don’t just mean the tip of his dongler.

  ‘You swine!’ he says. ‘That’s my wife!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I begin automatically. ‘I had no idea you were married – I mean, she was married. I thought—’ and then it dawns on me. Why is this bloke hunched up in the cupboard?

  It doesn’t make sense. Unless – ‘This is a put up job,’ I say.

  ‘You want me to put it up so you can get your rocks off. I’ve heard about this kind of thing.’ I have too. Blokes who can’t have it off unless they watch their old lady copping one from someone else.

  ‘I’ll get back in the cupboard,’ says the bloke, completely changing his tune. ‘We must fix that door, Jennifer.’

  ‘Hang on a minute!’ I say. ‘I can’t perform in these circumstances. It’s not nice. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with you in there.’

  ‘I’ll sit by the bed,’ says the bloke.

  ‘That’s even worse,’ I say. ‘Can’t you push off to the pictures?’

  ‘That’s no good,’ says the bloke. ‘They do nothing for me. Go on with what you were doing. I liked that.’

  ‘I liked it too,’ says Jennifer.

  ‘What do you mean, you liked it too?’ says the bloke. ‘You’re not doing this for yourself, you know. You’re doing it to prove how much you love me. You should be thinking of me.’

  ‘Ah hem,’ I say. ‘I think I’d better be getting along.’

  ‘You stay where you are,’ says the bloke. ‘You’re in no position to do anything except what you’re told. Creeping in to other people’s houses and taking advantage of their wives. That’s despicable.’

  ‘I can’t be taking advantage if she knows you’re in there lapping it up,’ I say ‘I’m the bloke who’s been taken advantage of.’

  ‘Look,’ says the bloke. ‘This conversation is not getting us anywhere. I was coming along nicely until we started talking. Now look at me. Nothing.’ He is right. His winkle had got a big crinkle in the middle of it and is melting away fast.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘The magic has gone for me, too. I’d better go.’

  Jennifer screws up her eyes and starts to sob loudly. ‘I can’t stand much more,’ she sobs. ‘There’s not many wives who would put up with what I have to—the Mickey Mouse contraceptives, the wellington boots, the electrical gadgets. He tried to use one in the bath and nearly killed us both.’

  ‘I wondered why your pubic hairs were straight,’ I say.

  ‘At least I care,’ says the bloke. ‘I may be bloody useless but I keep trying. A lot of people would give up and watch the telly.’

  ‘I do wish you could be one of them,’ says Jennifer.

  ‘It’s only a phase I’m going through, I’m certain of that,’ says the bloke. ‘It happens to lots of men. I expect it’s happened to you?’

  ‘It’s happening at the moment,’ I say. ‘Now, for gawd’s sake, let’s pack this whole thing in. I couldn’t bring myself to give your old lady one in the present circumstances. You need someone devoid of all human feeling.’ A thought occurs to me. ‘I’ll have a word with my brother-in-law when I get back to the depot. Sidney Noggett, that’s who you need. He’s a nice—’

  ‘Stay where you are!’ barks Mr Jenkins. ‘You come round here making my wife miserable and putting the mockers on my sex life and you expect to walk out of the front door as if nothing has happened. I’m not having it. Get your trousers off.’

  ‘Oh Norman!’ says Jennifer. ‘You know I don’t like that.’

  ‘Don’t like what?’ I say. ‘You mean, it’s all right if I’m parting your pubics with my tongue but not with my old man?’

  ‘I don’t know where it’s been,’ she says.

  ‘I can’t give you a list,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it, I assure you. I’ve never had a dose of the coachman.’

  ‘I’ll get back in the cupboard,’ says Norman. ‘Just forget I’m here. Enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ says Jennifer.

  ‘Not you!’ snaps Norman. ‘Don’t take advantage of my broadmindedness.’ He starts to close the cupboard door on himself and then sniffs and sticks his head round it. ‘And do go easy on the moth balls.’

  ‘I was trying to kill him,’ mutters the bird. ‘Oh dear, this is so silly, isn’t it.’

  ‘You’ve broken my heart,’ I say. ‘I thought you really fancied me.’

  ‘I do,’ says the bird. ‘I was really enjoying what you were doing before he fell out of the cupboard.’ She lowers her voice and whispers in my ear. ‘I’d forgotten all about him. Come on, do it again.’

  ‘Not unless I can go the whole way,’ I say. ‘I’ve been used enough for one morning.’

  ‘All right,’ she says. ‘But you’ll have to be quick. He won’t like it once you start.’

  ‘Can’t we lock him in the wardrobe?’ I say.

  ‘There isn’t a lock on the outside.’ She comes into my arms again and this time does nothing to stop me undoing my belt. I quickly strip off my dicky dirt and nearly jump out of my trousers and pants. Now I am only wearing one sock. I might as well keep that on for Norman’s benefit. It will probably add something as far as he is concerned. My mad mick is in an uncertain mood and curves doubtfully towards the floor but a brisk hand shake from Jennifer sends it lumbering into the vertical. She rubs it against her belly like it is a windscreen wiper attached to her fuzz and once again I taste those soft, pink lips. However, it is the other set that is closer to Mrs Jenkins’s mind.

