Read Online Captain's Day by Terry Ravenscroft - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Terry Ravenscroft
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that moment, and accompanied by a joyous moan from Gemma and an enormous grunt from Dean, the couple reached their climax together, and as they came Gemma opened her eyes. And over Dean’s shoulder saw the Red Arrows gazing down at her. She shrieked at least as loud as Fay Wray had when she first set eyes on King Kong, at the same time pointing an accusing finger at them. Concerned for his lover, Dean turned to look at the cause of her anguish. Seeing the three accidental voyeurs he screamed at the top of his voice, “You fucking dirty old men!” at the same time uncoupling himself from his amour and turning to face them.
“ Bloody hell!” said Carter.
“ Shit! “ said Abbott.
“ Bloody shit!” said Bradley
Rage contorting his handsome young features Dean sprang to his feet, shook his fist at the Red Arrows and warned, “Just wait till I get my hands on you, you dirty old buggers!”
Dean was a big lad for his age, six feet two inches tall and well-built, with wide shoulders and a great six-pack, a fact already noted by Carter, hence his anxiety to make himself scarce and with due haste. None of the Red Arrows were anything like so well-built, and if any of them had ever had a six-pack it had long since regressed into a one-pack, and a very large one-pack at that where Abbott and Carter were concerned.
Dean now began to make his way menacingly towards them, and as he showed no signs of letting the wall between them, or his nudity, halt his progress, the Red Arrows knew that the only option open to them was to run for it; to scramble, in Red Arrows parlance. So as one they turned and fled, and on hitting the fairway slipped quite naturally into full Red Arrows mode and peeled off in a sunburst, Abbott heading to his right, Carter to his left, Bradley straight ahead, each of them running as fast as their ancient legs could carry them, which, given that between them they shared an arthritic hip, two arthritic knees, a bad back, a fallen arch, a bunion and two ingrowing toenails, wasn’t very fast at all. Dean, having leapt over the wall and observed that the Red Arrows had split up, was faced with the decision of which one of them to chase. Abbott, the fattest of the three, looked to him to be making the heaviest weather of his flight. Dean targeted him and gave chase.
Mrs Quayle, Mrs Rattray and Mrs Salinas, the three ladies entrusted with the task of measuring in the Nearest the Pin competition, were making their way to the thirteenth green. All the ladies were in their fifties. Mrs Quayle was a quite short, petite woman, whereas Mrs Rattray and Mrs Salinas carried the more generous build more usually associated with lady golfers of their years. Mrs Rattray was especially well-upholstered, and the possessor of two very large breasts and a no less impressively proportioned behind. She had wisely made use of her twin physical attributes in developing her quite individual golf swing, which was a thing of no little power, 'All buttocks, bust and thrust' as one of the gentlemen members had once remarked, and perhaps because of it she boasted a handicap of sixteen, well above average for a lady golfer.
The three ladies were dressed in the pastel shades beloved of all lady golfers, and not a few male golfers, skirts for Mrs Rattray and Mrs Salinas, trousers for Mrs Quayle (who liked to keep her legs covered up whenever possible due to the triple afflictions of cellulite, varicose veins and vanity), whilst each had chosen different styles of headgear for the occasion; Mrs Quayle sporting a red and white striped baseball cap, Mrs Rattray a yellow sun visor, whilst Mrs Salinas had plumped for a flower-patterned floppy sun hat. Each of the ladies carried a folding chair in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. As they ambled slowly along the side of the second fairway it looked for all the world as though they were setting out on a summer picnic, which indeed they were, as all three of them viewed their measuring
“ Bloody hell!” said Carter.
“ Shit! “ said Abbott.
“ Bloody shit!” said Bradley
Rage contorting his handsome young features Dean sprang to his feet, shook his fist at the Red Arrows and warned, “Just wait till I get my hands on you, you dirty old buggers!”
Dean was a big lad for his age, six feet two inches tall and well-built, with wide shoulders and a great six-pack, a fact already noted by Carter, hence his anxiety to make himself scarce and with due haste. None of the Red Arrows were anything like so well-built, and if any of them had ever had a six-pack it had long since regressed into a one-pack, and a very large one-pack at that where Abbott and Carter were concerned.
Dean now began to make his way menacingly towards them, and as he showed no signs of letting the wall between them, or his nudity, halt his progress, the Red Arrows knew that the only option open to them was to run for it; to scramble, in Red Arrows parlance. So as one they turned and fled, and on hitting the fairway slipped quite naturally into full Red Arrows mode and peeled off in a sunburst, Abbott heading to his right, Carter to his left, Bradley straight ahead, each of them running as fast as their ancient legs could carry them, which, given that between them they shared an arthritic hip, two arthritic knees, a bad back, a fallen arch, a bunion and two ingrowing toenails, wasn’t very fast at all. Dean, having leapt over the wall and observed that the Red Arrows had split up, was faced with the decision of which one of them to chase. Abbott, the fattest of the three, looked to him to be making the heaviest weather of his flight. Dean targeted him and gave chase.
Mrs Quayle, Mrs Rattray and Mrs Salinas, the three ladies entrusted with the task of measuring in the Nearest the Pin competition, were making their way to the thirteenth green. All the ladies were in their fifties. Mrs Quayle was a quite short, petite woman, whereas Mrs Rattray and Mrs Salinas carried the more generous build more usually associated with lady golfers of their years. Mrs Rattray was especially well-upholstered, and the possessor of two very large breasts and a no less impressively proportioned behind. She had wisely made use of her twin physical attributes in developing her quite individual golf swing, which was a thing of no little power, 'All buttocks, bust and thrust' as one of the gentlemen members had once remarked, and perhaps because of it she boasted a handicap of sixteen, well above average for a lady golfer.
The three ladies were dressed in the pastel shades beloved of all lady golfers, and not a few male golfers, skirts for Mrs Rattray and Mrs Salinas, trousers for Mrs Quayle (who liked to keep her legs covered up whenever possible due to the triple afflictions of cellulite, varicose veins and vanity), whilst each had chosen different styles of headgear for the occasion; Mrs Quayle sporting a red and white striped baseball cap, Mrs Rattray a yellow sun visor, whilst Mrs Salinas had plumped for a flower-patterned floppy sun hat. Each of the ladies carried a folding chair in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. As they ambled slowly along the side of the second fairway it looked for all the world as though they were setting out on a summer picnic, which indeed they were, as all three of them viewed their measuring
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