The Reluctant Guide by Ron Dudderie - HTML preview

Chapter 3 - The road to Torquay

I generally miss breakfast. I stay up until 2 am so I tend to get up at 9. My wife, who works for a living, is long gone by then. Yesterday I turned in a bit earlier and so I was awake when Lizzy woke me up with breakfast on a tray.

"Aunt Linda told me to bring it to you," she said. No doubt auntie Linda had hoped Lizzy would catch me looking silly. Med students have an amazingly unsophisticated sense of humour. However, today I hadn't kicked off my underpants in the night, nor was I asleep above the sheets with my bare ass showing.

"Thanks dear, off you go" I said, taking the tray. I am not at my best in the morning. However, a cup of tea, scrambled eggs on toast and an episode of Wheeler Dealers on Discovery did much to improve my mood. By the time I got up they were long gone.

Before I hit the shower though, I found a stepladder, went to Lizzy's bathroom and changed the SD-card in the camera. The LiPo battery was good for another 30 hours at least. It wasn't getting too warm and the spider was looking suitably disgusting, so I gave it another go. I took a shower, shaved, dressed appropriately for what I assumed would be one of the traditional Sunday morning coffee and cake rituals and was just about to go upstairs when the girls came back. I got the heaviest bags from the Volvo and was told todays cake needed quite a few finishing touches before it was ready, plus half an hour in the fridge.

"Go to your office, I'll let you know," said my wife. Lizzy was already preparing some sort of cream.

"I know when I am not wanted," I sighed and went upstairs, to have a look at the video recordings. I knew the first bit, when she played with her nipple and tried to work out if the door would stay open. I the fast forwarded a few hours and saw her when she got ready for bed the previous night. As soon as she came in, she touched her neck where I'd blown the raspberry and tasted my spittle. She then rubbed it on her own lips. Not much joy there, but I suppose young people need to discover that. It's not where the pheromones are.

Because the action cam has a wide angle lens, I could see her waist as long as it was not behind the sink. As if to be sure there was no joy to be had from my spit, she wriggled out of her dress, rubbed her own neck and then stuck her hand inside her nickers, where she began to wriggle around. I guess rubbing my spit on your pussy doesn't really do much. Would be nice if it did.

She seemed quite disappointed. I could have told her that. She hadn't been wearing a bra under her dress and now I was witness to the underwear coming down. However, as soon as it was off she ducked out of the room and all I saw was her brushing her teeth, then turning off the lights.

Fast forward a few hours and the light came on again. She stepped into the shower but mostly faced towards the rear wall. I could see her white buttocks, but the glass panel fogged up quickly. Halfway into her shower she seemed to remember not getting a washcloth, so she ducked out, found one in the cabinet under the sink and that was it. I looked up the time codes for the nipple play and masturbation and rendered that out to a new file in seconds. I then tossed out the rest and was called downstairs.

The cake was lovely. Coffee and walnut with a mascarpone frosting. Bloody marvellous. My wife and I had coffee but Lizzy didn't even drink that yet so she stuck with tea.

"Lizzy told me you gave her a glass of wine," my wife said conversationally. Well, she'd have to have seen one of the bottles was gone.

"The Merlot. It had a glass left in it and she wanted to try. I didn't see the harm." Then I looked at Lizzy and growled:

"Snitches get stitches, ya know."

No harm done though, since we knew that Suzy and Edward believed in giving their kids the opportunity to at least try the stuff occasionally. Much better to be open about it than to end up with kids that grow up thinking alcohol is magical and go on a bender as soon as they turn 16. Lizzy blushed. The glass of wine reminded her how she'd try to get me going yesterday.

"Did you like it?" asked Linda. "Yes," claimed Lizzy.

"Liar. She forced it down when the movie was almost over. I've seen people drink cough syrup with more joy."

"Well, that Merlot is horrible. But your uncle doesn't know that, he's not that fond of wine. Maybe tonight we'll let you try the Sancerre, it's very mild and fruity. Anyone up for veggie risotto?"

Lizzy caught my eye and I knew exactly what she was thinking. Not another bloody vegetarian dish, please. And so I proposed Salmon Coubiliac, a family favourite. It's also a lot of work, which would keep the girls busy for a while.

