Tim Connor Hits Trouble

by Frank Lankaster

  ‘Bognor Regis? Isn’t Brighton or maybe Bournemouth more attractive than Bognor? I don’t know anybody that’s actually been to Bognor. Are you sure it’s worth visiting?’

  Tim did not want to get bogged down in a discussion on the merits of the old seaside resort. He reassured Erica of the town’s undoubted charms and added that his friend was even more colourful than his name, Delaney O’Toole, suggested. Staying with Delaney would also make for a cheap weekend although he didn’t mention that aspect to Erica.

  ‘Ok, Bognor it is. See how easily I submit to you when you get assertive?’

  Tim was in no mood for psycho-banter of the dom-sub kind, but was glad they’d agreed on the weekend.

  ‘Ok. I can do even better. I’ll arrange the whole break for us.’

  ‘Great, Tim,’ Erica hesitated, ‘there’s one more thing. Could you come over tonight. I’ve had a fall out with Rachel and I’m feeling a bit low. Would you mind?’

  Tim opted to walk rather than drive across the city. He would avoid the butt-end of rush hour and the cooling evening air might clear his head. On his way he bought eighteen yellow roses, full, with broad petals, faintly glowing. Once at the flats, Security and then Reception, used to him by now, nodded him briskly through.

  Erica looked plaintively beautiful. She managed a pale smile as he presented her with the flowers. Putting them carefully aside she gave him a hug, gentler than usual. As he eased her away she held on for a second, rubbing her blond head against his chest.

  ‘Tim those flowers are lovely. Thank you. Do you know they’re the first you’ve ever bought me?’

  ‘The first? You should be so lucky. They might be the one and only.’

  It was a paltry jest. Erica’s face fell.

  Annoyed at himself, Tim tried again.

  ‘Erica, I’m sorry. Let’s relax and just be together, watch a film maybe, after we’ve had something to eat. It feels like a night for talk and TLC. We don’t have to have sex tonight, if you’re feeling fragile.’

  She gave him an uncertain look.

  ‘Tim, I hope you’re not saying that because you’re not attracted to me anymore.’

  ‘Erica, you must be bloody joking.’

  He never did get to hear what Erica’s falling out with Rachel was about but as he snuggled up close to Erica that night it occurred to him that maybe their quarrel had done him a favour.

  Between the night of the yellow roses and their break in Bognor they spent only one more full evening and night together. With assessments piling in, they ratcheted up their workloads to create space for their weekend away. The night they did spend together was as passionate and rude as the night of the roses had been calm and comforting.

  It also revealed that Erica’s sexual imagination was not confined to the role of dominatrix. As soon as he arrived and without a word she thrust a leather strap into his hand. Removing her jeans and panties, she bent over, her hands gripping her legs just below her knees. Tim gazed in awe at the perfect contours and dipping valley of her jutting arse.

  ‘You sure you want me to strap your bottom?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  For a moment Tim was torn between his taste for raw sex and his sense of the ridiculous. The sight of Erica’s legs from heaven and her upturned rump cut short his hesitation. She was ball-bustingly sexy.

  Slowly and rhythmically he gently plied the strap, first across her left buttock and then the right. As her arse turned from golden brown to rose, Erica remained statuesque, barely moving under the steady smack of shiny leather. As the spanking gathered pace she obstinately thrust her backside upwards to meet the relentless strap, even in this position struggling to exert some control.

  Tim was now quivering with excitement. Tossing the strap aside he started to mount her. But for Erica the play was not over. She abruptly closed her legs.

  ‘There’s a cane in the bathroom cupboard Tim. Please, six of the best.’

  Tim was reluctant.

  ‘Tim, please.’

  ‘Ok, but I’ll decide when this stops.’

  Poised above her, he ran the cold cane across her hot behind.

  ‘One firm stroke on each buttock and that’s it. We’ll pause after the first stroke but you stay where you are so I can enjoy the view.’

  It didn’t work out like that. Tim broke the cane over his knee and grabbed Erica’s hips. Lifting her off the floor he quickly entered her. Taken by surprise, she dangled on his cock. It was not in Erica’s nature to dangle for long. She tipped forward planting her hands firmly on a table in front of her.

