I had been a student nurse for over two years in 1958 and was enjoying the course immensely. However, I was less happy about my private life. I knew I was considered a fairly good looking, blue eyed blonde, and had rarely been without a boy friend, but I was frustrated. When I started as a student nurse at barely eighteen, I had very little experience of men. The behaviour of some of the other girls had amazed me at first. Their casual attitude to sexual encounters, their openly expressed opinions of boys and their sheer enthusiasm persuaded me to accept invitations to parties. There my reserve gradually broke down and the ready availability of little side rooms enabled couples to pair off for "a bit of a cuddle" very easily. Only last week, my friends, Sylvia and Veronica, had invited me over for a party. Then they told me there would be a game of strip poker. I felt a thrilling sense of naughtiness at the prospect and put on my best underwear, plus an extra petticoat and socks over my stockings, plus both a jumper and a cardigan and two pairs of knickers. I didn't know how to play poker but I needn't have worried.
The cards were dealt round once and the person with the lowest had to take off an item of clothing. I discovered that although the girls had extra garments on, the boys hadn't bothered with anything like that. I was sitting next to a chap called Brian who was quickly down to his vest and underpants. I didn't do too well either and there was a round of applause as I eventually slipped out of my petticoat. Sitting next to the half-clad Brian, dressed as I was and seeing the bulge in the front of his pants, I felt my excitement mounting. Brian lost the next round and removed his vest. Then I myself lost the following round and, accompanied by a chorus of whoops, removed my bra. I observed that the dealer did a peculiar shuffle before dealing the next round in which both Brian and I were dealt aces, the lowest card of all. Brian helped me to her feet and led me, giggling, into the bedroom to remove my last shred of clothing, my knickers. Then he took off his underpants and climbed on top of me. He thrust his engorged cock into my willing wetness and pounded away until he came. But that was that. He left and when I was alone I wept tears of frustration.
The trouble, I later confessed to my friend Sophie, having first sworn her to absolute secrecy, was that although I had had sex with over twenty different men since I had come to London, I had never had an orgasm.
Sophie was surprised at my revelation. Like me, she was a blonde but she barely reached five feet in height. With her open attractive face, pert nose, dark eyes and cheery disposition she was popular with men. If it hadn't been for her breasts, she would still have been paying half fares on the buses. Her small stature sat uneasily with her love of cooking and wine, causing an unending battle with her avoir-du-pois. Sophie was chatty and helpful. She seemed immediately to know what to do for me.
"So far you haven't been with men," she asserted, "just boys! A twenty-year old who's never come just can't be allowed in London these days. You know it's mostly the men's fault, but not entirely. Always remember, Helen, the real joy of life is in what you can give. Sex is just the same. Giving satisfaction to your man is where you find real pleasure for yourself. You have to let yourself go, give yourself to your lover and let him have you. Then you'll come easily enough."
A few days later Sophie told me she had the solution to my problem. She arranged to have a party for me on our next free weekend together.
When we finished work at lunchtime on the appointed Saturday, I returned to the nurse's home where I bathed in a fragrant bubble bath before getting out a new pair of nylons and a white satin and lace suspender belt. I had been saving them and a matching pair of French knickers for a special occasion. I brushed my hair, which had slightly darkened from the near blonde it had been when I had left school. I pinned it up into a fashionable Grecian style. Then I examined my breasts and, chose a white satin and lace bra to support my pert but small protrusions, put on a white satin and lace waist petticoat to complete my lingerie. I selected a pale cream silk blouse with long sleeves, buttoning up the front to a shirt-type collar which I wore open necked to display a pearl necklace which matched my earrings. Then I slipped into a plain black skirt to give a smart rather than an overtly sexy picture. When I was ready to leave I donned my navy-blue raincoat, picked up my handbag and left the nurses' home.
