Five Minute Fantasies 2

by Cathryn Cooper

  Our sixteen-year-old daughter has three major interests: boys, the internet, and horses. Boys are, of course, inevitable, especially given the fact that she is exceptionally pretty. The internet is as much a part of a teenager’s life as T.V. and mobile phones, but why on earth horses?

  It’s not something she’s inherited from us. I don’t mind small, friendly horses, but big ones, with steel plates on their feet, scare me. Sheila automatically shies away from any animal bigger than a gerbil.

  Katie was bubbling with excitement when she put a computer printout on the table.

  ‘Look everybody. Horse-drawn caravan holidays in Ireland!’

  There was a muffled groan of despair from behind my wife’s wine glass. I studied the document. At the bottom was a picture of a huge horse with great furry feet, pulling a decorated caravan.

  ‘Well, I don’t know, Katie,’ I said. ‘Your mother’s not fond of horses. I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.’

  ‘Oh, please, daddy. It’s my turn to choose. You have to agree.’

  Tears welled in her big blue eyes and Sheila’s shoe contacted my shin, hard.

  ‘No, Katie, not horses. Find something else.’

  Sometimes you simply have to be firm.

  Sheila was reading when I slid into bed beside her. She put her book down and looked across at me.

  ‘You’re not going to give in to her, are you?’

  ‘What? Give in to who?’

  ‘First commandment. Thou do not bullshit thy wife. To Katie of course. I saw the look on your face when she started howling and ran up to her room. She can twist you around her little finger three times.’

  I opened my mouth to reply and she laughed.

  ‘Don’t even try. I am not going to Ireland and I am not going anywhere that involves a horse.’

  A sly look settled on her face.

  ‘Maybe a bribe would help you to decide?’

  ‘What sort of bribe?’

  Her hand stole down under the sheet.

  I have to admit that I had given thought to allowing Katie’s request. After all, we were a democratic household. A more reasoned approach began to occur to me, though, when Sheila’s lips engulfed the head of my cock.

  Horses could be dangerous; I had to consider the family welfare.

  She took the whole shaft down her throat, and as her lips moved slowly up and down, I realized she was almost certainly right.

  I didn’t do much thinking for a little while after that, but as she sucked the last drops from my throbbing cock, my mind was made up – I would be firm! It is important not to be manipulated by one’s children.

  I was enjoying the ferry trip across the Irish Sea when Sheila announced, sweetly, that she’d left her spectacles at home.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to drive to Cork. I think I’ll have a few glasses of wine at the bar.’

  So much for my quiet snooze in the hire car.

  We were staying overnight in Cork and I sighed with relief as we passed the town sign.

  ‘OK, we’re here.’

  ‘Dad, aren’t we going to Cork?’

  ‘This is Cork, Steven.’

  ‘Isn’t.’

  ‘We just passed the sign.’

  ‘That said Cob-huh. C-O-B-H.’ He spelled it out.

  Katie sighed. She’d been quiet since her mother had discovered her in a dark corner of the deck behind the lifeboats, in a tight embrace with a boy. Their lips had been glued together, his hand was buried under her skirt and she was unzipping his jeans when Sheila spotted them. He had been sent packing and Katie was given a very sharp lecture on ‘casual pick-ups’.

  She muttered something about ‘only snogging’.

  ‘If you think that was only snogging, my girl,’ her mother said, tight-lipped, ‘we’d better have a long talk later.’

  ‘What’s snogging?’ Steven asked. I made a mental note to have a talk with him later as well.

  ‘That is Cork, stupid,’ Katie said.

  ‘What, C-O-B-H?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Gaelic.’

  ‘What’s Gaelic?’

  ‘It’s the Irish language.’

  ‘Why don’t they speak Irish?’

  ‘Gaelic is Irish, dumbo.’

  ‘Don’t call me dumbo!’

  ‘Shut up the pair of you!’ Sheila snapped. ‘John, aren’t we staying at the Imperial?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘You drove past it five minutes ago.’