"I haven't shopped for that," complained Linda. "I figured we'd do the risotto."

"That's okay, we've got most of it here. I'll pop down the shops, you do all that rice and pastry stuff and I'll be back with the filets real soon."

And so it was agreed. I needed 30 minutes to get back with the salmon and some dill cream and the ladies were hard at work when I got back. Lizzy was wearing an apron and really enjoying herself. She and Linda were a good team, even though cooking was all they shared. Linda's favourite, if she had one at all, was her cousin Tommie. He was three. I couldn't quite see how Lizzy would want to turn to aunt Linda for advice on breasts and boys, if I were honest. How to make a roux and how to treat shingles, that was more her field.

Eventually Linda left for choir practice. I was called downstairs.

"Okay, I'm off. I don't care what you two do but come home hungry and not after seven, okay? This thing needs g0 minutes in the oven and I don't want to have to wait that long when you finally show up. Now... mwah... (kiss for Lizzy) you two be … mwah … (kiss for me) be good."

Thirty seconds later the Volvo hummed towards the main road. "Do we need to clean the kitchen?" I asked.

"It's done. Have a look."

It was sparkling. I usually have about half an hours work when my wife is done cooking but Lizzy appeared to have a good influence on her.

"All right. Did you bring walking shoes? A good coat? Then meet me here in 5. Chop chop." She didn't seem overly enthusiastic about the walking part of the afternoon. Perhaps she was hoping I'd take her virginity or something. Truth of the matter is, I don't like walking either but I make myself do it. It's good for my back. I had a tinkle and apparently Lizzy did the same upstairs. Even then it took her ten minutes to get ready. I used that to go upstairs and get my memo recorder, which I placed in my top pocket. It would be good for hours and hours, so I pressed record. If this came back to haunt me, I'd at least have some proof.

Our first stop was Mrs. Pemberton down the road, who seemed very pleased to meet Lizzy. "You do understand I didn't BUY her? She's on view. I'm probably sending her back," I quipped.

"Yes dearie but you'd be a good father and I've always said so. There's still time you know. You could have one of 'em of your very own.  You know, this one looks a bit like you!"

"Really? I'll get her a razor. SCOUT! YOU MUTT! C'ME HERE!"

Scout was the biggest, meanest looking German Shepherd you will ever see. He was a former police dog and retired along with his owner, Mr. Pemberton. Louis died three weeks into his retirement, during a rehearsal of the very choir my wife was a member of. It was sad and hilarious in equal measure. I don't much care for coppers. How is that a way to spend your life, being a vassal of the state in charge of administering violence. But now Mrs. Pemberton was stuck with a dog the size of a small cow.

I was one of a rotating roster of big men who took Scout for the walks he so clearly needed. He was a sweetheart, really. The standing joke is that Scout would only chase a burglar to return his crowbar to him. He only ever bit people in those padded training suits they use.

Scout pelted around the corner, greeted me, was introduced to Lizzy (who at first was scared to death of him, despite my reassurances) and soon we were off towards the coast. "How far is it, do you think?" asked Lizzy when she learned of our destination.

"About five miles. And five back, but we'll take the bus from Torbay road. I don't fancy climbing uphill much either. Unless we get a driver who won't let Scout on, in which case you'll have quite a day ahead of you. But then I'll have tea ready when you get home."

We chatted about nothing in particular the first 20 minutes, as we were passing trough a residential area. But then my route began to cut across fields, on footpaths generally frequented by birdwatchers and members of the Ramblers association. Here we could speak freely and that's what I did.

"Now Lizzy, you and me need to talk," I said, after carefully closing a gate behind me. "Yeah?" She didn't quite know what to expect.

"Yes. You're an adult now, aren't you?" "Well... almost."

"You're working on it, that much is clear. Well, I'll speak to you as if you were an adult. Not my adorable fifteen year old niece, but, say, a twenty-five year old. Not that I should be talking about sex with twenty-five year olds, but that's another matter." She giggled. At least it was going to be about sex.

"First let me make quite clear I am in no way cross with you. Not at all. But what you're doing... or what you're trying to do... That needs to stop."

She didn't know what to say. Scout barrelled past us, chasing a duck. "Are you sure you're not angry?"

