Mr. Chatterley's Lover Ch. 01

I freely admit that once I became aware of the novel Lady Chatterley's Lover, which appeared in public and became a best-seller long before I was born, I found myself blushing whenever the book was referred to. That wasn't because I was shy or otherwise put off by a good racy novel.

No, it was because my name is the same.

Hey, cut out that laughing! I'm not Connie or Constance or a cross-dresser; I'm a bloke, not a woman!

Neither do I own a large manor house; I'm not Sir anything, but my surname is the same – Chatterley. Nor am I confined to a wheelchair as Sir Clifford was; I'm fit and healthy...and horny too for that matter.

But to add another similarity to the novel, my Christian name happens to be Oliver; the same name as Lady Chatterley's lover, although I tend to be known as Ollie which is far less formal. And to completely twist the image, I'm gay, or at least I'm pretty certain I am now.

All of which just makes me cringe and blush when my friends will insist on asking, using a country bumpkin voice, something like, "Have you been down to the cottage lately?"

That's usually accompanied by a wink or a nudge as well, leaving me lost for words and occasionally painfully embarrassed too.

Like I said, I'm pretty sure I'm gay, even though I used to be hetero; hell, I even used to be married. Sadly it just didn't work out – somehow I just couldn't feel happy with her presence and although we consummated our marriage, our bedroom activities left me quite unmoved. My reticence set the standard I think and soon she had an affair; then we had one big row after another and then she departed and I was left with an empty home and a broken heart – that was, until I met Tony.

And just in case you ponder on my income and workplace, I'm a writer, working almost entirely from home. I've written several moderately successful stories that have helped to keep my coffers topped up and I write short stories as a pastime but I mainly deal with technical journals wherein I review various scientific discoveries and such – generally rather dry stuff I'm afraid...and I met Tony through one of our discussions on one of those technical subjects.

Anyway, Tony was another guy who turned out to be in a very similar situation to me and he was very much like me as well. We were both in our late twenties at the time; both tall and relatively slim; both with mousey brown hair and moustaches and both in the middle of becoming divorced – and both in need of some release, it seemed.

We met a couple of times to discuss our work and then we decided to meet socially and suddenly we were both eager to meet again. It only took us a few more meetings; a few drinks together at the local pub and a couple of chance meetings in town and we were firm friends soon regaling each other with lurid tales of our respective partners and their infidelities.

And then a month or so after we first met Tony came round to my place for a social evening and we found ourselves really opening up to each other, actually talking about sex itself. Not exactly describing sexual acts but discussing how we'd been unable to enjoy sex with our partners and then discussing how frustrated we both were now. In the middle of our chattering it became abundantly clear that much as we'd both wanted to enjoy sex with our women, something had been wrong; neither of us had felt comfy with the opposite sex.

Anyway, you know what happens when you're frustrated and you talk about sex – things wake up down there!

Well mine penis did and so did Tony's and as we sat there sharing my settee and a few drinks it was soon impossible to hide our arousal.

I remember Tony's eyes sliding from mine down to my lap – then jerking back up again. I remember mine doing the same, then finding Tony grinning broadly at me and my own face creasing up too.

I remember the conversation suddenly becoming fractured and more personal and I remember squirming as I sat there, embarrassed by the rising heat inside me and my rising and dominating penis. And I remember Tony laughing; then seeing his face and understanding that he wasn't especially being put off and then us sliding closer together.

And I let him – let him stretch his hand out onto my erection; let him slide his warm hand up and down over my shaft. Let him pull my hand towards him and let him press my hand down over his own penis.

I remember us both groaning and then the flurry of activity as we both began casting off clothes almost desperately until we were standing naked together, our cocks both hard and needy.

A brief feel of each others penis and then we were crushed together in a hot embrace, our mouths finding each other suddenly, our chests heaving as quick and frantic breaths came and went.

I shiver now as I remember that thrilling first evening together; as our hands explored and then his mouth went down there – and then there was me doing the same! We slumped to the floor and played a frantic and imaginary game of Twister until we'd achieved a 69 position with Tony poised above me, his knees beside my ears, his penis thrusting at my mouth.

