Chapter 3: A Good Idea at the Time

A Good Idea at the Time

More Karen

May - June 1980

When I woke up, it took a little while for me to realize where I was; seeing Karen still asleep beside me reminded me of what had occurred last night. I needed to get up, find the bathroom, and have a long pee; I tried to remember just where the bathroom in Karen’s apartment was. I slowly slid out of the bed, and felt my way to the bedroom door. At least there was some light entering the main living room, I was able to navigate my way around the furniture, into the kitchen, and then finally into the bathroom. I sat on the toilet, relieved myself, and then pressed the button to flush the toilet. I hope that with the door closed, it wouldn’t be loud enough to wake Karen.

I made my way back to the bedroom, and got back into bed. Karen stirred; and rolled over to kiss me. Her body felt warm, and her hands were soft and gentle as she caressed my chest.

“Is it too early for us to make love this morning?” she asked, kissing my nipples.

I pushed her over on her back, and started to suck on her nipples. She moaned, and spread her legs wide. I moved on top of her, and reached down to guide my prick inside her. We made love slowly, gently, and she pressed her face into my chest when I came inside her.

“If you want, I can make us breakfast after we’ve had a shower,” I said. “Together.”

“You mean, both of us in the shower at the same time?” she replied. “Um, it’s not a very big shower; I don’t know how we would both fit in there at the same time. I’ve never had a shower with another person before...”

She let me to the bathroom; and while her shower was a little on the small side; there was still enough room for the two of us to get in under the water.

“No sense in wasting water,” I said. “Conservation is important.”

“And I thought it was just because you wanted to feel my boobies pressed up against you,” she said. “And touch my body, like you’re doing right now.”

“Well, that too, I guess. Unless you’re complaining?”

We finished our shower, dried off, and then we got dressed. I told Karen that I would make her breakfast, and suggested scrambled eggs, toast and home fries.

“Home fries? What are they?” she asked.

I described what they were, and asked her for some eggs, milk, potatoes, spices, and a frying pan. I managed to find almost everything I needed; Karen’s stock of spices was rather limited by my standards. I started by peeling the potatoes; once the home fries were sizzling in the frying pan, I started on the eggs. It took me about thirty minutes to make everything; cooking in a strange kitchen without all the implements that I was accustomed to took longer than I had planned. But we had our breakfasts; she was very impressed when I served our meals at her table.

“I’ve never had anyone make a breakfast like that for me,” she said. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“I’ve been cooking for myself, and others, for quite a while.”

“These potato things are really good,” she said. “What did you call them? House fries?”

“Home fries. They’re better if they are cooked with chilli flakes, and maybe some finely diced onion and capsicum, but ... Lori taught me how to cook them originally, well, her mother did in the first instance. Apparently they’re a pretty common cooked breakfast item in the US.”

Once we had finished breakfast, I cleaned things up, did the dishes while Karen put them away. We then went into the living room, and sat on the couch, my arm around her as she snuggled into my chest.

“What would you like to do before we go back to my place, for the afternoon rehearsal?” I asked.

“We could sit here and cuddle and kiss,” Karen suggested. “Maybe tell each other more about ourselves. If we run out of stuff to do, we could always go back to bed...”

“I’ve unleashed a sex demon!” I said. “Or were you always like this?”

“Oh, well, I’ve always enjoyed sexy things,” she said. “Not that Tony was much good at it, but I still enjoyed it. And it’s been so much nicer with you. But maybe we should talk a bit more about ourselves; I don’t want you thinking I’m a nymphomaniac.”

“And what would be wrong with that if you were?”

“Well ... I don’t want you getting the idea that I only want you for sex...”

“And if you did? But you’re right, let’s talk and learn a bit about each other some more. Then I’ll drag you off to bed and ravish you.”

“Oh yes, please ... Maybe I can convince you to go down on me, and lick me again? I really, really enjoyed that. Maybe I can try to do the same to you, too?”

“Deal. Now, what shall we start with? Maybe you can tell me more about your life growing up, your family, stuff like that? And I can do the same.”

