For Yvonne, not her real name.
6
th
August 1967.
There was a time when the only way to get a drink on a Sunday was to be a member of a private club, so everybody, including me, joined some private club or other!
We were a very mixed bag of all age groups and social backgrounds, but with a varying degree of interest in older cars. So it was that on a Sunday evening we would gather at the club to chat about our dream car, and drink improbable amounts of gin. The breathalyser was years in the future and this was simply the accepted culture of the day.
I had just left the closeted environment of a boys boarding school and, at nineteen, very much still a virgin. A virgin with a desire to leave that unenviable state, but with no obvious route in sight.
As you can imagine, most members were men and after chatting about the virtues of downdraught carburettors for a while, my attention was drawn to a middle aged lady, perched on a bar stool at the end of the bar.
She was probably in her early forties, so definitely not in my sights for a romantic liaison, but probably capable of more interesting conversation than downdraught carburettors.
She sat demurely, legs crossed as she perched high on her stool, showing a bit of thigh and sipping her gin. She had short dark hair, and a large pair of circular gold framed glasses.
I thought I could find a topic of conversation to interest us both, and so it turned out. We chatted amiably for a while about this and that, before I had to excuse myself for the loo. At which point she put her hand conspiratorially on top of mine and said.
"Don't get lost."
At the loo I took up the position and was swiftly joined by Bill in the next stand.
"Careful with Yvonne, lad. She's something of a man eater." I, of course, had no idea what to make of this statement as a nineteen year old virgin.
I returned for some more chat with Yvonne and we got on very well, even discussing some topics that I considered rather risqué for a nineteen year old to be discussing with a mature woman, but such is the power if gin. I have to confess I really enjoyed her company, and our conversation, so it was a bit of a disappointment when she announced she was leaving and got up to go.
"You've been very sweet," she said, "and I've enjoyed chatting to you."
She took about five rather unsteady steps, turned round and came back.
"Opps," she said, "I think I may have had one too many gins." And let the words hang, then added,
"I think I'd better not drive just yet." Again she let the words hang.
"Maybe I should have a coffee and see how I feel."
Her ploy worked and I heard my mouth say, "Whereabouts do you actually live?"
"Oh, only about ten minutes away. You're not thinking of being Sir Galahad and running me home, are you? How gallant! Well thank you sir! That's very kind, how could I refuse a knight in shining armour."
I, of course, had said no such thing, but what could I do faced with a much more experienced, worldly wise, mature woman. I certainly didn't want to appear rude.
We headed to my car, and even though I noticed that her walking was suddenly a lot more steady, she hooked her arm in mine and said, "This really is very good of you. I'm very grateful."
I was very naïve and still did not realise that I was falling into a trap as we settled into the car and started off. If I had realised would it have made any difference? I'll never know.
Our conversation continued along even more risqué lines and I felt her right hand on my thigh. It was warm. It was unexpected. It was delightful!
"Oh," she said, giving my thigh a gentle rub, "whatever must you think of me, a middle aged woman with her hand on a young man's thigh."
Naïve and polite to the last, I replied.
"No it's fine. Quite nice actually." And she gave it another rub. Was this rub just a little higher up? I thought so, and as I felt my young cock stir it certainly thought so too, but in spite of the slight tumescence, I still had no idea what was going on, even when she took my left hand and placed it on her thigh.
"There, that's better." She said as I was trying to drive with my hand much further up a woman's thigh than I had ever felt before.
We arrived at her door.
"You'd better have a coffee before you set off home." And simply because I was enjoying her company, and still no idea what was going on, I agreed.
She put the kettle on.
"I have a totally irrational fear of burglars. I know it's stupid and I know the house was locked up, but would you please just check the upstairs for me while I make the coffee?"
Naïve to the end, even though I thought it strange, the Sir Galahad in me, complied. I climbed the stairs of the neat three bedroomed semi, confident that I wouldn't encounter any burglars.
Feeling a little like James Bond, I checked two bedrooms and the rather sumptuous bathroom before making my way to the master.
The furnishings were quite striking, an oversize bed in a large dark wooden slatted bedstead, mirrored wardrobes covering the whole of one wall, and a huge mirror over the headboard. Then I heard Yvonne behind me as she placed her hands on my waist.
"What do you think? Nice isn't it?" She turned me round, took one of my hands and placed it on her breast, her braless breast, and leaned forward to kiss me.
I was no expert kisser, but she was, and just the feel of her warm breast through her blouse, the contact of her soft lips, the probing of her tongue and the touching of the front of my trousers caused my tumescence to spring to full erection.
"Someone's keen." She said, backing away and undoing the buttons of her blouse slowly from top to bottom.
"Very keen! I do hope you are not going to be too much of a gentleman. Now that you've got me here, I trust your intentions are entirely dishonourable." First one breast was revealed then the other, shortly followed by the discarding of the blouse.
I must have just stood there like a goldfish gasping for air.
"You are going to like this bit." As she lowered the zip on her skirt and let the wreckage fall to the floor. As she stepped out of it I was overloaded with numerous new sights.
Her naked and unsupported breasts jiggled delightfully as she moved, clad now only in some very sexy black lace panties and matching suspenders that held up her stockings.
