Breaking the Speed Limit Ch. 02

This follows on from Breaking the Speed Limit 1 but is from the woman's perspective. To the extent that there are inconsistencies with the first story, most are deliberate. Rupert was recalling events months before and was trying unconsciously to reduce any element of guilt he felt about the outcome so to that extent he was an unreliable narrator.

The woman is in effect roleplaying to help her break the speed limit. This accounts for the multiple identities and names used. Jill is her real name.

This is set in the UK in 1980 so no social media, no internet, no smartphones, less to no CCTV so characters can be more confident about not being found out. It is in the same world as my other stories but is stand alone.

A word of warning. I have deliberately chosen to generally have longish introductions, including back story and development of the underlying story and some flirtation before sexual activity takes place. That reflects my own preference in stories, but YMMV. I also prefer to have my characters normally consider the implications of their actions.

Constructive criticism is gratefully received. JohnPaulUr- thank you for your comment. I hope this is less confusing. I may have been trying to be too clever by half last time and lapsed into total obscurity.

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Jill Cox was in a dreary northern town in Coketown with her fiancé on a wet weekend in November 1980. She was in the position of being furious with him and at the same time feeling that she was not being altogether fair.

She supposed that he had told her that the point of the trip was both to spend time with her and to look around the town. She had just expected that his real aim was to seduce her.

She half wanted him to do so and had bought a negligee and some racy underwear from Monsieur Alphonse's emporium in Birmingham city centre. She had been there with one of her best friends who was getting married in February and who spent some of the time trying to persuade her to have sex with Alan.

They had been going out for three years now and still had not had sex. She knew rationally that he was a good man and was unlikely to dump her if she succumbed. It was just that she had started going out him with shortly after an unpleasant experience. A man had got her into his bedroom and had quickly got her bra off. He had and then shoved his hands up her skirt. When she had tried to say that things were going too quickly, he had said that she had gone too far to say no now. He had slapped her on the face, called her a prick teaser and tore her knickers off. In the end she had just shut her eyes and let him do what he wanted to her. He had then called her a frigid bitch, complained about the blood on his cock and told her that she was not worth the effort.

She had been relieved that she had not become pregnant, but the experience had scared and scarred her. Obviously she had not explained this to Alan, but it meant that she had been reluctant to become too intimate with him. Early on he had accepted this, but he had become increasingly frustrated with her.

Her friends mixed between those who were strongly against pre-marital sex and those who told her that she should either get married immediately or start having sex with him. The latter pointed out that he was an attractive man and that it would not be hard for him to find other options.

It did not help that she suspected that there was a bad side to her character. Until he tore off her knickers and slapped her, she had been enjoying Gavin's attentions. Occasionally when she had been dancing with Alan she had found herself wanting to give in to him, but by the time he had got her back to her flat her fear and morals had reasserted themselves. About once every two months, he would get her bra off and play with her breasts, and even stroke her thighs. However, as soon as he reached for her knickers panic would overcome her.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they did not work at the same school. Everyone would notice if they had a real row, and it would make it more difficult to retreat once she had given in to him.

They had arrived last night and had stayed in separate rooms at the inexpensive hotel. This had been at her insistence. Yesterday evening had been pleasant and this morning they had walked round town and looking at the shops. They had lunch in a café just down the road and about then the rain had started.

She supposed he had told her the itinerary beforehand, but she had not been listening properly as she had been worrying about how to take the next step in the relationship. When he informed her over lunch that the plan for the afternoon was for him to go to the library to read back issues of the local newspaper and about the history of the town and then he had tickets for them to watch the local team play football. They would then have a meal at the hotel restaurant and go a concert at the local town hall which did not sound inspiring.

He had expected that she would be happy to join him. She had thrown a strop and complained about the weather. She had hoped that he would change his plans or tell her that she must go along with him, but instead of which he had tried to be reasonable without giving an inch.

