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I’ve heard it said that if you can remember the sixties, then you weren’t really there. Well, I was 18 years old in 1964 and my memory is as clear as a bell. I freely admit that I was a naïve 18 year old – I’d never had any dealing with any of the mind altering substances that were in vogue throughout those heady years – I was still a virgin at my 18th birthday, which fell in February, and as that snowy, February day dawned there seemed little chance of the situation changing.
‘Morning Bernie.’ I greeted my wrinkled colleague at the beginning of another work day some 3 months after my 18th celebration.
‘Morning lad,’ he replied, as was his usual salutation. Bernie carried on folding the blankets that we used for wrapping around items of furniture that we collected and delivered on our travels around the North Yorkshire countryside.
Bernie was the driver – and I was the driver’s mate – of the panel van owned by an auction house that specialised in house clearances. He was only in his mid fifties, but looked at least a decade older. His wrinkly, weathered face, wild hair and unkempt appearance giving him a slightly forlorn, trampish look, a look that was more than a little deceptive since Bernie was in fact quite fastidious in his habits of personal hygiene.
I knew a lot about Bernie, we got on well, which was fortunate considering the hours we spent in each other’s company, cloistered together as we conducted our circuitous road trip of hill and dale. Bernie told and retold rich tales of his life and his loves, of which there were legion if the stories of his conquests were to be believed. It seemed that Bernie had enjoyed a wildly misspent youth, Friday and Saturday nights in pubs, and a seemingly inexhaustible number of willing, sex mad, women and girls who Bernie ‘bucked’ without fail.
His tales from the war years were equally filled with female conquests, this time with lonely, frustrated wives of soldiers, sailors and airmen who had rather foolishly gone off to war, leaving their ladies high and dry. Bernie certainly kept up his war effort, ‘I kept up morale back home,’ he would grin at me, woodbine dangling from his lower lip as he spoke.
I didn’t know where all of these willing nymphomaniacs had gone to since I was lacking in the very area that Bernie was master, perhaps the female portion of my generation had developed some sort of high moral order? Whatever the reason, all I knew was that I wasn’t getting any!
‘Nearly done lad,’ Bernie said. ‘Get in the van and we’ll be off.’
I climbed up into my familiar seat, packed my bag with my snap and flask into the gap between the seats and waited while Bernie slammed the rear door closed and climbed into the driver’s seat. We rumbled along the roads on our way to the job of the day, a house clearance in a town named Malton, midway between York and Scarborough.
Bernie parked in the driveway of the large victorian dwelling, we were a little early and had to wait for the owner to arrive with the keys. We didn’t have long to wait, an elegant Jaguar pulled into the drive behind us just as we’d finished our first brew of the day.
‘Fuckin’ ell,’ I heard Bernie mutter under his breath. ‘Look at this, lad,’ Bernie nodded his head towards his side window.
I was confused at first and then saw the reason for Bernie’s remark as a mature blonde woman tapped on my door. From my position in the cab of the van I could look down into the woman’s abundant cleavage as she stood impatiently awaiting my response.
‘Are you coming in then?’ the woman’s muffled voice blurred through the glass between us. She didn’t wait for any answer, just turning and striding away, unlocking the heavy door to allow Bernie and I to take stock of our workload.
With a practised eye, Bernie estimated 3 trips to clear the house of all its contents. Leaving the house with the van choc a bloc – dropping at the yard and then returning for another load – a full days work and probably more.
The lady, Mrs Chambers, was a little cool with us at first, but warmed as Bernie used his cheeky chappie magic on her. I had to admit, that despite his appearance, he certainly seemed to have a way with the ladies. Initially, Mrs Chambers had appeared to be an ice queen, but by mid afternoon Bernie had her giggling coquettishly as he bombarded her with his jokes laden with sexual innuendo.
‘So you selling up then, love?’ Bernie asked as Mrs Chambers brought in a tray with tea and biscuits for the workers. I cringed at Bernie’s ungallant use of ‘love’ but Mrs Chambers merely smiled sweetly at him and placed the tray on an upturned tea chest. Mrs Chambers poured and we all settled around the makeshift table, I was looking forward to this welcome brew.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Chambers replied to Bernie’s question, her big bosom heaving as she sighed. ‘My husband passed away 4 years ago and the place is just too big for me now,’ she elaborated, saddened by the memory of her lost husband.
‘Must be lonely?’ the ever sensitive Bernie responded.
