A Girl Called Len

"You look good, Danny, especially that thing down there that's going into me."

I was very aware of the need to take this very slowly. Len's fear; and I think that is the word to describe it; manifested itself every time I moved, or touched her. It was only by taking the time to get her acceptance of my caresses that I could proceed without her breaking down and freezing. Len did gradually get used to my caresses, and I would keep them soft and non-threatening until she could indicate that she felt easy with the touching, or in some cases enjoyed it. As the moment when I would enter her approached, I could feel some tensing, so I whispered to her.

"Calm. Don't worry, I shall not hurt you." Then I thought of changing positions so she was on top of me. I told her why.

"You are in control. Push down when you want to, stop, or lift off if you feel the need." Len saw the sense in that, and moved on top of me. With Len's assistance I had coated my cock liberally with KY, and she had put some into her pussy as she was almost completely dry. At first she couldn't get a good grasp on my cock as it was so slippery. She burst out laughing, as did I. The laughter was great because I could feel the tension that built as I touched her slip away, and in the relaxation that came with that, she slipped down and I entered her. Her eyes opened wide as this totally different sensation beset her nervous system. She experimented with the feel, and slowly more and more of my cock squeezed into her. She was shocked when I told her.

"You've got it all."

"All?"

"Yeh. I am not King Kong you know." She wriggled to see if that were true.

"But there's no pain!" Now this wasn't really the time to have a medical discussion, but I thought I should say what I had come to believe about her.

"Len. In all your dance lessons, did you do the splits?"

"Yes frequently."

"And lots of Bar work?"

"Yes."

"Well think about it. Do you think your Hymen could survive through all that stretching?" It was amusing watching her face as understanding came to her.

"I am such a silly cow! I was frightened of the pain." She grinned at me.

"Can we do it now?"

"Carry on, you're in charge."

It would be good to say that I brought Len to at least one orgasm. I didn't. I had one of course, and she seemed to enjoy the sensation as I spurted inside her. However our coupling was not painful, nor distasteful for her. And she seemed to appreciate being in control. After I had recovered, and we lay clasped in each others arms. Len wanted to explain something.

"I'm sorry that I didn't get wet, but with all that stuff on you it didn't matter at all. I liked that."

"But you didn't cum!"

"I know. I was sure I wouldn't, but that doesn't matter. I was so close to you, you were inside me, and that meant a lot to me. You did cum, and I loved it as you lost control and loved giving you so much pleasure and the fact that you had allowed me to be with you when you were most vulnerable. Danny, that made me very happy, and I hope you will want to make love with me again sometime."

"Have we finished then Len?"

"We can do it again?" She was astonished.

"In a while, yes. I am laying here with a lovely woman. I am certain my little fella down there will want to do this again, and soon." Len looked down.

"He's my little fella now, and not so little either."

"Oh, got lots of experience have we?"

Len got up to make some coffee, I think we both needed the caffeine. As usual she didn't bother with clothes. It was a pleasure watching her going about this simple domestic task. As she walked back towards the bed with the two mugs I had to say.

"Len. Every time I see you like that I can't breathe properly. Your body is a work of art." She stopped and smiled that lovely smile.

"Thank you Danny. I love hearing you say that, never forget, other's can look, you are the only one who can touch."

We talked a lot that evening and made love again before falling asleep in each others arms. I wondered what the future would bring. I was not so stupid to believe that after this Len would declare her everlasting love for me, and discover her sexuality. To be honest apart from liking Len very much, I doubted that I was in love with her. We got along well, as we had always done. But a future? I had already thought about that, and realised that that what future we had would be occasional meets in the odd moments that coincided in our busy lives.

That problem of odd moments coinciding became even more of a problem some months after that. Len had gone off to Paris, and in the hasty phone calls she made me, let me know that the act was going down very well, and she had already been offered a spot in a similar theatre in Berlin, which would take her through to the next September. Apart from one brief weekend, we would not have seen each other for twelve months by the time that booking ended.

