Chapter 1 - Reminiscing
I must have been about sixteen and still at school when I first saw Anne. She was the new girl in class after her parents had moved to the area. We had no idea where from, but rumours of strange and exotic places soon circulated. That of course was because of her looks. Tall and slim with a narrow waist, wide hips and long, long legs attracted me. The large high, boobs didn't hinder the adoration either, but it was her tanned complexion, long, straight black hair and hawk-like Roman nose set in a small, cute, round face that screamed exotic. She had the look of how Hollywood used portray Red Indian squaws, back in the days when they used Anglo-Saxon actresses and just applied make-up and a black wig whenever the script called for a Native American. Anne's habit of braiding two strands of her centre parted hair and tying them back to hold the rest of her luscious hair all added to the look and the mystique.
At time, neither me nor any of my friends got so much as a 'hello', but it wasn't long before some of the more boastful lads were claiming to have 'had' her. Mind you it seemed that most of the good-looking girls were spending every evening on their backs if you believed all the playground gossip.
To me, a pretty average nerd, who was underneath it all, quite shy, Anne was quite unapproachable. Something only dreams were made of. All my dreams in those years featured girls, but that was all they were, dreams and nothing changed through college. Now at 22 and in 'gainful employment' as it was called, I was still single and still, although I admitted this to no-one but myself, a virgin.
Then one day, as I sat writing up yet another financial forecast report that I knew absolutely nobody would ever read, the office manager introduced a new member of staff. I looked up and saw her, Anne, standing there looking nervous and clearly not sixteen any more. And she was still just as beautiful. I'd aged, and my tastes had probably matured, but she was still as beautiful as I remembered her. It was the only word I could think of. Her hair was just the same, the face more mature and the breasts even larger. The rest, to me, looked identical. Being me, I just sat there, my mouth open and not saying anything whilst the louder, brasher types leap from their seats and within minutes she was invited to the local pub after work as a 'chance to get to know everybody'. Normally I avoided after work events like the plague. But tonight, I was going to go.
“It's Mike, isn't it? We were at school together?”
I turned on my barstool and looked straight into the deep brown eyes of the vision of loveliness that was sitting down next to me. Over in the corner of the bar, the work crowd were getting noisily drunk.
“Seems a bit quieter down this end. You're not joining in?”
“No, I generally leave them to it,” I admitted, suddenly feeling, as I normally did, like the outsider. “You've not changed a bit, still…” I suddenly blurted, then stopped.
“Still?” she asked. “Still what?” And now I could hear her accent.
“Beautiful,” I said softly, knowing that I was blushing. “How come you've got a Yorkshire accent now?” I gabbled, hoping to change the subject and that she hadn't heard me call her beautiful.
“Thank you, you're not so bad yourself. Quite handsome.” She smiled, and the world lit up with a million candles. “And why wouldn't I? I'm born and bred Halifax.”
I smiled. “Because we always thought you foreign. Someone said you were half Cherokee or Apache or something.”
“Probably the same gob shites that put it about that I opened my legs for all and sundry? Garry and Mark, they really were a massive pair of twats, weren't they?”
That made me laugh. “Yes, them and the other two, like Little and Large, Steve and Jerry. Dim and even Dimmer we used to call them.”
She laughed. “My grandmother on my father's side was from Bangladesh. So totally the wrong type of Indian. Twats!”
“School kids, eh?”
“How come you never spoke to me? You were in the same Maths class as me, and I always wanted to ask you how you knew the answers all the time. Most of it was a mystery to me. I'll never know how I passed that exam.” She was laughing now, and the ice was broken, we were two old friends reminiscing, talking about people we both knew and what had happened to them.
A roar of raucous laughter went up from the crowd of our workmates.
“Do you want to get out of here?” asked Anne, casting a brief glance over her shoulder. “I've got a nice bottle of red wine with my name on it at home.”
I looked at her stunned. Women didn't pick me up in bars.
“Oh, sorry, if you don't want to, that's okay. I'm not trying to pick you up, I was just enjoying reminiscing and I don't want to be sucked back into that crowd of drunks.”
“I'd love to. Really. Is it far? I'd better go to the… little boys room first,” I blurted.
Anne smiled, a warm smile that made my stomach do somersaults and my balls tighten in my scrotum.
“Good idea. I'll meet you outside, and no, about 20 minutes walk, or we can call an Uber?”
“A walk would be fine, I'd like to walk with you,” I added lamely, watching in wonder as she slipped off her barstool and stood tall and slender in front of me.
In the Gents I did the necessary, washed my hands and stared at the condom machine. Pure extortion for drunken hopefuls, it offered a range of products from novelty to 'Gossamer'. Anne had said she wasn't trying to pick me up, but I could live in hope, although the thought terrified me. My virginity sat in a dark corner of my mind, a scary thing that became more difficult to expose the older I got, and Anne, so beautiful and sexy, was no doubt experienced and demanding. I put my pound coins back in my pocket, then changed my mind and bought a packet of three.
