The Fowler and His Net - Chapter 5 - Sex Stories

The Fowler and His Net - Chapter 5

... stark and as with very little before in his life, he took it very seriously. The prospect of a sexual Disneyland with a gorgeous mother and daughter combo needed to be weighed up against the accusative, destructive forces of society not known to be permissive of the type of relations that were being offered to him.

Of course, in the end, no moral choice was made and he found himself parking his van in the tradesman’s bay outside of the Grange’s walled garden at five prompt. It was Monday, and Wilf, who had been mowing the lawn on a little tractor, opened the gate.

‘Back fer more eh, Gary me lad?’ he asked him.

He decided to be nonchalant in his reply. ‘Aye, I’ll be glad when this bloody job is out of the way Wilf, I can tell yer.’

Wilf looked at him over his half moon glasses. Well, judging by t' job yer doin’, yer gonner be ‘ere a while yet, eh?’

He looked at the work he completed the previous Saturday. In his haste, he had failed to cover it with a ground sheet, and a thunderstorm during the night had lifted two of the tiles and spoiled his unset grouting work. ‘Chuffin’ heck!’ he cursed. The rework would take the whole of the rest of his day. Wilf cackled as he walked back to his mower.

There was a commotion on the main drive to the house as three delivery vehicles unloaded some kind of equipment into the main entrance of the house. He asked Wilf about the activity when the old gardener was locking up his sheds.

‘Some kind ‘er function early next month ...

... so I’ve been teld,’ Wilf scrunched up his nose, ‘and look at this bloody garden, a right mess, not like when t‘Captain were still alive. She should ‘a seld it when he went. At least it’d get looked after then eh?’ Wilf grunted his displeasure. ‘Still if it ain’t got burnt out cars on, so t’ little missus’ is ‘appy.’

Gary concluded, looking around at what seemed to him a rather respectable garden, that Wilf’s standards were impossibly high.

As he continued to work after the old man had left him, his attention was drawn by a figure that was regularly appearing by the side of the house. It seemed to be directing the final operations that had caused a grumpy Wilf to re-rake the gravel on the front drive. That figure looked over toward him and began to approach. As it grew in size it became more familiar and finally the well dressed, distinguished gentleman became known to him. ‘Bloody hell, what’s he doin’ ere!’ Gary thought to himself.

‘Young Gary Fowler isn’t it?’ the figure asked.

‘Aye, yer ‘onour.’ Gary replied. Not without a few nerves.

‘It was never “Your Honour” Gary,’ Colonel Charles Mortimer MC MBE JP Esq conceded. ‘I am a mere magistrate, a simple Mr. Mortimer will suffice, unless you are going to be up before me of course.’ His good humoured accusation soon upgraded into a smile. ‘but from what I hear that’s unlikely, how are you Gary?’

Gary sighed in relief. ‘Aye, well …Mr Mortimer, working bloody hard.’

‘Yes, your success, well, your father’s as ...