Chapter Text
When Jack Robinson came into her store on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, Deborah Martin was sweeping the floor. She smiled at him, handsome young man that he was, and saw the flush rise in his cheeks. Deborah knew that she was a good-looking woman. She had full, soft breasts, a narrow waist, and round hips, and she wore her bright blonde hair tucked back in a soft bun.
“Good afternoon, Jack,” she said sweetly, taking a moment to look him up and down. He was delectable, with his deep blue eyes and his dark curls, not to mention that jaw and those cheekbones. She’d also seen him cycling around, so she thought it likely that he was muscular in the way that so many young men are. And he had very large, strong-looking hands. Her lips lifted in a slightly wicked smile. She was rather looking forward to this.
“Hello, Mrs Martin,” he replied, and his voice was lower than she’d remembered, a bass rumble that was pleasing to her ear. “How’s your family?”
“They’re just fine, thank you. What can I help you with today?” She had something that she needed to say to him; she just needed to find the right point in the conversation.
“Mum sent me for flour and eggs,” he responded, his smile wry. “For a birthday cake.”
Deborah raised her eyebrows a little. She wouldn’t get a better opening than that.
“I’d heard it was your birthday,” she replied, stepping closer to him. “A few of your friends came in earlier and purchased you a present.” She looked up at him through her lashes, watching him blink in confusion.
“Er, I… what?” He’d stammered.
“Your friends bought you a birthday present,” she reiterated, and she looked him up and down, stepping closer. “An evening with me.” At his flummoxed look, she moved behind the counter to box up his purchases. He stood on the other side, color high in his cheeks and his mouth working slightly. Deborah smiled sweetly at him and pushed the box aside to lean over the counter, knowing that the action would push up her breasts and give young Jack a good view. “Shall we say nine o’clock tomorrow night?”
“Yes?” Jack said, then cleared his throat. “Yes, that sounds fine. Um, here?”
“Come up the stairs at the back,” she said, and since there was no one else in the store, she allowed herself to run a finger down her throat and into the cleft of her breasts just for the pleasure of watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “See you then, Jack.”
Jack had nodded as he took the box of groceries; he’d smiled a little nervously and left without another word. Deborah had chuckled to herself as he left. Young men, especially virgins, were just so fun.
Smiling, Deborah took up her broom again. It seemed to be a neverending battle to keep the dust out and the store looking neat and clean. As she swept, she thought back to when Jack’s friends had approached her that morning. It had been apparent that they’d come looking for something other than flour and apples, because they watched her from the moment they opened the door. One of them, the clear ringleader, stood in front of the other two; the pair behind him snickered and elbowed each other while attempting to look worldly. She knew what it was they wanted, and she began to consider her options even as she spoke.
“May I help you, gentlemen?” She asked, moving behind the front counter and standing carefully straight. Her voice was warm and low. Welcoming. Deborah didn’t want to frighten them off, but she didn’t want to make herself too obvious either. She rested a hip against the counter, crossing one arm over her belly to emphasize her bosom.
“Are you Missus Martin?” The spokesman asked. He was young—probably not yet eighteen, she thought—and handsome. His brown hair was curly and his eyes were a deep green; his skin was tanned lightly, as happened for many men who spent a lot of time out of doors.
“Yes,” she replied, and affected a puzzled look. “Do I know you?”
He cleared his throat. “We heard that you offered specials.” His eyes searched hers. “We’d like to, um, procure one for our friend.” When she didn’t respond, he rushed on. “It’s his birthday—his eighteenth—and he’s never... that is to say, he’s not...” He cleared his throat again. “Well, I’m sure you understand.” He met her eyes again, obviously hoping that she really did understand.
“Mmm,” she said. “I do. And when is his special day?” She kept her tone calm and noncommittal.
“Tomorrow,” the leader said promptly.
“And that’s when you’d want this special?”
He nodded. The other two boys had stopped snickering and seemed to be holding their breath. They were younger, she thought, not more than sixteen. One was thin, dark-haired and spotty; the other had a shock of hair too bright to be called anything but orange, and his blue eyes were bright with laughter. She thought she’d be happy to see any of these three again on their own birthdays.
“All right. I’ll need payment in advance, and your friend’s name.”
The smile the leader flashed was dazzling. She’d bet he was a heartbreaker, this one. He held out a hand to drop some money into her outstretched palm.
“His name is Jack,” the young man said. “Jack Robinson.”
Jack Robinson, Deborah had thought, good lord, I know his mother. Sylvia Robinson was a good woman who’d raised her three children alone after her husband died. They’d discussed how difficult the world was for a single woman with children when Sylvia came into the store; Deborah was certain that Sylvia had never resorted to prostitution to put a little extra on the table.
“And you’ll get a message to him? Nine o’clock tomorrow night,” was all she said to the young charmer. He’d agreed, and he and his friends had gone; she’d watched them laugh and poke at each other as soon as the shop door closed behind them.
Her smile slipping a little at the last memory—she knew what they’d been laughing about, and no one likes being the butt of a joke—Deborah went about closing up the shop for the day. This shop had been her dream, hers and her husband’s. With him gone, though, it seemed like she could never quite make ends meet. She’d had to hire a part-time employee to have any time to be with her children, and that expense strained her budget. She had enough money to keep the children fed—they did own a grocery, after all—but purchasing the other necessities, not to mention special treats for birthdays and Christmas, would have been impossible without her sideline.
