She Stoops to Conquer
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She Stoops to Conquer by Priscilla 2
Part 1
I've found it difficult to pin-point when it started. Our relationship
had been good for five years, starting at University where we met, and
continuing when we found good jobs in the City. Our employers gave us
'soft' loans, and so we found, and jointly bought, a pleasant little old
cottage in the country. Although it needed a lot of work doing, we
enjoyed converting it to our style in between the long hours consumed by
work and commuting.
Jennie had always been an 'achiever'. She had got a First in business
studies, and was soon recognised by the directors of her Merchant Bank as
a candidate for high office. While I read the sports pages on our
commuter train, she would usually be studying, and her every spare moment
was filled with reading or preparing for another exam. Within two years,
she was managing a small team, and revelling in her work.
And me? Well, my degree was fine, considering the amount of work I did. I
played rugby twice a week at Uni, and enjoyed the social life. I have a
natural aptitude for figures and a logical mind, so my Maths degree came
quite easy considering. I did remember having twinges of guilt and
compassion for Jennie, as her achievements were the result of hard work
and dedication rather than innate ability. Apart from our dating, her
only relaxation was playing badminton. Like everything else she did, she
was determined to be the best at it, and in the time she gave herself to
playing maintained a standard that would have got her into any county
team if she had been prepared to give up the study time.
So what had brought us together? Well, she is stunningly attractive,
petite, slim, with almost child-like features, pale blue eyes and natural
straight blonde hair. She looks Scandinavian, although her parents were
very English. She has a matching personality, warm and relaxing, and is
quite disarming with newly met people. Unlike many very attractive girls.
She has never been a flirt or a 'prick-teaser', using her looks as a
weapon.
I remember noticing her on the first day at Uni, when all the 'Freshers'
still feeling our way on our first freedom from school, milled around
looking shy and embarrassed. Jennie stood out for a number of reasons
apart from her looks. She had that confident look of the older students.
It all seemed so normal to her.
But what was most striking to me was her dress style. Most students,
especially first years, go over the top in casualness (or more accurately
scruffiness) and tend to choose clothes that are drab in style and
colours. Blue denim or black predominates, and the girls seem determined
to hide their gender in what looks like older brother's cast-offs.
Not Jennie. Although she often wears jeans, they are always designer
labels that show off her figure to its best. But by choice she wore
dresses or skirts, blouses, pretty tops, even occasionally suits. She
always had her hair brushed tidily, and her only concession would be
occasionally to tie it back in a ponytail, but even then it would be tied
with a ribbon. She always wore heels. In warm weather strappy sandals,
and in the winter boots. She always looked more like a young office
worker than a student.
But on this first day, she was stunning. It was a cold wet late September
day, I remember, and the corridors and halls were full of dark coloured
shapeless anoraks. I came out of the room occupied by the recruiting
officers for the sports societies, having joined the rugby club, when I
saw this vision in pale blue. Jennie was wearing a loose jersey dress,
gathered at the waist by a wide white belt, with the skirt stopping well
above her knees. On her feet were kitten heeled sandals and her finger
and toe nails were painted to match the blue dress. She had a deep tan -
I later learnt that she had spent the summer working at a summer camp for
disabled children - which was so striking with her long blond hair.
If that wasn't enough to make every male drool, the crowning glory was
her coat.
Now here I must make my first confession. Ever since I can remember I
have had a 'thing' about shiny raincoats, especially plastic and pvc.
When I was a kid, 'jelly' jackets and coats were popular, and my mum and
sister both had one. I can remember furtively fumbling the coats, loving
the feel and smell. All my sister's friends wore them rather as a fashion
item than as raincoats, so our home was often full of them. By the time I
got to Uni, large loose polyurethane or pvc coats were popular
particularly shiny black trenchcoats.
So imagine my joy when I saw that Jennie was wearing a long hooded shiny
blue coat, loose and open over her dress. She had obviously just come in
from outside as the shoulders glistened with rain droplets.
At that moment I fell in love with her.
I was not very experienced with girls, having spent my teens to then at a
boys boarding school. I was rather shy around girls, although I had had a
rather platonic fling with a friend of my sisters, who had been one of
the jelly jacket crowd. I felt sure that such a doll as Jennie would have
lots of older students after her, but in my naivet? I felt I could have a
chance. Indeed as I stared at her, I was rewarded with a little smile.
