Cinderella Geoff

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By EgmontGrigor2020

Chapter 1

At the age of eighteen, Geoffrey Putt of Mullbrook in England, was almost a lost cause, misplaced in his own family and inherently confused as a result of his restricted upbringing.

Fortunately, he caught the passionate attention of kind-hearted Mrs McPhee. In just a couple of days, Claire reprogrammed the lad from becoming a possible wastrel to realigning him to develop into a fairly normalised modern man.

Geoff’s mother, Brigit Mason, had been ripe for child-birth when she married Philip Putt, being two months pregnant to him.

Two years after the birth of their child Lisa and Cleo arrived and four years after that, Brigit delivered Geoffrey, father allegedly being Philip. But the couple agreed that their new-born looked more like their neighbour Sam Lusk than Philip.

Sam, failing to conceal a leer, thought so when Philip had showed him the new baby and remarked on the likeness. He added vaguely, “One never knows.”

Philip told his wife of Sam’s reaction and she just sighed, shrugged and said that Sam was such an unreliable arsehole.

That left her husband simmering, loaded with doubt and not knowing what to do.

The next weekend, while Brigit and the three children were staying for two nights with her parents, Philip loaded his most valued possessions and left, never to be in contact with his family again.

Bi-sexual Brigit, when finding his curt ‘Goodbye you slut’ note, thought good riddance weakling but was not keen to live without a sexual and social partner. She went for the softest and on-hand choice, inviting her favourite occasional lover from the coven of her intimate girlfriends to live with her permanently.

Tillie Thomas, who lived precariously in rental accommodation within a housing demolition-ordered zone, accepted in delight the invitation to move in with the voluptuous Brigit and become the perceived man of the house.

Disturbingly, by the time of Geoff turned five, the sole male in the home, he was being roped into an increasing load of duties, performing regular household work as well as being on-call to carry out tasks for Brigit, Tillie, Lisa and Cleo.

Within two years, in full acceptance of doing was expected of him, young Geoff was been coached into performing most of the household’s machine and hand-washing, vacuuming the house, attending to carpet spills, dusting furniture, turning sheets when making beds and standing on a stool to clear mirrors as well as attending to the vegetable garden.

He was being treated rather like the storybook Cinderella and there was no promise that he’d experience happy ending, with Geoff being rescued and carried off by a handsome and doting male, or female.

Geoff’s favourite task was to each night comb his youngest sister’s hair because Cleo’s hair was golden and exceptionally fine and during that grooming time, she spoke so sweetly to him.

At his mother’s insistence, Geoff was never physically mistreated, even if he fell asleep during his compulsory work.

Geoff’s only toy was a rubber ball that he played with by himself and later was given an old football that he absolutely adored playing with. He drew a goal with white chalk on the brick wall on the property boundary alongside the garage. He’d cleverly paced out one of the soccer goals on the senior boy’s playing field at school to get the width of the goalmouth and arm-spanned the height to get the measurements more or less correct.

Sometimes his two older sisters, singularly or both together, acted as the goalie to make it more difficult for him to shoot goals.

As Geoff progressed through his teens, his mother and Tillie, who the children came to believe was actually their mother’s very close sister, agreed that Geoff was superior at house-keeping than either of them. But Geoff was never told that. He was led to believe that he was a stupid person and the high marks he was getting for schoolwork were faked because the teachers were sorry for him.

A significant turning point in Geoff’s life occurred when a neighbour across the street called and expressed interested in him.

Tillie answered Doug Adams’ door knock and she said curtly, “Yes.”

“I’m Doug Adams from across the street.”

“So, you say. Goodbye.”

That left Doug nonplussed but fortunately Brigit arrived calling, “Who is it, Tillie?”

“A nobody.”

“Oh hi,” Brigit smiled. “You shifted in recently across the street.”

“Um yes, four months ago. I’m Doug Adams.”

“I’m please to meet you at last, Mr Adams. I’m Brigit and this is Tillie.”

“Greetings, ladies, please call me Doug. I’ve called to ask about the boy.”

“He didn’t do it,” Tillie said sharply.

Naturally polite, even to males, Brigit said, “Please come in for a cuppa and explain the problem. I’m Geoff’s mother.”

“Make tea please, Tillie. Come through to the day room, Doug. The children have gone shopping at the supermarket. What has Geoff done to upset you?”

