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 - women's 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-hugging 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 well...it 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 11am 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 have..er..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 for..er..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?"

Melanie stared at the old man for what seemed like hours, her mind in a whirl. Then she realised that there WAS no choice and, swallowing hard, her face as red as a beetroot, she nodded her very reluctant agreement to all his demands.

"Right then," said Albert firmly, "We'll do this properly. I'll be round tomorrow morning - with a riding crop!"

Albert didn't own a riding crop but they were readily available from the saddlers in his rural town, whereas trying to buy a cane would have raised eyebrows. He could have used his trouser belt, as he had done once in his younger days on an errant niece, but he fancied something a little more formal and dignified. A riding crop definitely seemed right for the occasion. It had style, and it would also undeniably produce a very painful sting.

The price, when he went to the local saddlers, caused Albert to mutter about 'extortion'. Quite evidently the proprietors were making a scandalous profit but then what else could you expect nowadays? Albert gave the salesman a piece of his mind then paid up. It would be worth it. Oh yes, it would most certainly be worth it. Back at home he had a few very satisfying practice swings in the privacy of his bedroom, then hid it in the coal shed. The next morning, with Dorothy off on her regular shopping expedition, Albert took his new purchase next door, hidden under his jacket.

Melanie was in a state approaching panic, and had been ever since Albert's shock visit of yesterday. She had no idea how he'd found out; surely he hadn't been peering in the window because he would have been seen. Except that.....The lounge faced the back garden which was very private and not overlooked. Maybe they should have gone upstairs. More to the point, she shouldn't have allowed it at all. She had known it was wrong, and now....if Gary ever found out....!!

Melanie had at least been able to get Trevor on the phone, to tell him on no account to ever come to the house again. Something awful had happened.
She waited for Albert's arrival with bated breath. A riding crop! She felt slightly sick. The knock at the back door duly came and,with a shudder, Melanie got up and went to let him in. Mr. Higginson reminded her of a rather fierce grand-father she'd had when she was young; pinkish face and white hair, and sort of staring eyes. He had something under his jacket and Melanie knew all too well what it would be. She had her jeans on as usual. She thought about wearing a skirt as he so disapproved of her jeans, but you can lift a skirt. Whereas with jeans...No he wouldn't do that, would he? He couldn't. Melanie had somehow told herself he would have too much respect for her modesty to make her take them down.

She led the way into the lounge. What did you say to a man in such circumstances? "W-Would you like to sit down?" she hesitantly offered.
Albert's pink face had a healthy ruddy glow. "I've not come here to sit down and chat, young woman, as you well know. Let's get straight down to business. Kindly take down those disgustingly tight trousers!"

Melanie gulped. The riding crop had now appeared from under his coat. It looked absolutely horrific. She weakly shook her head in refusal. No, not with her jeans down. No, he couldn't.

"Take 'em down," Albert growled. "You had 'em right off yesterday as I recall. Come on, snap to it. Then get yourself bent over the arm of that sofa."
Melanie gazed at him in horror. The awful old bugger was evidently intent on humiliating her as well as dishing out punishment. She looked into those staring eyes for signs that he might not mean it - but there were none. Oh he meant it all right! Melanie's eyes did some rapid blinking; it was enough to make a girl cry. Her hands went to the button of her jeans.

The zip slid down, releasing the strain on the tight-stretched denim. A wedge of pale flesh and a strip of mauve knickers appeared. Looking fixedly at the floor, Melanie wriggled the jeans down and off her bottom. Albert's eyes gleamed. Released from the constraint of her jeans, Melanie's bottom seemed even bigger, more lascivious, and there was a great deal of it on show for the skimpy knickers were exceedingly brief, no more than an apology for an undergarment.
In front the transparent mauve nylon clearly showed a well-developed bush of fine blonde hair, some of which escaped in strands on either side of the tightly stretched material. Albert looked, and then quickly looked away. The whole spectacle was truly lewd and disgusting.

