‘Disturbia’ Articles

Sex In The Suburbs

We just finished watching a BBC 4 documentary about advertising from the late 1950s to 1980s. No, I don’t remember the early ones, and they are the most charming and cringe-worthy advertisements you can imagine. Ignoring the fact that they often promoted tobacco products, be that cigarettes, cigars, pipe tobacco or the rolling variety, all of which are banned from advertising in the UK now, they illustrate a different world from the one we live in.

Attitudes towards gender, sex and sexuality were so at odds with contemporary thinking that if I were to build a time machine and travel back to the 50s it would be like visiting a different planet. And yet in some ways so familiar.

Which is why I thought I’d write a story, something that I haven’t done for weeks because of all the other little projects we have going on at the moment. I alighted on the late 1950s, way, way before I was born, but a time that I have a great affection for because of the art and design of the period. Strange that isn’t it, how you can have an almost achingly nostalgic yearning to experience an age decades before you were born.

The 1950s in the UK were very unlike 1950s America. In the US the 1950s are often looked upon as a Golden Age, in the UK we were still struggling to recover from World War 2, financially, socially and psychologically.

And because of the scenario I think the story deserves to be part of the Disturbia series, even though it predates the other stories by 50 years.

~~~

The weak yellow light of a watery spring afternoon streamed through the net curtains into the smoke-filled lounge. The issue of a smouldering Woodbine hung in the air, blue-white drifts of toxic particulates painting a beautiful three dimensional canvass in the air between the two women, belying their ultimately deadly consequences.

Her visitor’s thin lips moved, she was talking, but Sarah didn’t hear the words. Sarah wondered how long it was since she had lost track of the torrent of “He said-she said” that was flowing in a seemingly endless stream from Edith’s mouth. God! The woman was a bore, and opinionated, and she smelled vaguely of urine, and BO, and carbolic soap.

Sarah found herself drifting, remembering the previous afternoon when her visitor had been much more welcome. She indulged herself in the memory, Edith was not one to notice that her audience’s eyes had glazed. She took it for granted that the vicar’s wife would command the respect and attention of her husband’s parishioners.

He had arrived with perfect punctuality as always. From his black leather shoes to his carefully combed hair he was every inch the man she desired. His suit was dark and well tailored, his voice educated and soothing. Underneath the clothing his body was firm and athletic, she knew it well from hours of exploration.

He had taught her things that her time with her only previous lover, her late husband, had not. He had been conventional, maybe even boring, though that was a harsh word to describe a man who loved her with all his heart and simply showed it in the only way he knew how.

The war in Korea had put an end to their marriage and left her looking for comfort. Her new lover had provided that comfort. And so much more.

He was polite on the doorstep, each greeting the other with the expected social niceties, in case the twitching curtains of the houses opposite should stir. When the door was shut however the mood changed as if a switch had been flipped and they were able to ignore the world’s expectations of them.

He kissed her hard, tongue probing her mouth. There was no love here, or even passion because passion required feeling and she didn’t delude herself that he had feelings for her as some of his other ladies did. No this was about being desirable, about being wanted, about being fucked.

He pressed her against the wall with the weight of his body, the force of his advance making the thin plasterboard construction rattle and shake. After a moment the fervent and breathless greeting was over. Sarah felt a little disappointed despite the pleasures to come, she had been enjoying the feel of his stiff cock pressing into her belly through the fabric of his suit.

He led her upstairs, striding before her, forcing her to almost break into a run to keep up, feet bouncing up the thin strip of carpet on the middle of the treads. He hung his suite and shirt on the hangers she had placed on the hook behind the door and stood in his underwear watching her undress. She knew he liked this part. His cock straining to be released and dribbling its anticipation created a gratifying bulge for her to watch while she slipped out of her silk blouse and dark blue knee-length skirt. She stood in her garter belt, bra and French knickers for a moment, adjusting a suspender. She was teasing him and knew that doing so would be rewarded with a frantic sexual animal.

Sarah slipped her knickers over her hips and let then fall to her ankles like a miniature ivory parachute. He stepped forward and pulled her towards him with one hand, kissing her again. The other hand slipped into the dark humid curls between her legs and found her clitoris. He stroked her with a dexterity that had her weak at the knees in a few seconds. Only his arm wrapped around her prevented her from collapsing to the floor. He was freshly shaved the smell of the soap mixing with his subtle manly odour.

He ceased his massaging of her clit and let her recover. She knew what he wanted. Slipping to her knees she removed his underwear and grabbed his thick cock. He wanted her to suck it, choke on it, let him fuck her mouth. But not today. She licked the end with her tongue, stroked the frenulum until his eyes rolled and took the glans into his mouth. Then she pulled back and starting with the slowest, longest of strokes began to wank him.

He watched her hand accelerate its strokes, her eyes looking up at him. She stopped every few seconds to lick him, applying some necessary lubricating saliva, then pumping away at his member again. “This is new!” he thought to himself. He began to feel himself approaching orgasm, imagining his cum spurting over her face. A leer formed on his lips. Sarah stopped and catching him unawares pushed him back onto the bed. She leapt on top of him, straddling him, her sheer stockings caressed his naked legs.

He felt his cock being guided into her hot, wet snatch. He was on the edge, ready to cum, wanting to grind into her. She was frantic, bouncing on his cock and cumming almost immediately, screaming for him to fuck her.

He came, copiously, but despite his euphoria he realised that the orgasm was for her pleasure. She came again as she felt her pussy filled with hot fluid and continued to ride him until he was too soft to contain within her. Even when his glistening cock had flopped out onto his own belly she rubbed her engorged clit and swollen lips along it, determined to extract every last drop of pleasure for her self.

“Thank you Mark.” Said Sarah as she dismounted her dazed and sated steed.