I Bostancı Escort thought he’d put his big foot right in it with that little gem but no, Mrs Chambers looked at him with moist eyes and merely replied, ‘Yes it is, I do miss my husband terribly at times. Bernie sipped at his tea thoughtfully, the silence growing. ‘But!’ Mrs Chambers brightened, ‘Life goes on, as they say.’
‘Aye, life goes on,’ Bernie repeated Mrs Chambers’s statement and, to my surprise winked at her. I saw a flush of pink rise from the mature woman’s cleavage which crept up her elegant neck, colouring her cheeks a rosy hue.
We finished the tea and biscuits and got on with our work as Mrs chambers cleared up the tray.
‘I bet she misses the old man,’ Bernie said to me as we strapped a bookcase against the inside of the van. ‘Misses the old sausage, that’s what she misses,’ he continued lewdly. ‘Did you see the size of her jugs?’ he grinned at me, smoke from his cigarette rising in front of his wizened face. ‘An’ her pins? Fine set of legs on the bird,’ he shook his head in appreciation of Mrs Chambers indisputably fine assets.
Bernie left me to finish the strapping and I followed him back into the house a few minutes later. ‘Bernie!’ I called when I didn’t find the old man in the upstairs room we’d been working in.
‘Aye,’ came his shout from downstairs in response. ‘Just been to the lav, must be the tea,’ he said entering the room. I thought nothing of it at the time, but there was a toilet directly across the landing from where we were working, but Bernie’s craftiness went unnoticed.
We unloaded the material history of Mrs Chambers married life into the store, locked up and parted for the night after we’d finished our second run of the day. We would be making our final journey back to Malton the following morning to complete the clearance of the big house. What a day it was going to be for me.
Bernie was humming away to himself merrily as we drove along the A64. ‘Why so happy, Bernie?’ I asked.
‘Looking forward to seeing that Mrs Chambers,’ he replied, giving me his grin and a wink. ‘Don’t you fancy a bit of that?’ Bernie didn’t wait for any reply, which was just as well since I’d gone scarlet with embarrassment. ‘I’d be sniffing around her if I was a young lad, I can tell you,’ he continued. ‘Oh yes, sniffing round that like a dog round a bitch…’ He tailed off, lost in reverie after his coarse remarks.
Of course I fancied the mature Mrs Chambers, what red blooded male wouldn’t? I just didn’t have the gift of the gab like old Bernie. He seemed to have the knack all right, even though he wasn’t any oil painting and the thawing of Mrs Chambers the previous day had proved his unfathomable charm.
‘I tried my luck yesterday you know.’ I turned my disbelieving face towards Bernie after his little revelation. ‘Didn’t get too far,’ he added, ‘Seems she likes ’em a bit younger than me.’ Bernie’s face remained non committal and firmly fixed to the front as he steered the van along the road eastwards.
Before I had much time to ponder over Bernie’s veiled remark we pulled into Mrs Chambers drive, her Jaguar was already parked off to one side and the front door to the house was wide open.
‘Morning boys,’ Mrs Chambers greeted us cheerily, the kettle boiling away in anticipation of our arrival. The ice queen had definitely thawed.
Bernie and I worked steadily until early afternoon, pausing only to take a quick tea break before cracking on with the job in hand. Mrs Chambers helped to pack the tea chests with her crockery and ornaments, her close proximity at times made my nostrils twitch as I caught a waft of her scent. The smell of her perfume coupled with her grace and elegance made me feel awkward in her presence, oafish and clumsy. I took surreptitious glances at her generous bosom as her blouse gaped from time to time as she bent to lower a carefully wrapped, newspaper bound packet into a tea chest.
There came a point where Bernie was out in the van moving bits and pieces around like a jigsaw to ensure that we could fit everything in. Mrs Chambers and I were on one of our little wrapping jaunts, working close together in what had been her bedroom.
‘Your friend is quite a devil isn’t he?’ Mrs Chambers said to me.
I didn’t know how to respond to such a direct question. I didn’t possess the confidence or self assurance and I was more than a little confused by the line the woman was taking.
‘Don’t worry,’ laughed Mrs Chambers mistaking my discomfort and confusion for loyalty. ‘I’m not angry with him or anything. I can see that he’s a bit of a charmer, a bit of a ladies man,’ she continued. ‘I should imagine the 2 of you have chalked up plenty of conquests between you.’ I reddened noticeably at her sexual reference.
Mrs Chambers saw my colour and paused, studying me intently. ‘Oh my,’ she said quietly. I do believe I’ve touched a bit of a nerve there.’ She was teasing me, adding to my confusion, my red face bushing scarlet now.
