Tit for Tat : Fuck Me Friday

Time once more for a filthy Fuck Me Friday fable. Check out the other contributions at Aisling Weaver's site.   If you want to be horny all weekend you'll have found the right place. And make sure to tell the authors if their work touched you where you like to be touched.

Tit for Tat

So I'm a compulsive hoarder. Sue me! It's my unit and if I want to step over piles of junk rather than feel the pain of separation involved in disposing of it that's my business.

Annette no doubt meant well when she asked why I didn't weed my possessions a little, but still it annoyed me.

Annette is my new neighbour. We live in a block of ten units in a quiet seaside suburb. A week after she moved in she knocked on my door and introduced herself. I'd seen her moving in and a couple of times since then. She was a brunette with an English rose complexion and a warm infectious smile. She also had massive breasts. Nothing grotesque mind you, but cantaloupe size. Russ Meyer would have considered her to be talented. She liked to wear plaid shirts that were a little too small so that the buttons seemed in danger of popping off at any moment and she always kept the top buttons undone to show some creamy pale cleavage.

She wasn't one of those top-heavy girls either, her boobs were balanced with a big bum which filled out her tight jeans like an over-stuffed sofa. Whether she was walking towards me or walking away she was swinging something that made my cock swell warmly.

"Ooooh, brandy. I wouldn't say no," she said as she entered my cluttered lounge room and saw a bottle on the coffee table.

"Of course," I replied. "I'll get some glasses." And so I wove my way between stacks of comics, piles of VHS tapes and old pizza boxes as I headed for the kitchen.

"What a lot of junk!" exclaimed Annette as I handed her a glass. She was holding one of my comics, and surveying the piles on all sides.

"I collect things," I replied. "It's a hobby."

"It's a fire hazard is what it is," she told me. "Do you actually read these comics?"

"When I buy them I do," I responded, not sure why I should feel so defensive.

"And then you just leave them piled around gathering dust?" she asked. "They won't keep well if you don't put them in acid-proof bags."

"You sound like you collect comics yourself," I commented.

"No, but I sell them sometimes," she explained. "I make my money selling stuff on e-bay. I buy up odds and sods from deceased estates and auction them off on the net."

"You can live on that?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," she replied. "It's time consuming but there's good money in it. And its exciting because you never know when you are going to hit the jackpot with a rare collector's item."

"Well," I said, "I don't think I could part with any of my stuff. Everything has memories."

"Including the pizza boxes?" she asked. "Sorry, don't mind me. I can be a bit rude at times. Really, it's your life. You do what you want."

Annette was something of a gardener and I would see her pruning the roses or picking weeds out of the strip of lawn between the two rows of units. Other times we would meet up at the letter box after the postie had been. Her face always lit up when she saw me. She smiled warmly, and her eyes twinkled as she exchanged small talk in an almost conspiratorially embracing manner. And she always seemed to stand just a little bit closer than I was entirely comfortable with. She had such an effusively affectionate manner that I felt as if, had she been a small dog, she would have been humping my leg.

Don't get me wrong. This made me uncomfortable only because I was unused to getting this kind of response from a woman. If I'd been a small dog I would have wanted to hump her leg too. But I'm not the kind of guy women generally pay much attention to. Short and chubby, with too little hair on my head and too much everywhere else, I'm often compared to the actor Paul Giamatti. My ex-girlfriend said I was cute and cuddly, but you won't find guys like me as centrefolds in Playgirl.

The other thing that impressed me about Annette was her perfume. I don't know what brand it was, but it was genuinely intoxicating, a mix of musk and cinnamon and wildflowers.

With her smile and her smell and her boobs and her bum and her standing so close, I felt such an impulse  just to grab her by the letterbox. But I was so unsure of myself after several years on my own. What if her warm, intimate manner with me was the way she was with everyone? I didn't want to embarrass myself by doing anything rash.

But then, one morning, I stumbled into the lounge room while eating from a bowl of cereal and noticed that something was different. Something was missing.

It took a while for me to realise what it was. It was my copy of the issue of The Puzzler in which he took on his arch enemy Sodoku Man. It had been on the top of the biggest pile of comics. It's absence was made all the more obvious because the issue underneath it was not coated in dust as the comics which topped the other piles were.

