Well, I went on seeing Greek Eddie - though I s'pose he saw more of me than I saw
of him. He saw the back of my head, and I saw upholstery.....

He was wonderful for impressing my girlfriends - he must have been a lot richer
than some of the other polo players because he sent flowers every day and once a
whole bouquet of orchids, which luckily arrived while a particularly bitchy
friend of Mummy's was over for lunch. That was a bit of a coup. Though I don't
much like orchids. They look spiteful to me.

He told me that he lived for our meetings, and naturally he expected to "fuck the
bum, yes?" every time we saw each other. I spent ages in the kitchen every day
with a little pack of frozen peas on my lip trying to make it heal at record
speed. I mean I adore sucking cock, but this buggery lark was simply not my cup
of tea. And also, though this bit's rather embarrassing, I hated not being able
to poo, and I simply couldn't. It hurt too much.

By the evening of Saturday fortnight I was not only fully recovered but we had an
invite to the Cartier thrash to celebrate their polo sponsorship. Happiness. Two
delectable outfits and being able to go back to blow jobs again. No more buggery.
Praise the Lord.

It was one of those moveable feast nights you get in the country. I had a new
short dress for the drinks do beforehand at Lord Emsworth's lovely old place, and
my ball dress was already hanging up at the house we were going for dinner so I
could nip off at half-time, so to speak, do my quick change act and turn up at
the ball itself within 20 minutes. It should've gone like clockwork.

I felt wonderful. My hair was extra glossy, my eyes were shining. I might not get
the thrills other girls described out of sex (in fact the whole business was
beginning to seem a bit one-sided to me), but I knew I looked ravishing and I
felt sure that as soon as I'd displayed my blow-job skills to Greek Eddie he'd
never look a bum-fuck in the face again. Or something like that. It was
definitely my night.

@---}---}----

At least it was my night until I went to the loo. I knew nearly everyone at the
drinks party and, as Lord Emsworth's butler said wistfully, that night the blaze
of lights, the smell of wines and perfume brought back the old days. Days when
the country house set ruled the world.

Buffy and Margot Emsworth were genial and carefree. Their son and heir, Jonty,
was flushed, pop-eyed and jubilant. He looked as happy as a moronic 22 year old
with thinning hair can. With the dosh his parents were making out of polo he had
every right to be happy. Owning a polo team is one of the ways whimsical
billionaires make holes in their fortunes. Supplying the whims of said
billionaires, on the other hand, can be unbelievably lucrative.

I left Eddie chatting polo with some team mates and nipped off for a pee. I
chatted to a couple of girls I knew, combed my hair and touched up my lippy. On
the way back I decided I'd circulate a bit and grab the chance to chat to various
old school enemies I'd spotted on the way in. Nothing like looking your best to
bring out a mean desire to re-introduce yourself to girls who used to look down
on you.

So I swanned about feeling gorgeous until disaster struck. You see Eddie didn't
spot me coming back to join him because I went back a different way. I was just
in the alcove leading to the billiard room where I'd left him when I heard
Eddie's voice, clear and happy.

"Yes, I know she's a silly leetle tart, my friend -- not two brain sticks to rub
together. She believes any bloody thing you tell her. When I hear all that about
She still thinks I am called Greek Eddie because I am Greek. Everyone else knows
I am French.  But Oliver, you must admit she has the face of an angel. For that
and for her tiny tight little arsehole alone she is worth a sea of red roses."

As I stood there, stunned, a dear, familiar voice replied. "Yes, Eddie, you've
got me there. Even if Kim thinks a long sentence is something you can appeal
against, she's still the sexiest toy on two legs. A living Barbie doll -- and so
desperate to please. I've never known a piece of totty so undemanding. I don't
think she's even heard of foreplay -- let alone the female orgasm. " Oliver was
laughing. Eddie was laughing. I wasn't laughing.

All I could think of was escaping. I staggered around the corner into a cool
corridor and collapsed. It was suddenly clear to me why people talk about
feelings being hurt. I hurt so much I felt something cracking in my chest.

