What follows is a story. I have been lucky enough to survive COVID-19 (so far) with my health (both physical and mental) largely intact. I was lucky enough to work remotely during the pandemic and had no financial problems, a loving wife with a good sex life, and neither of us had significant others (that I am aware of) with whom we were having extramarital affairs. We were fortunate to be at an age where our children had left home and were old enough to look after themselves, and to have parents who were young enough to do the same. All that was needed was a large garden, good weather, and a good supply of scotch. I was lucky.
Nonetheless, I have often wondered at how this disease has changed our world and the individual lives of most of us who lived through it.
COVID-19 changed things in many ways. Depending on your source, it is estimated that it has killed up to seven million people worldwide and left an unknown but significant number of people disabled and unable to live and work normally.
In the United Kingdom, the lockdown resulted in increased levels of unemployment, mental illness, addictive behaviours, and domestic abuse. These problems were worse amongst the poorer members of society. Post-COVID, the associated recession has done little to help these individuals recover.
The pandemic also accelerated the trend towards online learning, working from home, and online medical appointments, amongst many things.
The daily lives of all of us were changed forever by the COVID-19 pandemic, sometimes in unexpected ways. This is the first in a series of stories about the unlikely changes wrought by the disease in each of the lives of a very ordinary suburban family in a small town in the south of England.
This is the story of just two people. They are both consenting adults older than eighteen years of age.
None of the characters depicted are real and any similarity to real people living or dead is purely coincidental.
As always any grammatical errors are mine alone. Please be patient. They always seem to creep in however hard I try.
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Changes Pt. 01
James
I first saw Nadia naked, through my bedroom window, during lockdown. I had seen her before, but always with her clothes on, and I had never spoken to her alone, except for one occasion when we exchanged a few words at our front door. I was far too shy for that. Even though it was obvious she was gay, I was scared that she might think I was hitting on her if I tried to go out of my way to talk to her.
The problem was that she was the most gorgeous woman in the world - at least in my eyes. Many people would probably not have looked at her twice, but for me, she had it all. She was a "big girl" in her late twenties and tall - maybe five-ten in her stockinged feet, and well-rounded with a big arse and big tits. She was a typical Slav, with high pronounced cheekbones, a soft chin, full lips, and wide-spaced beautiful dark eyes, and her golden-brown wavy hair fell over her shoulders.
Nadia and her partner Sandra moved into the house next door to us and became our neighbours in the summer of 2019. I was eighteen, had just finished school, and was doing a summer job in a car wash before going to University in September of that year.
The first time I noticed her was one Saturday morning in July when I was mowing the lawn at the front of the house. She was going somewhere with Sandra, and they got into their car and Nadia drove away without even a glance in my direction. After that, I saw her on perhaps another half a dozen occasions either coming from or returning to their house.
The gossip on the street was that Nadia was Rumanian and worked in banking whilst Sandra was a nurse. and presumably born more locally.
My mother had spoken to Nadia on a couple of occasions, once when they moved in, and then later when they crossed paths one evening when walking down our street. Mum said she seemed nice enough, but they had only exchanged pleasantries. Where we live, in the south of England, folk keep to themselves, and this seemed to suit Nadia and Sandra perfectly.
Never having spoken to Nadia did nothing to slake my lust for her and I uselessly worshipped her from afar. In retrospect, it was a stupid adolescent crush, which like most crushes, was likely to come to nothing. I was a virginal eighteen-year-old male madly in love with a lesbian who was ten years older than me and didn't know of my existence.
That didn't stop me from dreaming, of course. Many nights, I got into bed naked, threw back the sheets, and took my dick in my hand before slowly wanking myself off. As I did, I would imagine that it was not my fingers gripping me, but Nadia's warm tight cunt, and soon I would ejaculate long streams of cum over my hand and belly.
In late September, I went to Liverpool to start the first year of my medical degree and did not return home until Christmas. During this period I had thrown myself into university life with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. In between playing rugby and squash, drinking, and fruitlessly chasing after girls, there was little time left for study and I just scraped by in my end-of-term exams. Nadia had been, "out of sight and out of mind." Back home I used my time reading the textbooks I should have studied that first term and resolved to work harder on my return to Liverpool. I kept an eye out for Nadia, but she was nowhere to be seen.
***
Then, on Christmas Eve, around six o'clock in the evening, there was a ring at the door. My mother was busy in the kitchen and my father was in the lounge with his favourite single malt getting into the Christmas spirit early. I didn't know where my elder sister, Georgina, had got to, but when the doorbell rang for a second time, I heard my mother's voice.
"Will one of you answer the bloody door? I'm busy. My hands smell of fucking turkey."
I was in the hallway when she shouted, so I was nearest the door. I looked through the peephole and was surprised to see Nadia standing outside, holding something in both hands. I opened the door and invited her inside.
"I won't come in," she said in accented English. "I've just come to wish you a Happy Christmas and bring you this." Then she handed me an oblong tin decorated with Christmas motifs and an envelope which I assumed contained a card. "It's called cozonac. It's Romanian sweet bread and is traditional at Christmas."
"Are you sure you won't come in?"
"I'm sorry I can't. Sandra is - how do you say it? - putting the finishing touches to dinner, but if anyone in your family wants to come to us tomorrow afternoon any time after three o'clock, we are not going anywhere. Please thank your mother for the pudding she left. We'll eat it later. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
She turned and walked back down the path, and I closed the front door behind her before taking the card and the tin of cake into the kitchen and placing them on the table.
My mother was at the stove with her back to me.
"Who was that?" she asked.
