The first thing I noticed about Nell was how much she looked like me. We were both sixty-ish, the same height, the same weight, petite, equally flat-stomached and flat-chested. We both wore minimal makeup, just the slightest trace of lipstick and discreet nail varnish. We had the same natural stripey-white hair colour. But while she had dreamy curls falling over her shoulders, I had the same pixie cut as always; it was just me. We had the same demeanour, or presence if you like—polite, professional, and prepared.

Two corporate ladies. I felt instantly drawn to her; by the end of our meeting, this stranger had awakened something inside of me that I had not felt for years. Not in my chest and not in my loins. By the time we shook hands and both said how we looked forward to the follow-up on Friday, my heart was fluttering and I had an ache in my stomach.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were unadulterated torture. Be Friday already!

Of course, Friday did come, and I woke up as giddy as a teenager. I gave myself extra time in the morning to prepare for her; I spent an age making sure my hair looked just right; I put on a tight blouse to accentuate my breasts. As the meeting approached, I checked myself in the ladies’ mirror a thousand times.

Who the hell sets a meeting for four? Why not first thing in the morning? It’s Friday, for God’s sake! Idiots!

I was early to the conference room. People were small-talking to me and I answered ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ and ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ all the while glancing at the wall clock. My heart was pumping so hard that colleagues were probably seeing my breasts for the first time since I joined the company two decades earlier. Three fifty-eight; we were all in our places around the table, but still no sign of Nell.

Oh my God, she has cancelled the meeting! She’s been in an accident! No, please God, no, I don’t want to go through another week like this. I can’t.

She breezed into the room a minute before the hour, looking just as meticulous as she had done on Monday. Today she had arranged her hair into the sexiest bun I had ever seen, not at the back but up on the top, and shaped not like a ball but like whipped cream on an ice-cream cone. She looked fabulous. We all stood up and took her hand one by one. I held on to it for as long as propriety allowed and said, “Really lovely to see you again, Nell.”

I sat down and took a moment to carry out a silent situational review: Yes, yes, yes, that went very well, all things considered. I felt myself pressing my thighs together. Did they notice? Did she? Nell apologised for being late even though, technically, she wasn’t. The meeting went perfectly; details were agreed upon, and implementation plans were presented to the department head.

While my colleagues scuttled off, I stayed behind in the conference room until Nell and I were alone. She was double-checking copies of the signed papers and popping them into her briefcase, and then it hit me that I might never see this woman again. My heart started pumping life into my breasts again.

“Hey, that went so well, Nell.”

'So Well Nell' - really? Get a grip, woman!

“Can I offer you a coffee before you leave?”

“Oh God, yes, thank you so much. I’m gasping! Can I just use your facilities first?”

“Yes, of course. You know what, I think I’ll join you.”

When I came out of the stall and washed my hands, Nell had hung her suit jacket on a wall hook and stood fixing her bun, turning from side to side, checking the result in the mirror. As she pinned her hair in place, her shirt rose. She wore her skirt low, and I was presented with gorgeous, curvy hips that I knew I wanted to wake up to. Just above the waistline of her skirt was a tattoo, on the small of her back and also her stomach. I had not been expecting that. Purple in stylish, bold lettering, it read ‘Réservé’.

My heart sank; Réservé! Reserved for what, for whom? Réservé à quoi? Réservé à qui? Does it even mean anything at all - maybe she’s married to a tattoo artist who is over-possessive?

Over coffee, she told me that she lived in the countryside, in a small, secluded house with a big garden, way up on top of a hill.

“I spend most of my time out in the garden with my little friends. The birds and the bees, you know.”

“Oh, Nell, I do love the birds.”

What a stupid thing to say!

She went on, “Especially at this time of year, I’m outdoors a lot. It helps me wind down, a ‘get away from it all’ kind of thing. And it’s so deliciously quiet and private at my place.”

Is she telling me something about her life situation that she needs me to know? At least no mention of a ‘Dame de Maison’ yet.

She added, “Actually, Josephine, if I may confide in you?”

She looked around so she wouldn’t be overheard, reached across the table, and rested her hand lightly on my arm. “This time of year when I’m in the garden, I’m usually naked. I swear, completely naked. As I say, it’s very, very quiet and there are no snoopers way up there, you see.”