  There was little further conversation until we were in the hotel bar, and the kids had been sent out for a walk.

  ‘And no boys!’ Sheila warned Katie.

  ‘Come on, I’ll tell you about snogging,’ Katie said to Steven as they left.

  I looked quizzically at Sheila. ‘Just think, we haven’t even got the horse yet.’

  She groaned, downed her gin and tonic and ordered another.

  At dinner, Steven wanted to know why pork wasn’t spelled P-O-B-H on the menu.

  Sex had been off my menu ever since I had agreed with Katie about the caravan holiday. Sheila had feigned sleep and claimed headaches for the past two weeks. I knew her appetite well, though, and I knew she was missing it as much as I was.

  Sure enough the change of venue softened her, and she made no effort to resist when I rolled over in the huge bed and put my arm around her.

  ‘Fancy your chances, do you?’

  ‘Well, we’re going to be cooped up with the kids in a caravan…’

  I stopped abruptly as I realized the stupidity of what I was saying, but to my relief she laughed.

  ‘And whose fault is that? Oh, come here, you of the small brain and big dick…’

  We’ve been married for seventeen years, and Sheila still has the ability to give me an erection simply by looking at me. We met in the apartment of a mutual friend at a university party when I was nineteen and she was eighteen. The attraction was instant; we were screwing within the hour and ended up fucking all night in his spare bedroom. The result was Katie. Sheila and I got married, and produced Steven nine years later. Our hunger for each other’s bodies hasn’t lessened since.

  ‘…and make me forget about horses and fucking caravans.’

  She kissed me and stroked my cock, bit my ear lobes and licked my face.

  ‘First of all, you can pay me back the bribe you took and didn’t honour. Get down there and get busy!’

  I brought her off twice with my lips and tongue, and then she tugged my hair and urged me back up the bed.

  ‘That was gorgeous, sweetheart. Now for the main course.’

  She put her lips close to my ear. ‘Once with you on top. Then one doggy-style.’

  Her voice got even lower. ‘And after that, if you’re man enough, I’m going to ride you. Like a fucking horse!’

  The dawn light was creeping through the curtains when she rolled off me, after riding me to my third orgasm of the night. Every muscle in my body ached and my cock felt as if it was ready to drop off.

  ‘That’ll teach you to bring me on a horse-caravan holiday.’

  The kids were sharing the room next door.

  At breakfast, Katie gave me an impish smile.

  ‘Sleep well, daddy?’

  The taxi dropped us next morning at a ramshackle wooden building bearing the sign O’Callaghan’s Caravans above the door. There were a couple of caravans in the cobbled front yard, resplendent in red, blue and yellow paintwork. The door opened and a small man emerged, bobbing, smiling and waving at the same time.

  ‘Daniel O’Callaghan at your service,’ he declared, bowing low. He took Sheila’s hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it, then did the same with Katie, who giggled.

  ‘And sure you’ll be sisters.’ he went on, ‘Where’s Mrs O’Neill, your lovely mother?’

  I broke the ensuing silence. ‘I’m John Andrews, Mr O’Callaghan.’

  ‘No, you’ll be Mr O’Neill.’

  As I opened my mouth to argue he
pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and squinted at it.

  ‘To be sure, you’re right,’ he said. ‘It’s Tuesday. You are Mr Andrews. I’ll get Titus.’

  He vanished through the door. My relief at discovering I wasn’t Mr O’Neill was short lived as a sound filled the air like stones being smashed with a sledgehammer. It got louder and louder and Mr O’Callaghan reappeared around the side of the building leading a huge brown and white horse, whose mighty hoofs crashed on the cobbles and sent sparks flying through the air.

  ‘This,’ he said proudly, ‘is Titus Andronicus.’ Steven and I backed off but Katie leapt forward with a squeal of joy, dragging her mother with her.

  ‘Oh, isn’t he beautiful!’

  The enormous muzzle nodded up and down and the huge beast thrust it toward Sheila, who looked terrified.

  ‘Stroke him, Mum!’