Added to that, she was lonely. Her Paddy had been dead for almost four years. She’d married him for love, and their sex life had been active and varied—she had five children to show for it. The first year he’d been gone, she had been so focused on her grief, the children, and keeping the store running that she didn’t have time to think about her own needs. The second year, she had the store under control and the children on as much of a schedule as she could, given their ages. But she still grieved. And she missed him, so much. After a while, touching herself had not been enough.
She’d considered remarrying, but this was her store, hers and Paddy’s, and any man she married would want to have his say in the running of it—or he’d expect her to sell it and support him in whatever his life’s endeavors might be. Deborah wasn’t sure that she was ready for that. And the opportunities for marriage for a woman with five children were not robust, for that matter. So she’d decided to take another route.
The first man she’d slept with for money had been a traveling salesman. He was still a regular customer, and he bought an hour or two in her bed whenever he came through town. She had a few regulars—men whose wives couldn’t or wouldn’t allow them into the marital bed, and they made up the bulk of her extracurricular business. But she had also become known for being willing to deflower young men, and she’d been the first sexual experience for several of the teenagers in the surrounding area.
As she tidied the shop, sweeping the day’s dust and mud out the door, she contemplated deflowering young Jack Robinson. Deborah enjoyed young men, really. They often knew very little, and she considered it her duty to teach them how to satisfy a woman so that when they married, their wives would find gratification in the marital bed. There were few enough pleasures in a woman’s life in these difficult times.
**********
The following evening, Deborah put her children to bed with a story of their father. She wanted to be sure that they remembered her Paddy as much as was possible. Her husband had been larger than life, a happy, laughing man whose joyous spirit had kept all of the hardships of life at bay. The births of each of their children had been cause for celebration—Paddy had passed out biscuits he’d made himself (they couldn’t afford cigars) to every customer in the store the day after each of her confinements.
Looking down at her darling children, she sighed. Her darling, fatherless children. She hated to leave them alone, but what would she tell any sitter about where she would be? It would only be for a couple of hours, though, and she would be just across the garden. At nine, Patrick Jr was a responsible boy, and he would be able to keep the peace with the littler children until she returned. Seven-year-old Agnes would assist, if the need arose. Timothy, Bridget, and Nell were already fast asleep, tumbled together like puppies in the single large bed. With any luck, they’d sleep straight through.
“Where are you going, mama?” Patrick’s green eyes were very like his father’s, and very often serious. He was so young to think himself the man of the house. She worried for him.
“Just over to the shop, darling,” she said softly, smiling. “I’ve some work to do tonight.”
“Will you be home soon?” Agnes said around a yawn, her eyelids drooping. Deborah stroked her hair and her eyes fluttered closed.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Deborah soothed, dropping a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Hurry to dreamland, my lovelies. Who knows what waits there for you tonight?” She cupped Patrick’s soft cheek and kissed his head too, breathing in his sweet little-boy scent. “Adventures and wishes and more, I’m sure of it,” she whispered. With a wink, she got up and crossed to the door of the bedroom, passing her own single bed along the way.
Patrick smiled slightly at his mother’s whimsy. “Good night, mama,” he said, snuggling down with his siblings.
Deborah turned to blow a kiss toward her little family as she blew out the lamp and closed the door behind her. With a wry smile, she headed out of the little house the six of them shared and across the garden to the shop. She’d first set up the attic above the store as a flat, furnishing its front room with a couch and chair and its small bedroom with a bed, nightstand, and clothing hooks. She had intended to let it out, though it wouldn’t have brought in much income. When she’d decided that selling sex was more lucrative, and something she’d continue doing rather than a single night’s impulse, Deborah had refitted the flat for the purpose, adding a small desk to the front room (a quiet place to do her everyday bookkeeping) and a washbasin and pitcher to the bedroom. She also sought out a doctor who’d fit her with a pessary; she already had five children, and she had no intention of having any more.
Tonight, as was her habit for these assignations, she wore a soft cotton dress that buttoned up the front, and she’d left off any underthings. When she reached her attic rooms, she removed her shoes and lit the lamps before inserting her family planning device. She smiled again to herself as she did so—she could feel her body readying itself, her sensitive tissues dampening with anticipatory desire.
Now, as the clock counted down the minutes to his arrival time, Deborah planned what she’d do. Usually in these situations, she’d begin by undressing the man and perhaps taking his member in her mouth. Men often seemed almost thankful for that kind of sensual attention—it was something she had done regularly for Paddy, but apparently, other women were unwilling. Deborah rather enjoyed it; the weight of a man’s cock against her tongue, the taste of that private skin, and the satiny hardness all served to arouse her for the rest of the evening’s activities.
Generally, she was paid for one time, so she’d be careful not to let Jack come too early. She’d get him hard with her mouth, then undress and let him explore her body. She shivered a little, thinking of a mouth on her breasts and fingers other than her own between her thighs—Jack had such long, strong-looking fingers, she thought. When he was close to release, she’d draw him down and help him find his way inside her body. That part didn’t usually last long with this type of meeting—when a boy became a man, the experience was often more exciting than he could bear. Sometimes, if it was too fast, Deborah would let the young man have a second go, just so that she could have a better chance at a satisfying experience. She’d see how it went with Jack.