Room 2D

From Blushes Supplement 22 Today, just after lunch, I saw young Sally down by the old man's shed. Just hanging around I think. I watched her from my allotment, over the hedge. It must be a good ten years or so since they moved into the village. She's a good-looking girl, no doubt about that. Lovely shoulder-length curls of reddish hair, bobbing around as she turns her head this way and that. And she's grown quite tall since her earlier teenage years. I wondered what she was doing, on her own, down by the shed. She definitely looked uneasy as though she hoped no-one was watching. She couldn't see me, though I was so close I swear I could feel her perfume on the sultry warm air. She was looking for something. First she stretched up, feeling along near the top of the door, and I saw her nipples pressing out against the taut material of her tee-shirt. I must confess I've often wondered what she looks like. I mean, ...

A story from Blushes Supplement 17, which reads like another of R.T. Mason’s Iron Curtain tales. On the table was a miniature television set, almost like a toy but real, showing a picture. She hadn’t seen one like that before, not a small one, but it did not excite the interest it would otherwise have because of everything else. Being here, in this building, in this room, in just her nightdress. Shivering, though it wasn’t cold. It was quite warm in fact. The radiator. At home they didn’t have radiators either, not like this. So that was strange too, though not so much as the television. Natalia shivered again. He would be coming back shortly. She sought to remember his name, the name he had said. Krilkin? Yes, that was it. He had picked her up at the railway station. A man in a suit and tie who had looked like an official and that was what he had said. ‘I am from the Department of Internal Security. May I see your papers, Miss?’ ...

From Blushes Supplement 6 with Belinda Laine The ‘Hall,’ as Sanderson called it was impeccably clean. Spartan, yes, by which I mean no fitted carpets (except in the Principal’s study and in an adjoining small sitting room thereto which was joyously and optimistically styled a ‘rest room’). The floorboards had a patina of age on them, but were highly polished and with a scattering of mats and thinnish rugs. The windows were large and latticed. Those in my temporary-study-to-be, and in the ‘rest room,’ had venetian blinds. So much quicker wherewith to veil the glass than by drawing curtains. I had six weeks in which — as Sanderson had put it — I could expand my interests. I was down from lecturing in Oxford for that period, anyway, and he was already en route to the Canaries for a holiday, thus leaving me in charge of what he cautiously — but not entirely untruthfully — called a ‘Secretarial Training School.’ The large front doo...