She told me about her childhood in greater detail; growing up in Randwick, being taught by the Brigidine Sisters at the convent school. During summers, they would walk down to Coogee Beach; and they would go up to the North Coast to stay at a holiday camp run by the Knights of the Southern Cross. She had very little exposure to the world outside of the Catholic Church, school, out of school activities, friends, family activities. It wasn’t until she left school and started working that, in her words ‘my eyes were opened’; her upbringing was very sheltered, and had been considerably protected by her parents, particularly her father. Quite the opposite of my childhood.

I told her more details about my childhood; recollections of the early years at infants and primary school; getting my first bike, and riding it around to see my friends after school or on the weekends, going to the beach in the summers. I told her about the extended family; relatives up in Newcastle, and my mother’s family, and how my aunt and uncle bought a sheep farm out near Cowra, and how I would spent some time up there. She was amazed at how much freedom my parents gave me; I told her about my father always telling me ‘don’t do anything stupid’. She laughed when I explained about my misunderstanding of what he meant; I assumed he was hinting ‘don’t fool around with girls’, while what he really meant was ‘don’t do anything that will end up with you being in hospital or arrested by the police’.

“Would this be doing something stupid?” she asked, as she pulled my face closer and kissed me.

“Um ... no, I don’t think so,” I said, when we broke out kiss. “Not unless you put me in hospital.”

“I might, if you don’t take me back to bed right now, and ravish my body with your tongue, fingers, lips and cock like I suggested earlier,” she said, laughing.

I picked her up, and carried her off to her bed. Once we were undressed, I kissed her, starting at her lips, and slowly working my way down, sucking her breasts before diving between her legs. I licked and sucked her pussy, fingering her to several orgasms, before she pleaded with me to enter her. She came a further two times before I reached my own orgasm.

“Oh my gosh, that was so good,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever come so often in such a short period of time! Most of the time with Tony, I’d be lucky to come once.”

“Do you know what eighty percent of women do after sex?” I asked her.

“Oh, I don’t know, get up and have a pee, I guess?”

“No; although that’s probably important to avoid a urinary tract infection,” I replied. “Most women finish the job off properly themselves.”

Karen laughed, reached down to touch herself, and moved her hands away.

“I don’t need to do that, not with you. How is it that you know so much about love-making, why is it you’re so good at satisfying me? Did you learn all that at your school’s sex education classes? The nuns were pretty hopeless at that; I mean, how can a woman who’s never done anything, never kissed a guy, how can you expect them to know anything about sex, and love and relationships?.”

“No, they were pretty useless,” I said. “When Cathy and I first started going out we were both pretty ignorant; but it was just trial and error, experimentation, being up front and honest with each other, telling the other person what we enjoyed, what we didn’t like. Eventually I managed to learn how to do things.”

“I guess I have Cathy, Lori, and who was the other girl? Janelle? I have those three to thank for how great you are in bed,” she said.

“What was that ‘Skyhooks’ song? ‘You only like me cos I’m good in Bed’?

“NO! Don’t say that, that’s not true!” she exclaimed, sounding upset. “I’ve liked you ever since I met you, when you started working with us in January. I hope you don’t think that’s how I am. I’d like you as much as I do even if we hadn’t spent the night together. Do you really think I’m like that, that all I want you for is sex?”

Fuck, I had put my foot in it again, and upset her. That was one thing I was brilliant at, saying the wrong thing and upsetting girls, girls who cared for me.

“No, Karen, I was only joking, being silly. I know you’re not like that. I like you a lot, a real lot, and I would like you just as much even if we hadn’t slept together. My love isn’t conditional on you putting out for me, I don’t trade love for sex.”

“That’s good, because I wouldn’t want you to think that I was just some cheap slut, spreading my legs for you to get affection, or something. I don’t think I could ever be like that; sure, I enjoy sex, I’m probably pretty highly sexed, because I’m always thinking about it. But you’re only the second guy I’ve done it with; you’re only the second guy I’ve let see me naked; not counting going to the doctor, of course. You’re only the third guy I’ve ever kissed! Please don’t think I’m a slut, just because I want to have sex with you.”

