Educating Laura Ch. 06


Laura has spent ten weeks working at a summer camp for city kids. Her college friend Richie came to visit, unexpectedly offered sex with her, and later joined the staff for the last three weeks. Andy and Alison have finally got together after working together at the camp’s London base for a year, but also Richie persuaded Andy to shag Laura in a threesome. Ali also enjoyed Laura on the last night, as she introduced Laura to kinky sex with the men watching. Now, it’s time to leave the camp site…

Andy had the fire and kettle going by the time I stirred. Ali cooked up all the remaining food — we’d be having sausage sandwiches for lunch en route.

“Morning,” Richie greeted my head when I looked out. “Here’s the sacks for the laundry. Stuff all the sleeping bags in when you’re ready; Andy and I’ll take this tent down.”

“Sure.” I stretched. A throbbing sensation across my arse reminded me of what had happened last night. Watching the others working around each other as usual was reassuring. I felt the ache in my well-spanked bottom as I got dressed. I liked it. The feeling perked me up, even before my first mug of tea.

“Wotcha, Laures,” Andy said as I emerged. “You all right?”

“Morning, babe.” Ali and Andy both watched me, concerned how I’d feel, the morning after.

“Morning, guys! I’m fine! Chill out! Pass us a cuppa, Al,” I replied.

“Ah, back to the demands,” she joked.

I glared at her, then grinned. “For now.”

It was a dry, if cool, day. Wearing our now-familiar outer layers, Ali in her turquoise fleece, Andy in army green, Richie with a black waterproof jacket, me in red, we loaded the tent into the back of the minibus, piled the bedding on top, the small gas cylinder and burner wedged under seats. Mr Jones came down to say goodbye.

“You’ve done good, all of you, with those children. And the field’s looking good, there. Tell Jude, I’m happy to rent her the land again next year.”

We double-checked for litter, let the kettle cool, and allowed the fire to dwindle out. Andy was taking all the rest of the food home. Perk of the job!

My summer’s home had melted away to nothing. I shook myself. Time for something new.

“Come on, Laura,” Andy called.

I clambered up next to Richie. Andy drove, Ali by his side. Within the hour we crossed the Severn Bridge, back into England.

It was probably being the end of a short era that made me so tired. “Rich? Do you mind if I lean on you?”

“Try it. Shall I put my arm like this?”

“You know how I taught you to hug? Yeah, well, I’m hardly going to take offence if you do cop a feel, am I?”

We wriggled a bit. Soon I was lying comfortably on his shoulder. His arm held me, managing to resist waking me up by playing with my breast.

I awoke at a services. After lunch, Ali drove for the rest of the motorway, letting Andy take over when we hit London. He inflicted Capital Gold upon us, Ali singing along with much more enthusiasm than ability.

“I hope we can park by your house, Andy,” Ali said.

“We could drop the tent and all at the centre, first,” he suggested.

“Nah. Get to yours and chill. Then see what we’re up for, before getting in a dead good curry.”

“Ooh, curry…” I’d not eaten one since May.

“Can do. See how comfy we can make you guys. I did keep saying, remember, there’s no’ much space…”

The house looked remarkably similar to my prospective student one, only with the last heavy-handed paint job much longer ago and refurbishments even more bodged. Seven individual door-buzzer buttons, rather than one.

We traipsed up two flights of creaking stairs. Andy indicated the bathroom and let us into his bedsit.

A clean, tidy room. With modern conveniences such as hot water, electric light, electric toaster, electric kettle, even a microwave…

Andy sat on the bed, hiding the faded ugly duvet, Rich and I on a lumpy ugly sofa. “I’ll make us a brew,” Ali said.

“I’ll pour. Chill, Al.” Andy leapt up and made her rest on the bed rather than make tea.

“I might use some of those camping bedrolls,” Richie said. “More comfy than this.” I groaned inwardly at his lack of tact, but the boy had a point.

“Ah, aye. The sofa’s shit. Sorry, never been able to sort a better one, no car to fetch it from a charity shop or whatever.”

I gave him a confused stare. “You’ve got a bloody great van, right downstairs! Go look tomorrow morning! We can help you shift it.”

“They’re about a hundred quid, though, for anything better than this yin.”

“Seriously? Even on Loot? Or that eBay website we’ve got now? I’ll go down the library tomorrow with you, help you look online.”

It was Andy’s turn to be confused. “Why the library? I’ve got internet! That big tower PC, over there. It’s all set up for me course. What do you want me to look at?”

“Shall we start with Loot? Where’s the nearest posh area?”

“What do you mean? They won’t be trying to sell stuff for pennies!”

