Nancy's Story

Meet Nancy

Let us say my name is Nancy. It is not my real name as I wish this story to be anonymous for reasons that will become obvious.

I was the wife of a minister of religion, Michael, and I had been married to him for six years when the events I am about to relate began.

I was a virgin bride, which, although unusual by today's standards, was I suppose proper for a clergyman's wife. Michael and I had "played around" during the two years of our engagement. He would use his fingers on my vagina and occasionally was able to give me an orgasm. I in turn would rub his penis until he discharged his sperm. Never did we attempt penetration of my vagina.

The early part of our marriage held promise of passion, but after about eighteen months, Michael gradually lost interest. From about three or four times a week sexual intercourse became once a week, then slowly fell away to about once a month, if that.

Michael was appointed as Vicar of a large country town. As time went on he was more and more involved with meetings, committees, and often had to attend seminars, synods, and conferences, some of which took him away from home for a week or more. He was also very popular in the parish, exercising compassionate pastoral care, fine preaching, and always alive with new ideas. In short, Michael was a well thought of man.

I assumed that all this activity on Michael's part had something to do with the collapse of our sex life. I was twenty-seven at the time of the first "event," and still extremely virile sexually. To try to relieve the sexual tensions I experienced I had to masturbate frequently – an activity no doubt frowned upon by the Church.

My days were taken up with organising fetes, bazaars, bring-and-buy stalls, Sunday School and similar non-exciting activities. I loved Michael, but as I saw the years stretching before me, I had a feeling of dread. Was this to be my life? Forever organising these activities and left day after day without fulfillment of my sexual needs?

It Begins

Our house was set alongside the church. It was spacious, with a large garden. Michael had little time for gardening and it was too large for me to handle on my own. To overcome this we employed a young fellow whom started helping out when he was about fourteen. We paid him for his work, which I suppose added to his pocket money. His name was David and he mowed the lawns, weeded and did other odd gardening jobs.

I would often be working in the garden at the time he was working. He was a nice boy, polite and a little shy. He would rarely speak unless spoken to. He was nice looking with a sunbeam smile and light brown hair cut in a somewhat conservative style. When he finished his work, I would often invite him in for a drink. I would try to overcome his reticence with the usual adult ploys of, "How's school," "How are your parents," and so on. He would answer the questions, but no more. He would simply sit and watch me at whatever I happened to be doing, and when he had finished his drink, bid me goodbye and depart.

Time passed and David had been helping out for four years. He had taken over more and more of the garden, and we found we could leave him without supervision to get on with it. Then one rather hot day David had finished his jobs and, as usual, I asked him to come in for a drink.

We sat at the kitchen table with our drinks, and I tried to make conversation. This time I came up with a question I had never asked before – "Do you have a girlfriend?" He tensed for a moment, then looked away and said "No."

I thought it odd that such a nice looking boy should not have a girlfriend, so I pursued the matter. "Don't you like girls?" Still not looking at me he said, "I suppose they're all right." "That's not very flattering to me," I chuckled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," he mumbled. Still thoughtlessly pursuing the matter I went on, "Wouldn't you like a girlfriend?"

It was then that I noticed something that distressed me. There were tears in David's eyes. Embarrassed I asked if I said something to upset him. He said I hadn't, but there were still the tears. "What is it, David?" I asked.

He sat staring into space for about two minutes, then said, "It's silly really, and I don't think you'd be interested." I assured him that I would be interested if he cared to tell me what was distressing him. "After all," I said, "What are friends for if not to listen to each other's problems, and help if they can. So if you want to, tell me."

Again, he paused, making up his mind whether to say anything or not. Then as if something had been released inside him, speaking rapidly he said, "I don't have a girlfriend because girls don't like me."

My protest broke out before I could stop it: "That's ridiculous. A nice looking boy like you…" I stopped and looked at him. When you have known someone for several years and see them regularly, you hardly notice the changes that have taken place in them. I suppose I still had the picture of David when he first came to us as a boy, in my head. Now, as I looked at him, I saw the truth of my words. He was all of six foot and probably still a little growing to do. The promise of good looks was being fulfilled. There was none of the pimples and pockmarks suffered by so many in youth, and he was well muscled for his age. Every girl in the town should have been pursuing him.

