He held her head in his hands, cupping her ears to steady her while she stood, statuesque. Her feet planted slightly apart, arms hanging down by her sides. Apart from her eyes and heaving chest, nothing else moved. John looked into her eyes with a steady stare, questioning and trying to gain reassurance that he had read her signals correctly.

Letting go of her head, he undid the buttons of her heavy cardigan, pushing the bone-shaped fastenings through the buttonholes, starting at the button nearest her throat until the last fell apart. He pushed the garment over her shoulders and gathered it together, carefully laying it on the bed behind her. She offered no resistance and didn’t move from the spot where she stood.

John once again cupped her ears and tilted her face upward. He gazed into her blue eyes that had grey flecks surrounded her irises. He could not fail to notice the doubts that ran across her consciousness and puckered her eyebrows in consternation. John closed the gap between their lips, feeling the heat of her breath as it escaped from her. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the touch of lips. Her heartbeat increased as the space between them lessened.

Softly, with the merest of touches, their lips met, a kiss so long in coming, light, almost chaste in the simplicity of the connection. Frances feared she might faint. Her knees seemed as if they might give way and leave her bereft of support. She was hyperventilating and her heart raced like never before. This brief brush of lips was her first kiss and the culmination of so many unrequited dreams.

John whispered, “Are you okay?” His breath, tasting of mint, tickled her dry lips. She rewarded him with a slight incline of her head and a blink of her eyes. He kissed her again with a light touch of warmth and a promise of so much more.

He shifted back a little to study her face. Frances took a breath, feeling like she had suddenly remembered that she needed oxygen. He released her head and slowly manipulated the top button of her blouse under her chin. The mother of pearl button released, revealing her throat to him, the indentation uncovered and inviting his mouth and tongue to explore. He ignored the invitation for now, but stored it in memory for later, perhaps.

He undid the next button and then the next, slowly working down the garment until the last button parted. With consummate care, he eased the tails of her blouse from the waistband of her tweed skirt and eased it off her shoulders to join her cardigan on the bed. Frances remained motionless, her arms hanging listlessly, bereft of volition. Her eyes, by direct contrast to her body flicked around as if trying to record everything all at once. She couldn’t remember if her bra was clean on this morning. She hoped it was and not one of her older ones, at that.

John concentrated once again on her eyes, seeking permission to remove the next garment and to ensure she was willing to continue. He was desperate to not rush things or frighten her into retreat. Her frantic rapid eye movement gave no indication in either denial or complicity, just that she was on the edge of panic perhaps.

Taking her lack of indication one way or the other as acceptance, John stepped around behind her. He slipped his fingers below the waistband of her skirt and undid the button and slid the zipper down. He pulled it over her hips to around her ankles. Automatically, Frances stepped out of the halo of the skirt as if on autopilot and resumed standing in the same spot, immobile with her arms still hanging lifelessly at her sides. Statuesque in her underclothing. Vulnerable as if a suit of armour had been removed piece by piece, leaving her exposed in a way she had never before been.

Her satin shift effectively covered her bra and panties, the three garments were all she now had on between John and compete nakedness. Even effectively covered, she had never been quite so lacking in clothing before a man, other than a doctor. If it were possible, her heart beat even harder, reducing her to a quivering statue, incapable of movement or cohesive thought. This was so much more than she had dreamt in her quiet moments before sleep.

So many emotions, so many sensations all clamouring for her attention but, overriding all, was something like a furnace, blazing in the pit of her stomach. Was this to be the occasion? Was this to be the culmination of her fantasies that had plagued her dreams for so many years? Added to her roiling emotions was doubt. Would she be able to please this man, having had no experience before? Would it hurt? Would he be disappointed?

Returning to stand in front of her, John kissed her lips again, just a brush of lips that made her gasp in a much-needed breath. He studied her face as he slipped off the thin straps of the shift over her shoulders and gently eased the garment down, revealing her bra and the alabaster skin of her shoulders and chest.

