Lydia A Dirty Weekend

Here I was, already twenty years old and yet in the summer of 75 I was going nowhere! The gardening service I started on my eighteenth birthday had developed a life of its own and now two years later I owned two vehicles, a pile of equipment and had three employees. The feeling of hopelessness that plagued me had its roots in the loss I felt after my Sister in Law Kathleen, no longer pregnant, had left England with her newly born baby to join my brother living in South Africa. Having been fully exposed to the red-hot blast of her sexuality as an inexperienced 18-year-old virgin, I was marked for life.

Kathleen had decided to do what she could to further my sexual career from where she was in South Africa and the growing collection of hand written letters from her held not only encouragement and requests for descriptions of my sexual conquests but also confessions of an aching feeling of emptiness and loss caused by our abrupt separation eighteen months earlier. We shared the sore emptiness and loss but I had no sexual experiences to describe for her and despite her encouragement I couldn't for the life of me see, as she did, that several of my lady customers wanted to have sex with me.

However, Kathleen was a woman of principle and wouldn't actually tell me who had confided in her their sexual fantasies about me, the handsome teenager tidying their gardens.

"You must find out for yourself darling. Look around you and be yourself and you will be able to pick up the signals they are sending," was all the help she could give me.

Running a business from home, my parents' home actually, was frustrating. Indeed, what was I doing still living with my parents when I had a good income and could afford a place of my own? My lack of initiative and feeling of hopelessness depressed me and was no doubt the reason for my lack of politeness when for the third time in so many days my mother answered the telephone from an unknown woman wanting to talk to "The landscape gardener."

Taking the phone, I curtly informed the voice on the other end that I had too many customers and I could not take on any more projects before the spring. On hearing the woman's cheerful laugh; I repeated irritably that I had too much work and not enough time. In amongst my impolite rebuffs and her attempt to get a word in edgeways I caught the words,

"But Peter, it's me; it's Lydia."

I was surprised to hear her voice, so very surprised that I could only answer with an uncertain "yes," to her suggestions and having agreed to meeting her for lunch, had hung up. My head was spinning as I attempted to sum up my past experiences with Lydia.

Lydia, neighbour and best friend to my then pregnant Sister in Law Kathleen, had two years before jokingly suggested that she was Kathleen's "Bit of Black."

Indeed, born to Nubian parents she was as black as any African I had ever met. The intervening years that had done nothing to heal the sorrow I felt at losing contact with my sister in law had, I had to admit, not diminished the sexual curiosity I felt for Lydia. Had she and Kathleen cemented their loyal friendship with a lesbian relationship or was it just a figment of my debauched imagination; I was determined to find out, but how?

I sat in the pub and waited for her to arrive. It was late lunchtime and the bar was almost empty. She came in the back door and tiptoed silently up behind me before grabbing me by the shoulders. Shaking me affectionately, she had laughingly explained;

"I had to park my bicycle around the back, there's only the street at the front."

Startled, I turned to face her and she laughed again at my embarrassment.

After the usual awkward greetings and a shy, half-hearted hug and kiss on the cheek, she insisted on ordering lunch. As she stood at the bar I studied her surreptitiously. The bicycle trousers were tight but that only accentuated a wonderful, though slightly too large backside. The strap of her shoulder bag pressed her jumper into a dramatic cleavage between her lovely breasts and I felt a twinge of lust. As she paid for the lunch, I sneakily watched the movements of her breasts under her shirt; No, she wore no bra.

She was not quite as tall as I remembered but she had a presence that filled the room and the few other customers that lingered after lunch followed her movements with a healthy interest. Turning away from the bar she must have noticed my gaze and I was treated to her startlingly white smile that contrasted so sharply with her black skin and I turned away in embarrassment.

As she strode that long legged stride across the bar I shyly studied the rise and fall of her breasts. She knew exactly why I turned away and was well aware that I couldn't resist the urge to sneak a look at her and she grinned cheerfully as she handed me my drink.

"Cheers Peter, it's so nice to be here in your part of the world."

With that she explained that she had a sabbatical from her medical practice in Bristol and was at the university in York where she was doing a doctorate.

