Helen's Story

This story is about a lady in her mid-thirties who, as she breaks up with her fiancé, starts a series of very sexual encounters before finding her true love.

It is dedicated to Helen, a fascinating lady after whom the character in the story is named, and without whose considerable input there would have been no story.

I hope you enjoy it and I look forward to reading comments.

Sylviafan

Chapter One - Natalia

The story really starts with Robin's fortieth birthday party in his weird looking house on the banks of Crummock Water in the English Lake District. I'd never met Robin, but apparently Marcus and he had been at school together in Manchester. Marcus had stayed in the Northwest and become an architect, while Robin went into the City and made a shitload of money as a hedge-fund manager, whatever that is, and he'd bought a weekend retreat in the heart of the Lake District. I don't think he and Marcus were bosom pals or anything but Marcus talked about him all the time and he'd managed to wangle an invite to his birthday bash, which was apparently going to be the highlight of the year in Robin's social group, which Marcus aspired to belong to. Marcus is my fiancé by the way, or rather he was at the start of this story. Although come to think of it I never did explicitly say "yes" when he proposed to me, although I didn't say "no" either. But afterwards he introduced me to everyone as his fiancé and I didn't correct him. I was born and brought up in the Northwest too, and I've got the accent to prove it, something Marcus and his posh chums got rid of as soon as they could, if they ever had it in the first place.

I'm Helen by the way, and I suppose I should start by giving some sort of pen portrait of myself as there are some very physical aspects to this story. Well, the headlines are that I'm tall and slim with long dark-brown hair and deep blue eyes. I've also got modest but deliciously firm and pert B cup breasts, and legs that are to die for. Facially I look a bit like Gal Gadot. Well, ok, maybe not quite that drop-dead gorgeous but definitely within striking distance. I've got the same generous mouth with full lips and the same oval face. I'm about the same age, too.

Workwise I'm the HR manager in a big supermarket in one of those towns between Liverpool and Manchester, and that was how I met Marcus because he came in one day last year to do his weekly shop and he ended up complaining that one of the girls stacking the shelves had been abominably rude to him, which I realised later was typical Marcus, up his own arse, behaviour. The general manager was out of the office so it fell to me to smooth his ruffled feathers. And smooth them I did. My friends, my real friends that is, not Marcus's crowd, wonder how I got to be an HR manager because I tend to speak my mind and sometimes, quite often in fact, it's not what people want to hear. But underneath that I'm a kind soul and I'm a professional too, and this was work, and so I massaged his ego and he harrumphed a bit and then he calmed down and I got him a coffee and we ended up just chatting. It helped that he was definitely my type, physically: taller than me and lean and wiry, with short, dark hair, just going grey; he looked a bit like James Purefoy, without the beard. I could tell he was attracted to me, too; I was aware of him checking out my left hand for signs of a wedding or engagement ring. So I wasn't that surprised when he asked me out as I was escorting him to the main door. I said I'd think about it and he gave me his business card which described him as Marcus Wilford, MRIBA Chartered Architect. I didn't do anything about it but a couple of days later he rang me in my office and repeated his offer and I ended up accepting and going to have a drink with him in a wine bar after work.

We had a few drinks and chatted easily about work and interests outside work and afterwards I gave him my mobile number and that's how we started seeing each other. I hadn't had anyone in my life for a couple of years; I hadn't really missed it that much because I've got a small but select group of good friends who I've known for years and who I'd do anything for. But it's nice to have someone to go away for the weekend with and to have someone stay over midweek and make love with. Unfortunately, although he appealed to me physically, Marcus didn't really do it for me in bed. His lovemaking techniques recalled an earlier epoch, the Stone Age perhaps. He wasn't very aware of my needs, although I dropped enough hints. For one thing I like a lot of foreplay, and his idea of sex was to go at it hammer and tongs until he came and then roll over and go to sleep.

There were other problems too. At the beginning of our relationship he'd been interesting, in a Chartered Architect sort of way, and interested in me. We'd talked about love and life and politics and we'd had some laughs together. He'd come out walking and running with me although they weren't really his thing. But quite soon he'd become tired of making the effort and our conversations had become depressingly one-way. We also, increasingly, did our own thing at weekends. Luckily I'd resisted the initial temptation to move in with him; I'd stayed in my little cottage on the outskirts of the town with the long back garden which overlooked fields of barley and wheat, and where the buzzards wheeled overhead and in spring and summer the air was scented with wildflowers.