She giggled a little, then more seriously, “Of course, keeping a house and garden requires a lot of work, too; there’s always something to keep you busy. Project after project.”

Naked in the garden? A lot of work? Why is she telling me this?

I squeezed my thighs together again. “Oh, your secret is safe with me. I wish I could do something like that! It must be so wonderful. So invigorating. I must say, being a townie, I find myself envying you.”

Please don’t go yet. Say something more, Josephine, you fool!

I ventured: “So, what project have you got planned for this weekend?”

God, did that sound too obvious? I’m running out of time and I want to let her know that I’d like to see her again.

“Apple and currant harvest, as soon as I get home today. That’s the easy bit, of course; tomorrow will be tougher, an all-day job probably. Jam and syrup, wine and cider - I always make enough for the whole year. It usually goes well, though, I’m so used to it - but, yeah, it is a bit of a slog. But it’s very rewarding and, anyway, all going well, I’ll have all day Sunday free. You?”

“That does sound like fun, even if it’s work. Me? Oh, nothing as cool as that. No, I’ll probably reward myself for a job well done—I mean, it all did go really well this week, didn’t it?” She was nodding at me. “I dunno, take myself out to a nice restaurant, maybe?”

That was good, that was very good. Now she knows I’m on my own. Jam and wine and what-not, and still no Dame de Maison. On the other hand, there’s no reason that a dame couldn’t pop over in the morning? Or pop over tonight? Jeez, I’m dying here.

“Oh! Well, that sounds nice,” she said. As an afterthought, ‘Or, if you’d like, you could come down to my place, you could squash some fruit with me. You sounded like you’d like to try it, yeah? I won’t pay you, but I’m a good cook and everything is fresh - I keep a decent wine cellar even, if you like wine.”

I didn’t answer, so she continued, “Come on, I know you’d love it. A change is as good as a rest, that kind of thing?”

I pretended to be thinking about the offer. But seriously, when and where was I going to run into a beauty like this again? Also, now there was some evidence that there was, in fact, no Dame de Maison! And I had been torturing myself all bloody week.

“Eh, that’s awfully kind of you, Nell. You know what? I’d love to. Let’s! Should I bring any special clothes, or something else I’d need? For the harvesting and the jam-making and whatever?”

Well done, Josie, lass. Now she knows you want to stay the night too! Eh, for the jam-making.

“Ooh, that’s wonderful, Josephine! This’ll be marvellous. And no, you don’t need anything at all. If something comes up, you can borrow my stuff—I mean, look at us, we’re practically twins! Anyway, I told you,” whispering again, “I work naked.”

I left my car at work; Nell said she’d drive me back sometime Saturday. The trip to Nell's place took about an hour; in miles, it wasn’t far from the city, but it was a hell of a climb. The woman actually lived on the top of a hill. I couldn’t remember ever having been out that way, probably precisely because one had to navigate the hill! To reach it, you had to drive around the hill at least twice, I reckoned. Like a corkscrew.

She had a casserole in the fridge, all prepared; she just needed to pop it in the oven.

“OK! Let’s pick us some fruit. Then I’ll show you the wine cellar; you can pick out any wine that you fancy, as long as it is bold enough to beat the casserole down.”

“You know, you have the most amazing energy, Nell.”

“Ah, yes. Country girl, you see. And no husband—to either bore me or to command me. And no children to tire me out. Living the dream? What about you, Josephine? Any children?”

Good, she’s checking.

“No, no, no children. No men either.” I put on the apron she gave me to protect my clothes.

I took a deep breath and I hoped she hadn’t heard it.

OK—here goes.

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to find love, one day, despite my, eh, shall we say, maturity? What about you, Nell, anyone special?”

“No, but I do think about love, too. Imagine finding real love at our age—that would be the good love, I think? Who knows, they say you never know until it hits you?”

Not conclusive, but it certainly wasn’t a lost cause. ‘The good love’ – who would not want some of that?

