After all this time. It is still difficult. Difficult to think about, let alone talk about. - what happened that night.

I had not been out in the evening for a long time, not since my husband died. For some reason, the joy had gone out of things and it all seemed just too much effort.

But then came the evening of the Tennis Club party. All the girls were going and they pestered me constantly to join them.

‘Come on,’ they said, ‘you might have a really good evening. And it’s got to be better than sitting in front of the television every night.’

So finally, of course, I relented.

I confess that as the event drew nearer I actually became quite excited. Since I hadn’t been out for so long, I decided to push the boat out and make more of an effort than usual. I spent some time deciding what to wear. In the top of the wardrobe I found some clothes that my late husband had given me shortly before his sudden death. I’d never had the heart to look at them before but now I unwrapped them and laid them out on the bed. There was the little black leather jacket and the short black skirt, quite tight fitting; I had always thought the skirt a little too short – but looking at my legs, I thought I could still pull it off. There was a white silk shirt that looked more like a man’s; and – and this made me giggle – a box containing a black low-cut bra and panties. All very lacy and sexy. In the bottom of the wardrobe I found some very high-heels – and there were black stockings too.

Surveying all this I couldn’t help but smile to myself. He would have loved it.

When the night of the party came, I dressed as planned, finishing off with a string of pearls that we had bought in Singapore many years before. At the front door I hesitated for a moment to check my appearance in the mirror. I know that a smile spread across my face as I looked, because the skirt and blouse clung to my figure, accentuating the curve of my hips, the tight roundness of my bottom. And, for a forty-five year old, my breasts were still high. Neither too big or saggy ... nor too small to fill the lacy cups of the bra which could be seen through the flimsy silk of the shirt. Black bra, white shirt. A classic mistake. But it was too late to change and I was sure the girls wouldn’t be bothered. And the pearls set off my thick shoulder-length black hair. Sure there were streaks of grey there, but these were offset by my face which, even though I say it myself, was still pretty enough to defy my age.

Pretty pleased with myself, I left the house, locking the door carefully, before sliding into the car and reversing down the driveway.

It was a good night. The girls were in hilarious form and kept me fully entertained. At the end of the evening, some of them were pretty sloshed and, because I wasn’t drinking, I drove them all home.

I arrived back at the house about midnight. As the car turned into the drive, the headlights swept up the long garden, illuminating the rhododendron bushes and the shrubberies. We had a big garden, which is why we ... I mean I, still employed a gardener.

Derek had worked for us for years. He worked hard, and occasionally he had a school student to help. He was reliable and good at his job. Which is why I was slightly surprised when the headlights of the car illuminated the large garden shed at one side of the house. It was where the motorized lawn mower and other equipment was kept. Derek always locked it when he left work. But now the double doors were wide open. I immediately thought that someone had broken in.

I turned off the ignition and thought for a moment. I could go and investigate, but it was late and that part of the garden was dark. The best plan would be to go into the house and phone Derek in the morning.

So that is what I did. I locked the car and quickly walked up the drive with my house keys ready in my hand. There was a small security light over the front door, so it took only a few seconds to unlock the door and step inside. I slid the chain across and double locked the door.

For some reason my heart was beating loudly. The unlocked garden shed had obviously set my nerves on edge. But the house was quiet. I checked the back door and found that it was locked. So I completed a quick tour of the ground floor and finding nothing amiss, I made my way upstairs to the bedroom.

I had left a bedside lamp on earlier, and it cast a comforting pink glow around the room. I peeled off my jacket and hung it over a chair, then I went into the en-suite to brush my teeth and remove my makeup. It didn’t take more than a few minutes. When I had finished, I switched off the bathroom light and walked into the bedroom

And there he was. Standing in the middle of the room.

I froze in shock.

He was about eighteen. A young man with tousled black hair. He was slim, wiry looking, wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. White trainers.

‘What are you doing in here?’ I demanded, not knowing quite what to say.

‘How did you get in? - What do you want?’

He smiled, very obviously eyeing me up and down.

‘What do you want?’ I demanded again, my voice sounding waspish but shaky.

I took several steps from the bathroom door, in the direction of my mobile phone where it lay on the dressing table. But he saw where I was going and moved to block the way.

‘You don’t recognize me do you Mrs. Brown?’ His voice was quiet.

I know that I frowned, unsure how to respond.

‘I don’t know how you got in here but I think you should leave immediately’, I said as loudly and firmly as I could. - ‘I’m going to call the police.’

But my voice was shaking and I know I didn’t sound convincing.

He gave a quiet laugh and held up a key with a large red tag.

‘I have a key Mrs, Brown. That’s how I got in.’

With a shock I recognized the keys that Derek kept hidden in the garden shed ... And then it came to me, where I had seen him before.

‘You were here last week. Helping the Gardener.’

He gave a slow grin.

‘I’m surprised you noticed me. You never have before.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked. - ‘Before’

Again there was that sly grin.

‘Oh, I’ve seen you around Mrs. Brown. At the tennis club, in Waitrose. Just about, you know.’

Again I didn’t know how to respond. His gaze looked me up and down again. He was still smiling.

‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘you’re a very attractive woman Mrs. Brown’

‘I think you’d better leave,’ I said, as firmly as I could.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on mine.

