Imogen and Keith
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Author's notes:
1. This is a work of fiction. The activities and practices described in this story are not necessarily either condoned or recommended. If you choose to do anything described in real life with real people you do so at your own risk.
2. All characters are fictional and any likeness to any living person is purely coincidental. The story is purely imaginary and, to the author's knowledge, bears no relationship to any factual occurrence.
3. All characters in this story are over the age of 18.
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I greeted Imogen as she disembarked from the helicopter; she greeted me with a handshake as I introduced myself. I carried her main bag, while she carried her handbag, and escorted her to the apartment we'd be sharing. Once inside, she looked around the luxurious rooms while I arranged hot drinks.
"What's your favorite hot drink?" I asked her.
"Earl Grey tea, please, black with a slice of lemon, no sugar."
I knew we didn't have that in the apartment.
"Ok, I'll need to get that from the main kitchen. Make yourself comfortable and I'll be back in a few minutes."
I returned to find her seated on the deck, in the shade, admiring the view of the ocean. I made her tea and my coffee and joined her on the deck.
"Thank you," she said, smiling up at me as I placed her tea on the table beside her. "It's certainly a beautiful view; lovely place.
"Yes, it is. I've been here for a few weeks now and really enjoy the freedom, the activities that are available and just being here with lovely people."
"Mmmm, yes, I can see you would enjoy that. So, what have you planned for me this week?"
"That depends entirely on what you want to do. I can be with you all the time or you can go off by yourself if you wish. There's a list of activities in the information folder, which I'll get for you soon, so you can choose what you want to do. It's a clothing optional resort so you can wear whatever you like or nothing at all. The pool is very popular, especially to cool off on hot afternoons. Did you have anything that you really wanted to do this week?"
She turned her head and looked directly at me for a few seconds, then looked away. I also looked directly at her, noticing that she was a beautiful woman, slim, moderately tall, beautifully proportioned breasts beneath quite conservative clothing. I had the feeling that she was holding something in, that she had something to tell me which she felt was embarrassing. I held her gaze for a few seconds, then she looked downwards and I saw a slight flush come to her face. When she spoke it was hesitant, unlike her earlier conversation.
"I have a confession, I guess you'd call it. I didn't make this booking; the women I work with made it for me. They decided that this was something I really needed, like, really, really, REALLY needed. Oh, I feel all embarrassed even talking about it, but I know I have to go through with it. They thought that, as I was the only one in the office like this, I really needed to come here so that I could join in with their conversations instead of being left out."
She paused, far too long simply to take a breath or think. I felt the need to ask a question.
"So, when they're together, what do they talk about that feel that you can't join in?"
"Oh, the usual womanly stuff, you know, well, I guess that actually you don't. Boyfriends, dates, what they did on their dates, Ok, sex. That's mainly what this group talk about and I can't join in. Here's the confession; drum roll; I can't join in because I'm a virgin. There, it's out. You're stuck with a virgin for a week."
She bent forward, cupping her head in her hands and her body shook as she burst into tears. I sat still, not knowing what to do. Should I attempt to comfort her, or sit quietly until this passed, or what? I moved around the table and crouched beside her chair, placing my arm around her shoulders. She turned towards me, rested her head on my shoulder, an arm around my neck and continued to sob. After a few minutes she recovered a little and murmured "I'm sorry," as her breathing became less ragged and her body calmed. A few more minutes and she pulled away, sitting back in her chair.
"I'm really sorry, Jeff. You don't deserve to have a broken woman for the next few days. Sorry."
She rummaged in her handbag and I produced a box of tissue from inside. She took two and wiped her face, then sat back and gave a hint of a smile. I had sat back in my chair and she seemed to be waiting for me to say something. Instead, I sipped my coffee, and she also sipped her tea, which seemed to lubricate her throat, because she began talking softly and unemotionally.
"My parents were very strict with me as I was growing up, telling me a little about sex but mainly not to do it until I was married. I put all my time and effort into study, went to college, worked hard, excelled, passed everything, and eventually left with a PhD. I was headhunted for the job I have in a research laboratory, where I've been working now for two years. I had one boyfriend about 18 months ago but he told me I was cold and unemotional and ditched me after a couple of months. I really loved him, but I just couldn't seem to show him love and I wouldn't let him touch me, well, not sexily, if you know what I mean. So here I am, a 27-year-old virgin crying my eyes out in a beautiful holiday resort to a wonderful young man who only has my best interests at heart, or so it seems."
She paused, then looked up at me, tears still glistening in her eyes. I felt an amazing love for this woman, so far destined to be alone, unloved, trapped by programs from her childhood implanted by her parents. How many others were like this, I wondered? I remained silent, knowing that there was more to come.
"So, a few weeks ago all the lab techs in the lab I run put on a luncheon for me and presented me with a voucher for a week at Pleasure Island. I did some research and found out what this place is all about, learning what types of pleasure seem to be their specialty, and frankly, I'm terrified."
She looked back into my eyes. seeming to search for reassurance. I reached out my hand towards her and she clasped it tightly with her hand, almost like a drowning person gripping onto their only hope of salvation.
"It'll be Ok, honey, I promise you; it'll be just fine. We'll have a wonderful week and you'll be able to return to your work mates a different, refreshed and far less uptight and remote person."
As I said this, I hoped against hope that my intuitive assessment of her situation in her workplace was accurate. Her reply reassured me.
"Thank you, darling," she replied, astonishing even herself by the use of an endearment it seemed, because she paused, then rolled the word off her tongue again. "Darling; I don't think I've ever used that word before. Thank you. Please teach me to be less uptight; please free me from the tyranny of my virginity. Can you do that for me, darling?"
I assured her that I could and we sat for a while in comfortable silence, watching the endless ocean, sipping our drinks. Once they were finished, I turned to her again.
"To accomplish what you need to do this week, I'm going to have to take the lead while you follow. I promise that we won't do anything you really don't want to do, and I hope that what you do want to do and will allow yourself to do will permit you to achieve your goals and change whatever beliefs need to be changed. Is that Ok, sweetheart?"
"Sweetheart," she rolled the word off her tongue, "I don't think I've ever been called that. Yes, sweetheart, that's wonderful. Thank you."
"Right. So, for a start, we can both get into something cooler. How far are you prepared to go?"
She grinned at me, a first, showing that she did still have a sense of adventure for the unknown.
"Take me inside and remove what you wish," she said with a grin and a bravado which I hoped was more than skin deep.