CHAPTER SIX A weekend in Paris

I was asked to go to the States that January. The Yanks had developed a new and more powerful machine, and required me as a supposed expert, to go over and help develop the programming for UK purposes. I discovered that Geoff, the guy behind the project was an Cambridge graduate, who had become disillusioned in England with the rejection of his ideas by managements who remained firmly bolted to the nineteen-thirties. The Yanks welcomed him with open arms. We were still looking at machines which would in essence speed up the accounting process, but nonetheless records were still hard-copy as nobody had developed a hard drive with enough capacity to store a whole ledger. Geoff was working on that, unfortunately he would be beaten to the prize by others after the developement of the microchip. He also had a team trying to develop a high speed printer. It would be a few years before those became available, in the meantime the electro-mechanical printer would have to do. They were also developing a system that would store data on magnetic tape, and would load very quickly, without using the huge reel machines and readers. That would put paid to the hundreds of punch cards we still used.

I was impressed by the vision these guys had, and the capital the American owners of the company were willing to put into the research. My time in Baltimore was well spent. I learned such a lot. Not stuff that would be of use immediately, but would eventually help me greatly when I had my own business.

The other thing I learned was that American girls were very friendly, and that my English accent was like cat nip to the pussy. The pun intended! They taught me a lot. I am sure that my American colleagues wondered why I walked around with a permanent smile all day.

Typically it was raining when I returned to England. My flight landed at ten fifty in the evening, too late to catch the train to Exeter, so I got a Taxi and dropped off at Len's flat. She had given me the key and invited me use the place whenever I was in London. The first thing I did was put the kettle on, the tea they serve on airlines was atrocious. Then I noticed an envelope propped up next to the kettle with my name written on it in Len's meticulous hand. She knew that if I did use the flat, the first thing I would do is put the kettle on.

Danny. If you ever get this note it means you are taking up my invitation to use the flat. I wish I

was there to sleep with you. But the next best thing is for you to come to Paris and see the show.

There will be lots of girls on stage, many wearing as few clothes as I, so that should tempt you.

Come to the theatre and ask for M. Gerard Moiret. He will find you a seat, and allow you to come

backstage afterwards. He will let me know that you are in the audience, so I shall dance just for

you. It will be a lovely surprise for me to see you. Please come if you can. xxx Len.

She had written the name and address of the theatre below.

This being Friday I could take the train to Exeter tomorrow, or I could grab a flight to Orly, and go and see some bright lights and nearly naked girls. I didn't have to think about that too long. A Travel Agent close by on the Bayswater Road got me a return ticket, but the first flight he could get me on was late afternoon Saturday. It arrived in Paris at five-thirty or thereabouts. I wondered about trying to get a hotel room, but took the chance that Len would let me sleep on her floor, wherever she stayed. I waited for a Taxi at the rank outside the airport buildings. Mistake! I was English and queued, the French didn't. Any cab that came along was besieged by all and sundry, and the most forceful took the cab. Those unfortunates left behind rent the air with imprecations, many of them containing the word 'merde'. I knew what that meant. When in Rome...well Paris. I joined the scrum.

My cab was one of those Citroen's that supposedly had that remarkable suspension. It didn't, but the driver obviously thought it did, he drove casually, hitting potholes and kerbs without a care in the world, waving his arm out of the window, gesturing rudely to all the other drivers, whilst smoking one of those pungent French cigarettes, which never left his mouth. He got me to the theatre, and grinned knowingly as I paid him. One more story of the English to talk about with his friends.

I went in and asked for M. Moiret. I was aware from the posters that the show didn't start until eight, and was planning to go and get something to eat in the meantime. M. Moiret bustled into the vestibule waving his arms around and greeted me as if I were his long lost brother. He disturbed my equilibrium by kissing me on both cheeks.

"Danny, Mon Ami. C'est Toi? Hello, It is good to meet you at last." His words, a mixture of French and English all came across in a very French accent. He turned to the girl at the desk.

"Clothilde. C'est Danny, vous Savez Danny." Clothilde's face lit up and she ran round and hugged me, giving me more kisses on my cheeks. She bubbled away in French of which I understood nothing, but it was obvious that she was pleased to see me. Len explained this reception later.