Mrs Ümraniye Escort Cambers ceased her wrapping and moved closer to me. She was so close I could smell her scent and feel the heat from her body. It was a beautiful, warm May day, warm enough to warrant the wearing of only a t shirt with Mrs Chambers was wearing a light cotton blouse. A combination of the warmth of the day, combined with the proximity of Mrs Chambers healthy body caused me to break into a mild sweat.
‘You’ve never had a woman, have you?’ whispered into my ear. In spite of my confusion the very atmosphere caused my cock to stiffen, the sound of Mrs Chambers refined voice, her breath on my cheek as she whispered the sudden charge of sexual tension meant that my body reacted even before my brain could properly register what was going on.
‘You’re friend tried to kiss me yesterday,’ her whispering voice said. ‘He’s a funny man, makes me laugh, but he’s not what I’m searching for.’
Her words puzzled me. Searching for? What does that mean, I thought to myself.
Mrs Chambers kissed me on the cheek, a touch so light, like a bird’s wing and then she moved away from me when Bernie’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs.
Bernie noticed my flushed face, but said nothing. Mrs Chambers looked completely innocent as she carried on wrapping. I was completely and utterly bemused by what had just occurred, it felt like a dream, I didn’t know what to do or how to act. What did Mrs Chambers expect from me? Realisation that she could just be teasing me dawned, but somehow that didn’t strike me as her style, as artless as I was I somehow knew that Mrs Chambers wasn’t the teasing type. Well, perhaps she would tease, but only as part of the whole game, never for her own amusement.
I closed the doors to the van when the last item from the big house was safely inside. Mrs Chambers locked the door to the now empty house. ‘Thank you boys,’ she said to us as we stood, Bernie expectantly. ‘Here’s a little something for you both,’ Mrs Chambers had anticipated Bernie’s expectation perfectly so it seemed. She handed us a small white envelope each.
‘Thanks very much, love,’ Bernie responded with typical ungallant directness. Mrs Chambers laughed as Bernie gave her a cheeky grin and a wink. ‘Anytime,’ he concluded.
The envelopes contained £5 each, a very generous tip indeed with £5 being worth a weeks wage to me in those days. In addition to the bank note, my envelope also held a small, neatly folded square of notepaper, upon which was written – I will be in the Station Hotel, York on Saturday afternoon. I would be very pleased if you could meet me for a farewell drink in the bar at 4pm – it was signed with a single initial ‘G’.
‘Fuckin’ ell, son,’ Bernie whistled when I showed him the note. ‘You’re in there!’ he said enviously.
‘What do I do, Bernie?’ I asked, totally unsure as to how to proceed and looking to my friend for some guidance.
‘Go to the hotel on bloody Saturday,’ he snorted uselessly.
I was in turmoil; today was Thursday, more than a whole day before the rendezvous. I wasn’t even sure that I’d meet the divine Mrs Chambers, one moment I was determined to make the visit and the next; I was caught up in dread anticipation as I was assailed by doubts. There was no way I could satisfy the sophisticated, mature, elegant lady. I was too raw, too green to possibly be able to hold her attention, what would we even talk about? She would be bored rigid by my mumblings and my bumbling, small town manner would wither with embarrassment under her experienced gaze.
No – I wouldn’t be keeping that appointment – definitely.
I walked into the Railway Hotel just before 4pm on the Saturday. I was wearing my best suit, in fact it was my only suit, my hair was neat, I was freshly bathed and in addition to all this cleanliness… I was nervous as hell.
I found the bar and saw her straight away. Mrs Chambers was sitting elegantly aloof on one of the chesterfields situated in a quiet corner of the hushed room. There were only a couple of other people in the bar, so there was no chance for me to slip away unnoticed now that my nerve was failing.
Mrs Chambers saw me and beamed a radiant smile across the room at me. She waved at me to join her on the sumptuous leather settee.
‘What is your name, dear?’ she asked as I sat next to her.
‘Simon,’ I answered, my voice faltering as I croaked a reply.
‘Pleased to meet you, Simon,’ Mrs Chambers said formally. I shook the proffered hand that she daintily offered. ‘You must call me Gillian, or Gill if you prefer,’ Mrs Chambers answered the question of the ‘G’ as was signed on her note to me.
Drinks arrived unasked for, Mrs Chambers, or Gillian as she preferred, sipped at her white wine and I gingerly tested the whisky that was placed in front of me.
‘I feel it’s such a man’s drink,’ Gillian said, referring to the golden liquid in my glass. I wasn’t a great fan of spirits as it happened, but I had no wish to Ataşehir Escort insult my host and sipped some more of the fiery spirit.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Gillian spoke in a low voice and slid closer to me on the soft cushioned seat. ‘I expect you’re wondering just why I invited you,’ Gillian stated the obvious.