As I looked around I found that that was not all that was missing. A total of 23 comics, 5 vintage issues of Playboy, a collector's guide to Matchbox Cars and an autographed picture of David Hasselhoff were gone.

The crime rate in the district in which I live is not high, and our units are close together with front doors facing the central strip of lawn, so that any thief would run the risk of being observed. So many of us are in the habit of leaving our doors unlocked when we are asleep. Someone must have snuck in and stolen my stuff. But who?

Then I noticed it. The smell. The smell of Annette's perfume. Of course she should have been the first suspect, since she had knowledge and motive. But until I noticed the perfume I didn't think of her. I didn't want to think that she might steal from me. Maybe that was why she had been so friendly. Maybe she was just buttering me up to get access to my saleable items.

What was I going to do? Confront her? Yes. But I couldn't get her boobs and butt out of my mind. I wanted revenge for this invasion and theft, but I also wanted Annette.

Then it struck me like lightning. What's good for the gander is good for the goose. Tit for tat. If she could sneak into my unit and take something of mine, then that gave me permission to sneak into hers and steal something. But what? A pair of panties maybe. But that wasn't really what I wanted. I wanted her.

Maybe I should just go over there and walk in unannounced. If I was lucky, I might find her in a skimpy nightie or maybe I could walk into the bathroom while she was in the shower. I wasn't likely to be that lucky, but either way, I had an advantage over a sexy woman. She owed me. That couldn't be be a bad thing.

I had right on my side. I was not going to be deterred from righting the wrong that had been done against me.

I walked up to her door, turned the knob and walked straight in.

"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... I apologise... I'll go right now," I stammered when I saw that Annette was sitting stark naked on a recliner in her living room with her legs spread and pleasuring her dripping wet pussy with a Hitachi Magic Wand vibrator.

"Don't do that," she insisted. "Be sociable and stay. Make yourself comfortable. Take your clothes off."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked.

"No need to do that, you didn't do anything wrong," she told me. "You're always welcome to visit me. You're my favourite neighbour. Now get your gear off. You must feel over-dressed. You'll find that my central heating is very efficient. You won't be cold."

"O.K., if you insist," I mumbled, beginning to unbutton my shirt. As I undressed she continued to moan happily as she buzzed herself.

"If I were having a cup of tea, I'd do the neighbourly thing and offer you a cup," she told me. "But I'm not, I'm having a wank. Can I offer you one?"

"A wank?" I asked.

"Yes, how do you like your wanks? A straight hand job, or do you like some tit with it?" she wanted to know.

"Oh, I like mine with plenty of tit," I replied. "Especially the thick creamy kind. None of that slimmer rubbish."

"Well, you're in luck," she enthused. "I have lashings of creamy tit for your wank."

By now I was naked. My cock was as hard as a rock and dribbling precum on the carpet.

"Dear, dear, you are a messy boy," she chuckled. "Now bring that thing here."

I came up close to her and she put down her wand and grasped my cock in her soft warm hand, slowly beginning to stroke it up and down.

"Is there anything else you like with your wank?" she enquired.

"Well, I am quite partial to sweet sticky buns," I told her.

"I've got plenty of honey in the kitchen," she informed me, "so that shouldn't be a problem. But you will have to have your sweet sticky buns after your wank, because I'm not a contortionist."

Then she let go of my cock and grasped one of my butt cheeks in each hand and pulled me to her chest so that my cock was between her big soft pale boobs. When I was in place she let go of me and pushed her boobs together around my cock. It felt heavenly. Her soft breasts were so silky against the hot hardness of my prick. As I stood there, leaning in to her, she drew her boobs up and down my cock. I thrust my pelvis to compliment the boob wank she was giving me. And as she moved her boobs up and down she kissed my chubby hairy belly and stuck her tongue in my navel.

All of the erotic energy that had been building in me since I met Annette was coming to a dizzying peak as I stood in her lounge room fucking her boobs. It wasn't long before I climaxed and my balls shot spurt after spurt of hot cum all over the upper slopes of her magnificent mammaries.

"You're not the only one who likes loads of cream with a wank," she grinned, bending forward to slurp and lick up all of the cum that was dribbling from my wilting cock. She then smeared the cum on her boobs down over her stiff pink nipples and sucked it off, first from one and then the other.

