Chapter 2

I looked up from the book on my lap to gaze out of the window as the train raced southwards through a patchwork quilt of green pasture-land and yellowing fields of waving grain, and blurred hedgerows that flashed by as if they too were speeding to some far-off destination.

Rain spattered on the train window as one of the forecast rain squalls turned the summer sky an ominous black. I turned again to my book but my mind was filled with thoughts that were a far cry from George Eliot's 'Middlemarch'.

Aunt Ellen that night, had shaken me to the core with her emphatic declaration that I must find somebody other than her.

'You see, Simon, you can't spend your life moping around, wishing you were up here with me and neglecting your studies.' She moved closer in the bed and snuggled into me, her thigh across me, warm and soft. I lay on my back, filled with dejection, and the feeling that the bottom had dropped out of the world.

She kissed my throat and went on, 'When you get home, I want you to look around for someone else. Now don't turn away, lad! And don't get upset! Listen to me!',

She rose on her elbow and rolled over on to me, then pulled my head round on the pillow so that I was facing her. I gazed up into her eyes. She straddled my belly, her bottom resting on my thighs, her big body poised above me with those delicious melon-like breasts swinging before my eyes. Her long hair framed her face and hung down past her shoulders all the way to her hips. I thought she had never looked more beautiful or desirable. My cock began to rise again.

'No! No, Simon. You must listen. ' She got off me and lay on her side, taking my hand. 'I love you Simon. You know that. And I always will. Please say you will listen... ' Her voice broke with emotion and I turned to her, tears running down my face.

'I'm sorry.', I got out, 'It's just.that I... '

'I know' she said, 'I know. It's hard for me too. But it has to be said. And it has to be done. Now listen. This is what I've been thinking... '

... The train began to slow down as we approached another station,. The change in pace had disturbed my recollection and I smiled as I thought of how our talk had ended that night:

... Aunt Ellen had certainly thought about my situation. Her advice had several over-riding concerns: I was not to get involved in a series of promiscuous relationships; I was to avoid young girls who would be seeking the kind of emotion-charged relationship which would be even worse for me than my depression and pining; And, above all, I was to avoid getting into fatherhood before I got into the University!

'Well, that certainly limits my choice', I had laughed. We were now lying facing each other, arms and legs entwined, warm and happy, each conscious of the other's love. ' No young girls. No steady relationship. You'll be telling me next I should go to a brothel!

Aunt Ellen slapped my bum. Hard! I yelped at the unexpectedness of it but before I could respond she had me pinned with her legs.

'Shut up!' She said in mock anger, 'and listen carefully while I tell you again what I tried to tell you when you left us when your mother came back. There are women everywhere who would be happy to take you to their bed. Women who long for excitement and passion but who are afraid they might be found out, or who don't know how to go about getting into a relationship which won't threaten their marriage or their reputation.

'There are women who feel that there has to be more to sex than what they are getting from their husbands. Women who just need someone to light the fire that's in them. Women waiting for someone to bring it to life. Sometimes they don't know that. And there are others, poor creatures who think themselves frigid. Usually that's because the man in their lives has no idea of how to bring out what is in all of us woman - passion and an experience of pleasure beyond what men can ever know.'

'All of us though want more than we have. Some of us find an outlet or fulfilment or whatever you want to call it, in other things: sometimes in the church, or in amateur dramatics, or in our work. Sublimation. I think that's called. But in the right circumstances that need, that longing, can be reached out to by the man who knows. And that fire can be made to blaze. All it needs is someone to strike a match at the right time.'

Aunt Ellen turned and lay on her back and exhaled loudly 'Whew! That was a speech! Now my last word - EVER! - on this: Look out for an opportunity, Simon, and take a chance. Don't be afraid. Take a risk. Very few women will not be flattered, and most will at least be excited enough to consider it. And I doubt if any of them will complain to anyone, even if they turn you down. Remember that... Now what about a cuddle? I'm exhausted, I am.'