Things got better. Next morning, when I was in the bathroom at my digs, I
noticed Jennie going past on her way to Uni with the hood of her raincoat
up against the rain. She obviously was in digs close by, so I could take
the opportunity to meet her again on the way to and from Uni. I was too
late that day, but after that I took to getting up early, and waiting for
her to go past and then dashing out after her. For a long time, I was too
shy to speak to her, but I suspected that she was aware of my interest. I
noticed that she seemed to have a lot of friends, mainly boys, and I kept
promising myself that I would buck up the courage to ask her out for a
date.
Now, I mentioned that I played rugby. From that you may imagine that I am
a big muscular macho man. Not. I had always been a fast runner, and so
played scrum-half, in those days a position for us smaller in stature. I
was just over 10 stone, and 5'8". My dad occasionally teased me about my
slight frame; calling me "famine in China". Jennie's circle did seem to
have a lot of well built men, full of self confidence.
After a term of my shy dithering, I began to assume I had missed the
boat. I saw Jennie very infrequently, as we were on different faculties,
and she spent a lot of time studying in the library. She had smiled at me
a couple of times when I had held a door open for her, but I hadn't the
self-confidence or experience to create an opportunity to talk to her.
At the end of each rugby season, it was the club's practice to have a
charity match against the local town side. Players of both sides played
in fancy dress, and our captain decided that year we would all dress as
'St. Trinians' schoolgirls. We were all provided with bras, suspender
belts, wigs, fishnet stockings short skirts and blouses, and the
captain's girlfriend made us up with dark red lipstick and rouge. We
looked a parody of schoolgirls, with grossly padded bras and hair in
pigtails.
The game was well advertised around town and Uni, and so there was a good
crowd on the touchline. The town side were dressed as fishermen, and the
game certainly was played for laughs. I spent most of it shivering on the
wing, but in the second half the opposition kicked a high ball towards
me, while four burly forwards bore down on me shouting war cries. I leapt
to catch the ball just as I was clattered by the brutes, fell badly on my
shoulder and head, and lost consciousness. When I came round, I was lying
on my back surrounded by faces, with my head being held firmly by two
hands. I heard a voice say "Peter, don't try to move your head until you
are checked over." From the side of my eye I could see the hem of that
lovely blue raincoat, and soon I was staring up at her lovely face
surrounded by her hood.
Later I learnt that Jennie was on the touchline close to where I was hit,
and as she had done First Aid training for her summer camp job, she
rushed on to tend me. She knew about serious neck injuries, and so took
charge of all the players keen to lift me up.
Fortunately, the damage was not serious; I had only been winded and
bruised. I sat on the sideline for a few minutes to get my breath back,
and Jennie stayed with me asking searching questions about where I felt
pain. When I felt recovered enough, despite her anxieties, I went back on
the pitch, and had the pleasure of finishing off the final try of the
game.
After showering and changing, both teams headed for the bar, and as I
stood getting my order, Jennie stepped into the gap alongside me, and
asked me how I felt now. She chatted as if we were old friends, one of
her wonderful social skills. She called me Peter, and seemed to know
quite a lot about me. I offered her a drink, and we spent the rest of the
evening in each others company. We found a common interest in jazz, and
before the evening was out, strengthened by the beer I drank, I asked her
if she wanted to go to a jazz club with me in the town, and was delighted
when she accepted.
She took off her raincoat when we sat down, and draped it over the chair
back between us. As we moved about, I got opportunities to feel the blue
material without (I assumed) her noticing my interest. When we finally
left the bar, I held the mac for her to put on, and as we walked back to
our digs together, she seemed to nestle close to me so that the mac
rustled against me.
After that, we became best of friends and 'an item'. I was slow at
advancing my desires, and I have to admit that Jennie tended to be the
leader, although she had a wonderful knack of making it seem like I was
the instigator. The Uni did not encourage mixed lodgings then, so
sleeping together was hardly an option, but we did get into heavy petting
sessions in cinemas in winter, and parks and the country in the summer.
We never tired of each other, and gradually other men gave up trying to
hit on her. We found many common interests, and discovered others
together, such as ice skating, classical music and opera.
