Time stood still as I heard her say,
The stories I write are based on incidents that have happened during my life. My experiences are the well-spring from which my tales emerge, some completely factual, others embellished but all rooted in my experiences.
This one came as a complete surprise and added an unexpected frisson to a hot summer in 1976.
I was invited to a christening in my local village church of a baby born to a popular farming family. The church was packed and I stood towards the back of the knave as I mouthed the words to hymns without making a sound and just looked around as others bowed their heads in prayer. I was not a believer, but I liked the feeling of community.
After the service we were all invited to a garden party, the sun shone, the tables packed with food and the drink was plentiful. It was an impressive do. I stood quietly nursing a pint when I was approached by the vicar’s wife, Mrs Bartholomew and I greeted her by name, “call me Dorothy” she said. She was I estimated in her early fifties, a good-looking woman with a dark complexion, dark hair just starting to show some grey, but her eyes were what struck you ………….. even all these years later I remember those dark eyes that made the breath catch in your throat.
I stood as if mesmerised as Dorothy fixed me with those eyes and said, “I had a naughty thought about you during the service”. Time seemed to stand still as we stared at each other, her words echoing in both our minds …………… and then the tension snapped as she gushed, “oh no, not like that, I meant that I had a thought about when was the last time that you were in church”.
I latched onto, “not like that” and said, “oh, now I am disappointed”. I kicked myself. What was I doing saying such a thing to the vicar’s wife ……………… Mrs Bartholomew …………. Dorothy who was 25 years my senior. Her husband stood not far away but far enough to not hear our conversation. He was an older man, I think nearing retirement and Dorothy was a good few years younger then her husband.
It seemed that our paths crossed quite frequently during that summer. At the village fete, a jumble sale, yet another church event to which I had been invited. Each time our eyes would lock on to each other, across the village hall or we would stare across the green at the heart of the village. I even dreamt about those eyes.
One day, towards the end of summer we bumped into each other in the street and exchanged the usual pleasantries when she suddenly blurted out, “my husband is away for a few days, back early next week”. I didn’t stop to think, answered immediately, “I will visit you”. “That would be nice” she replied. We gazed silently at each other for what felt like an eternity before we both realised what we had agreed to and an embarrassment set in as we parted.
My heart was racing throughout that afternoon as I contemplated visiting Dorothy. What was I thinking. Did I really think that anything would develop with the vicar’s wife who was so much older than me. I was 26, not too bad looking but hardly the sort that could turn the head of a respectable, church going woman.
That evening I walked across the fields, approaching the vicarage from the garden side, a discreet route. Dorothy must have seen me coming because she opened the French windows and beckoned me inside. There we sat, each nursing a glass of wine, nervously feeling our way through this awkwardness. I asked for the bathroom and Dorothy stood, “I’ll show you”. We were close in the hallway ……….. I reached for her and we held tightly as I kissed her. She groaned, “oh yes” as our lips met but I sensed the hesitation in her …….. the doubt still in her eyes. I remember saying, “don’t think” and I felt her relax in my arms.
Later, in her bed I explored every inch of her. We had frenziedly shed our clothes, kissing with passion as we tumbled onto the bed and I thrust into her without any preliminaries. This is what we had been building up to all that long hot summer. As I thrust into her she pushed back at me, her hips rising to meet mine, fully committed to being fucked, to urgently offer her cunt to my cock. It was that raw.
Throughout all of this her gaze never faltered, her eyes boring into me, that dark simmering stare looking straight into me, the sensation in my groin rising to meet the frisson of wonder that I felt with those eyes looking into my very soul. Dorothy was on fire.
Yes, later I explored every inch of her. Her skin was that of a woman from the Mediterranean, white but somehow darker. Her breasts sagged on her chest as she laid back, her breath slowly evening out as we came down from our frantic coupling. She shivered as I took a nipple between my lips, a firm, fat nipple, standing hard from her arousal. She reached out for my cock, still wet with her juices and my cum. She stared even deeper into my eyes as she raised her fingers to her lips to savour our combined taste, so sensuous but so natural. Dorothy had succumbed fully to her sensuality and there was not a trace of the conservative vicar’s wife.
She purred as I traced my lips down from her breasts my mouth soon finding the folds of her pussy, her cunt, as she opened her legs so that I could feast on her. She gestured with her hands and I instinctively knew that she wanted to taste me, so we angled our bodies into a 69 and, yes, we ate each other, losing ourselves in the wetness and sensation …………. Soon though there was that recurring need and we started a slow and sensuous fuck which gradually became ever more physical until we were thrusting hard into each other, my cock as hard as I have ever been, our tongues urgently exploring our mouths as our lips pressed tightly together.
We lay back once again, momentarily exhausted and Dorothy spoke, “I know that this is wrong, but I just had to fuck you”. “This is not me; this is not who I am, but it had to happen”.
The next few days were wonderful. I was with Dorothy every chance I could take and, in those few days, we explored all that we could be together. I remember her saying that she was using words that had never crossed her lips, experienced sex in ways that she never dreamt that she would enjoy ……… but she enthusiastically welcomed each new twist and turn in our lovemaking. Yes, it was love. I thought of the words of John Dunne, the star-crossed lovers who see the whole world in each other’s eyes. That bed was our whole world, our everywhere.
We experimented to the point where no stone was left unturned. Dorothy wanted it all and I was surprised just how far down into her sexuality we were able to reach. Nothing was denied as we revelled in our depravity. No, it was not depraved ………. It was a fullness where everything was right. She surprised herself with how much she enjoyed anal sex ……….. in all its forms. “How have I not known this about myself” she incredulously whispered to me as we came down from yet another exploratory high.
It had to end. The night before the reverend was due to return, we held each other close, knowing that tomorrow we would have to go back to normalcy.
I moved out of the village by the end of the year. Having Dorothy so near yet so out of reach was a torture. It was a small village so a wonder that we managed to keep ourselves a secret. We met just once more, when the Reverend Bartholomew was once again away but this time for only one night; though it wasn’t the same, we both knew that come the morrow we would have to deny what we felt.
I still have that woman in my heart. She died a few years back at the age of ninety. A good life but I never saw her again once I left the village. I only knew of her passing when I looked up her name online and found an obituary.
“Well loved wife of former vicar will be missed by all who knew her”. That’s what was written. Oh yes, she was loved and was most certainly missed.
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