“Karen, I hate using the word ‘slut’; do you know what the difference between a slut and a stud is, apart from the two letters?”

She shook her head.

“A slut is a woman who enjoys having lots of sex with different guys, while a stud is a guy who enjoys having lots of sex with different women. Why is one an insult, while the other a term of praise? Talk about a huge double standard. I don’t think you’re a slut, I would never call anyone that. Now between you and me, I’m glad you enjoy having sex with me, because, personally, I REALLY LOVE having sex with you. You’re an attractive, really sexy woman.”

“Do you really think I’m attractive and sexy?”

“Hell, YEAH! Remember that song I played for you last night? The one you said you felt had been written for you, ‘Alice’s Sister’?”

“Uh huh”

“You’ve been telling yourself for far too long that you’re not attractive, that no guy would find you sexy ... That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I guess I’m not accustomed to someone like you, someone who finds me attractive, desirable, someone who treats me like a woman, and not like some little girl who needs to be locked away and protected from society.”

I pulled her to me, and we kissed; she ran her hands down my back, and caressed my backside. I pushed a hand between us, and started caressing her breast. She pushed me away, onto my back.

“Now, because you find me sexy, and because I am so randy, I want us to have sex again. I want to ... I want to ... FUCK you, Will. Can we try it with me on top of you? I’ve heard about that position, but never tried it. What should I do?”

I guided her over my body, and told her to slowly lower her body, until she was right against my knob.

“Feel me, move my prick back and forward until you have me lined up,” I said. “Then lower yourself slowly onto me; and you can control the pace, how deep and hard you want it. Just use your legs to push yourself up and down.”

“Oh I like this!” she exclaimed.

I pushed up into her, synchronising my movements with hers. She cried out loudly as she came; and a few seconds later, I gripped her hips as I started coming.

“That was fantastic, I felt like I was fucking you, not the other way around, not having you fucking me!” she said. “Oh, I said the f-word again; you’ve turned me into a rude and crude woman. Are you sure you don’t mind me using that word with you?”

“What other word would you rather use?” I said. “There are times when ‘fucking’ is the perfect word for it. Other times, it’s love-making.”

She snuggled up against me, and rested a hand on my softening prick.

“I like both of those words,” she said softly. “And I love the actions; I love what we do when we fuck, or when we make love.”

We headed off to shower, then straightened her bed, got dressed, and made our way out to my car. On the drive back to Lane Cove, Karen asked me if I would consider doing her a favour.

“Sure, what would you like?” I replied.

“Now, I certainly don’t expect you necessarily agree to this, but tomorrow morning, would you like to come to Mass with me?” she asked. “Not being Catholic, you won’t actually be able to take Mass, but I’d like it if you would come along to the service with me.”

“Sure, I would love to go with you,” I replied. “I assume you want me to stay with you tonight, as well?”

“Well ... I was hoping we could make ... I want to fuck you some more,” she said, blushing.

I smiled to myself; she was so funny about using the word ‘fuck’; of course when she was really turned on, and we were in the middle of it, she had no hesitation about letting fly with a few ‘fucks’.

“I would love that, too, Karen,” I said. “So, what do I need to wear to fit in?”

“Oh, you don’t have to dress up in a suit or anything like that. Some men do, but mainly the older ones. Just a nice pair of trousers, and a shirt with a collar. You don’t need a tie. But thank you for agreeing to come to church with me, Will. That means a lot to me.”

I guessed that one morning at Mass wouldn’t kill me, and besides, it might be interesting. I still remembered how the Anglican Holy Communion service went, and I assumed the Catholic Mass was fairly similar to it. I glanced across at Karen, she seemed to be smiling, no, she was beaming. I felt that I had done the right thing by saying I would go to Mass with her.

We arrived back at the house just as the others were arriving for the pre-rehearsal barbeque; I introduce Karen to everyone, and Paul introduced a potential new member of the band to us; a youngish girl, vivid read hair.

