The original rationale behind this blog was to feature our globe-trotting adventures around the world and our interaction with glamourous women from many lands. However, it soon became clear that some of the women we were interacting with weren't too impressed in finding out about the others so this particular direction largely disappeared (there are still a few posts like this in the early year or so of the blog if you can be bothered to look). Now, however, a random discovery of some letters from long ago has got me thinking about resurrecting this initial idea.
Recently, for example, Agent Triple P has been thinking about girls in baths. There are a number of reasons for this: a concatenation of events, as Thomas Hardy would have said, have led us to decide to start a series of random recollections of girls in baths or, to be more precise, we have been thinking of young ladies who we have shared baths with over the years.
Recently, for example, Agent Triple P has been thinking about girls in baths. There are a number of reasons for this: a concatenation of events, as Thomas Hardy would have said, have led us to decide to start a series of random recollections of girls in baths or, to be more precise, we have been thinking of young ladies who we have shared baths with over the years.
Firstly, we were recently back at our mother's house picking our way carefully around the loft. It doesn't have floorboards, so you have to leap from beam to beam to ensure that you don't go through the ceiling, as Triple P's father did, memorably, on one occasion. After moving a fold up bed and a pile of old suitcases (when they have stickers on them which say RMS Berengaria you know they are old) we found a couple of tea chests in a corner which we hadn't reached for years. You never see tea chests any more but when Triple P was small, before plastic crates had been invented, everything was stored in tea chests.
Anyway in one of these tea chest we found an old writing box that contained all the letters we had received from young ladies whilst at university. In those pre-internet days people wrote a lot more letters and Triple P's young ladies at the time seem to have had a particular penchant for expressing themselves in writing. We had quite forgotten that we still had these.
Also inside the tea chest were all our old photographs from the same period, which took us back over thirty years. Sadly, we won't be able to post many of these but they serve as good memory joggers, coupled with the letters.
Our second source of inspiration was a folder we found on our computer which contained, for some reason that we can't quite remember, a lot of pictures of hotel bathrooms we have taken over the years. Some of these will, no doubt, feature in future posts.
Thirdly, we were sorting out our art books and was looking at one of our volumes on Degas, who produced some splendid renderings of bathing women. Critically for this post, most of them were redheads as was our very first bathmate.
Triple P had applied to attend Oxford University and having been fairly stumped by the entrance examination, to the extent that we wrote an essay on the barbarian ethic of Conan and gave it up as a bad job, we were somewhat surprised to be invited up for interview. Arriving at our chosen college, much to our horror, we found literally dozens and dozens of candidates all chasing around 10 places for our particular subject. The weather was horrible; it poured with rain solidly for the three days the process took. We were all stuffed into the rooms of existing students all day to await the call for interview. These students, who seemed to do nothing but constantly smoke, drink beer and listen to terrible heavy metal were starting to get on Triple P's nerves. Another candidate there, a girl with long red hair and rather unfortunate but studious-looking blue framed spectacles seemed as uncomfortable as Triple P and we naturally gravitated towards each other. Or, rather, as we realised in retrospect, she gravitated towards Triple P. Anyway, we chatted away in various corners until it was time to leave. We did not exchange contact details and, we confess, we did not think about her again after that (she was from Birmingham, which might have well as been the Moon).
Ten months later, having had a year off, we returned to college, having been, amazingly, offered a place and who should we run into within two minutes of arriving than the redhead. Now sans spectacles (she had started wearing contact lenses) she was much more attractive than we remembered. She seemed inordinately pleased to see Triple P and as soon as our mother and sister had departed she bounced (she was very bouncy) around to our rooms to accompany us to dinner. Given we had never lived away from home and the whole place seemed not just strange but positively bizarre we were very glad to have a little (5'2") companion for the first few days.
How long it took for us to move from new friends to lovers Triple P cannot remember (it was over thirty years ago) but was certainly less than a week. It could even have been only a few days. Triple P had two rooms, a living room and a bedroom, both of which were long and narrow and overlooked the High (street). The living room had a gas fire but the bedroom was unheated which was not much fun given it was early October. The bedroom also featured a mysterious wooden box at the foot of the bed which we found out contained a knotted rope. Yes, this high tech device was our fire escape, in the event that the eighteenth century building caught fire. The bed itself was quite large, at three foot six across, given that some of the beds in the more modern rooms were only two foot six. It was like (it probably was) an old hospital bed with iron bars at the head and foot.