  Sheila stretched forth a trembling hand, whereupon Titus tossed his head and, with a great snort, deposited a gallon of drool across her front.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr O’Callaghan. ‘He does that sometimes.’

  ‘Not more than twice, he won’t,’ Sheila grated back as the viscous stream rolled down her designer shirt and jeans.

  The remainder of the morning was taken up with lessons in harnessing, driving and feeding.

  At last we were ready to go. As I climbed on board, Mr O’Callaghan took my arm.

  ‘Two things you should know about Titus,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He loves flowers. But he’s not over fond of pulling caravans.’

  I digested this somewhat disturbing information as we clopped off down the road.

  For the first half hour we moved at walking pace. The tranquillity was broken only by occasional mutterings from inside the caravan, where Sheila was washing her be-drooled clothes in the tiny sink.

  There was a distinctly rural smell in the air and I noticed Steven was pulling faces.

  ‘What’s that stink, Dad?’

  Katie laughed. ‘It’s Titus, he’s farting.’

  ‘Katie!’

  ‘But dad, horses do. All the time.’

  I was contemplating the dubious pleasure of spending hours a day breathing poison gas when a particularly obnoxious wave spread about us. Steven gulped and threw himself back into the body of the van. Two seconds later there was a scream of, ‘No! Not in there!’ followed by the sound of retching.

  We hung Sheila’s clothes on the back of the van and straight away it started to rain, a relentless soaking drizzle.

  After three hours we were in the middle of nowhere, drenched, with green meadows stretching all around.

  Mr O’Callaghan had given us a list of farms whose owners would accommodate us, but he had assured us it wasn’t really necessary.

  ‘You can just pull into any meadow. Everyone around here knows me, you’ll be fine.’

  Spotting a gate I took him at his word.

  We were soon settled; Katie and Steven unharnessed Titus and fed him, I brewed tea and Sheila opened the gin.

  I was beginning to relax when I noticed a small man leaning on the gate, staring at the caravan.

  ‘Good evening to you,’ he said, as I approached beneath an umbrella. ‘I was just wondering. Would there be a game on tonight?’

  I gaped at him.

  ‘This is the local hurling field, y’see,’ he went on. ‘Seeing your fine van, I thought there might be a game tonight.’

  ‘No,’ I stuttered. ‘We’re on a caravan holiday.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ He turned and walked away, then trudged back. ‘It might be your horse then?’

  ‘What horse?’

  ‘The one I passed on the road. Big fella heading towards Cork.’

  I gazed wildly round the empty field and tore back to the caravan.

  ‘The horse has gone!’

  ‘Praise the Lord,’ said Sheila, raising her glass.

  Katie and I found Titus plodding doggedly back along the road to Cork. We’d brought apples to bribe him and eventually he was back in the field, this time with both gates closed.

  I’ve never played or seen hurling but I doubt the players appreciated the overnight offerings Titus spread about their playing area.

  I won’t go into the details of the next few days. Dwell on the words equine hell, use your imagination and you’ll have some idea.

  As an example, think about reversing a two-ton horse between the shafts of a caravan he doesn’t want to pull. In the rain. Always in the bloody rain.

  I had to admire Katie. She loved Titus.

  She defended him when he ate all the flowers in the garden of the nice lady who let us stay in the meadow behind her house on the third night.

  ‘He was hungry, daddy.’

  ‘Titus loves flowers,’ I muttered as I handed over fifty quid.

  The fifth day was better. The rain stopped for a few hours and Sheila bought an expensive piece of Donegal tweed in a village store. It was a present for her mother.

  Then, that evening, disaster struck.

  Sheila was staring morosely over the top of her third glass of gin, across yet another soaking meadow, when her body stiffened.

  ‘What’s the horse got on its back?’

  Katie looked up from her book. ‘It’s a blanket, Mum. He was cold.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’ Sheila’s voice was dangerously soft.

  ‘It was rolled up in the back of the caravan…’

  Katie’s voice wavered at the look on her mother’s face.