Ever since I was little people've teased me about what a fool I am. I mean I've
always been the first to admit that I'm a bit of a dipstick, so them thinking I
was a mug wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst thing was that I'd been pootling
along thinking they liked me, and they didn't, they didn't give a shit and I'd
never noticed. They liked what I did, but who I was didn't really matter at all.
I wished I was dead -- or at least invisible...

I was slumped on this stupid little gilt chair, wailing my heart out as quietly
as I could, when I felt the satin lining of a d.j. warm from someone's back being
wrapped gently around my bare shoulders.

"It's my little Kim. I've been looking for you, and what do I find? Crying again,
sausage? Surely you've stopped at some point during the past decade? A bit more
serious than a grazed knee this time, eh? Come on, poor old girl. I'll take you
home and you can tell your uncle Barnaby all about it." It was Barny. I hadn't
seen him for ages, but here he was when I was in the pits.

I sobbed even harder now someone was being nice to me. Have you ever noticed
that? It's bad enough having something full tilt horrible happen but then if
someone comes along and is sympathetic that's just too much to bear. I really
howled. So he came round in front of me, wrapped his big chunky arms round me
like a father (not like *my* father. He's no one's fantasy Daddy. No, I mean like
a *real* daddy) and lifted me up. We were near the hall already, and it only took
a second for him to slip into the cloakroom and find his overcoat.

So with me wrapped in his dj and then tucked up under his huge coat he made our
farewells "Poor little thing... only a migraine... family friend... safely
home..." Muttering reassuring platitudes, Uncle Barn shepherded me invisibly out
through the press of people without an atom of fuss, across the rain-swept
courtyard and into his battered four-wheel drive.

Just like Uncle Barn -- turn up at a party, after years in the Middle East,
wearing a bespoke dinner jacket and driving a filthy farm vehicle. Not that he is
my uncle really. He's an old university mate of Daddy's from Oxford. He's known
me since I was little and I've had a hopeless crush on him since I was eight. He
was right too. Last time he saw me I *was* crying and it *was* a grazed knee. Man
must have a memory like an elephant.

I felt so safe in his car as we drove away through the village. It was a proper
country Range Rover -- muddy and smelling of dogs, and it felt so homely. Horses
and dogs and kind men who loved me. And of course that made me think about Greek
Eddie and Oliver again and I started blubbering louder than ever. Because nobody
loved me and it wasn't worth being so beautiful I could piss off all the girls I
knew if I was still so stupid that everyone was laughing at me.

Barn stopped the car in a lay by. "Hold hard, old lady," he said. "Save the tears
until we get to my place. You tell me all about it and if you've got a good
reason I'll let you cry as hard as you like. You can flood the bloody cottage as
long as you give me time to put the furniture up on milk crates. But no more
howling until you've spilt the beans."  That made me giggle, and he gave a little
nod of approval as we drove off through the rain.

His farm wasn't far away, and he must've left the lights on to put off burglars.
It was probably rented -- Uncle Barn's constantly in debt and, as Daddy so
sweetly puts it, "hasn't got a pot to piss in". Rented or not, it looked ever so
cosy on that wet night. He jumped out and strode round to the passenger door. I
was too busy mournfully comparing the rain on the windscreen to the deluge in my
heart to notice the huge puddle in the yard between the car and his front door.
But he thought of me and my lovely expensive shoes. He's that sort of man. Hard
to see what he and Daddy ever had in common, really.

Barnaby scooped me out of my seat and carted me over the puddle. He unlocked the
front door and set me down gently just inside. He looked down at me under the
lamp and smiled. "Kim you're the eighth wonder of the world. You're the only girl
I've ever known who can wail like a banshee and end up looking no worse than a
bit dew-drenched. You were like that as a baby, too. Whatever happens to all the
snot? It's got to be some form of genius, like autism."

"I don't know why you're saying that," I sobbed. "I can't even drive. It's just
waterproof mascara." Looking at Uncle Barn's coat, I could see where some of the
snot had gone, but I wasn't about to tell him.

His front door opened straight into a huge low-ceilinged kitchen with a real
fireplace and some easy chairs. He plonked me down in one of these, built up the
fire again, and set about making coffee. He brought a tray over with the coffee
and two huge glasses of malt and sat down in the chair opposite, looking kind and
scuffed and concerned.

