Respectable People

Councillor Septimius Snodgrass, Lord Mayor of Brazdon, and staunch church warden surveyed his Sunday lunch table with a self-satisfied sigh. Both his children had done well for themselves as he, too, had done.

‘How’s the world of the PR executive coming along Amanda?’ he asked his pretty daughter, ‘still making a fortune, are we?’

Amanda smiled demurely ‘hardly a fortune, dad, but I’m getting by.’

‘What? A twenty-five-year-old with her own business, flat and a new car? I’d say you were doing handsomely.’

Amanda preened.

‘Material things aren’t everything, father.’

Septimius eyed his son, a curate, newly engaged to Sarah, a Bishop’s daughter. ‘You seem to be prospering in your own way, Angus. Soon have your own parish, I hear.’

Angus blushed, Sarah coughed, regretting she's told Jane in strictest confidence. ‘Nothing’s settled yet, father.’

‘That’s quite enough, Septimius’ admonished Jane, his magistrate wife, anxious to change the subject, ‘you shouldn’t embarrass him like that.’

Septimius sighed inwardly and took another slice of roast beef, his smile fixed. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, Jane.’

Jane, or the plump frump as he thought of her these days, had refused him yet again last night. At fifty-five he was still extremely active. He remembered telling a colleague at a boozy formal dinner that he was once a night and Jane was once a night, once a fortnight. They’d laughed and changed the subject, but it irked him. Once a fortnight, he thought, if only!

He needed to do something, but an affair was out of the question. They were pillars of the community, affairs always got out, shame and disgrace followed.

The following Friday Septimius took Jane to an upmarket restaurant. He plied her with a large gin and tonic aperitif followed by a bottle of Chablis Premier Cru, her favourite.  Back home he made a clumsy play for her.

‘Oh, not tonight Septimius I’m so full I’d burst.’

‘Oh, for god’s sake, Jane!’

‘It’s the change, dear,’ she whined ‘can’t you just watch porn or something?’ It was the last straw.

Pinkie’s Massage Emporium the advert read. Full satisfaction guaranteed. Discreet entrance at the rear. It was in Sheffield, fifty miles away. That should be far enough he thought. He couldn't afford to be found  out in his position. The family's  shame would be unbearable.

He parked half as mile away in a supermarket carpark and, after consulting his Satnav, walked the rest of the way. After a careful look around, he slid inside. He was greeted by a frowsy middle-aged bottle blonde who took his money and showed him into a dimly lit room.

‘Take a shower, love, then relax, Mitzie will be with you shortly.’

Septimius’s tummy fluttered. The power shower, fluffy towels, and the scented air, conspired to stimulate him. He lay naked face down on the bed growing erect with anticipation.

The door opened behind him and soft footsteps crossed the floor. He felt her fingers lightly brush his buttocks and groaned, turning over, eyes closed in ecstasy, his manhood standing proudly.

The Frowsy blonde receptionist heard Mitzie's horrified scream.

‘Amanda!’

‘Dad!’