"Get down - right over that arm," he ordered gruffly.

Melanie shuffled forward, jeans halfway down her plump thighs. She gave Albert a pleading look. "Please don't do it too hard. I can't stand pain."

She got down as instructed. She had never felt more frightened in her life, every nerve-end taut; because you never knew, he could be some sort of nutter with those stary eyes, a real sadist who would just slash that crop down with all his force and keep slashing it down. Melanie pushed her face deep down into the cushion, in an ostrich-like attempt to make it all go away.

But it wasn't going to go away. Albert gazed at the offered-up bottom, scarcely able to believe his good fortune. The full thighs, the voluptuous spread of her plump bottom, the skimpy nylon briefs. Indecency personified, and it had fallen to Albert to hand out some just retribution. It could even be the hand of the Almighty at work. He swished the crop through the air - and then he brought it slicing down across those trembling buttocks.

Albert wasn't a real sadist, of course. He didn't want to inflict any lasting injury but he did want to inflict real pain; a stinging shock that would clearly show Melanie Halford the error of her ways and create an aversion to them. From the desperate gasping yelp that came from the sofa cushions it would seem he had achieved that. At the same time the wanton bottom went into some contorted writhing motions that were extremely lewd but, nonetheless, evidence that real pain had been inflicted.

The crop had struck the ripe lower curve of Melanie's buttocks which were half bare, on either side of the brief strip of nylon. Across these bare slopes and through the transparent nylon in between, could now be seen a vivid red stripe. Yes, Albert had inflicted some pain all right!

Her initial shocked cry had been followed by yelps of "Noooooooo!" , "Fucking Hell!" and "Please, no more!" . Albert, his blood pounding, but trying to stay calm, growled, "You stay down there and don't move until you're told! And watch your mouth, young lady!"

'Don't move' was asking a bit much as he slashed the crop down for a second time. Melanie did move, in particular her stricken bottom moved, but she managed to stay down spread over the sofa's arm. That first stroke had been truly horrendous, enough to make her think she might be physically sick, and the second was equally dreadful, but they were bearable- just - and, if she attempted to get up, the old bugger might get incensed and go really berserk with it.

She kept yelling out though, and begging him to stop, but the old bastard didn't stop until he'd given her six, by which time Melanie really was getting desperate. Her poor bottom was red-hot as if someone had held a glowing chip-pan against it. The pain was simply unbelievable. She wasn't actually crying but there seemed to be an awful lot of moisture in her eyes.

Struggling to her feet, both hands pressed to her glowing rear, her eyes blinking back tears, Melanie groaned, "Bloody Hell! You nearly killed me!"
"Watch that language, young woman," warned Albert primly. "I might decide to double the dose!"

It had been a truly exhilarating experience for Albert. To be actually doing what he had so frequently dreamt of; to deal with a naughty young woman in the proper traditional way, as young women had routinely been dealt with before the country went to the dogs. The only way to bring an errant young female to her senses!

Albert had a heady feeling that somehow now all of those young hussies obscenely parading their rears about the town centre could be dealt with like this. This marvellous crop could be used on all of them. For the moment he forgot the key fact that he would need some hold over them before they would allow it.

He gazed at the squirming, moaning Melanie with considerable satisfaction. "How does that feel then, my girl?"

Melanie pulled a face. "I told you, you blood...I mean, you nearly killed me!"

"Oh no," said Albert, sitting heavily down in a chair. "You'll not come to any lasting harm. That's just what that bit of you is made for; a good solid whack now and again. That's the only thing you young women understand. Now pull your trousers up."

Melanie, still groaning, began to drag the tight jeans up over her ripe, abundant flesh.

"And why can't you young people wear something decent? Why do you have to go round parading the shape of your backsides all the time. It's not decent. In my day, young women had a bit of decency and self-respect."

Melanie was still rubbing her bottom. "Everyone wears them, Mr. Higginson - they're meant to be tight."

