Chapter 17

Wednesday 23rd and Thursday 24th December 1970

On Wednesday morning at 6.30am, I rolled out of bed into my running gear and emerged quietly only to be confronted by Connie wearing a running kit most women would die for (at least the ones who love running). Tight tee shirt top with obvious sports bra underneath, and brief brief shorts displaying more than their fair share of bottom cheeks. Was this legal? I asked myself. Further, the temperature outside was nearing freezing.

“Good morning, Connie,” I said. “Can I make a suggestion?”

She smiled lovingly, “Of course,” she said. How did she manage to make it sound like flirting?

“It’s brass monkeys out there,” I said.

“Ugh?” she asked.

“It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey,” I elaborated.

She laughed, understanding.

“Never heard that before?” I said wonderingly. “For someone who’s led your lifestyle you’re very naïve! It’s very cold. May I suggest something for your legs?”

She disappeared and immediately returned more suitably clad. Thick tights or leggings and the shorts on top.

Once again she amazed me. I had it in mind to slow up for her if she lagged behind, but she kept pace with me for the whole three miles. She had long legs. I did shorten my usual run, and we returned to the flat red faced from the cold and panting from the exercise.

I went for the shower, and was no sooner under the hot water, when a naked woman joined me. The shower cubicle was not over generous in size, and there was considerable bodily contact.

She had her back to me, so I lathered up and washed down her front. No, I did not linger over her breasts. It took gargantuan self-control but I remained professional. I washed her mound, her vulva (with a wash cloth), and her thighs, then she turned to face me, pressing her tits against my chest, I soaped and washed her back and bottom. I did linger over their tight roundness a little, and made sure I cleaned inside her crease. She moaned.

She did me, the same way, and for the first time she took hold of my now erect penis and delicately washed and rinsed it. She did not linger either and she did not stroke me. She gave like attention to my backside, and made quite sure my anus was completely clean, as well as my crack and perineum. All the while her breasts were pressed against my chest.

There was no way we could clean our lower legs or feet, so she kissed me softly and at some length, gently rubbing herself on my erection, before leaving me to finish, then reentering the shower to do her own legs and feet.

I towelled myself and shaved while she finished washing her hair, and then went and dressed for the day. When I emerged ready for the day, she had made tea and laid out the breakfast things, and was dressed in a demure dressing gown which covered her from head to toe.

I left with a scorching kiss, and I blessed her reticence in keeping the dressing gown closed while she did it.

While I drove to pick up Zena, I pondered over the morning. Connie was behaving exactly like a dutiful and loving wife. I felt such strong affection for her after she exercised such restraint in the shower after keeping me company on my run. My admiration for her ability to keep up with me on the run was absolute; I reckoned she could have gone faster still and further. She was very fit indeed, which impressed me no end, considering the life she had led. I resolved to ask her about that.

I told Zena about the run, though I omitted the shower.

“Have you noticed what she cooks for you?” Zena asked. “I’ll bet it’s really healthy and tastes divine?”

“You’re right,” I said. “I don’t know where she finds the ingredients, but it’s been a revelation.”

“She told us that she kept fit by running up and down stairs when the man of the moment was not around, and she’d walk everywhere, and go running when she could. In spite of the violence in her life, she had a steely resolve not to let it beat her down. She’s very strong emotionally you know.”

I thought about that, but was not so sure. It was clear she felt embarrassed about the girls’ generosity and her inability to repay, and she said she appreciated our gifts, while telling us she felt bad about her dependence. That out of the way, she enjoyed the hell out of her new fortune. She grasped life with both hands, though what she had been through had to have had its effects.

We used the shower and bathroom separately that evening, and went to our own rooms to dress up for the ‘do’. It was a fairly formal affair, suits and ties. I went in blue with a blue shirt and paler blue tie, black patents, but not winkle-pickers!

I waited in the living room until that moment when one gets edgy. Time was passing. How do women know that precise moment when you are about to shout, to emerge perfectly ready for the evening?

I was floored. Her hair was done in a chignon, showing off her long neck. I had forgotten how long and beautiful it was. Her makeup was understated but perfect and drew attention to those eyes, the dress was full length in deep red. Hang on! I’d not seen that in the fashion show! It had a deep V front and back, hugged her shape faithfully down to her thighs and then flared a little. She was now as tall as I was, so I knew she was in at least three inch heels.