He inched the slip down over her hips, marvelling at the transparency of her skin as her body became exposed. He knelt and tugged the shift down until it too, pooled around her ankles. He could smell her arousal in the muskiness, emanating from her sex, hidden by the heavy cotton panties. Mechanically, she stepped out of the pool of satin and returned to her former pose.

He didn’t want to rush things, frightened that haste would scare her and ruin this moment. He wanted her to savour every second and have a lasting memory of this slice of time. She had admitted that this was her first time when they realised that their feelings for each other were reciprocated and sex would be the next logical step in consummating their love. John, with something akin to desperation, wanted this to be something memorable for Frances and not a mess of rush and ineptitude, leaving her wondering what all of the fuss was about.

He kissed her again, but this time with a little more urgency and insistence. Their lips meshing together, breath shared and lips beginning to part. John’s tongue slipped out and tested her parted lips, running over them, tasting, savouring her passion as it rose from her depths. Her mouth opened slightly further, allowing his tongue to slide across her teeth and then between to find her tongue. For Frances, this was the first invasion of her body. The trills of nervous energy that raced through her was akin to an electrical current traversing her mind and body. It was almost overwhelming in the intensity.

He held her, an arm around her shoulders, the other around her waist to support her. He felt her trembling, felt her heart crashing against her ribs. He stroked the small of her back in reassuring circles, trying to reduce her nervousness while his tongue explored her mouth, raising her temperature.

Breathlessly, he broke the kiss and reached around her back to unclasp her bra. He was aware that this would be the first time she would have revealed her breasts to a man. This was all a first time and he was mindful of that.

The bra snapped apart. John eased the straps over her shoulders and released her small breasts to his sight. Her aureoles were dark pink, surrounding slightly inverted nipples. Frances looked down and frowned. He noticed and realised that she was feeling that he might be disappointed that she had small breasts and that her nipples went in, rather than out. He smiled at her and cupped her as if weighing her left globe.

John bent his head to kiss her aureole to see if he could tease out her hidden nub and was successful after a minute or so of licking and gently sucking. Her teat gradually came to life and stiffened at the attention it received. Gratified at the response, John concentrated on her right breast, hoping to evince the same response while his thumb and forefinger maintained the erection his mouth had produced. He felt Frances shiver and her breath hitch, but, other than that, very little outward signs that his best efforts were having the desired effect.

Frances thought she would explode. The emotions that smashed around her system were causing havoc. Butterflies were stomping in her stomach and her brain had turned to mush. She didn’t know what she was meant to do in this dance of love, deciding to just wait and see how it all fell out.

Somehow, it was far removed from the romance novels she had consumed avidly. The written word had not prepared her for the turmoil she was going through. Pages of eroticism could not convey the depth of mind-numbing euphoria that effectively held her immobile. Her body was sending signals akin to panic where her nerves were being treated to ministrations, the like she had never before felt. Twin strangers to her, her nipple was screaming of the exotic warmth of his mouth and the exhilaration his fingers were eliciting from the other threatened to send her over the edge. Her knees felt unsteady and likely to collapse. But, above all, her sex was throbbing insistently, demanding that it required attention.

She could feel her wetness and smell her arousal in a musky aroma. Something in her lower belly fluttered urgently. She did not have the experience to recognise the clamouring of signals as a prelude to her body making the necessary adjustments to accept his intrusion that would, if all went well, conclude with an almighty orgasm.

She needed to do something to join in with this build-up to their union, but, what? Rational thought was beyond her and her inexperience was telling. Her romance novels had arms being thrown around necks and passionate kisses being swapped. But what John was doing to her went beyond the pages of Mills and Boon and the limitations of the written word to describe; had by-passed all that she had read and, in truth, had gone far beyond her wildest imagination or fantasy.