"What is the subject of your doctorate?"

She caught my eye and smiled.

"Clitoral Erectile Dysfunction."

I was embarrassed; I recognised just one of the words, the rest left me in the dark.

"Sorry?"

She grinned.

"It's about non-functioning clitorises. Or should I say Clitori?"

I wondered if she was teasing me but she continued,

"What is the plural of clitoris?"

I answered self-consciously.

"I'm not sure, I have only seen one."

She laughed heartily,

"Oh, You are not just attractive but you have a good sense of humour."

The conversation dried up after that and we sat awkwardly together until she quietly assessed the situation.

"I can sense the sadness in you Peter; Kathleen wouldn't have wanted that. She mentions you often in her letters and was thrilled to hear we would be together..."

She corrected herself quickly;

"Thrilled to hear we would be able to meet while I studied in York."

I wondered where the truth lay; Had Kathleen, on hearing Lydia's plans for studying for her doctorate in York, commanded her out on some sort of emotional/sexual rescue mission to ease my sadness and sense of loss?

Lydia was warm and understanding and continued her comforting tone,

"But loss and sadness are a legitimate diagnosis after all; it's not just immature hysteria."

I baulked at her implied summery of my situation,

"Immature hysteria" indeed!

But of course Lydia was after all a doctor and the natural respect I had for her and her profession fought with a sense of growing irritation as I listened while she diagnosed my problem.

"It does take time but Kathleen feels you have had enough time."

"Are you doing this for Kathleen?"

"What is it you think I am doing for Kathleen?"

I made a half-hearted effort at explaining myself and fell silent.

Lydia smiled and continued.

"No, no, no, don't misunderstand me. I am me and I am just doing what comes naturally. I invited for lunch you because I like you and not just because of Kathleen."

I wasn't convinced. The memory of Kathleen towered as a stubbornly unanswered question between us and we lapsed into an awkward silence until after a while she had to admit sadly,

"Yes Peter, the loss of Kathleen is something we have in common. She is my best friend and I miss her. She told me all about you two, and I know how well you looked after her."

She whispered slowly under her breath, as if an afterthought:

"and perhaps how you could look after me."

I took a drink and with a growing sense of astonishment wondered why so many grownups had not sorted their lives out. Couldn't they look after themselves? Ok, I was young but I knew I didn't know much but didn't grownups know the answers to everything after so many years? I had been 18 and Kathleen 43 when she seduced me and now two years on I was mixing with Lydia, a practicing doctor no less and at least...?

"How old are you Lydia?"

"Thirty-eight, does it matter to you? Kathleen was after all, 43."

She was perturbed and struggled for something more to say.

"We met because of Kathleen but you liked me?"

She reached across the table and grasped my arm.

"You liked me, didn't you?"

I felt a surge of sympathy. I realised she was as unsure as I was despite her years and all her life experience and I put my hand on hers.

"Yes I do like you; I am sure we will be friends."

She heaved a great sigh, relief I guess, and leant forward over the table as if to share a kiss. Instead, she whispered,

"I am so glad you said that."

I was glad she sat opposite me over the table. Her openness, the intimacy of the moment and the warmth of her hand had given me an erection and not for the first time I thought of her as a desirable woman.

When her lunch break was over and she had to go I walked with her to the carpark at the back of the pub and she found her bike. Saying our goodbyes, she reached for me and we kissed awkwardly over her bike; at that moment I felt just like the bike, uncomfortable and trapped between her and the loss I felt for Kathleen. She shouted hastily back to me as she pedalled slowly across the car park;

"Could I cycle out and visit you next weekend? I am so busy working I haven't made any friends and you are the only person I know in the North of England."

I had to laugh and I shouted back, "Of course you can, come on Friday and you can stay," and suddenly life seemed promising.

The late summer turned slowly to autumn and the frequency of Lydia's visits increased. Braving the Friday rush traffic she would cycle the twelve miles from York to our quiet commuter village in time for dinner and a visit to the local pub. My parents loved her and it became routine that she spent the weekends with us; already after a few weeks, I heard my mother telling her,

"I have folded your washing and I've put it in your room, dear."

