Chapter 1

When my son, Tom, became eighteen he got involved in a round of his friends' eighteenth birthday parties and there could be two or even three over a long weekend. Inevitably he and his friends used us as a staging post. One night he brought back about eight of his friends and they all sat about in the kitchen eating pizzas and drinking the wine they had brought in. While not wishing to intrude my wife and I spent a short time with them. They were a great bunch but I was struck by one girl in particular. She was a Scot with that dark skin that many of the true old Scottish families have, particularly from the West coast.

The following morning as I was off to work I met this girl in her nighty, still half -asleep, looking for the lavatory. She had shed all her sophistication and was just a lost little girl but a very appealing one and I felt a surge of lust but also one of protection. Anyway I showed her where the loo was and went off to work.

We saw quite a lot more of Morag, particularly when she became a temporary nanny to one of our nieces. I chatted to her on and off and we enjoyed each other's company. She confided her hopes of going on to university and was still tossing around in her mind what she might do afterwards. We also made each other laugh: always a good thing. My feelings of lust were replaced by genuine affection and admiration. Certainly I still thought her very attractive physically but I was more drawn by her intelligence, sense of humour, vivacity and fun.

I met her again at the elder niece's Confirmation, when I was standing in for my wife who was a godmother but unable to attend due to a holiday abroad that had been planned ages ago. Morag arrived slightly late, just as we were about to go into the church. She rushed up, flung her arms round me and kissed me fully on the lips: none of the "Mwaa Mwaa" stuff to my cheeks.

"Thank Heavens! She said, "I thought I was going to be late".

"Not quite", I replied and led her into the church.

At the party afterwards she circulated but seemed out of sorts and finally found me again, tucked her hand under my elbow and said:

"Safe haven!"

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

"All these people but I can't seem to get through to any of them. It's always the same. I go up to talk to people and they are all polite and pleasant but actually treat me as a child. Even people my own age".

"That's nonsense", I replied. "You're not a child but a thoroughly attractive and intelligent young woman".

"Thank you", she said, smiling a little sadly. "That's what I love about you. You always treat me as one".

"Well, I can't see any reason not to. You're physically a young woman and you talk and behave like one".

Oh, I don't know", she answered. "I'm over-weight which gives me a baby face and the 'young men' are only interested in slim girls".

"Silly asses!" I said. "They don't realise what they're missing. You have a lovely, lovely face. Your skin is absolutely flawless and you have a beautiful curvaceous body. More like Marilyn Monroe than one of these modern, Hollywood-style, anorexic sticks. On top of all that, I know that you have a lively and amusing mind. So don't get hung up. You're a bit of all right".

"Smooth talker", she grinned, giving my elbow a squeeze and incidentally pressing one breast against me. "You make me feel good and I love you for it".

It was all outwardly light hearted but I sensed that she was no longer the happy girl I had known. That protective feeling came back and I had the urge to try and help her.

"Come and have supper with me after all this is over", I suggested.

"I'd love to", she answered swiftly. "Can't we go now?"

"Bit early for supper, isn't it?"

"Not by the time I've changed into something more suppery and we've had a drink before we eat".

"You win", I smiled delightedly back at her and, saying our goodbyes separately, we left.

Her flat was not far away so we walked there. I restrained all my impulses such as to take her hand or put a protective arm round her waist and remained the gentle, avuncular figure I thought she considered me.

"Right!" she said, turning to me on arrival. "What would you like to drink?"

"Tea, please", I answered. "What about you?"

"That sounds just right. If I show you the makings, would you bring me a cup when it's ready?"

"Of course!"

She showed me the kettle, tea caddy and fridge and with a "one sugar" vanished to do her thing. I found the mugs myself. I made the tea and let it brew, added the milk and sugar and then went and knocked on her bedroom door.

"Go on in", she called from the bathroom. "Just leave it on my dressing table. Give me about twenty minutes".

I went back out and sat with my own mug. There were a couple of magazines on the table and I leafed through them while sipping my tea.

Almost on the dot of twenty minutes she emerged and I mentally awarded her ten points out of ten for punctuality. How many other women had I known to whom twenty minutes could be an hour?

She looked stunning, with a deep blue blouse which showed off her cleavage and a long dark skirt and wide belt which gave her a waist, showed off her hips and accentuated the length of her legs. Her forearms were bare and I gloried in the alabaster smoothness of her skin. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders. Her green eyes were sparkling again.

" Wow!" was really all I could say, taking both of her hands and looking at her. I pulled her towards me and pecked her on the lips. "You look quite lovely."

She smiled. "You don't have to be that restrained. I'm wearing non-transferable lipstick".

"Morag, my sweet", I replied. "Much as I might like to kiss you passionately I don't want you to think I'm just a dirty old man. You're much too dear and special to me".

She looked up at me searching my eyes. "You mean that, don't you?" she said softly.

"Yes!" I answered, equally softly, wondering at her insight.

There was a slight pause and then her eyes began to dance. "In that case, sir, you may kiss me whenever you wish".

So I did but with my lips firmly closed. She leant against me and looked into my eyes throughout and her hands returned my grip. Reluctantly I released her.

"Where shall we go?" I asked. "You know the area better than I do".

"Do you like Italian?" she asked, "because there's a place not very far away and it's relatively cheap".

"Sounds good", I said and so off we went, walking again.

It was good. She'd been there before a number of times and was clearly a favourite with the waiters who, unlike the 'young men', appreciated a voluptuous and beautiful girl. I don't remember the details but we ate well and I drank sparingly. Morag matched me on drink that relaxed her without her becoming in any way silly. Our conversation was easy and light and we laughed and enjoyed each other's company as we always had.

Nevertheless she returned to the business of being treated as a "baby". Rather than go over all the old ground again, I asked her,

"Are you still a virgin then?"

"No!" she answered, blushing. "But it wasn't very nice. One of the boys at school took it. I wasn't very keen on him but wanted to keep up with everybody else. He wasn't rated very high by the other girls either and they were dead right. He groped me and virtually raped me."

"Raped you?"

"Not exactly because I was 'willing' but he didn't sort of get me ready, just excited himself with my tits, stuffed two fingers up my pussy to get me wet and then, to put it bluntly, stuffed me. It hurt a lot and, thank God, he came very quickly, pulled out and left leaving me sore and disillusioned."

"You poor darling! You really have missed out and, for that matter, been abused. I'm surprised you haven't been put off for life."

"It has put me off. That's true. But not forever, I hope. Trouble is it's knocked my confidence on the head. I've got a friend, Sophie, who has had a partner for three months now and she says their sex life is wonderful. It's just I'm so shy and stiff with people and so can't let anyone get close to me. That's really why I came back to you this afternoon. What I told you wasn't entirely true because I'm the one who puts up the barriers".

"OK! I understand that. That bloody boy knocked you sideways and two years later you still haven't got over it. It wasn't apparent while you were down at Heatherdown looking after Theresa. There were no such pressures of that sort on you. Then as far as Sophie and her boyfriend are concerned, I 'm sure but they are making love not just having sex, which is what you did at school. Does that make sense?"