Jumble sales are less common than they used to be: displaced by American invaders like car boot sales, and modern innovations like eBay. However in the village of Gowainer-cum-Quickley the old traditions survived. Morwenna valued that, so she always helped at the village jumble sale – also because she got to have first dibs at the bags of donations. This not only satisfied the scavenger in her, but gave her an insight into the private lives of her neighbours. She relished the memory of opening a bag donated by the intimidating Mrs Pomphrey, massively-be-titted incumbent of the old blacksmith’s house. Inside she found some rather striking black undergarments which an experienced eye could discern as bras, but to the untrained might easily be mistaken for surgical supports – or possibly sophisticated bondage equipment. After that Mrs Pomphrey and her cantilevered bazoompas seemed a lot less scary. Indeed, Morwenna amused herself by thinking of Mrs Pomphrey, whose husband looked as though his wife’s terrifying chuffas had sucked the life out of him, being banged on the anvil.
Mrs Pomphrey’s husband was not a blacksmith; there had not been one of those in Gowainer-cum-Quickley for many years. Which is a shame because every village needs a young man who can legitimately be stripped to the waist and flexing his oiled muscles for the delight of the local women. This was probably what had been missing from Morwenna’s life.
At any rate she was busy at the village hall, opening bags and boxes of donations, sorting them for the various stalls and generally helping with preparation of the tea & coffee service, Guess the Weights of the Tits stall (run as an educational project by the local birdwatchers)and the Lucky Dip. She was a good all-rounder and was always being called here and there to help; one minute she was rifling through some men’s underwear, the next she was required to set out the refreshments attractively – it was generally accepted that no-one knew how to show buns off to advantage like Morwenna.
There were a variety of other traditional stalls too, as befits a jumble sale.
Into the middle of this bustle strode a man lugging a massive package. This was a most welcome sight to Morwenna on a number of levels; he was a new face (and a very handsome one) and these are always welcome, and also any young man with a massive package will find himself popular on such an occasion. He told them that he had just moved into the village and in the process of settling in had also done some de-cluttering.
Morwenna rushed over with almost unseemly haste to check out his package. It was very full and looked extremely promising. She gave it a squeeze
“Anything fragile in here?” she asked
“Not really” he assured her, noting her breathy excitement. “This seems like a very….broadminded village”
He tilted his head in the direction of the birdwatching society’s stall. Mrs Pomphrey (patron of the local branch) was standing beneath the banner announcing Guess the Weight of the Tits. Morwenna giggled, and explained that it was part of an educational drive. This came as a relief to the young man, who had also been rather concerned by a poster nearby headed “Tit identification guide”. He had worried about the need for that…
“Let’s see what you’ve got in there” Morwenna said, eyeing his large bag, and they set about unpacking it together. As they did so their eyes met again and again, becoming close friends in the process, even swapping recipes and adding each other to Christmas card lists.
Whilst their eyes were engaged on this innocent adventure, their loins were longing to become engaged more directly. Morwenna began to stop thinking about an imaginary blacksmith with a leather apron offering protection from his red hot tool, and instead consider that this newcomer might have something to offer. He had a neat clipped beard, chiselled cheekbones and soft curly brown hair.
After a while he suddenly looked at her directly and said “I’m so sorry: I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Sean”
Morwenna smiled broadly (she was, after all, a broad) and said “No, you’re not!”
He looked confused. They were leaning quite close together. She, emboldened by the exchange of recipes etc reached out and gently touched his bearded jaw. “You’re not shorn at all!” she laughed, with a sound like the tinkling of a lady having a tinkle.
Sean laughed too. “You’re right” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, though not as thoughtfully as Morwenna at that moment. She had no experience of facially hirsute men and had been been considering whether various sorts of curly hair could become dangerously entangled in certain situations.
“And what’s your name?” Sean asked. “Morwenna” she answered – that was an easy question.
“Very pretty” said Sean, leaving the ambiguity of his answer hanging in the air like a helium balloon.
She was very pretty, he thought. Her face was pink cheeked (he did not realise why at this time) with pouty lips and the sort of cheekbones one generally found on a cat. “Cute pussy” he thought to himself.
They sorted through the contents of his bag, Morwenna taking things to the various appropriate tables (men’s clothing, games, books, white elephant and so on) and eventually near the bottom there was a large, heavy carrier bag. “Old sheets” he explained. “I thought maybe someone could use them as decorating cloths – you know, to put over the furniture when you’re painting…” his voice trailed off in slight awkwardness.