"I am sure. I remember being your age. You're a boiling cauldron of hormones. I always thought it was worse for boys, but you seem to have it as bad as I ever did."

"But I haven't really... done anything."

"Would you like me to give you some examples?"

I made eye contact with her, just to reassure her I wasn't mad. She didn't say no. "Trying to show off your new found cleavage," I said, simulating pulling down my shirt. She just shrugged.

"Asking me about the baby oil and showing me that dildo, to get us to talk about masturbation."

"I... Well I was worried you felt bad."

"Teasing me with your feet. Getting them in the shot on the iPad. By the way, HOW did you find that out?" She bloody laughed!

"There's an ad for a suntan lotion, it runs on ITV. There's a five second shot of a man rubbing suntan lotion over a woman's foot. Every time it's on, dad says: 'Uncle Martin wouldn't mind that job, I tell you.' So... I didn't get it at first, I didn't understand it was about the feet. I thought you just liked the beach. But then I found a clip online about people kissing feet and I understood."

It was my time to blush.

"Right. Before we go on, have I ever told you your father used to wet his bed until he was twelve?"

"WHAT?!"

"Oh yes. He had a new mattress every six months. Eventually they made him wear a special diaper with wiring in it. If he peed in his sleep, the wires would short a circuit, causing a buzzer to go off. That finally cured him."

Well, she really liked that anecdote. Her dad pissing his bed, that was comedy gold! "So WHY did he do that? Was he scared of the dark?"

I couldn't be THAT cruel to my brother.

"Well no, it just happens when kids sleep really deep. Which they do at that age, as the brain develops. It's really nobodies fault and he stopped doing it eventually. But boy, did nan wash a lot of sheets. And he wore diapers until he was so large they didn't have them in his size anymore. They didn't have incontinence diapers in the 1980's, I guess." "And you're telling me this because he told us you like feet."

"SCOUT! NO! C'ME HERE BOY. He shouldn't jump fences. Scares the sheep to death. Yes, I told you this as payback. He shouldn't have told anybody that I like feet. I have only ever told one person and I had to marry her to make sure she wouldn't tell anyone else." "So how come dad knows?"

"Because I was once a kid and I collected pictures of ladies feet. Kids don't know any better."

"Well I thought... you'd enjoy it. You didn't mind last night."

I stopped. I sighed. There was a bench here, because there was quite a nice view of the fields heading towards the sea. I sat down, made her sit next to me and looked her in the eye.

"I know. I should not have allowed that. But the thing is, it's a weakness. And it is something that... I promised you I'd talk to you as an adult, right? It is something that I need but that I don't get. Like, ever."

She waited a few seconds and then asked: "So aunty Linda..."

"Is not keen on it. Which I understand. It tickles. And she is on her feet all day so I don't like hers  very much. But that does not make it okay for me to look at your feet. I can look at your feet when you step into a nail or when you're three and stepped on a ladybird and it made you cry. Then it's okay. But I should not have done that, last night. And you should not offer again, understand? I could be in so much trouble."

"I understand. But I think it's... sort of sad you have this need and you can't have anything done about it."

"It is. But I've learned to live without. Generally I'm fine. But if you tease me, it suddenly makes it worse. Like, a LOT worse. So I am asking you: please don't. You don't have to go mad, you can still wear open shoes in summer around me and all that, I have learned to block that out. But don't do what you've been doing. And it wasn't just that. Am I right in thinking all this new stuff, the hormones and the hips and the boobies... You're trying them out? See what they do to men?"

"I... don't know."

She probably didn't. It hadn't been planned. Likely she hadn't understood her own motives.

"I think you have. Pretty girls can indeed have a lot of influence over boys and men and you'll want to know what works and what doesn't. But I am a grown man in his forties, married and related to you. You should not do that to me."

"Okay..."

"And... now that we're talking... Strangers on the internet aren't the best people to do that with either."

She looked alarmed. Surely in all that vastness of the Internet I couldn't have found...

"Look sweety, I know what your room looks like and I occasionally look at boobs on Reddit. Men do that. The internet may be vast, but you're hardly the first person to be found out by a family member or a classmate or their boss. You shouldn't do that. And people on the internet are unspeakably cruel, simply because they can be. Don't look for validation from those people. Not when you're still so young."

