Chapter 3

When I woke in the morning, the first thing I was aware of was a sensation of ... being ... complete; a feeling associated with the lovely, tiny, warm body snuggled up to me. It took a little longer for the second thing to penetrate. I should have felt guilty ... but I didn't. I caressed her shoulders, revelling in the smooth softness; she stirred, opened her eyes and smiled at me.

"How are you feeling?" She spoke quietly, warmly ... lovingly.

"Happy," I replied, continuing to stroke her soft skin; she wriggled in my arms. "How about you?"

"Wonderful," she breathed. "No regrets?"

"None," I replied instantly, "none at all ... surprisingly."

"That's good. I worried," she said seriously. "I was frightened I might ruin things ... but in the end, I thought the risk worthwhile."

"I'm glad," I said inadequately, "Is there anything you'd like to do today?"

"You mean, other than stay here like this?" She grinned at me and reached down to my morning erection.

I had to laugh. "Jasmine..." I paused there, "Jasmine, yours is a lovely name and it fits you perfectly. I wondered why I didn't call you Jazz, but I realised, right here, right now, it didn't fit. Anyway; despite our performance last night, I am too old to keep up a pace like that. Do you mind?"

She shook her head and brushed my lips with hers. "No, not really; I do understand and anyway I was only teasing. I'm actually a little sore. But ... being held like this ... it's just ... perfect. Except ... I need to go!" She giggled and wriggled out of my arms and out of bed. As she left the room I sat up and threw the duvet back, my eyes drawn to a reddish/brown stain on the sheet...

When Jasmine came back, I went to the bathroom myself. Returning, I found her sitting on the bed; she looked up at me, a worried expression on her face.

"I'm sorry..." she said, "I suppose I should have told you, but I thought ... I was afraid it would put you off."

"You're probably right," I admitted, "but don't be sorry. You gave me something very precious; I just didn't realise how precious." I sat next to her on the bed and was about to wrap my arms round when she climbed into my lap and rested against my chest, her head down, face against me. I held her.

"You smell lovely," she said, and was quiet.

We sat like that for a while; I was going to suggest going downstairs for breakfast as my back was beginning to ache, when I felt tears on my chest ... she was weeping silently.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded her head against me without looking up.

"You made it ... a beautiful thing. I'm so glad it was you," she whispered. Neither of us spoke again until we were in the kitchen, much later, putting together some breakfast.

She placed bread in the toaster and looked at me. "I think ... it's time I told you some of what I withheld when we first met," she said, "but I'd like to dress up and go for a walk, if that's alright with you?"

Less than an hour later, we were walking hand in hand by the Porter Brook. We came to a bench next to the brook so we could sit listening to the chuckle of the water and the splash as it poured over the weir. She pressed close to me, under my arm, resting her head against me.

"I told you my father was controlling." There was silence for several seconds before she continued, jerkily with frequent stops and starts.

"Actually, he was possessive."

"Not 'my lovely daughter' possessive."

"He treated me ... and my mother ... as property."

"He ... handled me ... sexually ... my breasts ... between my legs."

"I avoided rape by sucking him..."

"If I hadn't left ... he'd have raped me, virgin or not."

"My mother ... is so ... repressed ... she wouldn't, couldn't do anything."

She was silent then, for so long I broke the silence. "Oh, my dear ... I'm so sorry."

She looked up then and smiled; a wan smile, but a smile nevertheless. She continued then, more smoothly. "There was a teacher, a man ... Mr. Peterson. He ... guessed things weren't right at home. He listened to me, gave me advice, wanted to help me go to the Police, but in the end, I set up an escape route. I lived in Hall for my first year, met Carol and we agreed to get a flat together. I met Tammy one evening – she knew Carol – she's a good listener, isn't she? And very perceptive. Carol got involved with her boyfriend, and Tammy told me about you. At first, I thought ... sex ... to get accommodation ... was like prostitution, but when I met you, I realised I wanted you to make love to me. I didn't care you were older. I'm not sure why, but I think ... I think it was because I could feel your pain. I thought, if you hurt that badly, it had to be because you were that much in love, and if you had that much love in you, perhaps ... you could love me, too. You see, it wasn't that my father wanted to... fuck me, it was that he wanted to use me, like a thing, not a person. Right from day one, you treated me as a person." She laughed, then, "I never thought it would take months, that I'd have to seduce you!" She giggled and it was so infectious a sound I had to laugh too, though her account had made me very angry.

It was chilly, despite being a sunny day ... what do you expect in December? We stood and walked.

Of course, you don't know me and I haven't described myself; I'd better amend that now. I'm six foot one, medium build with brown hair gone mostly grey and light blue eyes. I look in a mirror and wonder why any woman would look twice at me; I suppose I look pleasant enough, but not particularly strongly featured, or cute for that matter ... just sort of ordinary. I was a psychiatric nurse for many years, so worked all sorts of hours, mostly three shifts, but any five days out of seven. Anyway, confidentiality, respect, non-judgement, acceptance ... are sort of ingrained ... most of the time. Oh, I started to talk about what I'm like for a different reason. Imagine, please, seeing a couple walking in the park, holding hands. He is tall, greying ... mid to late sixties, undistinguished in appearance. She ... is barely five foot, lightly built and could be any age from fourteen to twenty four, but looks more to the lower end than the upper. She is very pretty. They are affectionate; you might be excused for thinking they look rather as though they've been intimate ... and you'd be right. I don't know if Jasmine noticed the looks we got. I did, but then, it's the sort of thing I spent my working life noticing. Do you know ... I didn't care! I was happy for the first time in months.

When we reached the café, Jasmine turned to me with a grin. "I've read all the reports, I've seen all the documentaries ... and I still say one of the great joys in life is scarfing junk food!"

I had to laugh. "You're a Peanuts fan?" The image of Snoopy, sitting on his doghouse with a paper bag of snack food drifted through my memory. "I have reason to believe the café here does a mean burger."

"Oh, Bill," she cooed, hand on chest, "you certainly know the way to my heart!" We both laughed – we must have seemed idiots.

That night, when we made love, I didn't come. She did, several times and was a little upset that I didn't. "Sweetie," I said, "do I look unhappy?"

She peered at me. "No ... but..."

"Not going to happen," I said, "I'm drained. Jasmine, precious, you can keep me hard, I love being in you, you feel fantastic, but I'll just make you sore. Better this way."

She draped herself over me. "We'd better talk in the morning," she said, resting her head on my chest. Her breasts pressed against my side and her hand found my penis. One of my arms stretched down her back, the other hand resting on her hip. Not long after, her breathing steadied and she was relaxed, asleep. I lay there, enjoying her presence in my bed, the warm softness of her body against mine, thinking.