The Seehofer Chronicles: The Memoirs of a Courtesan - VOLUME TWO

By Jaime Davenport

Rebecca Seehofer is a retired civil servant. In a career that spanned the 1960s up until the fall of the Berlin Wall, she was employed by the Her Majesty's Government as a courtesan to grease the wheels of commerce and to gain political advantage. As the old adage goes, nothing sales like sex.
Trainee schoolteacher and former journalist, Sybil Torricelli, is Becca's granddaughter and her official biographer.
Although charged with recording Rebecca's memoirs, it is only inevitable that Sybil should reflect upon her own life and sexuality. After all, she does carry the Seehofer gene.
In this, the second volume of reminiscences, Sybil asks Becca if she ever partook in erotic photo shoots. The reasons for Sybil's interest stems from her cousin Isobel's unlikely venture into the world of part-time glamour modelling.
The ensuing generational recollections from both women, past and present, reveal Rebecca's erotic photo shoots, a honey trap set for a German diplomat, and Sybil's own Sapphic discoveries during group sex with doctors, instigated at the insistence of Isobel, an occasion that opened the mind of Isobel, the straight-A engineering student, to a world of self-denied possibilities .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaime Davenport
• Release date: Jun 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463303139

Jaime Davenport

Writing should be fun.We all love a story, don't we?I am English. Or should that be British? Either way, I write in English, although the Queen may question whether I represent her particular take on the language. Who knows, she might have actually read some of work and I might be destined for a peerage?Ah yes, writers are dreamers and I am no exception.If you happen to be reading this, then good for you! If you are reading this and have read some of work, then even better for you! I hope that I haven't offended you, although that is perhaps preferable to having bored you.Thanks for stopping by.Happy reading!

Book preview

THE SEEHOFER CHRONICLES.

THE MEMOIRS OF A COURTESAN – Volume Two.

Written By

Jaime Davenport.

Smashwords Edition

Published by

Jaime Davenport on Smashwords

Copyright © 2019 by Jaime Davenport

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Table of Contents.

Chapter 1 - A Question to Pose.

Chapter 2 – A warm Reception.

Chapter 3 - Out of Hours.

Chapter 4 - Sunnyside up.

Chapter 5 - A ripe Banana.

Chapter 6 - Contrite Adulteration.

Chapter 7 - A lucky Asset.

Chapter 8 - Après Ski.

Chapter 9 - Contagious Contentions.

Chapter 10 - Henrietta’s Chicks.

Chapter 11 - A Malady of Doctors.

Chapter 12 – Sybil’s Sapphic Squeeze.

Chapter 13 – A Threesome and more.

Chapter 14 - Reflections.

Chapter 15 - Easter Rising.

Chapter 1 - A Question to Pose.

Good Friday, 18th April 2014.

Mount Pleasant Cottage, Southern England.

The long Easter weekend had finally arrived and Sybil Torricelli had spent the previous few days with her grandmother. Rebecca Seehofer’s home appeared bucolically spring-like despite the cool westerly wind that swept across the country. Becca had lit the wood burning stove that evening as the gusting air sucked the warmth from the interior of the old cottage.

How’s the hip, Gran? asked Sybil, poking the fire so as to stir the glowing embers before tossing on another split log.

Wonderful, I should have had it done years ago, declared the now sixty-eight-year old Becca.

Sybil had indeed noticed the transformation in her grandmother’s health since having the artificial hip joint fitted. She was moving with an ease that appeared to have taken twenty years off her age and the grouchiness that Sybil associated with her grandmother had vanished along with the arthritic pain. Well, the grouchiness was mostly held in abeyance...

Can I ask you a question, Gran? Sybil turned to face Becca after closing the stove door. The soon to be twenty-two-year-old Sybil was Becca’s nominated heir to her not insignificant estate.

Why change the habit of a life time? smiled Becca from the comfort of her armchair without glancing up from the news report she was reading on her tablet.

Did you ever pose nude?

The question prompted Becca to look up and peer over the top of her reading glasses. Why the question, Sybil? I assume it has something to do with you.

That’s like so unfair! decried Sybil.

So why do you ask?

Because Izzy has started modelling.

Isobel Torricelli was a year younger than Sybil and nearing the end of her engineering studies. She was also Sybil’s cousin.

She always was very pretty...

What are you sayin, Gran? That I’m like a minger?

I do wish you’d stop inserting unnecessary ‘likes’ in your sentences. You’re going to be a teacher. You’re no longer some gauche teenager. And you are very pretty... From the neck up. Rather zaftig elsewhere... Typically, Becca Seehofer was painfully blunt.

Sybil had no idea what zaftig meant but onomatopoeically it sounded rotund. It’s not my fault I got the Torricelli fat gene and not the thin version like Izzy, nor the Seehofer skinny gene.

No, you can’t help what genetics gave you but you can the amount of calories you swallow.

So I like eating! It isn’t a crime! Over the past eighteen months, principally since training to become a teacher, Sybil had piled on the pounds.

