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I was 18, it was the spring of 1973 and I felt as free as I ever would again. I was taking a year off between school and whatever came next and I was, according to my disgruntled and hardworking father, a layabout. He didn’t really mean it though, it was just his way of showing affection but I would always answer with conviction that it wasn’t true; in our little commuter village near York I had half the stockbroker wives as my clients and the lawnmower I had bought with help from my father was constantly in use. I was young and strong, I was hardworking and much appreciated by my clientele of frustrated and bored older women and life should have been at its best but it wasn’t. There was no cliché solution to my plight; it was just the hard facts; I wasn’t getting any sex! I felt I had no chance and I could not see any opportunity for illicit sex with the women I was surrounded by for the five days of the week their husbands were in the city; indeed, naïve as I was, it never even crossed my mind. Nothing could convince me that I was in any way attractive to the ladies for whom I cut lawns, dug ditches and pruned fruit trees; in short, the only beds I was getting into were flower beds.
I didn’t work weekends and because of that my father gave me the keys to the car and asked if I would run an errand for him. The novelty of driving hadn’t diminished since I had got my license 4 months before and I was quick to say yes, but was astonished to hear that I should drive the length of England to Bristol where my brother and his wife lived. It seemed that Kathleen, my sister in law, had been unwell early in her pregnancy and my mother, who had travelled frequently to Bristol to look after her, was tired of the long train journeys. My brother was in South Africa on an engineering project, Kathleen my sister in law was alone, on sick leave from her job and had agreed to come and stay with us until the child was born and it was decided that I would fetch her.
The first trip south was uneventful. I had studied the map and chosen a route that passed Leeds, took the motorway south and later crossed the country via Burton on Trent so avoiding the great conurbation of Birmingham and at last running parallel to the Severn estuary ran straight on into Bristol. I found the house without much problem though I’d never visited them before. It’s a measure of my naiveté that I sat in the car and tooted the horn fully expecting her to come running to the car, bags ready packed. After a few minutes waiting I got out and went to the front door and knocked. Soon I heard footsteps and through the glass, could see her hanging over the banisters as she carefully descended the stairs one step at a time. She unlocked the door and opened it awkwardly saying quietly “You found me, do come in.”
Kathleen was a woman I scarcely knew. My older brother’s wife, older than him by several years, she had always been there but only as a shadow on the periphery of my life. Her parents were Catholic immigrants working in factories in Liverpool. She was number 5 of 10 children and had 5 younger brothers. The first and only member of her family to get through secondary school she not only had a degree in English literature but was now engaged as a lecturer. I was very wary of her, she seemed so old and was rumoured to be so intelligent that she used words most people couldn’t understand. But there she was, not even shoulder height to me but with a presence that dominated the hallway. I avoided her gaze and looked obliquely past her and out the window. She looked somewhere over my shoulder and our awkwardness stood like a wall between us. Suddenly and with an audible bump she half fell, half sat on the bottom stair. Alarmed I squatted in front of her asking what was wrong and if I could help. She brushed the hair from her face and replied,
“I’m sorry Peter I’m so tired, I’ll have to ask you to go up and fetch my bags and a couple of boxes of books. You’ll find them on my bed.”
Packing the car was simple, I was finished quickly and after checking to turn off the water, lock windows and doors, I ushered her into the car and we were off. The trip back was uneventful and painfully silent apart from one incident. It was an incident that seemed so silly and simple at the time but was the key to the mutual friendship we were to develop.
On the outskirts of Dudley we got caught up in road works and trying to follow the diversions we ended up on a shopping street packed with slow moving cars. As we stopped yet again for the lights and the traffic I saw to my horror that outside my side window was a sex shop with a lurid window display. There were adverts for Durex and Erotic films and two mannequins stood there clothed in erotic lingerie. The one had cut-outs in the brassiere and the nipples showed, the other, who was bending down and looking back over her shoulder, had split underwear that promised access to her crotch. Painfully embarrassed I blushed scarlet and prayed that Kathleen would not notice. As the traffic moved slowly forward kurtuluş escort she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle that eventually broke into full blooded laughter and she punched my shoulder.