In our last year at Uni, we started to discuss what we would do when we
graduated, and we both liked the idea of working in the City of London
where the markets were booming. We both got good placements, Jennie in
investment management, and me in a small rival company helping with the
administration. Jennie lodged with her aunt, and I shared a bed-sit with
a rugby friend. I continued to play for a friendly London club, while
Jennie joined a badminton club and played once a week. We met when we
could over lunch and made plans to find a place together. After a year,
we had both progressed and were being well paid, and so decided to look
for a place in the country together. After weekends of driving
frantically round the countryside we finally found a derelict old house
in its own garden at a price we could not quite afford. A timely
inheritance from Jennie's aunt just topped us up enough, and although I
didn't like the idea of our contributions being different, we could get
the house.
The next year was spent in the joy of DIY, when we repaired, decorated,
landscaped, and furnished. Jennie had wonderful flair for design, and
although decisions were always agreed between us, I was aware and
accepted that most of the ideas were hers.
Our love life was wonderful, and it was as if we were both discovering
the pleasures of sex together, neither being the expert. Jennie was
naturally more tactile than I, and I learnt the pleasure of stroking and
fondling at any time.
Jennie's fashion style changed a bit taking on a rather more formal
office look, but still displaying lots of soft colours. She always looked
smart to work, using more makeup now, but her inherent taste always
dressed and looked perfect, whether formal or casual. I suppose her
appearance was more important for her job, as she regularly had meetings
with clients. I however never feel comfortable in a suit and tie, and as
my work was in 'back office', I took far less interest and care about my
appearance. Jennie often tried to encourage me to dress more smartly, but
it fell on deaf ears.
Jennie still had her lovely blue raincoat, but had bought another for
office work, a ankle length shiny black coat. When she wore it over a
dark mini-suit and boots, she got me too excited. I had never admitted my
interest, but had encouraged her gently to buy the black mac. I admit to
trying them both on occasionally while she was out of the house, and
loved their soft feel.
There were two matters of argument between us, neither of them I thought
really serious. I am (or was) very untidy, and tended to drop my clothes
where I took them off. I also tended to leave tools and papers lying
about, to Jennie's mild annoyance.
The other was my hair. At boarding school we had to have our hair cut
short, and when I got to Uni I rebelled and grew it long. I mistakenly
thought that women were attracted by men with long manes. I had it tidied
up (at Jennie's insistence) before my interview, but once I was
established in the back office, I let it grow again. I would only have it
cut when Jennie teased me into it.
Now if you can see any hint in what I have told you so far of what was to
come, then you are better than me. I can say that Jennie's career was
going forward much faster than mine, and she clearly had more energy and
drive in all aspects of our relationship, although I must stress that
this was not an issue between us.
What I am clear of is what was the trigger of what has transpired since.
I have had plenty of time to go over every element of our relationship
since and I feel sure that Jennie's actions on the fateful day were not
spontaneous, but had been planned, or at least contemplated, well before.
So let me set the scene. It was mid February, possibly the lowest time of
the year. The days are short, cold and gray, it was Friday morning, we
had been working on a task in the house which was not going right. To
make matters worse, I was being harassed at work over the annual
accounts, the stock market had taken a serious dip, and Jennie had had an
unpleasant meeting the day before with a client who blamed her personally
and volubly for the drop in his portfolio. We were both tetchy, and for
once late for work.
When I came from the shower, I found that I had no underpants. "Darling,
where are my clean underpants?" I called to her.
"Where you left them, on the floor."
"Haven't any been washed?"
"If you were tidy like me, then they would have reached the laundry
basket."
"You know that untidiness is the lot of the male of the species." Oooops
I reluctantly put on the pair from the day before, and we set off for the
station. As we travelled up to town, Jennie seemed rather quiet, with her
head deep in a text book. I tried to make conversation, but she was
unusually curt. Eventually, I gave up, and read the rugby news.
When we parted, with a token kiss, she said "Darling, please get a
haircut during lunch, it is getting really long now".
"Yes, darling" I promised, really meaning to comply.
Friday was the worst day of a rotten week at work. Everyone wanted
figures immediately, and at 1.30 I asked one of the secretaries to bring
me back a sandwich when she returned from her lunch. I finally got the
most urgent off my desk by 6, and headed for the train. I phoned Jennie
to tell her I'd be late, and asked her to pick me up at the station.
The evening was cold but dry, so I was surprised that Jennie was in her
long black coat. As she stepped out of the car, the coat fell open nearly
to her waist and I could see she had on her shortest dress and a new pair
of knee boots with very high slender heels.
Vicky
- 14.09.2020
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She Stoops to Conquer part 5
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She Stoops to Conquer part 6
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