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Julia had been one of those strange creatures, the married virgin, and now she had become that even rarer creature, the divorced virgin. She had got married at thirty-one to her childhood sweetheart, Nigel, after one of the longest engagements that anyone could remember. She had held back, she told both families, because she wanted to be certain. But even then she still had doubts, in fact, as the minister pronounced them man and wife she was wondering why she had gone through with it at all. She came to the conclusion that she had married him simply because everyone expected her to.

The wedding night was a disaster. Nigel had come to bed expecting them to have sex at long last, and she had tried to come up with as many reasons as possible why they shouldn’t. Somehow she just wasn’t happy about giving herself to her new husband, and eventually Nigel had rolled away rejected and dejected.

“Good God, woman.” He said. “We’re married now, you’re supposed to let me touch you, you know, especially having waited this bloody long.”

“If you think you’ve waited a long time it won’t hurt for you to wait a little longer, will it? I don’t turn on like a tap you know.”

“Huh! A tap is it? Seems to me that you don’t turn on at all!”

Over the next few weeks Nigel made more attempts to persuade his wife to make love with him, each time without success, until gradually the attempts became more and more perfunctory and eventually stopped altogether. The pair settled into a sexless marriage and Julia retained her virginity.

It wasn’t that Julia had anything against sex. She had expected to be making wedded love by now like every other normal married woman, but she just didn’t find her husband sexually attractive. She wasn’t bothered by her self imposed celibacy because she had never had a particularly high libido, and anyway, she figured that what you’ve never had you never miss. Nor did she find the need to practise do-it-yourself, instead she simply did without, just as she had for all the years she was single.

So it should have been no surprise to her when, after about thirty months of a nonsexual marriage, Nigel announced out of the blue that he was leaving her for a ‘real hot blooded woman’, but somehow it was. She had believed that he too had become adjusted to their platonic relationship and was quite surprised and disappointed that he had not. It hurt even more because he had called her ‘barren and frigid’, and while the first part was true because of a childhood illness, she hadn’t thought of herself as frigid, just a late starter.

Now, another two years further on, she had received her divorce and was officially single again, but she was not, she told herself, going to look for another man.

However, there are times when men can be useful, and on those occasions she found herself having to hire a tradesman, much to her annoyance. It was for that reason that she finally enrolled herself onto a painting and decorating course at the local night school, finding to her pleasure and surprise that she was by no means the only woman on the course. The fact that women outnumbered men by nearly two to one meant, as far as she was concerned, that she was much less likely to get chatted up, and that could only be a good thing.

She was quite annoyed with herself, therefore, when at only the third session a young man on the course winked and smiled at her and she instinctively smiled back, though thankfully she resisted the urge to wink. Whatever she did it for she would never know. Even if she had been open to a come on, this man looked at least ten years her junior and dressed like a layabout, sporting several days’ growth of beard and torn jeans. But he did have a nice smile she admitted, complete with dimpled cheeks. She was even more irritated to find that for the rest of the week she couldn’t get his saucy wink out of her mind.

Finally Monday night came around again and she drove round to the college with him still in the forefront of her mind. It was, she knew, ridiculous, but she found herself looking for his beaten up old van as she drove into the car park and felt a surge of relief to see it already parked there.

As she entered the room that served as both workshop and classroom she furtively checked the class for his tousled head, her heart unaccountably sinking when she couldn’t spot it. This was silly, she told herself, he only winked at you, and anyway, even if he is interested he’s far too young. Nevertheless, her disappointment and confusion didn’t feel silly.


She spun round to find him behind her, having followed her into the room. His easy smile was as broad and impudent as ever. She felt herself colour up as she imagined him watching her anxiously scanning the room.

“Hello.” She answered him politely and made for her seat, face averted.

She tried hard to concentrate on learning the difference between embossing and flock printing, but her mind kept turning to this young man and his dimpled smile. Damn him, she thought, this won’t do.

Break time came and she began her customary fight with the drinks machine, a machine that simply refused to let her have Alanya Escort escort tea even though it didn’t show empty. She had almost reached the point of stamping her feet in frustration when she heard a voice behind her.

“May I?”