“You’re shy aren’t you!” and she laughed again. “Oh, thank goodness for that! I was afraid you didn’t like me for some reason. Well, we shall just have to sort that out.”
And so with the ice broken we continued the journey home in a much more relaxed atmosphere.
Kathleen seemed glad to be staying with us and settled quickly in, both as part of the family and as a visitor in the village where she was quickly taken into the neighbourhood routine of coffee visits and gossip. But she was a town girl at heart and she seemed at a loss with the emptiness of the countryside. Once, on my way home for lunch, I came across her leaning heavily on a field gate in the lane where we lived and while looking out over the lovely view she asked me wonderingly,
“How do people live here, year after year? There’s nothing out there you know, not a house or a car or anything; how do they manage?”
I was embarrassed because I had no answer for her but also because I also caught myself looking lustily at her figure. She showed little sign of her pregnancy and her bust hung heavily in her shirt as she leaned over the gate. So we walked on and as we walked together we chatted animatedly and I realised we were friends; her kindness drew me out of my shell and her humour gradually opened the door to an understanding, a comradeship that made me realise that despite her 43 years, she was just like me.
The second trip to Bristol a month later was, according to my mother, just to fetch some more of Kathleen’s things and for her to “meet a friend.” Kathleen had already explained to me that it was her gynaecologist, “The only man I’ve had to pay to look at my vagina,” that she was going to see.
We’d sat outside the pub with a drink at the time and we’d laughed so much that people had stared. So we looked forward to the trip and one Wednesday in late April we were off again. The humour and intimacy was really what I needed at the time as I had been dumped by my first girlfriend and as we motored towards Bristol we discussed relationships and “love and stuff” as Kathleen called it, in our usual irreverent style. Yes, Jenny had dumped me for a teacher at her college; he had a car and his own flat and I felt I was useless.
“Oh that’s bollocks my dear. You’re not useless; it’s just a phase you’re going through. It’s just so very exciting for a young girl like Jenny when they realise they are attractive and the boys hang around, I know just how it is. Lord knows I had five younger brothers! ; It’s hard not to use ones attractiveness to gain validation.”
My conversation faltered as i wondered what she meant about the brothers. But it was going to be a long trip and I reckoned i had time to find out.
She occasionally stroked my shoulder as we drove and she poked me with a finger when wanting me to pay particular attention to what she was saying. We were stopping at every other service’s for her to pee and she explained without embarrassment,
“Everything is turned upside down when you’re pregnant; you can’t drink a cup of tea without having pee it out ten minutes later. Pregnancy is funny you know; suddenly I cannot stand the taste of Coffee or Oranges but there is one thing I haven’t lost the taste for, In fact it’s become much worse; I miss dreadfully a bit of the old “how’s your father.”
I sat silently and wondered what to say.
“I know you’re shy Peter but you do know what I mean? “Nookie?” “A shag?”” Screwing?” “A good fuck?” You know, don’t you?”
Yes I knew and wanted it desperately but was shocked and guilt ridden with the sudden realisation that I was day dreaming about her as my sex partner. She continued unaffected;
“Your brother and I have been having it off three or more times a week for all these years and I’ve never conceived and now, he comes back from that project in South Africa for three weeks leave and just before he goes off again, this time for a 6 month spell, he gets me pregnant!”
I sat silently beside her, groaning inwardly and feeling as horny as hell.
The trip went well and we arrived at the surgery in time and the only man she’d ever had to pay to look at her vagina did just that. I sat in the waiting room as she’d insisted, and when she came out of the surgery she brazenly took my arm and nodding to the gawping receptionist marched me out of there with the flippant remark,
“Everything’s as it should be darling.”
As far as I was concerned It wasn’t, but I didn’t know what to say. We drove to her house and while she busied herself finding her things I locked myself in the bathroom and wanked away my straining erection.
She was in a very good mood on the way back; it seemed she’d thrown off the uncertainty she’d had since the scare early in the pregnancy. She was in levent escort good form, so good form that she’d sent me back upstairs to fetch her running shoes. As I’d put them into the box of books in the back seat of the car I’d noticed the title of one of the paperbacks “Sex and pregnancy” and I groaned inwardly; I was horny and that because of my sister in law; wasn’t that Incest?.
