The Archdeacon's Wife

This story is set in the last decade of the 20th Century. All characters are fictitious, the names are made up and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is coincidental. British speech, measurements and dress sizes are used throughout.

She was the first woman whom Matt had ever really fancied. Of course, there had been girls in his class and also actresses and singers on the telly that he fancied too. But she had a special place in his prepubescent fantasies. Her name was Miss Jane Beckenridge, and she was his teacher in the village school. She was tall, golden-haired, blue-eyed and very pretty albeit her hair and her dress sense were conservative if not downright old-fashioned. Although in her late twenties, she had elderly parents who kept her on a tight rein, her mother in particular being rather controlling. As hemlines rose in the sixties and came down in the seventies, Miss Beckenridge's skirts and dresses finished resolutely below her knees although they could not hide her hourglass figure and shapely calves.

When Matt finished junior school in the mid 1970s and had to go to the senior school in the nearest town, one of the many bad things about the new arrangement was that he would no longer see Miss Beckenridge. But then, in a rather surprising development, he started attending the village Sunday School at which Miss Beckenridge also happened to be the principal teacher. Matt had never been known for his religious fervour although he did attend the local church from time to time. His mother looked at him suspiciously when he announced that he wanted to start attending but his more devout and conventional grandmother applauded and warmly commended his late found zeal. Of course, he only went there to look at Miss's legs and think impure thoughts about her. He was often gently scolded by her for not paying attention. In fact, sometimes he was deliberately naughty just to get her attention and be told off.

The village loved Miss Beckenridge but could never understand why she had not got snapped up in matrimony. Many of the local young farmers had tried wooing her but all had failed in the face of her natural reticence and the overt and stubborn hostility of her parents who discouraged any social life beyond the safe environs of church functions. Mr and Mrs Beckenridge didn't want anyone taking their only child away from them especially as she waited on them hand and foot. By the time she was in her early thirties the village gossips wondered if she'd been left on the shelf. Then the only person whom her selfish parents feared and respected took her away from them.

He was the Reverend Dr Henry Parsons, the vicar of the local church, appointed a couple of years earlier. He had quite a few letters after his name but the most important ones, "DD Cantab", written in gold lettering on the sign outside the village church, showed that he had a doctorate in divinity from Cambridge University. "Parson Parsons" some of the villagers called him laughingly behind his back, although none would dare to make such a joke (or indeed any joke) in his presence. The Church in general may have been getting more liberal, but not the vicar. He was a throwback to the stern old divines of a hundred years ago - all fire and brimstone. As well as his daunting and towering intellect, he was physically imposing. In his late fifties, he was tall and balding with a fringe of greying hair, big bushy eyebrows over a fierce pair of dark eyes and big beaky nose.

"He looks just like Sam, the Eagle, in The Muppets!" Matt said to his mum and grandma one day.

"For shame, Matt, talking about a man of the cloth that way!" scolded his grandma who got even crosser when she saw his mum laughing.

Grandma and the older villagers approved of the Rev Dr Parsons marrying Miss Beckenridge. A very respectable match and a great helpmate for the Vicar who was widowed with two daughters, one the same age as Matt and the other a year or so younger. Mum wasn't so sure.

"Fine for the Vicar, but I don't think that an old buzzard like him will make Miss Beckenridge happy!" Matt overheard his mum saying to a neighbour (and out of her own mother's hearing).

"Escaping from her parents, I'd say," rejoined the neighbour and Matt's mother gloomily agreed.

But married they were and Miss Beckenridge became Mrs Parsons, transforming from the dutiful daughter to the dutiful vicar's wife and the dutiful stepmother to his daughters. She was very dutiful, everyone said so, but cheerful and sweet with it so, perhaps she was at least content if not happy.

The village was too small for a man of Dr Parsons' talents and ambitions. He already had a burgeoning reputation as a conservative theologian and after a year or so he took up an academic role at a theological college in another part of the country. Later he was also promoted in the church hierarchy to the prestigious position of Archdeacon (entitling him to be addressed as the Venerable Dr Parsons). He often had articles published in the Sunday Telegraph, a very conservative British broadsheet, fulminating against the evils of the "permissive society" and the erosion of public morals since the sixties.

