The Sensual Revolution (4 page)

So this is how you find me today, married and settled down, the head of a huge sex enterprise and still thinking of ways to get the message of the Sexual Revolution to the rest of the world. I suppose the thing I most want to say to you is to come aboard! Join the Sexual Revolution and discover for yourself how empowering it is. Even people that have been battered, hurt and abused can take heart from my story, can learn to turn their pain and fear into profitable sexual experiences, or at the very least learn how to heal and improve their own sexual freedom.

When the Revolution comes it won’t be who is up against the wall (unless you like that kind of thing) so much as who is in the bedroom seeking liberation from sexual hang ups and unleashing their inner passions.

Lisa xxx

You met Rose, my lovely wife and Lisa her best friend already so allow me to introduce myself. I am Joshua Harding, I am 35 years old and I own the construction company Harding Homes. Err I am not as good at talking about this as the ladies; it never fails to amaze me how open they can be when talking about sex! I’m gonna get me a beer and think of what to tell you…

Right I’m back, can of Grolsch in my hand and sadly still little idea of what to say! Okay so maybe if I start with a little about myself and see what springs to mind! So, as you know I am Josh and at the time of writing I am newly married to the love of my life - Rose. I am six foot 2 inches and weigh 80kg. With darkly tanned skin (a hazard of working outside all the time) green eyes and dark brown hair I have never had any problem in attracting the women, or the men for that matter although I am not so much into that. I mean I have done it a few times but I do prefer women. I just love tits and let’s face it, tits on a man do not look good, unless it’s all muscle and you have a face and a body like Vin Diesel to match of course!

I only moved to Rosemont proper when I built this house to bring my beautiful bride home to. I didn’t live so far away though, but the town I grew up in was much bigger than this sleepy little place with its undercurrents of passionate sexuality.

As a kid I pretty much grew up on the streets, my family was really big; I have five brothers and two sisters so my Mum and Dad were kept very busy with all of them. As long as I wasn’t getting into trouble I was pretty much left to myself. We lived on the outskirts of town and I spent most of my spare time either hanging out with some of the other kids in the one of the local parks or out in the countryside.

My poor parents. I was in trouble most of the time - when I look back now at the things I did I shudder to think of my own kids ever doing most of the things I got up to. Mum and Dad hardly ever knew about the trouble I got into, sometimes it would come back to bite me on the arse of course like if the police were involved, but mostly I misbehaved my way to adulthood with little to stop me.

I have always been fascinated with building. I had the biggest Lego collection of any of my friends, mostly bought out of wages I earned helping people out with groceries, gardening and car cleaning. I didn’t mind working, still don’t - that is one good thing about me. I saw work as a necessary evil if I wanted to do the things I really enjoyed, like the Lego when I was younger and much less legal things as I got older.

I was about 14 when I really started to get into a place that could cause serious problems. I started hanging out with a group of older guys, mostly in their twenties who were all into more kinds of shady activity than you can shake a stick at. Introduced quite early on to soft drugs like weed, by the time I was 18 I was not only hooked on all kinds of drugs, but was also working for the Big Man as a courier and enforcer.

Hey you know what, I’m not going into any more detail about that; I am sure you all get the picture. Going back to when I was 14, it wasn’t only drugs that had my interest; I had two other great loves, building and girls. To be honest, apart from the fact that underage sex is illegal, these two passions were the things that stopped me from being dead by the time I
was 20. I would spend a huge amount of time in the local woods, making dens in the undergrowth, digging into places and making shelters underground that were spacious enough for a couple of people and a crate of beer. One of my friends had an older brother and was always able to get smokes and booze even if we couldn’t get beer. Those shelters were possible death traps but with the pig headed stubbornness only known to teenage boys, I was convinced I was invulnerable and spent lots of time in these dens. Fortunately the fates were kind and I never had more than the odd scrape or bruise, though once again I shudder to think of all the danger I could have been in!

