That sounded like Van. I popped my head around the corner and all I could see was darkness.I followed the lurid moans and rhythmic, squishy, slapping noises trying not to trip over the junk on the floor. There was steam engine panting coming from the woman and the sound of thrashing.As I got closer I heard “Uh-uh-uh,” and then a whispered, “Sooooo gooood!! Sooooo gooood!! Ah Yesssss, fuck me!!! Don’t stop!!! I’M CUMMING!! And the woman gave a strangled “AAAggghhh!!!” At the same time, I heard her partner begin to grunt like a rutting pig.There was still no light but my eyes had accustomed to the darkness. They fell on a shabby, overstuffed couch. My heart broke. It WAS Van.She had her long beautiful legs locked around some stranger’s ass and was writhing and moaning in the middle of a monster orgasm. He was jammed into her as far as he could get, just holding himself there. He was obviously filling her up. The smell of cum and aroused woman permeated the entire basement.I took three. One afternoon just before Easter 1973, while Em was suffering from bad period pains, I took Lady H to an afternoon matinee at the Odeon in Cambridge, and then on, to an early dinner at the University Arms."Is she good to you, Jill dear?" She asked me over lamb cutlets, and a rapidly disappearing battle of Burgundy.Her questions were always frank and frequently disconcerting, and I found that I liked that. Em was so secretive that chatting to her mother was like a lifeline to her other life."Yes, she is ... Em is a remarkable woman." I replied.My reply was obviously not sufficient for inquisitive Lady H."Do you love her?"I found myself stumped. I wanted to say yes, if only to please a long-suffering mother, but the words stalled on my lips. I suddenly realised that a part of me was still very wary, hanging back until Margaret declared herself to me more clearly. It was her reticence, her reluctance to share anything of her personality, her past, her hopes now held me in a strangely.
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