As I reflected on this I realised that Lydia and I weren't the only ones missing Kathleen, my sister in law.

As the autumn turned to winter and the darkness made cycling unpleasantly dangerous my mother fell into the habit of fetching Lydia from the university on a Friday afternoon.

I came late to Friday dinner one weekend and arrived just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation between my father and Lydia. It seemed my parents would be staying the next weekend at my father's company flat in London; they would be away for three days; or as Lydia would point out later, three nights.

Therefore, it was that after weeks of indecision I found myself alone with Lydia.

Friday night.

Tea that evening was an awkward affair so when the washing up was finished I suggested we go out for a drink. As I pulled on my jacket, Lydia seemed uncharacteristically subdued and reluctant to go to the pub and I tried unsuccessfully to cheer her up.

"This is not like you Lydia; you are usually the rip roaring centre of attention and have become the pubs favourite. You are everybody's darling, they will miss you."

She silently dried the last dishes from the washing up and throwing the towel aside took me by the lapels of my jacket and pulled me close.

"This weekend I want to be your darling. Can't we have a night in, go early to bed?"

"Yes, ok."

On hearing that she seemed brighter and after holding me close for a few seconds more she kissed me quickly on the cheek and turning away disappeared upstairs.

As I stood in the kitchen, I could hear her moving around upstairs. I recognised the bumping and scraping of furniture in my bedroom and I was sure she had pulled the mattresses of the two single beds together to make a double bed on the floor. Later, after I had locked the doors and turned off the lights I returned to my bedroom and found her there in bed already and with duvet pulled tightly up under her chin.

"We can lie closer this way."

She looked at me expectantly as if I should strip off and join her in bed but I didn't know what to do.

"It's ok, I won't look."

I was embarrassed and went to the bathroom.

Later, when she had assured me she wouldn't look I had thrown myself under my duvet beside her.

"Many of us are unsure," she said, "There is a great demand to be successful, to be popular and to be attractive."

I wondered how she could be unsure of her attractiveness, or her professional success.

She seemed to read my thoughts; "I am struggling to maintain my position in the medical practice, I guess my taking a doctorate at the university is a response to the demands of a career."

She lapsed into thoughtfulness; I was amazed to see her doubt, she was in fact the senior partner in the practice that she had established years ago. Didn't she feel fulfilled?

"But on a personal level Lydia, don't you feel secure? You have lots of friends and you succeed in everything you turn your hand to."

"You think so? What about failed relationships? I am black in a white society. I am a novelty, men date me because the want to try a bit of black cunt; but they will never take me home to meet their mothers."

I was shocked by her description of her situation and struggled to find something to say, but she continued angrily.

"For example. My mound is too big for some. One man described having sex with my fanny as like fucking a bread bun!"

"But that was after he'd emptied himself in me." She said sarcastically.

"And I smelt primitive, like an animal, according to him,"

I protested but was cut short.

"I am well upholstered down there." she said firmly then paused as if to consider the truth of what she'd admitted before snorting scornfully;

"That relationship was based on truth but it didn't last long! Silly man. His lack of imagination spoilt my plantation slave fantasies. I am fascinated by role play but just being called "Nigger" isn't part of the deal."

She shook her head and muttered scornfully.

"He was hopeless. Size isn't everything you know but the only thing that he had fully inflated was his ego."

And with that she threw the duvet aside and rose to her hands and knees. Moving carefully on all fours she stepped astride my chest and swung her bottom blatantly close in front of my face for me to inspect.

Her white Tshirt hung down from her flat belly and I could see up to the underside of her breasts as they hung full and heavy away from her chest. I hoisted myself up on one elbow and studied the vision in front of me. She was a glorious picture of healthy sexuality. Her t-shirt had dragged forward with the weight of her breasts and her smooth and silky back was exposed for me to study. The strongly pronounced back muscles formed two ridges on either side of her spine and disappeared under the lacy white panties. Hugging her narrow waist the panties made her perfectly round bottom seem all the larger and I fought the urge to lean forward and kiss the pronounced dimples peeping out from the waistline of those panties. Her blackness showed through the pattern of their lacy trimmings as she crouched there and wriggled her bottom in my face.