This all changed about halfway through my 14
th
year when I suddenly realised that those strange alien creatures who occupied my school with me, girls, were in fact rather nice. I found myself thinking more and more about them. My friend’s brother would also give him his old porn magazines which we also kept in “The Bunker” as we proudly called it. We had looked through them often enough, taking the piss out of each other and sometimes jerking off to them if no one else was around. A bit risky that, even if no one was there at the time, you never knew who was going to turn up while you were mid wank!

About the same time we all jumped to the realisation that the local girls were built the same way as the ones in the books and we started getting ideas about seeing girls’ tits and pussies in real life – full Technicolor you might say! It was a real eye opener, a bit like going to the movies these days and watching in 3D. We quickly sussed out that taking girls to The Bunker to make out with them was not going to happen. The only girls we knew that would even contemplate going down there were tomboys and would have punched our lights out if we tried anything on with them!

So it was time to abandon The Bunker and in true primitive man style we took to the trees. Some of those tree-houses I built were really amazing, structurally sound with lots of appliances in them that I designed and built myself. Although tree house building started as a way to have somewhere to screw (hopefully!) for me it quickly became more than that. My folks were more than a little surprised when I asked if I could join the library but they readily agreed, both felt that reading would settle me down a bit. So I accessed the library and all kinds of books about construction and building and used the techniques to build incredible places nestled high in the tree tops. Sometimes, if I was really engrossed I would tell the girls to piss off; I didn’t want sex I just wanted to get this latest project done. I sailed through my apprenticeship with more speed and success than anyone expected because most of what they were teaching I already knew.

When I was 16 I started to have a couple of sources of steady income, supplying obviously but also from my work, there was a training scheme that paid a pittance but also gave you a free bus pass, so I was quite chuffed. I had been pretty mobile before with my push bike, mopeds and motorbikes, but the bus pass meant I could go to places in comfort and without breaking any laws, a novel experience for me I can tell you!

I lost my virginity at 14, as I said I am not bad looking and once it got about that I was interested I was never short of someone to screw or a nice pair of tits to play with. By 16 my treetop abode had become more and more complicated and incredible. They would be protected from the elements with walls and a roof; I had a special tray that I put down to build fires in without burning the woods down. I constructed beds, chairs, tables, cupboards – the last one I built even had separate walls and kind of sprawled in this huge tree like a proper house! It was the last one I built because I realised I had done all I could there and was ready to start learning how to build real houses. I mostly lived in that tree house for the next couple of years, occasionally going home for a cooked meal and to get clean clothes. My parents were having a bit of a hard time with my sisters at this point and they were glad I was out of their hair. I had quite a good system actually, I would turn up for lunch on a Sunday (huge roast dinner and stodgy puddings – I wouldn’t need to eat again till Monday!) with a bag of washing. My Mum was so glad to see me that she put the washing on straight away before she began to quiz me about how I was getting on. A few starved expressions on my face and muttered comments about eating berries from the woods, or did she have any idea how awful wood pigeons tasted and by the time I went back to my tree house, my washing was clean and dried, I had another bag full of groceries and my mum would slip me a tenner.

After talking to Mum, I would go and sit with my Dad as he read the paper and smoked a cigar. They knew I smoked by then of course and as they both smoked themselves they didn’t have a lot to say about it. My Dad would put his paper down, get me a cigar and we would settle in to have our weekly man to man. I got on really well with my Dad, especially once we started having this quality time together. He was a pretty cool dude really and I discovered that building had been his passion and life dream until the accident that damaged his back. He had slogged for all his life at a desk job he hated and I discovered that he also had Lego that he would build incredible structures out of. I have to admit I was pretty blown away about that, especially the Lego part and I would pop over from time to time to build things with him when everyone else was not around.

He knew about the tree house of course. Mum would never have let me stay there unless he had given it his seal of approval. He even helped with some of the more complicated bits and every week he would have a new idea to show me, sometimes drawings and sometimes Lego models of things I could build to put in it. If I mentioned that I needed something there or if something wasn’t working he would give me the money to buy it, but then he would go out and buy it for me anyway! It was my dad that bought me the fire pit so I didn’t have to risk burning the woods down. My Dad would give me twenty quid a week on top of any money that I needed for repairs, he called it my “pocket money” and told me that if I needed any more I only had to ask. I think he was rather thrilled to find out that his oldest child was a chip off the old block so to speak and to this day our relationship is really strong.