She watched John resume standing, both hands eliciting electrical shocks to her nipples as he gently tweaked and pinched them. Frances looked down and hardly recognised that she did in fact, have nipples, so rarely had she seen them and never quite so excited. She looked up, into those brown eyes that she had fallen in love with. They gazed back at her, slightly triumphant, slightly masterful and utterly spellbinding.

John leaned forward and kissed her again. His lips, warm and dry contacted her own, stealing her breath away. He pressed against her mouth, his lips apart and then his tongue slid between her lips. Frances opened her mouth to receive him hesitantly, not knowing how this was supposed to go, but trusting him to lead. So many different tastes invaded her buds as he found her tongue. It was the most thrilling and intimate contact she had ever experienced. She found herself answering his kiss. Her tongue massaging his as it explored her mouth.

John was now massaging her lower back having explored and stimulated her nipples to his contentment. In wrapping his arms around her, he had pulled her into a close embrace. Frances automatically adjusted her body shape to thrust her hips forward so that their contact was as full as possible. Her mound was mashed up against the denim of his jeans. Automatically, she began to rub her pubic bone against the harsh fabric with small pelvic thrusts. Unknowingly, she had entered into the dance of copulation and wasn’t aware of the gyrations her body was initiating. John read the signs though and quickly realised that the moment of panic had passed and this beautiful woman was telling him of her readiness.

Gently, as if she were china, he picked her up with an arm under her shoulders and the other behind her knees. In two short strides, he reached the bed and placed her in the middle over the blankets that covered her mattress. He knelt beside her and began to stroke and massage her body, beginning at her neck and incrementally travelling down her torso, over her breasts and stomach.

She lay, stiff and seemed unresponsive, but he could see the shivers his fingertips were eliciting and the goosebumps that covered her skin. Her breathing was jagged, rapid, increasing as his fingers grazed her nipples and then diminishing slightly as less erogenous areas of her body were explored.

At last, his fingers reached the elasticated band on her panties. Deliberately slowly, he spread his hand so that he was under the elastic. She read his intention and lifted her hips so that he could remove her last shred of clothing to be completely at the mercy of his gaze. John slide them down over her knees and then off of her feet to join the rest of her clothing at the foot of the bed.

John took the time to really look at her, savouring her natural beauty, noticing the three small moles that adorned her left-sided rib cage, her milk-white skin that had never been exposed to the sun or any other man and the small tuft of curly dark brown hair that announced where her sex was. He was enraptured.

Frances was perfect and in the first spoken words for many minutes, told her just how beautiful he found her to be. She smiled at the praise, was secretly relieved that he thought so and was thrilled that he had taken the trouble of telling her. Her love for this man grew, if it were possible, at that moment and any trepidation she had in their tryst, evaporated.

Suddenly, all thoughts of panic, worry at her deficiencies as she saw herself or that he might not find her to his liking, fled from her mind. A calmness enveloped her. And, in a subliminal message, she accepted that he was going to be her first and that it would be all that she had ever hoped it could be. She knew, without thinking, that he would be gentle with her and she invited him into her body. At last.

She reached up to him, raising her arms until her hands reached his face and brought him to her lips. For the first time, she initiated the next step in this ritual of dance. He lay beside her, their lips melded together while tongues duelled. His hand explored her skin while her breathing deepened and her heat rose in the furnace of her groin. Francis was as ready as it were possible to be and she was welcoming his touch, encouraging him to explore further and felt a little impatient for his fingers to caress her virginal sex.

John received her messages and slowly, his hand travelled over her stomach until he was combing through her pubic hair. His touch was electric and elevated her readiness to an even greater height. Involuntarily, her hips rose to meet his fingertips and her knees parted to permit entry and encourage the young man to finally enter her body.

Deft fingers found her opening to be soaked already. Her secretions having provided the lubricant necessary to ease his way. Carefully and without hurry, John parted her nether lips and slipped his index finger between the folds.

Frances gasped at the welcome intrusion. Nothing had ever entered her before and somehow, it felt right. It felt good and as things should be. The feeling of being filled and stretched a little was beautiful in her mind.