He looked at me and murmured, I don't think it's got anything to do with looks, good or otherwise." Quite a long speech for David! I felt myself impelled to ask, "What has it got to do with, David?" In the same low voice he responded, "It's just me. I think I'm different somehow." "How different?" "I like different things." "Tell me."

"Well," he began hesitantly, "I don't like the same music they like, I don't care for their dances and I don't like the dirty conversation and swearing a lot of the girls use now. They seem grotty and slutty somehow. They seem ready to have sex with anyone – they don't care – they don't have any self-respect."

"But they can't all be like that," I protested. "The ones I meet around here seem to be," he replied.

I was at a loss for a moment. I was very aware of how young and not so young people, behaved sexually these days, but here was a young man looking for something different. I thought I might get him to open further so I asked, "What sort of music do you like?" "I suppose you'd call it 'classical,'" he said. I could see the problem. The town in which we lived did not seem to possess a very large population of classical music lovers.

"They make fun of me about it, and the fact that I love art and drama," he went on.

Yes, it could be very lonely for him I could see that. He now began to talk as he never had before, explaining how much he wanted to share his interests with someone, male or female. How sharing them added to the pleasure. All this I understood. At one time, Michael and I shared these things, but now Michael was always too busy. The women I met through my activities were more concerned to talk about the latest sit-com on television than anything else. I could sympathise with David in his cultural dilemma.

I said to him, "I love classical music as well." "Yes, I know," he said, "I've heard you playing some of your CD's when I've been working in the garden."

I told him of my wish to share this with someone, and how difficult it was in our town. I then said carefully, "Do you think you could share with an old lady like me?"

"Your not really old," he said, and smiled for the first time. "Not more than thirty," he added. Not very flattering since I was only twenty-seven, but I let it pass, returning his smile.

So, it was agreed. Next day David would bring one of his CD's to play, and I would choose one of mine, and we would make an afternoon of it. It was Saturday and Michael was away on one of his interminable seminars, so there was no one to disturb in the house.

A New Factor Arises

As arranged, David arrived promptly at 1 p.m. with his CD. We went into the lounge and began with his music. It was Shostokovitch's 8th Symphony. A bit too ferocious and noisy for my taste, but we sat on the sofa together speaking little except to comment occasionally and briefly on particular passages. When the symphony came to an end, I ascertained that David's liked an occasional glass of wine, so we sat for a while sipping white wine.

I then played my CD that was a Bach concerto. This time there were no comments. David sat in wrapped silence. When the work finished David let out a long sigh and said, "That was beautiful." He then added in a low whisper that seemed almost forced from him, "Like you."

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear that remark, and in anycase, I was too startled to respond. Michael, during our courting days, had paid me all sorts of compliments, but never had he called me beautiful. And now here was an eighteen-year old boy – young man – paying me the compliment many women long to hear.

So ignoring the remark, I invited David to have another glass of wine. He assented, and in the now growing darkness of evening, we sat chatting about the music we had heard and about other pieces we might share in the future.

David had now loosened up considerably – perhaps it was the wine or maybe a growing confidence in my company. I decided to extend our time together, and asked if he would like to stay to dinner. He accepted with gratitude, as his parents were away for the weekend, and he would have to prepare his own meal if he went home.

I put together a meal of sliced ham and salad and opened a bottle of red wine. Perhaps the red wine was a mistake. As the meal progressed David got increasingly voluble, talking about the music and paintings he admired, and how he used the money he earned doing our gardening to buy CD's and books. His manner was such as to make me feel that what he was saying was a cover-up for something else he wanted to say.

Finally, after about his third glass of wine, out it came. His precise words now escape me, but it poured out something like this, "There's something I want to say to you – I know you'll hate me and never want to see me again – but I've got to say it. If ever I have a girl friend, I want her to be like you. Ever since I started to do your gardening, I've lo…admired you…I've wanted to …be near you. I've…You're lovely…so beautiful and kind, and…" He stammered to a stop.

