I was 18, it was the spring of 1973 and I felt as free as I ever would again. I was taking a year off between school and whatever came next and I was, according to my disgruntled and hardworking father, a layabout. He didn't really mean it though, it was just his way of showing affection but I would always answer with conviction that it wasn't true; in our little commuter village near York I had half the stockbroker wives as my clients and the lawnmower I had bought with help from my father was constantly in use. I was young and strong, I was hardworking and much appreciated by my clientele of frustrated and bored older women and life should have been at its best but it wasn't. There was no cliché solution to my plight; it was just the hard facts; I wasn't getting any sex! I felt I had no chance and I could not see any opportunity for illicit sex with the women I was surrounded by for the five days of the week their husbands were in the city; indeed, naïve as I was, it never even crossed my mind. Nothing could convince me that I was in any way attractive to the ladies for whom I cut lawns, dug ditches and pruned fruit trees; in short, the only beds I was getting into were flower beds.
I didn't work weekends and because of that my father gave me the keys to the car and asked if I would run an errand for him. The novelty of driving hadn't diminished since I had got my license 4 months before and I was quick to say yes, but was astonished to hear that I should drive the length of England to Bristol where my brother and his wife lived. It seemed that Kathleen, my sister in law, had been unwell early in her pregnancy and my mother, who had travelled frequently to Bristol to look after her, was tired of the long train journeys. My brother was in South Africa on an engineering project, Kathleen my sister in law was alone, on sick leave from her job and had agreed to come and stay with us until the child was born and it was decided that I would fetch her.
The first trip south was uneventful. I had studied the map and chosen a route that passed Leeds, took the motorway south and later crossed the country via Burton on Trent so avoiding the great conurbation of Birmingham and at last running parallel to the Severn estuary ran straight on into Bristol. I found the house without much problem though I'd never visited them before. It's a measure of my naiveté that I sat in the car and tooted the horn fully expecting her to come running to the car, bags ready packed. After a few minutes waiting I got out and went to the front door and knocked. Soon I heard footsteps and through the glass, could see her hanging over the banisters as she carefully descended the stairs one step at a time. She unlocked the door and opened it awkwardly saying quietly "You found me, do come in."
Kathleen was a woman I scarcely knew. My older brother's wife, older than him by several years, she had always been there but only as a shadow on the periphery of my life. Her parents were Catholic immigrants working in factories in Liverpool. She was number 5 of 10 children and had 5 younger brothers. The first and only member of her family to get through secondary school she not only had a degree in English literature but was now engaged as a lecturer. I was very wary of her, she seemed so old and was rumoured to be so intelligent that she used words most people couldn't understand. But there she was, not even shoulder height to me but with a presence that dominated the hallway. I avoided her gaze and looked obliquely past her and out the window. She looked somewhere over my shoulder and our awkwardness stood like a wall between us. Suddenly and with an audible bump she half fell, half sat on the bottom stair. Alarmed I squatted in front of her asking what was wrong and if I could help. She brushed the hair from her face and replied,
"I'm sorry Peter I'm so tired, I'll have to ask you to go up and fetch my bags and a couple of boxes of books. You'll find them on my bed."
Packing the car was simple, I was finished quickly and after checking to turn off the water, lock windows and doors, I ushered her into the car and we were off. The trip back was uneventful and painfully silent apart from one incident. It was an incident that seemed so silly and simple at the time but was the key to the mutual friendship we were to develop.
On the outskirts of Dudley we got caught up in road works and trying to follow the diversions we ended up on a shopping street packed with slow moving cars. As we stopped yet again for the lights and the traffic I saw to my horror that outside my side window was a sex shop with a lurid window display. There were adverts for Durex and Erotic films and two mannequins stood there clothed in erotic lingerie. The one had cut-outs in the brassiere and the nipples showed, the other, who was bending down and looking back over her shoulder, had split underwear that promised access to her crotch. Painfully embarrassed I blushed scarlet and prayed that Kathleen would not notice. As the traffic moved slowly forward she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle that eventually broke into full blooded laughter and she punched my shoulder.
"You're shy aren't you!" and she laughed again. "Oh, thank goodness for that! I was afraid you didn't like me for some reason. Well, we shall just have to sort that out."
And so with the ice broken we continued the journey home in a much more relaxed atmosphere.
Kathleen seemed glad to be staying with us and settled quickly in, both as part of the family and as a visitor in the village where she was quickly taken into the neighbourhood routine of coffee visits and gossip. But she was a town girl at heart and she seemed at a loss with the emptiness of the countryside. Once, on my way home for lunch, I came across her leaning heavily on a field gate in the lane where we lived and while looking out over the lovely view she asked me wonderingly,
"How do people live here, year after year? There's nothing out there you know, not a house or a car or anything; how do they manage?"
I was embarrassed because I had no answer for her but also because I also caught myself looking lustily at her figure. She showed little sign of her pregnancy and her bust hung heavily in her shirt as she leaned over the gate. So we walked on and as we walked together we chatted animatedly and I realised we were friends; her kindness drew me out of my shell and her humour gradually opened the door to an understanding, a comradeship that made me realise that despite her 43 years, she was just like me.