Other than slipping a finger into her heat and kissing her all the while, John hadn’t moved, frightened that he would scare or hurt her. But, as the initial touch extended, he crooked his finger and slipped in deeper and then began to rub that rough spot inside her that he knew would give her pleasure. Gradually, he increased the frequency of his ministrations and slipped a second finger inside her while his thumb found her clit and gently rubbed it.

Frances’s hips jerked upwards at the touch of her little button and just like that, experienced her first-ever orgasm which fried her brains and overloaded her nervous system. Her stomach muscles cramped a little and breathing became laboured in her chest. The sensations to her whole body were overwhelming, her arms encircled his neck and she clung on for dear life while ripples of euphoria bounced around her head.

Eventually, she calmed and lay back, prone on the bed while her nervous system tried to return to normal.

“Oh my!” Were her only words and John smiled at her, pleased that she had realised her dreams and surpassed her expectations.

Much later, John, at last, entered her body, finding no resistance, he bottomed out and began the tempo of the tango that would bring them both to completion. Frances’s heels locked behind his back and pulled him deeper, desperate to give him the pleasure he had so lovingly given her over the last hour or so.

So full. She felt so full as his member slid into her sheath. Her breath shortened yet again as the feelings of lovemaking overcame her once again. Rapidly, her third orgasm approached as his pace quickened to his release. And then, the moment his seed flooded her took her to a height she hadn’t reached before. His warmth invaded her body as her sheath clutched at his cock in an effort to milk the very last drops from him.

Frances felt complete in a way she could never have anticipated. At last, she had become a woman. At last, she had someone to love and be loved by. She kissed him once more, expecting him to roll off of her now that he had sown his seed. He didn’t. Instead, his hips began to thrust once again only, this time, his strokes were much longer and very much slower.

Gradually, the pace increased as their respective pressures rose towards a mutual crescendo. Desperately, Frances grasped his body, clinging on as if her life depended on not letting go. Then, as that moment of pure bliss overwhelmed them both, she bit his shoulder as his hand crushed her breast.

They lay flat, side by side as they calmed, and his essence leaked from her body. Their fingers entwined and eyes stared at the ceiling while heart rates returned to normal.

She spoke first.

“Oh my! John. I never knew. I could never have imagined. It was…” She paused while her addled brain sought for the right word. “… beautiful.” She rolled and turned towards him, noticing her teeth mark on his shoulder.

“Did I hurt you?” She asked while she gently rubbed the bruise.

“I honestly don’t think you could hurt me, Frances. You are incredible. I love you and… thank you.” He grinned at her before rolling off the bed to go and relieve his bladder.

------------------------------------

Frances is a librarian in the fire department. Her working day consisted of filing and data entry of the logs kept of each fire or event the brigade had attended. These reports often didn’t make for good reading, many holding the gory details of their attendance to raging infernos, where life had been burned away by the consummation of flame and deadly smoke.

Some though, were reports of pleasanter activities at fetes and carnivals. The fire brigade had a wide remit. She would read each report, write a summary as a front sheet and then store the boxes on purpose made shelving in her domain. The horror never touched her as she dispassionately reviewed each case, before filing it away.

The Library was held in the basement of a central London fire station, two floors below ground in a large room that benefited from being next to the boiler room, but well enough ventilated to not be stuffy. Her desk was non-descript mahogany with a dark patina from years of use. She kept it clear and polished it daily, a ritual of hers. Her computer, that sat on top of the polished wood, was an old IBM and even had the green screen from the earlier years of computer technology. She had resisted upgrades, successfully, feeling an affinity with the aged machine that went beyond what could be considered normal.

The ‘Techies’ had long given up trying to persuade her that, really, her machine belonged in a museum. She didn’t care. It did what she needed and was quite sufficient for her needs. Why change it for the sake of change? It was linked to an old dot-matrix printer, which was also a product of a previous era in technological terms. This was an age before electronic storage became to the normal mode of archiving.