I was dumfounded. What I had just heard was a declaration of love. It couldn't be interpreted any other way. But what sort of love? A boy's or a man's?

David rose from the table and muttered, "I'd better go." He started to leave, but my female ego made me stop him. "No don't go yet," I cried. "Let's talk about this. We can go back to the lounge and be comfortable."

He hesitated, then agreed. This time I didn't sit beside him on the sofa, but sat opposite observing him. He looked crushed and ashamed, and said, "I suppose you must loathe me."

"Not at all," I said gently, "To hear those lovely things said about me is very flattering. I have no reason to loathe you, on the contrary. To have a man many years younger than I say he finds me beautiful is very complimentary.

"But… you're… the Vicar's wife," he stammered. "I'm afraid that doesn't make me any the less susceptible to compliments, David," I replied, "I hope that won't make you think any less of me."

"Never," he whispered, looking at me with such deep longing I felt my heart go out to him. I am not naïve. I understand the powerful emotions that young men must deal with. As David gazed at me, I saw that it was not a boy's love that I had to deal with, but a young man longing – lusting – for me. I could see the swelling in his jeans and knew what that meant.

This was the moment I should have said goodbye to him. I didn't. I sat there trying to come to terms with my own emotions. At the sight of his growing erection, I found my panties starting to get wet.

I am afraid that I am the sort of person who likes the cards face up on the table. I don't like those situations where people are saying one thing and meaning another. I decided we should be clear what we were talking about.

"David," I said, "let's be completely honest with each other. I gather from what you said, and from what I can now see, that you want me sexually. We may never have this moment of openness again, so I will put it to you clearly. Do you want me?"

David was stunned. He had not expected such a blunt confrontation and probably was not sure if I was about to berate him. He started to shake with emotion. I repeated my question; "Do you want me now? You have only to answer yes or no."

I decided to reassure him, to give him the chance to answer with truth about his desire and feelings. "Whatever your answer, I shall not loathe, reject or hate you."

"It would be adultery," he muttered.

"David, I know what it would be if we had sex, but at least answer my question."

He hesitated for another moment, then blurted out, "Yes, I want you."

"Can you stay with me for the rest of the evening?" I asked quietly.

"I have to feed the dog."

"Then go home and feed the dog. You can take the time to decide whether you will come back or not, and I can decide what is going to happen if you do. I shall wait for you.

The Event.

I had spoken out clearly – almost callously – but I have always needed to have the truth of things out in the open. Now I waited, wondering if David would return. If he did, from my point of view the die was cast. Despite that certainty, my emotions were in turmoil. There had only been one other sexual partner in my life, and he had lost interest. The thought of a second partner presented me with a challenge that I was not sure I could handle properly.

If it had been a man with sexual experience it would not be so daunting, but I was almost certain David was a virgin, and I had to make his first experience a lovely one – one he would always treasure. Perhaps it should be with a girl of his own age, but it was me he wanted now, and I had to admit to myself that I wanted him.

I took a shower and put on a rather flimsy wrap. I waited half an hour – three quarters of an hour – his house was no more than ten minutes away from ours. Why was he so long? My frustration increased. I wanted him so badly by now, why did he not come to me?

An hour passed, and my frustration began to turn to anger. He would not come. What an idiot I had made of myself, offering sex to an eighteen-year-old boy. I waited another fifteen minutes, and decided that he was not going to turn up. I went to the bedroom and was about to climb into bed to masturbate, when the doorbell rang.

I raced to the door. David was there. He stood for a moment looking at me. My breasts were prominent in my garment and my nipples stood out through the material. Suddenly he groaned and pressed himself to me. Closing the door, I led him gently into the lounge.

"Sorry I was so long," he said, but I had to feed the dog, and then I took a shower. I also had to think."

"And you've decided?" I asked.

"Yes."

"So have I. Come with me." I led him into the bedroom.

