Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02

biscuit = (US) cookie

Chapter Six

I don't know if anyone else has had this experience, but after the Easter weekend when we had announced our engagement to the families and I had told Zena on the Tuesday, things felt different somehow at work.

Before Penny met me I had dates, but always had to work hard to impress, and I think I said before, they did not last. Then it was just Penny, and I had relaxed. I felt settled; I was contented. I was no longer on the lookout for a woman.

It got round the office that I was now engaged. After all, I had told Zena; it wasn't a secret.

Now, suddenly, women were interested in me! In various ways I was propositioned! Admittedly it was mainly flirting, and in fun, but one of the secretaries was quite aggressive and her language was earthy. I definitely felt hunted and it was a sensation I had never before experienced. It quite went to my head, though I took it all as a joke on their part. As I said, I was content with my fiancée, and really I was sure the staff weren't out to get me!

Monday 6 April 1970

The biggest surprise happened on the Monday after I had taken Penny back to Liverpool. I sensed someone was standing behind me as I worked at my desk.

"Graham?"

I turned. I usually left the door of my office open, and my visitor had moved noiselessly in. It was Colette. Colette was a lady clerk, not in my department, which was something of a relief, or my penis would never rest.

For every male in the place lusted after Colette. She was staggeringly beautiful, not just pretty, but beautiful. Everything about her was perfectly proportioned; indeed she was film star material. She was slender, and everything was perfectly balanced, her legs achingly superb in shape, and so long, her face perfectly symmetrical, honey blond hair, striking blue eyes, neat nose, wide mouth and long sinuous neck. I think the word 'perfect' summed her up - how else? - perfectly.

We had nodded to each other, smiled, said 'Hi', but we had never spoken at length. Mind you there was no reason we should have, for she was in property and land law, and they tended to keep themselves to themselves. In any case she terrified me.

"Colette?" I asked needlessly, my knees knocking. I hoped she could not hear them. She smiled, perhaps she could?

"Zena tells me you play bridge," she said with that 'come to bed' voice, and then waited. Then I remembered I'd talked about it with Zena on one of our commuting journeys.

Zena would invite me into her flat for tea (the meal) after work from time to time and we would chat about our lives as colleagues will. Strangely I don't remember ever mentioning Zena to Penny apart from as a colleague ay work, or our innocent chats, it simply did not occur to me: the lifts to work had been going on long before Penny. It was a mistake on my part.

"Well yes," I replied to the vision of perfect loveliness. "I have played. I play with the family, but you should know I'm not much good at it. I'm learning, at least I hope so."

"You know Des Corcoran?"

I nodded. Colette came round and perched on the end of my desk, displaying a good deal of thigh, and what a thigh!

"He's got a practice of his own now with a friend, at the other end of the country, and so we are missing a bridge partner. There's Harriet - you know Harriet? - Zena and me, and we need a fourth. Fancy joining us? We play on Thursdays."

Now Harriet was another really good looking girl, not in Colette's class but very good looking, if slim bordering on thin. This would be heaven: three ravishing girls and me.

"I'm not all that good, Colette, I'm sure I'll be a liability." Why was I putting her off?

"Good God, Graham, we're not that serious: it's just fun. We play bridge, chat and have a few drinks, that's all. We could play three handed, but it's much better with four, and it's good to have a male point of view. We take it in turns to host it. Dinner first and then bridge, every Thursday. How about it?"

I have to say I was guilty: I reacted as a male. I wanted just to be in her presence, to spend time with her any way I could. Look, I was twenty seven years old! For a fleeting moment all thoughts of Penny disappeared. In common with every male, single, married or engaged, I was in lust with Colette and her fabulous face and body. The next moment I felt really guilty for forgetting Penny, and stayed guilty.

"Thank you, I'd love to." See? Guilty!

Colette's face said it all: Yes I know you'd love to and I know what you'd love to!

At that moment Kieran Walsh passed my open door, stopped, scowled and passed on. I knew he thought I was guilty, especially with Colette's thigh intimidating me at close quarters on my desk.

Her voice said, "It'll be at my place a week on Thursday - Des makes his farewell appearance this week. We usually go straight from work and have dinner together. Would that suit you?"

