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Agnes and Henry

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Agnes looked at her face in the mirror. ‘Old age!’ she whispered to herself. The lines round her eyes were there, her neck under her chin starting to sag. She looked at her hands. Wrinkly, like she remembered Mum’s. She could hear Henry moving about in his room. Another day of same old, same old… ‘No!’ she thought, ‘I’m going to do something different today – perhaps like we used to’.

Over breakfast, out of the blue she said to Henry: “Remember when we used to ‘do it’ in the back seat of the station wagon?”

“Oh, those were the days,” he said. “Still, can’t be young for ever, I suppose”.

“You were SO naughty, Henry. Wouldn’t it be so nice go back there?”

Henry stopped eating his scrambled egg and looked at her quizzically. “What’s got into you? You haven’t been reading another of those raunchy books, have you?”

“I might have,” she said coyly, “but it’s still you I fancy!”

“You’re beautiful,” said Henry, finishing his breakfast and looking round for the paper.

Throughout the day, Agnes kept nibbling away at the subject. In modern parlance, she was feeling ‘horny’! She knew that if she played her cards right, she’d manage to get Henry into her own bedroom that night. She told Henry he was the ‘Lion’ she’d married, that he was ‘still really good looking’ and she ‘bet he could perform just as well now’ and so on. Towards the evening she decided to get out the Port. She knew Henry had a real taste for it, and that a bit of alcohol would certainly ‘get him in the mood’.

Henry was quite happy to potter around the garden and in his shed most of the time, and ‘doing it’ with Agnes rarely crossed his mind. Once in a while he looked at the old photos of them both. Were they the same people? She was so pretty, with a lovely figure and long dark hair. She always seemed to have that mischievous smile on her face. Today, he wondered what had got into her. Since they slept in separate rooms now, their relationship had settled down into platonic companionship, with the closest they got most times was when they played Scrabble together. She was predictable though. Henry knew very well when his ‘services’ were required – he wasn’t reluctant, but just couldn’t see the point. He wanted to keep her happy though, so usually went along with her gentle seduction.

Before they both retired for the night, it was generally agreed that Henry and Agnes would live out one of the many fantasies they had concerning bedroom antics. She would be the ‘helpless teenage farmer’s daughter’ and he the ‘rough farmhand who was going to have his wicked way with her, sometime during the night.’

Agnes prepared herself for the occasion, spending some time in the bathroom. Henry had ‘hit the Port’ a fair bit in the evening, and although he seemed a bit ‘sozzled’ she reckoned he would ‘rise to the occasion’ so to speak.

The night wore on. Agnes hadn’t realised the little alcohol she’d drunk would make her feel so sleepy, and she was awakened by her bedroom door slowly opening. ‘Finally!’ she thought. The bedside clock told her it was well past midnight. She heard Henry rummaging around with her things on the dressing table, which she thought was a bit strange.

She put on her best ‘little girl’ voice and said: “Oh Sir, what would you be doin’ in my bed-chamber?!”

Henry stopped dead in his tracks, and grunted as he came over to Agnes. In the half-light, Agnes thought he looked taller – perhaps it was the black balaclava that made it seem so. She pulled the coverlet up to her chin. Henry was certainly playing his part to perfection! Suddenly, he leaned forward and yanked the coverlet away. Then he seized her flimsy nighty and ripped it off! Agnes thought: ‘Well, it’s about time I got a new one…’ Henry was suddenly ‘all prepared’ and, with one hand covering her mouth, brought his full weight down on top of her. With his other hand, he wrestled her thin panties off and began doing to her what she hadn’t had done for a very long time…

Agnes could not remember having so much pleasure. She couldn’t believe the Port and the suggestiveness and so on had turned Henry into this…this ‘Lion!’ He was quite rough, and despite it lasting a fairly short time, Agnes couldn’t help feeling a little relieved when it was finally all over, although she’d thoroughly enjoyed it.

Henry got off her and made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him without saying a word.

Agnes was exhausted, and fell into a deep slumber, eventually waking up to the familiar sound of breakfast being prepared. She got up and walked into the kitchen. Henry said: “I’m so sorry about last night. I’m afraid I must have fallen asleep with all that Port. Perhaps we can take a ‘rain check’?”

Agnes thought: ‘Oh dear. He’s finally losing it. Fancy forgetting what he did.’ “Well,” she said, “I thought you were fantastic! Where on Earth did you get that balaclava, you naughty man?”

“Balaclava? What are you talking about? I’ve never had a balaclava.”

Suddenly a terrible suspicion started to grow in Agnes’ mind. She walked over to the back door and checked it. It was unlocked. ‘I’m sure I locked it’, she thought. With the suspicion increasing she walked back into her bedroom. On her dresser stood her open jewellery box. Her pearl necklace was missing and so was the silver and gold brooch she’d inherited from her grandmother. She couldn’t find her wedding and engagement ring! Then she remembered that she’d taken them to the jewellers to have them resized last week. She sat on the bed for a few minutes, realisation dawning. The pearly necklace wasn’t worth much, and her grandmother’s brooch was really only sentimental value. Perhaps losing them was a fair price to pay for what had happened last night.