  ‘Down, boy,’ she murmurs. ‘Just a little more and then you can put it in.’

  She closes her eyes and programmes her face for ecstasy and I obediently glide my mouth down towards the quivering spasm chasm. Much as I have the lady’s interest at heart I am reckoning on a quick binge on the minge and then the speedy introduction of the full frontal. It may be better to give than to receive but there is no point in being ridiculous about it. The damp curls tickle my hooter and I can feel percy lunging under the bed like a house detective. I take the soft frond of flesh that presents itself between my lips and – the wardrobe door bursts open behind me.

  ‘Right! You dirty swine. That’s enough.’ I look up to see Mr Jenkins advancing upon me. He is gripping his hampton like he has just been given it for Christmas. It does not escape my attention that it is in a state of rude good health.

  ‘Come on! Out of it! You’ve done your bit.’ Opinions tend to differ on this last point and I shrug Jenkins aside and attempt to spear the funny clam. Hardly has my knob tasted paradise than Jenkins hurls himself at me and pushes me to the floor. Something snaps. A Lea can take so much and then – POW! Look out! As Jenkins turns towards his old lady I catch him a swinging blow on the side of the earhole and then follow this up with a bionic man right cross that stacks his features like the folds in a concertina. He staggers back across the room and collapses into the wardrobe. He clutches vainly at the clothes, bringing half of them down with him, and then slumps back, out to the world.

  ‘Blimey!’ I say. ‘Do you think he’s all right?’

  ‘He will be for five minutes,’ says Jennifer lying back and drawing up her legs temptingly. ‘Come on. We’ve got some unfinished business to attend to.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Well done, Lea. You’ve got the best stand at the show.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Claygate,’ I say modestly.

  ‘And I believe you put it up yourself?’

  ‘I had a bit of help from Noggett,’ I say.

  Claygate’s face clouds over. ‘Ah, yes. Noggett,’ he says. ‘Somebody told me he’s been going round selling home barbecue sets.’ We are at the Festival of Milk which has been incorporated into
the Smithfield Livestock Show. The stand referred to is that representing Meadowfresh and I have laboured long and hard on it. ‘And the raffle tickets for the champion bull. I talked to the owners and they knew nothing about it.’

  ‘I expect there’s been some mistake,’ I say. ‘Noggett is very keen but he gets carried away sometimes.’

  ‘You’ll have to watch him,’ says Claygate. He sees the look of awakening interest in my eye and pats my arm reassuringly.

  ‘Yes, Lea. I’ve had my eye on you for some time and I think you’re ready to take on more responsibilities. This firm is too big for one man to run and it’s going to get bigger. I need men I can trust. Men of judgement. Men who can get on with the job and enthuse others. Men who combine humble reticence with diligence, dedication and discernment.’

  ‘And that’s me?’ I say.

  ‘I think so,’ says Claygate. ‘Originally I thought that Noggett was going to be my man but now I’m not so sure. There’s something about him that – well, I find it difficult to quite put my finger on it.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I say. ‘If you didn’t know him you would think he was an unreliable layabout who was always on the fiddle. And if you did know him—’ my voice dies away helplessly.

  ‘Precisely,’ says Claygate. ‘We will talk about this again later in the afternoon. A glowing future lies before you, my boy.’ He gives me another pat and goes on his way. Success at last! And not before time. And all the sweeter because somebody has at last got Sid’s number.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ The irritable voice belongs to Sue who is wearing her milkmaid costume and a sulky expression. You will recall that I am to be her sponsor in ‘The Milkmaid of the Year’ competition.

  ‘You look great,’ I say. ‘Like Little Bo Peep. All you need is a crook.’

  This is the perfect cue for Sid to roll up which he does. ‘Bloody heck,’ he says. ‘It’s blooming difficult to sell these farmers anything. I suppose it’s because they’re used to getting it all free from the Government – hello, darling. Where’s your sheep?’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ moans Sue. ‘I’d never have gone in for the contest if I’d known I had to dress up like this and answer questions on liver fluke. I thought I was going to be in a bathing costume.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be fair to the others,’ says Sid. ‘Knockout bird like you in a bathing costume. No contest.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ says Sue.

  Something in her voice makes me scent danger. ‘We’d better be getting round to the—’ I begin.

  ‘Do I look like a liar?’ says Sid. ‘Be reasonable – do I? I’m telling you exactly what I feel. I’m speaking from the heart. As far as I am concerned you are stunningly lovely. Everything about you beggars description. You are positively the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The fact that I have gone through nearly thirty years of my life without setting eyes on you turns each one of them into a barren desert. To know that you walk the same planet will give a meaning to the rest of my life.’

  ‘Sid—!’ I say.