The message drove home, it seemed. Scout joined us and sat next to her, simply awaiting orders. This is why I'm more of a cat person. Cats never wait for orders. Cats have shit to do.

"So is that why I got banned?" she asked. Maybe she thought that had happened because she wasn't pretty enough.

"Yes. I had to intervene, before you posted more intimate stuff. The images have been

deleted."

Her lower lip wobbled.

"It's all so hard! These things disappear out of nowhere," she said, pointing at her chest. "And I don't know if I want them or not. One the one hand they're two years late, but now they're here they HURT! And.. and... my voice is changing, I always sound like I have a cold. And boys are looking at me different and asking me to 'give us a look' and all that. I... I just..."

I put my arm around her shoulder. We got up and resumed our walk.

"I know, sweetheart. And it's worse today. There is sex everywhere. But just because I can pull out my phone and find millions of pictures of naked people even when I am in this field, does not mean you should be among them."

"I didn't show my face," she sulked, as she put her arm around me and rested her head against my upper arm, which is no way to walk for any length of time.

"I know sweety. And I wouldn't want to tell you to be ashamed of your body. But trust me on this, it's a very sad group of people who go online to judge others. You never hear anything nice, unless it is to goad you into showing even more."

We couldn't walk like this any more, but she wanted to hold my hand. Given that the path now sloped down, that was understandable.

"So why do you do it?" she asked.

"Look at sex pictures I mean," she added, before I had a chance to try and weasel out of it. "Well I don't judge. There's a difference. I just watch."

That didn't help.

"Yes but WHY? Does everyone do that?" "Men more than women, I'd say. But yeah." "So my dad does it too?"

There was a big puddle here and even though she wasn't that small she still wanted to hold my hand as she jumped from one dry spot to another, as if she were only 8 or 9. She didn't even think about it. She could jump from kid to woman in a heartbeat.

"I hate to shock you, but I am sure he does. Although your dad has a different life. He works 8 hours a day and when he comes home you and your brother are always there. Your PC is in the living room, he has to go to bed early... I'd say he doesn't watch porn as much as he'd like, but I'm certain he finds the time. Probably when you and your mum are out shopping and Nigel is at work."

"But why?"

"Well, you watch them too, what do you think?"

"I watch them to learn," she said defiantly. "I want to know what boys want and what I want and what's fun to do."

"Okay, well for men that's not it. We watch because..." I sighed. Was I going to lie?

"We watch because..."

I didn't make it past that hurdle for the second time. She looked up to me, making eye contact. She was encouraging me to speak up. We had this deal, after all. We'd speak as adults.

"Because what we want and what we get is hardly ever the same."

She didn't answer right away but it was obvious I wouldn't get away with that. And sure enough:

"So what do you want?"

"Speaking for men in general: we like to have sex far more often than most women. We like to try new things. We like playing games and we like it when women dress up, not in the way that women think we like it, with a new blouse or something. We don't notice blouses. But... you know..."

"Slutty," she said, helpfully. "Like a slutty nurse."

I happened to know quite a few nurses. Slutty is not the word I'd use. Terrifying was nearer the mark.

"That's this Halloween madness, isn't it. Men can be police offers, firemen, lion tamers, whatever. And then for women there is only SLUTTY policewoman, SLUTTY firefighter. But yes, I did mean slutty. Women just... don't want to have sex the way men want it. And that is why there are so many pictures of it."

"I still don't see the difference. What games?"

"Oooh eh... I don't really know. That isn't really my thing. I get embarrassed from playing games. But some couples do it. They pretend the man is a plumber and the woman doesn't have any money to pay for the repairs, stuff like that."

She just looked at me like I was mad, with a scrunched up face. "Really?"

"Perhaps not the best example, but like I said: I'm not big on those games."

"Then what do you like?"

"Do we have to make this personal? SCOUT! WAIT! He was about to jump that last fence and there's a motorway behind it. You have to keep an eye on him too lizzy, it's hard enough to have this discussion and not break my neck on this path, without having to... well, never mind."

Of course it wasn't HER job to watch the dog. I was the adult here. "Well, you like feet. Is that it?" she continued, mercilessly.

"I like a lot of things. Not just feet."