“Were they off your bed?” asked Morwenna, an urgent curiosity arising in her.
“Yes. I really don’t know if they’re suitable for a jumble sale…They’re a bit marked, you know, where I’ve spilt my stuff on them. ”
Morwenna raised her eyebrows at him
Right at the very bottom of the bag she saw some shiny fabric, which she pounced on. “What’s this?” she asked, tugging away. “Steady. Don’t pull too hard!” Sean cried, helping her out with it. “This is a dress my sister donated. She was coming over and I told her you were having a jumble sale so she brought this”
Morwenna was thrilled; this was why she liked to help out – because of finds like this. “It looks lovely!” she exclaimed “Do you mind if I try it on myself?”
“I’ll put some money in the box for it if I like it” she added, not wishing to appear mean
“Oh yes, do!” Sean exclaimed, adding “It’s a perfect colour for you”
Morwenna scooped up the dress and hurried off to the corner of the hall, where a door led into a side room that had a notice taped on it saying CHANGING ROOM, and another on a string which had VACANT on one side and IN USE on the other. Sean followed her, curious, and waited by the door. Morwenna slipped into the makeshift changing room (a committee room which had been cleared of chairs, and with a long mirror leaning against the wall)There she peeled off her jeans and jumper, and (because it was a dress) her socks too. The dress slipped down over her, clinging to her clingaceaus curves like an octopusean lover. But when she reached behind her she found she was unable to do up the zip. It was tricksy and stuck part way up.
She felt, therefore, completely justified in calling out quietly to Sean, to tell him of this problem. “My sister said something about that…do you need a hand?”
“Yes please” Morwenna replied, and moments later Sean had slipped in through the door. His eyes feasted on the spectacle before him. The dress, which was of a stretchy, shiny fabric, was just a little bit too tight for Morwenna. or, to put it another way, a perfect fit. She was wriggling herself into it, doing that thing women do where they rub their hands over their waist and hips, at once smoothing the fabric over THEIR bodies and disarranging the fabric over the bodies of nearby men. Sean felt himself disarranging as he watched.
“It’s a bit tight” she said. Sean shook his head without thinking. “Let me have a look”
He looked. Indeed he could not help it. He looked at the shiny shape of her hips and thighs, and then up at how terribly tight the dress was further up. That was where the real struggle was going on, with Morwenna’s perfectly stacked fruity baps threatening to spill out of the top, cherries and all.
“Turn round and I’ll do the zip” he said. Morwenna turned, saying “I’m not sure it will go, it’s so tight”
She turned, and Sean had the benefit of her shinily bound buttocks rotating gently before him, causing dangerous levels of further disarrangement. The top half of the zip was open, Morwenna’s black bra strap visible in the gap. He took hold of the zip tag and, steadying himself by putting a bracing hand on her lower back, began to tug. It was jammed. He tried again.
“Are you giving it a good tug?” She asked.
“Not at the moment – I’m trying to get the zip to move” he replied.
“I’ll hold the top of the zip together, see if that helps”
He gripped the gaping sides of the dress with one hand, squeezing them together, an action which inadvertently caused Morwenna’s bra hooks to come undone.
“Oh no!” she cried, unconvincingly. “Now look what has happened!” she turned round to face him, the terrible damage very evident as her volumpties spilled out like the tide bursting through a wall of sand on a beach.
With admirable speed Sean flipped the sign on the door from “VACANT” to “IN USE” and prepared to deal with the situation.
The zip was indeed stuck he confirmed. It would go down, with help, but not up. There was nothing for it: he would have to help her out of the dress completely, and he was up for that.
Together they extricated Morwenna from the entrapment of the dress, sliding it down over her hips. The zip would not go right down so it was a struggle, and took her teensyweensy underthings with it as it went. Sean apologised, though it turned out that was unnecessary as Morwenna was glad to be out of them anyway.
A short queue formed outside the changing room for a while. But those at the front of it reported that they feared it had been closed due to a plumbing leak or some such, as they had heard some odd noises.
It was a very successful jumble sale, much was raised, especially in Sean’s manly department.
He correctly identified the Tits, and was soon able to guess the weight of each one quite accurately.
He had been wondering about having a go a Whack the Rat, but as it turned out, he didn’t need to as Morwenna was ready with her famous refreshments, which lived up to all expectations. And the question of whether assorted kinds of curly hair can sometimes get entangled was resolved to mutual satisfaction by thorough experimentation.