~~~

Sarah snapped back to reality as she realised that Edith was not chattering about the jumble sale that was her original reason for imposing on Sarah’s hospitality. Another ten minutes and the dreadful harridan had concluded her summary of her orchestration of the fundraiser and was on her way out of the front door.

“And we can count on you to make a special effort this year can’t we? The church roof is in such dire need of repair.” Said Edith.

“I always try to ensure I do my best for the church.” Replied Sarah, “Reverend Green is so, er, inspirational.”

“Mark does have a way of motivating people, I really don’t know how he does it.” Edith smiled what she probably thought was a sweet smile and bid Sarah farewell.

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Sex, Lies And Suburban Depravity (A Disturbia Story)

Bill hoardings advertise products that nobody needs
While angry from Manchester writes to complain about
All the repeats on TV
And computer terminals report some gains
On the values of copper and tin
While American businessmen snap up Van Goghs
For the price of a hospital wingNothing ever happens, nothing happens at all
The needle returns to the start of the song
And we all sing along like before
Nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all
They’ll burn down the synagogues at six o’clock
And we’ll all go along like before

And we’ll all be lonely tonight and lonely tomorrow
Del Amitri, Nothing Ever Happens

 ”But Mum, why can’t I go on the demo?”

Ellen looked at her daughter’s young face, framed in a short, blonde bob, “Because you’ll get arrested along with your so-called friends.”

“But the bypass will destroy the copse on Black Hill, the ponds where you said you first kissed Dad. All that wildlife!”

“NO!”

