Tara was totally bored. She knew most of the boys would die to dance with her; she knew, too, that half the girls hated her because of it. But what fun was there in it when not one of the boys was even remotely interesting!
She might have flirted with Graham Sweeting if she hadn't met that man Simon. Graham always had a half-bottle of gin or vodka in his pocket, he could jive really well and he wasn't bad at kissing either. He was what Gran called a 'bad lot'. He rode a motorbike, wore a leather jacket and had greasy black hair styled in an exaggerated quiff. Back at Christmas they had got into some serious snogging in his dad's car, and it had been enough to give her an inkling of what sex was all about. But looking now at his lean hips in tight jeans, his sullen, sexy mouth as he dragged on his cigarette, she knew taking things any further with him would be a mistake.
Her heart sank as she saw Robert Caldwell coming towards her. He was the type of boy her mother wanted for her, earnest, reliable, clean-living. He went to Bible-study classes and collected for the missionaries. One look at his sandy hair, red-tinged skin and bitten finger-nails was enough to put her off.
'Would you dance with me, Tara?' he asked, blushing even redder.
She couldn't refuse him – he was a nice enough boy – but his breath smelled, his hands were always clammy and, anyway, she couldn't bear anyone who wore hairy tweed suits.
'You look stunning tonight,' he said shyly. 'Did you make that dress?'
One of the most infuriating things about Robert was the fact he was actually interested in her as a person – what she did, what she wanted to do – not just her looks. He read a great deal, knew about things other boys didn't and possibly, if one had the patience to work on his clothes and image, he might be worthwhile in a year or two.
She was just stepping out on to the dance floor when she sensed Simon had come back for her. There was no draught from the door, not even a bang, but she knew the way the little hairs prickled on the backs of her arms and neck that he was standing behind her, looking at her.
To show she'd noticed him would be a mistake; instead she declined Robert's invitation to jive, and chose 'the Shake,' so her hapless partner couldn't show her up with his over-enthusiastic leg and arm movements. After a respectable period of letting Simon watch her wiggling bottom, she turned, feigned surprise at his presence, then leaned towards Robert.
'Sorry, Robert, I'll have to go, a friend of my family's just popped in. I must go and have a word with him.'
'You came back then?' She stood in front of Simon, her arms folded across her chest defiantly. 'Why's that?'
Even if her mother's reaction to her dress had been lukewarm, all the girls admired it. Here on home ground she felt confident enough to try her famous pout.
'As if you didn't know!' He smiled wickedly. 'I popped into the pub, two pubs in fact, but I was lonely.'
'Come and dance?' She held out her hands, knowing all the girls from school were watching open-mouthed. It pleased her to see that he looked slightly unsure of himself, it meant he'd been giving her some thought.
'I'd rather take you somewhere a bit more private,' he said. 'I feel as if the world and his wife are watching!'
'They are.' Tara giggled. 'That's half the fun!'
Simon looked at the band and winced.
'Not for me. Come home to my cottage and dance with me there?'
'I shouldn't,' she said weakly, looking into those wicked eyes and knowing she would anyway.
'Yes you should. We artists have to live dangerously.'
It was dusk as they left the village; as they approached the small round Toll House at the turn-off to Stanton Drew, Tara suddenly felt uneasy. By day the walk back to Chew Magna was pleasant, but the prospect of narrow lanes in the dark was scary. And suppose someone reported back to her mother that she had left the dance with Simon?
'Isn't this idyllic?' Simon waved his hand at the view.
It was a beautiful scene – a pinky sunset, the road winding round over a stone bridge, pretty cottages half hidden by trees up ahead.
'I could stay here forever,' he said. His resonant voice gave her goose-pimples. He glanced at Tara and noticed the tight set of her lips. 'Don't look so worried, I'll get you back at a respectable hour!'
They passed the few cottages and the Druid's Arms, then turned up a narrow track with high overhanging hedges.
'This is it.' He pulled up by a farm gate, pointing out a tiny grey stone cottage with lattice windows, set up on a bank.