"Wasn't that better than a cup of tea?" she asked. "I'll go prepare your sweet sticky buns now." And she ran off to the kitchen.

When she returned she told me to sit down in the chair and then turned to face away from me. Her big pale wobbly arse was all coated in honey.

"No need to say grace," she insisted. "Just dig in."

I bent forward and began licking up all of the honey off of the big soft cheeks of her bottom.

"Mind if I stroke while you eat?" she asked politely.

"Not at all," I assured her.

And so, as I buried my face in the sweet goo all over her bottom, licking and dribbling and feeling the tickling sensation of honey dripping from the end of my nose, she began alternately playing with her stiff clit and sliding her fingers into her already half-wanked cunt.

By the time I was pulling apart her big cheeks and digging my tongue deep into her bum-hole to suck out the last vestiges of sweet honey, she was squealing her way through a body shaking orgasm.

Once our lust was sated we had a shower together to wash off all the sweat and cum. I don't think there was any honey left. I was pretty thorough licking that heavenly bottom of hers. The same bottom that rubbed all over my semi-erect prick when she had to bend down to pick up the soap.

Afterwards we sat around nude in the living room and chatted about all kinds of things.

"Yes, I did steal some of your tat and sell it on ebay," she confessed. "I didn't think you would notice. I was going to tell you later in hopes that it would teach you a lesson."

"I knew it was you because I could smell your perfume," I explained.

"Vanity. It'll get you every time," she sighed.

"I love your perfume though," I insisted. "Of all the people I know in the world, you're the one that looks best and the one that smells the best. And now I know you also feel the best."

"That's so sweet," she smiled. "I think we can be good neighbours. Feel free to drop in and hang out anytime. You're always welcome. Don't bother to knock. The only thing I insist on is total nudity. That's the way I like to be, and it just doesn't seem right if someone's present who is still wearing sneakers, or a tie or one sock."

"I like to be nude with you," I told her, "because then you can see the physical evidence of how much you excite me."

"Yes, I can see that I have a little fan as well as a bigger one," she laughed.

"Hey, not so much of the little!" I exclaimed.

"He'll do," she giggled. "You know what they say, anything more than a mouthful is a waste."

"And just let me know if there is anything I can do to help you out in other ways," I said. "I really appreciate how you do the gardening. I have some skills as a handyman."

"Really? Like what?" she wanted to know.

"I'm quite good with electrical things," I told her.

"My electric blanket has stopped working," she informed me.

"Well, it's usually not a good idea to try to fix them," I warned her. "It's better to replace it."

"Could you replace it?" she asked.

"You mean buy you a new one?" I queried.

"No. I mean take its place," she insisted. "I'm really cold in bed at night, but with another body in there with me, I think I could be toasty warm. And you're friendlier than an old electric blanket."

"We could give it a go," I agreed.

"I know I'm asking a lot," she said. "I like to sleep a good eight hours each night. So I'd be asking you to take quite a bit of time out of your evening just to help me keep warm."

"Oh, that's O.K.," I insisted. "I wasn't doing anything else."

"And there are a couple of things I should warn you about," she added. "I have a tendency to talk in my sleep. My ex-boyfriend said I said some quite improper things while I was sleeping. Let's put it this way - I'm not exactly safe for work."

"That's not a problem," I told her. "I rarely do any work while in bed."

"And my other problem is insomnia," she confessed.

"That's no good," I sympathised.

"But there is a solution," she reassured me. "I always sleep soundly after strenuous exercise."

"That makes sense," I replied.

"Its just that there is only one kind of strenuous activity I've found that I can do in bed," she warned me. "I mean its not that I don't know how to play chess, or charades, or tiddly winks. But they just aren't strenuous enough to really wear me out. Running would do it, but I can't do that in bed. So it always has to be the same thing. I suppose you can guess what that is."

"I've got a good idea," I admitted.

"You wouldn't mind helping me in that way?" she asked.

"It's only the neighbourly thing to do," I told her.

"You are so understanding," she replied, kissing the tip of my nose. "And I'm sure there will be things I can do for you. If you can think of anything, just let me know."

"Oh, I will," I assured her. "I will. I think we are going to be the best of neighbours."

