Loading...When I was 19 I worked four nights a week in a youth club, St. Patrick’s Y. C. It was a very popular youth club which attracted children and teenagers from a wide area in the west of the city. The club itself was actually a couple of large huts; the type you might find that act as additional classrooms in some schools.
The interior of the club rooms was bright and welcoming and housed a variety of seats, tables, snooker and table tennis table.
There were board games and posters and a club shop in one corner. The huts were actually situated within the local primary school grounds so outside there was a large playing area. The school hall was also used on occasion for discos and so on.
But it was the people who made the club; their friendships and camaraderie blossomed under the auspices of the club. Socializing was a key aspect of the club’s work. Many a relationship began there and quite a few marriages eventually developed. My best friend, Margaret, actually met her boyfriend there and they married eight years later.
I suppose I was shyer than most of my peers but the club helped me to approach people with more confidence. When I became 19 (over the club’s age limit for membership) I was asked by Maureen, the Leader-in-Charge, to become a voluntary youth worker. Naturally I accepted.
Maureen was about 30 at the time of the story and, although I cannot describe her as beautiful in the conventional manner, I would say she was quite sexy in a quiet, unassuming way. She had short, sandy-coloured hair and a lovely body; her boobs were not large but they were well-defined and sat nicely on her chest. As she usually wore a dress that came to just above her knees I could tell that her legs were toned and smooth. I can imagine that many of the older teenagers and also the few men who worked in the club must have had sexual thoughts about her. Yet she never invited anything untoward from anyone; she was a single woman who cared very much about doing her job and seemed too shy about following up on any interest from certain admirers.
§
One day she asked me if I would be willing to paint the walls of the club with some cartoon characters such as Tom and Jerry.
“The club’s closing for week so you could do it then, what do you think?”
“Yeah, I’ll do that for you, Maureen.”
“Thanks, Helen,” she said. “I’ll be around too but I’m not good at painting.”
At this point I noticed her white lacy slip as her yellow dress just rode up her legs an inch or so. She had no tights on and she looked so good; lean and fit. I tried to keep up the conversation, to keep her there more than anything. Later that night I lay in bed wondering why I found myself thinking of her shape and body and clothes. I was not and still am not a lesbian and had never felt any sexual attraction towards another female but had often spent some time in the bed or the bath touching myself to thoughts of the opposite sex.
“It might take me a few days to finish,” I added, trying not to stare at her legs.
She smiled. “As long as you need is fine with me.” She shifted on the seat and the lace was lost to view.
§
On the fourth day I was almost finished and decided to continue into the evening rather than come in on the Friday.
“OK,” agreed Maureen. “I’ll order us some food. What do you prefer — Chinese, Indian or would you rather have some fish and chips?”
“Er, honestly, Maureen, there’s no need,” I said.
“I want to, Helen. Your painting’s just brilliant and it’s the least I can do. But ….” She frowned.
“What’s up?”
“Hell! I forgot the phone’s out til next week.”
“Oh,” I felt a pang of disappointment.
“Tell me how long will it take you to finish up?” she asked.
“I think …. an hour should do it,” I replied.
“Will you come to my house and we’ll order from there. I’ve some wine too. I don’t know if you drink wine?”
“I have done.” Quite a lot, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“So will you come then?”
I didn’t think she understood the double entendre but as I gazed at her, dressed simply in a cinnamon brown dress I wondered if she had any idea just how attracted I was becoming towards her, evidenced by the light tingle between my legs.
§
She sat across from me in an armchair; I sat in the centre of a matching settee. Going over plans for a camping trip to a forest she asked if I’d be interested in going along for the experience. As she crossed her legs I had a glimpse of a light pink slip, it looked like satin, up the side of her skirt.
I think she noticed I was looking because she shifted in her seat a few more times, smoothing her dress as she did so but to no avail. I could tell by then that the slip was silk and not satin and it had very fine lace on the hem. I tried my best not to stare (I really didn’t want her to think I was some kind of freak) and thankfully the doorbell announced the arrival of the Chinese.
An hour later, the meal digested and the two bottles of wine finished, I sadly thought the evening was coming to a close. I was really enjoying Maureen’s company and found out that she liked pop music but loathed rock; hated cooking but loved eating and wound down the weekend generally by drinking some wine and watching TV. Alone. She had never dated seriously but had been out with a couple of men whom she liked but nothing more than that. But I also found out that she didn’t want to talk about relationships and I guessed she was embarrassed by her lack of first hand knowledge.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said as she leaned across the table and touched my arm. “Do you want to see the layout for the new club building?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. Anything to stay a while longer.
She hesitated a bit. “Er, you’ll have to come upstairs to the bedroom because I have it taped to the wall.”
I gulped.
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “You think I’m obsessed with the club?”
“Not at all!” I replied, giving her hand a squeeze. “I think you’re great.”
As she led the sway (she was definitely tipsier than me) into her bedroom the phone went in the hall so she excused herself and went downstairs to answer it.
I saw the large layout which almost took up one wall of the room but my attention wandered around the room. I sat on the edge of the bed and noticed her perfumes, hairbrush and a scattering of cosmetics. Then I saw it. Over the back of a chair near the dressing table was a lacy white slip — similar if not the same as the one she wore earlier in the week at the club. I could still hear Maureen on the phone downstairs so I went over to the chair and touched the lace material of the slip. The upper part was silk. Gently I lifted it off the chair and held it towards my face. As I did so I saw something fall onto the floor. I looked down at a matching pair of French knickers; fine silk and soft lace. I could feel my own panties becoming damp as I thought of Maureen wearing these undergarments. I bent down to pick them up when I noticed the slight cream-colored stain in the gusset. I fingered the stain and felt the gentle shift of my nipples pushing against my bra. I knew it was wrong but I started to lift the knickers to my nose when I heard Maureen hanging up the phone. Quick as I could I set the underwear down on the back of the chair and tiptoed back to “study” the layout on the wall.
