My husband of very nearly 45 years had lost his fight against the big C and passed some fifteen months previously. As he had instructed before he passed, I hadn't give up on sex just not really felt the need for any new adventures initially. Martin, our oldest friend and Best Man at our wedding, visited in David's last days and was a great comfort to us both. Obviously he returned for the funeral and stayed for a week afterwards.
I busied myself sorting everything out over the following months. Organising the finances and, to some extent, reorganising the house and my life. That done I started to get on with my life, and planning new adventures. I had the camping car checked out and fully serviced as it hadn't been used very much since David became too ill to travel. I then took it for a long weekend test holiday in the Cotswolds. We both passed muster and planning for my first adventure began in earnest on the drive home.
Provisioned and armed with a block of ten Tunnel tickets I headed for the Channel Tunnel. France here I cum!
I managed to get a train an hour earlier than booked so things were definitely looking good. First stop on the other side was for diesel, fresh produce and a couple of cases of wine then off to the farm, our preferred first and last stop whenever we had travelled across the Channel.
Not needing a hook-up I parked high on the slope just next to a picnic table. It was a beautiful evening and the view of the Channel with its myriad of boats, vessels, bulk carriers and cross channel ferries looked incredible. The busiest shipping lane in the world? I wouldn't have wanted to be out there in a pedalo on that evening. Dover looked wonderful, even from that distance and the White Cliffs shone a delicate pink in the soft evening sunlight.
In a way it was my acid test moment. Would I tear up, being alone in such a beautiful spot or smile and look forward, anticipating my next adventure. There was no lump in my throat but a definite tingle down my spine. I smiled happily and prepared my chicken salad. I was ready for my future and able to enjoy my past, without bursting into tears.
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I sat at the picnic table to eat my dinner. A full bottle of wine and an empty glass before me, David's big binoculars at my side and my head full of very happy memories.
David, the love of my life. We so nearly made 45 blissfully happy years as husband and wife. Some might have considered it an unconventional marriage but we both enjoyed it very much.
We'd met in the smoky public bar of the Fox and Feathers, a local pub, on Friday 14th April 1967. I was there with my mates, after a busy week at work. We were each on the look-out for somebody to share the weekend with. We, like most girls of our age, all had a packet of three (condoms) buried deep at the bottom of our handbags where Mother wouldn't find them, hopefully. Most of the girls had lost track of how many new packets they'd purchased over time. Mine was still the original, untouched, still in its cellophane wrapper. I only took it out once in a while to check the 'use by date'. It was still within date.
We stood in a little huddle with a half pint of shandy clasped in our hand as we collectively surveyed the prospects. As you will have gathered, with an unopened packet of condoms in my bag that I had to check the use by date now and then, getting laid wasn't at the forefront of my mind. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a prude by any manner of means. My hormones were racing around my body as fast as anyone's. I loved a kiss and cuddle. Never objected to a quick fumble either but going all the way?... that required somebody special. As to how special, how they were special or why I thought that they were so special that I'd go all the way, wasn't really clear to me. Somehow I just knew that when he arrived, I'd know. So I glanced around the Public Bar, just in case, and returned to enjoying my beer.
It wasn't long, maybe five, ten minutes maximum, before the hairs on the back of my neck tingled. I had the very distinct feeling that somebody was looking at me. Watching me. Raising my head I casually turned, scanning everything in sight as I did. There! At the far end of the smoke filled room a guy was looking straight at me. He didn't flinch as I identified him. I looked straight into his eyes. Our eyes locked together. Excusing myself from my friends I set off across the crowded room. We met halfway and kissed, long, slow and deep holding our tankards away from our bodies so they didn't spill.
"David" he said as we broke off to grab some air.
"Shirley."
We went outside to finish our drinks in the cool, smoke free evening air.
Fifteen minutes later we were behind the big, old Oak at the back of the car-park giving each other our virginity. Only the tight stretched rubber of the condom from the previously unopened packet of three that all boys of David's age carried in the back pocket of their jeans, just in case, kept me from becoming a Mother and David becoming a Father.
Wandering away from the Pub we came to the Church where we stopped under the Lytch-gate. We kissed, cuddled and explored each other's bodies for a while before strolling hand-in-hand through the dark graveyard until we reached the ancient Yew tree in the corner. We used another of David's condoms. The third was used when I was hard pressed against the side wall of the Cricket Pavilion on the village green.
We carefully put the used wrappers and cellophane into the empty box. I'd tied off each used condom as I removed it from David's cock so we tied all three together and placed everything in the rubbish bin outside the village Post Office where somebody would find them and know that one lucky village girl had got very lucky.
It was well past midnight when David kissed me goodnight on the back porch. You're asking me where's my back porch? Over the back door to the house I lived in with my Mother
After waving him off I removed my very soiled panties and hand washed them carefully in the scullery sink before putting them in the bucket with the rest of my Saturday morning smalls wash.
I was up at 7am. My smalls were washed and hanging on the line by 7:30. They all looked pristine but I knew which pair of panties were present when I lost my virginity. I smiled as I hung them next to my pre loss of virginity pairs. It's funny what girls keep as mementoes, isn't it? They're a bit tight now, unfortunately.
David arrived at 10 o'clock on his motorcycle. He handed me a bullet bonce crash helmet and told me it would protect my 'pretty little noggin'. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that I looked silly but as David was also wearing one, and looking silly, I didn't complain. He was also wearing a large, canvas rucksack with a tube frame. A bag I was destined to get very used to wearing. We packed the sandwiches I'd made into the bigger of the two side pockets. The other side contained his maps, compass and three new packets of condoms purchased that morning from the Barber's shop in town. With my pack of three in the bottom of my handbag we had a dozen between us.
We stopped off at the Post Office, sweetshop, for 4oz of Trebor Sherbet Lemons and a bottle of R Whites Lemonade because David didn't like Tizer and I didn't like Cream Soda, we compromised, and what was to become a very common purchase, a packet of HandyAndies. We packed everything into the rucksack and David adjusted it to fit me reasonably comfortably. Off we set and nearly crashed at the first corner! Totally my fault. I'd never been on a motorbike before and when David leaned it over to go around the corner I automatically bent at the waist to remain upright, Opps. We stopped and David explained that I had to lean with the bike. Stay inline with the bike which kept the balance right.
We set off again with me scrunched up tight behind him, legs wide and pussy almost touching his jeans, with my arms tight around his waist and my head sideways between his shoulders. I went whichever way he went, no problem. David wasn't a boy racer, you can't be when two up on a James 200. Within 3 miles I was much more relaxed. At 5 miles I was almost sitting up enjoying the scenery, as long as it was on the left hand side, and at 10 miles I was sitting up, a hand on each of David's hips and loving every minute. I felt that David, the bike and I were as one. It was a smashing ride out into the country.
We parked in a little clearing just off the road, many years later it became a designated car park. David held the bike steady as I climbed off showing so much leg he could easily see my panties. He suggested that I took them off, to save them getting wet. I thought it a good idea and he put them in the back of the rucksack that I was still wearing. He took out a Bartholemew's map and a Silva compass.
All of the maps we had from that period are still in the travel library at home, and the compass is in the glovebox of the camping-car.
He spread out the map on the bike seat and with absolute certainly stated 'we are here' pointing to the map. He orientated the map and studied it for a couple of minutes then announced that we would 'go up this hill and through this wood, about half a mile. We'll picnic here and enjoy the view of this big valley'. He swept his finger across a part of the map that meant nothing to me whatsoever. 'The next road over is here and that's a mile away from where we'll stop. Should be nice and quiet'.