“Guys, this is Fiona, Fiona Shaw; she’s a member of that Dixieland group from Sydney Uni that played at Jillian’s wake. She plays the sax and clarinet, and can also sing. I thought today might be a good day to let her audition and see if she fits in with us. We need another vocalist, even if to take some of the load from Will.”

After we had lunch, it was up to the studio to give Fiona a chance to run through some songs with us. I had to admit, she was good; very good. She picked up our style of playing quickly, and was able to improvise accompaniments with both the sax and clarinet quickly. After singing backup on a few songs, we asked if there was a particular song that she felt suited her voice where she could sing lead.

“Do you know Irving Berlin’s “What’ll I Do?” she asked.

It was one that we played sometimes; it wasn’t on our main repertoire list, but we knew it well enough.

“I’ll start with the intro,” I said, “and you can join in when you’re ready.”

I played the opening bars, and Fiona started singing.

She sounded really good; even better than my favourite version, the Judy Garland version.

It was when she started to sing the middle section; it bought back memories of Lori, and how she had left me.

I had to stop playing, I felt that I was about to burst out into huge sobs.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take a break,” I said, and headed out to the back of the studio, and down the stairs. I made it out to the back yard before I started crying; I leant against the side of the garage, the tears running down my face. I realized I had Mary Beth on one side of me, and Karen on the other, both had an arm around my body, comforting me. I brushed the tears away from my eyes.

“Are you okay, Will?” Mary Beth asked. “I guess that probably wasn’t the best song that you could have played at the moment. Do you want to call it a day? Get back to things next week?”

“No, I’ll be right,” I said. “Just give me a few minutes; Mary Beth, can you apologise to Fiona for me, and say I’ll be back up in a bit, and maybe we can try something else?”

Mary Beth went back up to the studio, leaving me with Karen.

“You’re still really upset about Lori leaving you, aren’t you,” she said. “Maybe I’m pushing you, and it’s too soon...”

“No, you’re not pushing me,” I said. “There’s just some songs, certain songs that have particular memories, they bring back events, times. There are some that bring back memories of Cathy, and we’ve been apart for over four years. I mean, Lori and I were good, close friends for nine years, that takes time to heal. I need you to help me do that. I’ll be fine.”

I pulled her close to me, and we kissed. It wasn’t passionate, or deep; just our lips, soft, moist, touching, brushing. After a minute or so, I did feel much better; I thanked Karen, and we went back up to the studio.

“I’m sorry about that, everyone,” I said. “You sounded fantastic, Fiona; is there something else that we could try?”

“How about ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’?” she suggested.

This was another one that we rarely played, Mary Beth found a copy of the sheet music for me, and we played it through without vocals first, then did it again with Fiona singing. When we finished the song, Mary Beth suggested we talk about whether Fiona would be a suitable addition to the group. Fiona and Karen went downstairs, while we talked the decision over.

“I think she’s good,” I said. “Great voice, and she’s pretty good at the sax and clarinet; we’ve been pretty thin there without Jillian and Megan.”

“I agree,” Phil said. “We haven’t tried the rockier stuff, some of the bluesy tracks, but I think she’s got the ability.”

Everyone else agreed, so Mary Beth went downstairs, and told her to come back up. She welcomed Fiona into the group, we all applauded.

“I’ll give you details on the stage dresses you’ll need,” Mary Beth said. “I’ll give Wendy a call tonight, see if she can make one for you, she’s got the patterns and all that stuff. She’s just over at St Leonards, I guess that’ll be convenient for you?”

We decided that next Saturday we would go through the other part of our repertoire, the rock and blues stuff, and we could also start working on modifying the existing arrangements to incorporate Fiona into them.

“We’re playing at the Chatswood Civic Club then, so if that’s convenient for you, that can be your debut with us,” Mary Beth said.

That pretty much wrapped up the afternoon’s rehearsal; I got the others to autograph some of the albums that Karen bought with her, then I went to my room to pack an overnight bag.

“Will these be okay for Church tomorrow?” I asked, holding up a pair of slacks and a shirt.

“They look fine,” Karen said. “You don’t have to come if you really don’t want to.”

“No, I want to go with you,” I said. “Now, let’s get back to your place.”

