Penny had never been quite right after she fell off her bike in the ice. The doctor explained that she had experienced a small haemorrhage and there was likely to be minor brain damage.
The road sparkled with frost on that February morning at eight thirty and the last thing she remembered was the library books in the front basket leaping as she went over bumps and potholes in the road.
A van driver had found her staggering around on the side of the road with a torn skirt and blood on one side of her face. He called an ambulance.
When Penny found herself in a hospital bed with no recollection of how she had got there she initially panicked. She was a freelance bookkeeper who was on the way to a company to process their invoices and receipts for the month. She only relaxed when she saw the library books near her handbag. She had been meaning to return her books before they became overdue. Her glasses had been broken but the van driver had picked up the pieces. They too were sat on the chair with her handbag.
As the swelling receded on the left-hand side of her face something inside her rose up. Something initially unwelcome. Her libido.
Penny, at the age of forty-four, had given up on men, or they had given up on her. She was a spinster, an unfashionable term that her parents liked to use.
Penny lived alone on the fourth floor of a large Georgian house that had been converted into flats. She dressed neatly and wore minimal makeup. She had brown hair. Penny abhorred the gym so preferred to cycle everywhere to keep fit. It wasn’t a lightweight mountain bike but a shopper with a wicker basket on the front. The man in the shop had tried to sell her a helmet but Penny didn’t like what it did to her hair and didn’t want to arrive at a client with hair like that.
She tried to get back to work as soon as possible after the accident and after the swelling had gone, had decided to take the bus into town now rather than pedal. Being around people again was a challenge after five years on a bicycle. It was harder still when she started noticing men on the bus, her mind wandered and she arrived at work and found she had wet knickers. Thoughts that she had once or twice in her life had returned like a noisy orchestra. She was not a virgin, she’d had sex when she was in her twenties, more to keep her then-boyfriend happy. He had complained that it was like making love to a corpse the day they broke up and he had called her a prude.
On the weekend she collected her new glasses and had passed what her parents would call a sex shop. Loving Sensations would probably call themselves a lifestyle shop, the marketing folk that branded the shop tried to avoid the bald moniker of the “sex shop”.
Penny’s palms were sweaty when she turned around in the middle of the street and went in. After a while, a young and rather pretty assistant approached and put her at her ease making the subsequent discussion and purchase easy.
That night after Penny’s first orgasm in twenty-five years and the most powerful she had ever had she dozed off with the vibrator on the bedside table. She had spent most of the weekend in bed.
On the Monday she rode the bus with an electronic device in her knickers from Loving Sensations entitled “The girly secret”. It made the journey much more pleasurable.