“Oh Connie!” I gasped, overwhelmed. “So beautiful!”

She coloured and smiled. There was a confidence there. She knew how good she looked.

“Well,” I said, “I can see I won’t be seeing much of you this evening after the meal! They’ll be queueing up to dance with you.”

“They can queue all they like,” she said, gazing into my eyes, “I’ll only be dancing with you tonight.”

“I think the Senior Partners might ask for a dance,” I said. “It may be politic–”

“Sorry, Graham,” she said, “not even the big cheeses.”

“Connie, enjoy yourself, please,” I urged her. “Choose the right dances and I’m sure you know how to keep your suitors at bay, but you are allowed to feel a little free.”

“But,” she said, looking shocked, “won’t you be jealous? All the men–”

“You are not my property, Connie,” I told her patiently. “You are a free woman and can do and go where you please. It’s up to you what you do or don’t do. I’ll be dancing with Colette and Zena and even Harriet if Kieran lets her, so you should have your fun as well.”

“But I will be with you?” she said, now worried, “I want to be seen as your partner.”

“Yes, you will be with me, and I will be with you,” I assured her. “Everyone will respect that, and if they don’t, you tell them where to go. They may be men, but they don’t own you just because you agreed to dance with them.”

She looked at me, and understood my meaning. Men had all too often forced her because they exercised power over her. I was telling her no one, not even me, had power over her.

She smiled, hugged me, and kissed me carefully, so as not to mess up her lipstick.

The evening went well. I will always remember our entrance at the hotel lounge, the astonishment on the men’s faces, the satisfaction on Colette’s and Zena’s.

There was a minor hiccup when we sat down to the dinner. Ralph Denshaw sat on the other side of Connie. Ralph was pretty harmless, but he was also ‘pretty’, or should we say handsome, and he fancied himself with the ladies, who usually fancied him back. He also had no sense of discrimination, hitting on any woman he liked the look of, and he liked the look of Connie.

We were sitting at a long table, and he engaged her in conversation, and rather monopolised her, to the extent that I was spending all my time talking with Colette, who was sitting opposite me. She was looking daggers at Ralph who ignored her unspoken message.

The first I knew of any misdemeanour was Connie’s quiet order.

“Take your hand off my leg!”

He had assumed her politeness meant interest and had placed his hand on her thigh. I could see it; actually it was nearer her knee than her groin.

He hesitated and laughed, but left his hand there.

“Remove your hand or I stick this fork in it!” she growled. The fork was brandished, the command was quiet but had the element of steel, and her hand with the fork began to move in his hand’s direction.

He drew his hand back rapidly and reddened. He said not a word to Connie after that. That was good for me. At the end of the meal, Colette grabbed him and took him to one side. I heard her words.

“Ralph, you are a bloody fool. She’s Graham’s guest.”

“It was harmless. She over-reacted.”

“She told you to take your hand off and you laughed and left it there.”

“So? Women say these things, they don’t mean them.”

“I would have thought her reaction and her tone of voice would have told you she was serious, and what you don’t know is that she has suffered sexual attacks and was raped. She is suspicious of men, and does not like being touched by strangers. OK?”

“How was I to know?”

“You do now. In any case you should have obeyed.”

It was to his credit that Ralph came to Connie as she stood by me, and apologised. She looked surprised; it was not something she had experienced often. She smiled at him and accepted his apology.

The rest of the evening went without at hitch. She danced with me, and was asked by men when I was dancing with Zena or Colette. Harriet was monopolised by Kieran, who still shot murderous glances my way.

Connie had a whale of a time, and did get to dance with two of the partners, Kieran Walsh being conspicuous by his absence. On our way home in a taxi kept on telling me in wonder how nice and respectful all the men were who danced with her. I hoped it would heal her of some of her emotional scars.

I had danced the last waltz with her, and she was less respectful to me than they had been to her, and I told her so. She just laughed and told me she could tell I enjoyed it by what she felt while pressed against me. I had noticed the envious looks from a few of the men, and really couldn’t grumble.

