Before 01

Before 01

I have written a lot lately about my sexual adventures following my retirement. This is the story of my younger years, before I was married. I married at the age of 31, after having decided it was time to settle down. But this was the late sixties and I turned 18 in 1969. Free love was in full swing and I was growing up in the full knowledge that things had changed and that "The Squares", my parents, would not appreciate the modern way of thinking.

I had always been aware of my sexuality, except I didn't know it to be such. As a child, I had only to give a pout and lower my eyes to get what I wanted. As I grew up, I became aware that this still worked, mostly on men and was very effective.

The girls at my school seemed to know all about sex and I listened intently to each opinion and theory. Of course, the majority of these were wrong, but that is part of growing up and the discovery of life. I left school and went to work in a London office for a construction company. I was to be employed in the typing pool and trained in shorthand and touch typing. The pool was ruled by the manager, a woman who appeared to us to be about sixty, but was likely in her mid-thirties. I say ruled because she was a complete dictator and quickly quashed any chatter between us girls. Contact with men was therefore minimal and limited to lunch breaks. At that time I was determined to get out of the typing pool and also to lose my virginity. By happy coincidence both were to be resolved together.

It is unthinkable now, that the venue for lunch was mostly the local pub. Drinking during working hours is very much frowned upon, but back in those days there seemed no harm in a 'swift one' at lunchtime. We also went there often after work and stayed an hour chatting and laughing, girls one side, men the other. It wasn't until a significant number of people had left that the two genders mixed. This was aided, no doubt, by the consumption of alcohol. I will always remember the evening I was introduced to Mr Farrow who was approaching retirement, but held a very senior position in the company.

Mr Farrow was a typical old school married man. He dressed in a suit which, whilst not shabby, didn't seem to fit correctly as years of drinking had given him a rotund figure. He was pleasant looking, still had most of his hair, which was only streaked with grey. The sign, together with the pot belly, of an easy life.

It was also acceptable, if not positively encouraged, for the young ladies to wear very short skirts and to show off their legs. We all did it, but I probably would have got the award for shortest skirt if measurements had been taken. This particular evening I had not noticed the passage of time and had been so wrapped up in the conversation that I found myself sitting at a table, ninety degrees to Mr Farrow. He asked what I did and I told him, but also told him I wasn't very happy and didn't like the atmosphere of the typing pool. He told me that a number of people had complained, but that management saw fit to leave the actual management to individual styles. Mr Farrow said that he only had a year to go before he retired. He also mentioned that he would need a new secretary as his present one had informed him that she was pregnant.

He intimated that he would be able to use his influence to get me out of the typing pool if I wanted, as long as I ensured that his last year was as stress free as possible. I decided it was time to bring my womanly skills to bear. As if to emphasise his meaning, he placed his hand on my bare leg, just above the knee. I smiled at him and gave him an assurance that he would retire a very happy man. All too soon it was time to leave and he offered to walk me to the station and we set off, back past the office. As we were passing, he remembered his umbrella and said he had better get it as rain was forecast for the following morning. I was happy to go with him up to his office.

The building was typical "Old London", built of Portland stone on the outside, and panelled oak inside covering a maze of carpeted corridors lined with doors bearing engraved name plates. We took the lift up to the 8th floor and walked down the long corridor that led to Mr Farrow's office. On entering, I saw for the first time how important he was. The door led to an ante-office where his secretary sat. The office wasn't large, but big enough, furnished with a desk, chair, filing cabinets and a large potted plant in the corner. There was a second door beside the secretary's desk which opened into a huge office. This was Mr Farrow's domain. He watched with pleasure as I surveyed both offices and then went to the window to survey London from on high. He came to stand beside me and pointed out some familiar landmarks. It really seemed like I could hit the big time.

As he turned away from the window, his overcoat knocked a sheaf of papers from the corner of the desk. They scattered and skimmed over the floor beyond. Without hesitation, I offered to pick them up and hurried over to where the largest chunk had landed. I knew that the best approach for preserving modesty would have been to crouch down facing away from Mr Farrow, but I really wanted to sit at that desk in the outer office. I bent at the hips and allowed my skirt to ride up over my young tight bottom. Mr Farrow said nothing, but when I glanced backwards I saw that he was looking directly at me admiring the view. I took my time picking up the papers before straightening up again. As I turned, one dropped from my grasp. He was still watching. I crouched facing him and allowed my legs to open, my skirt riding high, exposing the crotch of my knickers to him. I hoped that this would signal just how stress free I could make his final year.