When he first saw the bed in the tree house he embarrassed both of us by giving me the safe sex speech and a condom (I already had a box of twenty in the cupboard near the bed but, well you know!). Each week he would stick a box of condoms into the bag without either my Mum or me ever noticing. I soon was able to supply then to my mates, for a fee of course and that also added another source of money.

So at 16 I was more or less independent although I did live in a tree and I was starting to get quite well off, especially when compared to my mates. This meant I was able to get nice clothes, jewellery, aftershave and all that to present a good package to the ladies and even afford little gifts for some of them. I was so cocky; I could walk into any bar at this point (I was tall for my age even then) and pick up almost any chick I wanted, even some that were much older than me. If they had a place we could go to we did, sometimes I brought them back to the tree house and sometimes I just screwed them in the nearest alley or dark corner. This was the beginning of my wild days and I justified them to myself by saying it was okay because I was young. Those wonderful excuses we gave ourselves for all the screw ups we made back then, you think you not only know everything and you rule the world at that age, even more so for me because for all my mischief, fortune seemed to smile on me.

At about 17 I started going clubbing and there were even more opportunities for sex in those dark clubs and no one ever asked my age. It was an incredible time, a blur of drugs, sex and rock and roll as they say! My mates didn’t find it so funny though as it seemed I had all the luck. Sometimes they would tell the girls that they didn’t want to be with me, that I was a monkey boy who lived in a tree. Stupid arses, that just made the girls more interested and my little tree house soon became known as the Love Shack, very original that right?

I lasted like that until I was 19 but as my reputation spread eventually it came to the attention of the authorities that I was an adult, living in a house in the woods that I hadn’t paid for and paying no taxes for all the money I was getting. A delegation from the council came to the tree house one day, declared it unfit for human habitation and ordered it torn down. I was gutted, especially because it seemed I would need to go back home to live, with all the chaos there, not to mention the crimp it would put in my love life!

Again Dad came to the rescue. He had been expecting something like this for a while, especially as I started getting wilder and wilder. Coming over for my usual Sunday lunch doped to the eyeballs and dressed like a playboy, may have not been the most sensible thing to do. It did make my Dad wise up to the situation though and he had started to make provision for this event when I was 16 and first moved in there.

He had bought an old house at an auction that sold for a song because of how dilapidated it was. He had been spending time every day working on restoring the house and turning it into apartments which he then rented out. Of course I had helped with the renovations but once that had finished I gave no thought to what happened to the house now. It was a good job my Dad had been paying attention though. He had kept one of the apartments empty, it was the one we designed for the caretaker, but I hadn’t realised that he had been caretaking himself rather than take anyone else on so that he could give me the apartment when I grew out of the tree house. I think he was as gutted as I was when they took it down and burned it, after I had got all my possessions out, they would have had to have posted 24/7 guards to stop me slipping back there to pick up my stuff during the night.

He was as proud as punch when he drove me over to the house and gave me the key to my apartment. My Mum had been growing increasingly more annoyed with what she called my delinquency and apparently had urged my Dad to charge me rent for staying there. With his usual calm wisdom (and possibly influenced that I seemed to be his favourite) though, instead of charging me rent for the apartment he gave me the job as the caretaker. There were only three other apartments and I had helped create them so it wasn’t a hard job and I still had plenty of time to finish my training and do my other jobs.

Apart from location little changed after that. The most significant was that I had to take more and more “jobs” to pay for my increasing habit and on looking good as well as bills from the apartment, my Dad agreed to give me the apartment rent free, but supported my Mum in her theory that a little responsibility would settle me down so I have to pay the bills and taxes on the property if I wanted to live there. At first it was really hard and I struggled to even get enough to eat. I still went round for Sunday lunch and my parents carried on giving me my “pocket money” and some food and stuff but there were many times when I could buy drugs, smokes and booze or food and so the food in the bag would have to last me a week.