Thursday, 15 September 2016

1977: Foreign bodies 2 - Water baby 2

I wasn't sure what to make of my first experience of skinny dipping with the German girl, P,  I put the naked swimming down to typically more sexually liberated Continental behaviour.  She had clasped my erection and we had had some arousing kissing but as soon as we were getting passionate she just seemed to switch off. Perhaps the language barrier was the issue in that we couldn't say what we thought or wanted to do.  Perhaps she realised I was a few years older than her and she got nervous.  Maybe she thought, if we had continued caressing, I might have thrown her to the sand and ravished her.  I wouldn't but I certainly dreamed about it afterwards.  What would it have been like to slide myself into her hot, wet parts?  What would it be like to do It?  Of course, she probably did not want to get close to someone she wouldn't be seeing again, as she was going back to Germany. Anyway, it had been an exciting but ultimately frustrating episode. Still, it boosted my confidence around women some more.

A week or so after my weekend in Hampshire, my aunt and uncle came around to our house with their young sons. Unlike my aunt and uncle who had the boat, these were actual relatives  Aunt S was my mother's sister. She was fifteen years younger than my mother and fifteen years older than me but emotionally and in attitude was closer to my generation. She was thirty two years old, curvy and gorgeous. We all went for a walk around Richmond Park and when I got back to school in September, N, in my Economics class, actually asked who the sexy black haired piece I had been seen walking with, was.  "She is totally fuckable!" he said.  I couldn't disagree. As regards Aunt S, there had been family rumours of a liaison with a world famous pop star back in the sixties. 

 Anyway, my aunt and uncle asked my mother if she could do them a favour. They had had an au pair girl, J, for a year, who had returned to Finland at Easter. I had even met her a number of times during visits to my aunt and uncle's house. That March my uncle had taken my sister and I, including the au pair, to the Race of Champions, a non championship Formula 1 race at Brands Hatch in Kent, close to where they lived. My sister was a big fan of Formula 1 and used to get a newspaper called Motoring News every week which had all the behind the scenes stories. All her friends were getting Jackie magazine or the pop magazine 45 but she liked motor racing.   J had been fun company and even my sister liked her, as she knew about motor sport and had a relation who was a rally driver.

My aunt told me that J had written to them asking if she could stay with them for a fortnight while she attended some interviews in London for more au pair jobs. Unfortunately, they were going to Corfu on holiday for that same two weeks.  My mother had agreed she could stay with us and commute up to London for her interviews

 "As you know, she is no oil painting, but I thought you might like to look after her for a fortnight," my aunt said to me, as we walked arm in arm past the Isabella Plantation.. I suddenly feared that my mother had been speaking to her about A and this was some sort of 'back in the saddle' plot.  I had had  a lot of comments about what a nice girl P had been and how it was a shame she had had to go back to Germany.  I was still masturbating to the memory of her lovely goosebumped, wet breasts, so I agreed it was a shame, indeed.

Talking of masturbation, which I have always enjoyed and never felt guilty about, my mother found my prized Men Only while looking in my desk for a metal ruler.  Unfortunately, I was at the other side of the room at the time.  I did not expect her to start leafing through it.  "Goodness, they do show everything now!" she said. "Not like in my day!"  She worked for a top fashion and beauty magazine before she got married and I had seen some stunning black and white photographs of her taken in the mid fifties but I didn't want to inquire any more about her photographic experiences!

As my mother drove us to Heathrow Airport I recalled J, who I had last seen five months before. She was fun, with a good sense of humour, spoke extremely good English with a cute accent and was very independent,  She was, however, something that was very unusual at the time for a teenager (she was nineteen, two years older than me) in the seventies. She was fat. She had a big bottom, thick thighs, no discernible waist and the biggest breasts I had ever seen in my life. They were, the fabled "knockers like watermelons" of school legend. They may even have been bigger than watermelons. She always wore blouses that showed more than a hint of her cleavage.  I also thought that, whatever my aunt said, she was very pretty, with her blonde hair and freckled nose and she was one of those girls whose face wasn't as fat as her body. Still, she would have made two of A.

The drive to the airport was quite a stressful one, as my mother hadn't driven to the airport before and it involved negotiating a tunnel and several horrible one way systems inside. We arrived late, after J's plane had already landed. We saw on the board that it had landed but couldn't see her. Of course, before mobile phones, there was no way of letting someone know you were there, except going to the desk where they could put out an announcement for you. After ten minutes we received exactly such an announcement and hurried to the desk. I didn't spot J, initially.   "Hello!" she said to me. I must have looked completely blank. "It is me. I have lost much weight!" She wasn't joking. She must have lost about two stone stone in five months. She wasn't as skinny as A or and was still pretty solid looking but she was transformed. I looked at her chest which was still as awe inspiring as ever. "These have not gone!" she smiled, grasping them with both hands. I looked at my mother who smiled. It really did feel like a plot.