  ‘Tim, keep hold of my hips.’

  Levering her legs upwards, she crossed them behind his back. Tim’s cock remained tightly gripped inside her. Suddenly she pushed backwards precipitating a joint explosion followed by a slow collapse to the floor.

  They remained silent for a few minutes, when Erica spoke.

  ‘You enjoyed that then, didn’t you my lovely animal man?’

  ‘Yeah I did, but let’s keep the props as an occasional treat for feast-days and holidays of obligation, that kind of thing.’

  ‘And it doesn’t stop us making love in other ways, does it?’ Erica sounded anxious.

  ‘Not at all, not unless you, we get addicted. But I don’t think that’s too likely. What do you think?’

  Oh, I agree, absolutely not. I love doing it the ordinary way as well.

  Tim looked deep into her azure blues, ‘Erica you’re priceless, one in a million.’

  ‘And you Tim.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’

  ‘Clever man, not just a pretty face, then?’

  ‘Apparently not.’ He was beginning to feel that in his quest for the love of Erica he just might be pushing on an open door.

  Chapter 30

  On Bognor Sea-Front

  They decided to take the train to Bognor. Erica had not previously made this journey and they opted for a slow train so she could take in the long stretch of countryside that opened up once they were clear of Wash. Erica enjoyed the rural landscape but Tim, adopting his ‘our lad from the North’ role claimed to find it flat and tame compared to the rough terrain of the Lake District and Pennines. On the strength of his regionalist bluster Erica tied him down to a promise of a guided tour of the North West. Tim didn’t mind at all. Chalk that one down to things moving in the right direction.

  They were met at the station by Delaney, a rotund Irishman with a shock of prematurely white hair that shot perpendicularly from a massive head that could have been lifted from a Rodin sculpture and dropped, slightly askew, roughly between his shoulders. A great crescent beard covered the lower part of his face, further adding to his messianic air. As if nature had not rendered him conspicuous enough he wore a long purple cloak over a multi-coloured kaftan and a pair of claret velvet trousers. Emerald eyes twinkled in welcome. Pausing to wink at Erica, he gave Tim a fierce bear hug, half lifting him off the ground. Erica got a smack of a kiss on each cheek and, suddenly enveloped in the purple cloak, a slower, gentler embrace than Tim had to endure. Grinning Delaney stepped back from his guests.

  ‘Holy Saint Cuthbert! Where in the name of Jaezus did you find this beautiful creature? Even more amazingly what possessed her to pick you out of the bunch?’

  ‘Good taste,’ Tim replied. He was keen to keep the banter under control. He enjoyed his friend’s sharp wit, but on this occasion he planned to rope him into supporting his from-lust-to-love project with Erica. He wanted Delaney to boost his image, not demolish it. He had briefed him ahead of the visit to assist his romantic endeavour or at least not to mess things up. There was a good chance Delaney would deliver. Underneath the blarney he was a sensitive soul, softened rather than embittered by his own experience of lost love, peaking in a vicious divorce barely two years into a marriage in which he was far more sinned against than sinning. In the depressing aftermath he had given up his job as an IT consultant and now made his living as a session musician. He also played saxophone
in a local jazz band, quaintly named ‘Just East of Chichester’: so far it had been a ‘for love not money’ affair.

  As they walked from the station Tim glanced across at Delaney who was chatting with Erica, giving her some background on the historic town. He was soon telling her one of Bognor’s more famous stories. It was the kind of tale Delaney enjoyed, vulgarly piss taking of those who were more accustomed to pissing on other people.

  ‘Erica, do you know why Bognor is called Bognor Regis rather than plain Bognor and why the words most associated with the town are Bugger Bognor?’

  ‘No, I have no idea, but I think I’m about to find out.’

  ‘You are. King George V visited for a health cure in the 1920s and was so grateful it seemed to work that he added ‘Regis’ to the name of the town. Thus, ‘Bognor Regis.’ That’s the polite bit of the story.’

  ‘Interesting, but that doesn’t seem to fit with ‘Bugger Bognor.’

