Julia had been one of those strange creatures, the married virgin, and now she had become that even rarer creature, the divorced virgin. She had got married at thirty-one to her childhood sweetheart, Nigel, after one of the longest engagements that anyone could remember. She had held back, she told both families, because she wanted to be certain. But even then she still had doubts, in fact, as the minister pronounced them man and wife she was wondering why she had gone through with it at all. She came to the conclusion that she had married him simply because everyone expected her to.
The wedding night was a disaster. Nigel had come to bed expecting them to have sex at long last, and she had tried to come up with as many reasons as possible why they shouldn't. Somehow she just wasn't happy about giving herself to her new husband, and eventually Nigel had rolled away rejected and dejected.
"Good God, woman." He said. "We're married now, you're supposed to let me touch you, you know, especially having waited this bloody long."
"If you think you've waited a long time it won't hurt for you to wait a little longer, will it? I don't turn on like a tap you know."
"Huh! A tap is it? Seems to me that you don't turn on at all!"
Over the next few weeks Nigel made more attempts to persuade his wife to make love with him, each time without success, until gradually the attempts became more and more perfunctory and eventually stopped altogether. The pair settled into a sexless marriage and Julia retained her virginity.
It wasn't that Julia had anything against sex. She had expected to be making wedded love by now like every other normal married woman, but she just didn't find her husband sexually attractive. She wasn't bothered by her self imposed celibacy because she had never had a particularly high libido, and anyway, she figured that what you've never had you never miss. Nor did she find the need to practise do-it-yourself, instead she simply did without, just as she had for all the years she was single.
So it should have been no surprise to her when, after about thirty months of a nonsexual marriage, Nigel announced out of the blue that he was leaving her for a 'real hot blooded woman', but somehow it was. She had believed that he too had become adjusted to their platonic relationship and was quite surprised and disappointed that he had not. It hurt even more because he had called her 'barren and frigid', and while the first part was true because of a childhood illness, she hadn't thought of herself as frigid, just a late starter.
Now, another two years further on, she had received her divorce and was officially single again, but she was not, she told herself, going to look for another man.
However, there are times when men can be useful, and on those occasions she found herself having to hire a tradesman, much to her annoyance. It was for that reason that she finally enrolled herself onto a painting and decorating course at the local night school, finding to her pleasure and surprise that she was by no means the only woman on the course. The fact that women outnumbered men by nearly two to one meant, as far as she was concerned, that she was much less likely to get chatted up, and that could only be a good thing.
She was quite annoyed with herself, therefore, when at only the third session a young man on the course winked and smiled at her and she instinctively smiled back, though thankfully she resisted the urge to wink. Whatever she did it for she would never know. Even if she had been open to a come on, this man looked at least ten years her junior and dressed like a layabout, sporting several days' growth of beard and torn jeans. But he did have a nice smile she admitted, complete with dimpled cheeks. She was even more irritated to find that for the rest of the week she couldn't get his saucy wink out of her mind.
Finally Monday night came around again and she drove round to the college with him still in the forefront of her mind. It was, she knew, ridiculous, but she found herself looking for his beaten up old van as she drove into the car park and felt a surge of relief to see it already parked there.
As she entered the room that served as both workshop and classroom she furtively checked the class for his tousled head, her heart unaccountably sinking when she couldn't spot it. This was silly, she told herself, he only winked at you, and anyway, even if he is interested he's far too young. Nevertheless, her disappointment and confusion didn't feel silly.
"Hi!"
She spun round to find him behind her, having followed her into the room. His easy smile was as broad and impudent as ever. She felt herself colour up as she imagined him watching her anxiously scanning the room.
"Hello." She answered him politely and made for her seat, face averted.
She tried hard to concentrate on learning the difference between embossing and flock printing, but her mind kept turning to this young man and his dimpled smile. Damn him, she thought, this won't do.
Break time came and she began her customary fight with the drinks machine, a machine that simply refused to let her have tea even though it didn't show empty. She had almost reached the point of stamping her feet in frustration when she heard a voice behind her.
"May I?"
Grateful for any help she replied automatically.
"Please. It just won't dispense tea...." Oh, damn it, why did it have to be him?
"There you go." That grin was there again as he handed her a Styrofoam cup of best machine tea.
"Thank you, I'm not good with machinery." She explained self consciously.
"No problem." He looked at her thoughtfully. "I've gotta ask, why are you taking this course? You don't look the type!"
Her feminist side bridled a little at this, but she answered anyway. "I didn't know there was 'a type', but the simple fact is that if I want my house decorating, I must do it myself."
"Not married then?"
"I was." The flat tone of her voice forestalled any questions about that.
"Whoops, sorry."
"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, but my divorce is too recent not to still be sore." She had no idea why she had to explain.
"But why are you here?" She asked, the question intended to change the subject.