Tina threw her schoolbag bag to the floor and stormed up to her bedroom shouting “You don’t care about the environment, about me! You don’t care about anything”. Ellen cringed moments before the door was slammed. Stamp, stamp, thud, and the stereo began to pump out bass from an unidentifiable band.

~~~

Ellen enjoyed the feeling of the cool night air around her naked legs. Her high heels clicked out an urgent rhythm along the flagged pavement. She pulled down her short leather skirt to allow herself a little modesty and stepped into the bar.

The bar slowly filled, most of the clientele younger than Ellen by a decade or two. She held her own and was proud of the fact. A true MILF, with more experience than most of the rest of the people in the stylishly appointed and moodily lit establishment put together.

She stroked a glass of ice-cold mineral water and surveyed her prospects. There were the usual crowd. She was looking for something new. Something fresh, exciting, virginal. She smiled to herself. Was this what being a predator felt like? If so she wanted to stay at the top of the food chain.

Her eagle-eyed reconnaissance of the male talent was interrupted briefly when a face she thought she knew bobbed briefly in and out of her peripheral vision. Her blood chilled momentarily, but no, the group of girls to her right were too young to be anyone she knew from work or socially.

When she first saw Jim she knew he was the one. Tonight’s entertainment. She caught his gaze, her strong cheekbones and skilful eye makeup jumped out at him. He returned the gaze, enchanted by Ellen. “You temptress!” thought Ellen, a tingling beginning between her thighs.

He split from his group of friends to stand next to her at the bar. He asked her if she would like a drink, she accepted. Ellen stroked the condensation on the vitreous container surrounding his alcoholic token of carnal intent. She drew her moist fingers across her exposed upper chest. They chatted, briefly, before retiring to a booth and engaging in twenty minutes of fervent groping and kissing.

Ellen Whispered in Jim’s ear. They made to leave, Ellen stopped. There it was again, a glimpse of a face she knew she should recognise. But the lighting was low, the makeup heavy, almost theatrical and its owner had her back to Ellen on the far side of the bar. Staring at the back of the woman’s head and her long, jet black hair gave nothing away. Ellen scolded herself for being paranoid.

In the alley she grabbed Jim’s cock through his trousers. The buzz she derived from arousing complete strangers had no equal. Her fingers traced the outline of his member, he felt huge. An expert opinion even if she did say so herself. She was such a whore when the mood took her, and proud of it.

Jim pulled her towards him, her hands now working at his belt. He leant forward pushing his tongue into her mouth. She returned his kiss with an enthusiasm that matched the need in her. The taste of lager on his tongue mingled with the smell of his aftershave. She moaned her enjoyment, felt his hands pull up her skirt, willing him to seek out her moistness with his fingers.

His cock was finally free. He was pressed against her so she could only feel, not see, his veined shaft and smooth, swollen head in her hand. She slipped an arm around his neck, lifting herself up, wrapping her legs around him. He pressed her against the wall, cock now nuzzling her pussy. She reached down with her free hand, pulling her panties to one side and guiding him inside her.

He slid in, and began pumping furiously, his inexperience evident. She wasn’t disappointed, she loved the young ones, they had no finesse, but they had vitality and spontaneity. His weight almost drove the breath from her body, the rough brickwork tearing at her jacket. Ellen could feel he was going to cum, an eternity before she was ready. Not that it mattered she would attend to her own needs when she returned home. This was the thrill of the off-piste, her orgasm was the après ski, to be savoured on her own.

She felt him tense, heard him groan. Two, three, four powerful thrusts emptying his balls. She was pinned to the wall by the power of his climax. For almost a minute he held her there, breathing heavily, before lowering her to the floor. His cock was softening, glistening from her juices in the dim light from the streetlight.

Ellen grasped his waving member. She slowly milked it of its last drops of fluid. Jim gasped, his now tender glans subjected to her insistent manipulation. When she was sure he was spent she let him pull up his trousers while she watched.

“Can we ..” he began.

“No, it’s just sex”.

He shrugged and walked off towards the entrance to the bar.

Ellen pulled down her skirt and was about to walk back to her car when Tina’s white, incredulous face appeared from the shadows and stared at her mother. Their eyes met and they looked into each other’s souls. There was a silent moment, the pause before an army charges into battle. A deep inward breath before the onslaught. Tina screamed abuse at Ellen. Bitch, whore, words Ellen never thought she would hear her daughter use. Then the question, why? Why? WHY?

Then the threats “I’m telling dad.”

Ellen waited until the tirade reached a crescendo and slapped Tina across the face, stunning her. Not from the force of the blow, but because she couldn’t remember her mother hitting her before.

~~~

In the car on the way home they both stared straight ahead, out of the windscreen.

“Tina …”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Good, then listen. You said earlier I didn’t care. Well I do care, I care as much today as I did when I got arrested at Greenham Common in the eighties. I care …”

“You were arrested?”

“Yes”, Ellen allowed herself a smile.

“On an anti-nuclear protest?” Tina was incredulous.

“Yes. I thought you weren’t talking to me.” Said Ellen, a little smug.

“I’m not.”

“I care as much as your grandmother cared when she nearly got sent to prison after one of the Aldermaston protests.”

“You don’t go to prison for protesting.” Scoffed Tina.

“You do if you punch a policeman in the face.”

They both began to laugh, the mirth at the thought of a now apparently respectable grey-haired woman waving a placard, chanting slogans and landing a left hook on an unsuspecting officer of the law closing the rift between them.

When the giggles had subsided Ellen said softly “I’ve done it before, and I’ll probably do it again. It’s not that I don’t love your father you know. It’s just my way of letting out my latent rebel. I don’t go on marches any more and living in that street since before you were born, holding down a job, conforming … I just can’t do it.” She looked across at Tina. “I don’t expect you to understand. Just please don’t tell you father.”

Tina could see the tears in her mother’s eyes. “I think I’m starting to understand. And don’t worry, I don’t think dad needs to know.”

“Thank you. Can I borrow your wig?”

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Disturbia – Shower Sex

Phil petulantly prodded the button on the shower. The red warning light stared back at him impassively.

“Arse!”

He washed in the sink, not having time to run a bath, before grabbing a slice of toast and a cup of three-sugar tea.

“When’s Steve coming round to look at the shower?” he asked his wife.

“He said today.” Replied Rachael as Phil pulled on his trainers.

“OK, see you later darlin’. About eight-ish.”

