I was barely in my twenties, married already to a vivacious little woman, six months younger than me. Jane was really, quite small, both in stature and figure. Going in and out in all the right places. Also, she was very pretty, which was a bonus and, I guess, the thing that attracted her to me in the first place.Somehow, we had managed to qualify for a council home, a first-floor flat in a converted house. Looking back, it was a death trap with glazed doors to each room. Absolutely no fire breaks and no alternative escape route should a fire ever happen. Fortunately, it didn’t, but setting fire to a chip pan made it a close-run thing.To be absolutely honest, neither of us knew what love was. We were far too young to fully appreciate the nuances of such a deep emotion. We did, however, understand lust and practiced that particular emotion like little bunnies. Of course, we had to learn what sex and anatomy were all about, and boy, did we learn fast, and often. But, despite the frequency of our exploits, a year of nuptials, we had been fruitless.Jane worked in a sweatshop, knocking out dresses for the mass market. Rainbow Fashions wasn’t exactly haute couture and the pay reflected that. Fortunately, the factory was local, within walking distance. We didn’t own a vehicle.My job was in a factory, making one-gallon tin cans for motor oil. The assembly line started with sheets of printed tin being split into correctly sized oblongs before being dumped into a hopper where the oblongs were folded, soldered and then went into a constructed wire spiral before dropping into another machine that topped and tailed the cans before being transported to packing and shrink-wrapping before transportation out. It was monotonous work. Smelly and the fumes from the solder where probably damaging to one’s health. I hated it, but it was a means to an end. It allowed me to study while minding the soldering point. The only excitement was when the line got a blockage and tin cans started to fly around in mangled missiles. How no one was sliced to bits escapes me.Much of the workforce were women, mostly in their thirties and forties. They were a cruel bunch, united in their torment of the new recruits to the assembly line and utterly ruthless to any younger man. Many times, I was the victim Ümraniye Escort of their wicked tongues that lashed any self-esteem I might have had. References to my manhood and its probable lack of length or girth were commonplace. Derogatory accusations of my perceived ineptitude as far as the opposite sex were a daily insult. Accidental tripping happened frequently and was positively dangerous, being in the workplace with hot metal and sharp edges abounding. The Foreman was next to useless. He had absolutely no control over these ladies. He was happy so long as the line kept on going. What the ladies said behind his back was shocking, to say the least. They had no regard for him at all.It was one of those days when an accidental trip resulted in my head, meeting a corner of the cast iron machine I was working at. Head wounds bleed copiously and, in no time at all, blood was dripping down my face. It looked a lot worse than it actually was but, was enough for the line to be halted and the harridans, united as always, guiding me to the first aid point. That they had caused the accident in the first place was lost on them.Once the flow of blood was staunched, they left me in the first aid room to go back to work. A young girl was left to keep watch over me. I say young, she was about the same age as me.Etta had only been at the factory for a few weeks. We hadn’t had a chance to meet or become acquainted until she stood, sentinel-like and probably a little relieved to be away from the monotony of the production line. Not much was said between us before Mr. Lovecraft, the foremen, allowed that I should probably go home. Concussion? What concussion?The next day, I sat outside at the back of the factory on a grass verge that overlooked the park that backed onto the factory grounds. My lunch was carefully laid out on greaseproof paper beside me and a flask of coffee alongside that. I avoided the canteen. Apart from not being able to afford the food on offer, the ribbing by the harridans was too much to bear. The sun beamed down on a warm afternoon.Etta sat next to me quietly. I hadn’t noticed her approach until the rustle of her uniform coverall announced her squat. She asked how the head was and noticed the plaster to my forehead. We Ümraniye Escort Bayan passed a few pleasantries, finished our sandwiches and flasks and then returned to work.Over the next week or so, our lunch hour coincided, and our conversation became more in depth. Etta was an actress, between jobs, just filling in at the factory to make ends meet. She was slightly overweight, possibly, it was hard to tell in the loose coveralls. Her face was a little on the round side, not in any way less attractive. A button nose separated brown eyes all framed with auburn hair cut short to her neck. She was slightly shorter than my five foot eight, perhaps five six or so. But her most redeeming quality was her wit. Etta could tell a story with humour and a manner of description that often had me collapsed in fits of laughter. Tales of her exploits while treading the boards kept me enthralled as did her casting couch exploits. All grist to the mill to an inexperience young man. She certainly had been around the block a few times, if all she told me could be believed.I suppose it was inevitable we would become lovers. Friendship had grown between us that gradually developed into touches and intimacies beyond that which would be considered appropriate for a married man. However, opportunity was limited in a factory setting. Lunch was the only time we could actually interact, but with all available space taken up by the business of making tin cans, finding somewhere secluded was virtually impossible.Love, or in this case lust, will always find a way. With a little planning, I managed to create a space behind stacks of folded cardboard boxes used to put the finished cans in before packaging on pallets and dispatch. The storeroom was quite large, so it was quite easy to create our love nest away from prying eyes or accidental discovery. It did mean that we would have to crawl into the bower I had made. Undignified as it was, it did ensure privacy providing we were quiet.I admit that our first exploration was somewhat abrupt. Being over excited, managing to get my cock into a new and willing vagina, had my spend escaping from me in very short order. It was embarrassing to say the least and meant Etta had to clean up before even getting short Escort Ümraniye on breath. It was over, almost before it started. That she gave me another chance is to her credit, but it would have to wait until the next day.Also, to her credit and experience, our next foray into our secret bower, found Etta on her knees, sucking on my cock until it exploded in her mouth. She spat it out and told me that I would last a lot longer fucking her, now that I had gotten rid of the first flush, as it were. She wasn’t wrong. Still fully clothed, with the exception of underwear, we rutted with me taking her from behind, and her guiding my fingers to her clit in an effort to make her come. Perhaps, after ten minutes and, with the exuberance of youth, I came inside her while her vaginal muscles rippled over my cock. To me, it was something fantastic and completely unheard of in my sexual pursuits and endeavours. I had never come twice before. Hurriedly, we adjusted our clothing and, on shaky legs, returned to the workplace.So began an affair, limited to lunch times, during which Etta taught me all about her body. How to massage her G-spot, once I found it. How to limit the pressure on her clit until the moment of release. More importantly, how to lash her with my tongue until she could take no more. I found stroking her G-spot while sucking on her labia or flicking her clit to be the quickest way to get her motor running. She could come on that alone and my reward was to bury myself within her body until I reached my own climax. For her gentle guidance, I will always be grateful. I did discover my dislike of pubic hair, certainly in my mouth but, would put up with it so that she would get off. This was in the days when women shaving themselves bald was not a commonplace occurrence.Inevitably, the harridans of the factory began to suspect that something was going on between us. Knowing looks would pass between them and elbow nudges would alert one another to my passing. Whispered conversations could be overheard and even tittering. The vindictive bitches must have squealed on us because Etta was moved, without ceremony, to another department in another building of the factory complex. A tearful Etta told me that these horrible women had ganged up on her, threatening all kinds of retribution. Our lunch-time meetings ceased. I did discover however, that I was now being viewed as available, flirting with me was ramped up to an uncomfortable level. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were running a book on who would bed me first. They would all lose. I really didn’t like any one of them.

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