She came in quietly and stepped up behind me. I was sure she’d hear the thumping of my heart. Suddenly I felt her hands on my waist, gentle and soft. I was so surprised I think I jumped a little at her touch.
“So what do you think?” she almost whispered.
I was aware of the feel of her hands and I was also very aware of the dampness moistening my panties and the slow arousal of my clitoris.
“I’m not sure,” was all I managed to say.
“Oh, let me explain these rooms,” she went on and lent across my shoulder to point out an enclosed area on the plan.
Her front had pushed right up against my back and I felt the roundness of her breast near my shoulder.
“This here is going to be the social area,” she explained. I felt my clitoris twitch against the damp material of my white cotton panties.
“And here we’ll have the snack bar, the games room here, and the reception area and here the meeting room.” Her voice was a little slurred.
“I really like it,” I breathed, though it wasn’t the layout I was talking about.
“Really?” she asked.
I turned to face her but she didn’t back away. Her hands returned to my waist and I saw her glance down at my chest and my hard nipples pushing against the pink tee shirt. I too put my hands tentatively on her waist and, through her dress, I could feel the ridge of elastic that held up either her slip or her panties.
She let go of me and moved back against the bed. She lowered herself onto it and lay back on her elbows. Slowly she raised her leg and undid the strap of her shoe and let it fall to the floor. She did the same with the other leg and shoe. When she lowered her legs I found it hard to breathe: her dress had risen up quite a bit and her silk and lace pink slip was very evident.
I must have been staring for she asked me what I was looking at.
“Maureen, I don’t want you to think I’m crazy or anything but you just look so sexy at the moment. And I’ve never said that to another woman. Never even thought it.”
She giggled a bit. “Must be the wine.”
I sat down beside her, still admiring her slip and dress in disarray.
“Is it real silk?” I asked.
“Why don’t you feel it?” she said.
I looked at her to see if she was joking. She was smiling but not joking. I swallowed hard and, with a shaky hand, lightly touched the lacy hem. She shifted slightly opening her legs a bit in the process. I began to get bolder and put several fingers under the slip, careful not to come into contact with her skin and, as I did so, I raised the slip to feel the silky material more. The edge of her pink French knickers was showing. I glanced at Maureen and found that she had settled back on the bed with her hands by her side and her eyes closed.
I raised the slip even more and was rewarded with a stunning view of her knickers. I was beyond redemption at this point and let my free hand rest on her knee. Again I glanced at her face but she didn’t move. I watched her face for a few seconds as I very gently traced my hand up her thigh towards the edge of the knickers. Her face showed no sign of feeling. But her legs moved further apart and I stared (perhaps ogled is a better word) at the silk material covering her sex. A small oval-shaped area was slightly darkened with her dampness.
I rubbed my legs together because my clitoris was crying out for attention. I was soaked down there and could feel the juice moving around as I shifted my legs. When my fingers reached her sex I rubbed my thumb over the damp material several times.
“Is this OK, Maureen?” I felt I had to ask. There was no answer and no indication that she heard me. “Maureen? Maureen?” I shook her slightly but she didn’t stir.
She must have fallen asleep and I had to stifle a giggle; the notion of her just dropping off like that would have been hilarious were it not for the fact that I yearned to touch her, hold her, kiss her.
I slid off the bed onto my knees on the floor. Gently I eased her legs apart and focused on her silk-covered fanny. There was a slight bump just above the wet patch and I immediately recognised this to be her engorged clitoris. Mine was still throbbing and crying out for attention.
Carefully I teased the bump with my fingernail and almost instantly I felt the bump stir and stiffen. At the same time I slipped my other hand inside the waistband of my tracksuit pants and down over my panties. I was shocked by how sodden they had become and, as I glanced down, I could see that some of the dampness had seeped through the crotch of my tracksuit bottoms.
I was just moments away from an electrifying orgasm and I watched, spellbound, as the wet patch in Maureen’s French knickers spread until the whole crotch was moist and becoming transparent. Just as I slipped two fingers under the edge of the knickers and instantly came into contact with the wet, hard bud of her clitoris her legs jerked and I heard a soft moan coming from her mouth. I withdrew my soaked fingers and concentrated on my own impending eruption which was building to a frenzy.
Her bare foot was directly below me now and I took hold of her ankle and brought it up to my fanny. I eased her toes under the sodden leg elastic and started to masturbate myself with her foot. I ran the five toes across my erect throbbing clitoris and finally pushed the big toe as far as I could into my fanny. To say I exploded is no understatement. Never before and never since have I experienced such a thunderous orgasm.
When I’d calmed down sufficiently I realised that Maureen’s foot had become soaked; some of the cum dripped onto the beige carpet. I couldn’t think what I could use quickly to dry her foot and then I remembered the white knickers on the back of the chair. I went over and got them and then used the gusset only to dry her foot as best I could. These knickers too were soon dripping. I considered taking them with me but decided to return them to the chair, under the beautiful white slip.
Then, with one last peek under her skirt, I fixed the slip and skirt over her legs as well as I could. She was still asleep.
§
It was four days before I saw her again. Four days of mental torment because I was sure we had crossed some unspeakable boundaries that would have some very serious repercussions; we were both Catholics and the youth club was a Church-run club. And, as each day came and went, I felt sure the following day would be The Day of Judgement.
Yet, when I did see her she came over to me and put her arm around my shoulders.
“I really, really want to apologise to you for falling asleep the other evening. I had a little too much to drink. I can’t remember anything after the meal but I do remember having the strangest dream which I might tell you about some time. So will you forgive me and come again?”