In college you were accommodated in "staircases" (rooms all off...er...a staircase) and Triple P's was all male. Many of the girls, including Triple P's new friend, C, were in a couple of modern early seventies blocks. These had the narrower beds, presumably to discourage hanky panky, but did have a wash basin which Triple P's room lacked. Washing was a trial. Triple P's rooms were on the third floor (fourth floor for Americans) but the only bathroom was in the basement, four flights of stairs below. This also housed the only WCs in the staircase. Needless to say this basement was also unheated. To describe it as grim is an understatement.
Amazingly, in one of the boxes of photographs from the loft, we found this picture of the basement staircase bathroom. At the front left there were two WCs, then next to those two rooms with baths. Beyond that on the left were a couple of showers with wash basins on the right. The defining feature of this area of the college was that it was absolutely freezing. Taking a shower in the morning was done as fast as humanly possible before you froze to death.
Up until this point C and Triple P's manoeuvres had always taken place on the floor of our bedroom in front of the gas fire. At this stage C had started to dispense with all her clothing during our enthusiastic snogging sessions, with Triple P being utterly delighted with her beautifully shaped champagne coupe breasts and bright orange pubic hair. Triple P had always retained his trousers however as, we suppose, we didn't want to scare her off. We really think it was much less than a week after we started college. Anyway, one evening after dinner in Hall (which was often quite disgusting) C boldly announced "I want to dick you". We confess our mind went blank as to what she was suggesting until she started unzipping our jeans. Anyway, to cut a brief experience even shorter she emerged from the process somewhat...spattered. It was at this point she suggested a bath together. This, we thought, sounded like a quite excellent idea.
The sign up to Triple P's rooms on our college staircase
She donned Triple P's green dressing gown, whilst we put on our pyjamas (pretty much the last time we wore them), and we furtively started to descend the staircase (which creaked alarmingly) armed with some of Triple P's slightly dodgy Italian soap; which was, nevertheless, better than the Crimean War period carbolic recipe provided by the college. Much giggling ensued as we dodged people moving about on other floors until we reached the basement. It seemed to be even colder than ever and C, who had put her contact lenses to bed for the night, had her glasses on, which immediately steamed up, rendering her even more visually impaired than usual. The bath took an age to fill and the amount of steam pouring out made the place look like the engine room of the Titanic. Eventually we both climbed into the bath but whilst the water was nice and hot the air was so cold that we had to try to get under the surface of the water as much as possible. It was a big bath but not that big. After soaping her perky bust briefly we gave up and both disappeared back to our room and the welcome warmth of the gas fire. C curled up and fell asleep in front of the fire like a cat (she had many catlike tendencies - claws included) whilst Triple P recalled the events of the evening with some delight.
The far corner of the quad holds the door to the staircase with the splendid bathroom
C's staircase only had showers and whilst we did share this once or twice it was considered bad form by the other girls to invite your boyfriend into them. In search of a more conducive location for bathtime fun we started hearing rumours of a bathroom on another staircase. It had a huge bath, we heard and heating. Having located this semi-mythical oasis and discovering that (comparatively at least) it was as deluxe as a bathroom at the Ritz, C disappeared off to Selfridge's department store for some appropriate bath foam. Unfortunately, it was very popular so our first few attempts to sneak in there were foiled. There was much sneaking about because C was determined that no-one should know what our relationship was, although pretty much everyone else in college guessed fairly quickly. At one point we had to share tutorials and C would flutter her eyelashes at Triple P (not that you could see them, her being a redhead - until she had them tinted) and try to put us off when we were trying to read our essays.
Eventually, late one night, we found the bathroom deserted and sneaked in. This was a much more satisfactory experience in every way. It was warm, the bath was larger, we had bubbles. Better still our self-control was much improved and so the sensual part of the experience could be teased out for much longer. We both left several hours later, with somewhat wrinkled fingertips, but warm and very clean. This enjoyable experience was repeated regularly but not that often, as finding a vacant slot remained an issue.
So this, then was our first experience of bathtime fun, something we have actively pursued ever since. Another bathscapade in due course.