She was forty-three. Tall for a woman at around five foot nine inches, and slender, to the point of being thin and had hair that was prematurely silvered, tied in a savagely tight bun, pinned at the nape of her neck. Her clothing would have been the height of fashion in a bygone age, being twenty or more years out of date. Her whole working life, since leaving school, had been spent in the same basement for three-quarters of the day and then at her office desk on the third floor with a window that overlooked the Thames where the case files would be left in her pigeonhole, waiting for her to put them to bed.

The windowsill had a spider plant that had outgrown its pot and had colonised the lower half of the sliding sash. It was the only adornment to her small cubbyhole of an office that held, just one filing cabinet with her tea bags in the top drawer and an electric kettle on a tray on top. The rest of the furniture in the tiny office comprised of a small desk, with a telephone that was rarely used and a secretarial chair.

She was unremarkable, almost invisible, but for some strange reason, a kind of mascot to the firefighters, who regarded her as a constant in their ever-changing lives. They would always make a point of popping their heads around the door to say good morning, a bit like a good luck ritual.

Away from work, she lived on her own, in a small flat in south London, an hour away from work on the train. She collected newspapers, stacking them up in every available space with the intention of giving them to the boy scouts, but never quite actually doing it. It would need a large van to transport the several tonnes of paper. Traversing the staircase was tricky with the piles of paper stacked on the treads and really was something of a fire hazard.

Frances had a small circle of friends that lived close by, all female, all older than her, by at least ten years and mostly connected to the Baptist Church she attended religiously on Sunday mornings.

She was quite well off although she didn’t know it. Her bank account received her monthly salary cheques of which she probably only drew a half from. Over the years, her balance had gradually increased into a substantial sum. No one had ever thought to advise her about investing or looking after her money. No one really registered her account in the bank. It was just there and needed no administration.

Frances had never had a man. She had never had a boyfriend and had not had a romantic liaison in her life. Frances was still a virgin and hadn’t even had a serious sexual desire other than the fanciful trysts of Mills and Boon stories she read during her commute. She didn’t masturbate and probably didn’t even know how to. She was the ultimate spinster, in the truest sense and would probably never be any different.

But that was all about to change.

John was just twenty-two, married already with a young child and an immature wife. They lived in a council flat in a converted house. He was a struggling carpenter, self-employed, working for an agency. The pay was okay, but the hours were killing, often twelve or more, which kept him out of the home and out from under Sally’s feet. It suited them both.

They had been married for almost four years, their baby girl coming along after eighteen months. Neither of them really had a clue about bringing up a child and leaned heavily on Sally’s mother for help and guidance. The shortage of money, inexperience and their own lack of years made things difficult. It was a rocky path they travelled, but somehow, managed to cling to without killing each other.

His current project was at Lambeth Fire Station, at least six months work, renewing the doors and frames throughout the building so that they conformed to the new fire regulations. He was grateful for the extended contract and it meant that the wolf would be turned away from the door for the foreseeable future. His agreeable demeanour soon had him as one of the lads with the firemen, laughing and joking in their gallows-style humour and holding his own on the snooker table they had set up on one of the upper floors. John got along with people easily, was articulate and could hold a conversation at any level.

John had a set up a store in the basement, next to the library and spent quite a lot of time doing the benchwork, preparing the doors and frames before taking them to the opening they belonged to. Over a period of a few weeks, he and Frances had struck up a platonic friendship. He showed interest in her work and shared their coffee breaks in amicable conversation.

Gradually, he got her life story, from her childhood in an upper-class suburb of greater London; her years in a church school, finishing school and her matriculation. Her formative years had kept her separate from those of the opposite sex. She was an only child and now was the only one left from her family.

John found her to be a bit tragic. She was obviously lonely and, apart from the few friends she nurtured, had no-one with which to share her life. Although she conveyed no dissatisfaction, he felt sorry for her position.