The End

Rude Health

Carolina from Girls Out West demonstrates some Pilates

"We can help you lose a few inches!" How often have we heard that? Almost as often as, "We can help you gain a few inches!"

Working out and getting fit is often presented as the way to make ourselves sexy. The only problem is that a lot of pain has to come before the gain. And there is something puritanistic about this mortification of the too too flabby flesh.

But perhaps the process might be sexy in itself. When Olivia Newton-John sang Let's Get Physical she was suggesting something more than what Richard Simmons has to offer. Gyms are places where men and women wear skimpy or tight-fitting clothing, moving their bodies around and sweating a lot. There can be something sexy in all this.

Then there is massage. Even when it isn't just a code word for the old rub and tug, it can still be a very sensual experience.

If you are attracted to your own sex, what better place than the communal showers at the gym to check them out?

And the supposed health benefits of nudism should not be forgotten. Lots and lots of Vitamin D from all that sun on skin exposure, plus endless games of volleyball.

Long before the establishment of Playboy in 1953, guys were jacking off to Health & Efficiency, the British nudist magazine founded in 1900. I'm not sure what the "Efficiency" bit refers to. Perhaps the fact that you can save so much time in the morning if you don't have to get dressed.

Television's Trinny and Susannah go nudist

Although getting fit is always on my "to do" list for tomorrow if not the day after, I have explored some of its sexy possibilities in a couple of my stories.

In Chapter Nine of my novel Vanessa's Island (soon to be available as an e-book), our would-be reclusive artist hero David reads aloud from a lesbian fantasy story written by his lover Vanessa :

At first it seemed a bit strange to be reading aloud a story written in the first person by a woman. But somehow, knowing that Vanessa had written the story, I found it a tremendous turn-on. It was as if I was not just possessing her body from the outside as I had already, but from the inside. When she played with her body or the bodies of other women in the story it was with my hands. When she saw them it was with my eyes.

"'I run a health club for women only'," I began. "'Alot of women would rather work-out away from the lustful eyes of men. What the women who frequent my establishment didn't know up until recently, is that they were still being lusted after as they worked out. Only by a woman. Me.

"'Oh, I've had boyfriends and lived a normal life. My passion for women was secret until recently, but it was the deciding factor in my career choice. The sight of women working out has always been a turn-on for me. Not that I like tight hardbodies, not at all. But most of the women who come to work out are not like that. They think they could afford to lose a few pounds. I like them just as they are. And in the showers I get to see every inch of them.

"'Of course, I used to have to be careful to make sure they didn't notice me looking at them. Now all that has changed. This is the story of how it happened.

"'It all began with Samantha. Samantha was five foot ten, a brunette, with the breasts and ass of a swimsuit model. Watching her work-out in her tightly stretched leotards got me so worked up that I often had to go and get changed in the middle of a session lest she or any of my other customers notice the wet patch forming in my crotch. They must have thought I suffered from some form of obssessive compulsive disorder, but it was better than letting them find out that I lusted after their bodies.

"'I remember the first day that Samantha joined our aerobics class. How my heart beat hard at the prospect of seeing her naked. I always showered with the clients. Under the shower no-one could tell how wet the sight of their naked bodies made me.

"'At last that first session ended and I followed Samantha into the shower room, my eyes rivetted to her gently rolling ass encased as it was in sweat-soaked lycra. Slowly she peeled of the lycra and I tried not to stare too obviously as her soft pale breasts with their small pink nipples sprang free. Then she pulled her leotard down further, having to wriggle to get it over the swelling, snow-white cheeks of her bottom.'

By this stage my stiff cock was crying out for some attention. I grabbed Vanessa's hand and pushed her soft palm against it.

"Hey," she cried, "there aren't any cocks in this story. This is girl's only."

"But I need it," I pleaded. "I need to use both hands to keep my place with the pages."

"Oh, all right," she agreed, slowly beginning to wank my stiff dick. "You can be hiding in the towel bin, sneaking peeks at us girlies in the shower and jerking yourself off. O.K. Just think how the towels that surround your naked, masturbating body were used to wipe off every part of our bodies, our boobs, our bottoms and particularly our sweet little pussies."

I couldn't hold out any longer. Pleasure coursed through my body as Vanessa's soft hand coaxed spurt after spurt of hot cum out of my cock. It splattered all over the front of her leotards.