So by the time of this story, about a year after we'd met, I'd pretty much decided to split up with Marcus. I only agreed to go to the Lake District out of a sense of loyalty, because I knew he wanted me on his arm at this important social event. But on the journey back on Sunday I would break the news to him. I wasn't looking forward to it; I know I'm strong willed and stubborn but I hate hurting people's feelings and I was casting about for ways to break the news to him gently. As it turned out I didn't need to bother.

The weekend got off to a bad start when he was an hour late picking me up from my cottage on Saturday morning. I hate lateness; it's rude and discourteous and he didn't even bother to let me know he was going to be late, so I sat around for an hour that I could have spent in the garden. Because it was mid-April and a gorgeous day and everything was starting to grow.

It's just over an hour from my house to the Lake District and we occupied most of the time by arguing and shouting at each other. By the time we got to Shap, on the M6, we were maintaining an aggrieved silence, me staring at the scenery and Marcus at the road. He always drove when we went out together; he's got a big S Class Mercedes saloon that belongs to his company. We could have gone in my Mini Countryman and saved a load of money on fuel and a load of carbon dioxide as well, but that wasn't the car Marcus wanted to arrive in.

We left the M6 at Penrith and went west through the stunning scenery of the Lakes, through busy Keswick and on to Crummock Water where we found the little private road that runs along the shore of the lake and ends up at Robin's dramatically modern mansion sprawled over half an acre of breath-taking landscape at the foot of Grasmoor and facing the sheer slopes of Mellbreak across the still water. It was an idyllic setting, and a shame that Robin's house was so hideous, an assortment of glass and concrete cubes like a giant, grey Lego set.

'How the hell did he ever get planning permission for that monstrosity?' I asked as we drew into the extensive parking area. It was the first words we'd spoken for half an hour.

'I was on the team that designed that "monstrosity",' Marcus said, tightly.

'Well I should keep quiet about it if I were you,' I replied, tartly.

Robin and his wife came out to meet us. He was sandy-haired and tubby and his wife, Martine, was blonde and slim and several years younger than him, I reckoned. She was friendly enough but he was one of those people who, as you talk to them, always seem to be looking around for someone more important to speak to. They showed us into the house, the ground floor of which was vast and open plan and made me think of an airport departure lounge. There's no doubt the devil was in me that weekend; I would be Marcus's fiancé and look good on his arm but I was going to have some fun too.

'Shall we check the bags in now?' I said brightly. Robin looked confused but Marcus got it and gave me a filthy look.

'Are you going to be difficult all weekend?' he hissed at me, up in our bedroom. There were about eleven bedrooms, I believe, and most of them were en-suite, ours was anyway. It faced the lake and had a balcony and was the size of a decent hotel room, although the décor was less subtle.

'Probably,' I said, to provoke him. I was just about sick of Marcus and his self-obsessed behaviour and I was beginning to wish I hadn't come. No doubt tonight's party would be full of the same sort of pompous boors. 'What's the agenda?' I asked.

'Lunch for close friends on the patio,' he replied, with a trace of smugness. 'Then we do our own thing this afternoon. The other guests are arriving between six and seven.'

There were ten of us at lunch -- five couples. The food was done by outside caterers and was excellent; they didn't stint on the booze, either. The seating arrangements were boy/girl/boy/girl; I was sandwiched between a golf boor and the CEO of a software company. The golf boor talked about golf and put a hand on my thigh under the table; the CEO talked about Bill Gates and stared at my tits -- I was wearing a rather close-fitting top. I gently removed the golf boor's hand and asked him if he liked football. It turned out that he was a football boor too, so I smiled at him and turned to the CEO and nodded sagely as he talked about the software industry as though I understood what he was talking about. Or cared.

The party got up from the table just as I felt I was going to explode and I went straight up to our bedroom and changed into the walking clothes I'd brought.

'Where are you going?' asked Marcus, coming into the room.

'For a walk,' I said, 'before I say something I'll regret.' There was a stile at the end of the long garden and I went over it and into a meadow and I rambled over the moors and fells for the next three hours, drinking in the stillness and the silence, the wind soughing through the grass, savouring the majesty of the views, Crummock Water far below, the horrible house a tiny blot on the landscape.