Albert produced an angry barking grunt. "Not if I had anything to do with it. Oh yes, my girl, if you belonged to me I'd very soon have you toeing the line - with that whip across your backside every single day if need be!"

Melanie was now sitting on the sofa - somewhat gingerly in view of the state of her bottom. She rolled her eyes while Albert considered what he'd just said. It touched on an area he hadn't really considered up to now, but now he did start to think about it...

"We haven't finished, of course. I don't suppose that light tickling I've just given you will be enough to curb your ways. Oh no! You'll need a repeat - and more than one, I dare say!"

Melanie uttered a shrill, despairing, "No, you can't!"

But she had no answer to, "I can and I will - unless you want that husband of yours to find out!"

Melanie moaned, "Oh Christ!", but half under her breath. She seemed to be shuddering and Albert gave a grin of satisfaction. "Now how about making a cup of tea then? Or is that beyond you young married women these days?"

****
The next morning Albert was again knocking at the door of his next door neighbour. It really was convenient that Dorothy went shopping so frequently - most mornings - but of course if you didn't have a car there was a limit to how much you could carry.

Melanie nervously opened the door to her visitor. She was in jeans and blouse again. She could have put on a skirt but, well, what was the point if he was going to do what he did yesterday? She led the way into the lounge, her heart thumping madly. The thought of that crop was diabolical but, to her embarrassment, fear wasn't the only thing making her pulses race.

Melanie's bottom had stung like mad for quite a while after the awful Mr.Higginson had left but gradually the sharp pain had eased. And as that sharp sting died away, she began to realise that shock and horror wasn't all she was feeling. It had been diabolical but at the same time she was shocked to realise that the memory of it was exciting. To be forced to bare her bum like that for that stern old man and have him whip it with a riding crop! It was shameful and painful but it was also a real turn-on!

Her sense of sexual excitement had increased and by the time Gary came home from work, Melanie was feeling really randy. She grabbed him as soon as he had one foot inside the door and, rubbing her body up against him, suggested they go straight upstairs. This was a complete shock to Gary, for Melanie was never like that when he got home. She had given him a hot sexy kiss and breathed, "God I really want it!"

And randy Melanie had definitely been in the bedroom. Lewd and disgusting! In fact she had damn near raped him! Albert Higginson would undoubtedly have condemned it, even though it was her own husband, but, lewd and disgusting or not, Albert had unwittingly been the catalyst for her aroused behaviour.
So Melanie's feelings were slightly ambivalent as she led Albert into her lounge; something akin, indeed, to the mixed feelings with which she had greeted Trevor Wilmot into that same room. Any sexual feeling of course was overlaid with the vivid memory of that stinging, biting pain. It had been just about the worst pain Melanie had ever experienced. It was not surprising that, for all sorts of reasons, her heart was beating like the clappers.

"Please don't use that bloody thing on me again," she pleaded.

"Watch that language," ordered Albert sternly. He placed the riding crop on the sofa. He had, as it happened, been giving that very subject some serious thought. Melanie's bottom, with her jeans down, had been a very stimulating sight. Lewd and disgraceful, of course, but nonetheless, overwhelmingly tempting. Albert had experienced an almost irresistible desire to put his hands on it - on those skimpy, salacious knickers. Naturally, being a decent man, he couldn't resort to overt fondling but what if he spanked her instead?

"You need a taste of this whip every day the way you've been carrying on," Albert pronounced loftily, "but I could be kind and make it a bit easier on you today. I could let you off with just a spanking - though next time it will have to be the whip again!"

Wide-eyed, heart pounding faster, Melanie digested this new dimension. Albert had gone quite red in the face.

"Of course to compensate for a less severe punishment, this will have to be with your knickers down, of course!"

You dirty old bugger, Melanie thought - but naturally didn't say so. A spanking couldn't be as painful as that crop, and though she knew that baring her bottom completely was for his own gratification, the thought of being over the old man's lap with him seeing everything made her heart beat even faster.
"No, " she said, "You can't" but her protest lacked conviction.