Eventually, she asked him if he did private work and, if so, would he be interested in fixing a few things in her flat. John, being the affable guy, he was, accepted and arranged to meet her to view what needed to be done the following Saturday. A little extra income was never something to turn down.

Over a period of several months, he had built her a new garden shed. Installed a ship-lap fence to her garden boundary. Fixed her kitchen cabinet doors and a few other odd jobs that needed doing. During that time, their friendship had blossomed and steadily became something more. John was mindful of his marital status and also that she was completely inexperienced in the ways of the world.

For someone slightly more than twenty years older than him, it was obvious her naivety was a major stumbling block to her interactions with the world at large. It appeared that she was shy to the point of pain, but in truth, her social ineptitude was the result of a sheltered life removed from the everyday interactions most people experienced.

Gradually, her reserve around him diminished. She became intrigued by his natural gregariousness around others and the ease in his dealings with people. Frances found that she had become enamoured and looked forward to the days he spent working at her flat. Secretly, she found that she was falling in love with him. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? He was married, had a child as was so much more worldly than her so, why would he be interested in someone so much older than him, socially inept and stick-thin to boot?

It was on a hot and sunny afternoon in the garden that they sat side by side on a bench he had made. She said something that made him laugh aloud. Frances was mortified, thinking she had embarrassed him. John obviously saw her recoil and, without thinking, held her hand and looked into her eyes. Her heart fluttered at his touch and then he kissed her. No warning. No slow build-up. Just kissed her and she was lost.

His intention was purely placatory, to help her overcome the awkwardness inadvertently caused at his laugh but, her reaction to his kiss signalled to his subconscious that there was an opportunity to develop this into something rather more than simple friendship.

Without words, he led her by the hand to her bedroom and to their first time together.

For him, it was a satisfying encounter. Even being as careful as he had been, the intimacy evoked feelings he hadn’t recognised were there for her. He wanted, in a fundamental manner, to take care of her, venerate her and bring her into the realms of love he knew she had no knowledge of.

For Frances, it was an overwhelming afternoon that transformed her fanciful expectations of what lovemaking might be. She could have no preconceptions of what her body was able to do, of what sheer joy of sharing herself could bring. Frances marvelled at the depth of feelings she felt for this man and her acceptance of his intrusion into her heart and mind.

Frances, for the first time in her life, loved. Wholeheartedly loved and wanted nothing more than to love him further. She was willing to give herself to him with no restrictions. She wanted to experience lovemaking, in all of its forms and without inhibitions. The age gap, his marriage or his obligations suddenly didn’t matter to her, she just wanted him in her life and her body.

Over the next few months, John and she made love in every conceivable position. He tasted her whole body, delighting in her nectar and amazed at her reaction when his tongue found her clit while he massaged her ‘G’ spot. Teaching and taking her through the various machinations of sex as rewarding to him as it was to Frances. Her voyage of sexual discovery delighted him as any teacher delights in the success of their pupil.

She found that she quite liked the taste of his seed and adored sucking and licking his shaft before it plunged into her. Frances found riding him took her to a new height where he went deeper than in any other position. The feeling of being completely impaled but still in control gave her an extra edge and being able to watch his expression as he orgasmed, stole her heart away. Her fragility was bypassed almost to the point of being the aggressor in bed.

It was a mid-week evening when Frances opened her front door in answer to a knock. A young woman with a small child on her hip stood on the front step, looking up at her.

“Please, let my husband go?” Was all she said before turning and walking away down the garden path.

John never knew what Sally had done and could never quite understand why Frances severed all communications, refused to take his calls and wouldn’t answer her door when he knocked. He was never to see her again, but he never forgot her either. Frances would be in her late eighties now, if she survived that long.

But still, John thought of her often and hoped that she found a lasting love without the complications. He and Sally remained married, bringing up two children. They both enjoy their great-grandchildren and somehow, love each other to this day.