Grateful for any help she replied automatically.

“Please. It just won’t dispense tea….” Oh, damn it, why did it have to be him?

“There you go.” That grin was there again as he handed her a Styrofoam cup of best machine tea.

“Thank you, I’m not good with machinery.” She explained self consciously.

“No problem.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ve gotta ask, why are you taking this course? You don’t look the type!”

Her feminist side bridled a little at this, but she answered anyway. “I didn’t know there was ‘a type’, but the simple fact is that if I want my house decorating, I must do it myself.”

“Not married then?”

“I was.” The flat tone of her voice forestalled any questions about that.

“Whoops, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but my divorce is too recent not to still be sore.” She had no idea why she had to explain.

“But why are you here?” She asked, the question intended to change the subject.

“The need to earn a living. I’ve not long left the army, and there aren’t many vacancies for armourers in Civvy Street.”

“I can understand that.” She found herself answering his smile.

“So what is your first decorating project, if I can ask?”

“My lounge ceiling. I have an open fire and an inefficient chimney.”

“Ouch, you don’t start simple, do you? That’s a two man job.”

“Well, it’s just become a one woman job, I’m afraid.”

“It could be a one man and one woman job, if you like?”

Her mind recoiled more rapidly than his guns ever had. “No, no, it’s quite alright, I can do it. In any case I can’t pay you.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I need the practise, so please say yes?” He cocked his head to one side and looked at her with deliberate spaniel eyes.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, ok, but I provide the tea.”

“Lady, you got a deal.” His smile got wider. “And I’m Jonathan, usually shortened to ‘Jon’ by my friends.”

“Alright Jonathan, how about this weekend? Oh, and my name is Julia.”

“This weekend, but only if you call me ‘Jon’, okay.”

She nodded, thinking ‘what’s in a name’ anyway? “Okay Jon, this weekend then?”

“Saturday morning bright and early, especially if you tell me where you live?”

“Yes, I suppose that would help.”

She told him and then spent the next few days worrying that she shouldn’t have. After all, he could be a serial rapist, couldn’t he? Whatever he was, she looked forward to seeing him out of class, and she worried about that too. By Saturday she was a bag of nerves, split between concern that he might not come and anxiety that he would, worry that he might have an ulterior motive and fear that he might not. It was getting ridiculous.

He had said he would be there bright and early, but they hadn’t agreed what that meant and so on Saturday morning Julia was out of bed and in the shower by seven, determined not to be caught in her nightie. Then, dressed in only a housecoat and feeling a little wicked because of it; she breakfasted on her usual toast and marmalade with two cups of coffee and listened to the news on the radio. Normally she would have dressed before eating, but she couldn’t help feeling that putting on her overalls signified the start of her day with Jon, and she wasn’t certain she was quite ready for it. In the end the BBC announced that it was eight-o-clock and with a start she realised that being caught naked under her housecoat was worse than being caught in her nightie. Her present state of dress was open to all kinds of interpretations.

Back in the bedroom she shrugged herself out of her housecoat and hung it up, catching sight of herself in the mirror in the process. Not a bad body, she thought, maybe a little on the thin side for her five six height, but her 34A bust was high and firm and her stomach flat and unblemished. If only her hair wasn’t such a horrible mouse colour.

She wrenched herself away from the mirror and reached for some undies. What did it matter what her body was like, nobody ever saw it. She selected a pair of sensible white briefs and a plain white bra, appropriately virginal she told herself, and put them on.

Then she dithered, wondering what to wear under the brand new white overalls that she had bought for the occasion. The weather was warm, hot really, and too many layers would bring her out in a very unladylike sweat, but her mind baulked at having nothing between that outer layer and her skin. Eventually she told herself not to be so stupid and reached for the overalls.

She wasn’t used to wearing trousers of any sort, but she found stepping into the one piece outfit surprisingly comforting. As soon as she fastened the buttoned front she felt safe, cocooned and hidden from prying eyes beneath the shapelessness of the working clothes. A headscarf completed her outfit and she was ready, plain and androgynous, displaying Alanya Escort bayan absolutely no unintentional messages.