Well, Daddy would just go mad, and Mummy would say something light and tinkling
and God's honest truth was I'd lost nearly all my girlfriends through showing
off. I'd been a bit of bitch since I suddenly turned into a swan. It had to be
faced that there simply weren't a lot of people I could talk to any more. And I
had to talk to someone, even if the whole thing was so dreadfully shaming.

So I took a huge gulp of the malt and told Barn all about Greek Eddie and the
buggery and Oliver and the sucking. The only bit I left out was the bit about it
hurting to poo. I couldn't tell even Barn about that.

It took me a while to explain everything. At first he stood up and just sort of
screwed up his mouth and went a funny colour. And then he started strolling about
and making little snorty noises. I could see he was trying to control his
disgust, and my eyes filled with tears. Then his did as well, real tears in his
shattering blue eyes in his rather weather-beaten face.

Then, just as my heart was breaking, he flung himself down on the sofa and
started howling. But he wasn't angry or disillusioned. He was laughing. Laughing
incredibly loudly, pounding his fist into a cushion. He roared with laughter, he
rolled on his back and held his stomach. His voice went all squeaky... "Kim! Oh
Kim, you holy innocent! You mean to say... Oh, darling..." he whooped, and he
didn't finish his sentence but went off into another gale of giggles.

"So what happened tonight, Kimmy-kitten?" he asked tenderly, when he'd stopped
laughing. He used to call me that silly name when I was tiny, and he was still
using it even though he knew all these terrible things about me. So I told him
the rest. He didn't laugh at this bit. "Miserable little shits!" he growled.
"Heaven preserve teenage girls from teenage boys, that's all I can say."

God, I was relieved. In fact I was so relieved that when he kneeled before me and
took my face between his hands I still thought of him as a relative. But then he
kissed me. The only way I can describe that kiss is that it was very
concentrated. Like cordial.

The words "Uncle Barn" teetered in my brain. There was a sort of short anquished
struggle between how long I'd known him and the fact that he wasn't any sort of
relative, and what Daddy would say and how much I'd always fancied him and the
overall effect of that kiss. And I opened my eyes and looked at Barn. He was the
same, but he was different. Or maybe I was different. And I kissed him back.

When we paused for breath he looked at me and struck an actory sort of pose.

"How dare these little pricks mess with my best girl?" he declaimed in a school
play voice. " In fact what I'd like to know," and Barn took a deep breath, "is
how dare the bloody bugger bugger my battered baby?"

And then he was hugging me and we were slipping down on the rug in a pile of sofa
cushions and I was laughing so hard my tummy hurt.

All the pain was fading away. Barn gazed deep into my eyes and set me off again
when he said "Holy cow, Kim, how did you ever get to be so totally gormless?"

When he rolled over again and buried his face in my lap I didn't think much about
it. I was wearing that lace cocktail dress that stops just below my bum. Weren't
you with me when I bought that? Oh, maybe not. Anyway, just that -- no tights,
just brown legs and cream Janet Reger knicks.

And I was so screwed up -- what with having my heart broken and then worrying
about how this old family friend would take my dreadful confession and then
pissing ourselves laughing and so on -- that I suppose my guard was down. Because
in no time Barnaby wasn't laughing, he was kissing my forearm, and running his
tongue up the skin against the grain. It made all the hairs on my arms stand on
end and it made my eyes sort of dither. I felt hypnotised with pleasure. Slowly
he moved on, and soon he was licking my thighs just under the hem of my dress and
taking deep sniffs under there while did so. I remembered him doing that just
inside restaurant doors to make me laugh when I was little, so I knew it was a
compliment.

The licks were lovely. My thighs were looking particularly nice, all pale tan
with tiny golden hairs, so I didn't have to worry about that. Besides which,
Barnaby's ancient, at least 45, so I knew he had all sorts of lumps and bumps
himself. He wouldn't be expecting me to be perfect. All of a sudden, for the
first time in my life, I stopped fretting. I was inside my skin instead of
watching it from the outside.

Anyway, what with one thing and another, I just sort of relaxed and Barnaby went
on kissing my legs and licking me, little cat licks, inside my thighs and even
down towards my knees. I'm used to stopping men going too far but not to men
sliding away from my naughty bits without being asked so this kissing and
nibbling down towards my knees was a bit of a novelty.

