When you're sharing a house with several other people you get to know a bit more about their personal lives than you really want to. It wasn't as though we were relatives or close friends. We were just people sharing a house as that way the rent was affordable. We had six people in a four bedroom house, four girls and two guys. The girls shared two bedrooms while we two males had a room each. Admittedly they were the smallest bedrooms but so what? Men don't require anything like the wardrobe space that women do.
This story is really about Wendy, one of the girls. Well, obviously she was one of the girls. What man would be caught dead with a name like Wendy? Wendy was pushing twenty, age-wise. She was reasonable attractive and also reasonably intelligent. She kept herself fit and dressed with taste and discretion. The sort of girl any man would be proud to take home to his mother. Or to his bed if he could get her there.
That's where Wendy's problem lay. She was still a virgin, albeit an unwilling virgin. Now I wasn't eavesdropping when I learnt her story. I was just comfortably ensconced in an easy chair in the front room, reading. Totally not my fault if Wendy and Marie decided to have a heart to heart and didn't notice me there.
OK. Maybe I should have stood up and waved when they started talking but I thought that might embarrass them, because they were talking about men and sex. I lay low and tried to ignore them but it was a bit hard with Wendy practically wailing out her problem.
To sum it up, Wendy was a virgin. Wendy did not want to be a virgin. Marie suggested that she date some horny male and just let nature take its course and Wendy almost wept at the suggestion. She'd tried that, several times, and therein lay the root of her problem. She panicked.
Apparently she would go on a date with a man. She would enjoy his company. She would enjoy the meal, the nightclub, the theatre, the dancing, the football if that's what he chose. Coming home she'd enjoy kissing him. His hands would start to wander. She didn't mind his hand brushing against her breasts. In fact, that was another thing she enjoyed.
As long as it was outside her clothes. As soon as a hand started to ease inside her clothes, be it bra or panties, she'd panic. She'd find herself turning into the innocent young girl about to be ravished by the wicked male intent on satisfying his lusts. She'd pull the plug on the date at that point, quite prepared to flee his car or unit or wherever they happened to be, running for home and safety.
"I don't know why but the very thought of being naked in front of a man makes me feel faint," Wendy lamented. "I've got to get around this somehow."
"Pick a man you really like and persuade him to go slowly. Tell him to touch you through the clothes to start with. Under the clothes when you're more comfortable."
"I've tried! It just doesn't work for me."
"Well tell him to be patient and eventually he'll get lucky, which means that you will, too. Would getting tiddly help?"
"No. That just makes it worse."
"Oh. Um, have you considered that you may be gay?"
"Well of course I have but I decided that I'm not. Making out with another girl is OK but there's no excitement. It just doesn't seem right."
"So pick a guy with a reputation for not taking no for an answer. He may force the issue."
"Tried that. A knee to the testicles was accepted as meaning no."
"Yes, I can see where it might," said Marie giggling, while my own testicles cringed. "All I can do is wish you luck with tonight's date. Charles, isn't it. He's supposed to be very smooth. Maybe he'll be the one."
"One can only hope," said Wendy with a sigh.
At that stage the pair of them wandered off, to my relief. Charles, whoever he was, had my sympathy. I suspected that he wasn't getting laid that night.
Next morning was a Saturday and I got up late. As far as I could tell the house was deserted. I didn't mind. I enjoy some peace and quiet occasionally. I dug out some cereal and made some coffee and started to enjoy some breakfast. That's when I found I wasn't home alone.
Wendy came snarling into the kitchen. It was obvious from the look on her face that she was not happy. She gave me a look that consigned me and all men to the dunghill of things that should not be allowed in a decent world. My guess was that she either finally got laid and didn't enjoy it or she struck out again. I was betting on striking out.
"That had better not be my cereal," she snapped, looking at my breakfast.
"It's not. This lot came from the big box marked Not Wendy's."
My humour was unappreciated. It's so sad when people can't laugh at life.