I can hardly remember the details of that first time because it was so damn quick – it seemed as if one moment we were getting comfy; a few moments later his penis was sinking into my mouth just as mine slid into his and the next moment Tony was jerking and spurting in my mouth and I was doing the same to him! And we both swallowed every last bit of our essence. The delicious shock as we both erupted still sends shivers through me whenever I think back.

But it was bloody brilliant – it was a release and a discovery and a delight all rolled into one. Half an hour later and we were doing it again, that evening eventually emptying a year or more of pent up sex into each other until finally we were sated and once more relaxed.

I don't think that either of us had planned anything; it had just happened, spurred along by some alcohol and not a little needy urgency. But we'd un-bunged that barrel; let the cat out of the bag or something and our lives now seemed to revolve around our evenings when we'd get together at his place or mine; becoming naked in minutes and horizontal within a few minutes more.

Despite getting together for a good six months we never progressed past a comfortable and mutual wank or a friendly blow job although I've a feeling that with a few more months of close attention then we might have done so. But fate saw otherwise as Tony was snuffed from my life one day, killed by an out-of-control car which had been propelled towards him as the result of a collision.

The worst thing was that I didn't know; no-one told me because I wasn't in any way related to him and I only found out his fate from the local paper, the day after he hadn't turned up for our latest session. I was as heart-broken as if he'd been my brother; my closest, perhaps my only friend was gone and I was alone again, drawn back into my world of paper and of words.

Writing and remembering that made me suck in and then release a huge shuddering breath; a sigh of sadness as the memory flooded back but this story isn't about Tony and me, it's about what happened afterwards – well, not immediately afterwards because for a while I just sank back into my shell.

I may have been of a quite young and resilient age but it was a tender age and a shock as deep as that sent me spiralling into depression for a while, unable to comprehend that life does have its ups and downs – until finally I realised that life had to go on regardless.

And it was around that point that I also wondered if I was gay or hetero because I still found my eyes following pretty women and yet also felt my heart leap when I saw guys who resembled Tony – but my interest remained limited by my reclusive mind. Yes, I was 'gay' with Tony but only with him and only in private so far – to the rest of the world I was entirely 'normal'.

Oh I still did my work and I still performed my chores but I was relatively lifeless and drab but then, on one early spring day things began to turn around as a new window of opportunity opened.

A neighbour of mine happened to mention, to moan actually, that he'd been supplying a local greengrocer with organic vegetables but that he'd had to stop because of ill-health, leaving his business friend without a supplier and it got me thinking – could I try to fill that gap? I loved to work the soil; I had an affinity with nature and I needed something physical to do, so why not try? My own back yard wasn't in any way set up for commercial vegetable production but perhaps I could make some changes...

The thought swilled idly around in my brain but then, when I saw my neighbour a few days later, he went on to mention that he'd also be giving up his allotment and asked if I'd like to take it over.

Suddenly things began to fall into place and within a few weeks I was there in my wellies – but with a newly-found spring in my step as I admired the seemingly huge expanse of tilled and brown soil before me, all surrounded by so much open space. It was a far cry from the reclusive hermit-like life I'd sunk into but it suddenly felt great to be out there with something to do. I became a new man, transformed remarkably quickly even to the point that people began to smile and brighten up around me once more – and I managed to smile back too.

With the healthy sunshine and warmth around me I settled to my task with huge energy and determination and suddenly I was busy again, soon shifting piles of vegetables on an almost daily basis to the greengrocer, whose delight (and profit no doubt) was abundant.

And that's not to say that I didn't make something out of it, indeed, with the premium attached to the word 'organic' I did quite nicely. Neither did my paperwork suffer, my activity level seemed to have doubled and just as importantly I'd lost the pallor of my reclusive life. I'd bronzed perfectly and developed muscles where I hadn't ever had muscles before – I was fit and healthy.

I also managed to dodge the requirement not to do commercial cultivation simply by telling the local authorities that the greengrocer was a relative. Sure, that was a lie but they never checked on it.

But I'm straying from the theme of my story, so let's get back to it...