“I know a place we can eat,” she said gaily, “it’s something you’ve certainly never had and it’s my treat.”
I wondered if she realised the double-entendre and adjusted my cock before getting into the car. She treated me to both a fantastic Vietnamese meal and, when we were back on the road, to an introduction to her innermost thoughts.
It was getting late and darkness fell as we drove. She talked animatedly until we passed Derby. There were about two hours of the journey left and I regretted that we wouldn’t be able to continue our conversation when we get home. I caught myself driving slower, prolonging the journey, enjoying the company but wondering how I could steer the conversation back to her “love and stuff.” She must of sensed where my suddenly faltering remarks were aimed and she asked me,
“Peter, where do you want to take the conversation?”
Feeling bolder I asked;
“Back to that which you mentioned on the way down this morning.”
“Do you mean the love making, the Nookie?”
“Yes I replied, “The Nookie while you’re pregnant? What about the bump?”
“The bump?” she asked and laughed. “Oh, do you mean does it get in the way? Have you never done it doggie style?”
I gasped; I was flummoxed and didn’t know what to say.
“You have made love Peter?”
I protested strongly, “Yes of course I have!”
She laughed at my protests.
“No need to get disgruntled, or proud, we all have to start somewhere and it’s much harder for a young man to get a girl than it is for a young girl to get an older man. Lord knows at times I had all seven brothers running after me! Yes, much easier for a girl than for a boy.”
She paused and leaned nearer me, her arm over the back of my seat. She sat quietly looking seriously at me and every now and then I could turn and return her gaze.
“Say it sweetie, you know I won’t laugh.”
I admitted quietly that I hadn’t had sex, I’d been turned down and that I was still a virgin.
“Still?” she said and was silent again for a while before continuing.
“You say “Still” but you are only 18years old; it’s not as if you were 28″
For the next few miles she was quiet again until she at last asked.
“Is it bothering you sweetie, not having a lover? I don’t have one either and It’s certainly bothering me I must say.”
She fell silent and I tried to concentrate on the road. After a while she suddenly came back to the subject as if she felt she had to justify her opinion.
“It’s the not knowing that’s also been bothering me. It’s as much a question of can I manage intercourse as it is the craving for satisfaction.”
She sat thoughtfully for a while before continuing rather sadly,
“I just want to know if everything’s still working down there but I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time.”
I said I was sorry and that I didn’t understand what she meant so she explained about the scare she’d had early in the pregnancy.
“I had a slight bleeding after…”
She paused as if searching for the words before continuing crossly, almost guiltily, as if blaming herself,
“I had cramps and a slight bleeding after playing with myself, after masturbating or wanking, or whatever you want to call it.”
We sat silently for a good five minutes until she said something so thoughtful and so quiet I had to ask her to repeat herself;
“But in answer to that you asked a while ago; Yes of course the bump gets in the way but where there’s a will there’s always a way. There’s more than Doggie style, there’s laying down and spooning or if I sat astride you I could control everything.”
I gasped and felt a stirring in my cock and soon I had another hard on.
“If I sat astride you!” had she really said that?
I struggled with all the alternative’s Was it a Freudian slip? Had she meant to say “If I sat astride your brother? I couldn’t decide and she continued though with an increasingly frustrated and ironic tone.
“The fanny man gave me the all clear. He says I can try, but carefully.”
She snorted in exasperation;
“Some chance” she said, “With my husband so far away and keeping his hand in with the dusky maidens.”
“I wonder” she said and stopped.
She repeated herself;
“I wonder if.”
Then she fell silent yet again.
I realised that she was suddenly very uncertain of me and perhaps of herself and I realised just as certainly that I had to reassure her that she could confide in me. We were less than two miles from home and I had to hear what she was maçka escort struggling to say before our arrival would put an end to our intimate camaraderie.
“I will do anything I can for you” I said and she breathed out again.
“Oh, you are sweet.”