‘No I don’t think so ... Not yet.’

I felt a chill run through me suddenly.

‘What do you want!? - I tried to sound aggressive. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’

‘Well...,’ he said, rubbing his hands on his jeans.

I know my voice suddenly felt thick in my throat. My lips were shaking.

‘I can give you money, if that’s what you want.’

I think my voice sounded a little desperate now.

He smiled and then slowly shook his head.

‘Right, I’m phoning the police.’ I said as sharply as I could.

My mobile was behind him, but I thought I could grab it. I took a step forward and he turned suddenly to block the way ... I took another step and one of my heels caught in the sheepskin rug at the bottom of the bed. I stumbled and fell awkwardly onto the bed. In a panic I rolled on to my back to get to my feet, and suddenly, he was on me.

His weight pinned me down, his body against my right side. His left forearm pressed against my throat, his other hand grabbed my left wrist.

‘No!’ I shouted... ‘Get off of me!’

His face pressed against my right ear, I could feel his breath on my cheek.

‘Oh Mrs. Brown,’ he murmured, ‘ ... you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.’

A deep cold fear now ran through me like a flood.

‘What ... what do you want?’

In answer he nuzzled my neck and I felt his lips on my skin.

I arched my back and tried to roll over, to throw him off. But he pressed me back onto the bed, and threw his right leg over mine to hold me down.

‘No!’ I shouted again... ‘Get off of me!’

The pressure of his arm eased and he clamped a hand across my mouth. He was leaning over, his eyes holding mine.

‘Just keep still Mrs. Brown. - Keep still and you won’t get hurt.’

I think I was panicking now. I remember my breath was making his hand hot ... and moist.

Then he lifted his hand, and grasping the front of my shirt tore it open. I heard the fabric tear. A button landing somewhere. - He was staring down at my bra, grinning.

‘Oh yeah, ... nice.’ He said quietly.

Then I felt his fingers inserted into one of the cups, yanking it down to expose my right breast. - He leant forward and put his mouth over the nipple - and sucked.

I arched my back, trying to pull my breast free. But he simply grabbed the other cup and tore it down, exposing me completely.

‘Wow ... you have great tits Mrs. Brown. They are gorgeous.’

His hand was moulding my right breast now, squeezing it, pulling at the nipple.

‘Please. Don’t.’ I sobbed. ‘Please just get off me, I won’t tell anyone about this. Just let me go.’

He shook his head and put his left hand back over my mouth

Then I felt him move his leg and his hand touched my knee.

‘No!’ I shrieked into his palm. He was still smiling.

His hand was warm. For a moment it stroked my knee, then I felt it move up.

I felt the hem of my skirt pushed up. The hand moved to the outside of my left thigh, caressing until his fingers found the top of my stockings and the edge of my panties.

His face turned down to look and then he gave me a deep smile.

‘Oh, Mrs. Brown ... Wow!’

I shook my head, frowning at him.

His hand slid back down the outside of my leg, stroked my knee and then very slowly ... moved to the inside of my right leg. Then his hand moved up, gradually, massaging the inner part of my thigh.

My heart was beating loudly now. Panic rushing through my veins in a hot stream.

Slowly, his hand continued upwards.

Then I felt the soft touch of a finger, just stroking the tightness of the panties between my legs. I think I jumped in reaction to the touch. I shook my head, whimpering into the palm of his hand.

His fingers pressed into the thin lacy fabric, finding the line of my vagina. His eyes were on mine again, staring deeply ... holding my gaze.

I felt him place his palm flat on my tummy, pressing gently. I closed my eyes, trying not to see his expression. Then his fingers pushed down under the elastic of my panties.

I shook my head frantically. ‘No! Please!’ I cried into the heat of his hand.

He pushed under the waistband of my panties ... and rubbed my tummy gently. Then I felt his fingers pushing down into my pubic hair. My husband had always liked my pubic hair. It was thick and black and he thought it very sexy. Now my assailant obviously also felt the same way. He gave a little hum of appreciation and began running his fingers through it, curling it round his fingers, combing it with his finger tips.

I shook my head again. I could feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

Then he pushed his hand down, between my legs, trying to push my panties down with the back of his hand. There was little room and I felt his hand make contact with the lips of my vagina.

I stiffened, trying to kick my leg free so that I could close my legs, protect myself. But he held me tightly, his fingers stroking. Then I felt a finger inserted. A stiff finger, probing inside my body, then then he began to slide it in an out.

I tried to shriek, to cry for help, but he pressed his mouth to mine, forcing his tongue between my lips. His breath was hot on my cheek. A tear slid from the corner of my eye down my cheek. He was breathing faster, slipping his finger in deeper, exploring, teasing me inside until I felt the slickness beginning to lubricate his finger.

‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Please stop.’

He raised his head. His eyes had a glazed expression ... and there were pink patches on his cheeks.

He shook his head slowly and grinned at me. Then he put his arm across my throat again and began to fumble between my legs with his free hand. Then I realized. He was undoing his jeans pushing them down with awkward shoves. Then, he rolled over between my legs and, before I could react, he pushed his pants down and leant in between my thighs.

Something firm and hot and hard touched my inner thigh.

‘NO!’ I screamed. ‘NO! Please don’t do this. Don’t do this!’