I leant right back and closed my eyes. He never stopped moving. His tongue or his
lips were sending shivers through me while one of his hands constantly stroked or
very, very gently tickled me using the tips of his nails. God, it was delicious.
I made a sort of half-hearted move for his trouser button but he whispered
"Forget it, sweetheart. It's your turn tonight."

I went into a sort of blissed-out coma and then I felt his nails grazing my
ankles. He very delicately undid the straps on my party sandals and bent to take
them carefully off and put them to one side. Then, as I lay there with the fire
making my skin glow, he sucked each toe in turn, running his tongue between each
one and even taking a tiny playful bite at one big toenail. I felt cherished,
like a little baby, and excited at the same time. All this was new to me. Time
was stretching out like chewing gum. It was all for me, and there was no rush, we
were weightless and time vanished...

Tenderly his big, safe-feeling hands moved up my thighs again. He leant up to
kiss me thoughtfully, as if he planned to take an exam in me, and the very tips
of his fingers just grazed against the crotch of my knickers. Christ, I nearly
jumped out of my skin. Wow. What was going on? I'd never felt like this - nothing
even vaguely like this. Ripples were coming from inside me, I was in a trance but
I couldn't be passive any longer. I needed something urgently. But what did I
need?

"Why don't you let me take these wet clothes off for you?" Barn whispered, and
that seemed a good idea. A wonderful idea. I was about to say they weren't wet
when I realised some of them were. Very. I just nodded. So he peeled off my
soaking panties and very delicately planted a single kiss on my pussy. He kissed
a place no one else had come across. It took my breath away.

I was shy for a moment but then I started wondering if I hadn't completely missed
the point before. With sex I mean. I mean I used to get tingles, and I used to
get damp. But I never had my whole body threaten to fly off in different
directions before. Everything was fizzing gently.

"If you'd just turn round I could unzip your dress," Barn pointed out tenderly. I
knelt up and obediently offered him my back. He unzipped a few inches and started
kissing the back of my neck. If it was heavenly delight before, now it felt even
nicer. He blew and nuzzled along my hairline, he whispered in my ears, and when
he started gently biting the nape of my neck I felt something I didn't recognise
at all. My tummy filled up with hot syrup, my inner thighs just sort of gave way
and my pussy started to throb and shudder as if it was trying to say something. I
couldn't help but gasp with the sheer blissful shock.

"Wow," breathed Barn when I'd stopped shaking. "That was a lovely surprise. How
come no one ever noticed before, poor baby?"

"Never noticed what?" I asked, in sudden fear of some unnoticed failure.

"Just how easy to turn on you are. Christ, youth is wasted on the young." His
head came over my shoulder. "Look at your chest, Kim."

I thought he meant my tits, but when I looked down he said "Look at that red
flush. Left over from your first orgasm of the night, baby girl."

And he was right, I could see it. "That was an orgasm, Barny?" I asked.

"Only a little tiny one, Kim" he replied mischievously. "Just a taster. Now where
was I...?"

He leant forward and licked my neck again. I shivered. Then he backed off a
little, but only to get at a better angle so he could run his tongue slowly down
the groove in my back. He unzipped me with one hand at the same time so his
tongue sort of followed the zipper. My whole body was melting.

He slid the dress off me and snuggled up behind me with his hard cock pressing
into my back through his trousers. He was still wearing all his clothes... I
ought to be doing something for him, I thought guiltily, but his touch kept
saying 'relax'.....

Barny slid his hands slowly up the front of me from my waist to my collar bones.
His big warm hands gradually took the weight of my tits from the underside, then
cupped them, his palms pressed against the pebbles of my nipples and slowly moved
onwards letting my breasts slide back down into their natural place on my rib
cage. There was something good about the wholeness of his touch. Most of the boys
I'd got to know grasped my huge high tits as if they were being asked to field
them. I thought feeling like an assortment of body parts was normal until I made
love with Barny.

"Why don't you lie down, sweetheart?" Barny suggested. "Nothing so exhausting as
high emotion. Let me take care of you now."

