Monday, December 16, 2013

From the Top Shelf - Albert Strikes Back

R.T. Mason was once a regular contributor to Janus magazine. In this story of his, the featured character is Albert Higginson, a Walter Matthau-like "grumpy old man" who is disgusted with the way young women in his area dress and behave. After years of indignation, Albert finally gets his revenge.

Albert Strikes Back

Albert Higginson, staring intently, made muttered sounds of stern disapproval. It shouldn't be allowed; it was disgraceful; pity there was no kind of law against it. One might ask, if it upset him so much, why Albert had to look. He could have been doing something else, rather than staring so intently out from behind his bedroom curtains. And if the sight angered him so much, why was he using his high-powered bird watching binoculars to magnify and clarify every detail?

What Albert was gazing at with such concentration, such rapt disapproval, was his new neighbour, Melanie Halford - Mrs. Melanie Halford - 23 years old and very comely. He was gazing at her rear view as she hung out washing, more specifically he was gazing at the tight seat of her jeans.

They were skin-tight, like an exceptionally well-fitting glove, over ripely-rounded haunches. So tight that, at 30 yards with good binoculars, he could clearly discern the outline of her brief knickers beneath and indeed even the indentation where the strengthened gusset ended. They fitted with an extreme degree of snugness into the deep cleft of those ripe buttocks so that when she bent over, as one does at regular intervals when hanging out washing, there seemed a fair to good chance that the blue denim would split asunder.

And if Melanie Halford's jeans were not enough there was also what was being hung out on her line. Some scandalously brief pairs of knickers, obviously the same type she was currently wearing; knickers so brief that they seemed more suited to a baby's bottom than Mrs. Halford's own ripe specimen, and in a variety of indecent shades; bright red, mauve and blushing pink. Albert's eyes, through the sharply focused glasses, drank it all in - the knickers, the bottom, the jeans - with mounting indignation.

The answer to the question why did he have to look was simply that he felt a civic duty to do so. It was of course a prime example of everything that was wrong with the country - womens liberation, permissiveness, loss of restraint and respect, the breakdown of family life and, of course, a complete lack of discipline. It was all there in Melanie Halford's blatantly flaunted bottom and those disgustingly scanty knickers.

It wasn't as if she just flaunted her rear in the back garden. Oh no, she was quite prepared to offer it to public view on the main street, that indecent bottom in its drum-taut jeans, swaying and wiggling for all to see. She was nothing less than a public disgrace! Albert knew all this because he'd seen! He had in fact on more than one occasion followed that blue-jeaned rear, at a discreet distance, the sight so powerfully mesmeric that he had quite forgotten he was only going to the corner shop and ended up in the town centre.

Not that Melanie Halford was the only example of this moral degradation, though she was certainly a prime one. There were many, many more. You only had to go into the town centre to see for yourself. Albert knew because he did go and see for himself, very frequently, to observe and to be scandalised. Young girls, probably truanting from school, even young mothers pushing prams, all content to flaunt their backsides in those shamefully skin-tight jeans. And if jeans weren't bad enough there were those short buttock-snugging skirts, frequently of some thin white material designed to show everything.

Yes, 65-year-old Albert spent a good deal of his time being scandalised. In his day, women had some decency and self-respect and he frequently treated his long-suffering wife, Dorothy, to a tirade on the subject.

"I know just what that young hussy needs," Albert would hotly inform his wife after a session at his bedroom window. What she needed, of course, as Dorothy had heard so many times before, was 'a damn good whipping'.

Dorothy would say "Yes, dear" just to shut him up for she did not have Albert's all-consuming interest in the subject.

"She was out there again this morning," Albert informed Dorothy when she got back from the shops. "Bloody scandalous!"

"I suppose she has to hang her washing out, dear," Dorothy replied mildly, "Oh, my feet are killing me."