It had ended up by her saying that he could go by himself and him doing so. She was now left by herself until about 6 PM in what even he was prepared to admit was a dingy hotel in an unprepossessing town and the rain was thundering down. She had had a glass of beer with lunch and now had a glass of wine after Alan had left on his fact-finding expedition. She considered and dismissed the possibility that he was thinking of applying to become a parliamentary candidate at the next election.

She had wandered into the hotel lounge and switched on the TV and saw that a 1930s musical with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers was on, although close to its end. She had resigned herself to the ten minutes of the film being the highlight of a boring afternoon when this dapper older man of about her height had invited her to dance. She had nearly said no and then thought, why not.

The dance was surprisingly enjoyable. He was a more natural dancer than Alan and led her with certainty. The bow at the end had been charming and she was disposed to chat to the man to fill in time. He reminded her of the brother of one of her grandfathers which predisposed her to trust him.

"What is such a charming young lady doing by herself in a second-rate hotel in Coketown on a wet Saturday afternoon?"

"I've been abandoned by my boyfriend while he goes and watches a football match after having a pint in the nearest pub to the ground. He expected me to come with him in this weather."

"That does seem rather selfish of him. The only consolation I can offer is that the match will not be a good one. The pitch will be a mud bath and the skill displayed rudimentary. Forgive me, but you don't sound like a local."

"I'm not. Originally from Cheltenham and now live in the Midlands." She did not want to say too much about herself or Alan.

"Does your boyfriend come from here originally? Supporting the Rovers is a recognised incurable local curse, although rarely fatal." She giggled at that. It was good to let off steam about Alan and the older man was sympathetic.

"No." She paused and said, "He just wants to get the feel of the area."

"If you want you can go dancing with him this evening at the Castle Hotel over the road." She found herself doubly annoyed with Alan. If they could have gone for a dance together then she could have worn the thigh high stockings and the French knickers. As it was presumably only a few minutes' walk from The Castle to The Falcon then perhaps they could have got back to her room before she had chance to become scared again.

"No such luck. We are going to a concert at the town hall." That was another source of contention. Richard Strauss was not a composer who she felt would encourage romance or enjoyment; Johann Strauss would have been fine.

"Is your young man a glutton for punishment? While the orchestra contains some dear friends they are taking on a piece tonight which requires more skill than they possess and even when well performed is a bore."

This confirmed her worst fears. The CBSO was one thing particularly led by its new conductor, Simon Rattle, but the Coketown Philharmonic did not sound enticing.

"I rather suspected that myself."

"Are you staying here?"

"Yes, separate rooms of course. He is a gentleman."

"Indeed."

"Anyway, he won't be back until 6 at the earliest and I have an afternoon to fill and no dancing tonight."

He replied, "I too am at a loose end until then myself. I'm due to meet my nephew Ronald to belatedly celebrate his 18th birthday and an offer of a place at Manchester. I am also going to start teaching him to dance."

"Will you be taking him over to the Castle?"

"No, I have a small dance studio in the hotel. It is one of my side-lines to teach friends and friends of friends how to dance. Most of the time it is just reminding them that they can dance or teaching them new steps. I also have some tips for helping them relax. Dancing is much more fun when you aren't embarrassed or too self-conscious."

"What dances do you teach?"

"All kinds. Waltzes, foxtrots, swing, the tango, disco and even rock and roll. That's much like swing. I could show you if you like and perhaps we could dance together. I am, although I say so myself, an excellent dancer and I believe that I could teach you to dance with more confidence and reduce the risk of your young man repeating his error of judgement. After all, it is better than watching the TV for the next four hours or so."

She nearly said no on principle and then thought that he was right to say that this was better than watching the sport on TV this afternoon. Besides which Alan had abandoned her. This man was not threatening in size or manner and was just about old enough to be her grandfather. Jill found herself being amused by the man and as he said what else would she do for the next few hours. She had told Alan she would catch up on marking but that had been a white lie to make him feel less guilty about deserting her.