And I did, simple as that. Not like me at all. He fussed about arranging the rug
and the cushions to make me really comfy and then I stretched out, bare as bare
and relaxed. I felt free for the first time in my life. Being clever or stupid
wasn't what mattered here. Barny loved me, every inch. He'd loved me when I was
an ugly duckling and now he knew my nastiest secrets not only did he still like
me but he was really enjoying being nice to me.

But I was still a bit worried about the whacking great tent in his trousers.
"It's not going to kill me, Kim, you daft bat" said Barny gently. "It's not even
going to inconvenience me. My erection is not, repeat not, your responsibility.
If you want to suck it, or just look at it, later I'll be delighted but you can
just as well tell me to fuck off and have a wank. It's my cock and I can look
after it myself."

I had my doubts, but I put them to the back of my mind. He knelt over me, smiling
down in the firelight, and took off his shirt and tie. Then he took off his
shoes. Then he leant forward with his weight on his hands and started kissing my
mouth.

I'd never been kissed before. That was the only conclusion I could manage. The
velvety softness and intensity of this experience was a whole new world. Somehow
I found my mouth and my tongue doing things I hadn't thought of myself. He ran
the tip of his tongue along the inside of my bottom lip. It made me screw up my
eyes while stars spun round my head. Our mouths met and melted and explored. It
was like sea anemones dancing. It was just so good, so warm. I felt that syrupy
feeling start to build up all over again. He was tickling my cheek from the
inside. Even my teeth liked him.

But then his kisses moved away down my neck. For a moment my mouth felt lonely
but when he took one of my nipples in his mouth the shock of excitement that shot
straight to my pussy made me leap like a salmon. "Like that, do you?" he
murmured. "And what about this?"

Instead of moving really slowly down my tummy he darted straight between my legs.
His tongue snaked inside me without hesitation as his face came down. For a tiny
moment I was too impressed by the sheer excellence of his aim to react. How many
pussies must he have kissed to get that good? His tongue was inside my labia as
if drawn by magnetism. He licked up and then flicked his tongue over the top of
my clit. Saliva was pouring out of his mouth -- and I was already dripping
juices.... He was using his tongue, his nose, his fingertips, even his breath to
give me pleasure....

I was so wet between my thighs it crossed my mind that there was a real risk
darling Barn might drown. With his whole face buried in liquid pussy, anything
might happen... A dippy image of him down there with a snorkel on tickled me and
I snorted with nervous laughter.

Barn slowly moved up and gazed down at me, his face glistening. "Feeling a bit
lonely up here?" he asked.

"No, of course not," I said. "Well, yes... I was."

"Poor old girl. You *have* been in the wars. I'm here, you know. I'm here for
you. You don't need to be nervous. If you feel better I'll stay up close, face to
face with you..." Feeling deeply wimpish, I nodded and snuggled up to him.

He wrapped his arms around me and continued thoughtfully, kissing along my jaw.
"About that virginity business. It may not have occurred to you, sweetheart, but
some of us oldies have a secret weapon... It's called a vasectomy."

Well, Barn explained it, and I wouldn't have believed it from any other man --
not after what had happened -- but if you can't trust the man who gave you a
bicycle with trainer wheels who can you trust? And I'd been dying of curiosity
for so long and I suddenly thought how miserable trying to hold on to my bloody
virginity had made me, so I said, very, very quietly, "Yes, please."

He heard me all right, because he slowly got up and took off the rest of his
clothes, grinning at me. His cock was a nice shape, but not particularly
ginormous though he was bigger everywhere else than anyone else I'd been with and
miles hairier in all sorts of places (and some of the hairs were white). At first
sight I was a bit disappointed to see he didn't have a proper hard-on. I mean it
was big but it wasn't sticking straight up. Apparently that's how it works when
men get older. It may not get as huge as fast but, believe me, it gets just as
huge eventually and older men -- well Barny, anyway -- last for hours and hours.

It's a sort of hare and tortoise thing -- we did that at junior school, did you?
Well, then, it's like the difference between popcorn and a proper roast dinner
with vegetables. Far, far more satisfying.