  ‘No. There’s more.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘Roughly ten years later, when he was seriously ill his courtiers reminded him of the reviving effects of Bognor and suggested a return visit. What do you think he replied?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I can guess.’

  ‘Right, ‘Bugger Bognor’: his final utterance.’

  Laughing Erica gave Delaney a sceptical look.

  ‘That’s a good story, but it sounds like a piece of blarney to me.’

  ‘Not so, check it out for yourself on Wikipedia.’

  Its tragic denouement aside, it was the light-hearted aspect of the ‘Bugger Bognor’ story that set the tone for the next couple of hours. Delaney proposed a drink before they set off to walk the couple of miles or so to his house. In the event this turned into a guided tour of the town’s best watering holes. Tim and Erica made no attempt to keep pace with Delaney’s drinking, but after an hour or so and having visited several pubs they were both were lightly sozzled. Wanting to sober up they pressed Delaney to take them to a coffee bar. They ended up at a rambling establishment that set itself out as a coffee and teashop, although in a couple of niche rooms alcoholic drinks were on sale. Tim and Erica ordered black coffees and Delaney a black coffee and double brandy. They found a small room with armchairs and, even though it was a mild day, a pleasantly smouldering log fire. Delaney eased back in his chair and thoughtfully sipped his brandy.

  ‘To walk or not to walk, that is the question…’

  ‘Definitely to walk – to your place you mean? Neither of us have much luggage. A walk will clear our heads,’ Erica suggested.

  ‘Definitely,’ Tim agreed. ‘We’re only here till midday Sunday, so we might as well get an early taste of the sea front. Erica’s never been here before.’

  Delaney concurred.

  It turned out that the Bognor seafront was more impressive than the town itself which had appeared slightly worn and tired looking. The wide esplanade that skirted the seafront offered a vista of ocean and sky, as inspiring as the town was not. They strolled along, almost in silence, drawn into nature’s massive presence, listening to the weird, metallic cries of the gulls and the whip of the wind on the sea.

  The sight of a large holiday complex brought them back to earth.

  ‘Butlins,’ said Delaney, ‘although I think it acquired some posh new name a few years ago. We don’t have to stay on the esplanade. There’s a stretch of beach ahead. Why don’t we go down there?’

  ‘Sounds great,’ enthused a slightly drunk sounding Erica.

  Switching from the esplanade to the beach took them even closer to the elements. Hot from exertion they removed their shoes and socks, dragging their feet in the cool wet sand. Aroused by the sounds and movement around her Erica suddenly shed her backpack and began running along the edge of the sea, occasionally shouting wildly and pirouetting with stunning virtuosity and grace. Neither Tim nor Delaney felt they had the attributes to follow suit. Even less so when she made her next move.

  Erica began to shed her clothes.

  ‘Christ on a motorbike, I think she’s going for a swim,’ cursed Delaney.

  His fears were confirmed as she swiftly removed her remaining clothes down to her panties and shouted across to them.

  ‘I’m off for a quick dip, why don’t you join me?’

  Exchanging looks of pure panic Tim and Delaney attempted to close the fifty or so yards distance from her in sub world record time, Delaney a whirling ball of purple and claret as he rotated after his more athletic friend. They were too late. Erica danced gleefully into the water seconds before they made up the ground. Tim followed her in but was left treading water. Sodden to the knees he lurched back to the shore.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m a very strong swimmer,’ Erica shouted as she plunged into the deeper water.

  ‘We may need to go after her,’ said a much sobered Delaney, ‘there are some nasty currents out there.’

  ‘Right, let’s strip off and be ready to do that. But she should be ok, she is very fit.’

  ‘She’s also seems to be very drunk.’

  ‘Yes, well… I can’t think why that is. Anyway, how well do you swim?’

  ‘Pretty well, got a tin pot somewhere to prove it.’

  By the time they were down to their underwear Erica was a good hundred yards from the beach. She then started swimming strongly in a lateral direction having apparently decided she had gone out far enough. The two men continued to urge her to come ashore. She shouted back that it was warmer in the water than on the beach, so why didn’t they join her? They ignored the teasing and remained on uneasy orange alert. Erica’s next move was to embark on a series of water acrobatics, including a display of flashing leg-scissors.