Rachael kissed Phil on the cheek and watched him walk to his taxi. The sound of the tired engine receding into the distance brought a warm glow to her stomach that spread across her chest and down between her legs.

She walked back into the kitchen and sat down to watch the morning news. Her robe slid off her knee. Without thinking she Slid her hand between her legs and pressed her middle finger against her clitoris, toying with it while she imagined the news anchor’s large masculine hands on her breasts.

Her morning coffee always tasted better with a little masturbation.

~~~

An hour later Steve walked out of his front door, toolbox in hand. He crossed the road to number 8. The bell chimed in the hallway. He waited, and waited. A puzzled expression developed on his face. He pressed the bell push again. Eventually a shape appeared on the other side of the frosted glass, he recognised it as Rachael.

Rachael pause before opening the door and allowed her self a devilish smile. I’ll keep you waiting, I’ll keep you keen she thought. She adjusted her low top to display her cleavage to best effect and paused a moment longer then opened the door with a “Morning Steve”, and a friendly smile.

He walked into the hallway, stepping to one side to allow Rachael to close and lock the door. “I’ll put the kettle on, you know where the bathroom is.”

Steve watched her backside for a moment as she walked toward the kitchen, then climbed the stairs to attend to the shower.

By the time Rachael appeared with two coffees Steve was replacing the cover on the shower.

“Done.” He said.

“Big job then?”

“A bad connection on the thermostat. It’ll be fine now.”

“I’d better check it.” Rachael’s mouth curled into a lecherous smile.”

“Can I stay and watch?” Asked Steve, feeling an uncomfortable stirring in his crotch.

“I hoped you might. You can only watch though.”

Rachael crossed her arms, grasped the hem of her top and lifted it over her head. Her bra was full to bursting, red lace framing C-cups. She unfastened her trousers, wiggled slightly to ease their passing over her hips and stepped out of them. She reached into the shower, presenting her round rump to Steve. Water began cascading down the inside of the shower’s glass sides.

Steve shuffled uncomfortably. Rachael slid her arms around him, pressing herself into his crotch. His hands grasped her shoulders while they kissed.

She was a tease and that was what he loved about her. Not like his wife, she just wasn’t interested, just indulged him, Sunday mornings and birthdays, Christmas if he was lucky. No Rachael was different, she really enjoyed sex. Which was odd because Phil didn’t seem to notice, or chose not to. He often though they ought to swap partners, they seemed better matched. Then there were the kids … yes he had actually thought it through that far. Fuck! This was getting serious.

Rachael’s hand was on his groin. Her fingers gripped his cock through denim, massaging slowly and deliberately. Then she broke away and stepped into the shower, leaving the door ajar, the glass was already steaming up and a wet floor was a small price to pay for a good show.

The water streamed down, wetting her brown hair, making it adhere to her skin. Her underwear clung to her, making her acutely aware of its presence. She didn’t need to look at Steve to know he would be watching the fabric clinging to her.

Her eyes were closed as she rubbed herself up and down. She payed particular attention to her breasts. He loved that when she played with her own tits while he fucked her. Hips swaying she knew she would be hypnotising him with her gyrations. He was easy to please and knew how to please her. A fair trade and the one thing that kept her sane since Phil had lost complete interest in her.

It was then she felt his hands on her.

“You took your time.” She scolded with a giggle.

Steve unhooked her bra and slipped it down her arms. Her erect nipples pressed into his chest. Their hands slid across wet skin, aided by the shower gel that Rachael squirted liberally and repeatedly across her breasts. Their bodies foamed and were slick with the soap. Steve massaged her breasts, each one slipping from his grip only to be grasped again and again.

When the bubbles subsided he slid his hand inside her red panties and into her pussy, the smooth wetness of her hot canal contrasting with the more aqueous wetness streaming over their bodies. Two fingers hooked inside, rubbing her G-spot into a blissful high.

Her eyes bore into his, imploring him to make her come. He slowed his stimulation, he could feel her coming, pussy tightening around his fingers already. She began to cum, slowly, moaning, hot fluid streaming down her legs. He continued the relentless massaging prolonging her orgasm unto she almost collapsed in his arms.

She slid to her knees, smiling blissfully. His cock waved in front of her face, his hand grasped around it now pumping steadily. She had seen it from this position before when she had let him cum on her face. That had been for him, it did nothing for her, so as she returned to her senses she pushed his hand away and began to milk his cock herself watching his tight balls tense in one final paroxysm. She aimed for her breasts enjoying the sensation of the jets of semen as they hit her skin before being washed away.

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