Down at the allotment a respectably modern if small polytunnel had been erected on my plot wherein I could grow vegetables out of season to some extent (especially early salad crops; tomatoes, lettuces, cucumbers and such) and alongside it was a somewhat ancient and dilapidated shack; a construction almost unfit for use as it stood.

Between nurturing and harvesting I worked on it, bringing it back to life with a new roof, some reinforcement, some new window glass, some paint and a bit of love and before long I was lord of my little manor, so to speak.

After a warm day's work I could occasionally recline under the shed canopy in a comfy old armchair I'd brought from home; overlooking my thoroughly fecund plot with a beer in my hand and a contented smile on my face and it was there that my new life began.

Clifford – well, Cliff, was the guy who had the plot next to mine. I didn't know his name, any more than he knew mine until we introduced ourselves at which moment we both burst out laughing. A few moments later and we realised that we'd both read the notorious book and had immediately connected our names to the characters.

He was possibly a decade older than me but he looked fit, usually working in shorts and a vest just like me, that clearly showed off his muscular fit tanned body. He was a cheerful soul with a ready wave and smile and it wasn't all that long before we came to enjoy each others company. We'd settle down together after our efforts, sharing a few cans of beer in the declining sunshine and we began to become quite friendly and amusingly competitive.

Competitive in what we could produce although he worked his allotment only to provide vegetables for his family, his relatives and a few neighbours; a pastime as much as anything else. Before too long he told me something of his background; that he'd had a nervous breakdown some while before, was now working part-time and used the allotment as occupational therapy – far more beneficial to him than knitting or basket making.

And it was Cliff who set things off – perhaps unintentionally, as he lugged a couple of large marrows past me one warm and sunny day.

"Hey, that's a nice crop," I said, admiring his produce, "You're doing well."

"Oooh arr!" he said using an imitation rustic voice, along with a huge wink, "I sure am! They say there's nothing like a good marrow!"

"Do what?" I asked, caught unexpectedly by his comment, "Oh yeah, marrow, mmmm, lovely. Stuffed and baked...yeah?"

"No, no – not like that! You know – you cut a hole in one and slide your dick in so smoothly," he said, "Beats getting off with the old hand job, that's for sure!"

He creased with laughter as he dumped the pile in his wheelbarrow and then turned towards me with one remaining marrow in his hands.

"Watermelon's even better but we can't grow them so well here so marrows do the job," he continued more conventionally, his hands sliding over the vegetable's mottled green skin, "They're cool, moist – they're brilliant!"

"What – you've done that?" I answered, my question unintentionally blunt, "I mean, you've heard of people doing that?"

"Yeahhhh," grunted Cliff as he held the marrow end on to his groin and thrust his hips obscenely forwards, "Well, haven't you?"

"Ummmm, well, no, not really," I said, my words stumbling uneasily from me, "Not really me; hadn't ever thought about it."

"You want to try it some day!" replied Cliff cheerfully, stroking the marrow almost reverently, "You can have one of these if you like."

"No, go on – you can keep it," I answered but Cliff didn't answer.

Instead he was bending down to place the marrow on the ground, then jerking himself upright again, his hands between me and his groin.

"Sorry, didn't mean to be crude. Got a bit carried away there, didn't I?" he said but now it was my turn not to respond.

Because there before me, partially hidden by his hands was the barrel of his penis as it strained up towards his hip – hardly a pea shooter; definitely more like a carrot and a big one at that!

It looked impressively long and exceptionally thick too and from its position it was evident that it was most strenuously erect. I wanted to look away and found I couldn't – my eyes were locked onto the erotic sight before me. For what seemed like minutes but was more probably just seconds I stared and imagined how his cock looked before I finally but suddenly lifted my eyes away.

And as I looked at Cliff his face was changing – his mouth falling open, his cheeks reddening, and they weren't red from the heat of the day either. Then his own eyes glanced quickly down his body then jerked upwards again until they locked onto mine.

It must have all happened in seconds...

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, his gaze falling suddenly once more, "Sorry – didn't mean that to happen."

Quickly his hands worked at his trousers, now firmly pushing his penis out of sight or at any rate, into a less visible position then his eyes lifted and found mine again.