‘Well… yes, I was wondering…’ I answered, suddenly finding my voice. Perhaps the whisky was making me bold.
Suddenly, perhaps now that she was defending her motives, Gillian seemed a little unsure of herself. The perfectly poised façade was showing signs of crumbling. ‘I’m leaving soon,’ Gillian explained hesitantly. ‘I sail for Australia in 2 days, there’s nothing here for me anymore and I thought about having a little farewell party for myself.
‘So who else is coming?’ I asked in a moronic moment.
Gillian laughed and her mood lightened abruptly, her confidence and poise returned. ‘Only you’re invited, darling,’ she said huskily, placing a hand on my thigh. I looked at Gillian’s hand on my leg, noticing the jewelled rings and painted nails that adorned her cool fingers. The sound of her voice and pressure of her hand awakened my penis and it uncurled slowly, just as it had done during at Gillian’s whispered words in the old house. ‘You really don’t know why I asked you here… not properly, do you?’ she asked. I looked into Gillian’s blue eyes, ‘I want to do something wild and decadent before I leave for my new life and I’ve decided on you.’
I was speechless and took a big swallow of the whisky, forgetting just how strong the liquid was in my surprise. No sooner had I placed the empty glass down on the coaster, than the waiter appeared with a fresh one.
‘You’ve no idea how much it took me to write that note, Simon. I had to think long and hard about it, I took a big risk… I had no idea whether or not you’d show…’ she said, suddenly vulnerable again, the veil of confidence slipping slightly.
She made a decision; I could almost see her resolve hardening as she spoke. ‘Come on, let’s go to my suite, we can talk in private there,’ Gillian downed the remnants of her wine and I was forced to throw the hot contents of the tumbler down my throat as Gillian picked up her purse and led me from the bar.
As soon as we entered her suite Gillian was at me, all pretence of social politeness blown away. She pushed me against the inside of the door and pushed her voluptuous body against me. ‘Kiss me,’ she commanded, pushing her painted mouth hard against mine. I felt her tongue prising between my lips and I opened my mouth to accommodate her.
Gillian was moaning deep in her throat as she kissed me, she was like a wild animal, her tongue invading my mouth, twisting and snaking around my own tongue in a serpentine dance as she held my face in her hands and pushed her big bosom against my chest.
‘Oh God, I do want a virgin, please tell me you’re a virgin,’ Gillian breathed at me when she broke the kiss. I nodded and Gillian closed her eyes and sighed at that silent confirmation. ‘Thank you… thank you,’ she sighed. ‘You’re the first reckless thing I’ve done in my life,’ she said stepping back, holding on to my hands as she stood almost at arms length. ‘I married so young,’ she continued wistfully. ‘So young, and I was such a faithful and dutiful wife,’ the monologue continued. ‘I’ve had one man in my life – just one – and it’s now been four years since I’ve been held, been kissed… I saw you the other day… so young… your blushing, …oh God, I don’t know…’
Gillian seemed desperate for me to understand and although I had a glimmering of how she must have felt at that time, it wasn’t until years later that I fully understood the reasons for Gillian’s actions. She was carving a new life for herself; moving across the world for a new start and in leaving the old ways behind, she’d decided to take a young lover for the night. The reasons for her decision were myriad, marrying young, the curiosity of what it would be like to be intimate with another man, add to that her sexual frustration after four years abstinence – the list went on and on.
This night would be a journey of discovery for us both. For me the first time of knowing a woman intimately and for Gillian, it would be a journey matched in equal measure, a discovery of opening doors, with the firm closing of others as she bid her old life goodbye.
She turned away from me then and walked into the suite. ‘Come here lover,’ she beckoned. I was powerless to resist – I didn’t want to resist and I let the mature, infinitely more experienced woman, albeit her experience being singular, take control. I walked to her, Gillian locking her gaze with mine as she unbuttoned my trousers. My erection was sudden and all consuming, as I felt Gillian fumble with the buttons and I felt a surge of affection as I noticed her bottom lip held between her white teeth as she focussed her concentration on that obstinate sliver of metal.
With a cry of triumph Gillian unbuttoned me and pulled my trousers down low enough that my cock sprang out, thick and terrible in it’s stiffness. ‘Oh my,’ Gillian said in appreciation. ‘My, oh my, oh my… we do have a very fine specimen here.’ She touched my inflamed cock with her hand and I almost hit the ceiling at her cool touch.
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