"That bloke should take his belt to her," stated Albert, meaning Mr.Gary Halford. He shook his head as Dorothy replied, mechanically, "Yes, dear" and poured the tea.

Reflectively, Albert rubbed his nose. There had been something going on this morning. After observing the hanging of the washing, Albert had gone into the front room. There had been a car outside Melanie's house that he couldn't recall seeing before. Fifteen minutes later he saw a young man get in to it and drive off ...and he'd seemed to have come from next door.

Albert made it his business to know other people's business and he knew that Gary Halford had gone to work. He knew that wasn't the Halford's car. Of course he could have been a relative or some sort of salesman. But on the other hand, Albert was prepared to believe anything of that young madam with her wiggling bottom and tight jeans - an open invitation!

"I think I'll have a walk," he said to Dorothy, "get some baccy."

Walking was conducive to thinking and all of a sudden Albert was having some heady thoughts. What if something was going on, right under his nose? Wouldn't it be just the chance he had dreamt of ever since he first saw her outside parading all her charms?

Albert walked briskly, not to the nearby corner shop but to the town centre where he had time to think of exactly how his plan might work.


Albert's nose was indeed pointing in the right direction. Something was going on next door. The 'young man' had knocked and entered a few minutes after the washing had been hung. Melanie had greeted him somewhat equivocally.

"Oh God, Trevor, I told you not to come round here in the daytime. These bloody neighbours have eyes like hawks."

Not very welcoming words perhaps but, all the same, Melanie was permitting him to push her up against the hall wall, his body hard against her, his arms around her, one hand enthusiastically groping that lovely bottom, then his tongue in her mouth halting further protest.

Melanie sucked on the tongue, making moaning sounds of pleasure, and then broke away.

"I'm serious, Trev, you don't know what it's like, especially with these old fogeys. They've got nothing better to do than pry into everyone else's business. There's the old bloke next door for one. He's always eyeing me up!"

Trevor Wilmot gave a laugh. "The old bugger probably fancies you. I bet he's dying to get his hands on this gorgeous arse!"

Melanie giggled and squirmed at what Trevor was doing to her bottom. Then, protesting though none too strongly, she agreed to go with him into the lounge.

Melanie had met Trevor four weeks earlier at a party and just didn't know how she had got into this, but she'd agreed to a harmless lunchtime drink, then a drive in his car and just happened. It was all Gary's fault, she was stuck at home all day and he worked late, then didn't want to go out in the evenings. She knew it was all wrong and felt so guilty. That's why she wouldn't let Trevor into the bedroom. Somehow doing it in the lounge didn't seem so bad as doing it in the marital bed.

In the lounge, Melanie slipped off her skin tight jeans and then her pale blue knickers and surrendered to the inevitable. It was disgraceful but so, so exciting! When they had finished, Melanie repeated her pleas, even more vehemently, that Trevor must never come to the house again. But Trevor was a fit, virile young man and although he said a dutiful "OK" there he was again the next morning ringing the doorbell .

"Oh God, No!" gasped Melanie, but, nonetheless, let him in. "You mustn't!" she breathed - while once more allowing herself to be persuaded into the lounge. "NO, we mustn't!" she cried, but like yesterday, her jeans and knickers came off without too much persuasion.

All this was most unfortunate because today, hidden in the greenery at the end of the garden, was a figure Melanie would certainly have recognised. The unseen watcher had excellent eyesight for one of 65 and, moreover, his eyes were aided by powerful binoculars. He could clearly see everything that was going on. Old Albert was trembling and finding it hard to keep the binoculars steady. What he was seeing bore out everything he had ever said about the country's moral standards and about young women these days.

When it was all over, Albert crept back out and into his own garden where he stood for a while to recover. Naturally he couldn't tell Dorothy anything of what had happened but he did have a duty to act, and act fast. Firmness and resolve, that's what had made Britain great in the old days. This was no time for faint hearts!