On the way back to Waverley, Karen asked me if I had any preferences for dinner, when I said that there was nothing in particular I wanted, she asked if pizza would be fine. I told her that sounded fine, so we stopped at a pizza place on Bondi Road on the way. Fifteen minutes later, we left with a large size ‘super supreme with anchovies’ (the anchovies were at my insistence), and drove the short distance back to her apartment. I stopped at a bottle shop a few doors up. While I was waiting for the pizza to be made, I ducked into the pharmacy a few doors down, and purchased two packets of condoms. I avoided the usual ‘wetcheck’ brand, and found some that looked interesting, ‘Lifestyles, ultra-thin for better sensations’ and ‘ribbed for her pleasure’. At least they looked better than the version in ‘exotic, alluring colours’. I felt that two dozen should be sufficient for the next few weeks.

“Are they what I think they are?” Karen asked, pointing to the packets of condoms.

“Uh huh,” I replied. “We don’t want to risk you getting knocked up, do we?”

“Twenty-four,” she said. “So what will we use next weekend?”

“I was kind of hoping these might last a few weeks,” I said. “When these run out, I can get the ones in a variety of ‘exotic, alluring colours’ if you like.”

“Colours? I’m excited about the ones that are ribbed for my pleasure!”

We left our discussions on condoms to one side, and started on the pizza. It was very good, at least up to the standard of Tony’s Pizzeria back at Erskineville; better than the place in Lane Cove; and almost as good as the place in South Melbourne that Tracy had taken us to. The wine was quite nice, too; even if Karen didn’t have proper wine glasses.

“I can see I will need to get some better glasses if we are going to be eating here together on a regular basis,” she said.

I thought that I should see about getting a nice set of wine glasses as a present for Karen; I would look around some of the shops in the city next week. When we had finished our meal, Karen asked what I wanted to do this evening.

“I don’t know if there’s anything decent on TV, I usually watch ‘Hey Hey’,” she said.

“Sounds fine by me,” I said.

‘Hey Hey’ was funny, as usual. Red Symons was his obnoxious self, the jokes were corny, but it was fun sitting with Karen, watching some mindless entertainment. At one stage, she lay down on the sofa, with her head in my lap. She didn’t object when I slid a hand inside her top and started caressing a lovely breast. She responded by turning over slightly, so that as well as having a hand inside her top to caress a breast, I could slide a hand inside her pants, and slowly rub her pussy. It didn’t take long before we decided that Karen’s bed was a far more attractive option than watching Darryl Somers and Ozzie Ostrich.

“Now, how do you suppose these condoms work?” she asked, looking at the pack. “Can we try an ultra-thin one first, then a ribbed one? I want to see the comparison.”

I looked at the instructions; it seemed that the secret was to squeeze the air out of the bulge at the tip of the condom, then roll it down my shaft.

“It can’t be all that difficult,” I said. “There’s some illustrations here on the instructions.”

We undressed each other, and got into bed; I put the condoms on the night stand next to me. We kissed and caressed each other, and I slid down between her legs to lick her pussy. I didn’t know how the condom would feel inside her, and I wanted to make sure she was fully wet. When it was time for me to enter her, I ripped open one of the packets, and she sat up next to me, holding the condom between her fingers.

“Oh, it’s all slippery,” she said, trying to hold it securely. “Let me roll it on ... I have to squeeze the air out of the top, now, all the way down. Does that look right?”

“I guess so,” I said. “It seems to be on pretty firmly. Ready to try it?”

“Oh, yes, am I ever ready!”

Positioning myself between her legs, I slowly entered her. It felt a little strange; I could feel the pressure of her vagina around my cock, but I missed feeling the sensations of her wet walls sliding around my knob. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant ... actually, it still felt very nice. I set up a steady rhythm, in and out, and Karen was moving in sync with me. I was aware of her coming, and then I could feel my orgasm approaching. I closed my eyes, clenched my muscles, and erupted, spurting inside her. When I was finished, I lay down, against her chest.

“That was nice,” she said. “Although I missed feeling you spurting inside me; I really like that. But I guess that’s the whole point of you wearing it. How did it feel for you?”