I remembered Zena never came home with me on Thursday evenings, so that was why.

Thursday 16 April 1970

Colette's flat was very pleasant, light and airy, comfortable. She could certainly cook; dinner was very tasty.

My performance at the bridge table however, was only passable. The girls helped me out while I got my bearings so to speak, and in fact the first evening was taken with them instructing me. They played ACOL, which I had heard about but had never played according to its conventions. The conversation was light, and I began to relax.

Yes, I had been feeling guilty, not so much for accepting their invitation, but for wanting more and fantasising about them in the comfort of my flat. I was committed to Penny; I knew that and was never going to do anything stupid, even if the chance arose.

Let's face it, I'd been giving Zena a lift for years and we were very comfortable as friends. However, when I relieved my sexual tension at home, it was one or other of them, and often Zena, about whom I fantasised.

No, I did not write and tell Penny all about it, how nice and friendly the girls were, what a good time I was having. I had more sense than that. I did say I had joined a little group for bridge and when she did not ask about it, I told no lies! Guilty!

Thursday 23 April 1970

The next Thursday was at Zena's and followed the same pattern, except that when we left Zena's place the girls all hugged each other, and this time I was included in the hugging. It was arousing and disturbing, but it seemed to me that the girls thought nothing of it.

Thursday 30 April 1970

The Thursday after at Harriet's was the same, though kissing seemed to have augmented the hugs. The girls air-kissed, but I was kissed on the lips by two gorgeous women. The effect on my nether regions was pronounced and I knew they felt it, since both of them pressed themselves against me. Again they didn't seem to mind it, or react in any way to my excitement. I should have realised it was deliberate on their part, but I was naïve.

Which two? Well, Harriet hugged and smiled quite shyly. There was always a reserve and distance about Harriet. Guess who the other two were?

The bridge meetings were only once a week, and apart from Zena, I did not see the girls in the meantime, but lived a solitary existence. I tended to meet Ian at the pub, and I went to the Manchester pub some weeks for its folk night, but spent the rest of the time writing to Penny. We talked on the phone on Wednesday nights, but those calls became brief after the first week, as she bemoaned the sheer quantity of work preparing lessons and marking. I knew this from my experience with my father, and I also knew that TP was much more intensive than ordinary teaching.

Her letters also tailed off, but that did not surprise me either, but I began to feel cut off from her, and after the first weekend apart, I asked to see her the following weekend. She put me off: she was just snowed under with lesson preparation and marking. I thought she was doing too much, but held my peace.

After the third bridge night, with the kissing, I felt uncomfortable about it, having enjoyed it immensely, and decided I must see Penny. I needed her presence and her love to counter these erotic feelings. I wrote that night and posted it first class at the sorting office, asking to see her on Saturday or Sunday and to phone me to tell me which day.

Friday 1 May 1970

There was no phone call on Friday, but there was a brief letter, more a note really, saying she was in the library all weekend and couldn't see me. She had to get the work done, there was nothing she could do.

On the Saturday morning, I wrote strongly that it worried me that so soon after our official engagement she had put me off going to see her for two weekends, I hadn't seen her for three weeks, and I was getting frustrated and lonely without seeing her, in the full sense of the word 'seeing'. I really had to see her the next weekend, even if only for an hour. Surely she could spare one hour? I was not being unreasonable.

Wednesday 6 May 1970

Her phone call on Wednesday was quite curt, bewailing the amount of work she had to do, and saying she needed every minute of spare time to prepare perfect lessons. Would I please understand she wanted that certificate with distinction. The implication was 'back off!'. Her tone was rather distant and it unnerved me.

Her brief letter arrived the next morning. She had posted it before the phone call and said much the same thing. She added that I should know that this was where she was assessed for her competence to teach: it was make or break, pass or fail. She said I would just have to be patient for a little longer. She would phone me at 7.30 on Friday to 'talk about it.'

I sent a letter by return, stating I understood, but it did not make it any easier. It did not help that her letters had dried up as well. I told her I could understand that, it took a lot longer to write a letter than to phone. I added that there seemed no end to this total separation. It was as if she did not want to see me.