So what sort of modelling is Isobel doing? enquired the intrigued Becca.

Not sure really. We haven’t like spoken much in ages.

You used to be very close.

"Yeah... Well... I’ve seen the spread she did for a magazine called Peanuts. I doubt if you’ve heard of it." Sybil walked quickly to the sideboard and picked up her cigarettes, a sure sign that she was agitated despite her assumed poker face.

For once you’re right, I haven’t heard of it. What sort of publication is it? I assume it isn’t to be found in the hobbies section at WH Smith?

It’s a ‘Lads’ mag’. You know the sort... Soft porn, I suppose. It has pictures of girls, articles on sport and cars, the sort of stuff guys like to read and to... You know what guys do. She made a fisted jerking gesture with her hand. The photos aren’t that explicit. Well, that depends like on what you call explicit. Boobs, bum, and... Front bottom.

Rebecca Seehofer offered a rare smirk at Sybil’s choice of stated nomenclature. Why was there no accepted everyday word for the female genital area?

Lighting her cigarette, Sybil stood in the doorway into the kitchen, allowing the smoke to be sucked away by the running extractor fan, which as Becca rightly pointed out, was leeching heat from the cottage.

"I thought such a genre of magazine was on the decline? I’m of the impression you dislike the idea of your cousin appearing in Peanuts," stated Becca without rancour.

I don’t care... It’s up to her if she wants to play the tart and gets off on it.

Maybe she needs the cash. It’s tough for you students.

She doesn’t need the cash. She needs the buzz.

There is an associated head rush with posing nude..., stated Becca absently.

So you did photo sessions?

As part of my remit at the department, yes.

How come?

Do you want to hear the story?

You know I do... Sybil relented to offer a smile. To a stranger, it might appear odd in the extreme that Sybil enjoyed listening to her grandmother’s stories. They’d possibly be more alarmed if they knew how she got off on them.

As a trainee journalist who had decided to abandon the precarious career in favour of security of tenure provided by teaching, Sybil remained in the process of writing up her grandmother’s lurid memories that were often recited out of chronological order.

Grab your tape recorder then, Sybs. Pour us both a whisky and pass me a cigarette. We may as well be comfortable.

Chapter 2 – A warm Reception.

Thursday, 16th January 1969.

Bartholomew Hotel, London, England.

The champagne reception at the plush London hotel was in full swing. The awkward early moments when the delegates sparred with each other in order to gain some indefinable advantage and assumed superiority over their rivals had petered out, to be replaced by a more convivial atmosphere of detente and social bonhomie.

The empty champagne bottles that rapidly accumulated in the kitchen bore testimony to this metamorphism. Away from the general melee, standing quietly by the kitchen door stood two elegantly dressed men, looking at ease in their formal dinner jackets whilst they sipped champagne and appraised their surroundings with apparent disregard.

So who is the new German representative? asked the senior civil servant, directing his question to his obsequious secretary hovering at his left shoulder.

Strohhäusl... I believe that Denford has put his best man on the case, Sir James, responded the diminutive secretary.

Ah..., answered Sir James knowingly. Then I assume the foreign gentleman has already received an initial assessment?

Indeed he has, Sir James.

Excellent... Ah-hum, here comes Denford now...

Cornelius Denford, head of the department of Cultural, Artistic, and Technological Studies, ambled with practiced nonchalance into the reception escorted by his assumed secretary. She walked with her head bowed a respectful two paces to his rear. Denford strode into the centre of the gathering with lunging strides as benefited by his six foot two inch frame, whilst his secretary scurried behind him, her leg movement restricted by her tight black skirt that fell to just above her stocking-clad knees.

Denford halted and looked enquiringly around him and smoothed the prematurely greying side-parted hair as he exchanged nods with familiar faces.

His eyes narrowed and by courtesy of his praetorian nose assumed a hawk-like appearance the moment he spotted his prey. He resumed his journey across the luxurious blue carpet until he broached the German delegation. Here he stopped and raised himself to his full height, apparently waiting for his secretary to catch up with him.

To a casual observer, it might have appeared that the German party were deliberately ignoring Denford. However, the man seemed unfazed by their inattention and patiently waited for his secretary to join him. She appeared flustered when she finally met up with him and caught her heel in the deep pile of the carpet.

Flailing her arms in an effort to circumvent ending up sprawled upon the floor, she dropped her document folder from her left hand. The folder fell to the carpet, discharging its contents in an untidy arc around her.

Shouting in humiliated alarm, she muttered an incoherent apology whilst dropping inelegantly upon her knees. Her frantic attempts to collate the untidy heap of papers succeeded only in further scattering the confusion of correspondence.

The German delegate’s attention was drawn to the unfortunate secretary, who in a manner of incompetent panic was attempting to restore order about her. The tall blond German lowered himself to squat by her side, gathered up a few sheets of paper, and held them out before him for her attention. From the German’s perspective, an