"So you'd rather have the riding crop?" Albert asked. He took hold of it and whipped it through the air - twice. There was only one answer and Melanie knew it. "You're awful," she muttered but started taking down her jeans.

"And those - things," instructed Albert. He had sat down on an upright chair. 'Those things' were this morning a respectable white in colour, but they were as brief and skimpy as ever - Melanie didn't own any other sort. Albert could have taken them down himself, once she was over his lap, but that way he wouldn't have been able to see what was beneath them. And though Albert would never have admitted it, he did want to see her naked and be shocked by it. Without such a focus for outrage, Albert's life would have been quite empty.

Melanie didn't turn her back as she obediently slid her knickers down. Albert's eyes were hot and glazed and his mouth was dry. Utterly disgusting, he told himself. It was a sign of her utter wantonness that she could calmly stand in front of him like that and take her knickers down. The fact that he had ordered her to was, quite naturally, beside the point.

He looked, stared, drinking it all in , and then said, "Come here!", his voice barely a croak.

Melanie's bare bottom over his lap was almost too much for him to take. The lewd, yet frighteningly attractive rounds seemed bigger than ever. Melanie wriggled it, getting herself more comfortable, and Albert saw sights which no respectable man should witness. He thought he was about to have a heart attack. He told himself to keep calm, this was indeed a stern test of will and nerve. He raised his hand and brought it down - hard. His hand on living flesh, stinging it. Hot, firm yet resilient. He brought his hand down again. The sensation was quite beyond description. The wanton young hussy made a moaning sound.

****

"Was she hanging out her washing again this morning, dear?" Dorothy enquired, not really interested but trying to find common ground for a conversation.
"Uh..er..no," said Albert distractedly.

Dorothy was making the tea after getting back from the shops. "I'm surprised she has that much washing, being only him and her. But young people nowadays can afford lots of clothes, not like when we were young."

Albert wasn't really paying attention. He was seeing Melanie Halford's bottom over his lap. Watching it get redder and redder. Feeling the most wonderful sensations ripple through his body as he spanked her till her bottom was stinging hot. Hearing her make those gasping, moaning sounds. Afterwards she had made him a cup of tea. Sitting next to him on the sofa she had been quite contrite.

"Do I need to have much more of this, Mr. Higginson?" she had asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Albert assured her that such was definitely the case. She'd said, "I-I'm not going to see that chap any more, Mr.Higginson. It's all over. I was very stupid."

"Well you're still going to get some more, " Albert had told her. "You haven't anywhere near paid the price as yet." Surprisingly, Melanie had accepted this with equanimity, saying only, "Very well, Mr. Higginson, but I'd rather not have that awful crop." To which Albert had retorted gruffly, "You'll have a lot more of both, young lady!"

And Melanie Halford hadn't argued. Clearly, Albert thought, his hard-line treatment was just what she needed and she simply accepted it. She must know, deep down, how much she deserved it.

Albert would have been more than a little shocked had he known that his strict judgment and the prospect of more punishment had sent a thrill of excitement through Melanie's body.

"Albert, are you listening?"

Dorothy's voice broke sharply into Albert's reverie of Melanie Halford's rear which had fallen, like a ripe plum, into his hands. He uttered a distracted "Yes".
Presumably he could stop her wearing those scandalous jeans now - if he really wanted to. But Albert knew he wouldn't. He would go making angry noises but that was all. Because he knew that even though he was now smacking it bare and whipping it, he would still want to spy on it from behind the bedroom curtains and possibly find further pretexts to keep Melanie Halford in line.

"Albert!" exclaimed Dorothy once more, in irritation.

Albert said yes, he had heard everything she said. He wondered if he should go round next door again tomorrow. He didn't want Melanie to think he was some kind of crank. or a Dirty Old Man. People got such funny ideas these days!

THE END

A story from Janus by R T Mason