Gerard, as he insisted I call him, explained that he would give me a good seat, then showed me a menu, asking for my choice. I hadn't realised that these places were Theatre Restaurants. I asked about the account, fearing that I wouldn't have enough Francs to pay. Gerard was incensed.

"Non, Non. You do not pay. You are." He stopped seeking the right word in English. "Guest. You do not pay!" He told me to come back at seven forty-five and Clothilde would take me to my seat. I had just over an hour to waste. There were plenty of little Bistro's around so I chose one that looked inviting and went for a coffee. Now in England we drink tea, probably because the English have no idea how to make coffee. The Yanks make coffee like Jet fuel, but I had got used to that, including the habit of no milk or cream, the Yanks think that any guy who takes those two additives is probably of dubious sexuality. The French, now they make coffee into an art form. It's not the drink itself, which is very good, but it is the ritual, that coffee is an escape from all the rigours of life, and should be enjoyed for it's own sake rather than a way of getting liquid into the body. The French always insist that they are the only civilised nation in the world, arguable, but in this respect of coffee I think they probably are.

At seven forty-five I was back at the theatre, and Clothilde grabbed my arm and took me up stairs to my seat on the balcony, all the while chattering away in French. She could have been reciting the Lord's Prayer for all I knew. What I did understand was her frequent calling to other employees, ushers and waitresses.

"C'est Danny. Vous savez, l'ami de Lee" Everyone who heard this immediately became my best friend. I arrived at my table, with an entourage of staff, all insistent on making sure that I had everything I needed. I was a little taken aback by this attention, but accepted it and enjoyed it nonetheless.

No sooner than I had been seated, a waiter appeared at my elbow. Thank Heaven! He spoke English.

"We have heard so much about you, It is good to finally meet you, Danny. Perhaps an aperitif? What would you like?" Overwhelmed with all this attention I didn't know what to ask for, and the first thing that came into mind was a Gin and Tonic. I am a beer man really when I drink, but that is only on rare occasions. But I rationalised that asking for a beer here would not go down too well. As the auditorium filled I noticed that evening dress was the norm. I was sitting here in a rather crumpled suit that had been to the States and back with me. Coupled with my asking for a beer that would have really told these people that I was down-market.

Just after eight the show started, I was grateful that the auditorium lights were lowered, the table lamps just giving sufficient glow to see what you were eating. The dark also enabled me to think less of my dishevelled state. The first part of the show was not spectacular, mainly singing and music. The dancing girls performed, but there were no topless showgirls. Probably just as well, the patrons could concentrate on the meal, without having too much distraction, and without spilling soup down their Dinner Jackets. As it was Paris there was the inevitable songstress who sang the Edith Piaff numbers. The meal was very good. I ate everything, as I was quite hungry, not having eaten anything since eleven that morning. At nine the M.C. came out, and welcomed everyone. The patrons were on the coffee by that time, and the Cabaret began. Now the Girls wore sexier costumes and the showgirls paraded around. The whole routine was designed that the Showgirls would always be at the front of the line, and during the act would become part of a tableau, so that everyone could admire their beauty. The speciality acts were interspersed with another routine from the Dancers and Showgirls, each time with a different costume. It was getting close to half past ten before the M.C. announced.

"Mesdames, Messieurs, et Mademoiselles. Nous présentons fièrement, La belle 'Lee'! (trans, We proudly present the beautiful 'Lee'.) All the stage lights dimmed and expired. Even the table lamps went out. Then in the darkness I could sense the curtains opening, and then the spotlight that Len had called Super Trouper picked her out in the centre of a set of simple black drapes. The spot gradually increased in intensity, and the music gradually swelled. She began her dance.

Of course I had seen the dance before, at least five times, and to me it was lovely. Seeing it on the stage it was crafted for, was a different experience. The black backdrop served to emphasise the beautiful girl on stage picked out in the white spotlight. For the first time I could appreciate the obvious Ballet steps she incorporated. The chiffon as it unravelled from her body floated away, and got lost in the darkness. But more than anything I was suffused with the knowledge that this lovely creature desired by so many watching her, had happily accepted me into her bed and into her body.