"If you think I'm going to take off my leotards just because you've shot your load all over them, you've got another thing coming," Vanessa informed me with a pout. She wiped up some of my cum on her finger and then sucked on it playfully. "Now on with the story."

"'I could stand to loose a little bit off of my butt,' she laughed [that was Samantha, wasn't it], giving me an excuse to look.

"'Couldn't we all,' I replied, frustrated that I couldn't tell her what I really thought.

"'I quickly stripped off my own leotard and laid it down carefully in such a way that the sopping crotch was not visible. Then I joined the rest of the ladies in the shower. I was so tempted to take up a position next to Samantha, but I thought that if I did I might not be able to resist the temptation to reach out and touch her soft, wet, soapy skin.

The soapy bottom of Anna from Girls Out West

 "'One by one, the girls stepped out, dried themselves, got dressed and left. Samantha was one of the last to go. When I was alone, I did what I always did. I played with myself. I played back everything in my mind, especially Samantha stripping out of her sweaty leotard, while I slid two soapy fingers in and out of my juiced up pussy.

"'This routine continued for several weeks, until that fateful day when Samantha left her car keys in her locker.

"'On that day, as always, I stayed under the shower, after the others had gone, and imagined what I would like to do with Samantha. I imagined undressing her slowly from her sensible business suit, kissing her nipples, kissing her lips, the ones on her face and the ones between her legs. I imagined her in her leotards. How they stretched across that luscious ass.

"'As I fantasized I let my hands wander sensuously and soapily across my body. The fingers of one hand gently tweaked my hard nipples, while my other hand slid slowly down over my stomach and through my pubes into my waiting pussy. I slid one finger in on either side of my sensitive clit. I love that sensation. My fingers glided across my stiffening clit, while also giving me that satisfying sensation of being filled. Only it wasn't some guy's cock filling me, but Samantha's long and versatile tongue.

"'I felt that delicious warmth glowing in my belly as I slowly sank to my knees, feeling the spray of the shower carressing every inch of my skin. I had been dying to do this all the time I had been watching Samantha and the other girls work-out. I loved playing with myself. But if only I could play with them. Give them the pleasure I was giving myself.

"'"For this next exercise," I said, speaking aloud in the heat of my fantasy, "I want you all to strip naked for me, so that I can lick out your pussies one by one. You first, Samantha."

"'My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when Samantha's voice answered me casually.

"'"Sounds good to me," she said, and I looked up to see that she was standing there in her grey business suit watching me blatantly finger-fuck myself.'"

And in How Meggie Made Me Hard (one of the 13 stories contained in my e-book Inappropriate Behavior and Other Stories), Meggie decides to take on the role of personal trainer to an out of condition delivery man, but her motives are decidedly self-indulgent :

I was a bit of a slob until Meggie took me in hand. Took me in hand. There I go again, whenever I think about Meggie my mind turns to sex.

It all started when I delivered her exercise equipment. When I pushed the buzzer on the door it was answered by an attractive woman in her late 40’s with curly reddish brown hair and a sweet slightly shy smile. She was wearing a light blue summer dress.

“Bring it all in,” she said, seeing the truck and realising that her equipment had arrived. “I’ll show you where to put it.

Normally I get the smaller things to deliver as I’m not very fit. As I carried Meggie’s walking machine through the door I panted and wheezed.

“I can see you don’t keep yourself in shape,” Meggie commented patting me on my beer belly as I went past. I thought it was rather forward of her.

I brought in the excercise bike and the ab-roller, then I was finished.

It was a hot day and I was tired and sweaty. Meggie offered me a cold drink. I accepted.

“Pew! You stink,” she said, proving once more that tactfulness was not her stong suit. “You’d better have a shower before you go.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked. “I could do with freshening up a little.”

“Go ahead,” she replied, “the bathroom is that way.”

Once I got to the bathroom, I shut the door and stripped off my sweaty t-shirt. I unzipped my jeans and pulled them off. When I was naked I turned on the shower and stepped in. Because it was such a hot day I left the water on lukewarm.

I was just enjoying the feel of the refreshing water running over my body and beginning to apply soap to me face, when the door opened. Quickly, I rinsed the soap off of my face. I mustn’t have been too thorough because my eyes stung as I opened them just in time to see Meggie opening the shower door.