“It was fine,” I said. “A little different, but you were still able to make me come.”

“Well, I guess we know how to use them, and we’ve got some for when it’s not safe to have unprotected sex,” she said.

I relaxed on her chest, and when I felt that my prick had softened, I pulled back out from her.

“Shit! The bloody thing came off!” I said, as I felt the condom slide off my prick, and stay inside her.

“Didn’t the instructions say to hold onto the rim of it as you withdraw?” Karen said. “How will you get it out?”

“Do you expect me to ready the bloody instructions? I’ll have to see if I can pull it out from you with my fingers.”

I slid down between her legs, and saw the rim of the condom just sticking out of her vagina. I grabbed it with my fingers, and gently pulled it from her. I managed to spill the contents – all of my come – over her pussy though.

“Well, fuck ... excuse me, but just as well we weren’t relying on the condom to stop you from getting pregnant. My mistake; I’ll know better next time.”

“Considering neither of us have ever used one before; in fact, that’s the first time I’ve actually seen a condom in real life, I reckon we did pretty well. Where are you going to throw it?”

“I’ll wrap it in toilet paper, and flush it down the bog,” I said. “Probably the best place for it.”

I deposited the used condom in the toilet, and flushed it away. I grabbed a handful of toilet paper, and wiped up the spillage around Karen’s pussy, and flushed that away, too. I lay next to her, and we cuddled for a while, and then she suggested we try the ribbed ones. She had already got me mostly erect, and a few decent strokes of my prick had me hard and ready for her to roll the ribbed condom on. I mounted her, sliding deeply into her – she was still very wet. The sensations weren’t quite as intense as they had been with the previous ‘ultra-thin’ condom; but it still felt pretty good. This time, I remembered to hold the rim of the condom around the base of my prick after I had come as I was pulling out.

“That felt ... different,” she said. “I’m not sure I would rave about the ribs, but it was just different, somehow. At least it didn’t come off inside me as you pulled out.”

I flushed that condom away, and returned to bed. As I lay next to Karen, I thought about what sex was like while wearing a condom. It wasn’t quite as sensitive as it was without one; the main difference was not feeling her vaginal walls sliding around my knob. But it wasn’t unpleasant; it didn’t make it much harder to come, it didn’t ruin the experience for me. It was nicer being ‘skin to skin’, not having that layer of latex, as thin as it was, between my prick and her vagina, but considering Karen wasn’t taking the pill I could live with using condoms.

When we woke up in the morning, we made good use of another of the ‘ultra-thin’ condoms, before having a shower and breakfast. We then dressed for Church; Karen said that because there was only limited parking around the Church, she would generally walk; it was not much more than a kilometre; so we headed out up Birrell Street, across Waverley Park, then down Bondi Road to the Church at Wellington Street.

As we walked, Karen gave me a brief rundown of how to act once we were in the church; how to properly cross myself, when and how to genuflect, and what to do once we entered the church, dipping my fingers in the font, and making a sign of the cross on my forehead.

“We also address the priest as ‘Father’,” she said. “But if you’re familiar with the usual Anglican Holy Communion service, it will see pretty familiar. Just follow along, I’ll whisper instruction during parts that might be confusing. I’m really happy that you decided to come along with me this morning.”

She was right, I had no trouble following along with the service; some of the prayers were familiar to me; the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, and many of the responses to the words the priest said. Even the hymns were familiar to me. When it came time for the sermon, the priest chose to speak about the Parable of the Sower, which was one I also knew well. He had a twist on the explanation of the parable; his take was that rather than waste time trying to get the Church’s message through to the people who represent ‘the stony ground’, we should look at those that are in the category of having the thorns and weeds, which correspond to ‘the cares of the world and deceitfulness of riches’; and work to alleviate those cares, so they don’t have the distractions that would prevent them following Jesus’s message.

I thought his words were quite insightful, and very different from most religious leaders where they need to keep preaching to the ‘unconverted’, because eventually they will take note and believe. In his words, that’s just wasting the Church’s resources, and would only alienate these people.