Hotbeds Ch. 11

CHAPTER 11: MATRON

Introduction: The sexual adventures of a prep school teacher in the 1950s and 1960s. Chapter 11 finds him back at his school after an intense month of sex, reported in Chapters 9 and 10. The latter records the consummation with Denise of their activities in Chapter 1.

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As soon as Denise left I packed my few belongings into the saddlebag and cycled to Cherbourg, caught a ferry and biked from Portsmouth. Hustling and bustling was the only way I was going to get on. Besides, in the few days before term began I needed to wash, iron and mend my small wardrobe, and prepare some sequences of lessons. The trick was to keep so busy I had no time to brood, to wonder about the future for Denise, and Jeanne.

The term began as usual, except for one significant innovation. At the first staff meeting, there was a new matron, and my spirits began to lift. As the headmaster talked I studied this woman, and experienced that fluttery sensation in the stomach, with a slight breathlessness, that unerringly signals that a woman is sexually available. Of course, there is the qualification that she may not be available to me, but that is something to be tested.

This availability has nothing to do with appearance, of course. The lady may be more or less attractive. The point is that she has the aura. Matron had it, sure enough, though she was not consciously signalling, as some do. Indeed, I suspected she was suppressing her need, not just for sex but for warmth, fulfilment, appreciation.

I was confident no-one else present could sense this. Some women can detect it in another woman, but my female colleagues, I was sure, lacked this ability. My male colleagues were also not registering, being indifferent or simply not aware.

She was in her fifties, I guessed, with an appropriately matronly bosom, which was all of her physique on view above the table we were sitting round. Her hair was silver, short and fluffy, held in a nurse's hat. Beneath that her eyes, behind large-framed, black spectacles, were prominent and grey-blue. Her cheek-bones were also prominent and broad, giving her a Slavonic appearance, and that was no surprising, the head having introduced her with a '-ska' ending to her name. Her lips were lush, long and palely lipsticked.

She had looked at each of us, and given a little smile as the head named us, and in that brief eye-contact I had read sadness, longing and resignation. Indeed, I felt a pricking at the back of my eyes as well as that fluttering and breathlessness. Clearly, this was a woman who needed much more than bouts of sexual intercourse, and whether she would be willing to acknowledge such a need was another matter, also to be tested.

I had a feeling she had intuited something of my situation, my response to her and the likelihood I would be following up this fleeting spark of contact, and destiny seemed bent on delivering this outcome. The headmaster's wife was the bursar, but she also taught and could not be expected to do all the administration. Thus, at this new school year staff meeting we were allocated special responsibilities beyond teaching. Since we received modest bonuses, we were happy enough about this, and I rejoiced that my task was going to be the checking and security of the sanatorium equipment and supplies, to aid and protect the matron.

When the meeting ended and Matron stood to leave we got the full benefit of her outfit. A dark blue uniform cinched in by an elasticated belt with an ornate silver clasp. And when she turned to leave I noted that her bottom was quite large. I hoped I was going to investigate that quite soon, though that was not, of course, within my official remit.

My preliminary enquiries were with the school secretary; with whom I had had some unsatisfactory encounters in the past. She was now happily married and we were on good terms. Indeed, she rather enjoyed the odd cuddle and fingering when the coast was clear.

She informed me our new matron was a widow. 'She's too old for you, though. Fifty-five, and you shouldn't start something you can't finish.'

The secretary liked sexual language, though she pretended to be shocked, so I said, 'Age is irrelevant, if she's got a working vagina.'

'Well, I know you had a go in the art department, and she was older.'

'I couldn't comment on that,' I said. 'A gentleman never tells about such things.'

'You might as well. After all, you had that blonde who was here for one term.'

'Again, I couldn't comment on that.'

It seemed best to wait for Matron to settle in and get used to seeing me about the place, which meant mainly at meal times, before I made my first call. The rest of the time she was stationed in the sanatorium on the second floor. It consisted of a sick-bay with six beds, consulting room, small bathroom and the matron's own room.

I made my approach of an afternoon after three weeks, having checked there were no patients in the sick-bay. I reached the suite without being seen and pushed open the door of the consulting room. Matron was checking and putting away supplies.

She was not surprised to see me, knowing I was to help her keep track of her supplies and records. So for the first half hour we checked her drugs cupboard, amending the inventory and noting what purchases were needed. After that she made tea, and we chatted and exchanged parts of our life stories.

I let her know that I had spent August in France and had returned sad and in need of her sympathy and ministrations.

'Are you sick?' She asked.

'In a way, yes,' I said.

'What way you are sick?'

I moved towards her. 'The way you are, I think,' I offered.

'Explain me,' she said.

I reached for her and gathered into an embrace. She didn't resist. 'There is only one cure,' I said, 'And it begins like this.' I bent forward and down to place my lips on hers.'

Again, she didn't resist, so that we kissed for a good while. Then she pushed me gently away, and said, 'That was nice, but I still not know why you are here.'

'I think you do, though,' I said, gathering her up again, for another lengthy kiss.