When I got back the first guests were starting to arrive, the men in dinner suits, the ladies in cocktail dresses or full-length ballgowns. There was music playing both inside and outside. Lights had been strung around the patio, giving it a festive air. The sun had dipped behind Mellbreak and the lake was dark and mysterious. I went upstairs and found Marcus sitting in an armchair reading a magazine. He stood up as I came in and straightened his DJ. I had to admit that he looked good in it. A touch of James Bond.

'There you are,' he said, spoiling the moment. 'I was wondering where you'd got to and there's no mobile signal round here.' He said it as though it was a bad thing.

'I went for a walk,' I said. 'It was lovely.'

I showered and did my hair and makeup in the bathroom; I've got good colouring so I don't usually use a lot of cosmetics. I walked back into the bedroom in my panties and bra and got my evening dress, a dark-red, three-quarter length, sleeveless silk sheath, out of the suit carrier, aware of Marcus's eyes on me. I didn't ask but he came over and zipped me up and put his hands on my shoulders and kissed my neck and I could smell his aftershave. My hair was coiled up on top of my head and he nuzzled my neck and gently blew in my ear. He also cupped my breasts in his hands and gave them a soft squeeze. I gently disengaged myself and put my shoes on and found my clutch bag.

'Ready?' I asked. He looked as if he were about to say something but he just nodded and we went out and down the wide staircase, side by side.

Over the next hour, Marcus paraded me around and introduced me to a load of people whose names I instantly forgot. The men were mostly clones of Robin or Marcus; the ladies seemed to be hard-eyed and competitive and I saw challenge in their eyes as they looked at me. And I didn't mind because I knew I looked hot, knew that their husbands were checking out my figure discreetly, and sometimes blatantly. And besides, I'd probably never see any of them again after this weekend.

Marcus and I joined the scattering of people dancing on the patio and for half an hour or so we jiggled and jived, Marcus with his habitual reserve, me flaunting my body a bit for those men who were watching from the side-lines. And one woman. I saw her in my peripheral vision, looking at me from the bi-fold doors into the house. I couldn't see much in the increasing gloom but I had an impression of a green dress, of slimness and black hair. When I pirouetted around to look closer she'd gone.

After Marcus had gone off to talk to Robin, I went in to find something to eat and afterwards, a glass of red wine in my hand, I walked across the patio and down the steps to the strip of lawn that separated the front gardens of the house from the shingle beach. It was fully dark, although there was some light from a crescent moon, reflected in the black waters of the lake. But not enough to stop me almost walking into a man leaning against a tree and looking out over the water.

He must have heard me coming because he turned and I saw his face as a pale blob above his dark suit. 'Sorry,' I said. I didn't realise there was anyone out here.'

'That's ok,' he replied, and I recognised the tones of West Yorkshire in his voice. Bradford maybe. I'd worked there for a few years and I knew the accent well. 'I just came to get a breath of air and a bit of peace and quiet. These sorts of do's aren't really my scene.'

'Nor mine,' I agreed. 'I only came to keep my boyfriend company. What's your excuse?' I felt a momentary twinge at Marcus's demotion.

'Couldn't think of a good enough reason to miss it,' he said and we laughed. 'Actually my fiancé is Martine's younger sister. I'm Tom,' he finished, holding out his hand.

'Helen,' I said, taking it. His grip was firm and dry and somehow comforting.

'Which one's your boyfriend?' he asked.

'Marcus.'

'The architect?'

'That's him.'

'Designed this place didn't he?'

'Yup.'

We were silent for a few seconds but I could feel the urge rise and it was unstoppable and I started sniggering and Tom started too and the next thing we were bent double and laughing until our sides ached.

'It's horrible,' he gasped.

'Dreadful,' I agreed. 'Like Frank Lloyd Wright on acid,' and we started laughing again.

We calmed down eventually and I asked Tom what he did and he told me he was a lawyer and he asked me what I did and the things I was interested in and it turned out that we'd both done the Great North Run three times, though only once at the same time, and we both loved walking and football and cricket and rugby. We talked and the time passed very agreeably until a shrill voice from the patio started calling 'Tom! Tom! Where are you?'

'Fiona,' he said. 'Duty calls. With a bit of luck she's had enough and we can go home. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.'