Just as we pulled into the front drive she put her hand on my arm and squeezing it firmly she asked;
“I wonder if you can help me find out if things are as they should be down there.”
The days came and went and Kathleen was now 6 months pregnant. I had my work as gardener in the village to keep me busy and I watch her getting bigger and lovelier. One Sunday when my parents had walked to the village church I sat and talked with her in the garden.
“Are you not a church goer?” I asked.
“No” she replied “I was born Catholic but I dropped out, they had a hypocritical lack of tolerance for my special field of interest.”
I was struggling to ask about this “special field of interest” when we heard the garden gate close and heard my parents returning. She half whispered quickly;
“My special interest? My younger brothers.”
“We can continue our conversation on Tuesday.”
“Why Tuesday?” I asked.
“Because” she said, beaming magnificently.
“Because on Tuesday you can help me find out about the “you know what.” You know your father is in London all next week and on Tuesday your mum is going to London with some of her Women’s Institute friends on an away day trip. Their train is 08:30 from York, 19:15 back from London so we’ll have all day to ourselves. Have you thought about our conversation?
I mumbled “yes” and I saw her glance down at my crotch.
“I can see you have” she said and chuckled and I realised I was getting a hard on.
“I have thought about nothing else but our conversation and it’s all decided” She whispered and with that she turned and walked into the house to help my mum.
The next two days were awkward. I locked myself in the bathroom and wanked several times a day. I mowed lawns and wanked in garden sheds. Just the sight of her and the way she smiled when she caught me staring at her had me in an almost constant state of excitement and I would wank again. At times I was convinced she was teasing me; the top buttons of her blouse undone or a quick stroke over my shoulder when I brought her a cup of tea or once, when she asked me to bring the clothes in off the line and carry the basket upstairs for her I was treated a vision of her smooth bare legs as she climbed the stairs in front of me. When she stopped at the top and turned and took the basket from me she quickly kissed me on the mouth and thanked me. I leaned clumsily forward and kissed her again and she embraced me briefly as we half kissed half collided and I felt a stab of lust as her tongue brushed briefly over mine.
“Go, get on with you” she said and laughed;
“I take that as a “Yes”, you are interested in helping me.”
She stroked the side of my face saying.
“We must be careful my sweet but don’t worry, it’s not long to Tuesday” and turned away.
I left the house by the back door and took a long walk to the river and there in the bushes wanked yet again.
I was awake early Tuesday. In fact I doubt if I had slept at all but I lay in bed until I heard my mother saying goodbye to Kathleen. I didn’t want her to see me, I was so sure she could read me like a book, sure that my uncertainty and the lusty anticipation showing in my face would reveal my dirty intentions.
I heard the car driving away and I crept down stairs and after waiting a good while in case mum had forgotten something I locked the door. My mind was in turmoil; had I misunderstood Kathleen? Was it a joke? Had she wanted some sort of intimacy, if so, was it sexual intimacy or just friendship? Had I dreamed it all? My stomach was curled the size of a fist in my belly and I could scarcely breathe as I crept to the bottom of the stairs. I realised that taking her a cup of coffee would be an excuse for going into her bedroom. I turned and crept back into the kitchen. Did she take milk? I reasoned that if I made one with, one without I could take the other and drinking it as she drank hers could then find a way of talking to her.
I knocked gently on her door and entered quietly. The bright morning sun filtered through the yellow curtains and filled the room with a gloomy golden light. I could see her shape under the covers.
The figure under the blankets turned slowly over to face me and I heard her muffled voice;
“There you are at last. Good morning.”
I was thrilled to hear that she had expected me, maybe something would happen though I had no idea what. She pulled the covers down from her face and smiled.
“That sun was already so bright at six thirty, I couldn’t sleep”
I glanced at her and looked away again. I could see her smooth neck, her round shoulder and the broad strap of her bra. I guess I must have gaped at her because she chuckled again.
“Put the coffee down and come closer.”
I moved towards her and put the cups on the bedside table.
“No silly, come closer, kneel down beside the bed.”
I hesitated and knelt nervously beside her. She reached out and stroked my face.
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