When she pushed me away the second time, she said, 'This is not good thing. It is scandal, and I am so older than you.'

'Just a matter of not being found out,' I said, 'And the age difference is not important.'

'But you assuming I am willing to do things with you. Maybe I don't want.'

'But you do want,' I said. 'I can feel you want, and you can feel me wanting, too.'

She asked, 'Why you think this?'

'Because when I look at you, I know that you and I should be close. We should make love and be happy together.'

She said nothing and stood still, looking down, hands clasped in front of her.

'You are a lovely woman,' I went on. 'You are sad and lonely and you need someone to admire and appreciate you.'

'Does everyone think that?' She asked.

'No. Only me. The boys will love you and the staff will like you, but they won't feel about you as I do.'

She held her pose silently. I felt emboldened to test matters further. I turned her round gently, bent her over her desk, and lifted the skirt of that smart uniform and the underlying petticoat. She made no objection, largely, I think, because she was curious about what came next. Her knickers were yellow, soft and a little loose. I paused and enjoyed the view.

'You are a man who likes seeing woman ponts,' she said, slightly mispronouncing.

'Yes, I do,' I said.

'I will give you some so you can see them when you want.'

'That would be kind,' I said, 'But I only like to see them on.' I hooked my fingers in the top elastic and pulled them down to her thighs. 'Or half off.'

'You are a man who likes seeing woman bottom,' she said, with emphasis on the second syllable. 'So now you have seen you can stop.'

Her bottom was sweet. A strange word, but I can't think of another. It was quite large, nicely rounded and amazingly smooth. I had to stroke and fondle it, and it was quite slack, almost squashy. When I touched it first she twitched, then quivered as I caressed and kissed it.

'So lovely,' I said. 'It makes me want to cry.'

I pulled up the 'ponts' and smoothed down the petticoat and skirt. Then I turned her round and embraced her again. 'I feel very tender towards you,' I told her. 'Do you understand?'

'I can see in your face,' she said, bringing her lips to mine for a long kiss. Then she said, 'But it is wrong we are doing this. I must have this work to live.'

'Of course,' I said, 'And you will keep it if we are careful. But, remember I will have to keep coming here to look over your stores and lists.'

'You are cruel man,' she said, pushing me away again, 'You stir me up for your fun, then you will let me down.'

'I want to stir you up till you boil over,' I said, 'Not for fun, for life.'

'I am widow,' she said, 'My husband killed in the war. I love him very much, and no other man have love me in good way. Just men wanted to have my body, and not care. So I am alone five years.

'I must tell you the truth,' I said, drawing her towards me. 'I want your body. I want it very much. But I want to keep wanting it, and wanting you. You know that I don't want your body only. I want you as woman. So, I'm going to come back late this evening and you can take me in, to your room, and your bed, and your body, or you can tell me Not now, or Not yet, or Not ever, and I will go away.'

We kissed again, a parting kiss, and I left.

The sanatorium suite was kept locked when the matron was absent and when she was in residence and out of surgery hours. Those needing her attention at such times pressed a bell push by the outer door. So at eleven that night I signalled my arrival, and she opened the door still in uniform with her finger in a book. She allowed me and closed, but did not lock, the door.

She allowed me a lengthy kiss, but then said, 'I am saying to you Not yet. Now you must go,' and she opened the door, pushed me gently out and relocked.

This was, I hoped, a temporary setback and I set myself to wait patiently for a sign that she was ready to take me in, to her room, bed and body. Meanwhile we met at meals and talked calmly amongst our colleagues, and sometimes I saw her about the place, as when she took walks in the grounds.

It was on one of these walks a fortnight later that, as we passed, she said, 'Perhaps you come to see me again soon?'

Naturally I was at her door late that night, and this time she re-locked the door. She was also in a kimono-like dressing-gown and her hair was loose.

We moved into a long kiss, this time with our tongues slipping against each other. Then she took my hand and took me into her bedroom. It was small, with a bed, small table, chair and wardrobe. The bed was neatly turned down. We stood by it and as I reached to embrace her she took off the gown and stood before me in her underwear. A silky bra, weighed down by heavy breasts, and yellow, all-enveloping knickers.

She was not the least embarrassed. Smiling she said, 'You can see this ponts again.'

She waited for me to undress, still smiling and looking at my half-erect penis. 'You are not sick there,' she said, reaching back to undo the bra. 'These are not young.'

They weren't young. They were beautiful, mature, hanging a little low, with already hardening long nipples. I bent to take one in my lips, and she lifted the breast to offer it. I sucked at it and she wriggled her body and said, 'So nice. So long for me since. I like very much. But I have two.'

She hefted the other one and I fastened my mouth on the nipple.

She said, 'I take off ponts and we lie down.'

'No,' I said, 'Let me take off the ponts, and see your bottom.'

'It is big, but I think you like. It make you cry?'

I turned her and drew off the knickers. I stroked those amazingly smooth cheeks, ran my tongue over them, held them open and slid my tongue down the crack. 'Yes, it make me cry,' I said, 'But it will stop when I see pussy,' and I turned her by the hips to bring her pudenda into view.