 On the drive back home, J informed me of some of the things she wanted to see in her two week stay. She had seen most of the big London attractions during her year with my aunt and uncle but there were some, like Windsor Castle and Hampton Court which were near us which she wanted to visit. She had interviews on the Monday and Friday but was free in the middle of the week. She ate about half of her dinner, I noticed. She was staying in the same spare room A used to stay in. I felt depressed. Even if this was partly a plot by my aunt and mother to cheer me up how much cheer could you get from a girl who would then go back to Finland at the end of two weeks? It was even further away than Bavaria or Scotland.

At breakfast she had a piece of toast, despite my mother having put together a huge cooked breakfast. I had told my mother she looked like a big eater and she had stocked up accordingly. My sister, having ascertained that the only music she liked was Abba (her family knew one of their backing musicians) ignored her, despite her interest in motor racing. Although my sister was only fourteen she liked Renaissance wind band music. "I have to watch my figure!" said J, after turning down a second piece of toast. "You look fantastic!" I blurted, looking at her chest. "Thank you!" she said, kissing my cheek as she got up from the table.. My sister looked disgusted.

 The next day was Saturday and we went off to Hampton Court Palace. My aunt and uncle had left my mother some money for food and such like but, as my mother said to me, as J wasn't eating much we could spend it on things like visits. Actually, J had lots of money with her and kept trying to pay for things. We used to go to the grounds of Hampton Court Palace quite a lot, especially in the Spring when there was a magnificent display of daffodils there but we didn't go into the Palace itself as it was expensive. This time we did, however and my mother loved it. Even my sister enjoyed seeing the Tudor palace. My mother had lived not far away when she was a little girl but hadn't been inside for decades.

When we came out, J wanted to visit the famous maze, which was something else we didn't do because of the cost. We weren't really short of money but my mother hated wasting it.  But J was insistent and offered to pay for everyone. "You might go in and be lost for ever!" said my sister to J, cruelly.

"Your brother will rescue me, I am sure!" said J. My sister shook her head. It being Saturday the maze was packed and they were letting people in in small groups. J insisted on staying with me and we got well and truly lost. "Come on, come on!" said J, grabbing my hand, as we ran into another dead end, Needless to say, when we eventually got to the centre of the maze my sister and mother were already there. My sister smirked until my mother asked us what we had been up to and then she scowled.

 Fortunately, on the Monday, J went up to London. I asked my sister why she was being so horrible to J. "Just because your weedy girlfriend has gone doesn't mean that you can just take up with the next girl you meet. Like that German girl. Anyway, she will be off soon too!" said my sister, sensitively. I had not, of course, any intention of taking up with J. She was pretty and I admitted I found her sexually attractive but she had been placed in our home for us to look after by my relations, so even if I did fantasise about what her uncovered tits might look like, I was not going to do anything about it. 

Finland was a bit of a mysterious place to me. Stuck even further away than Scandinavia. I wasn't entirely sure where it was on the map, as we didn't have an atlas at home. In nineteen seventies Britain we had all been brought up to believe that Swedish and Danish people were much more sexually liberated. If any comedy show needed a liberated girl then she was Swedish. Swedes were sexy. We all knew that at school. Britt Ekland, Maud Adams, Julie Ege and Anna Bergman were all favoured ladies amongst my classmates.. A popular magazine to be circulated at school was Continental Film Review, a monthly review of all sorts of films, not just continental ones. However it did seem to focus on those where the ladies stripped off and was full of black and white stills of topless beauties from the Continent, in films we knew we would never find at the local cinema. The covers, which were in colour, often had topless ladies on them too. Because it was ostensibly a film magazine and not a men's magazine it did not carry the "not to be sold to those under the age of eighteen" tag. Which meant that, as a seventeen year old, I could buy it in WH Smiths. Although, to be fair, as I was now 6' 1" tall I never got questioned about my age, anyway. Swedish and Danish films featured in Continental Film Review prominently.  But nothing from Finland, as far as I could recall.

I didn't know anything about Finnish women. I knew about Finland, of course, because of my liking for Sibelius. There were no famous Finnish actresses or models I was aware of. The only Finn who was famous was the skinny, bearded distance runner, Lasse Viren. I knew that they were good at rallying too but that was it.

One thing that we soon discovered about J was that she was very active. She always wanted to be doing something. One day, in the first week, she asked if there was a swimming pool nearby. There was, in Staines, about a mile and a half away. My mother suggested that I take her. Here was a dilemma. I was torn between the prospect of seeing her in a swimsuit and having to go to Staines swimming pool, the location for my hated childhood swimming lessons.

