My Beloved Grizelda
Part 1 The Beginning
It all started, when a work colleague, Horace, invited me to a wedding anniversary meal at his home in Wilford, Nottingham many years ago.
His wife Susan, had also invited her German pen friend, Grizelda Freudenberger from Saarland.
I arrived at his cottage early and soon found myself being accepted within the family, despite my horrendous features and appearance (Just finished work).
Susan asked if I could go and pick up Grizelda at the Nottingham train station in a couple of hours, and I willingly said yes.
An hour or so later, we heard a taxi pull up outside, it was Grizelda, who had arrived early at the station, and caught the cab to the cottage.
Susan and I trotted up the garden path to the taxi. I watched as Grizelda climbed out of the taxi and it rose creakingly by a good three inches higher from the ground. She was a big girl.
Giselda was about 5’11” tall, around 15 stone (solid with it), a lovely dark head of hair (I later found out she had some in other places too!) Gorgeous wide hips, tree trunk legs that I instantly wanted to wrap myself around for a month or two.
Susan and Grizelda were talking excitedly in German, as the taxi driver was struggling to get the luggage out of the boot, I was just about to help him, when Grizelda strolled over and lifted the cases single handedly out of the boot, and placed them on the drive-way, returning to Susan, she cast me a quick glance up and down, and smiled at me!
My inside’s wobbled, and my extremities were girded into action, as I realised this was love at first sight! I had never known such an instant frenzy in my undies before. It actually hurt me.
It was also lust, aphrodisia, and instant arousal, passion, desire, a painful hunger… an itch that just had to be satisfied or suicide would have to be considered.
Such previously unknown to me emotions frenziedly tore away at my innards… and although they confused me somewhat, it felt good!
Horace came out to help carry the luggage in, I took a case, and Horace another, Grizelda, biceps bulging out from her short sleeved pink blouse, carried the other two big ones up the path, and we entered the house.
I sat myself down, and watched as they introduced the kids, and talked and talked about each other so merrily and happily together, as I sat cross legged.
I must admit I concentrated on the shape, words, (I knew a bit of German) actions, and innuendos of Grizelda really – and was sure she kept giving me a sly glance, again looking me up and down, and a discrete smile coming from the scar near her top lip.
Understandably with all the talking, on their first face-to-face meeting, by the time we were ready to eat, the meal was burnt a little, and Horace suggested they go and fetch a take-away instead.
We all agreed, and Grizelda said she would sort out her things in the bedroom she was to use, so Horace and Susan could fetch the food, and she would be ready, refreshed and changed by the time they got back with it.
Grizelda’s next words, were heaven for me to hear, and I knew something was in the air, perhaps romance (And I hoped rampant sex) wise.
“Perhaps Gerry could help me with my luggage and t’ings while you two go for food… yes?”
They took the kids and went off to fetch the food.
I stood facing Grizelda, my nose touching her hairy breasts, and we smiled at each other – no words seemed necessary or needed, and were not used initially.
We almost ran into the bedroom, threw the things out of her suitcases into the cupboards and drawers, and got into the shower together – (and she did not mention the microscopic size of my appendage once all the time I was with her, how sensitive she was!)
We fiddled, fumbled, sucked, and caressed in the falling water, as passion grew between us, she carried me to the bed and threw me on it.
The following explorations of each others foibles, desires, and needs was soon over, and the, fervent activity of intimate copulate followed, as she placed me between her tremendously desirous, muscular and hirsute legs.
It was intense, consuming, poignant and hot-blooded in the extreme. (Although I had to be careful not to catch the boils on her neck during the activities.)
She carried me back to the shower, and who would have thought that washing each other could have been so pleasurable, interesting, and entertaining. She taught me a lot that first day, bless her.
As we were getting dressed after our pulsating pleasures, we realised that Susan and Horace were expected back – we went into the living room and found them there, having eaten their take-away, sat besides our now cold take-away fodder on the table.
They had arrived back and saw our activities taking place in the bedroom, and had quietly returned to the living room, so as not to disturb us – what understanding and kind friends they were.
As I left that night, I arranged to pick Grizelda up on the Tuesday, and with the greatest of expectations and bodily excitement, take her home with me to my flat!
She smiled and gently squeezed my meat-and-two-veg as we departed.
I suffered the pain quiet gladly.
She put me down, and off I went, full of yearning for our next meeting!
As I walked along, full of satisfaction, and realising this was the best time of my life, pondering deeply about the good fortune and sex I’d just enjoyed – I realised I’d gone to the cottage in the car – so went back to collect it.
That woman had certainly got to me in a big way – thank heavens!
Keep an eye out for Part Two of Inchcock’s Beloved Grizelda, as soon as I get over the emotional turmoil and long defunct feeling my body is telling me it needs… Hehehe!
I, ahhhh, regret my earlier comments Mr Inchcock. I didn’t realise Grizelda was the love of your, ahhh, life. You must accept my humble apologies. Also, I equally apologise to Sir Clivey for my presumption of his and his, ahhh I mean hers, sexual entanglement.
Ahem!
What’s going on? Who’s Who?
No fret me old son. If it gets some response, I’m glad the creative artistic juices hav been stirred.
I’m afraid Grizelda, is but no but a very pleasant memory. Tsk!
Hope yer keepin’ alreet.
TTFN
Crikey you old devil you a proverbial ‘Rat une gouttière’
Well… I do like vegetables yer know. I’m assuming that Ratungouttere is another version of Ratatouille recipe innit?
As you’ve seen on me old school report, we didn’t take any foreign languages – let’s face it, we struggled enough with English.
Hehe! Take care.
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