When the Parsons left, Matt immediately stopped going to Sunday School and relapsed into a godless atheism (well that's what his grandma called it). However, he never forgot Jane Parsons, who remained his ideal of beautiful, if chaste, femininity and class. After school he joined the merchant navy and spent several years roaming the world. He got married, got divorced and in his early thirties found himself back in his home village where he started a small business as a marine cartographer.

Dr Parsons, now in his eighties, was now retired. His energies burnt out after decades of theological rigour and polemical struggle. He had had a stroke and a heart attack, both brought on by his choleric temper and an over indulgence in vintage port. Still in poor health, he spent most of the day either in bed or on the sofa reading good works. His fire was spent and Jane, his patient and dutiful wife, assumed the burden of looking after him. They retired to the same village that they had got married in and of which Jane still retained very fond memories. Her parents had long since passed away, but she still had many former friends and acquaintances and she quickly got back into village and parish life, her domestic duties permitting.

The Parsons had moved into a grand old Georgian house in the centre of the village. It was far too big for a retired couple and many of the rooms, especially upstairs, were not in a good state of repair. But the Archdeacon had always had his eye on it when he'd been just a vicar, so when it came on the market he swooped in and bought it. In a typical act of conceit, he renamed it "Archdeacon House" although strictly speaking he had only an honorary claim to the title of archdeacon now that he had retired. At the end of the large garden was the little cottage where Matt lived. It had been the dwelling place of the servants to the big house in bygone days and there was a discreet connecting path to the back door of the larger dwelling.

Matt was surprised and pleased when he heard that Jane Parsons was going to be his neighbour. He wondered how she'd look after all these years and whether time had been kind to her. He was not disappointed.

Jane was still very attractive for her age. Her hair was now ash blonde rather than the more golden colour of her youth. She'd never dyed it as Henry disapproved of such frivolous behaviour. Her face, though lined with quite a few crow's-feet, was still very sweet and her pretty blue eyes retained their sparkle and humour. She'd filled out over the years and could no longer be called slim. In fact, buxom would be a more accurate description. Her bust and hips had expanded although not having had children she had kept her tummy under control (with a bit of help from shapewear). This had preserved, accentuated even, her hourglass figure and her legs were still slim and elegant.

Matt was immediately captivated again by his old teacher. He reintroduced himself and helped the Parsons move in and did a few odd jobs around the house. He was rewarded a couple of weeks later by an invitation to dinner one Sunday. Given the Archdeacon's fearsome reputation he dressed conservatively in a suit and tie and was very respectful to both.

"Thank you, Mrs Parsons, I would like some roast potatoes," and "I quite agree, Dr Parsons, it really is deplorable."

The Archdeacon was polite in return, although fixing his eagle eye on Matt, remarked that he had not seen him at church that morning. Jane tactfully changed the subject. Henry soon became fatigued and Jane helped him to bed. Given his infirmity, Henry's bed was situated on the ground floor.

Matt made his excuses to leave but Jane asked him to stay awhile and his polite offer to wash up was gratefully accepted. So, once she'd put Henry to bed, Jane helped him dry up and they returned to the living room.

"Come and sit next to me, Matt, we have loads to catch up on," she said, topping up his wine glass, "Oh, and do call me Jane, I'm not your teacher now."

So they exchanged their life stories. Jane was very sympathetic when Matt told her about his broken marriage. In fact she really seemed to empathise with the torments of a loveless relationship although not in a way that hinted about her own.

"Do try to lose the bitterness, Matt. You won't heal until you do. It's a very destructive emotion," she counselled, patting his hand and he did try to take the advice to heart.

Matt supposed that in her position as a clergyman's wife she'd often had to support people with this sort of problem and he warmed to her sympathetic manner. As she was recounting her own life, Matt took the opportunity to take in her modest beauty. Jane was seated to his right and they were half-turned towards each other. She wore a crisp white blouse and a beautiful Greek blue cashmere cardigan which was unbuttoned and draped over the curve of her breasts. The blouse itself was fully buttoned but, as is sometimes the way, a gap had opened halfway down and he could peek through and see her lacy white bra. Her blue skirt, which was almost the same colour as the cardigan was full and calf length but when she drew her leg underneath her, the skirt rode up and showed the full length of her stocking-clad leg from knee to ankle and her pretty little foot. Matt's teenage fantasies returned to disturb him.