“No, no! We want people çankaya escort trying to empty a house quickly, who have good stuff and want rid,” I explained. “Trust me. Dulwich? Search. Anything you don’t want?”

“It’s got to be long enough for a mate to sleep on.” He pointed at me and Richie. “Not too skanky.”

I typed. “Would leather do?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Expat house clearance, in Herne Hill. I’ll call the number. Oh, hello! Good afternoon. I understand you’re trying to get rid of some furniture? Is the sofa still available, because I have a minibus and some men available to come and collect today. You do? Oh, that’s fabulous. Hm? We might be able to take some other items, yes.” Andy nodded vigorously. “How long to get there? We’ll see you in an hour, the driver says. That’s so kind of you. We’ll see you soon. Bye, mm, bye!”

“That,” Ali said sternly, “is the best switch to a posh telephone voice I’ve ever heard. Is that your real voice?”

“What’s ‘real’?” I asked, tiredly. “‘Ah mean, like ‘eck as like, tha’ knows? See all, hear all, say nowt, an’ if tha’ ever does owt fo’ nowt, do it for thissen…’ Nah, I never spoke much like that.” I dropped the Yorkshire stereotype and went back to my standard English words, but the cadence remained Northern, Yorkshire, and would for a while, until re-influenced by the others. Or until I consciously applied a different accent:

“I didn’t go to the local school after I was seven, and then secondary school was down south, boarding, so no, I don’t sound Yorkshire any more. Not enough for anyone in the Dales, any road… At boarding school we’d have to switch from our nice middle-class voices, assimilating words from all over the world, into something more local. Or the local pubs wouldn’t serve us and the buses woulden stop — they’d overshoot on purpose, then do yous for’s not paying the correct fare! Now, now’days? oh my days, me’s getting good at righ’ pukka saaf Lahndan talk, innit?”

I demonstrated my childhood mild Yorkshire accent, then my boarding school voice which could hold its own with any Etonian, a south coast accent local to my school, and finally, a reasonable stab at the tones and dialect of the local kids, when trying to sound cool.

“Kin’ell,” Richie muttered. “You’re wasted backstage. You should be a star of Footlights!”

“What, and be thrown out of the Shaft of Darkness?” I enlightened the others: “I spend a lot of time at the student theatre, doing lighting for plays. Even got to design a couple late shows, last term. There’s a society that techies get invited to join, but allegedly you get thrown out if you appear on stage. No, I have no desire to become a luvvie, thank you very much!”

“Their loss.”

Andy agreed. “Mm. Aye, let’s get going, then. I’ll fold the seats down.”

I concurred, glad not to have to think about who I ‘really’ was, always having to be a chameleon in order to belong anywhere. But these guys knew most of me, now. More than anyone else, even.

It proved it was people who made a home, not the surroundings. Andy’s battered floorboards, a Welsh sheep field, a college room with avuncular porters downstairs: my happy homes.

I rang the doorbell of a well-kept semi with sweeping gravel drive. The others clearly felt it was my job to take the lead speaking to the homeowner.

“Oh, hello! You’ve come to collect the sofa? Marvellous. Do come in, I do hope it’s all right for you. Will it do, dear?”

‘It’ was a virtually new couch, dark brown leather. I was no expert, but it was clearly superior quality to DFS, the leather thick yet supple, the whole thing solid.

“Andy? It looks the same size. It should fit.”

“Er, aye, yeah.” Andy was paralysed by the genteel surroundings, perfectly-painted walls, carefully chosen furnishings. The lady’s hair and face and clothes were all immaculate, the forty-year-old version of my wealthy school mates. I reminded myself, again, I was just as worthy a person as they were. Besides, we were doing her a favour.

“I said the measurements, didn’t I? Oh, I’m so glad — it is a lovely thing, nearly new. It’s a sofa-bed, too, you know. Just lift here, you see? Not that anyone’s ever slept on it, so I couldn’t really tell you if it’s comfy. Will you all be all right getting it outside? Oh, super. Can I make you some cups of tea while you move it? It’s heavy!”

My job to speak, again. “Oh, thank you! Yes, please. All white, one with two sugars, please. That’s so kind.” Andy blushed further, working-class status betrayed by drink preferences. “Ali, you hold the door while Rich and Andy get it outside.”

Being on the ground floor, van parked on the driveway, it was easy, between us, to slide the thing into the van.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, dears. You’re from a community centre, you said? I don’t suppose you’d be interested in any other household items? I’m just trying to send as much as possible to good homes before the house clearance firm swoop cebeci escort in on Tuesday. I didn’t really like them, but we can’t take any more of this to Brussels, sadly.”