  ‘Shut up!’ says Sue. She takes Sid’s arm and together they walk through to the back of the stand where we keep Daisy’s hay. Daisy is another cow, but this time with four legs and a couple of horns. She is the living symbol of Meadowfresh that I have introduced from the residential course. Not the bleeder that trapped me in the loft but one specially chosen for its docility and – I find later – for passing its own weight in turds every couple of hours. Anyway, Claygate thinks it is a great idea which is the main thing and I shovel the Tom Tit on to the flowers outside the Farmers’ Fertilizer stand next door when no one is looking. They are probably surprised that they don’t get more visitors.

  Oh dear, what am I going to do? I need Sue and Sid falling in love like a connecting tunnel between my ears. She is supposed to be on stage in fifteen minutes in the company of my fair self.

  ‘Please don’t do that, Daisy,’ I say. ‘I know you like me.’ She is getting a bit restless and has already eaten three hundred leaflets and a plastic watering can. ‘Stay where you are,’ I say soothingly. ‘Daddy will be back in a minute.’ I nip through the back flap and find my worst fears realized. Sid and Sue have already sunk down on a bale of straw and he has got her knockers out. It must be serious because he has taken off his tray of Everlast Drinking Straws – diced up lengths of indifferently patched inner tubing.

  ‘Sue!’ I hiss. ‘What would Ellen say? Do your bodice up! You know how long it took to get that string threaded.’

  ‘Piss off,’ says Sid. ‘Can’t you find the grace to sling your hook in the presence of such an obvious act of spontaneous mutual adoration?’

  It is obvious all right. Sue’s face is flushed and sweaty and her eyes are glazed. I know the signs well – well, fairly well. She is lost with all hands – or at least the ones belonging to Sid. They are swarming all over her like a pawnbroker rearranging his window whilst all she can do is sigh and pant. How typical that after all my consideration and restraint I should get lumbered like this.

  ‘Sid!’ I shrill. ‘Surely I can appeal to you?’

  ‘You haven’t been able to do so yet,’ says the odious berk. ‘Push us over that bale of straw, will you?’

  Sue is playing lucky dips down the front of his trousers and it is clear that full intercourse is only seconds away. Perhaps I should get Mr Claygate? But no, after all the nice things he said he will expect me to deal with this kind of situation by myself.

  ‘Sue!’ I say. ‘We’re on stage in a couple of minutes.’

  The wanton slut reaches up and paws at the front of my trousers. ‘Come and join us,’ she husks.

  I am about to remonstrate with her – it’s all right, it doesn’t affect your eyesight – when it occurs to me that this may not be such a bad idea. If I can speed things up a bit then I may stand a chance of getting her back in the milkmaid costume she is just pulling over her head. Sid does not seem very keen to share his good fortune but I am not in the mood to put up with any more nonsense from him. I take my jacket off, hang my trousers over a bail of straw and swiftly apply myself to an aperture that Sid has left unoccupied – he is counting Sue’s fillings with his hampton. At last, inside Sue Dangerfield and loving every moment of it. It couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke, especially after all the trials and tribulations. I rest my hands on Sid’s shoulders and belt out the love thrusts. No point in hanging around. The sooner I can bring us both off the better – I am, of course, referring to Sue and myself. Sid can make his own arrangements. Ooooooh! Here it comes. That lovely, tidal wave of soft, churning warmth fanning out through my – BANG! I nearly jump out of Sue’s skin as the canvas wall of the stand splits open and is pulled over our heads. I look round past the crowds of gaping people and see that Daisy is contentedly grazing on the flowers outside the Farmers’ Fertilizer Stand. It was clearly a mistake to tether her to the central pole of our stand.

  Mr Claygate is looking down on us in the company of a party of senior officials from the Milk Marketing Board and the expression on his face might best be described as troubled.

  ‘Right,’ I say, addressing the surrounding crowd and trying to get a perky lilt into my voice. ‘Thank you, Miss Prendergast. The next demonstration of artificial respiration techniques will take place at sixteen hundred hours.’

  Also available in the Confessions Ebook Series:

  Confessions from a Haunted House

  Confessions from a Holiday Camp

  Confessions of a Travelling Salesman

  Confessions of a Window Cleaner

  And, coming soon:

  Confessions from a Health Farm

  Confessions from a Hotel

  Confessions from a Luxury Liner

  Confessions from a Nudist Colony

  Confessions from a Package Tour

  Confessions from an Escort Agency

  Confessions from the Clink

  Confessions from the Pop Scene

  Confessions from the S
hop Floor

  Confessions of a Baby Sitter

  Confessions of a Driving Instructor

  Confessions of a Film Extra

  Confessions of a Gym Mistress

  Confessions of an Ice Cream Man

  Confessions of a Lady Courier

  Confessions of a Long Distance Lorry Driver

  Confessions of a Night Nurse

  Confessions of a Personal Secretary

  Confessions of a Physical Wrac

  Confessions of a Plumber’s Mate

  Confessions of a Private Soldier

  Confessions of a Private Dick

  Copyright

  The Friday Project

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  First published in Great Britain in 1976 by Futura Publications Limited

  This ebook edition first published by The Friday Project in 2013

  Copyright © Timothy Lea 1976

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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