  ‘What a cracking pair of legs,’ exclaimed Delaney, ‘how the hell does she manage to do that?’

  Tim was less impressed. ‘Right, but I’d prefer to see them back on dry land.’

  They remained suspended between anxiety and admiration for several minutes when Erica abruptly concluded her extravaganza.

  ‘I’m on my way back,’ there was an edge of anxiety in her voice.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Tim exploded in relief.

  ‘And the fucking quicker the better,’ Delaney agreed.

  They watched as Erica turned towards the shore. Delaney, cold despite his bulk, started pulling his clothes back on.

  ‘Wait a minute, there’s something odd going on. She’s swimming but not getting any nearer,’ said Tim.

  Looking around, Delaney quickly worked out what was happening. ‘Shit, the tide’s going out! She’s probably hit a contra current.’ He immediately began tearing off his clothes again.

  Tim was already in the water. He was not about to wait for Erica to shout for help. Her pride in her athleticism might deter her until she was in serious difficulty. He shouted reassurance as he started to swim.

  ‘We’re coming for you, Erica? Stay calm.’

  ‘I, I’m not moving. I’m cramping up.’ Her voice was tight and strained.

  As he got near her he could see she was in real trouble. Her arms were pumping ferociously but her legs were virtually immobile. She was almost vertical in the water, her head bobbing up and down. Her face was taut and her eyes dull with fear.

  ‘I can’t move… I’m not moving.’

  Reaching her he put his arms under hers, resting the back of her head against his chest to keep her from going under water. By then Delaney was with them.

  ‘It’s going to take both of us to get her to the shore,’ shouted Tim. ‘Delaney, you take the front and I’ll take the back. Erica, grab Delaney’s shoulders and hang on. I’ll push from behind. Don’t try to do anything yourself.’

  Once they had manoeuvred into position, the makeshift carriage worked well. The moment of horror quickly evaporated as, resembling a Bognor version of the Loch Ness Monster, they proceeded steadily to the shore. Out of the water, a relieved and grateful Erica submitted to a towelling down with the men’s shirts and a vigor
ous leg massage to stimulate circulation. Having sorted themselves out, they headed straight for Delaney’s place fortunately now only half a kilometre away. Other than a bemused elderly couple and a gaggle of derisively amused teenagers, the bedraggled trio made it to the house without attracting too much attention.

  The after effects of the episode hit them in an unexpected way. Once inside the house, instead of collapsing with exhaustion they found themselves in a zone of collective exhilaration, talking excitedly, almost babbling, smiling and laughing, marvelling at how life and death can turn on a moment, delighted that fate had nodded kindly in their direction. All this did not prevent them from noticing that they were fiercely hungry. Delaney had excelled himself having already semi-prepared a meal of fish and local vegetables. He hadn’t prepared potatoes but produced a loaf of the size and appearance of a small log and a large wedge of butter. They cut off chunks from the loaf as they waited for the fish to grill and the vegetables to warm up.

  Delaney’s place was a good reflection of his personality, chaotic but friendly and colourful. They agreed to eat informally: Tim and Erica sitting on a heavily cushioned couch and Delaney on what was obviously a favourite armchair. Delaney spent little money on décor but regularly indulged an expensive taste in wine. ‘That unscheduled dip has sobered me up. This snapper deserves a couple of bottles of premier cru burgundy and you can have whatever drink you want with your afters. I can offer you a fair choice.’

  Gradually the food and alcohol brought Tim and Erica down from their highs. Exhaustion began to set in. Even Delaney, so far impervious to the vast amount of alcohol he had shifted began to look tired. By the time they had finished eating they were ready for bed.

  ‘Listen you guys,’ said Delaney, ‘I’ve got a gig in Portsmouth tomorrow afternoon, nothing special, just filling in for the band’s regular saxophonist, so I’ll leave you two here to relax and enjoy yourselves. Get up when you want. There’s plenty of food in the fridge. I’m playing locally tomorrow night and you’ll enjoy that better. I’ll go upstairs ahead of you so you can have the bathroom to yourselves in a few minutes. Tim will show you around, Erica.’