The second trip to Bristol a month later was, according to my mother, just to fetch some more of Kathleen's things and for her to "meet a friend." Kathleen had already explained to me that it was her gynaecologist, "The only man I've had to pay to look at my vagina," that she was going to see.
We'd sat outside the pub with a drink at the time and we'd laughed so much that people had stared. So we looked forward to the trip and one Wednesday in late April we were off again. The humour and intimacy was really what I needed at the time as I had been dumped by my first girlfriend and as we motored towards Bristol we discussed relationships and "love and stuff" as Kathleen called it, in our usual irreverent style. Yes, Jenny had dumped me for a teacher at her college; he had a car and his own flat and I felt I was useless.
"Oh that's bollocks my dear. You're not useless; it's just a phase you're going through. It's just so very exciting for a young girl like Jenny when they realise they are attractive and the boys hang around, I know just how it is. Lord knows I had five younger brothers! ; It's hard not to use ones attractiveness to gain validation."
My conversation faltered as i wondered what she meant about the brothers. But it was going to be a long trip and I reckoned i had time to find out.
She occasionally stroked my shoulder as we drove and she poked me with a finger when wanting me to pay particular attention to what she was saying. We were stopping at every other service's for her to pee and she explained without embarrassment,
"Everything is turned upside down when you're pregnant; you can't drink a cup of tea without having pee it out ten minutes later. Pregnancy is funny you know; suddenly I cannot stand the taste of Coffee or Oranges but there is one thing I haven't lost the taste for, In fact it's become much worse; I miss dreadfully a bit of the old "how's your father."
I sat silently and wondered what to say.
"I know you're shy Peter but you do know what I mean? "Nookie?" "A shag?"" Screwing?" "A good fuck?" You know, don't you?"
Yes I knew and wanted it desperately but was shocked and guilt ridden with the sudden realisation that I was day dreaming about her as my sex partner. She continued unaffected;
"Your brother and I have been having it off three or more times a week for all these years and I've never conceived and now, he comes back from that project in South Africa for three weeks leave and just before he goes off again, this time for a 6 month spell, he gets me pregnant!"
I sat silently beside her, groaning inwardly and feeling as horny as hell.
The trip went well and we arrived at the surgery in time and the only man she'd ever had to pay to look at her vagina did just that. I sat in the waiting room as she'd insisted, and when she came out of the surgery she brazenly took my arm and nodding to the gawping receptionist marched me out of there with the flippant remark,
"Everything's as it should be darling."
As far as I was concerned It wasn't, but I didn't know what to say. We drove to her house and while she busied herself finding her things I locked myself in the bathroom and wanked away my straining erection.
She was in a very good mood on the way back; it seemed she'd thrown off the uncertainty she'd had since the scare early in the pregnancy. She was in good form, so good form that she'd sent me back upstairs to fetch her running shoes. As I'd put them into the box of books in the back seat of the car I'd noticed the title of one of the paperbacks "Sex and pregnancy" and I groaned inwardly; I was horny and that because of my sister in law; wasn't that Incest?.
"I know a place we can eat," she said gaily, "it's something you've certainly never had and it's my treat."
I wondered if she realised the double-entendre and adjusted my cock before getting into the car. She treated me to both a fantastic Vietnamese meal and, when we were back on the road, to an introduction to her innermost thoughts.
It was getting late and darkness fell as we drove. She talked animatedly until we passed Derby. There were about two hours of the journey left and I regretted that we wouldn't be able to continue our conversation when we get home. I caught myself driving slower, prolonging the journey, enjoying the company but wondering how I could steer the conversation back to her "love and stuff." She must of sensed where my suddenly faltering remarks were aimed and she asked me,
"Peter, where do you want to take the conversation?"
Feeling bolder I asked;
"Back to that which you mentioned on the way down this morning."
"Do you mean the love making, the Nookie?"
"Yes I replied, "The Nookie while you're pregnant? What about the bump?"
"The bump?" she asked and laughed. "Oh, do you mean does it get in the way? Have you never done it doggie style?"
I gasped; I was flummoxed and didn't know what to say.
"You have made love Peter?"
I protested strongly, "Yes of course I have!"
She laughed at my protests.
"No need to get disgruntled, or proud, we all have to start somewhere and it's much harder for a young man to get a girl than it is for a young girl to get an older man. Lord knows at times I had all seven brothers running after me! Yes, much easier for a girl than for a boy."
She paused and leaned nearer me, her arm over the back of my seat. She sat quietly looking seriously at me and every now and then I could turn and return her gaze.
"Say it sweetie, you know I won't laugh."
I admitted quietly that I hadn't had sex, I'd been turned down and that I was still a virgin.
"Still?" she said and was silent again for a while before continuing.
"You say "Still" but you are only 18years old; it's not as if you were 28"
For the next few miles she was quiet again until she at last asked.
"Is it bothering you sweetie, not having a lover? I don't have one either and It's certainly bothering me I must say."
She fell silent and I tried to concentrate on the road. After a while she suddenly came back to the subject as if she felt she had to justify her opinion.
"It's the not knowing that's also been bothering me. It's as much a question of can I manage intercourse as it is the craving for satisfaction."
She sat thoughtfully for a while before continuing rather sadly,
"I just want to know if everything's still working down there but I don't want a repeat of what happened last time."
