The Virgin Donna

This is a tale of beginnings, of endings, of loves that never end, and of loves that are not recognised for what they are until it is too late.

My name is Harry, although I grew up being called Har, short for ha-ha-ha, by my two brothers, Paul and Peter, who are twelve and ten years older than me respectively. They both grew up and went to university and are now married and live and work in the metro. I stayed at home, inherited the farm when dad retired and now eke out a living with a few sheep, some hay, and mostly b y fixing other peoples broken farm machinery. Farming is a hard way to make a living nowadays. Machinery is eye-bogglingly expensive and build to make the manufacturer the greatest possible profit. So it breaks easily and farmers bring it to me to weld up and strengthen. Lucky me!

I’m going to start this story from the day I met Donna. Perhaps that way it will explain to whom I am married now, to you if not to me. Perhaps you will think I married the wrong person, or maybe not.

I first saw Donna on our first day at school, aged five. She was on her knees in the playground, being jeered at by a group of other girls. Instantly taking the side of the underdog, I shooed the little bitches away and crouched down beside her.

“Leave me alone,” came a voice from under a mop of curly, ginger hair.

“It’s alright, they’ve gone to find a new victim. My name’s Harry. What’s yours?”

“Donna,” she said sniffling and lookup up at me with blue eyes full of tears.

“What was that about?” I asked, reaching for her hand and standing up myself.

“They just hate me because I’m a ranga.”

“I think you’ve got nice hair,” I replied instantly falling, although I didn’t know it then, for her cute, rounded face with its stubby little upturned nose, blue eyes and freckles, all framed in that glorious mop of curly ginger hair. “They’ll get over it. I’ve got two older brothers. They hate me just for living, you just have to ignore. That’s what Mam says.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Look, I’ll be your friend, we can stick together.”

“Really?” she asked again. “You’ll do that?”

We were friends from that day on. Donna was a bit of a loner because of her looks, just as I was with my blond hair and deep brown eyes. Kids are strange about whom they like and dislike and we’d comforted each other by constantly telling each other that ‘sticks and stones may break our bones, but words will never hurt us.’ We hung around and played together almost exclusively. Because I lived on a farm, there was always work to be done and my brothers being so much older than me were pretty much gone to college and work by the time I realised anything. Other farmer’s kids that I met at school had their own work to do too, so I was pretty much a loner, except for Donna. Donna would cycle out to spend her days with me, chasing through the hay fields, letting me tease her with captured geckos and the occasional frog, but we were kids and there was nothing more to it. Very occasionally she’d hold my hand and call me her boyfriend, but looking back I’m pretty sure she didn’t really know what it meant any more than I did.

But as the years went by and we became teenagers things did change between us. Whilst I grew up to be broad and muscly, mainly due to farm work evenings and weekends, Donna stayed short and petite. With the coming of puberty I started to look at her in a different way, then one night, as we were standing together, saying goodbye, I thought I felt something between us. Slowly I leant forward, moving in for a kiss.

Donna recoiled.

“What are you doing?”

“I was going to kiss you.”

“Why?”

That stumped me. “Because I like you.” Even to me that sounded lame. “Because you’re my girlfriend.”

“Not like that. I’m your friend and I’m a girl, sort of. Eww! Weirdo!”

Quickly she got onto her bike and cycled off into the evening gloom.

“Donna,” I called, but she was gone.

We didn’t talk for days, even at school she’d avoid me, which must have been difficult for her because even I could see that she didn’t have a crowd of female friends to hide amongst. Eventually she thawed and as I sat on a wall eating my lunchtime sandwich, she came and sat beside me.

“Hello, you,” she started.

“Hello, Donna,” I said happily. “I’m sorry about…”

“Don’t talk about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

There was a silence as we ate, but she rested her shoulder against mine and I knew we were friends again. But something had changed, the incident was never mentioned again as we continued to grow up.

Something that never grew were her tits. In fact by the time every other girl at school was clearly wearing a bra, Donna still had nothing but two very small, very distinct mounds. Not that it mattered to me as I really didn’t think of her like that, much, until suddenly I did. Curiosity bugged me for months. We were far too old to play ‘you show me yours and I’ll show you mine any more’, and good friends though we were, I didn’t feel able to just ask to see her tits. What was worse was that I instinctually knew that it bothered and embarrassed her, yet, friend though I was, I still wasn’t able to talk to her about her body. Then one day, mucking about in the hay barn, she slid down a stack of bales and friction dragged her T-shirt up under her armpits. Her bare chest was flat except but a pair of puffy nipples which were far bigger than her other breast tissue. I stood and stared open-mouthed at her as she went bright red and turned away from me.

“Don’t look,” she said and I could hear that she was on the point of tears.

“Donna,” I started moving towards her to comfort her, only for her to turn and run away.