I told her that come what may, I would see her the coming weekend. I told her I needed to see her, and would go over on Saturday. Surely, I wrote, she could allow a few hours on Saturday, even half an hour? I would cheerfully drive over an hour each way just to see her for half an hour. I looked forward to working something out on Friday for the following day.

Thursday 7 May 1970

The next day bridge was at my place. I did my normal Spag Bol with a green salad, with apple pie to follow. It went down well. I was also getting much better at this Acol system.

Colette stayed after the others had gone to help me clear up, and when all was straight she asked me if I could run her home, and of course I agreed. She provided the collapsible card table each week, Zena having brought her and the table earlier. It never occurred to me to wonder why Zena didn't take her and the table back as well.

The journey passed uneventfully, and it was only after I'd carried the table into the house that it happened. We faced each other and I was about to leave when she put her hands on my shoulders, leaned forward and kissed me. This was different.

It was a provocative, sensual, erotic kiss. Her breasts under her dress, unencumbered by a bra, pricked my chest, and her mound pressed against my cock.

It should not be thought that I stood woodenly and allowed the kiss: within seconds of contact having been made, I was kissing back with interest. Tongues became involved.

Her hands went to the back of my head, perhaps for fear I would pull away, and her fingers tangled themselves in my hair. My hands, with a will of their own, ran up and down her back, and over her bottom. She sighed, she moaned. Her lips left mine and bestowed little pecks and kisses on my chin, then my neck beneath my chin then to the side, licking and nibbling my ear and sucking gently on my neck. The electric shocks pulsed through my body and I was lost in the intensity of it. My rigid prick wanted action badly.

My hands on autopilot sought her breasts, and she pulled away a little to allow access. My thumbs grazed her nips through the light fabric of her dress, as her hips ground against my ramrod hard cock.

"The zip is at the back," she breathed wantonly in my ear, causing the hair on my neck to stand up.

I had no control left and as the dress came undone, so did I. She stood back and the dress fell to the floor. Her perfectly formed breasts stood proudly, and the only other wisp of fabric was a gossamer light thong. That was a surprise: I had never seen a thong in the flesh, as it were. They tended to be worn by strippers in night clubs! Her beauty was excruciatingly painful and I have to say, irresistible. She exuded sex.

"Come to bed," she whispered, and took my hand, leading me up the stairs, so that I was faced with her tight rounded cheeks with the "T" of her thong-top directing my attention and lust to where the string disappeared, going beneath and snugly wrapping her sex. I really hadn't a chance. I'd been in a sex desert for weeks and here was the oasis.

She led me to the bed, pushed me down to sit on the edge, while she went to my feet and removed shoes and socks, then snaking upward to push my tee shirt up and off. Her gasp of pleasure was accompanied by a feral smile, as my trouser fastener came undone and I spread my legs as she slowly led the zip down.

"Stand," she said, and tugged my trousers down as I did so. I stepped out of them, and she looked up from her position by my feet, her hands sweeping up my calved, knees and thighs, until they hooked the sides of my briefs and pulled them down over my erection.

I was naked.

"Sit," she said, and I sat as she stood and then bent forward away from me as she began to slip the thong off, pulling it over her hips and allowing the gusset to remain in her pussy's grip until it released and she shimmied the scrap of lace down her legs and off. Shaved? Completely bare? Another first. All my previous women were hirsute or very closely cropped, never shaved.

She did not sink to her knees and take my cock into her wonderfully wide mouth. She walked between my knees and presented her breasts to my mouth. I fondled and licked and sucked and gently nipped, and she squirmed and moaned and gasped. My other hand stroked her bottom, tracing the valley between her cheeks and under to her smooth sex, which gratifyingly was wet and ready.

I guided her to sit on the bed in her turn, as I moved to kneel on the floor between her thighs. She lay back and offered her sex to my tongue. She was already panting and close to climax, but I tormented her a little avoiding the obvious button and tonguing the inner lips until she cried out.

"You bastard! For god's sake bring me off!" She humped her sopping sex to get my tongue where she wanted it.