She was really scared now, wishing she hadn't come, but Simon came round and opened her door, taking her hand.
'You're quite safe with me.' He stroked her cheek gently. 'If nothing else, I'm a gentleman!'
'Who does it belong to?' she asked as he opened the front door and led her into a large, book-lined room.
Although everything was gleaming, somehow it had a masculine feel to it. A big desk sat under the window, a log fire was laid in the inglenook fireplace. There were barometers, clocks, boats in glass cases and even stuffed birds on the walls.
Simon flicked on a lamp on the desk and another on a low coffee table by the settee.
'An actor friend who writes,' he answered. 'He divides his time between acting in London and writing books here. Do you like it?'
'Yes.' She was fascinated by the stuffed birds, wondering why anyone would want to sit and look at a dead pheasant. 'Don't you think these are a bit creepy?'
'A bit.' Simon chuckled. 'But all this stuff is antique, been in his family for generations. I bet you've got things like this in your house?'
'Not stuffed birds.' Tara grinned. 'My great-grandfather was an evil old sod, he'd shoot it to eat it and that would be it.'
'Let me get you a drink.' Simon brushed his hand against her cheek then turned away. 'I've got gin, whisky, vodka, wine or sherry. Which is it to be?'
'Vodka, please.' She didn't like spirits at all – apart from brandy for medicinal purposes her gran wouldn't have booze in the house. But vodka didn't smell, she remembered, and if she refused to have anything he would think she was a baby.
'Mum and Gran have suggested I go to London to work for the summer,' Tara said. This had a nice sophisticated ring to it and she thought it might impress Simon. 'It'll give me time to look around and make up my mind about college.'
'That would make me happy.' Simon smiled. 'I'd be able to take you out.'
Tara felt her heart leap. What a start in London that would be, to have an actor boyfriend!
'Would you like to choose a record?' he asked. He pointed to a shelf crammed with them. 'I don't suppose you'll find the Beatles, but have a look.'
The records were mostly classical and jazz, but Tara found one by Ketty Lester, who she remembered singing 'Love Letters.'
'I've put some lemonade in it,' Simon sat down on the settee, put their drinks down on a low coffee table. 'Come and sit with me?'
'Gran wants me to stay on at school, but I don't – I want to live, have fun. What do you think?'
'I wouldn't presume to have an opinion.' He laughed softly. 'Most of the people I know who've done well have no real qualifications. Besides, Tara, you're so pretty I can't see you being alone for long.'
She bristled. People were always saying that she would 'soon be snapped up', or what a pretty bride she'd make. It was as if they thought she was some empty-headed doll.
'I'm going to earn my own living,' she snapped. 'I don't intend to marry anyone until I'm successful.'
'Well, that's very laudable and liberated.' Simon slid his arm along the settee. 'But how about a kiss for an old-fashioned chap who likes his ladies soft and clingy?'
He drew her so slowly into his arms that her pulse rate seemed to double with excitement even before his lips touched hers.
She had been kissed dozens of times, but never the way Simon did it. His lips touched hers so lightly, teasing, tempting, then the tip of his tongue slid over her lip, sending shivers of pleasure right down to her stomach. Just when she felt
she could bear the suspense no longer, his mouth came down hard on hers and he pulled her tightly against him.
'You were made for loving,' he said as he finally released her, his deep voice husky. 'Everything about you is totally desirable.'
It was the kind of statement she'd dreamed of a man making to her, but now she found herself blushing.
'You're a virgin, aren't you?' he said softly against her ear, his tongue circling it. 'So I have a duty to make this evening especially pleasurable.'
This was the moment she knew she ought to stop him and point out that she didn't want to lose her virginity to a total stranger. But she wanted more of his kisses, she didn't want him to think she was a silly country girl, and she had a feeling inside her she couldn't really control.
'I don't want to have a baby!' she blurted out, blushing furiously.
'Just let me take care of that,' he whispered. 'Trust me to make this the most memorable night of your life.'
