The Fowler and His Net - Chapter 3 - Sex Stories

The Fowler and His Net - Chapter 3

The refurbishment of the largest municipal pool in town ate up nearly all of his time in the intervening three days between Gary Fowler’s night of strange sex with Samantha Barton and the next time he would have access to his buxom new lover. The team his father put on the job did not ignore his oddly changed mental state.

‘Pass t'square over please lover boy,' Paul, one of his father’s foremen asked earlier. He took it all in good humour and gave out just as bad. ‘Aye,' he had replied, ‘if you let me shag your missus’ an all.’ .

Lunch in the greasy spoon cafe had brought more questions about the attractive young widow. Gary wasn’t evasive about his answers. ‘Aye, right there next t’ pool, slappin’ her arse wi't putty trowel. Aye, she wants me to invite all yous’ lot n’all.' The table laughed.

‘Really?' Jake, the young apprentice piped. Silence; and then more howling laughter. Paul, the foreman cuffed him around the head. ‘No, not really, you bloody young spunker.’

‘How’s it you get that job then Gazza, when there’s so's many more deservin?' Asked Wayne, one of his mates on the job.

‘Look on’t side o’t van Wayno!’ he replied. ‘Mi Dad’s not gonna want your seed spread in’t aristocracy now is he. No, s’got to be a Fowler ain’t it.’

Gary wasn’t up to much intellectually, but he did know evasion played the work of truth in the close knit world of the working class. His hyperbole did it’s job. Unbeknownst to him though, this new society around which he was now ...

... skirting the fringes, played the war very differently. For those inhabitants, truth and lies had a blurred hinterland and those same evasions, indirect or non-committal responses were just part of a wide arsenal of weapons that shifted the front line in one direction or another. Samantha Burton’s interest in him should, if he had been an indigenous member of this new world, have raised suspicions. But, coming from the place he did, that interest was as simple as himself being a good looking lad and having a fit and strong body and her being lonely and bored.

His tame submission to Samantha’s skillful experience played no part in his thoughts as he walked to the Plough with Tracey that Friday night. They found a table in the busy lounge, local folk had become used to seeing them there together.

‘Aye, I got a bit of a look around. Didn’t seem like there was much worth takin’’ he said to her.

‘Oh, that is a relief Gary I tell you, I keep hearin’ all kinds of tales I tell yer.’

‘Oh, aye.'

‘Aye,' Tracey leant forward. ‘This ain’t from Mrs. Abel this, It’s from som’un else, but remember that stuck up piano teacher, you know the one that used to come in ‘ere?'

Gary remembered. ‘Aye, he weren’t much of a tap room lad, were he; weren’t he found in South America or somewhere like that; wouldn’t have thought he were’t type ta’ be dealing drugs, but ya’ can’t tell wi’ folk.'

‘Well, I heard it right, that him and that Mrs. Barton were at it!’

Gary interjected. ‘Who ...