Anne was waiting outside, huddled in a big coat and looking decidedly chill. I offered her my arm, and she snuggled up against me as if seeking warmth and pointed down the road.
“This way,” she said. “Didn't you go out with Jane at school? What happened to her?”
“I wish, or I wished then. No idea really, she was a friend but always made it clear that was all I was. I lost track of her after school, but someone told me once that she married a bloke who got drunk and battered her. Last thing they'd heard was that she moved down south to get away.”
“So sad,” she said with real sadness. We were walking at a good place now, and she slipped from under my arm to walk quicker, but quickly linked her arm with mine to show she still wanted that contact.
“It's just here,” she said, indicating a mid-terrace house in what a hundred years ago must have been a row of amongst rows of back-to-backs. “It's not much, but it's mine, and it's solid, they built to last in them days.”
I stood waiting as she stepped up onto the step, put her key in the lock and opened the door. Warmth, aromas of cooking and pleasant perfumes met my nostrils as I followed her inside. A light came on, illuminating the living room with a bright glare and then quickly dimmed down to a warm, yellow glow.
“That's better,” she said, taking off her coat, hanging it on a wall hook and holding her hand out for mine. “Sit yourself down,” she said, indicating the sofa, “I'll fetch that wine and the glasses. Do you want to put some music on? There's a record player, if you know how to use one?”
“Oh I do, I have one too.” I turned and went across the room to look at her record collection, which turned out to nineteen-seventies and eighties based. Well before our time but there were many that I had in my own collection. Many of what I considered the greatest musicians of the period, not necessarily the most popular. I selected 'Crime of the Century', delicately lifted it from its dust sleeve, wiped it gently with the duster that lay to hand and lowered the needle to the disc. The sound as it filled the room was perfect, better that it would have sounded at home. I looked around for the speakers.
“They are something I made from a kit. All I could afford, but I like the tone,” said Anne, as I turned around. She offered me a bottle and a corkscrew. “Can you do the honours?”
“It's perfect,” I replied, listening to the clarity of the reproduction of the lilting piano notes.
Anne sat in the middle of the sofa, holding out the wine glasses and when I'd filled them, I sat nervously next to her. Together, and looking into each other's eyes, we tested the wine, sipped again and then sat back, shoulders resting comfortably against each other. We sat sipping and listening for a few minutes.
“You're not married, are you, Mike?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“No one ever found me attractive enough to bother with I guess, and I never found anyone I liked that wasn't already spoken for.” I sipped my wine again, after three pints it was making its presence known. For some reason I felt safe and more ready to open up and talk about myself that I ever had.
Anne kicked off her shoes and turned sideways to face me, turning her feet under her on the sofa.
“I don't believe that, really?” She sounded incredulous.
“There was one girl at school that I adored from afar, but she was so far out of my league that I never dared even talk to her.” I turned to face her, sitting sideways on the sofa. “And you, how come you don't wear a ring and have a flock if children. You must get inundated with suitors.” The old-fashioned word seemed suddenly just right for the moment, not archaic as it would have done in the cold light of day.
“I don't like jerks, braggarts or liars. I never have.” She sipped her wine again. “I'm not stupid enough to think that I'm plain looking and ever since these started growing when I was thirteen,” she glanced down at her cleavage that I noticed now was more exposed than it had been in the bar. She must have undone several buttons whilst fetching the wine, and I'd not noticed, “boys have been trying to get inside my knickers. The more they wanted, the less I wanted them.”
I glanced again at her cleavage, feeling an uncomfortable tightness growing in my trousers and snatched my eyes away, lifting them resolutely to look into hers.
“I don't mind you looking, Mike. I like you.”
She reached out and touched my hand. As her fingers touched the back of my hand I nearly snatched it away in shock, the muscles tensing and my heart rate soaring as the fight or flight reflex kicked in, but I forced myself to relax. Slowly Anne's fingers curled around my hand, lifted it from my knee and pulled it towards her, pressing it to the side of one breast and then letting go.
I sat there paralysed.
“Don't you like it?” Her voice was a whisper, with perhaps doubt trembling around the edges.
“It's wonderful.” Slowly I pressed my hand to her, feeling the size and quantity of the first breast I'd ever been invited to hold. I could feel the fine cotton of her blouse, and beneath that lace edging and structure, with softness beneath.
“Put you wine down before you spill it,” Anne said softly, putting hers down and then single-handedly undoing some more buttons until her white, lacy bra was exposed, full of breasts which mounded out of the top. She took my other hand now and lifted it to the other, but not to the outside. This time she guided my fingers to her exposed flesh, rested them against the lace trim pushed them downward.
Her skin was so smooth, silken smooth, cool and warm at once, and I could hear my heart beating in my ears and my pulse throbbing in my cock as I slipped my fingers under the lace and down until I touched the roughness of a puckered areola and then felt a nipple. Anne leant forward and kissed me.
“That was worth waiting for, wasn't it?”
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