I began to undo the belt on his jeans. He backed off from me. "I've never… I don't know what…" "It's all right," I murmured, "Don't try to do anything this time. Leave it all to me." He relaxed and I finished taking off his jeans and shirt.

I could see there would be no need for foreplay. He had a full erection. His penis was perhaps slightly bigger than Michael's. Only about half an inch longer, but considerably thicker. The head was wet with precum.

I took off my nightie and stood naked in front of him. I saw his eyes take me in, roaming over my breasts and the little v of pubic hair. "You're so…so…so lovely," he moaned. "All the times I've imagined you naked it was never as exquisite as you really are."

I pressed him to me. I was only a couple of inches shorter than David and his penis pressed against my lower abdomen. By now, my female fluids were starting to run down my thighs. I knew that David, especially it being his first time with a woman, would be unable to hold back for long in ejaculating. That sort of restraint has to be learned over time. So rather than have him ejaculate before he had even penetrated me, I led him over to the bed and carefully got him to lie down.

I lay beside him and said quietly, "Don't try to do anything, darling, leave it to me. Just lay on your back and relax if you can." I moved over and sat astride him nuzzling the tip of his penis against the lips of my vagina. He groaned as I did this.

Now I had to be careful. Never having had a baby, and only ever having had Michael's smaller penis in me, I was still tight. I was well lubricated, but wondered if I would have much pain taking David's larger organ into me.

I spread my legs as wide as possible in that position, put my hand down and guided David's penis into me. I took it very slowly, letting my vagina get used to the extra size. There was no pain. I lowered myself onto him until I had the full length inside me. All the time David looked at me entering him and gave little cries of ecstasy – "Ohh…so wonderful…I never thought it…ohh."

I began to move up and down on him, gradually increasing the pace. As I thought he would, he came quickly. Suddenly he grasped my hips and dragged me down onto him, trying to force his length deeper into me. This I knew was the first thrust of his orgasm. I felt the first spurt of his sperm pump into me and he released my hips. I matched my movement to his spurting, thrusting down with every new convulsion. He cried out as he came; "O God…Oh God…so long…I…" I thought he would never stop flooding into me. He released into me the pent up frustration of a young man, now at last with the woman he had fantasised about for so long, and finding it more wonderful than he had ever imagined.

At last, with a final cry of "Ahh, " this riot of passion ceased. I sat across him with his penis still inside me. I had not cum myself and hadn't expected to. My focus had been entirely on making sure David had the best possible first time sexual experience.

I sat with him inside me for some time, waiting until he grew slack before withdrawing. As I did so, he gave a moan. We lay side by side for about half an hour. Then David moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "I suppose I'd better go," he muttered. Without hesitating, I spoke out my inner desire. "Stay the night with me, darling."

He turned and looked at me. "You really mean that?" "Of course I do." Without another word, he returned to my side, snuggling against me with his lips close to my breasts. He spoke quietly with great depth of feeling in his voice. "Whenever I've masturbated it has always been you I've pictured. As I shot, it has been you I was doing it with. But it's been far more wonderful than I would ever have imagined. I don't think I could ever get enough of you."

Only ever having been with Michael before, I was used to him rolling off me and going to sleep without another word. I must have thought all men behaved like that after sexual intercourse. David continued the loving even after his sexual need was satisfied – or was it? Even on our first night, Michael had managed only once. Were some men able to achieve more? I was about to find out.

Where we lay in the bed, it was soaked with David's sperm that had gradually rolled out of me, and my own lubricants that had been profuse. With a laugh I said, "If we are going to spend the night in this bed, I think we'd better change the sheets and take a shower."

We got out and I remade the bed, then we went off to shower together. I had plans for David's next lesson in love making, so I concentrated on thorough washing of our genitals. I need not have worried about his ability to perform again. As I massaged his penis, it rose rapidly in my hand. I smiled at him; "I think we should dry each other, then I'd better attend to this." I gave his penis a gentle squeeze. He moved to press against me, "In a minute or two," I added.