"But aunt Linda has feet. And breasts. And all the rest."

"Yes. And she's always tired and when she'd not tired she doesn't want to spend all her time shaving and looking pretty and she sees people at their worst all day so when she is home she just wants to sit down and watch telly. Which I completely understand. But unlike Linda or your dad, I have quite a bit more time on my hands. I get bored."

She was quiet for a bit, mulling it over. We got to the fence where Scout was patiently waiting. There was another gate and then I had to focus on getting the three of us across the road. There was a wider path, which even had a cycling lane. We were still alone though and soon enough she started up again.

"Shouldn't you just find a woman who also wants to have a lot of sex?" she asked, somewhat timidly. I sighed. I sighed a lot in these discussions.

"The thing is, women don't like it when their husbands do that. It's called adultery and if Linda caught me doing that she'd divorce me. And I really do like living with her and spending time together and taking long vacations. She's different on vacation. Well... not that different, but more relaxed. But you can only go on vacation so much."

Scout now followed up closely, as he'd been trained to. Marvellous dog, you could walk him without a leash and go anywhere. Still, they're not my kind of animal. I'm a cat person at heart. Dogs are good for long walks, but I hate it when they watch you from their basket, hoping you'll do something fun. Cats don't care what you do, you just happen to meet your cat every now and then and if he likes you he'll let you know. Truth be told, I like my women like I like my pets. Independent. Well, this is what you get for that.

"You seem sad," she remarked, as I was contemplating my own misery.

"I am a bit sad, yeah. I don't particularly like being so upset about sex all the time. I don't like it that I am sometimes angry with Linda for not giving me what I need."

"People get divorced though," she said, speaking softly. "It happens. There's always another kid in my class who suddenly hears his parents are splitting up."

True. Especially in Romford. You'd think there'd also be a lot of murder-suicide pacts there. Maybe there were, but we all knew about the divorces.

"Do you think another woman would be better? I don't. Aunty linda is perfectly normal.

Women who really, REALLY like sex are rare. Most women don't really care about sex. Sex to them is like a trip to Berlin."

"What?" she giggled.

"Well, a trip to Berlin... That's okay, isn't it? It's something to do. Change of scenery. Doesn't take all that long, doesn't cost very much. Keeps your partner happy. So why not?

But if you never went to Berlin ever again... who cares? It's just Berlin."

She smiled, but didn't laugh. My view on the world was an entirely new one. I think she was afraid I'd be offended if she laughed.

"Don't look so serious, sweety. I'm hardly the only man in the world to think like that. It's just how it is. Men like sex and women don't mind it. And so women dish out sex just enough to make sure the man doesn't leave her and paints the house every now and then." "So... what if I am one of those women who DO like sex?" she said, sounding a bit worried.

"Well, young women like it more. But they're the most attractive so they can still use it to get what they want. It's a good deal for young women. Nature makes you pretty and men are falling over themselves to be with you. You just pick the most handsome one, or the richest. Or a combination. But I'd say that wears off a lot after about age 21. Or whenever women eat a special kind of food."

"What food is that?" she asked, amazed. I was about to unleash a joke that was at least 20 years old.

"Wedding cake," I said, dryly.

She didn't laugh. She just needed too much time to piece the joke together and the moment to laugh passed.

"Is that true," she finally asked, suspiciously. I explained it was a joke and why.

"Women  that are married have finally found a man they want to grow old with. And when they are married, he isn't allowed to have sex with other women. Plus, he has to share everything he has, there will soon be children so he is even less likely to run away... So the joke implies that after marriage, women simply have no reason to offer sex. He's staying anyway. Why bother?"

"Oh I see," she said, in much the same tone she'd use when she figured out something from maths homework.

"So what if I like sex and it doesn't go away?"

"Then you'll make one lucky guy very, very happy."

We'd reached the end of the path and were among houses now. We were too busy navigating around cars and bus shelters to talk. There were also far more people around. Lizzy seemed to need some time to mull all this shocking new information over anyway. I wasn't entirely sure if it was right to dump my highly cynical world view on her, but I felt even less good about lying to her how she'd find a lovely man and everything would be fine forever and he would never wonder off or look at porn. Best to go with the worst case scenario, I've learned.