We went to the cellar and I picked out a bottle of 14%-French wine, a Bordeaux. That’d do the trick, she said. We then spent a good hour picking apples and red currants and black currants and stored them in big containers in the cool of her pantry, ready for the jam and wine-making.

Such luxury, a pantry, a whole-room pantry for this, not just a fridge like I had.

I’m going to have to spend some serious time thinking about my life when I get back to the city. Mentally, I pencilled in the following weekend.

I had just finished washing the bowls and buckets that we had used to collect the fruit when I heard her calling, “Anyone hungry?”

I followed the voice to the kitchen. Her hair was wet, she had obviously showered and she had changed into a short little white dress that did lovely things with her breasts and hips. She had let her hair down and brushed it so that it was beautifully fluffy, blacker now because it was wet, and she had put on toeless white high-heels that showed off light-blue painted toenails.

What a babe! I want to suck on every one of those cute little toes.

Oh my, when was the last time I had had such thoughts? I was loving every moment with this lady and whether she knew it or not she was making me pretty dirty.

“Now, the wine is breathing and the casserole is done but both will be even better if we let them rest – you’ll have time to take a shower if you feel like it and then we can dress up a bit. I usually do – I pretend I’m out at a nice restaurant. Dearie me, now that I’ve said it out loud it does sound a bit sad doesn’t it? You could use one of my frocks or whatever that takes your fancy, but only if you’d like.

“Oh, now look, you’ve got red currant on your lovely blouse, all my fault. Give me that and I’ll put something on it while you’re cleaning up, before it dries in.”

“Don’t fret Nell, it’s only an old work-blouse – I’ve been thinking of improving my wardrobe anyway.”

“Nonsense! You can borrow something of mine, and I’ll have yours as right as rain as long as we do it now while it’s fresh.”

I looked at her as she got busy pulling the blouse up from inside my skirt. It felt glorious.

Pleeease unbutton it and take it off of me, I said in my head.

Out loud all I could manage was, “You’re very kind.”

She undid the buttons and took my blouse off.

God! That was such a good feeling and I imagined her doing that every night from now on.

“I hope you won’t be offended at me for saying this, Josephine,” she said, moving her eyes from my tits to my face. “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

She was like a young girl in mind and body. I wanted to jump her bones.

“Well, if anyone is beautiful, Nell, it is you.”

She walked past me, smiled at me, and laid her hand on my arm, just like at work earlier. “Now hurry up and we’ll have a lovely evening together. It looks like the weather is going to stay fine - hey, if you like, after dinner, we can take a walk around the garden and get a bit tipsy.”

“That sounds like great fun.”

“Oh brill. You can hear I don’t have a lot of people up here. Why, you’re getting me all excited.”

I showered and as I dried myself on one of the huge towels that she had laid out for me, she came into the bathroom, a dress in each hand. I chose the white one, short and sleeveless like the one she was wearing, but more lacy. It showed more thigh too. That was good, my thighs made up for my mammary deficiency, I always thought.

She went out to get me some shoes. I put the dress on, no bra. I studied my buttocks and stomach in the mirror.

Looking good! Nice nipples too, you! I am smoking!

My panties had become rather sweaty from all the fruit picking so I rinsed them and hung them to dry.

“It was made for you,” she said, admiring me in her dress. She handed me a pair of white high heels, just like her own. “These fit you?”

They felt unfamiliar on my feet, but they were fine to walk in.

She took my hand in hers, as if we had known each other for ever, and led me to the dinner table in the living room.

“Milady,’” she said theatrically, pulling out a chair for me to sit on.

We ate her delicious casserole, talked and drank wine. We laughed a lot. It was so easy being with her.

“Oops, we’re going to get sloshed if we keep this up,” she said through another little giggle before downing the wine in her glass. “Let’s!”

“I don’t mind getting sloshed,” I said. “I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in...well, I don’t know when I last had such fun really. Or when the last time I got tipsy was! You are a revelation, Nell. Thank you for inviting me - and driving me - I’m so glad to be here with you.”

“I am so happy you came, Josephine. Listen - let’s be naughty and go down to the cellar and get another bottle. Then I’ll show you the garden. Up for it?”

We brought the wine up from the basement and took our glasses with us to the little sitting group that she had placed just outside the greenhouse door.