  ‘That’s Donegal tweed for my mother! And you’ve put it on that stinking horse!’

  ‘But…’ Katie had no chance.

  ‘Go and get it! Now! And take your brother with you! And don’t come back for an hour!’

  ‘What’s wrong with Mum?’ asked Steven as they went outside.

  ‘Missing her nookie, probably,’ Katie growled.

  ‘What’s nookie?’

  ‘I’ll explain when you’re older.’

  ‘Why not now?’

  Their voices faded away. I buried my head in my hands, and then realized Sheila was giggling helplessly.

  ‘What?’

  Her giggles increased. ‘It’s Stevie. What’s nookie? You have to talk to Steve.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should speak to Katie as well? She is only sixteen.’

  She stopped giggling.

  ‘Only sixteen? She’s going on seventeen. I had a stiff dick in my hand when I was fourteen and my cherry popped on the back seat of a car three months later. Katie knows what she’s about, don’t worry. She knows exactly what we were up to in the hotel room.’

  She stopped laughing.

  ‘Right, mastermind, you got us into this shit, you get us out. But first, I’d like some of that nookie I’ve been missing.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Now. Right now! And then you can organize something that means we don’t spend another day in the company of that fucking horse!’

  I was sitting on the one, semi-comfortable, chair in the caravan. She knelt in front of me.

  ‘Still remember the first time?’

  Remember? I was hardly likely to forget.

  The party had been going for some time when I arrived with two other guys. We had stayed in the pub until it closed, and were all feeling a bit drunk and very horny.

  The room was dark, lit only by two small table lamps set on the bar at one end. Music was playing quietly and a few couples were dancing, pressed tightly together. There were huddled shapes in the corners and very little conversation, just a bit of soft sighing and the occasional grunt of pleasure.

  No available girls were in evidence, and I was about to suggest that we went elsewhere when an attractive redhead appeared behind the bar. She had a furious look on her face and I watched as she snatched up a glass, filled it with red wine and slurped it down. I arrived beside her as she lifted the second glass to her lips.

  ‘Hey, slow down,’ I said. ‘Leave some fo
r the poor and needy.’

  For a second I thought she was going to throw her wine in my face, then she relaxed and smiled. I fell instantly in love.

  ‘You’re gorgeous.’

  The words were out before I could stop myself.

  ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She looked me up and down. ‘You’re not too bad yourself. Better than that prick I just got rid of, for sure.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, some arrogant dickhead who tried to stick his hand up my skirt.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I kneed him in the balls and poured a glass of beer over his head. He left. I’m Sheila, by the way.’

  ‘John. I’ll make a point of not putting my hand up your skirt.’

  She grinned at me.

  ‘It’s not that I necessarily object to having a guy’s hand under my skirt. It’s just that I like to decide which guy’s hand it’s going to be.’

  She took my hand, studied it and raised it to her lips.

  ‘You’ve got nice hands,’ she murmured and kissed the ends of my fingers. Goose bumps rose on my skin and my cock pressed hard against the front of my jeans.

  She put her hand on the back of my neck.

  ‘Will you dance with me?’

  It took us five minutes to dance to the far corner of the room, which was in deep shadow. We stopped and she rubbed her lower body back and forth across mine.

  My erection pressed into her and she chuckled.

  ‘Someone’s excited,’ she murmured. ‘Kiss me.’

  The kiss lasted a long time and then she whispered in my ear.

  ‘I’m excited too. Feel.’ She took my hand under her skirt on to the front of her soaking wet panties.

  ‘There’s a chair just behind you. Move back.’

  I edged slowly backwards until the backs of my legs bumped against something hard.

  ‘Sit down.’

  I lowered myself carefully and she came with me, looping her arms around my neck and straddling my knees. We kissed again and she moved her hand from my neck down to my crotch. She kneaded my cock until it was standing like a pole in my jeans.

  ‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Shall we let him out?’

  I looked around nervously and she laughed.

  ‘No one’s watching us. It’s dark and they’re all too busy.’