“Nothing. Escort Kız I’ve watched him playing with his soccer ball. He has amazing ball control skills for one so young. I’m the senior soccer coach at Bayfield High School and although I’m aware Geoff is a student at Bayfield, he’s never presented himself for a trial assessment.”

“That’s probably because we need him home straight after school to do his jobs. He has no time to play sport outside classroom hours.”

“But he runs.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Pardon me, Brigit. He sets off running each morning early and always returns just before 7.00 when I set off on my run.”

“Are you sure?”


“Well, I never knew that. He has to wake Tillie and me and my two girls at 7.00 and begin getting breakfast. Well, as long as he’s back in time, why should I care if he runs?”

“You ought to praise him for performing fitness exercise, Brigit.”

Tillie stood at the doorway with poured tea in cups on a tray and blurted, “Stop telling us how to handle our children.”

“Your children, you say. I understood they were Brigit’s children?”

“Fuck off, Mr Adams and leave us alone,” Tillie said, slamming the tray on to the coffee table and walking off muttering.

“I apologise, Doug,” Brigit said, placing a hand mid-thigh on his nearest leg and pressing fingers firmly. “Tillie is very possessive at times and has never been married. Please excuse her.”

He eyed the squeezing hand and said meekly, “She doesn’t appear mental in other ways.”

“That’s true. She had a rather unpleasant childhood and so occasionally has rather possessive outbursts related to that if she feels threatened by anything unusual around her. Um, just between you and me, my husband abandoned me and our three children just after Geoff was born and Tillie has taken his place, if you get what I mean.”

“Oh yes um and that info is confidential. I’d like you to bring Geoff for a soccer trial this Saturday morning at 9.00, and with Tillie’s consent if that’s necessary. Your boy may possess the potential to develop into a really good soccer player, Brigit. You have to ask yourself should you stand in his way.”

“Hmmm. I have always known to expect this day would arrive. Geoff recently turned sixteen and I’m aware I can’t hold him at home forever. Nine o’clock on Saturday you said?”

* * *

At the end of the assessment on Saturday, Doug walked over to where Brigit and Tillie were standing alone and said, “Well, what do you think?”

Tillie said, “You really know what you are doing. I used to play grass hockey as a schoolgirl and we had a wonderful coach. She later went to live overseas and used to play international hockey for New Zealand. I remember her trialling me methodically like you have just done, learning about what I could and couldn’t do aptly and then applying the pressure to really assess my ability in each discipline.”

“Thanks, Tillie. That feedback is sure appreciated as I need the confidence of you both if I’m to develop young Geoff.”

“I immediately noticed Geoff was a bit younger than those other five triallists.”

“That’s correct, Brigit. We are not permitted to push players hard under the age of seventeen and those other players are either seventeen or are pushing that age and were here for re-assessment after performing poorly at their initial testing. All are displaying improvement. I guess you both noticed that Geoff was easily the fastest in the group’s warm-up run around the 400 metre perimeter track and won all four of sprints over 10, 20 and 50 metres and was the only boy in the group to get past all five defenders in attack at the goal, not only once but both times?”

“Yes,” chorused both women, flushing a little in delight.

When about to walk off, Doug said quietly, “That boy, being offered good opportunities and taking them, has the potential to star as a striker in Under-20 Youth Soccer.

And that eventuated over time.

Doug provided extra coaching for Geoff and that brought him closer to the family because he needed the consent of both women to the boy’s release more and more from his household duties. The teenage girls remained unaware that the restraints of a heavy load of household duties around their brother were slowly unravelling.

However, further releases of duties for Cinderella Geoff became greater, and that displeased his sisters because they were required to perform more and more of his accustomed duties. Their mother insisted on acceptance of the changes, thinking it was time her daughters learned some housekeeper skills as in time suitors would begin to call.

Meanwhile, Tillie’s hostility toward the soccer coach became softer as his social contact with the family increased.

Doug eventually confided to Brigit that his wife was turning away from most of his sexual advances. Sympathetic Brigit began to occasionally bump softly against Doug and in turn, he slyly began to linger to allow her to catch him starting at her boobs.

Right from the start of their association when Doug was ready to leave, Brigit had always accompanied him to the door while Tillie cleared away, leaving the dishes on the kitchen table for handy Geoff to attend to expertly.