A short walk on a long pier

We reached Torbay road, where the beach is. You can't get to it from many places because the expensive houses are in the way and these people prefer to think they own the beach. Torquay does have a pier however, and it's exactly as pathetic as you think it is. Paignton Pier is just a wooden walkway with some ramshackle wooden huts that sell the usual sorry array of tourist trash. At the start of it the shops are on the side, but in the middle is a big building you have to walk through. If you come out the other end there are 'games'. Miniature golf with 4 holes, a  bouncy castle, stuff like that. Most of it wasn't up yet, only the ice cream stall was trying its luck on one of the first days with a bit of sun.

"Care for an ice cream?" I offered. Lizzy shook her head as she was leaning over the metal fence.

"You can have one," she said.

"I'm good."

She stood close to me, not because it was a bit chilly but just because.

"I thought it would be fun, sex. You're saying it isn't," she said, speaking so softly I had trouble hearing her. "It's just a lot of problems."

"Well yes but not for girls. You're golden. It's only a problem for boys. Men."

Scout sat next to us, eyeing the playpen in the vain hoping someone would throw one of those balls laying around.

"I have soooooo many questions," she suddenly decided.

"Well, that's why we're having this talk. I have special permission from both Aunt Linda and Granny Torremolinos to have this talk with you. I'll tell you what you want to know. Special offer, today only."

She shook her head.

"Not here. People are listening."

She was right. An old lady with a green handbag that must have been quite fashionable when she bought it in 1967 harrumpfed and walked past us.

We headed towards the bus stop near the pier and were in luck: it wasn't even a five minute wait and the driver was fine with Scout getting on the bus. The ride took a while, but it got us to the street where Scout lived and that stretch usually takes the wind out of me for the rest of the day. Lizzy was playing with her phone, dealing with some text messages between her and a friend. She also told her mother she hadn't decided when to come back yet but that we were fine with it. To prove it, she sent her mum a picture of me on the bus giving a thumbs up. Right after she snapped it I thought: 'That'll give the police something to look for.' I don't know why, it wasn't as if I was going to hurt her.

We returned Scout to Mrs Pemberton and walked the rest of the way. She still wasn't speaking much. When I commented on this she said:

"I want to sit down. When we walk you keep finding ways to distract me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Lots of people find it easier to walk and talk." "Not me."

"Duly noted."

She sensed I thought she was cross with me and made up for it by squeezing my hand and giving me that smile. I won't lie: I needed that.

Step into my parlour

We settled on the couch in my office, where we could talk as much as we wanted. She wore socks, I served tea and healthy slices of that pie she'd made and we settled in as if we were going to discuss buying a house together. While she had gone to change and have a wee, I put the memo recorder on top of a book behind her and continued to record.

"Why did aunt Linda have to give you permission to talk to me?" she began.

"Well... I suppose because generally speaking, men like me aren't supposed to discuss sex with little girl... beg pardon, young women. It's creepy. It's not as if I'm a doctor or anything. And so I asked them what they thought I should do in case the matter came up." "So you didn't tell them..."

She didn't quite know how to put it.

"I told them nothing apart from the fact I guessed you wanted to discuss some things with a grown-up who wasn't a parent. Which is perfectly normal at your age. And they both said: 'Lizzy likes you a lot, we're not surprised if she comes to you and you should answer her questions.' Although I suspected it would be more along the lines of 'how do condoms work' and 'when am I old enough to kiss'. You seem to be a bit past that."

"I don't know how condoms work but I think you can see that on Youtube. And I've seen it done on a banana."

"Same idea, basically." "Do you use condoms?"

She was really making herself comfortable here. A license to discuss whatever you want with an adult, that was quite a treat for her.

"I do not. Linda is on the pill, as I gather you are. We used them a few years ago for a while, because she was on medication that makes the pill unreliable. You may want to keep that in mind if you get a prescription from your doctor, I myself never knew that might happen."

She was on those pills for three months. There were three condoms in that packet. I threw the last one out in 2011, as it had expired by then.

"I did, they told me when I got them at the pharmacy," she said, matter-of-factly. I felt I might ask a question myself.

"Do you mind taking the pill? Why do you, if I may ask?"

"Well... Because it helps you to r