He had led her up to the top of the hotel and explained that he was the owner of it. He had admitted that it needed some work done on it. The room was a reasonable size. The music system looked modern, and he had a large choice of records and cassettes. She was taken aback by the mirrors on the walls, but he explained that these allowed his students to watch themselves and see what they were doing wrong or how it looked when they got something right. It also allowed him to spot any technical errors more easily and correct them/

She registered that there was some furniture at the back of the room including two sofas, wardrobes, a clothes rack, two chests of drawers and a large desk. He hung up both their jackets in one of the wardrobes. She noted that the clothes rack contains some dancing dresses and skirts which looked attractive.

He started her off with some 1930s numbers which she enjoyed. He was elegant and she found herself trusting him to spin and twirl her around the floor. She also enjoyed watching herself in the mirrors. She knew that she was good looking, but watching herself dance she realised that she was also alluring. She began to understand the looks which she sometimes caught from the spectators when she danced with Alan. She enjoyed feeling that people were looking at her.

After thirty minutes she was a little out of breath and the man said, "That was exceptionally good, young lady. Shall we take five before the next dance? Perhaps we could have a glass of wine while I give you some feedback."

She thought about it and nodded. "Actually, I think that would be very pleasant. I know that I am more relaxed and dance better after a glass of wine. It wouldn't hurt to have just one. It's not as though I will get tiddly on one."

The man said, "Indeed. My own theory is that dancing burns off the alcohol and besides which while you are dancing you can't drink."

He opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of wine and took a corkscrew from out of a desk drawer. He opened it quickly and poured two generous glasses. He sniffed the cork and nodded, "That is good. I would not like to give a lady corked wine." Again, he reminded her of her grandfather's brother who had taught her how to dance when he visited her parents and had given her first taste of wine. Her father rather disapproved of him, but mother had a soft spot for the man. Her father rather disapproved of most people.

He handed her a glass. "A toast to the lords and ladies of the dance, my dear."

She giggled, touched her glass to his and took a sip. "Cheers."

"It is a rare pleasure to dance with you, my dear. Most of my students have not danced for years and are very self-conscious. Your young man is incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful young lady to dance with."

She sipped the wine as he first told her what she did well and then demonstrated what she might improve. At the end he said, "Still my main comments are not about technique which you can learn from any competent teacher, but about confidence. You are not a wallflower who needs to hide away. Just a little more self-belief will make all the difference."

He then played a selection of Fred Astaire numbers. Before each dance he demonstrated some new steps and flourishes and then danced them with her. Finally, they danced her favourite number from his movies, "Cheek to cheek." Just after the start of the dance she lost herself in it, and by the end had closed her eyes and was imagining that she was Ginger Rogers. As the last notes played she realised that her breasts were pressed into the man's chest, and that she was excited by the proximity.

She began to panic, but the man did not try to take liberties, but simply asked, "Would you like another rest, my dear?"

She nodded, sat down on the sofa, and accepted another glass of wine.

He sat next to her but kept an appropriate distance and there was no hint of an arm being draped around her shoulders.

"My dear lady, you are a fast learner. Tell me what other dances you enjoy or would like to learn?"

She thought about it and said "I've seen photographs of my mother at dances in the late fifties and early eighties with her friends and describing how she used to dance rock and roll. One of my grandmothers says she used to Lindy Hop in the 1940s and do swing dancing. She says that made most rock and roll look tame."

"One of the privileges of age is to imagine that we knew how to enjoy ourselves when we were young and certainly better than the youth of today. I do know what she means, but a lot of that was down to the war. Is there any other dance you are interested in?"

She took another sip and did not object when he topped up both their glasses. "I would like to be able to dance the tango, but Alan does not feel happy doing that dance. He is good at waltzes and the quickstep, but he thinks that the tango is too flamboyant for him."

"It is not a dance for the inhibited."