Melanie gulped when she saw him at the front door. She hadn't known who could be ringing the doorbell at 11 am although she had a fleeting fear that Trevor might have returned for a second helping. But Mr. Higginson from next door was the last person she expected to see. Rather gruffly he asked if he could come in.

Melanie produced a quick smile and stood aside to let him enter. Albert had not been this close to her since formally shaking hands two months before when she and her husband moved in and he scrutinised her carefully. She was pretty, he had to admit, with short-cropped blonde hair and blue eyes, a soft full mouth whose pink lipstick was at the moment somewhat worse for wear following her session earlier.

A sensual and indulgent face, Albert thought. There was also a full, obviously firm bust frankly displayed in a pink blouse. Down below were the long shapely legs and that bottom he was so familiar with.

"Er...yes, come in," she said brightly. "I...uh...I'm sure we should see more of each other, being next-door neighbours."

Melanie was leading the way into the lounge, ripe bottom jiggling as she walked. Inside she had a quick glance round to see if anything had been left...what the hell could this old codger want? He sat down, stiff and upright on a chair. Why couldn't the old boy relax? It was like he was going to make some important announcement.

Albert cleared his throat. No point in hanging about. "Mrs Halford, I a most grave matter to take up with you. A most serious complaint in fact. The fact is, Mrs. Halford, we cannot have this respectable street used scandalous and indecent behaviour!"

"What!" Melanie's voice expressed genuine shock, but immediately she felt an electric tingle in her skin. A tingle that said 'Oh God!' "What!" she said again, though neither so loud or so shocked, "I don't know what you mean."

Albert's face was red with excitement as well as indignation. "Oh I think you do, Mrs. Halford. I think you do!"

Melanie was flushing bright pink now. "Look..." she cried desperately.

"No, you look," continued Albert. " I shall naturally feel it my duty to take this up with your husband when he returns from work this evening. We cannot have this street turned into a haven of ill-repute. Mrs. Higginson has a heart condition and this sort of thing, well..."

"Nooo!" blurted Melanie almost hysterically. "Please, you mustn't tell my husband." Gary would kill her, or at best divorce her; Melanie was staring down a gun-barrel. She couldn't allow Gary to find out!. "Please!" she begged.

Albert felt an urge to lick his lips but refrained from doing so. It was typical of these young women; behaving in an utterly scandalous way and then whining when they thought they'd been found out. She deserved to have her husband told, and that spineless wimp deserved to know that his wife had been carrying on. But, on the other hand, that would be the end of Albert's involvement and he didn't want that.

Calmly, or as calmly as he was able considering the ultimatum he was giving the pretty young wife, Albert stated his terms. The only terms under which he would promise not to tell Melanie Halford's husband.

As she listened her eyes widened with shock and her face burned scarlet.

"Take it or leave it," pronounced Albert grimly. "That's what a naughty young hussy would have got in my day, and that's what you've had coming for a long time! So what's your answer?"

I'll share the rest of the story next week, but I'll bet you can guess what Albert's terms are!


Aimless Rambling said...

Yes, I can and you are a big tease.

Hermione said...

Leigh - Yes, I guess I am!


ronnie said...


Yes I can guess but still look forward to reading the rest of the story next week.



garyntboy said...

I had no idea my wife was carrying on so. Now where's my paddle !

Roz said...

This was great Hermione, thanks for sharing. Yep, I can guess. Looking forward to reading the rest ... you tease! :)


Anonymous said...

In my minds eye I can see Walter playing a role like this, he would be great in it. We all know what will happen, um that is unless you are teasing again and it has a twist ending. If you teased your husband like this you would have a red bottom Hermione.

Hermione said...

Ronnie - I think you'll enjoy it. I did!

Gary - teach her a good lesson:)

Roz - Sorry!

Arched one - I know better than to tease you about such an important subject (although I do like an ending with a twist).


Enzo said...

Love it so far and can't wait!
This is my type of story - perfect!
(also the type and feel of stories I aspire to write).