Room 2D

The concluding part, from Blushes 36 The white-framed French window reflects in the bright afternoon sun blue sky, fluffy white clouds and a segment of the garden. A mature beech tree in its later summer foliage to the left and across the centre the high privet hedge. Together with this reflection, like a double-exposed film, is what is inside the French window. A chintzy stuffed armchair to the right and to the left and partially in the image of the beech tree is a girl. Looking out with what seems a wistful or unhappy expression. She is in a light-coloured blouse and a short, tight red skirt. Below the skirt her attractive legs are bare. Her feet are in white ankle socks and white low-heeled shoes. These shoes are the same ones… From somewhere in the house there is a faint  brr… brrr…  of a telephone. And a man’s voice. The girl at the window turns and disappears. She enters. The phone is still ringing. On a table some six feet from where Mr Winder is seated reading his ...

First part of two, from Blushes 36 featuring the sleazy looking spanker who occasionally appeared in Blushes and reminds me of Ken Masters from Howard’s Way. It is a substantial brick house, in a street of similarly substantial houses. They date from the 1930’s probably when space was not at the premium it is today and houses could be built with a bit of elbow-room: these plots are all of something like an acre. And the builders too in those days, they knew their trade and were not skimping in time or effort. One would have to look at this brickwork for a very long time to find any fault with it. And the roof, the neat white window frames, the cast-iron drainpipes: all solid English craftsmanship. The garden, like all the others on this leafy street, matured after its 50 or so years, is neat, well-tended behind its substantial hedges. Substantial for we are looking at middle-class suburban England where a certain privacy is an ess...

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?’ ...