"I'm really sorry," he said, his head now hanging somewhat contritely, "Didn't intend to show my ummm – you know, my thing. I thought you'd find the marrow story amusing but I hadn't planned it to have that effect on me."

"Huh, don't let it worry you. Guess you must be feeling a bit horny, eh? You certainly looked as if you enjoyed it but no – no problem," I hastened to assure him, "I wasn't so much offended as surprised, you know, sort of shocked."

"Just me and my little jokes," said Cliff as he came closer, "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course you can. You're welcome Cliff," I said, ignoring the sexual aspect in moments, "And if you fancy a beer there are some cans in the ice box back there..."

"Oooh brilliant!" exclaimed Cliff a few moments later as he lifted a dripping can from the box and popped the tab, "Ah, that's super. Ohhh, cold beer, cheers mate."

He plonked himself down on a wooden bench beside my easy chair and supped deeply before wiping his mouth and looking at me.

"So – how's things?" he asked, "Busy?"

"So-so," I replied, "Enough work to keep me out of trouble. And you?"

"Nah – at a bit of a loose end at present," he said, "My last contract finished a couple of months ago so I'm more or less out of work for now. That's why I've been down here a lot recently..."

"Ah – tough mate," I answered, noncommittally, "Oh well, it's a good way to spend a few hours – lots of sunshine and fresh air."

"But no sex!" added Cliff with a wry chuckle.

"What's that got to do with it?" I answered, caught unaware by his renewed interest in the matter.

"Nah nothing, it's just me," he said lightly, "Just everything makes me think of sex. You see, now I'm not working, my missus has gone off to visit her folks and I'm stuck at home."

He obviously hadn't finished his story so I remained quiet while he took another mouthful of lager, then he continued.

"Well truthfully she's not impressed at all at me being unemployed; I mean she's really pissed off to be honest," he said, then paused to drink more deeply.

Then he continued again, "So that means no sex, no nothing..."

"You can handle that for a few months, can't you?" I asked but Cliff continued to look quite downcast and coy as he looked at me.

"Yeah, but – oh, I shouldn't tell you this but I might as well get it off my chest – the missus and I haven't been getting on too well for some time, so we haven't, you know, 'got together' for what, ummm the last four months now," said Cliff, "And now she's gone away so it's going to be even longer..."

He lifted his eyes to mine and his sadness was there to see.

"Oh fuck – I've started so I might as well tell you everything but don't tell anyone else," he said, "I'm not even sure if she'll ever come back. I think our marriage has had it to be honest."

He was actually looking almost relieved to have opened up even though his eyes still looked sad and mournful like those of a spaniel.

"Oh shit, that's bloody hard luck," I replied, "If it's any help I know how you feel then – I've been there."

I lifted my hand and held his arm for a moment or two, my comradely gesture appreciated as he managed to produce a small smile.

But it wasn't my place to ask too much about his marriage, so the subject of sex was easier to discuss.

"I haven't had a woman in ages; I've got no-one at home either," I said as I aimed to divert his sorrow.

"Huh – so how do you deal with it?" asked Cliff as he got up and soon returned with two more of my cans, one of which he handed to me, "The old five-fingered job?"

"Case of having to, isn't it," I replied, feeling the talk of sex beginning to make things stir down below again, "What with the allotment and my writing I've hardly had time to go out hunting for a bit of crumpet."

We sat quietly now as our united miseries were shared and emptied our cans before Cliff turned to me.

"That was good – needed that, thanks," he said, "Now what I need next is to have a pee."

"There's a bucket in the shed," I said, "Use that."

Cliff looked at me with a question on his face.

"When I'm down here I save it then put the contents on my compost heap each evening; apparently it's good for the soil," I said, "I don't mind if you add to it!"

Cliff chuckled as he understood, then stood up and sauntered into the shed, the sound of his zip reaching my ears as he did so.

I sat there mulling over what I had to do when there was a sudden and anguished yell from the shed. Quickly I jumped up and stepped inside, to find Cliff standing there, his penis hanging from his fly, his mouth open.