We never mentioned that day again, not until years later, lain in a hammock together one evening drinking beer, I finally let the beer ask her the question:

“Donna, I’ve known you for fifteen years. Why do you never have a boyfriend? Fuck it! Why have we never gone out?”

“You know why, because who’d want to go out with a ginge with freckles and no tits?”

“You’ve got…” I started.

“No Harry, I’ve got freckles and no tits. Most of what you see is padded bra, and under that I’ve got weirdly big puffy nipples and no tits. Who’d want a girlfriend like that?”

“I would.”

She took a big swallow of her beer and we sat in an embarrassed silence for a moment.

“No, you wouldn’t. In fact if you stopped hanging around with me, more girls might look at you. Everyone thinks were a couple, a weird couple, but a couple.”

“So why aren’t we?”

“Bloody hell, that is the beer talking. Because we’re friends and neither of us want to risk that, even to find out what sex would be like.”

“I would. I don’t think it’s a risk either. You’ll always be my friend, how could that change?”

“Men!” Donna declared in exasperation.

“As if you’d know?” I was teasing her, but my implied question was in earnest.

Donna laughed, trying to make the whole subject a joke, but at that moment something changed between us. We’d acknowledged that we were adults with sexual needs and that childhood friendships were behind us. We sat in silence for a while, watching the sun dip below the gum trees across the paddock and the fruit bats flock to wherever fruit bats flocked.

“Don’t you want to have sex?” I asked.

“Of course!”

“With me?”

“Are you offering?”

“I might be.” I was hedging my bets now. I didn’t want to sound pushy but I also didn’t to let her manoeuvrer me into a position where I could be rejected and mocked. Donna seemed to mull the idea over for a while.

“Just sex, so we can find out… you know… what it’s like. We’re not having a love affair or anything soppy like that?”

“Okay. If you want.”

“Do you want?”

I was very conscious that we had both crossed a line and were now both dancing around it, unable to take back the words that we had spoken, and yet not knowing how to move forward.

“I’ll get us another beer,” said after a while and slipped out of the hammock.

When I returned, a tinny in each hand, Donna had moved inside and was sitting on the arm of the sofa, her feet on the cushion. Her feet were bare as always, but now so were her legs as and her jeans and on the floor beside her.

“Do you want to touch me?” Donna, her voice almost a whisper, and I knew the enormity of the step she was taking.

“I do,” I said quietly and moved to kneel on the sofa in front of her, hastily putting the beer cans on the floor.

“Come and finger me then,” she said, her voice so soft and nervous that I could almost hear fear in it. She parted her knees, and whilst one hand pulled the hem of her T-shirt back to her waist, the other pulled the gusset of her pink cotton panties, exposing her curly ginger minge and the pink hints of her labia protruding through it.

I stood there for a second, open-mouthed in shock, then rubbing my hands together, whether to warm them or to clean them I couldn’t have told you, I moved forward and slipped an arm around her back. As I pulled her to me, my lips sought hers and my hand pressed to her vulva. There was second of stiffness and then we were kissing properly for the first time and my hand was cupping her mound.

Our lips parted and I looked down into her eyes, realising just how very blue they were, perhaps for the first time. My middle finger pressed her intimately for the first time, as I eased it between her outer lips, I began to feel the warm moistness of a woman. Donna breathed heavily, we kissed and again, and then as our lips parted, she rested her forehead on my shoulder.

“That was nice, is nice,” she whispered and I began to curl my finger slowly, stroking between her labia, feeling how wet she was.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing,”

I stroked faster now, my finger questing between her increasingly moist folds, feeling downward, searching for where my finger should go. Donna’s hand held my hand, fingers touching mine as they guided them to her, and then, as she widened her knees slightly, I felt my fingertip sink into her.

Donna gasped, and her hand stayed mine.

“Wait.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, just gently.”

Her grip relaxed and I probed again, my finger easing into her warm, moistness, slipping into an incredible tightness. Donna started to breathe heavily.

“Finger me,” she whispered.

Innocent as I was, I only vaguely knew what she wanted, and began to slide my finger in and out, deeper and deeper as she breathed harder and harder and her face went.

Suddenly she gasped, and my finger was squeezed so hard that I stopped moving it. Donna’s forehead pressed tight to my chest and then with a shiver, she pulled my finger from her.

I stood and watched her, not knowing what to say as she climbed to her feet, hastily pulled her jean back on and fastened up her shoes. I was intensely conscious of my middle finger that was wet with her juices.

“I’m going to go before we do something stupid,” she said.

Still I said nothing.

“That was nice, thank you.”

“Thank you,” I replied, feeling suddenly useless and lame, and very, very aware all of a sudden of hard my cock was.

Donna moved in, bussed my lips with hers and fled from the house. I moved outside and watched her climb into her car and drive off. We had definitely crossed a line now.