“What do you think you are doing?” I asked. “Can’t a guy have a bit of privacy?”

Meggie smiled so sweetly that I couldn’t help but forgive her instantly. “I just wanted to see if you were really as out of shape as you looked with your clothes on,” she explained.

She reached out her right hand and brought it up against my belly, just inches above the spot where my hands were clasped protectively over my cock.

“You could stand to lose a bit of that,” she said.

“I know, I know,” I replied. “Now let me shower in peace.”

“You don’t have to be so shy,” Meggie chided me, pushing my hands gently away from my prick. “If I let you use my shower, the least you could do is give me a look at your cock. I like looking at guys’ cocks. Mmmmm, I don’t think you really mind me looking, otherwise it wouldn’t be swelling up like that.”

She was right. I loved the idea of having a sexy woman like herself looking at my nude body with undisguised lust. I had only tried to hide my cock in the first place because it seemed the polite thing to do. How was I to know that politeness was not high on Meggie’s list of priorities.

“I could really do something with that body of yours,” Meggie mused, deep in thought. “Oh, wow! Look how your cock jumped when I said that. You thought I meant sex, didn’t you? No, I mean if you let me be your personal trainer I could really whip you into shape. If you got yourself into shape, then a little sex might not be out of the question.”

In my mind I imagined taking Meggie right away, right there, just lifting up her dress, pulling down her panties and slipping my prick into her sweet pussy.

“Oh, dear, now I’ve really made your cock go stiff,” she said, teasingly. “I think you’d better pull yourself off. Then you’ll feel much more relaxed.”

“What, with you standing there watching?” I asked, in disbelief.

“I can tell you don’t mind the idea,” replied Meggie with a smile.  “If your dick gets any harder it’s going to burst. Come on let’s see how a naughty boy likes to stroke his stiff dick in the shower.”

That was it. There was no point resisting. I grabbed my rock-hard prick in my soapy right-hand and began to wank myself off. My soapy hand slid up and down my cock as I watched Meggie watching me. There was a twinkle in those sexy brown eyes of hers as she watched me masturbate.

“Feel good, honey?” she asked looking me in the eyes briefly before returning her attention to my slippery stiff cock.

“You bet,” I sighed.

“Would it give you a bit of inspiration if I let you see how wet my panties are getting?” she asked, lifting her skirt and leaning back with her legs spread so that I could see the spreading patch of wetness on her pale pink knickers. She gently teased the area through the wet material with the tip of the index finger of her right hand.”

To feel my hot, hard cock in my hand, and to know that the sight of it was making her drip pussy juice into her fresh clean panties, sent me over the edge. My cock jerked in my hand and spurted a shower of hot cum across the bathroom floor.

“Yeah!” cried Meggie, dropping her skirt and clapping her hands.

*    *    *

“Now these are the rules,” said Meggie, “if you want me to be your personal trainer.

“’1. You have to come over at 7.00 ever night and stay until 10.00.

“’2. You have to do anything that I tell you to without question.

“’3. As soon as you arrive you have to take off all of your clothes and remain completely naked  until it is time for you to go. (This has nothing to do with the effectiveness of the workout, you understand. It’s just my reward for helping you.)

“’4. You are not allowed to touch me in any way. That is your reward when you have achieved our goal.

“Sound O.K.?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” I said. “How will you be dressed?”

“I’ll start off the way I am, but if you do well, I’ll gradually wear less, is that a deal?” she asked. “I reckon you need to lose about ten inches from around that waist of yours. Let’s say that by the time you have lost two inches, I’ll be totally nude. Then while you lose those last eight inches you will have a bare-bottomed, hairy-pussied, bouncing-boobed totally naked trainer giving you the encouragement you need. But still no touching until you lose those other eight inches.”

“Oh, God,” I sighed, rubbing the crotch of my jeans, where my cock was once more making his presence felt.

“Don’t worry,” Meggie assured me, “you  can have as many masturbation breaks as you want. And if I’m feeling really horny I might just join in.”

Check out Inappropriate Behavior for the rest of the story.

Book Review

Confessions from a Health Farm by Timothy Lea

Back in my very first post on this blog I briefly discussed the Confessions series of books and films. These were an institution in Britain (as well as Australia) back in the Seventies.