Sophie, being a bit better off than me, was able to live in a flat she shared with a couple of other girls. When I got there Sophie, clad in yellow satin undies, had already laid out some "nibbles" with a bottle of sherry and four glasses on the coffee table. The other girls were away home for the weekend. So instead of going out, she had arranged a party at the flat. She gave me a glass of sherry and took my coat,
"In a few minutes I'm going to introduce you to a man who hasn't had a woman for more than two years." she told me.
"Golly! I do feel rather naughty," I confessed.
"I'm the 'naughty' one." Sophie insisted, "I like men and I enjoy having sex with them. Whereas girls who just say 'no' are good because they are straight with men. The wicked girls are those who lead men on and then back out at the last minute leaving them frustrated. Then there are genuinely nice girls like you, Helen, who want to help as long as they are appreciated in return."
"And who wouldn't mind being a bit 'naughty' too!" I interjected. Sophie hurriedly donned a blouse and skirt. By the time I had finished my drink, the doorbell was ringing and Sophie ushered in two black men, - very, very black. In fact, I was aware of my mouth still being open as Sophie introduced one "This is my friend Jim," as she kissed him lightly, "... and this is Paul."
Paul's brown eyes were wide and uncertain as he took my limp outstretched hand.
"Hello Helen" he said. He told me later that he scarcely dared to look at what he thought was a vision of loveliness standing just a foot away.
"Paul..." was all I managed. He had the wavy black hair, broad nose, big brown eyes and brilliant white teeth common to his ancestors. He was also tall, lean and broad shouldered. Sophie poured more drinks and passed round the nuts and crisps, chatting about the weather and the traffic. Then we sat down to enjoy the meal Sophie had prepared. She and Jim carried on a lively conversation, trying to bring us in. Paul did make some effort but was not really at ease, but I spoke only when asked a direct question. After the meal, Sophie cleared the table, put on her record player and took Jim in her arms as they smooched around to a soft South American beat. Paul wanted to dance with me too but, before he could get up courage to ask, Sophie said, " Come on you two. On your feet!"
By the time Paul had taken four steps with me in his arms, he realised he had an erection that he hoped wouldn't show We spent the next couple of hours chatting and dancing pleasantly enough. Then Paul, seeing that Jim, on the other settee, already had his hand inside Sophie's blouse stroking her breast through her bra, tried to lightly caress my left breast but after several seconds I leaned away and he desisted. So he got me up to dance again.
As we turned Paul could hardly fail to notice that Jim's other hand, which had been on Sophie's nylon clad knee, had moved slowly up underneath Sophie's skirt and was stroking the inside of her thigh, something Sophie had done nothing to discourage. Indeed Paul noticed her laughing in pleasure as she fondled the lump in Jim's groin. Thus encouraged, Paul tried again by letting his hand slip down from my waist to the curve of my bum. But I pulled his hand back up above waist level when the music ended and Paul thought it was just in time. A few minutes more of holding me in his arms and he would have had a sticky mess in his pants! He spoke briefly to Sophie before going to the bathroom. I went into the kitchen, Sophie following a few moments later.
"Paul's gone to take a shower," Sophie told me, "He thinks you don't like him and he wants to cool off. You seem to excite him and then push him away. Is it because of his colour?"
"Really, Sophie, you might have told me he was black!" I retorted, "I never thought of myself as racist but I've never even considered sex with a black man. I've never even been out with one."
"You shouldn't judge a man by his skin colour, Helen. You are more intelligent than to be so prejudiced. It's silly not to at least try to see the man underneath. I've had sex with Jim many times and his skin colour seems to have disappeared somehow."
"Also he seems to be both pushy, and awkward with it. I don't like it when a man paws at me, whatever his colour."
"Listen, that's because he hasn't been with a girl for so long, he's forgotten how to behave. I don't expect he's ever been with a girl as nice as you anyway," Sophie replied; then a bit sterner, "Certainly no one as prim and proper!"
"Anyway I just can't see myself having sex with anyone his colour," I asserted.
"Well now, do you remember what you said when we saw that Sydney Poitier film last week?"