And it was. He lay down beside me and showed me his vasectomy scars. That got us
giggling, because what with him being so hairy and the scars being so small and
the firelight it took us about five minutes to find them. So I forget about being
nervous, and he started all that stroking again. But this time it was less
comforting and more exciting. He pressed harder and used his nail tips to stand
my hairs on end. He sucked my nipples, my ears and whispered all sorts of nice
things. Just nice things -- about what a sweet little girl I'd been and how I'd
make a wonderful grown-up and how I deserved better than Eurotrash and... Well it
shouldn't have been sexy, but it was. Because he made me feel so good, so
special... And then he bent his head to the opposite side of my neck and moved
himself over me. My moment had come.

I screwed my eyes tight shut. He stopped dead. We both froze for a moment. "Why
doesn't he get it over with?" I was thinking. Slowly I unscrewed one eye... He
was grinning down at me like a fox.

"You're wondering why I don't get it over with, aren't you?" he said, and winked.

Well, I burst out laughing, and his face sort of sparkled and then with one long
thrust he was inside me, like two hands creaming each other. It didn't hurt, it
felt totally fucking gorgeous and it took my breath away. An orgasm was building
in me like a thunder cloud before he'd even started moving. I started to make
strange little gasps. I couldn't recognise the woman I was becoming, but she was
definitely me. This was the real stuff.

Everything that happened after that was deeply educational and lush. It turns out
the movie cliches we used to giggle about are all true. The waves do pound on the
beach, the pistons piston, fireworks go off, rockets are launched. I recall
strongly identifying with Liz Taylor during the race in National Velvet, except I
didn't have to cut my hair off.

God, it was astonishing. We changed positions a couple of times, but mostly we
just shagged the arse off each other. We fucked to a complete bloody standstill.

When we finally came down to earth for a glass of juice it was over two hours
later and my whole body was wet with sweat. My hair was plastered to my head and
my thigh muscles were trembling. At one point I remember my whole body felt full
of sequins, glittering and loose. I lost count of how many times I came... It was
amazing. Women don't work like men at all, you know. Men often just climb up and
up their single steep hill and then fall off the cliff. Women have a whole
landscape to explore -- and we went over the hills and far away....

So now Barnaby and I're going to live happy ever after. We'll see you on Saturday
-- you are coming, aren't you? I've just had my final fitting, and the wedding
rehearsal's tomorrow night. No, of course I'm not nervous. What's to be nervous
of?

@---}---}----

Let's take one last lingering glance at Kim among her guests, a very English
bride in the sunny courtyard. The chink of crystal and mutter of voices, with the
occasional peal of laughter, the sounds and scents of a lavish garden party.

And Kim looks as Pamela Anderson might look were she as fresh as a daisy and had
breasts built of country air and good food. Her curved golden shoulders and her
long neck rise out of the low-cut lace of her gown. Only the upper slopes of
those magnificent tits can be seen. Her thick, platinum-streaked tawny hair is
piled up under a crown of fresh flowers. Today she is wearing the first pearl
necklace of her life that won't wash off....

Further pearls stud her ears and a single carat solitaire winks on her hand.
Billows of vanilla satin make up the skirt that falls from her unfeasibly small
waist and trails on the centuries-old flagstones of the Emsworth's ancestral
hall.

The Emsworth's flagstones? Oh I see. Yes, of course she's marrying Jonty
Emsworth, Viscount Blandings.

You didn't really think she'd marry Barnaby did you? God, you're such a hopeless
romantic. After all, what's ground-breaking emotionally-synchronised ecstasy and
lifelong penury compared to a multi-million pound town house and most of
Berkshire? Remember, Kim's her mother's daughter. And possibly her father's
too.....

Sshh....! She's coming over... she wants to introduce us to someone.

Kim is smiling bewitchingly up at us. "Darling, how lovely to see you. Have you
met Barnaby Rufus? He's my trustee and a very old family friend. It was so kind
of your mother to remember Jonty and I like Wedgwood."

Dear old penniless Uncle Barnaby. Nothing more natural than that he should be
invited. And nothing more natural than that a married woman of property should
need frequent private meetings with her trustee. To discuss her position.... In
some depth....

Kim winks at us over her shoulder as she takes centre stage again. It's time for
her and her groom to cut the cake. Goodbye, sweetheart....

Dear Kim. She may be dim but she's no longer anybody's fool.....

@---}---}----