In 1969 I was a bit of a loner. I was an only-child, and at school I was seen as a bit of a swat, more into literature than the latest pop stars, lauded by teachers but mocked and bullied by the other girls. Most of them came council estates whereas we lived in a private house, my dad being a bank manager and my mum a scientist at the local chemistry works, so I was considered stuck-up too. Just turned 18 I'd never had a boyfriend - to be honest I think the lads in school saw me as a bit intimidating and stuck with their own kind, with their make-up and push-up bras and brassy behaviour. I never wore make-up or jewellery, I tended to dress in conservative monochrome clothes and round, black-framed owlish reading glasses. So that day I went to the pictures I felt quite comfortable with my own company.
It was a Wednesday and I had a study day off school, but by lunchtime I was bored and felt I needed a break. Ken Russell's Women In Love was showing at the local pictures and having read the novel I thought it would be interesting. Even though it was a midweek matinee, a sunny day, and D H Lawrence wasn't exactly on everybody's reading list in Cockermouth, I was a little surprised there were only about three other people in the auditorium.
I sat a few rows between them and removed my glasses - I didn't need them for films. Just as the trailers for future films were finishing the doors clattered and another woman, I guessed around 40, walked in and sat at the end of the row I was in. In the half-light from the screen I thought I vaguely recognised her, and after a minute or so I placed her as a teacher at another school in the town.
I found the film engaging, and I wasn't sure when it happened but after a while I realised she'd moved to sit next to me. For a moment I thought it seemed strange when there were so many other empty seats in the place but, eyes still on the screen, she leaned towards me and, in a vaguely foreign accent, whispered "Captivating, isn't it?" I nodded silently and returned my own eyes to the action.
After a few minutes I realised the lady's thigh was pressed against mine; I was just wearing ankle socks, she had silky trousers. I ignored it but then her leg started rubbing up and down against mine. I had never in my life been touched in a remotely sexual way to that point, and the softness of her trousers, and the warmth of her skin through them, had a strange effect on me, sending little thrills up my leg and into my pussy. I sat petrified; I knew what she was doing wasn't right but I didn't have the confidence to ask her to stop, or to move away.
I tried to concentrate on the film, but as the famous nude wrestling scene started I jumped as her hand alighted on my leg, just above my knee and just under the hem of my skirt. I glanced at her but she seemed to be still staring at the screen. Her fingers began to stroke and press gently into my leg; I tried to shuffle to the far side of my narrow seat but that just resulted in my legs opening. I could feel my face getting hot and my breath coming in pants. I was terrified but, at the same time, strangely excited in a way I never had been before.
Sensing no active resistance my assailant slowly slid her hand further up my leg and started to lightly scratch my inner thing with sharp pointed nails, just below my sensible school knickers. My entire body shuddered at that and, involuntarily, I slipped down in my seat, pushing my skirt further up my pale legs. Still not looking at me, the woman stroked a finger firmly up the damp crotch of my pants, along my pussy. Something like an electric shock shot through my entire body and I grabbed her wrist in both my hands. She paused for a second but, when she realised I wasn't trying to pull her hand away, she slid it up onto my belly and down under the elasticated waistband of my pants. By this time my body was almost horizontal in my seat, my bum hanging off the edge, knees wide apart, my hands gripping the arms to stop me falling, each breath a gasp.