'You see,' she said, 'My blonde is true.' It was indeed. Her little pelt was soft and curly, and the top of her vulva was visible through it, a neat slit with no sign of the labia.

By now I was, understandably, full rigid, and she took my penis in her hand and pulled me gently towards her. 'Now we lie down, please,' she said, beginning to shiver, as if cold.

I laid her on her back and without prompting she lifted her knees and opened her legs. Within the blonde tangle her outer labia opened a little and there were the inner lips, just beginning to part to reveal her pale pink vulva. She reached down and pulled them apart. 'Here the way for you to go,' she said, 'But also Not yet. She is not ready.'

'Tell me when she is,' I said, lying down between her legs, and bringing my tongue to bear between her fingers still holding the labial fringes.

She began to lift her pelvis up to me as I licked along that sweet crevice and teased her clitoris. This made a little ridge, standing clear of the lips in its erect state. She shifted her fingers to hold and squeeze it as my tongue and lower lip caressed it. This was new and exciting.

It was also exciting when she brought the other hand into play, pushing two fingers in and out of her vagina. 'You will go in soon,' she panted.

'Tell me you want me inside you, that I can go into you,' I said.

'Put hands below bottom,' she instructed. 'You are a man who likes when the woman talks.' Her voice was unsteady as the orgasm gathered. 'So I tell you go inside, yes.'

'Say "inside me." I want to be inside you,' I said, squeezing her cheeks and pausing in my clit-sucking long enough to speak.

'It is good you hold my bottom,' she said, trembling. 'It make me feel you hold me all over.' Then, 'Go inside me now. It is now!'

I scrambled into position, shoved my hands back under her bum, and the hand already jabbing into her vagina guided me in.

She cried out 'Ah! Ah! Aaaaaah,' and I felt her cunt walls pulsing, which was enough to trip my ejaculations. She hugged me tightly against those cushiony breasts as the orgasm spread through her.

When we were lying still, my head on her shoulder, she said, 'You like a woman to talk after, when you are inside her?'

'Yes,' I said, 'I like her to tell me she enjoyed me inside, that she feels happy now.'

'What about she want more?'

'Then she must have more, of course.'

'She doesn't want more now,' she said. 'Again, soon, yes?'

'Oh yes,' I said. 'Again, soon, often.'

'Because I am old woman you can go inside me any time.'

'I was hoping so,' I said.

'But it must hide. You must be careful, please.'

And we were careful, we did hide. Part of that was not going to her too often, though it was hard to restrict ourselves to two or three times a week. We were also careful to restrain ourselves if I went up during the day, to oversee the ordering and listing. But those were occasions we could have tea, relax and share confidences. By the end of the term I had given her my whole sexual history and she had told me as much as she cared to of hers.

She had married in Poland at twenty-one and been happy and fulfilled until the War came when she was in her late twenties, and as he was Jewish, she and husband had fled the Nazi occupation into France and got themselves to England. Her husband had enlisted in the RAF and become an air-gunner in a Polish squadron. She had trained as a nurse and risen to be a ward sister in a hospital. He had been killed in a bomber raid in 1944. She had continued nursing but had eventually felt unable to continue, partly because of two or three unsatisfactory affairs, culminating in one with a man who turned out to be married.

The Christmas holidays arrived, and we contrived to spend much of the time at school. She had nowhere to go, anyway, and I went to my parents just for two nights. The joy of that time was that we dared to sleep together for a whole week. It was one of the happiest interludes of my life.

We were able to experiment. She had never been entered from the rear, I learned. But what we found most fulfilling was my going in with us face to face, with me bent back to allow her to bring a leg across my thighs. This trapped me cosily inside but allow me to stroke her bottom with one hand and caress her clitoris with the other. I could also bend down and suck nipple. This way we could come together every time, looking into each other's eyes.

We never quite declared ourselves during that year, but, without saying so, we knew that this was a love relationship, which only deepened as the year went on. The summer vacation brought a fortnight of contentment, sleeping together again, before she made a dreadful declaration. She was going back to Poland.

I had sensed there was something impending, but I was under the impression that Poles who had fought for the Allies in the War, or had been married to servicemen, were unable to go home for fear of being killed. An amnesty had been secured for certain categories of Poles, however, and my lovely Matron wanted to see her aged mother again before it was too late.

We had a last night of frenetic love-making, a blend of the tender and the brutal, demanding the utmost of each other, culminating in the early morning with my sitting on the edge of her bed with on my lap, facing away, with my cock inside her. She was rocking up and down, and while I had one hand mashing her clitoris the other was savagely tweaking her nipples. When she came she clenched her bum to squeeze my penis almost painfully. She shouted, 'I make you now! Now I am have you.' And as I came she made circular movements with her hips. Then she said, 'I make with my bottom.'

Afterwards I ran a bath in the little san bathroom and bathed her, as if she were a child. I dried her, kissing her all over, and helped her dress. Last of all I held those yellow knickers as she stepped into them. I pulled them up.

'Always you must remember my yellow ponts,' she said. Of course, I have.