Author Christopher Wood, who would later write the screenplays (and novelizations) for two James Bond films - The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker, wrote a novel called Confessions of a Window Cleaner in 1971. The hero, a loveable rogue and bungler by the name of Timothy Lea, related his picaresque adventures in the window cleaning trade in the first person, and Wood hid his identity behind that of his fictional hero by giving Lea the author credit. Many more books were to follow in which Timmy took on jobs ranging from travelling salesman to private soldier to icecream man. He even spent time in jail and as a member of a committee investigating the pornography trade in Confessions from the Clink. Whatever occupation he was pursuing it would always lead to a multitude of sexual encounters, many of them ending disastrously with angry husbands chasing him down the street in the nude or sexually aggressive women ganging up on him and fucking him within an inch of his life.

In 1974 Confessions of a Window Cleaner was made into a movie starring Robin Askwith as Timmy Lea. It was the top-grossing British film of the year and spawned three sequels, based loosely on other books in the series.

The appeal of these books is perhaps limited by two factors which, I'm sure, endear them to fans. Lea uses loads of colloquial expressions, some presumably of his own invention, others traditional Cockney rhyming slang, to tell his story. To those who are used to these kinds of expressions, e.g. a beak is a judge, a Hampton (i.e. Hampton Wick, i.e. dick) is a penis, etc., this adds to the amusement, but others may feel that they are reading something approaching Clockwork Orange when it comes to mysterious forms of expression. There is, however, something amusing about a book in which the hero plunges his "action man kit" into a girl's "spasm chasm". The other aspect which might alienate some modern readers is the political incorrectness of Lea's world view. One can look on it as a satire of that world view a la 'Til Death Us Do Part or All in the Family, but there are no doubt some who will fail to warm to a character who refers to women as "bints" and black women as "jungle bunnies" and says that the subservience of Japanese women is almost appealing enough to make up for the buck teeth one would no doubt have if Japanese. (And in the distaff Confessions series which Wood wrote under the pseudonym of Rosie Dixon most the humour revolves around farcical ways for Rosie to get raped or molested.) For some of us, however, this kind of bad taste has its own appeal, and the fact that Timmy usually ends up being the butt of the joke keeps it from being mean-spirited.

While these novels are no great works of literature, and are seriously dated by all sorts of 1970s cultural and political references, when it comes to creating hilariously farcical situations, Wood sometimes recalls even such masters of the form as P.G. Wodehouse and Tom Sharpe. Only sometimes mind you. There are also lots of cheap gags and run-of-the-mill bedroom capers. But the books are always a quick fun read.

Confessions from a Health Farm (1974) was the tenth in the series. As with all the other books it begins with a scheme cooked up by Timmy's brother-in-law Sid. Having recently had a lucky escape from managing one of the world's worst rock bands (Confessions from the Pop Scene), he has now decided to start up a health farm. A certain massage therapist by the name of Wanda Zonker has incriminating photos of Lord Baulkit, thus allowing her to persuade him to let her convert his country seat Long Hall into Beauty Manor, a luxurious health farm. The manor is full of secret passageways and spy holes. The horny Lady Baulkit shows Timmy around and also shows him a good time. Then Sid tries to prove that he is fitter than Timmy by challenging him to a pentathlon on Clapham Common during which both cheat shamelessly and also get in trouble with the police. Timmy has to go undercover at Bosky Dell Health Clinic to see how these organisations are run. There he has an erotic encounter with the insatiable Mrs. Chalfont and is so hungry due to the minimal diet that he is reduced to eating dog food. When he gets back to Beauty Manor he finds himself at the centre of various anarchic adventures involving sex in the sauna, overly-energetic Japanese nude masseuses and a mud-machine full of horse manure that breaks loose and runs rampant through the establishment. And everything comes to climax with a visit by Omar Gord and his fellow oil sheiks.

This is neither the best nor the worst of the series. But it is a fun romp. If it has any particular weakness it is that Wood seems to have decided to really run the rhyming slang into the ground. I love this stuff, but a sentence like "She has a large Mahatma Gandhi to pull herself together and though I fancy a pint of apple fritter I have to settle for Gunga Din because there is not an Aristotle of pig's ear in the Mickey Mouse" is too much even for me!