He set the scene to perfection. He drew the curtains, lit the fire and candles, even tossed a few sprigs of lavender into the hearth so it smelled heavenly. The Ketty Lester record was on repeat as he kissed her into delirium.
Nothing had ever made her feel like this. Each deep, searching kiss made her tremble and hold him tighter, her tongue probing his mouth, pressing herself closer to him as his fingers ran through her hair.
Her dress somehow slid to the floor, followed by her strapless bra, her knickers, stockings and suspenders, and he was doing things to her she had never imagined, even in dreams. His mouth moved from one breast to the other, sucking, licking, biting, and all the time his fingers were moving in and out of her, making her wetter and wetter and wanting more and more.
She was embarrassed when he moved down to kneel on the floor between her legs and insisted on looking right into her.
'I want to see your little virgin fanny,' he said, moving her hands as she tried to cover it. 'I want to kiss it and make you come before I fuck you.'
She had never heard of anyone doing such a thing, but the way his fingers stroked her felt so good she couldn't stop him.
The fire hissed and crackled, and as his tongue flickered over her fanny she felt herself floating away on a cloud of ecstasy.
'Don't.' She took his head in her hands, embarrassed by her feelings.
He moved back to kiss her lips, his fingers deep inside her, making her writhe sensuously beneath him.
'Oh, Tara,' he whispered. 'I can't hold back. I have to possess you, that hot little fanny is begging to be fucked.'
Tara watched nervously as he unpeeled a Durex from a packet.
'Help me put it on?' he asked.
His clothes had come off around the same time as her own, though she hadn't really been aware of it. Now, seeing an erect cock for the first time, she was scared. She had never imagined it to be so big, or so ugly, but after all he'd done to her she couldn't lose face now.
'What do I do?' she whispered.
'Just stroke it for a moment or two,' he said, holding her hand round its width. His eyes closed and he smiled with pleasure. 'That's it, can you feel how much it wants to be inside you?'
She could certainly feel the force in it, and knew she couldn't back down now. The sooner she got that Durex on it, the sooner it would be over.
He was gentle with her, though, putting cushions under her bottom, stroking her again before he slowly pushed his cock into her.
"There, that's not so bad, is it?' he whispered, and showered little kisses on her neck and shoulders. 'Soon you'll be wild for this, rushing in here with no knickers on begging me to fuck you.'
It only hurt for a moment and she quickly found herself moving with him, forgetting her apprehension.
'It's like I said, you were made for loving,' he murmured. 'Oh, my beautiful Tara, we're going to have so many wild nights like this.'
When he dropped her back at the farm it was almost two in the morning.
'I hope they aren't waiting up for me,' she said nervously as she got out. 'I can't imagine how I'll explain where I've been till this time.'
'Say you went back for a coffee with someone,' he suggested. 'Ring me tomorrow and let me know everything's all right.'
As she crept across the yard she could almost imagine her great-grandfather James striding out with a riding whip to beat her. The back door was still unlocked, the kitchen in darkness. Holding her breath she locked the door behind her, then stole across the room towards the hall and stairs.
Gran was snoring loudly, which was a relief. Of course her mother might be lying awake waiting, but she wasn't as ferocious as Gran. But no soft voice called out as she tip-toed across the landing and into her room. She didn't dare put the light on; instead she threw her dress on to a chair, hastily pulled on her nightdress and climbed into bed.
It was love! She knew it with utter certainty. Simon was the man she would spend the rest of her life with; even the career she dreamed of wasn't as important as him.
Her hands travelled down her body and she trembled as she remembered how he'd made her feel. They had made love a second time up in his bedroom and that time it had been even sweeter because she had lost her fear. She still didn't quite understand what he meant when he asked if she had come, but he said he'd make it happen next time.
At seven-thirty last night she had still been a virgin, her head full of childish ideas about men and sex. Now, just seven hours later, she was a woman, and she knew everything.
Tara couldn't do enough for her mother the next morning. She peeled the potatoes, mixed up Yorkshire pudding, even promised to hose down the yard and cowshed.