Inevitable, under the usually unrecognised laws of mating, on one such occasion at the doorway, Doug turned to said goodbye to Brigit and their lips happened to touch. Before long it was an established ritual at the doorway for them to kiss lightly and for Doug to squeeze her nearest breast firmly.

One early evening, when Geoff was at the door ready for his quick kiss, Brigit said, “How are things at home with the wife?”

“Fucking awful,” he said boldly. “She’s become the Ice Lady.”

“Oh darling,” Brigit murmured sweetly and gently cupped his genitalia.

“Hurry, say what you wish to say,” Doug said nervously, looking up the passageway behind Brigit for any sign of Tillie. “If she catches us at this, she might explode hysterically with possible harmful intentions.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Brigit whispered calmly. “Every Thursday night, from 6.30, Tillie works as a volunteer sorting clothes and other stuff of value to be sold at the local Hospice Care Shop to raise funds for local Hospice activities. She is never home before, um 9.15. You could, if you wish come a visit me for some beautiful cuddling. The kids are in their bedrooms for the night from 7.30 doing their school homework or reading and there’s a lock on my internal bedroom door.”

“Come to the French doors of the main bedroom and I’ll let you in, sweetheart. Omigod, your cock is inflating in my hand.”

“I must flee, now is not the time to dally,” Doug said hoarsely. “I’d thought from Day One that I’d like to fuck you.”

“It’s Thursday tomorrow,” Brigid said silkily. “Arrive outside my bedroom with condoms at 7.30.”

Doug’s response was quite unexpected.

“Phone me to remind me.”

“Off you go, you’re a big tease,” she giggled.

* * *

A month later, after the fourth consecutive occasion that keen Doug Adams had crossed the street early evening to commit adultery with the voluptuous abandoned housewife and mother of three, Brigit Putt, she’d learned that she’d been caught out.

Her female lover, Tillie Thomas had just arrived home after supposedly working that evening as a Hospice volunteer, closed the door quietly, and leaned against it.

She then pulled out her breasts.

“Lick these, slut.”

“Okay, this is unusual. Come over here and I’ll suck your tits.”

Tillie’s lips curled in barely restrained wrath.

“You whore.”

At that, the supine Brigit placed a hand over her throat and said weakly, “Am I?”

“Yes, you treacherous sow. Throughout our association, I have remained faithful to you and stupidly had expected likewise moral behaviour from you.”

“Um, I’ve done nothing really wrong. You and I call one another darling and other intimate names but we have never pledge to love one another. How did you find out?”

“I’d noticed for three Thursday nights in a row that you had behaved so lovingly to me and became extra wet when I fiddled you and I became suspicious. Tonight, I didn’t go to help out sort stuff for the Hospice shop and went out walking until it was almost dark at 7.15.

“I returned home and maintained a stake-out outside and eventually a man’s figure appeared at our bedroom’s French Doors. As you opened the door in darkness, I clearly heard you say ‘Are you ready to give it to me up the butt tonight, sweet Doug’. I recognised his voice when Doug replied, ‘Sweet whore, I’m not into such disgusting stuff’ and you replied thank goodness for that and added, ‘Fuck my throat first tonight Big Guy.”

“Omigod, Tillie. You must have been completely disgusted?”

“What? I became hot, hugely aroused and I jacked off big time and for the first time in my life, I streamed off unaided. It left me half-stunned and awash in pleasure.”

“I’m happy for you, Tillie. I guess this the end of our relationship?”

“Hell no, whenever he’s been at you, I don’t want you to clean up and shower. I want to taste him on and in you. And when I rim you with my tongue, I ought to be able to confirm if at last he’s taken you in the butt.”

“Omigod, I’m becoming on heat,” Brigit gasped.

Tillie shed her clothes quickly and jumped on to the bed, kissed her lover wetly and then began kissing her body all the way down to between hot Brigit’s widely splayed legs.

Chapter 2

A month after Geoff’s 18th birthday, he was selected as one of the four reserve players in the team of the Colson City and outlying district’s top junior soccer players to represent the district in the national Under 20 Boys’ Soccer Championship.