We put the drinks on the café-table and turning to face me, she said: “Right Josephine, I warned you. I’m dropping my drawers now!”

Holding my gaze, she undid the buttons of her dress, slowly and deliberately and then laid it on the back of one of the chairs. Then she unclasped her white bra and let it slide down her arms. She took it off and dropped it on top of the dress. It was like a striptease without the stripper music. My private stripper! She eased the tiny white laced panties down her thighs and let them fall to her feet. Below her tattoo was the most inviting triangle I had ever seen.

Not that there had been a lot of women in my life. Yes, there had been a few lovers and a lot of bad dates. I recalled them now, all at once in a hazy momentary collage, the faces and the sex, but there was nothing else. And it struck me again that I hadn’t been with a woman in years; I had simply either been too busy with work or when I had made the effort they just turned out to be bitches.

She was so at ease standing there in her own nakedness and that made me feel comfortable too. I looked at her greying triangle, hoping she would see me looking at it. Even down there we looked pretty much the same.

“You really don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Jo, it’s just sort of my thing? But, I’ll tell you this much; I would recommend it! It really is quite vitalising for one’s whole being - I’m a bit of a tree-hugger, I confess.”

Oh my God - she called me Jo. That I liked! I found it so sexy that my knees almost buckled and I wanted to hear her say it again.

“Well, the thing is, Nell, I’d be more than happy to ‘drop my drawers’, as you so elegantly put it - but I don’t have any on,” I said, swooshing the borrowed dress up over my head and laying it on top of hers.

“Oh,” she said, giggling again, making no effort to hide the fact that she was admiring my nakedness and especially my own little lady garden. It always puffed up after a shower or bath. I liked it when it did that and, more importantly, Nell appeared to like it too.

“Show me around the sanctuary, Nell?” I asked. She offered her hand.

We strolled around her garden, my hand in hers. I had fallen for this woman. The attraction I had felt towards her from the very first moment, swelled inside me. She talked all the while we walked; what each plant we came across was called, what it was like when she had planted it, what she might do with it next year. I hung on her every word, my head was in a swirl.

Half an hour later we were back at the greenhouse and Nell poured more wine for us.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Nell?”

“Of course, Jo.”

She called me Jo again!

“The thing is, this whole time, well, today, this whole week in fact has been amazing. I think you’re an amazing lady, and I don’t want to screw up this lovely evening that we are enjoying by saying something stupid.”

“You can say anything to me, Jo. Ask me anything. You won’t screw anything up. I promise.”

OK - she’s officially named me Jo.

I took a step closer to her so that I was standing right in front of her. I traced my fingernail along the tattoo on the soft curve of her lower belly ever so slowly, trying to frame the question. She didn’t object, or flinch, or pull away.

“Well, I’ll just ask you straight out then. This, ‘Réservé’, I noticed it earlier in the Ladies at work when you were fixing your hair?”

Nell took my hand in hers. It was so palpable, that inherent calmness that she had about her. And her face had a softness that I found quite lovely. Looking into her eyes seemed to give me the strength to say what I had been thinking.

“Go on, Jo,” she prompted.

“Well, one doesn’t have to be fluent in French to know what the word means. But what does it mean? To you. It’s not the usual kind of tattoo one would see.”

“Jo.” She moved closer so that our breasts barely touched and she laid her hand ever so softly on my shoulder. She placed her moist lips either side of my upper lip and whispered, “Kiss me.”

We rolled together on the lawn, our breasts against each other’s stomachs, our tongues exploring each other’s bodies, the creases and the crevices we both had almost forgotten existed. We made love to each other until the cold air of the evening forced us apart. We walked inside to the warmth of Nell’s room.

She lay down on her bed and I sat on her thighs, facing her. Before long her fingers caused my back to arch, until I screamed out my release. We took turns pleasing each other that way and every other way we could remember or imagined we remembered until some time in the early hours of the morning, exhausted, we lay in each others arms. She took my hand and placed it on her triangle and told me the story of ‘Reservé’:

Her father had been a Canadian policeman who had met her mother, twenty years his younger, in Quebec. They had married and when he retired they resettled in Cork. The long and the short of it was that he could be very abusive when she was a young woman. He made inappropriate advances towards her. In the end she told him that he should keep his hands to himself and anyway she was only interested in girls. She had then gone out and gotten the tattoos done to prove the point.