Jon turned up at eight thirty on the dot, dressed as always in tee-shirt and jeans, seemingly as unconcerned with his appearance as Julia was concerned about hers. But he had shaved, she noticed.

“Good Morning, Jon.” She greeted him with a broader smile of welcome than she intended.

“Morning Jules.” He replied nonchalantly, returning her smile and stepping through the door she held open for him, completely missing the frown that his abuse of her name had produced.

A short discussion over a cup of coffee produced a plan of action and they were soon down to work. They would move all the heavy oak furniture to one side of the room and sheet it down, and then, when that half of the ceiling was done, they would move it all back and do the other half.

They found that they worked well together and very soon everything was piled to one side. Then, while Jon set up the paste table and step ladders Julia covered up her goods with new plastic sheeting, once again purchased specifically for the task.

“We’ve missed something.” He said suddenly, pointing upwards.

She looked in the direction of his finger and spotted the lampshade still hanging in full view from the ceiling. Stifling a giggle at having missed something so obvious she looked around, grabbed a short set of steps and went to take it down.

“Damn.” She said as she unscrewed it. “How could we miss this?”

“Very easily, apparently.” He grinned back at her, stirring newly mixed paste in a bucket.

She gently slid the shade under the dust sheets and went back to replace the retaining ring, figuring that it was less likely to be lost if it was back on the light fitting. But gazing upwards after bouncing up and down the steps took its toll and she found herself suddenly swaying with dizziness.

“Oh!” She said, putting her hand on the ceiling to stop herself from falling.

Jon looked up from his work at her exclamation and, seeing what was happening, he quickly put down a bucket of paste and went to help, his hands on her hips to steady her from behind.

With her head lowered and Jon holding her steady, Julia soon got her balance back, very conscious of the feel of his hands on her. Carefully she backed down the three steps to the floor with Jon holding her all the way, letting her body slide through his grip so that by the time she was standing safely on the ground his hands were high on her sides, just about level with her breasts. Nor did her show any sign of releasing her now that she was safe.

“Are you okay now?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Yes thank you, I’m fine now. It was just a touch of vertigo.”

She felt his hands gripping her gently through the thin material of her overalls with mixed alarm and reassurance. Her heart was pounding from the sensation of a man’s hands all but touching her body and she knew that for it to remain so would give all the wrong signals, but for some obscure reason she didn’t care. She made no attempt to move out of reach; instead she leaned back slightly to rest against his chest, bringing his finger tips just into contact with the first curves of her breasts. She was breathing rapidly and in danger of hyperventilating.

“Would you like to sit down a minute, you’re still panting.”

“No, I’m fine; it just scared me for a second.” And for the first time in my life I’m panting to be touched, she wanted to add.

Neither one made a move, except that Julia leaned a little more firmly against him. She was confused and anxious, happy and apprehensive. God, how close those fingers were to her breasts. Just my luck, she told herself, just as Nigel was the wrong person in the right circumstances, now it seems I’ve found the right person, but in the wrong circumstances. Then her heart jolted as she realised exactly what she had just admitted to herself.

It seemed like an age that they both stood there, both aware of a change in their relationship to each other, but both hesitant to push it further just in case they had misread the signals. Then Jon moved his grip, putting his arms around her from behind and crossing them just below her bust to hug her closer. She let him know of her consent with a sigh, and then, a minute or so later, by placing her hands over his and resting her head back against him.

“This won’t get the ceiling done.” She said, taking any sting from the words by the softness of her voice.

“No, it won’t.” He agreed, at the same time moving one hand upwards to gently cup her breast.

This was the first overtly sexual advance that had been made to her since the first terrible days of her marriage and for a second she felt pure panic run through her and she froze, holding her breath and not moving a muscle. Jon moved his hand hastily back to around her abdomen.

“I’m sorry.” He said, with genuine remorse. “I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”

Alarm at his touch had given way to regret at her instinctive reaction. “Not a problem. You just caught me unprepared, that’s Escort alanya all. I’m not used to being touched.”

