I used to work as an insurance agent. This involved collecting peoples insurance from the door on a four weekly basis and selling them new business. It was actually a great job. great people and some hilarious goings on.
I was collecting in an area of Nottingham called Wollaton. It was a fairly middle class area and good for collecting because all the ladies stayed at home while their husbands worked. This meant you could collect the premiums through the day and get finished early. This had other problems though. People would get lonely and thought you could stay for tea, cake and conversation. The other problem was well, you know.
I arrived at this house in a rather nice part of Wollaton. Lovely house, detached, door in the middle of a two story grey brick house. Double windows on either side of the door and a garage attached to the right hand side of the house. The sort of house that a young man would aspire to own one day. I was about 27 at the time so I was starting to notice this type of thing. I am 43 now and wonder how long I have left until making wine seems important.
I pressed the bell next to the shiny black door, waited, pressed again, waited, nothing. I then heard the lady of the house shout that she was in the garden so to come round the back. I go.
We spoke about the weather and I collected her £15 pound for the ten-year savings plan she has. She then asked me if I would like a cold drink and to take a seat. This type of thing was not uncommon as people often spent all day with not a soul to chat with. Obviously there are online bingo chat rooms nowadays.
So I took my seat and relaxed.
Now Mrs P as we shall now call her was early 50’s so about 25 years older than me. She was about five six and fairly average build. She had a perm and looked a little like Kevin Keegan with tits but about double is age. Because of the darkness of her hair I am sure she could have got moustache waxing on the NHS.
I sat in my off white plastic garden chair and looked down the garden. Lush grass and the sweet smell of the flowers were beautiful. There was an apple tree to my right, which I made a mental to mention later in the year (free apples lol).
It seemed to be taking rather a long time to pour lemonade so I turned round to look back towards the French doors, which led back into the dining room. There was Mrs.P stood naked looking at me. Tits, flat to her stomach, yes her stomach. You know when a woman flicks her hair in that seductive way, and it flicks behind one ear, revealing her face and beauty. Well if Mrs.P had done this she would have expertly flicked her left beast over her right shoulder. If I had been riding a bike I would have ran to fetch the pump and reflated them.
Then my eyes were drawn south. I tried not to look, but something drew me towards the area at the top of her legs. Today this area is generally known as a pussy. Normally trimmed and clean looking. Most men would tell you, it’s an attractive thing, the V.
This looked like a stab wound in the back of a silverback. I panicked, froze, looked up and she was calling me with her finger,
“It’s about time I rewarded you for coming here every month” she cooed. I could think of now way out of this. I had earmarked a pension sale on her husband in the next couple of months. What to do. I decided to tell her I was gay and my marriage was a marriage to a woman from Pakistan who wanted to get into the country.
Two years I had to keep that up for. Her husband did the pension with another company as I think she told him I was a fudge packer.
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