"See for yourself" she said challengingly,

"My pubis, it's like a bread bun don't you think?"

What I was thinking was that I hadn't had such a strong erection in years and saw clearly, in my minds eye, how it would be to hold her by the waist and drive into her from behind. But my treacherous mind flew to a vision of Kathleen kneeling before me, fingers opening her sex and asking me to push myself in her. My erection disappeared with the increasing sense of guilt that washed over me; what would Kathleen say if she knew?

She looked quizzically over her shoulder at me; " You do like what you see, don't you?"

I didn't know what to say.

"Well, tell me what you think, is my pubic mound too big and round? Would you call it primitive? Do I smell like an animal"?

Yes, her pubic mound was substantial, full and rounded it protruded from between her velvet thighs. The generous outer lips caused an obvious bulge and the smooth thick materiel of her panties pressed itself into the valley between them. Peeping out from under the edge was a bunch of tightly twisted pubic hair against her smooth skinned thighs. I studied her in awe; I could see a slightly moist stripe along the gusset of her panties and I wondered if showing herself to me was the cause of her arousal. However, I was tongue-tied by my uncertainty and I could say nothing.

As if annoyed by my continued silence she turned quickly and still crawling on all fours like some fabulous black creature, scrambled back to her mattress and after punching the pillow a few times lay back down and pulled the duvet over herself.

There was an awkward silence and I struggled to break the impasse between us. The memory of Kathleen seducing me got in the way and the prolonged silence gained the dimensions of a genuine disagreement between Lydia and I. Of course, I wanted to make love with her but I couldn't explain what was holding me back.

At first Lydia seemed annoyed and she made no attempt to speak. She raised her head several times and punched her pillow.

But in the end it was she who spoke.

"Is it me? Am I unattractive? What is it getting in the way between us?"

"Is it because," she said quietly "Is it because of my colour?" Or is it because of Kathleen?"

"We can at least sleep together can't we, just sleep?"

I struggled to reassure her.

"I think it's because of Kathleen, she said she wouldn't share me with others."

"But that was just then, when you were..."

She paused and I wondered how she would describe my relationship with Kathleen.

She continued quietly:

"That was when you had a sexual relationship with Kathleen."

I cringed and sank back under the duvet while Lydia continued with obvious frustration.

"If you had told her how you now felt she would encourage you to find a lover; you do have admirers amongst your customers here in the village."

I was shocked. Kathleen had confided in Lydia, they had discussed all we had done together.

"In fact, if you told her where you were now she would encourage you and I to," She struggled to find the words." She would encourage us to make love."

"Damn it," she said with a chuckle, "Kathleen would probably have liked to watch us making love. Her hand would be in her knickers and she would be encouraging us."

With that she just took charge of the situation and ignoring the impasse between us moved her pillow tight against mine. Grasping the edge of her duvet she pulled it over so it overlapped me. Snuggling down against me again, she manhandled me until, by pushing and shoving, she was laying tight against my side, her head was on my shoulder and my arm wrapped against her warm back. I felt the heavy breasts under her t-shirt spill over onto my chest and my erection strained against the duvet soon forming a tent she could not fail to notice.

"Now, will you tell me all about it? Explain how you and Kathleen became lovers."

I felt a frisson of lust; was Lydia going to ask me to re-enact my first fumbling virginal sex with Kathleen?

I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling as Lydia insisted I explain.

I struggled to find the words. Vagina, fanny, cunt? No, not cunt. I started hesitantly.

"Kathleen told me she wanted reassurance that everything was ok... down there. She was worried about her vagina. There had been some bleeding after..."

"After masturbating, yes she showed me."

"Were you her doctor?"

Lydia paused for a long time, "No, that wouldn't have been appropriate as I was her girlfriend; there were no other men in her life after she married your brother, I was there as a sort of sexual little sister."

"No men, but you were lovers. Isn't that unfaithfulness?"

"Unfaithfulness? Well Kathleen felt our sex was because of good friendship, a sort of sexual helping hand that didn't count as unfaithfulness. It was in the periods where your brother was having a bit on the side and she always refused his approaches until he was finished with whoever it was."