In those days, despite my insistence on short skirts and tight, figure hugging tops, I still wore "sensible pants" as provided by my Mum. I am not sure now whether I was aware that skimpy lingerie existed, but I have no recollection of it mattering to me at this moment in time. I looked down as I collected the dropped paper and I could see quite clearly the inside of my thighs right up the leg openings of my underwear. A few wispy pubic hairs protruded beyond the elastic, it was the fashion then to sport a luxurious growth in the nether regions. I placed the papers on the desk and started to try and sort them into some kind of order. Mr Farrow quickly stepped forward saying he would do it. He was obviously flustered and said something about them being important papers. I hoped he was really flustered because of what he had just seen.

Instead of moving aside and letting him get on with the sorting, I stood my ground and I felt the movement of his arm against my right breast. My breasts were not large in those days, but they were large enough that he felt the soft fleshiness pressing against him.

'This is going to take a while; can I take your coat Mr Farrow?'

'Oh, err, yes, thank you Jacqui' he muttered.

I reached up and took his coat, making sure that my hands traced down his shoulders. I hung the coat up and returned for his jacket. He stopped his work and stammered, 'No, I will keep that on thanks Jacqui'.

'Nonsense' I said, perhaps more forcefully than I would have liked, 'It is after hours, the dress rules no longer apply'.

He seemed happier with that realisation and surrendered to me once again. I turned on my full armoury. 'It is warm in here; we won't feel the benefit when we leave'. I took off my own coat, followed by my skin tight, machine knitted, tank top. As I mentioned, I had small breasts in those days, my nipples had already developed a tendency to protrude at the slightest reason. My blouse stretched across my braless chest highlighting my nipples perfectly. Mr Farrow stopped and surveyed me for a few seconds before continuing his task. I decided to turn up the heat; this job had to be mine and I needed to do everything to ensure that it was. I was also sexually aroused.

Once again, I stood alongside him and made sure that our bodies touched with every opportunity. He didn't try to pull away, but in every other respect he was remaining the gentleman. I placed an arm around his shoulder and told him I was sorry, that this was my entire fault as I should have taken more care in picking up the papers. I turned on the sad pouting look and looked up at him with my head down. Bingo! He turned and pulled me into him with both arms.

'It's OK, it wasn't your fault, and it was me who knocked them off in the first place'

'Oh Mr Farrow, you are too kind, however will I repay the trouble I have caused'.

It seems like a line from a second rate porno, but that was how it was on that day. I was inexperienced, ambitious and horny, whilst he was almost retired and had probably seen it all before. I could feel his heart beating as I cuddled close to him. I knew he was getting overheated by his proximity to me, together with the knowledge that my erect nipples were rubbing up against him. It was an odd feeling cuddling Mr Farrow. It was the first time I had experienced anyone with a large stomach and it felt soft and comforting. Later on I would come to realise that I wasn't able to feel if he was hard or not because of his overhang. It didn't matter at all that day. I was none the wiser and my plans were developing nicely.

'You are a skinny little thing aren't you?'

'I am what you might call slim Mr Farrow, like Twiggy the model'

'In my day a woman had a bit of flesh on her' he said pulling away to take a better look at me.

'I have all the flesh I need where it matters' I replied, a little irritated but trying not to let it show.

'How is this for flesh?' I said as I quickly turned and mooned at him, 'or, how about these?'

As I said these words, I quickly stood and turned whilst unbuttoning my blouse. I stood in front of Mr Farrow and deliberately opened my top to expose my small, pert breasts, complete with very protruding nipples. I thought for a moment that he was going to run away, as he immediately started heading for the door. I was hugely relieved as he grabbed the key and turned it, checking that the lock had engaged. I stood facing him, leaning against the desk as he turned back and approached me.

'You are so beautiful', he breathed. I smiled, as I knew now that one of my goals was in sight and, if I didn't get the job, I would have a very powerful ally in getting another with similar duties. As he arrived directly in front of me, I placed a hand either side of his chest, keeping at arm's length so that my breasts were still visible to him. He placed a hand on each, feeling their warm softness, countered by the hardened protrusions of my nipples, which he stroked a thumb over. He seemed lost for words which suited me, as I wouldn't know what to say either. I simply pulled him in and kissed him.