Jon wasn’t sure if that was simply forgiveness or an invitation to return his hand to her breast, and so he just stood there, embracing her from behind, and wondered what to do next. He was normally a confidant person with the opposite sex, but this older woman both attracted and baffled him. He sensed that she wanted him, but also that she wasn’t about to allow him unrestricted access. In an attempt to elicit a clear reaction he bent forward and kissed her very lightly on the nape of her neck.

That kiss was the last thing Julia expected and it sent shock waves through her, making her gasp from the sheer scale of her own response. She felt her body come alive, shivers ran down her spine, the hair on her forearms rose and her heart felt as if it had somersaulted within her.

“Was that good?” He asked.

“Don’t you know?”

“I just want to be sure.”

“Then here is your answer.” Julia told him quietly, lifting his hand from her waist and replacing it on her breast.

Jon was momentarily taken aback, he had not anticipated that and for a moment he wasn’t sure how to respond. He wanted to touch her, to play with her, and maybe, just maybe, to make love to her, and now she had given him the go ahead. Gently, hesitantly, almost timorously, he began to squeeze and massage the breast that she had given him, feeling the soft flesh move beneath her clothing.

Julia was trembling a little, though not visibly, and not from panic but from anticipation and the beginnings of unaccustomed arousal. Her mouth had gone dry and her heart was pounding, she was frightened, but frightened in a good way, a beautiful way, and a way that she had never felt before. Her only real anxiety was in wondering just how far things might progress, and how, if they went that far, she could possibly explain being a thirty-six year old divorced virgin. But then, things weren’t going that far, were they?

Jon was now close up behind her, and she could feel, or thought she could feel, his erection pressed against her bottom. It felt good, a little scary, but good. Much nicer than when Nigel had pressed his erection against her in an effort to gain her cooperation. But that was in the past and she didn’t want to think about that, especially now this gorgeous young man was touching her. One chapter was now finally closed and the next, well hopefully the next might just be opening.

Suddenly she became conscious that his hand had moved from her breast, a pang of disappointment went through her, until she felt him tugging at the front of her overalls. He was trying to open the buttons with one hand, the other still held flat against her abdomen by her own hands. She let him continue, the fumbling forming part of the increasing thrill as she felt them give way one by one until he was able to slide his hand beneath her overalls and onto her bare skin.

His hand was resting on the skin of her chest, just above the top of her curves, and she thought he had misjudged the level. But Jon knew what he was doing better than Julia, for from there he was able to run his hand down and inside the cup of her bra, enfolding the soft flesh of her breast in his hand, her nipple resting in the centre of his palm. He began again to massage and squeeze her, but this time without any loss of sensation from intervening clothing, and to Julia the feel of a rough warm male hand playing with the delicate flesh of her breast was unbelievably good. Why had this not happened to her before, she wondered? She had possessed these breasts for nearly twenty three years, but never until now had they been a source of pleasure. She closed her eyes and let herself absorb the novel sensations.

“You feel wonderful.” Jon’s voice in her ear sounded soft and gentle.

“Thank you, so do you.” She smiled, knowing even with her eyes closed that he was smiling too.

Julia was becoming aware that her body was responding positively to Jon’s attentions. She felt a kind of warm happiness spreading through her, a strange kind of lethargy that just wanted him to continue, to go further, much further, and to do as he wished with her. She knew too that Jon must be aware of her feelings, if only because she could tell that the nipple nestled in his hand was growing longer and harder, pressing like a small button against his palm. But most of all, she felt an unfamiliar sensation between her legs. She couldn’t put her finger on it, except to say that it felt as if a flower were opening, a long awaited bud finally beginning to blossom. Whatever Jon wanted to do, she knew she could only encourage him.

To Jon the feel of Julia’s breast was glorious. He didn’t normally go for older women, but she had attracted him at first sight and her age didn’t seem to matter. She was, he guessed, mid-thirties, around ten or so years older than his twenty-four, but he didn’t care. His only concern about age was that she might reject him as too young, and he had been very hesitant before making an obvious pass at her. But she had not rebuffed him and now her breast was in his hand, warm, soft, and beautiful. Even so, he detected a slight reluctance on her part, as if she wanted him, but didn’t dare commit fully. He decided that if she stopped him it would be because she was too much of a lady to go against her own moral code, and he could accept that without rancour.

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