Eve

Eve Robertson was an only child, the apple of her father's eye. She
lived with her parents in their tidy little semi-detached on the
northern outskirts of the city. The house was on a recent development
of an old quarrying area.

Eve and Alan first met at the Ritz, a dance hall and live music venue
close to where he lived. Eve wasn't the brightest of girls but she was
pretty, with big brown eyes and a nice figure, which, with a keen dress
sense, she made the most of. The epitome of a 60s dolly bird, Eve was
good company and a definite asset to Alan's image'. So since that first
night they had been almost inseparable.

On this particular occasion they had shared a lunchtime drink with
friends at a pub close to the city centre. The shortest route from the
bus stop to Eve's house was across a small, still undeveloped area
known, rather imaginatively by locals, as 'The Wood'. Their path
through 'The Wood' led them over a rickety little footbridge spanning a
small stream, carrying drainage water from one of the old
quarries.

It was a warm summer's afternoon and, knowing that her parents would be
out on one of their ritual Sunday outings, Alan's hormones were running
wild with the wild anticipation of a typical young male in the company
of a pretty girl. Most of the time Eve was in tune with him, so they'd
both enjoyed the good weather. While it persisted they knew it would
lure her parents out on their little trips and leave the young couple
with the house to themselves. But this day Alan was more impatient than
usual. Sensing that Eve was feeling exactly the same, he considered
they had done well to keep our hands off one another all the way from
town on the bus. It was when they reached the little bridge that they
finally succumbed to temptation.

It was Alan who made the first move. Once he had his arm wrapped around
her narrow waist, Eve spun round on her heel to arrange their stance so
that she was leaning her back against the rustic wooden handrail of the
bridge with his body moulded tightly against hers.

Although they were both eager with anticipation, they had enough
decorum to see this as nothing more than a bit of an appetiser - a
small sample to keep them going until they reached the privacy of her
parents smart little semi. Even so, Alan would have to confess to
getting carried away to the point where he only had the vaguest sense
of reality - it was Eve's fault; she was such a good snog.

Everything was going as it should be until the wobbly woodwork that was
supporting their combined weight suddenly began emitting a sort of
groaning/creaking sound. Tingling with expectation, Alan immediately
and foolishly, dismissed a passing notion that the noise could be
heralding some impending disaster and persisted pressing his passion
onto an all too willing Eve.

Moulded so tight a cigarette paper couldn't be inserted between them,
the contorting couple concerned themselves with nothing that wasn't
immediately in hand. Such was the fervour of the encounter that the
increased volume of the groaning timbers was lost in a barrage of
pumping passion and heavy breathing. A sickening crack suddenly carried
them cruelly back to caverns of conjecture when the supporting
structure shattered, breaking the encounter with it.

Ever since he was young Alan had been noted for being a selfish,
self-centred little bastard (and that's just by his friends and family
and people who know him really well) but the instant he heard that
crack, with a lightening reaction, he spun Eve round, putting his own
life and limbs at risk, so that when the inevitable happened and they
crashed into the stream, he would provide a degree of cushioning for
Eve's landing. The manoeuvre was a success. Alan crashed backwards
through the broken woodwork into the stream, with Eve on top of him.
More by luck than judgement, his head narrowly missed the stubbed axel
of a discarded bicycle wheel as he came to rest with his face pressed
hard into the side of Eve's neck. The wind was knocked out of him but,
other than that, initially, he didn't appear to have sustained any
serious injury.

He checked with Eve, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," she groaned, but it was enough to convince him. So, wanting to
make the best of the prevailing circumstances, he lifted his head from
the rippling water and gave her a smacker, square on the lips. "Geroff!
- You daft sod!" she responded with equal enthusiasm.

Much as Alan would have liked to stay there all day savouring the
sensation of Eve's damp body being pressed against his, Eve wanted out
of it. Reluctantly, he conceded and they dragged their sopping wet
selves up the steepish bank and onto dry land.

Alan was lucky, he supposed, being a warm day he only had a shirt and
trousers to get soaked. The most uncomfortable aspect was the
squelching sounds coming from his brand new, light tan desert boots.
Eve was even more fortunate. The water had merely flowed in and out of
her stylish, short-heeled sandals. But, although her dress had only
sustained a couple of damp patches, she was making the most of it.
"Look at this - bloody ruined! That's you - you daft bugger - why
couldn't you wait 'til we'd got home?"

"I didn't hear you complaining until you were pushing me into six
inches of water," he countered.

"There was nothing to complain about 'til then," she laughed
mischievously.

Once they were back at the house, on Eve's insistence Alan stripped out
of his soggy togs and, after a soak in the bath, wrapped himself in her
father's dressing gown. Downstairs, he found Eve in her underwear,
busily ironing a replacement dress. And that's exactly how she was
attired when her parents landed back.

As mentioned, Eve was the apple of her father's eye. He thought the
world of her. Many was the time, when Alan couldn't make his escape
quickly enough, that, much to Eve's embarrassment, he had subjected
Alan to boring anecdotes about her formative years. "Poppy-Beer, that's
what he used to call her, wasn't it, Mother?" That was another thing
that really got up Alan's nose; the way Eve's father called his wife
'Mother'. "You see she just loved shandy. So, whenever we went
anywhere, that's what she'd ask for. Isn't that right, Mother?"

If he wasn't driving Alan mad with that, it would be politics. Alan had
leanings to the left (probably to the left of Tony Benn). But George
being a fanatical shop steward with the G.P.O., would go on and on
incessantly about the plight of the working masses. All Alan could
think was: If you care that much about your daughter and socialism, how
come you allow her to be exploited in some two-penny-ha'penny rag trade
sweat shop?

Alan was actually glued to the rear of Eve, nuzzling her neck, as she
stood at the ironing board, when he heard the distinctive sound of the
Reliant Robin docking under the carport outside the kitchen door. (That
George Robertson was so tight he wouldn't stretch to buying a car with
a full set of wheels.) Thankfully, it gave Alan the opportunity to move
to the sofa and adopt a 'little innocent' nonchalant expression, before
his antagonists made their entrance.

Well, if looks could kill!

Eve tried her best to cut the atmosphere. "So, how was Worcestershire?
Good day, was it?" She quickly read the exchange of glances between her
mother and father. "Oh, we had a bit of an accident. Fell into the
brook in The Wood when the bloody handrail broke."

"Handrails don't just break," her father told her, "What were you up
to?"

"Just looking into the brook," Eve's explanation could not have been
less convincing. "Alan got soaked worse than me."

"Hope you don't mind me borrowing your&;#8230;err." Alan smiled
nervously as he tugged the material of the dressing gown.

As usual, Gillian Robertson played the perfect little housewife and
took no part in the exchanges. She left what had to be said to her
husband.

"It's a pity you couldn't find something more to put on!" George
admonished his daughter, tempting Alan to disagree with him.

Silly bugger, he thought to himself, I don't know about Alan and Eve,
if you had left us a bit longer we'd have been more like Adam and
Eve.

The dutiful little housewife must have read his thoughts - she made
herself scarce by disappearing into the kitchen to make the tea.

So that was it, Alan's little erotic adventure with Eve ended in a
traditional Sunday afternoon tea with her wary parents.

That had been the story of his life: Every time he got up to nothing,
he got caught not doing it!