“Oh!” Ali was jerked awake. “Seriously? If it’s useful items, and they fit in our vehicle, we’d love to take them! Andy here recently moved to London and needed a sofa — a better one, rather. But we work with refugees and people fleeing domestic violence and that — they need everything. Bedding, towels, kitchen stuff… I don’t know how many appliances you could fit in the van…”

The well-groomed woman — a diplomat’s wife, apparently — showed us round the house. We crammed as much in as we could, sacks piled high, promising to collect a cooker, washing machine and fridge-freezer the next day. I wondered if we could acquire a wardrobe for Andy; the rest would be for someone on Pete’s list. I sat with a microwave and large potted plant on my lap; Ali was hidden under a brushed-steel dustbin and a doormat. Richie silently piled crockery in wine boxes and bedding in bin bags into the remaining spaces, then squeezed next to me.

Andy was jittering with the excitement he’d concealed while shifting furniture. “Bloody hell, Laura! You’ve like bought me a fucking house!”

“Hardly. Cost me nothing! Besides, it’s in my own interest, getting a comfy place to sleep, innit. I don’t think you’ll have space to open the sofa-bed out, though.” I tried to calm Andy down.

“Oh, the hardship!” Ali retorted. “We’ll have to cart the old one outside, first.”

Back at his, Ali was visibly flagging. Andy helped her up the stairs, as if he knew she struggled more than the rest of us. He told her to simply hold his door open, and suggested she order Indian for us all. I tossed all the sofa cushions down the stairs, then helped Andy balance the old settee as he stepped backwards down the stairs, Rich cautiously following. Not that the walls would particularly show scuffs from being scraped, being so bashed about already.

They dropped the thing with a thud in the front hall. The door of the ground floor flat opened; a short Asian man stepped out. “What is happening?”

“Eh, sorry ’bout the noise, mate. I’ve got a new sofa, so I’m getting rid of this old one.”

“Ah. I see. Yes. What you do with this?”

Andy shrugged. “Leave it in the street, hope the council or someone take it away?” Legally, that was fly-tipping, but we all knew anything left out would vanish rapidly from the main road. Andy wouldn’t pay for a bulky waste collection.

“Can have?”

“You’d like it? Ah, sure, if you like, but it’s no’ very comfortable.”

The man called to his household. A man more our age emerged, and an older woman, maybe seventy-five. She sat on the sofa, nodded, said something to the men.

“Is good. We have more… Pillows?”

“Cushions,” Richie said automatically.

“Yes. Is better. One moment, make…” He gestured, ‘space’.

“Let us help.” Andy indicated for the young man to help his father, and how to turn the sofa sideways to fit through the door, Rich helping Andy to lift it over the banisters. It slid through the door. I caught a glimpse of a cluttered living room, kitchen and bathroom to the rear, and guessed the front room must be a large bedroom, presumably for all three generations? Four — Andy had said there were children. At least seven people, then, in a one-bedroom flat. I felt intense gratitude for all the space I’d grown up with.

The lads emerged, nodding and shaking hands with the smiling men.

“Well, that solves that one. Time to lift the new one, once we excavate it from all the other stuff.”

“I’ll shift the bags and put them back for you. See if these chaps can help you lift the thing up the stairs.”

With four men, the sofa-bed flew up to the attic, and into Andy’s room, with only minor damage to the plaster and his door jamb.

“Result,” he said with satisfaction. “Twenty minutes before you can collect the food? Good, I’m ravenous.”

We all sat down on the new sofa. The soft top-quality leather and plentiful springs caressed us. It might mean I was a leather fetishist — add that to my list of perversions! — but I wanted to get naked immediately on it. And fuck.

Instead, I suggested to Andy, “How about I bring stuff upstairs, you decide if you want to upgrade with it, and we can put anything you don’t want in the van?”

“OK. That shiny wee microwave would be grand, if it works.”

It did work. I took his old huge white one away. Ali swapped half a dozen mismatched glasses for two sets, tumblers and wine glasses. “I’ve no use for champagne glasses! Away with them!” Andy had a set of plates already, but accepted a casserole dish, serving bowl, and pans. He seemed bowled over when we reached a set of three stainless-steel saucepans, a good brand which would last a lifetime.

“Ah, man! All this and matching cutlery! I’ve made it in life, I swear!”

“Oh, çukurambar escort there was one thing I squeezed in, you might like,” Richie said. He passed Andy a bin liner.

“What’s this? A fucking telly? An’ you’re giving it to me?”