At home, breaking the news of his selection to the family had been a defining moment for him. He was so excited and he stood, shoulders squared, and thinking he was almost a man, aware he’d become almost an independent guy, because his team selection meant several big things for him.

A choice one was his name would be published in the city’s newspaper, a big first for him, being such an unknown in his community.

It would be the first time he’d spent even one night away from home, apart when during his childhood when being admitted to hospital, once for removal of his tonsils and later for an overnight stay in hospital with suspected peritonitis which fortunately turned out to be a false alarm.

He would be away for a week during the school holiday to escape the last bunch of household duties that he remained tied to.

The team would go to venue and return by jet aircraft. Holy wow!

If chosen to play from the bench, he possibly could be photographed or filmed by the news media scoring a header. Well, it paid to be optimistic, yes?

The selected players began practising together and playing against the club’s senior team to really tested them.

Geoff didn’t have an easy time as he was considered ‘the baby’ of the squad and tolerated by the majority but bullied by three players, one of whom asked Geoff loudly as they were leaving a team talk, did he still wear nappies to bed.

That raised a huge burst of laughter.

But Geoff’s retort, ‘Hell no, if I wore nappies how could I pull my dick at nights’ produce a gale of laughter from the entire squad and from that moment the bullying stopped.

The squad was led by coach Ted Jury, a butcher. who’d been a professional player for Fulham in his youth, Billy Wells, the assistant coach and tactician. The team manager, Claire McPhee, had played female soccer for most of her youth and until she married at the age of twenty-eight.

She’d played women’s soccer for Australia several times and these days was head sports coach at one of the top boarding schools in the country. She had interviewed all squad members during the first couple of days of assembling.

“Why aren’t you in a selected position?” she asked Geoff, having watched him at practice.

“Because you guys selected three other strike specialists.”

“I’ll biff you between the ears if you ever again infer that I’m a guy.”

“At you peril, Claire.”

“Geoff, please remember I’m one of the team selectors. If you continue to be abusive to me and calling me by my first name, it could count against your selection.”

“Bullshit, selectors chose players on known ability and current form, not on their manners,” he said quietly

“You insolent twerp. I…”

“Careful Claire, or Mrs McPhee at your impolite request, don’t bully me.”

She eyes the lad and said thoughtfully, “You could be the player with the controlled aggression we appear to lack in the team. However, I’ve watched your play and was only mildly impressed.”

“Well, don’t blame me for that. You guys played me as a defender, rather than as an attacker and please accept that use of the term guys was used in its non-gender form. I’m also the fastest accelerating and the overall fastest runner in the squad.”

“And how do you come to the conclusion that you are the speediest member of the squad?”

“I’ve looked at their body shape, general physique and the way they move. To most people, apart from you, me and the two coaches, we all look roughly the same.”

Claire eyed Geoff thoughtfully and then said, “Off you go, Mr Putt. One thing is sure, you appear to be the most unusual find of the entire squad, despite being the youngest and the final person to be interviewed by me. Just don’t get a mindset that you are only a reserve. Do you hear?”

“Yes ma’am, err I mean Claire.”

She watched Geoff walk out with a swagger, knowing that would be for her benefit.

She chuckled to herself, thinking what a clever arsehole. Err youth.

Next morning, the squad emerged from the changing shed in their playing kit at their assigned practice ground in walking distance from their motel. It was obvious that something was up.

Assistant coach Billy Wells was waiting for them, hands on hips, whistle around his neck and wearing his leather cap.

“All that Billy is missing is a fucking whip,” cracked goalie Fat Freddie, and everyone in the squad laughed.

They all then eyed coach Billy Wells and manager Claire McPhee, sitting at a temporary table mid-field with stopwatches and clipboards in front of them. Flags marked out three distances of increasing length.

“These clowns are not aware we are amateur schoolboys, not bloody new professional recruits,” said Fat Freddie, also known as ‘Mr Lip’ because of his inflammatory rebukes on the field to his players who messed up the cover as goalie that he needed when extreme attack pressure was building.

Other squad members were too puzzled or concerned to react to Freddie’s wind-up.

“Line up in front of Coach Wells,” Geoff suggested.

Billy waited patiently for the squad to line up on three rows.

“Good morning, guys. We three selectors are aware we have someone in the squad who is possible primed to be used as a secret weapon once we make it past the first cut, provided we get that far.”

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