It all started when I trod on her foot.
I was 20, tall and uncoordinated, and prone to wearing stovepipe jeans and Blundstone boots.
She was 32, a head shorter, long blonde wavy hair, with short skirt and, pertinent to this occasion, bare feet.
Jen often took off her shoes in the office. She was in charge of a Pensions team, had a humorous direct gaze from grey/blue eyes, an informal manner, and most importantly for my young hormones, a fantastic cleavage and nice legs.
On this particular day I was racing up the stairs to get back to my desk, she was strolling back to hers, and our paths intersected at the top of the stairs with my size 11 boot landing on her bare size 6.
"Owwww!" she said and those mesmerizing eyes met mine reproachfully.
"I'm so sorry!!" I stammered. It was the first words I'd ever said to her. Despite working in the same office for over a year, I was terminally shy around attractive women and had previously only given her quick smiles before looking away bashfully.
"It's ok," she said, smiling and rubbing her foot (which increased my view of both cleavage and thigh).
Amazingly, with the ice broken, I was able to talk to her. We chatted for a while and it turned out that she lived only a couple of streets away from my parent's abode, which shamefully I still inhabited.
"You'll have to come over for a drink one night," Jen suggested. I assured her that I would, she flashed me another dazzling smile and strolled off. (Jen never just "walked, she padded along like a lioness.)
At the time I was, as I said, living with my parents. We were members of a religious sect that didn't drink, smoke, swear, watch TV, listen to radio or go to parties. It was expected that we'd marry within the sect before having sex (for the purposes of procreation of more sect members). So the idea of going to a non-believer's house, an older woman, no less, and partaking of alcohol there... well, that was bound to send me straight to hell.
Balancing this was the fact that I was 20, never even been kissed, had raging hormones and secretly masturbated at least twice a day to skin mags I surreptitiously bought and hid under the bed.
From somewhere I dragged up the courage to visit Jen one evening. I rode the few blocks to her house on my pride and joy -- a Honda 185cc road/trail bike -- parked behind her Falcon station wagon and nervously knocked on the door.
She answered wearing a bath robe. Her legs were smooth and had that glow that comes from a hot bath. The neckline plunged toward her waist and the swell of her breasts were still damp.
'Hi!' I blurted. 'Ummm... if it's not a good time I can go... ah... I just thought I'd drop by...' my words dribbled away and I just stood awkwardly in front of her.
She smiled. "It's fine, I'd just finished my bath. Come in!"
She stepped back from the door and I squeezed past.
Her house was a small weatherboard bungalow, perhaps 1950's, with a large back yard. The décor was nothing special but the house was spotlessly clean and neat.
She asked me to sit down and that she'd be back in a minute. I sat quietly on the couch, looking around the room, until she returned.