“Yeah,” Richie replied. ‘You said yours was a bit small.” It was, to be fair. “She didn’t want it, I don’t want it, Laura’s not going to cart something this size back to college. So are you keeping it, or is it for the other needy folk?”

“I’m fetching the curry,” Andy said curtly, not answering.

Once he’d gone, Richie looked to me and Ali. “What did I say?”

“Nothing, really,” Ali grimaced. “Just, this is a big adjustment for him. He’s always had bugger all in his life, always making do, and suddenly half his homewares are from John Lewis and the like. And then you hit him with a free TV!”

“And who likes to think of themselves as the needy?” I added. “Especially when it’s true.” I’d lectured Rich on that in relation to the kids — don’t tell them the holiday scheme is for ‘deprived and underprivileged youth’. I hadn’t thought about the staff.

“He knows, though.” Richie didn’t really get it.

“There’s knowing, and there’s knowing,” Ali explained. “Oh! Back already?”

“The Raj is just round the corner,” Andy muttered. “You know, that couch really does look good. Huh.”

We ate generous portions, leaving only half the food for the next day. There was more to sort through. A pine tallboy was a great improvement on chipped melamine as a bedside table; a doormat was left downstairs, the old one downgraded to outside. Andy decided he was keeping his own tea-towels, on the grounds they worked just as well and he’d collected them. He accepted two sheets, but the duvet covers were rejected as too alien. A rug was kept ‘for the winter’; the kettle deemed no better than his own.

At which point there was a knock on the door. The younger man from downstairs was there, proffering a steaming bag. Inside the newspaper were hot samosas.

“My granny says thank you. It’s easier for her, having a bed up, not just a mattress.” He demonstrated the relative heights. “Is good. Thank you, so very much.”

Andy grinned widely. “Come downstairs with me.”

I looked at Ali. “I think that’s cheered him up, being able to give stuff away already.”

“I think they’re Afghan refugees. That guy’s dad sounds like he might have been quite professional, back in the day. I didn’t like to ask.”

When Andy returned, he said, “Could you confirm we’ll take that other van load tomorrow morning? You can help me, right?”

Our donor promised to be in jeans and able to assist. We’d manage.

“Good. Family of eight, they need a freezer, right? Man, how the other half live.” I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the lady in Dulwich or the family downstairs. Probably both.

“You’re practically inhaling the sofa, Laura!” Ali observed. “You want to eat it?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ve got a leather fetish, so sue me.”

“Mm.” Andy spoke up. “I know we all need kip — you need to set off by eight, didn’t you say, Rich? But I think we need to see you, Laura, all spread out naked on this dark-chocolate leather…”

“Call it rent,” Ali smiled.

I hastily brushed my teeth, then obliged.

“God, you’re so gorgeous, babe,” Ali breathed.

“You’re not wrong,” Andy agreed. “Just remember, pet, you’re welcome here any time, clothes off or no.”

A “mm-hm”, from Richie.

All three of them working to convince me I might have attractiveness beyond my brains and nice respectability.

“I’d love to lie here and let you all do what you want with me, but I fear I need sleep, and I’m sure you guys do.” I eyed the distance between sofa and kitchen units. “Let’s just try opening this bed out and see if it could fit.”

It turned out, it opened flat just fine, thanks to generous cushioning over its foot and its back being squashable over the end of the bed. “Pass us a sheet. And them new pillows, or your old ones. I’ll get that duvet and cover you rejected.”

“Darman from downstairs took that. There’s a couple blankets in the cupboard, though. And your sleeping bags.” He sounded defensive.

“We’ll be fine, Andy. Stop fretting!”

“I can’t help mithering,” he excused himself. “Just remember, pet, you’re welcome here any time, clothes off or no.”

“Thanks. Richie? I know you’re not one for romantic seduction, but… come to bed with me?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” A small twitch of his lip proved he was taking the joke as intended. We lay at an angle, avoiding hitting the cupboards with our feet, luxuriating in the bouncy surface beneath us. Not just a foam mat over the grass.

I was exhausted.

Richie ran a hand down my back, squished my bottom. It was only mildly sore, now. I’d admired the pink patch and subtle bruising in the bathroom mirror, feeling oddly proud of it. “Hold that thought,” I smiled sleepily at him.

“Oh, I will,” he promised.

“Night.” I was out like a light.

I awoke with Richie’s alarm. Odd to think that I’d slept in a proper double bed with a man, for the first time. Much better than waking under someone with a hangover in a college single. Within five minutes he’d washed, thrown on clean clothes, and eaten cereal.

“See you tonight. Someone can let me in, right?” I nodded.

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