I dodged, until she sagged in defeat, and that was the moment I strummed her clit, and she blew.

When she came down, she pulled me up and we kissed at some length. She held my cock and began to stroke it.

"Fuck me," she said, then, "You have got a sheath? You know - Durex?"

I sagged. "No. I'm engaged to Penny. I don't need them."

The moment was gone, my member wilted, and I remembered with horror that I really was engaged, and it wasn't to this siren. I felt incredibly guilty. I felt unfaithful. Let's face it I was incredibly guilty! If Colette had offered a condom, we would have done the deed. At least I did not come. Small mitigation, which I knew would never be accepted.

"Next time we'll have a rubber or two," she said and she was not talking about Bridge, "Let's get some sleep."

So we wrapped ourselves round each other and went to sleep. Her last murmured words were "You're very good."

No I wasn't!

Friday 8 May 1970

I rose early while Colette still slept and made my way home. I felt, rightly, as guilty as hell. Why did I do it? What was i thinking? What should I do now? Well, certainly I would not go near Colette again. I'd be on my guard. If necessary I would give up the bridge night. What I couldn't understand was why she hit on me, after all she could have her pick of any sentient male on the planet, and she did know I was engaged to Penny. Should I confess to Penny what had happened? I knew the answer to that one. No way!

I was no sooner in my office at my desk when Colette was there.

"You left early, Graham? I would have got you breakfast."

I turned round to face her.

"Look Colette," I told her quietly, "What happened last night-"

"Got out of hand. Yes I know."

"You knew I am engaged. I shouldn't have done that. What I did was unfaithful."

"I understand, and I'm sorry," she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I couldn't help it, you're so attractive. She's a lucky girl. If you ever break up..."

"I'll come looking - with condoms!" I reposted, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

We laughed as I walked her to the door and she turned and walked away. I watched that bottom sway all the way to the lift. I shook myself and reminded myself that we all had work to do, but I did notice the two women getting a drink from the coffee machine in the corridor talking conspiratorially together while glancing my way, and wondered what they were saying.

Then I spent much of the morning astounded at her comment. I was 'so attractive' - to her? Then the images of what we did the night before. Vivid images! Oh Hell!

Zena did not allude to, or comment on the matter during our commuting, though I knew Colette must have told her. Neither had Zena's attitude to me changed in any way, no censure at my unfaithful behaviour with her friend.

I had a surge of desire for Penny and it firmed my resolve still further to go and see her. I had to or I would go mad.

I would insist on that when she phoned me at 7.30 that night. I would demand to see her the next day and perhaps stay till Sunday. This time there would be no putting me off.

Even if I had to sit and read a book or play my guitar while she worked, I would go. I needed her so much I was climbing the walls. It struck me that if I'd seen more of Penny, Colette's little seduction would not have made the same rapid progress. Not much of an excuse, but I was desperate.

As a result, on Friday evening at 7.30 I was waiting eagerly for the phone to ring. It didn't. Neither did it ring all that evening. I began to be worried: she never missed a phone appointment. Then at just after midnight, as I had finally decided to go to bed, the phone rang.

I gave the number and my name. There were beeps while she put money in the box.

"Graham, I'm sorry I missed calling earlier. I'm up at Derek's in Durham. The train was delayed for hours, they had to put on buses. I've just got in."

Her voice was emotionless, almost as if she didn't care. Perhaps she was tired after her week and the long journey.

I cared though. I was annoyed, no, angry and frustrated. "You knew I was hoping to see you this weekend, but obviously that's out now. I'm beginning to think you are avoiding me. I'm clearly not important enough to merit any consideration. Don't fuss yourself."

"Sorry I totally forgot. I've had a bad week and needed a change."

Again her tone of voice didn't ring true. It seemed she was just going through the motions. There was definitely something amiss. Her apology did not sound sincere, she seemed to be rehearsing a speech and rolling it off her tongue. I was getting really angry.

"A change? After these weeks without seeing me, that would have been a change! You could have come to me tonight, and if you wanted to see Derek we could have gone together in the car tomorrow." My annoyance and upset was showing; she could not miss it.