Neither did I grumble about what happened when we reached home, both of us rather the worse for drink. It was two in the morning and I went to grab two mugs of milk. I emerged from the kitchen, turning off the light, to find she had disappeared. I went to her room and knocked and she wasn’t there. The bathroom door was shut and I assumed she was in there, so took one mug to her bedside drawers, and took the other to my room.

I entered and stopped dead.

Connie was standing by the bed, fully dressed, and looking a little uncertain. The following thoughts flashed across my mind in no time at all: she wanted to sleep with me, she’d been trying all week, she’d been so good, so restrained. Was I going to send her away? Not likely!

I turned and left the room, and heard her anguished cry.

“Graham, I’m sorry!”

I went into her room and brought her mug of milk back, only to bump into her as I left the room. She looked upset.

“Where are you going?” I asked her, straight faced.

“Well, er–”

“I was just getting your milk,” I said innocently.

Her face was a picture. As what I said percolated through, a smile spread across her tipsy face like sunshine after rain, and she relaxed.

“You mean?” she began.

“I mean I’m inviting you to join me in my bed.”

To the mug of milk’s danger, she launched herself at me.

“Wheyhey! Watch the milk!” I cried, slowing her in mid launch, both of us ignorant of the unintentional pun. She threw her arms round my neck and kissed me vigorously, her mouth opening in invitation, which I accepted, thrusting my tongue into her mouth, and allowing hers thereafter in mine, all the while balancing the mug in my outstretched hand.

Then she turned and preceded me into my room. I put her milk down and turned to her. She simply stood in front of me. Her back to the edge of the bed. Waiting.

I reached behind her and unzipped her, allowing the front to fall forward and away and leaving those perfect breasts on show. The dress seemed to have a bra built in. It slipped to the floor to reveal some lacy french cut knickers and a matching suspender belt to which were attached a pair of dark stockings.

I went to my knees and unhooked the stockings, rolling them down her long legs. She sighed. The knickers were next, my eyes were level with her bush as I slid the garment slowly down her thighs and calves until she stepped out of them and stood, legs a shoulder-width apart.

She had a full bush, but very closely trimmed. I reached forward and cupped her bottom from between her legs, my arm pressed against her sex, then allowing fingers to trace a path down the crease of her bottom and on along her sex, the lightest touch reserved for her button which stood firm and proud already.

She groaned, “Oh, yes!”

I unhooked her suspender belt and let it fall. She was now nude, and was pushing her mound towards to me, inviting another touch. I guided her to sit on the bed, put two pillows behind her where her head would go.

She looked puzzled for a moment but when I parted her legs, she lay back, widening them still further.

Caressing up her calves, first one then the other, kissing along her inner thighs, first one then the other, stopping short of her glistening furrow, then repeating, then once again, and once more. By now she was pushing her hips at me, wanting more attention.

“Ah! I need ... Oh, please!” her hands pulling at my head, as she mewed and moaned.

My tongue went below to her anus, rimming and licking across. She jerked, “Ooh!” in surprise. Then again, a low groan. Time. Up over her little perineum, dipping into the by now open and ready vagina, circling its open mouth, kissing it with mine.

Now she was thrashing about. “Oh, fuck! Fucking hell!, Oh yes, yes!” I held her hips still against her striving and her protests, while I brought my tongue slowly, oh, so slowly over her neat little inner lips, first left, then right, but no clitoris yet. I noticed how pretty her pussy was, inner lips nestling inside the outer, with a neat little clitoris, already peeking from its hood, inviting attention. Not yet.

She was almost weeping with frustration as I repeated the same pattern three more times then rapidly dragged over her rampant little nubbin, at the same time thrusting two fingers into her open sheath.

She howled! She bucked, twitched, spasmed. Again another traverse of her clit, again the yelps and cries as it took her over and she lost all control.

“You bugger! You lover! Oh, I LOVE you! So much, so fucking much! You STUD! You MAN!” all the while thrashing about on the bed as her thighs crushed my head and I licked her into submission, until her thighs fell open and the spasms diminished into twitches and they in turn became gentle and stopped, while she made little mewing noises.

She lay spent, legs hanging off the bed, her wide spread thighs limp and relaxed, her vulva wide open. There was no movement and after I had risen to my feet and stripped ready for action, when I turned back to her she had fallen asleep! There was I with an erstwhile raging erection which already had begun to wilt, due to lack of opportunity!