Matt became a regular visitor to the Archdeacon and his wife. He undertook some small repair work around the old house and although they seldom entertained, he was often invited round for dinner at weekends and invariably stayed to chat with Jane once Henry went to bed. Jane was a fan of romantic novels. She usually had two or three on the go at any one time and Matt became used to seeing some bodice-ripping yarn (usually about 18th century sea captains and their aristocratic ladies) lying about the house. One such series was televised and Jane was not just thrilled but very eager for Matt to join her watching it. It really wasn't his thing at all but he enjoyed her company.

After one episode in which the hero fought Javanese pirates, Jane pointed to a tattoo on Matt's arm.

"That's exactly the same as the pirate had! Did you get it when you were out there?"

Matt had indeed been to the Far East and had the usual set of tattoos that seamen acquire on their travels including the small serpentine motif that was inscribed on his right arm.

"Which one?"

"This one," she said, moving her finger over it and ruffling the blonde hairs on his arm.

It felt delightful and his cock stirred. She'd never really touched him intimately although she had taken to kissing him on the cheek when he departed.

"Oh, that one, well I got it done in the Philippines and not Java," and he told her a little anecdote about his travels.

"What about that one?" she asked, touching another.

Soon she was exploring both his arms with her soft but strong fingers as he told a little tale about each one and hoped that his growing erection wasn't too obvious.

"You've lived such an interesting life, Matt!" she said, "I think I've missed out on quite a lot," she continued a little wistfully.

"It's never too late to spread your wings, Jane."

"I can't really, with Henry the way that he is," and she changed the subject.

Featuring prominently in the next episode of the TV programme was 18th century London and its rather licentious morals. There were plenty of bedroom, seduction and whorehouse scenes. Jane commented that no doubt this was wildly exaggerated for TV. Matt had done a lot of reading on his travels and was able to gently contradict her. The 18th century was indeed quite sexually liberated and certainly more permissive than the Victorian period a century later.

This led on to a discussion about 20th century morals and their decline. Jane was by no means as reactionary and prudish as her husband but she generally disapproved of "modern morals" as she put it. The fact that both her step-daughters were living "in sin" with their boyfriends was a source of mild embarrassment to her and bitter disappointment and anger to her husband.

"I cannot pick up a paper without having to read about the lurid affairs of footballers and film stars," she said, sipping her third glass of wine and inclined to be a bit talkative, "There's no romance, it's all just about sex! It seems massively overrated!"

"It's not, Jane," said Matt with a look. He was having an on-off affair with Sandra, one of the local barmaids and he couldn't get enough of it.

"Well, I daresay a widely-travelled man such as yourself sees it differently," she said with a tolerant smile, "But really it's a bit too much for me. Anyway part two's just about to start!" and she poured herself another glass of wine and topped his up too. Matt was quite slim but Jane being quite buxom seemed to take up a lot of the two-seater settee. He was conscious of how close their bodies were without actually snuggling as they sat together.

The episode ended with a long and quite raunchy scene in which the captain returned home from his far eastern voyage and was reunited with his love. Jane watched intently. Glancing sideways at her, Matt could have sworn she turned slightly pink at the extended kissing scene.

"Steamy stuff, Jane!" he said as the final credits rolled.

"It's very well acted!" she said smiling and only a tinge embarrassed. She turned the TV off.

"Do you know," she asked, pouring her fourth glass of wine, "that I've never really been kissed before? At least not like that between the Captain and Lady Anne!"

Matt was astonished, "But you were the prettiest girl in the village!" he blurted.

"Thank you, Matt," she smiled at the compliment and its unpolished if heartfelt delivery, "I wasn't really allowed boyfriends before Henry, and he's a very good man but not what you might call romantic!"

Seeing Matt's muted surprise, she continued, "Oh, I'm not a virgin but sometimes I do think I've led too sheltered an existence!"