"Why's the fucking milk out not in the fridge?"
(A little divergence here. Some essentials, such as milk, are bought using a pool to which we all contribute. That way we don't wind up with six litres of milk and none of us knowing which milk is whose.)
"Mainly because I took it out as I intend to have another cup of coffee."
"Not my coffee, I trust." (She was in a snarky mood.)
"It would be a bit hard for me to be using your coffee," I told her. "You ran out yesterday and must have forgotten to buy some more. You can use mine if you want some."
Wendy proceeded to go on a rant about how she wanted her coffee, not mine, and it was probably my fault that she forgot to get it. Did I say she was in a snarky mood? I was wrong. She'd moved right past snarky to downright obnoxious. She might have been disappointed on her date last night but why take it out on me?
I'd finished my breakfast apart from making my second cup of coffee and the smart thing would have been to vacate the kitchen and let her vent at the empty room. I'm sorry to say that I don't always do the smart thing. What can I say? I'm a man. Sometimes we just get our back up.
I sat back and considered Wendy. It might have looked as though I was listening to what she was saying but my attentive look was actually me regarding what she was wearing and remembering what she'd been saying to Marie the previous day.
Wendy had only just got up and hadn't bothered to get dressed yet. It had been a warm night and the day was already starting to heat up. Wendy's pyjamas were of a light material, a silky sort of stuff that clung to her. That material clung quite lovingly to her breasts, showing the shape of them and a couple of small lumps showed where her nipples were. Eyes travelling downwards I could see the material draped across her hip and thigh in a continuous smooth line. If she was wearing panties under those pyjama trousers there was no sign of them.
She had indicated to Marie that she was extremely nervous about being naked in front of a man. It would be only right and proper to help her overcome this fear. It wasn't as if I would be doing anything to hurt her. I found myself remarkably easy to convince.
I rose to my feet, nodding thoughtfully as Wendy continued to expound on the deficiencies of the male sex. A quick step around the table and I had hold of her pyjama top and was lifting it up and off before Wendy had any idea that I'd do such a thing. She gave a strangled cry, breaking off her tirade mid-word, her hands flying up to cover her breasts. She'd have been better served sending them down to hold on to her pyjama pants. My hands dropped and her pyjamas did likewise, pooling around her feet. I was pleased to observe that I'd been correct about the panties or, rather, the lack thereof.
A pair of hands is not really enough to cover all a ladies bounteous charms, although Wendy was certainly trying to, her face quite red.
"Are you feeling faint?" I asked sympathetically.
"Faint? Why would I feel faint, you rotten swine? What do you think you're playing at?"
"Oh, that's good. Ah, where are you going?"
"To my bedroom. Where else would you think I'm going?"
Wendy was practically dancing on the spot in rage, which did not help her modesty. It did seem to add an interesting bounce to her breasts though.
"I don't think you should do that," I told her.
"Why not?"
"You're naked. If you go running off to a bedroom I'd naturally think you want me to follow you and make love to you. You'll find it makes a lot more sense to just make yourself some coffee. Drinking it will help you get control of yourself. Ah, would you mind making me a second cup while you're at it."
So Wendy sat down and had a nice cup of coffee and some quiet conversation. There were a few hitches along the way. First of all she wanted to put her pyjamas back on but I maintained that they were mine by right of conquest and wouldn't give them back.
Did I really think she was going to run around the kitchen naked, making coffee?
I didn't deign to answer such an obvious question. I just smiled and she gave me a nasty look.
Then she didn't want to make my coffee. She wasn't my servant, she pointed out. I pointed out that she was using my coffee to make her own and good manners insisted that she do mine at the same time.
She then wanted to know when I became familiar with good manners. Sounded quite sarcastic when she asked that. Almost hurt my feelings but I made allowances.
Finally we were sitting down and drinking our coffee, even though she still seemed to be a trifle nervous. At least, she'd given up on trying to cover herself all the time, giving in to the inevitable.
