Jim was not gay, but that was not what the women thought. Perhaps it was his slightly effeminate manner and the care he took over his appearance; probably it was something to do with him sharing a room at university with another young man for the whole three years and neither going out with a girl. Not that they had not tried. Indeed, how they had tried in their own way! It had just not worked.
They had been 'just good friends,' liked to style themselves the most eligible bachelors around – eligible but unlucky – and because they went around so much together, a reputation grew. Not that they realised that others had made such an assumption until their third year, by which time it was rather too late to protest their heterosexuality.
Post university the reputation followed him, probably because a couple of the girls doing the same degree ended up in the same firm.
Of course, Jim had had offers, 'go on, you'll like it' and similar suggestions from very pleasant young men at university but Jim really was not interested in hard male bodies: it was the softer, more rounded bodies that caused his arousal. He and his very good friend had not even wanked together. Well, that was not strictly true, they had spilt possibly pints of semen together in the same room but, not pleasantly sharing a magazine or reading a 'dirty book' together in the light, perhaps in, or completely out of their pyjamas, politely complementing the other on a good deposit onto their own stomachs or into a paper tissue: rather they had tried to be as quiet as anything in their own single beds after dark, positioned either side of their large bedroom, neither mentioning to the other that he knew what the other had been doing but rather hoping the other did not realise what he had also been doing.
It would have been a lot easier to have come out in the open, not to be in any way gay together, just to be frank about masturbation. Indeed, why not come out in the open – cum in the open – keeping the lights on so each could enjoy a magazine and not stifle a groan when the time for ejaculation came. Indeed, make a friendly comment when the moment had cum and gone. It was not as if there were not such magazines around the room. There was a joint stash, they shared them, wanked to them secretly when the other was out, but neither discussed the real reason for buying them. All rather stupid really: but they had been young.
Twenty-three and still a virgin despite an awful lot of girlfriends – girls who were friends. Perhaps it was his assumed gayness, but the girls seemed to happily gravitate to Jim, yet gave no indication they would like to 'go out' with him. They seemed to like his company but nothing more. No 'I was thinking of going to XYZ, would you like to come' or, if such a suggestion was made, it was always 'We are thinking of...' and he would tag along with a couple or bunch of girls. Very pleasant, and rather arousing when they did something girlish like adjust a bra strap or make some rather personal remark which they would not normally do with men present. Enjoyable to think back on such things in his own bed – on his own – and engage in his almost nightly wanking but... but would he not like a romance and that other thing – sex with a woman. What was it like? What did breasts, female breasts, feel like in your hands? What was it like to be sucked? Yes, indeed!
Jim did not live alone. He shared a flat with... two other young men, of course – and one turned out to be gay. At least he no longer shared a room but had his own bedroom which he kept immaculately tidy to the amusement of his flatmates. It was rather different in that respect from his university room. His good friend had been anything but tidy. The room in the flat was a very nice room on the second floor of a Victorian house with a splayed bay looking out across a wide road to more Victorian or Edwardian houses. It was in what had been a good residential neighbourhood but had become rather run down with many of the large houses becoming bedsits or converted to flats and let out. Across from Jim's house was a particularly large and fine double fronted villa looking sadly in need of attention. The front garden was overgrown and there was even ivy growing over the balustrade at the top of a few steps leading to the front door. Jim had concluded it was deserted, perhaps its elderly owner had died, and no one knew who would inherit it. He was wrong.
Walking back from the shops along the pavement on the other side of the road from his home, just about to cross, newspaper in hand and carefully hidden within it the current month's 'Mayfair,' Jim heard a groan. He paused and pushed open the rusting iron gate. By the path to the front door of the house he had supposed vacant was an old man lying awkwardly.
"You OK?"
But it was obvious he was not.
"Not at all," the man said through clenched teeth. An old man, well dressed but with his grey hair far too long for his age and grey stubble all over his cheeks and chin. A mixture of the kempt and unkempt.
Jim bent to help the man up and as he did, so the adult magazine slipped from his newspaper and flopped down and open at the centrefold. A very fine-looking young woman, and it was very clear she was a woman because all her womanly bits were very on display. It elicited a smile from the old man, "Very nice. But not really at this precise moment... No, no, I can't move, think I've broken..."
Jim called an ambulance. He dialled the number 999 from the pillar box red public telephone a few yards down the street. This was all decades before the appearance of mobile 'phones. This was the 1970s. A long time ago when things were rather different. He stayed until the ambulance arrived and watched the men carefully lifting the old man into the ambulance and taking him away, newspaper and recovered contents safely under his own arm.
Being Jim, he was concerned, and when he happened to mention the incident to the girls at work, they all said he must go and find out if the old boy was OK, perhaps even run errands, if the old man had nobody to help. Sophie wondered if he was a recluse. Jim spoke to a neighbour and discovered Sophie was probably not too far off the mark.
He realised the old man had returned from hospital when a succession of nurses started turning up. Quick visits perhaps to change dressings or check on him. Saturday morning Jim thought he really should go and visit the old man and ask how he was getting on. Before his morning shower he had seen from his bay window a young nurse arrive in uniform, had watched her with interest as she had got out of her car, a Mini, had watched her cotton dress riding up her black nylon clad legs as she did so. She looked really nice and his penis thought so too, rising up in front of him and pointing in her general direction. He watched the rise and fall of her buttocks under her dress as she opened that rusty gate, watched as she walked up the tiled path and up the steps. He even wanked a little standing there, sure no-one could see his nakedness from the street. He was naked from the waist downwards. He had never spanked a female bottom – or a male one for that matter – but he was thinking about that as he watched the door close. Jim walked stiffly to the shower. His flatmates were away. It was safe to walk around the flat naked and stiff.
Washed, shaved, dressed, Jim walked out of his front door and was surprised to see the Mini still there. Normally the nurses were gone within minutes. As if on cue, the door of the house opposite opened, so Jim continued across the street on his intended mission – and to see the nurse close to. She was as 'fine' as he had thought: neatly tied back long hair, a full bosom, though discretely hidden by her blue work dress, her silver nurses' belt emphasising the swell of her hips. A pretty face under her dark hair.
"Good morning," he said.
"Oh," a pause, "what?" The nurse looked at him a little blankly, paused for another second or two and then looked at the watch hanging from her breast. "I'm way behind. How... oh, good morning." She looked confused and more than a bit puzzled.
"You've got something on your chin."
"Oh... thanks," she brushed at it with her fingers.
Probably it was simply spittle, but it did look like, and Jim rather liked the idea, he would store that away for bedtime, it looked like cum. The nurse stood looking at her fingers, rubbed forefinger and thumb together looking the more puzzled. Jim liked her face.
"Is it all right if I go in and see him?"
"Yes, of course, Mr. Crowfoot is..." again that puzzled look, "...fine." She hurried on to her car not looking back. Jim, on the other hand, stood looking after her, watching her buttocks move under her dress. She was fine! He did like the idea of cum on her face.
The door was not locked, indeed was a little open, Jim pushed, and, like the garden gate, the heavy door creaked on its hinges, and he called out.
"Who is it?" Out of a door at the back of the large hallway came the old man. Gone the wild long hair and unshaven face, instead smartly cut grey hair and a smooth chin. The silk dressing gown rather matched the neatness of the clothes Jim had noticed when first finding him on the ground. The old boy was in a wheelchair, complete with raised platform for his left leg, now in a white plaster cast. A smile of recognition lit up his face as he trundled forward and held out his hand.