Then Nell whispered softly, “C'est réservé pour toi, Jo”. We slept.

We worked diligently all morning and all afternoon with breaks for a hearty breakfast - a good old-fashioned Irish full-fried - and a light fresh salad for lunch which kind of balanced the books, so to speak.

Saturday evening was approaching. I sat on the grass watching Nell inside the greenhouse adding yeast to the two damejeannes, one cider and one redcurrant wine.

A blur of thoughts addled my brain:

Who is this woman? Nobody in the whole wide world knows where the hell I am – will she murder me tonight?

Could it be that it is just the sex I want? God knows we made sparks fly last night. Will we be up all night again tonight?

Have I ever been naked this long in my entire life?

Have I been transported to a parallel universe or something? I’m definitely different.

Look at the pair of us; jam all over our faces and hands and arms, like two naughty little girls.

Please don’t let it stop. Life could not be so cruel, could it?

Nell finished up and came towards me, her hands outstretched, offering to help me up off the grass.

“You did good today, kid. Real good,” she said in the most appalling attempt at an American accent I had ever heard. She had the most gorgeous dirty laugh though and that more than made up for the accent.

She grabbed my hands and pulled me up against her. I wiped a spot of jam off of her cheek.

“Why, thank you kindly, ma’am, I’m sure,” I replied. Now that was the worst American accent I had ever heard.

She looked down at where our breasts met. “D’you know, Jo? If we really put our minds to it, if we put them four chaps together, I’m sure we could get one decent boob out of them. What d’ye think?”

We laughed like the two jammy-faced little girls we were in that moment. I put my lips against hers. “I love it when you’re silly.”

“So do I.” We walked back to the house. “It’s new for me, being silly,” she said. “Only since yesterday actually.” The look in her eyes told me that the change in her was because of me.

I stopped walking so that she could hear me whisper, “Thank you. Just now, I was sitting on the lawn thinking how my life has been totally changed. In a single day.”

Nell put her arm on the small of my back and kissed me on the chin. At that moment that harmless little kiss did more to me, said more to me, than anything.

We showered the jam off of each other, got more of Nell’s clothes - short floral skirts and laced blouses - and then we seated ourselves at the dinner table, eager to polish off the previous evening’s casserole.

“Mmm, scrumptious!” I said. “Why is it that stews and soups are always twice as good the second day?”

She nodded, her fingers found mine. “Will you stay with me tonight, Jo?”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

We did not make it to the bedroom after dinner. Halfway up the stairs we stopped and embraced. We kissed and caressed, stripping each other, until our bodies were entwined. And then we lost our balance and fell - boom, boom, boom – we were a giant Slinky careering down the stairs, one painful step at a time, our heads protected only by the other’s thighs.

After God knows how long, Nell left me briefly to bring us wine. We sat there on the couch, catching our breath, arms and legs wrapped tightly around each other as if there was a big bad wolf at the door. There was no wolf, of course, just the two of us and the night.

A tongue licking my lips woke me at a quarter to six. I opened my eyes to the day and Nell’s face came slowly into focus. I woke my own tongue up and told it to go out to play. It found the stickiness inside her hot wet mouth and the two little playmates danced like eager flames on a newly lit fire.

Suddenly, she jumped up off the bed and said, “Come on,” giggling, her hand dragging me down the stairs after her and out into the garden.

We stopped in front of what she called a Korean mint bush. She pointed at the flower. “Look! Have you ever seen anything quite so beautiful?”

There, fast asleep, somehow holding themselves onto the sides of the long purple-blue flower heads, were a small scattering of bumblebees. My face lit up as I watched the little furry busy-bodies snoozing. Nell said that they usually slept holding on to the sides of these flowers at night - I had never seen that, never even heard of such a thing before. We moved our faces right up beside them, careful so as not to disturb them.

They were clearly asleep but every now and then you could see one of the tiny legs moving.

“Are they dreaming?” I asked.

“Looks like it. I know I am.”