Back in the kitchen, Henry said again: “So sorry I let you down…”

Agnes said: “Don’t worry about it. I think I had one of ‘those’ dreams…”

Agnes looked at her face in the mirror. ‘Old age!’ she whispered to herself. The lines round her eyes were there, her neck under her chin starting to sag. She looked at her hands. Wrinkly, like she remembered Mum’s. She could hear Henry moving about in his room. Another day of same old, same old… ‘No!’ she thought, ‘I’m going to do something different today – perhaps like we used to’.

Over breakfast, out of the blue she said to Henry: “Remember when we used to ‘do it’ in the back seat of the station wagon?”

“Oh, those were the days,” he said. “Still, can’t be young for ever, I suppose”.

“You were SO naughty, Henry. Wouldn’t it be so nice go back there?”

Henry stopped eating his scrambled egg and looked at her quizzically. “What’s got into you? You haven’t been reading another of those raunchy books, have you?”

“I might have,” she said coyly, “but it’s still you I fancy!”

“You’re beautiful,” said Henry, finishing his breakfast and looking round for the paper.

Throughout the day, Agnes kept nibbling away at the subject. In modern parlance, she was feeling ‘horny’! She knew that if she played her cards right, she’d manage to get Henry into her own bedroom that night. She told Henry he was the ‘Lion’ she’d married, that he was ‘still really good looking’ and she ‘bet he could perform just as well now’ and so on. Towards the evening she decided to get out the Port. She knew Henry had a real taste for it, and that a bit of alcohol would certainly ‘get him in the mood’.

Henry was quite happy to potter around the garden and in his shed most of the time, and ‘doing it’ with Agnes rarely crossed his mind. Once in a while he looked at the old photos of them both. Were they the same people? She was so pretty, with a lovely figure and long dark hair. She always seemed to have that mischievous smile on her face. Today, he wondered what had got into her. Since they slept in separate rooms now, their relationship had settled down into platonic companionship, with the closest they got most times was when they played Scrabble together. She was predictable though. Henry knew very well when his ‘services’ were required – he wasn’t reluctant, but just couldn’t see the point. He wanted to keep her happy though, so usually went along with her gentle seduction.

Before they both retired for the night, it was generally agreed that Henry and Agnes would live out one of the many fantasies they had concerning bedroom antics. She would be the ‘helpless teenage farmer’s daughter’ and he the ‘rough farmhand who was going to have his wicked way with her, sometime during the night.’

Agnes prepared herself for the occasion, spending some time in the bathroom. Henry had ‘hit the Port’ a fair bit in the evening, and although he seemed a bit ‘sozzled’ she reckoned he would ‘rise to the occasion’ so to speak.

The night wore on. Agnes hadn’t realised the little alcohol she’d drunk would make her feel so sleepy, and she was awakened by her bedroom door slowly opening. ‘Finally!’ she thought. The bedside clock told her it was well past midnight. She heard Henry rummaging around with her things on the dressing table, which she thought was a bit strange.

She put on her best ‘little girl’ voice and said: “Oh Sir, what would you be doin’ in my bed-chamber?!”

Henry stopped dead in his tracks, and grunted as he came over to Agnes. In the half-light, Agnes thought he looked taller – perhaps it was the black balaclava that made it seem so. She pulled the coverlet up to her chin. Henry was certainly playing his part to perfection! Suddenly, he leaned forward and yanked the coverlet away. Then he seized her flimsy nighty and ripped it off! Agnes thought: ‘Well, it’s about time I got a new one…’ Henry was suddenly ‘all prepared’ and, with one hand covering her mouth, brought his full weight down on top of her. With his other hand, he wrestled her thin panties off and began doing to her what she hadn’t had done for a very long time…

Agnes could not remember having so much pleasure. She couldn’t believe the Port and the suggestiveness and so on had turned Henry into this…this ‘Lion!’ He was quite rough, and despite it lasting a fairly short time, Agnes couldn’t help feeling a little relieved when it was finally all over, although she’d thoroughly enjoyed it.

Henry got off her and made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him without saying a word.

Agnes was exhausted, and fell into a deep slumber, eventually waking up to the familiar sound of breakfast being prepared. She got up and walked into the kitchen. Henry said: “I’m so sorry about last night. I’m afraid I must have fallen asleep with all that Port. Perhaps we can take a ‘rain check’?”

Agnes thought: ‘Oh dear. He’s finally losing it. Fancy forgetting what he did.’ “Well,” she said, “I thought you were fantastic! Where on Earth did you get that balaclava, you naughty man?”

“Balaclava? What are you talking about? I’ve never had a balaclava.”

Suddenly a terrible suspicion started to grow in Agnes’ mind. She walked over to the back door and checked it. It was unlocked. ‘I’m sure I locked it’, she thought. With the suspicion increasing she walked back into her bedroom. On her dresser stood her open jewellery box. Her pearl necklace was missing and so was the silver and gold brooch she’d inherited from her grandmother. She couldn’t find her wedding and engagement ring! Then she remembered that she’d taken them to the jewellers to have them resized last week. She sat on the bed for a few minutes, realisation dawning. The pearly necklace wasn’t worth much, and her grandmother’s brooch was really only sentimental value. Perhaps losing them was a fair price to pay for what had happened last night.

Back in the kitchen, Henry said again: “So sorry I let you down…”

Agnes said: “Don’t worry about it. I think I had one of ‘those’ dreams…”