Saturday morning arrived at last; Jim had certainly been wishing time along in his mind, urging Saturday to arrive. It found him standing at his window watching for Sophie's car, dressed and ready rather than naked and stroking. The naked bit would come later, he was sure, and it would not be him doing the stroking. He was racing down the stairs as soon as he saw it drive up with two occupants. Two occupants who had absolutely no idea that they were about to engage in lesbian sex and be molested by two men, one man quite young and the other rather old.
The young women were all smiles. Yet, as Jim greeted them and they returned the greeting, Jim could not but think that soon those smiling lips might well be wrapped around male organs. A thing he had, like so many men, thought when looking at pretty work colleagues, but with other men there was so rarely the real prospect of it happening.
The two girls so nicely dressed, not in work clothes. Not jeans but pleasingly skirted, an effort made for a somewhat formal visit. They had been invited for coffee.
Mr Crowfoot too had made an effort. He was in a tweed suit with a surprisingly modern and wide tie. Jim was a little surprised. Had Mr Crowfoot been in town shopping?
Good to see the girls' knees as they sat together on the sofa in the front lounge before Jim was despatched to fill the perculator and make the coffee. He rather wished he had made a bit more of an effort in dressing. He felt a little out of place. It was not as if his jeans were not clean, even pressed and you could not fault his shirt. It was just not dressy. So easy to get such things wrong, though, assuming nudity later, it would not matter for long!
There was not a dramatic contrast between the two girls, but they were different. Jim liked them both.
Neither exceptionally busty, they did not possess the stereotypical large breasts men so like to ogle. They were not spilling out of their blouses. Jenny could be described as 'willowy,' a tall girl with legs to match which was not to say that Sophie's legs were unshapely or that she was short. She was sort of average sized and rather larger boned than Jenny with hips that could be described as 'child bearing.' Jim had already seen Sophie naked, knew intimately what she looked like. He not only knew but had fondled her sweet, rather conical breasts and her pale areolae and nipples. As the paleness implied, Sophie was rather blond and that extended to her fulsome bush of hair to the front of and between her thighs. As yet, but he had great hopes, what Jenny looked like beneath her clothes was mere conjecture. Jim could see that there was not a great deal to her breasts, the brassiere she was wearing perhaps not at all needed for support. Given the darkness of her hair he supposed rather darker pigmentation to her areolae and nipples - he had been paying attention to the girls in his magazines - and that her pubic hair would be similarly dark. Good to see Jenny smoothing down her dress over her thighs
As to sexual experience he knew Sophie was married, had even briefly met her husband but he knew little about Jenny. Was she seeing someone, was she regularly naked in bed with a young man and riding his pole; had she had a succession of young men or was she a virgin even? He rather doubted that.
It was perhaps the flimsy nature of their clothes, so different from the heaviness of male garments that in part explained why his eyes were so drawn to the girls. Even the material of jeans seemed more substantial with men's clothing, thicker and harder. Perhaps it was impression, perhaps imagination but the way Jennie's blouse and skirt hung and folded had a deep effect on Jim. How did women manage to look so pleasing? Just the way the soft material of her skirt draped from her knee and thigh was quiet enough to make him perspire. The way it moulded the top of her thigh certainly did nothing to assist. And, of course, the material did not have any old pattern, but a colour and design that harmonised with everything else she was wearing; not that it was overly dressy. It had that natural grace and ease with a wardrobe that girls seemed to manage.
Perhaps it was him. Not just men as such, after all Mr Crowfoot's suit, his checked 'country' shirt and brown brogues, showed an ease with an, admittedly, old fashioned but comfortable style. Even his light green/brown socks looked right. Perhaps, Jim thought, his own perhaps grace and style came out when he was naked. Perhaps - he smiled - he did not have a lot of illusions on that score.
The conversation was free and easy as they drank their coffee. At one point Jenny commented on the house and, it was perhaps then inenvitable that Mr Crowfoot would offer to show them around, even some of the upstairs rooms now he was on his feet again. Some of the bedrooms, and he did not show them all, had a very distinct feel of disuse. Unsurprising in a batchelor's house where he had no need for so much space and rooms. Jim was not the least surprised when one particular room on the ground floor was left until last. The study indeed and, again, Jim was unsurprised, when Mr Crowfoot closed the door and gave every impression of being in no hurry to return to the front room.
"Tell me, Jenny," said Mr Crowfoot, seating the girls on the leather Chesterfield, whilst he and Jim pulled up wooden chairs, "because I study such things, what do you think about when you are alone in bed pleasuring youself?" Her eyes widened as if the question had startled and shocked her; and probably it had, but she answered all the same.
"All sorts of things." She wrinkled her nose in a rather pleasing way, "Female things, often little romantic stories, sometimes..." and she paused, "not so much romantic as erotic, I suppose."
"Ah, yes, the erotic; the erotic thoughts of young women. So interesting, you can understand, to an old man like myself; a pleasure to hear. Now, tell me what you thought about last time you pleasured yourself."
"When was that?" Jim rather blurted out the question thinking he should say something.
