Chapter 6

Monday 6th April to Saturday 9th May 1970

I don’t know if anyone else has had this experience, but after the Easter weekend when we had announced our engagement to the families, and I had told Zena on the Tuesday, things felt different somehow at work.

Before Penny met me I had dates, but always had to work hard to impress, and, I think I said, they did not last. Then I just had Penny, and I had relaxed. I felt settled; I was contented. I was no longer on the lookout for a woman.

It got round the office that I was now engaged. After all, I had told Zena; it wasn’t a secret.

Now, suddenly, women were interested in me! In various ways I was propositioned! Admittedly it was mainly flirting, and in fun, but one of the secretaries was quite aggressive and her language was earthy. I definitely felt hunted and it was a sensation I had never before experienced. It quite went to my head, though I took it all as a joke on their part. As I said, I was content with my fiancée, and really I was sure the staff weren’t out to get me!

The biggest surprise happened on the Monday after I had taken Penny back to Liverpool. I sensed someone was standing behind me as I worked at my desk.

“Graham?”

I turned. I usually left the door of my office open, and my visitor had moved noiselessly in. It was Colette. Colette was a lady clerk, not in my department, which was something of a relief, or my penis would never rest.

For every male in the place lusted after Colette. She was staggeringly beautiful, not just pretty, but beautiful. Everything about her was perfectly proportioned; indeed she was film star material. She was slender, and everything was perfectly balanced, her legs achingly superb in shape, and so long, her face perfectly symmetrical, honey blond hair, striking blue eyes, neat nose, wide mouth and long sinuous neck. I think the word ‘perfect’ summed her up – how else? – perfectly.

We had nodded to each other, smiled, said ‘Hi’, but we had never spoken at length. Mind you there was no reason we should have, for she was in property and land law, and they tended to keep themselves to themselves. In any case she terrified me.

“Colette?” I asked needlessly, my knees knocking. I hoped she could not hear them. She smiled, perhaps she could?

“Zena tells me you play bridge,” she said with that ‘come to bed’ voice, and then waited. Then I remembered I’d talked about it with Zena on one of our commuting journeys.

Zena would invite me into her flat for a cup of tea after work from time to time and we would chat about our lives as colleagues will. Strangely I don’t remember ever mentioning Zena to Penny, or our innocent chats, it simply did not occur to me, the lifts to work had been going on long before Penny. Nevertheless it was a mistake on my part.

“Well yes,” I replied to the vision of perfect loveliness. “I have played. I play with the family, but you should know I’m not much good at it. I’m learning, at least I hope so.”

“You know Des Corcoran?”

I nodded. Colette came round and perched on the end of my desk, displaying a good deal of thigh, and what a thigh!

“He’s got a practice of his own now with a friend, at the other end of the country, and so we are missing a bridge partner. There’s Harriet – you know Harriet? – Zena and me, and we need a fourth. Fancy joining us? We play on Thursdays.”

Now Harriet was another really good looking girl, not in Colette’s class but very good looking. This would be heaven: three ravishing girls and me.

“I’m not all that good, Colette, I’m sure I’ll be a liability,” I mumbled. Why was I putting her off?

“Good God, Graham, we’re not that serious: it’s just fun. We play bridge, chat and have a few drinks, that’s all. We could play three handed, but it’s much better with four. We take it in turns to host it. Dinner first and then bridge, every Thursday. How about it?”

I have to say I was guilty: I reacted as a male. I wanted just to be in her presence, to spend time with her any way I could. Look, I was 27 years old! For that fleeting moment all thoughts of Penny disappeared. In common with every male, single, married or engaged, I was in brain-locked lust with Colette and her fabulous face, body and thigh. The next moment I felt really guilty for forgetting Penny, and stayed guilty.

“Thank you, I’d love to.” See? Guilty!

At that moment Kieran Walsh passed my open door, stopped, scowled and passed on. I knew he thought I was guilty, especially with Colette’s thigh intimidating me on my desk.

Meanwhile Colette’s face said it all: Yes I know you’d ‘love to’ and I know what you’d love to!

Her voice said, “It’ll be at my place a week on Thursday – Des makes his farewell appearance this week. We usually go straight from work and have dinner together. Would that suit you?”

I remembered Zena never came home with me on Thursday evenings, so that was why.

Colette’s flat was very pleasant, light and airy, comfortable. She could certainly cook; dinner was very tasty.

My performance at the bridge table however, was only passable. The girls helped me out while I got my bearings so to speak, and in fact the first evening was taken with them instructing me. They played ACOL, which I had heard about but had never played according to its conventions. The conversation was light, and I began to relax.

Yes, I had been feeling guilty, not so much for accepting their invitation, but for wanting more and fantasising about them in the comfort of my flat. I was committed to Penny; I knew that and was never going to do anything stupid, even if the chance arose.