The finale was greeted with an absolute silence from the audience until suddenly they collectively realised that they had seen something really special. Then the applause came. Slowly at first but building to a crescendo co-incidentally as the table lights came back on. Patrons got to their feet clapping enthusiastically. I had been alone in a small world watching Len, and didn't realise that at some point Gerard had joined me. He was smiling and nodding his head.

"Alors! It is always like this, Danny. You must be very proud as the inspiration behind this dance." I must have looked shocked.

"Come, Danny. Lee has told us all that you had the ideas and helped her create the dance. You must not be so." He fumbled for the English word. "Réservé." It was said in French but the word was so similar to English that I understood.

He tapped my shoulder. "M'être fourni avec." Then remembering that I didn't speak French said it again in English.

"Come with me. I'll take you to Lee." I followed him across the balcony and through a door hidden by a curtain. We then started downstairs. It was obvious that this was not the public part of the theatre, Instead of plush, warm curtaining and lighting, this was plain painted walls, and fluorescent strip lighting. As we descended lower we entered a world of bustle, and shouting. Girls in various stages of costume change rushed past, it would appear that none of them had any qualms taking off one costume before they got to the dressing room in their rush to change for the next routine. I have never seen so many bared breasts in my life. One of the Showgirls hurried past. She was tall, her height accented by the plumes she wore on her head. What costume she was wearing was mainly sequins stuck in strategic places. She looked at Gerard then at me.

"Blimey, is this Danny?" Pure East End cockney came from her mouth, totally at odds with the picture of statuesque beauty. I nodded. She reached down to me and kissed me firmly on the lips. I just stood there speechless.

"Nice to meetcha. Tell Lee that it was Janey who put the lipstick on yer gob. She'll understand."

Gerard now took me up another set of stairs. There was less bustle here. He stopped at room five and knocked.

"Quelqu'un vous voir, Lee." (trans. Someone to see you, Lee)

"C'est Danny?"(trans. Is it Danny?)

"Oui." The door was flung open and Len, wearing a kimono style wrap, hurtled out and into my arms.

I looked round to thank Gerard, but he had vanished. Len pulled me into her dressing room, and glued her lips to mine. She was so alive at that moment. Her eyes sparkled and the smile on her face seemed to be permanent. I apologised for the lipstick that was there. She shook her head and laughed.

"That would be Janey. She always said that if she ever got to meet you, the first thing she would do is plant a smacker on you." I grinned.

"She certainly did that." I was holding Len's hands in mine, and she didn't pull away, so I pulled her against me again and we kissed once more. This time Len opened her mouth and our tongues slipped together. There seemed to me more passion in this kiss than we had before.

Len seemed reluctant to let go, but had to get on with the business of taking her stage make-up off. As she did talked.

"Where are you staying?"

"I haven't got anywhere. The earliest flight I could get got me into Orly at five thirty and I came straight here."

"Good. I should have said not to book anything in my note. You stay with me." She turned to me, her face glistening with the cold cream.

"What did you think?" She could only be referring to the dance. I took my time before replying, marshalling my thoughts.

"I was transported." Len's face was just full of happiness. Before she could say anything I went on.

"The whole setting was mind-blowing. When the spot came on and illuminated you, I think I took a breath. As you danced all I could think of was the magic you created. The sheer beauty of it all, and at the finale I could have cried. Then, I could breathe again. Len, my sweet Len, that was Art!" She was quiet just looking at my face to see if I was joking.

"Thank you, Danny. I danced just for you tonight. It made me so happy when Gerard told me you were in the audience. I was hyper-ventilating before I went on, my nerves were in shreds, all I could think of was entertaining you and making you want me." She turned to wipe the cream off her face, I think she wiped the tears that had started as well. When she turned back she was laughing.

I asked why she was laughing.

"Darling, Danny. I am laughing because you are here. I am laughing because we can be together tonight, and I am laughing because I have to get this damned Cache off before it drives me mad!" She doffed the wrap, and showed me the offending item. She ran water into the sink, and soaked a flannel. She literally wrung it out over the cache, then soaked the flannel again. Rubbing soap onto it, she started to wipe all around the edges, pulling gently as she did.