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511 Swappsies!511 Swappsies!It all had started in the pub, didn’t all adventures…this pub very near their regular station in London, they had met and drunk there every Friday for ages, drunk together and played cards letting the rush hour crowds dissipate, till catching the late train every Friday, usually by then at least half cut. Traveling together down to Ashford from Cannon-street as commuters do daily, this was their one weekly indulgence, before going their own ways for the weekend`s. It had been Ernest`s idea really, one night when in his cups as they say, boasting about “his Cassy who would collect him at the station have a wonderful meal for him when he got home, and would soon be warming his bed, as a veritable sex goddess yet again tonight!” Not to be out done Gerald told of his own wife`s prowess as a fem-fatale, and that they would be in bed by eight if not before for yet another night of intense action! It was not all true of course but how untrue we shall soon see!It was bizarre, basically due to this continuous boasting they hatched a plan, they decided that it would be fun, sight unseen, if they were to swap wives, not overnight or just some wimpy weekend tryst either, but for a whole week, a full week of the sexual joys of their oppo`s unsuspecting partners lust! They even came up with a few rules for the sharing of their own two ‘sex-goddesses’! The first being until the time it actually happened neither man must not swap specifics of their sex lives or preferences, though both men having confided that they had wanted at some time or other to be cuckolds so this they thought would be great fun, having never seen the others partner, just simply to swap wives for a whole week, assume one another`s marital status and stud duties. Simples!The second rule was that they were not to telephone or have any contact with one another after they split up at Ashford station except in bursa escort an emergency and the third that they were not to broadcast the week with others ever…Though they could and would have a post mortem afterwards together, either here in this pub once again or in a neutral place of choice!Each man had then told their no doubt sexually bored and long suffering partner, about this swapping game in a minimalistic way, but it must be said both women were ‘game’ wives in their own ways anyway so it wasn’t too difficult, their men each feeding them some old bullshit about the coming weeks break! Gerald by telling his wife that; they (the men folk) would be “going to stay, (swap) at home with a workmates wife for a whole weeks holiday, as part of an ‘office get to know your oppo`s family’ scheme!” Ernest playing the, “I gambled you and lost you for a week” bit, I have got gambling debts so can you please work them off for me,” and the old, “I am sorry sweetheart…routine” supposedly tugging at his Marys heartstrings! The fact, both women fancied a fresh stud, helped considerably and in Cassy `s case she liked a bit of fresh on the side now and then anyway while hubby was in London so it would be no skin of her nose to do it openly! Both ladies being game sorts each in their own way, were more than happy to enjoy the experience both being ‘bored housewives,’ not that they normally had much choice, Mary and Cassy being randy cow`s anyway! The twist being neither had ever seen the others partners, or knew of their temperament or passions, not even a picture or any hints having been exchanged and the wives of course were even more in the dark, which added a touch more excitement!Each of our heroes having in fact convinced themselves it was a good idea and had actually engineered a whole week off, tucked away with the other man’s wife, supposedly in the hope of, “refreshing their marriages,” well bursa escort bayan that is what they believed!They say careful what you wish for… ‘they’ were not wrong!Ernest had A bungalow he shared with the rather dominant Mary in the woods near ‘Wye’ in Kent Gerald a remote cottage on a private road near ’Rye’ in Sussex which was kept very spick and span by Cassy a tasty bit of top totty!As it was now the Friday both men had booked to take a week`s holiday from their respective sections, they met in their usual pub after work both on that fateful Friday, their obligatory laptop`s in hand and unusually for them a holdall apiece. It was a great time to do it, it being late-March in this wonderful year of 2020! (think about that amongst yourselves for a moment)Though they do say never start anything new on a Friday our heroes had decided to do just that. After a lot of ego boosting spirits, together they staggered to the station, each buying a big bunch of flowers from a stall in the station, (the railway equivalent of ‘petrol station after-thought flowers’,) both thinking it, an ice breaker, a diplomatic start of their week of hopeful lust. Taking their places in the train and sharing a last nip from their hip flask`s, they exchanged wives names, house keys and oh the house addresses, just in case, each saying that the wives should be meeting the trains at their normal respective stations.Eventually they arrived at Ashford, where Gerald ‘joined’ (to you and I that is staggered over the footbridge to) the branch train to Hastings (known locally as the Marsh maggot!) Ernest however was soon on his way across the other face of the platform, to a Canterbury bound train, soon to leave, both men eagerly wondering what they had let themselves in for! The porter bawling the familiar humorous cry of “why kill em and cart em to Canterbury” (to those who don’t know of the area that’s the görükle escort station names of the villages in order of Wye, Chilam and Chartham) doors slammed and whistle`s blew, the trains affording each man a while to sober up before meeting their respective unknown ‘wives of the week!’ Ernest`s journey being the shorter of the two, at just one stop he soon found himself on the open and drafty platform at Wye as this, the last electric train of the evening, swept quietly away vanishing into the darkness like the last of civilisation leaving him to it. Three other passengers had alighted here, two of which were women, probably cleaners on their way home, both walking off towards the village together, bags in hand, chattering as women do, the man, obviously a regular, unlocking his bike from a signpost, clipping on and switching on the things lights and peddled away without a word, which just left our hero in the very empty drafty and dark car park in silent solitude awaiting his new if unknown “wife of the week!”. Gerald however, having taken his seat in the noisy old three-car diesel unit, had picked the wrong seat, one up near the front of the motor car, the throbbing Paxman engine in the next compartment noisy to say the least. He checked the route on Google on his laptop, as the noisy flat sided unit clattered and banged its way along the unelectrified line. Stopping to drop of a couple at Ham Street platform, before getting out onto the marshlands proper. Finally, they clattered into Rye, once the passengers were on the platform the train roared away, the crew no doubt thinking home and bed after bedding down the unit at St Leonards depot. Silence quickly descended, the few passengers wandering away rapidly until he found himself on a drafty platform, under a short canopy, at the elderly old station building, now a shadow of its former self, a coat of paint making it look like some old tart in overdone make-up, as he wondered not for the first time, how he was going to recognise his lady of the week, there only being one woman on the place and she looked like a film star, he thinking, “she couldn’t be Ernest misses could she?”

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