Let’s face it, I’d been giving Zena a lift for years and we were very comfortable as friends. However, when I relieved my sexual tension at home, it was one or other of them, and often Zena, about whom I fantasised.

No, I did not write and tell Penny all about it, how nice and friendly the beautiful girls were, what a good time I was having. I had more sense than that. I did say I had joined a little group for bridge and when she did not ask about it, I told no lies!

The next Thursday, St George’s Day, was at Zena’s and followed the same pattern, except that when we left Zena’s place the girls all hugged each other, and this time I was included in the hugging. It was arousing and disturbing, but it seemed to me that the girls thought nothing of it. Was I naïve?

The Thursday after at Harriet’s was the same, though kissing seemed to have augmented the hugs. The girls air-kissed, but I was kissed on the lips by two of the gorgeous women. The effect on my nether regions was pronounced and I knew they felt it, since both of them pressed their bodies against mine. Again they didn’t seem to mind it, or react in any way to my excitement. I should have realised it was deliberate on their part, but yes, I was naïve.

Which two? Well, Harriet hugged and smiled quite shyly. There was always a reserve and distance about Harriet. Go figure who the other two were.

The bridge meetings were only once a week, and apart from Zena, I did not see the girls in the meantime, but lived a solitary existence.

I tended to meet Ian at the pub, and I went to a Manchester pub some weeks for its folk night, but spent the rest of the time writing to Penny.

We talked on the phone on Wednesday nights, but those calls became brief after the first week, as she bemoaned the sheer quantity of work preparing lessons and marking. I knew this from my experience with my father, and I also knew that TP was much more intensive than ordinary teaching.

Her letters also tailed off, but that did not surprise me either, but I began to feel cut off from her, and after the first weekend apart, I asked to see her the following weekend. She put me off: she was just snowed under with lesson preparation and marking. I thought she was doing too much, but held my peace.

After the third bridge night, with the kissing, I felt uncomfortable about it, having enjoyed it immensely, and decided I must see Penny. I needed her presence and her love to counter these erotic feelings. I wrote that night and posted it first class at the sorting office, asking to see her on Saturday or Sunday and to phone me to tell me which day.

There was no phone call on Friday, but there was a brief letter, more a note really, saying she was in the library all weekend and couldn’t see me. She was sorry, but there was nothing she could do.

That morning I took some time out at work to write to her. I wrote strongly that it worried me that so soon after our official engagement she had put me off going to see her for two weekends and I hadn’t seen her now for three, and I was getting frustrated and lonely without seeing her, in the full sense of the word ‘seeing’. I really had to see her the next weekend, even if only for an hour. Surely she could spare one hour? I was not being unreasonable.

Her phone call on the following Wednesday was quite curt, bewailing the amount of work she had to do, and saying she needed every minute of spare time to prepare perfect lessons. Would I please understand she wanted that certificate with distinction. The implication was ‘back off!’.

Her brief letter arrived the next morning. She had posted it before the phone call and said much the same thing. She added that I should know that this was where she was assessed for her competence to teach: it was make or break, pass or fail. She said I would just have to be patient for a little longer. She would phone me at 7.30 on Friday to ‘talk about it.’

I sent a letter by return, stating I understood, but it did not make it any easier. It did not help that her letters had dried up as well. I told her I could understand that, it took a lot longer to write a letter than to phone. I added that there seemed no end to this total separation. It was as if she did not want to see me.

I told her that come what may, I would see her the coming weekend. I told her I needed to see her, and would go over on Saturday. Surely, I wrote, she could allow a few hours on Saturday. One hour? Even half an hour? I looked forward to working something out on Friday for the following day.

The next day bridge was at my place. I did my normal Spag Bol with a green salad, with apple pie to follow. It went down well. I was also getting much better at that Acol system.

Colette stayed after the others had gone to help me clear up, and when all was straight she asked me if I could run her home, and of course I agreed. She provided the collapsible card table each week, Zena having brought her and the table earlier.

The journey passed uneventfully, and it was only after I’d carried the table into the house that it happened. We faced each other and I was about to leave when she put her hands on my shoulders, leaned forward and kissed me. It was not a friendly ‘thank you’ kiss.

It was a provocative, sensual, erotic kiss. Her solid pert breasts under her dress, unencumbered by a bra, pricked my chest, and her mound pressed against my cock. It should not be thought that I stood woodenly and allowed the kiss: within seconds of contact having been made, I was kissing back hungrily with interest. Tongues became involved.

Her hands went to the back of my head, perhaps for fear I would pull away, and her fingers tangled themselves in my hair. My hands, with a will of their own, ran up and down her back, and over her bottom. She sighed, she moaned. Her lips left mine and bestowed little pecks and kisses on my chin, then my neck beneath my chin then to the side, licking and nibbling my ear and sucking gently on my neck. The electric shocks pulsed through my body and I was lost in the intensity of it. My rigid prick wanted action badly.