It might ruin things but this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"I'd like to kiss you, Jane!"

To his relief she did not recoil. She looked at him intently as if weighing up his fairly overt pass and trying to fathom his sincerity.

"No, Matt, that wouldn't be right, would it?" and there was a flash of the old Sunday School teacher that he loved. But she didn't shoo him away.

"Besides! A young man like you kissing an old thing like me!" she chided, but lightening the tone.

"Since I was a schoolboy I've always thought you were the loveliest woman I've ever met and still do!" and he told her about his boyhood infatuation with her.

Jane giggled with tipsy pleasure, "You had a crush on me! I'd never have guessed!"

"Jane, all the boys in the class had a crush on you! Your legs were the talk of the whole school!"

"No!" her unworldly naivete made him laugh.

Jane took this very good-naturedly and joined his laughter. There was no awkwardness or tension between them. But the sexual tension ebbed too. She rose and started to tidy up a little, Matt took this as a signal to go and he said a polite goodnight. Jane gave him a very chaste peck on the cheek and he left feeling that he'd crossed a line. One that he felt good about crossing but at the same time left him rather frustrated.

The next day he thought they'd both just had too much wine and how ridiculous it was for him to have the hots for a woman a quarter of a century his senior. Yes, quite ridiculous. Nevertheless!

Matt didn't see Jane much for the rest of the week but she did call out to him when he was in the garden to confirm that he would be coming round on Sunday evening to watch the next episode. So she obviously felt no rancour or embarrassment.

Any sexual feelings Jane had ever had were quenched twenty-five years ago by Henry's wretched approach to lovemaking. He just lay on top of her, still in his flannel pyjamas, with his thing in her and then flopped up and down like a stranded fish until he was done, leaving her a bit sore and not at all turned on.

What was odd though and contrary to many other women's experience was the awakening of her long dormant libido. She'd been through her menopause in her mid-fifties without too much difficulty apart from putting on a little bit of weight. Her breasts had swelled to a 38C and her hips expanded to a generous 40 inches. She was still fit, active and healthy and despite all the cake making that clergymen's wives do, her tummy remained under control at only 30 inches. She could still get into a size 14 dress (just). Her legs remained slim and she was proud of them in a non-committal way. She sometimes wished she could dare to wear shorter skirts and dresses and just sexier clothing in general. These sort of thoughts and others especially about her new handsome young neighbour had definitely started to trouble her recently.

In one of Jane's women's magazines recently there had been a long article which really made her think. It was about a "Post Menopause Zing" as they put it, that affected some older women. In Jane's case this made her feel more active and energetic but she was also starting to feel a little frustrated and unfulfilled. As Henry declined Jane was starting very late in life to be more assertive, adventurous. And horny too - although she wasn't yet prepared to admit that to herself.

So Jane was surprised but did not resent Matt's pass. Her life was quite hard and dull, looking after Henry and she looked forward to Matt's weekly visit. He was pleasant and good company. He was good-looking too if on the thin side - quite like how she'd imagined the Captain to be when she'd read the book. However she did promise herself to lay off the wine a bit and make sure Matt did too.

The next episode passed off uneventfully. Matt watched it without paying much attention as he was beguiled by Jane. She had on some wonderful perfume that taunted his senses. And was her dress shorter? A simple, white cotton number, whose plainness just contrasted with the beauty of its wearer, but was it knee length, not below the knee as she normally wore? And he was fascinated by her pretty toes that were painted a beautiful blue colour. Jane too was conscious of their physical closeness but rather than shuffle away and give him some space, she rather positioned herself closer so they were almost snuggling.

They chatted amiably after the programme had finished then Matt rose to go and Jane came to the back door with him. As he turned to her to say goodnight there was something about the way she looked at him that meant he just knew he had to kiss her. Time slowed down as he lowered his lips onto hers. At first just touching, brushing, lips together. Then a bit of movement and he tasted her. She wasn't a confident kisser, of course, but not too hesitant. He nibbled her lips a little and ever so gently put his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. He could feel her soft comfortable breasts against his chest and he ran his fingertips lightly over her back. Alas when he opened his mouth slightly as a prelude to a little French kissing she broke off.