When Gran mentioned Simon, she went cold all over.
'Such a charming man.' Gran smiled as if she'd been thinking about him. 'I hope he drops by again.'
It was all Tara could do to stop herself blurting out what had happened, but it was no good. However much Gran liked him as a man, she'd soon be singing another tune if she guessed what was going on.
He was reading in the garden when she propped her bike against his front gate. The Sunday paper almost hid him as he lay back in a deckchair, his feet up on a stool.
'Boo!' she called out.
'Oh, sweetie, I was just dreaming about you,' he said, dropping the paper and holding out his arms in welcome. 'That's about the best surprise anyone could give me.'
He peeled her shorts and sun blouse off before she'd even got inside the house.
'This is how you should be always,' he said, untying her pony-tail and running his fingers through her hair till it cascaded over her shoulders. 'Your body's too beautiful for clothes.'
She couldn't describe how he made her feel. It was delicious and embarrassing all at once. She could hardly believe she was standing in broad daylight totally naked with a man she'd only met the day before. But the moment his lips touched her breasts and his fingers went inside her, all her inhibitions disappeared.
He took her up to the bedroom and there, on a big old bed in a patch of sunshine, he explored her body with his eyes, fingers and tongue and made her tremble with passion. The way he liked to talk about her body made her blush, and he asked questions she barely understood.
'Such big, beautiful breasts for someone so slender,' he said, sitting behind her and facing her so she could see herself in the mirror as he fondled them. 'Open your legs and show me how you masturbate.'
She didn't even know girls could do such a thing and her whispered admission made him laugh.
'Then I'll show you, my darling,' he said, kissing away her blushes. 'How can you hope to tell a man what pleases you if you haven't found out for yourself?'
Deep down she felt dirty lying back against his naked chest watching his fingers delving into her, yet it was so exciting, too. She looked so sexy with her hair all over her shoulders, one breast being squeezed and stroked and his slim fingers parting her pubic hair, revealing the red, shiny skin inside her. His face over her shoulder made her heart pound faster. His eyes were
closed, the tip of his tongue sliding over his lips, hair flopping over his tanned face.
He made it happen with his tongue – such an incredible feeling that she felt she was going to explode. Afterwards he lay beside her stroking her breasts and made her cry with his tender words.
'You mustn't be embarrassed,' he whispered. 'I love you, and it's a natural expression of love. Some women go years without ever having an orgasm and once you know what makes it happen it's so easy.'
Being with Simon was to sail in uncharted waters; the way he spoke, the books he read, his education and the people he mixed with were so alien to the way Tara had been brought up. But she wanted to be part of his world so badly she was prepared to do anything he asked.
He showed her how to kneel in front of him and take his penis in her mouth and, even though she felt disgust at the thought of it, she wanted to please him.
'That's wonderful.' He sighed, making her mouth move faster and faster until she was afraid she'd choke. 'Stroke my balls too, lick me, make me come in that sexy schoolgirl mouth.'
It was almost nine when she left him.
'I wish I was that saddle,' he said, kissing her one last time at the gate, holding on to her crotch and stroking it, even though she was astride her bike. 'Come tomorrow after school if you can. Wear your uniform!'
She was so sore she could scarcely bear to pedal the bike and she was sure what she'd been doing was written large across her forehead. Mum and Gran weren't likely to disbelieve she'd been over at Sandra's on the other side of the lake, she often went there last summer for tea, but Mum was very good at guessing when something unusual had happened.
'I've got to go back to London on Sunday,' Simon told her on Friday afternoon. 'I've got an acting job.'
He had already stretched his week to ten days, and Tara was sure she could persuade him to make it at least a fortnight.
She was wearing her school uniform. Simon liked to sit fully dressed with her on his lap and pretend to be a teacher while he groped her up her knicker leg. Tara couldn't see what he saw sexy in her hated uniform but, as it would have been hard for her to visit him in her everyday clothes, his little predilection made things easier.
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