She said, "I know, but I do like to watch other people do it and I would like to try it."

"My dear lady, dancing allows us to imagine ourselves to be more than we are or explore what we could be or were. In my case dancing with you allows me to pretend that I am twenty again. The great thing is that the pretence starts to become the truth. I am a better dancer when I imagine myself to be Fred Astaire and my partner feels it."

She thought about and said half to herself "I would like to imagine myself as Ginger Rogers."

"Well, you are an attractive woman which is an excellent start. You just need to relax a little more and lose yourself more in the dance. Towards the end of Cheek to Cheek you began to believe that you were glamourous, and your dancing improved."

He smiled at her, and she recognised the truth in what he was saying. Was it feeling glamourous which had upset her so much and if so was that really a bad thing?

She took another sip. "I know that losing myself in a dance makes me feel more attractive and desirable. Sometimes it frightens me and makes me worry that ...." She realised that although she was afraid of sex, she enjoyed being found attractive.

She offered her glass for a refill. He obliged and she closed her eyes as she tried to work out what she was thinking.

"I know Alan becomes... excited when I do start to relax. It's just that I am disturbed that is when I do, other men look at me and I know that they want to be .... close to me."

It was less embarrassing saying this to an old man.

"I can assure you that most men actually like to think that other men are attracted to the woman they are dancing with."

She nodded. She knew that she liked her friends telling her how attractive and charming Alan was. No doubt he enjoyed his male friends telling him that she was a catch.

"Another dance perhaps?"

She nodded. As they danced to the Continental she imagined being Ginger Rogers and it worked instantly. She found herself relaxing again and going with the flow of the dance. She found herself feeling more at ease with the proximity of his body and was happy to be hip to hip with him. At the end of the dance, she put her head on his shoulder and imagined dancing that way with Alan.

She sat down on the sofa again with him and turned to him and said, "I like dancing with you. You don't make me feel that I am being judged if I.... relax."

"It was the same in my youth. Too many men were either scared when a woman relaxed or wanted to.. spoil things."

"Yes, that's it." She thought that he was broadly right about that. When she had been a teenager, boys were either intimidated when she danced well or tried to get her to go outside with them for a kiss and a cuddle. It was not much better at university although then it was so-called coffee she was being invited to try.

"My cousin once said that she instantly rejected suitors who drove at twenty or sixty miles an hour where there was a thirty-mile speed limit. The metaphor applies to a lot of things." She laughed at that and then was indiscrete.

"Alan usually drives at 28 miles per hour. Sometimes I wish he drove at 33." Perhaps that was true. The former was and perhaps part of the problem with Alan was that he was too hesitant. While Gavin had snatched and not given her any choice, Alan was somehow half hearted in his seduction attempts. He was a bit hesitant as though he wanted her to say no. She bit her lip.

"What dance would you like to try next?" Jill welcomed the change of subject. She was not certain where she was going to with the thoughts she had been having.

She said, "I wish I were wearing shorts or had a looser skirt with me. You could then have taught me the tango, or we could have rocked or swung."

Jill giggled, she realised that there was a double meaning with the suggestion that she could have "swung" with the old man. She was all too conscious about innuendos since she had been "volunteered" to talk about sex to the girls who last year had joined the sixth form of the previously all boys school she taught at. At least some of them were significantly more experienced than she was and delighted in laying traps for her.

She had a particular hatred for three of them in the upper sixth at present. Claire, Rebecca, and Bess. Claire delighted in leading her up the garden path and leading her into unsuitable topics. Bess's questions seemed to be more a form of boasting about what she was doing or liked to shock everyone about. Rebecca would ask earnest questions about what a good girl should do and how far she should go. Jill was quite certain that Rebecca was an awfully bad girl especially as she delighted in asking for specific answers to the subject areas Claire and Bess raised. She also suspected Alan was interested in the girl and not just because she was applying to Oxford and was the best history student in his class.