Kissing was something I knew about. I had kissed some boys before and learnt to French kiss some years before. My friends and I had perfected our technique during sleepovers where we fantasised about sex with males of all shapes, sizes, colours and creeds. Beyond that I was clueless. I knew that the man was supposed to do something with his penis and I knew what that was because I had seen my brother's. I knew no more than that and had to rely upon Mr Farrow being sufficiently aroused to take the lead. I need not have worried. I stood as he slipped my blouse off and fumbled with the hook and eye of my skirt, then pulled down the zipper. My skirt fell to the floor, leaving me standing in just a pair of white knickers, which he soon removed. He then started planting a series of hurried stabbing kisses to various part of my body, including my breasts.

He continued like this for a couple of minutes before hoisting me onto his desk. He took a moment to gaze at my naked body once more and parted my legs, leaving my pussy available to his inspection as it peeked out from between its surroundings of pubic hair. Resuming his kissing once more, he worked his way down my tummy and over my pubis. I wasn't prepared for his tongue as it suddenly plunged onto my outer lips and I jumped. I didn't remember talking about this in the school playground. He withdrew. 'Are you OK?' he asked. 'Yes, very much so Mr Farrow' was the only thing I could think of to reply.

Again he brought his mouth to my pussy, this time probing deeper with his tongue, pushing into it and licking at my juices. He moaned in satisfaction and I opened my legs a little further in response, giving him better access. He found my clitoris, standing just as erect as my nipples and began to suck. I should say that I had never orgasmed before and was pleasantly surprised by the feeling when, what I now know the beginnings of one began to arise. Not knowing what was happening at the time; I just relaxed and enjoyed the experience. Obviously satisfied that foreplay had been served; Mr Farrow then stood up and undid his belt, allowing his trousers to fall to his ankles. His underpants, unfashionable y-fronts, followed next and he moved to stand in between my legs.

I never saw his cock as he pressed it against me, pushing against the opening of my vagina and un-flexing in its rigidity. I felt pain, a sharp stabbing pain inside the entrance to my body. This lasted for a few moments and was replaced with a burning sensation and the pleasure of my body being filled for the first time with a very hard, very eager cock. I would come to know this feeling well in the ensuing months and years, but I knew there could only be one first time. I trust forward with my pelvis accepting as much of him as I could. I felt the weight of his balls as they slapped against my buttocks, coinciding with the maximum run of each thrust. I looked at Mr Farrow's face as he pumped his cock into me. It was as though he was in agony, his eyes were closed and he was tight lipped. He let out a strangled moan and suddenly pulled out of me. He grabbed his cock, which I saw now for the first time and started to masturbate vigorously over the top of my pussy.

His eyes were still closed and didn't see the thin smear of blood covering his erection. I had been told this might happen and although I can't say I was prepared for it, I was sufficiently aware for it not to be a distraction. Mr Farrow was now puffing and moaning quite loudly as he pumped his cock using his fist as a tight, dry vagina. I watched as his foreskin withdrew and reappeared time after time before his spunk started to flow. Wave after wave of it splashed down just above my slit and across my tummy. Each squirt brought another groan from Mr Farrow as he emptied his balls onto my unspoilt smooth tummy and into the tangle of my pubic hair.

'Christ Jacqui, you are a virgin!' he said as he looked down and noticed the evidence.

'Well, I was, but I am not any more'.

'Why didn't you tell me?' He asked, with a pained look on his face.

'It didn't seem important and it wouldn't have made a difference anyway. Would it?'

'Well, I wouldn't have gone so hard if I had known.'

'Well, I for one am glad you did; that was amazing.' That was a bit of a lie as the burning sensation down below continued.

We dressed in silence. He was obviously more affected by my lost virginity than I was. He later told me that he would have enjoyed it more if he had known. I had not cherished my virginity in the way that perhaps I should. I suppose it is the innocence of youth that makes one fail to cherish things which we should hold dear. I simply couldn't wait to grow up and that afternoon, in Mr Farrow's office, I considered that I was now an adult.

A few weeks later I was told I had got the job and started work alongside my predecessor to learn the ropes before she left. She was a good teacher and job was much easier than I had dreamed and left plenty of room for socialising and fun. One piece of advice that me predecessor gave me before she went was that Mr Farrow was prone to wandering hands. I thanked her and said I would keep that in mind. It was a good job she didn't know what had gone on in the big office a few nights before and I wondered idly if she had ever found herself in a similar situation. I also realised how close I had come to maternity. I resolved to get on "the pill" at the earliest opportunity.