'Not much chance of that,' I said and he laughed again and clapped me lightly on the shoulder and then he was gone. I finished my wine, staring into the darkness, then I went up onto the patio, wondering what time I could reasonably go to bed. I looked at my watch, it was only ten o'clock. The DJ was playing seventies Motown and there were couples and groups of singles dancing under the flashing, coloured lights.

I had just decided that ten o'clock was ok to sneak off to bed when a voice at my elbow said: 'Dance with me?' I half turned and saw a lady in a green satin cheongsam, with raven black hair and a pale complexion, her dark eyes fixed on me. 'Dance with me,' she repeated, and I realised it wasn't a question and I felt the blood rise to my face because she was very slim and very good looking and had very black hair and I am attracted to such ladies. I didn't say anything but I put down my empty glass on a table and walked out onto the dancefloor and turned to face her and we started dancing, close, but not touching, arms near to our sides, hers encased in long, satin elbow gloves that matched her dress.

'I'm Natalia,' the lady in the cheongsam said. 'And I think you are the most elegant lady here tonight.' She had an accent that said Eastern Europe. Closer than that I couldn't get.

I blushed again. 'Thank you, Natalia. I'm Helen.'

'I know,' she said. 'I asked. You came with Wilford, the architect.' For a fleeting moment I thought she was going to say something about the house, but I couldn't see this lady laughing helplessly. There was too much reserve about her. Too much seriousness. She moved closer and I could smell her scent, light and sharp.

'You were looking at me,' I said. 'Earlier, when I was dancing.'

'Yes,' she agreed, completely at ease. 'I wanted to meet you, but then you disappeared.'

'I went down to the lake,' I explained.

'If I had known,' she said, 'I would have followed you.'

Over on the far side of the dancefloor the DJ announced that he was 'slowing things down' and Gloria Gaynor's I will Survive faded out and was replaced by All by Myself. Natalia held out her arms and I held mine out and we came closer, bodies still not touching, one hand one each other's waist, one on the shoulder. I felt her satin glove on my skin and the curve of her slender waist under my hand and I felt desire stir and open its petals and seep through me.

Around us couples were embracing, ladies' heads against their partners' chests, arms around backs and waists. I looked at Natalia and she looked back, her eyes dark and difficult to read. She slid her hand from my waist to the small of my back and, after a second of hesitation, I did likewise. And then we were very close and I could feel her breasts against mine, feel the tiny swell of her stomach against mine. She was only an inch or so shorter than me in the three-inch heels that I could see through the thigh-length split in her dress. Closer up I could see her full lips and flared nostrils and see the disco lights reflecting off her hair, blacker than night, and I had a sudden vision of her pussy and my guts tightened and I felt nervous and brave at the same time. Nervous because this magnificent lady was coming on to me on the dancefloor, in front of all the guests. Brave because I knew nothing bad could happen on a night like this, not with a lady like this.

As Eric Carmen's voice rose to a crescendo Natalia smiled at me and stroked my cheek with her gloved finger. 'You are so beautiful, Helen.' I felt myself panting with desire and anticipation and a twinge of fear. Natalia's hand slid from my bare shoulder to the nape of my neck, drawing my face to hers, her lips parting slightly, her eyes still on mine. Then our lips touched and I melted inside as I felt her warmth and softness against my mouth. She made no move to invade my mouth with her tongue, she just brushed her lips across my mine, slowly and tenderly and I felt tears of desire well in my eyes and I couldn't remember the last time I had been so turned on. The dancefloor, the house, the lake were all forgotten. The only important thing in the universe was the feel of this lady's lips on mine and that it should continue until the music stopped or I fainted with passion.

All by Myself was replaced by Unchained Melody but the corniness of the DJ's choices was lost on me; I was barely aware of the music. What I was aware of was Natalia's taut body touching mine at breast and tummy and hips, her right arm around my neck, her other around my waist. And as we moved gently to the music she pressed her lips to mine and I felt the tip of her tongue slide into my mouth and I felt my legs tremble with lust. She tasted sweet and minty and her tongue was warm and wet and rasped over mine as I offered it to her. We French kissed for maybe thirty seconds, eyes shut, swaying to the Righteous Brothers' melody, and I felt her press her groin to mine, felt her pubic mound against mine and the blood raced through my arteries and veins and I felt hot and light-headed and I pressed my mound back at her.