 I hated swimming and I still don't enjoy it. A good part of the reason for this was our teacher at the swimming pool, the inappropriately named Mr Witt. If you speak to anyone my age who went to Staines swimming pool in the sixties or seventies then they all hate Mr Witt, the world's most sarcastic and unpleasant swimming teacher. We all took the coach there once a week from junior school for swimming lessons. If you could swim, like my best friend M, you could just do so unsupervised in the big pool. If not you were condemned to Mr Witt and the teaching pool. I only give initials for the people in my chronicles but I am very happy to out this evil man as he made me terrified of swimming and swimming pools in particular. Instead of teaching us how to swim he was fixated on us spending as much time underwater as possible. Surely, I reasoned, this is the opposite of what swimming should be about. But, no, he would order us all to stand in the pool, holding on to the edge and "sit on the bottom". My whole week at school would gradually build into a crescendo of terror as swimming approached. I did not want to sit on the bottom.  I did not want water in my eyes or ears. I did not want to learn to swim at all. If you showed any hesitation after his shouted orders he would put his hand on your head and push you under the water (it wouldn't be allowed now, of course). Oh, how I wanted to pull him into the pool and hold him underneath the surface until he drowned. Once, S, the naughtiest boy in the school, did pull him into the pool.  We all wanted to cheer but were too scared too, although we all congratulated S afterwards. I had not been back to the swimming pool since I got my 25 metre certificate in the last year of junior school. I only just got it; choking and spluttering for the last few meters, only to slip into the welcoming arms of the lovely C and discovering the pleasures of physical contact in water as she hugged me and whacked me on the back at the same time. Our brief hug was soon broken up by a bark from our teacher, watching from the gallery but the memory of pressing my chest against her budding breasts, through her navy blue swimsuit, stayed with me for years.

 I took J along the towpath, as she said we should walk, not take the bus, and wished I hadn't, as all I could think of was A and our lovely walks along the river. J sensed something was wrong immediately and asked what the matter was. I should have said nothing but instead regaled her with the story of A and how we had been torn apart just a month before, J stopped walking and gave me a big hug, which was unexpected and offered the new experience of being pulled into contact with a really big bust.. She then told me the story of her boyfriend who she had broken up with when she got home in March. He had gone off with another girl while she had been in England. She was hopelessly optimistic about everything and said that it was best not to dwell on the past but move on. I was quite cheered up by the time we arrived at the pool. 

My positive mood evaporated as we stepped through the glass doors and were hit by that smell. The nasty smell of chlorine. The smell of terror! I had a sudden panic that Mr Witt might still be there, torturing some other poor children. I got changed and paddled through the pool of disinfectant, outside the changing room, that was supposed to kill the dreaded verrucas. Everything to do with swimming was haunted by the threat of verrucas. I desperately wanted a verruca at junior school, as then I could miss swimming,but I never got one. Stepping out of the disinfectant, I looked to my right at the teaching pool but, being the summer holidays, it was empty apart from a few mothers with babies. No Mr Witt! I relaxed and walked straight ahead to the main pool which was quite busy. I made my way down to the shallow end so I could go down the ladder slowly. I couldn't dive in (I still can't dive) and in fact then, as now, don't like being out of my depth. There was no sign of J so I set off to do a couple of lengths. Other than my brief splash in the Solent with P I   hadn't been swimming properly for two years when I did do so on our holiday to Menorca. My swimming had improved greatly on that holiday and I enjoyed swimming in the warm Mediterranean. Still. I made sure that I swan next to the edge of the pool so if I got water up my nose and started to choke I could grab the side.

 I had just finished two lengths when J appeared from the changing room. She was looking around so I waved to her. She was wearing a swimming hat and googles. She looked like a serious swimmer. That's not what I noticed first, however. What I noticed was her massive bust, straining against her multi-coloured one piece swimsuit and her muscular legs and powerful shoulders. She waved back at me, walked to the deep end of the pool, executed, what looked like to me, a perfect racing dive and shot up the pool like a torpedo. I waited for her in the shallow end and she finished her length by placing her hands on the pool wall either side of my body. She then put her hands on my shoulders, keeping her body floating horizontally. I complimented her on her swimming and she explained that was how she had lost so much weight so quickly, by swimming every day in the lake. I knew they had a lot of lakes in Finland but didn't fancy that at all. She complained about the muscle she had put on, on her shoulders but I told her she had lovely shoulders. "So do you!" she said, squeezing one of mine before turning and disappearing up the pool. I had no chance of catching her of course and I reckoned she was doing three to four lengths to every two of mine. I wasn't that fit so had to keep resting in the shallow end, whereupon she would dive down underwater and pop up in front of me, like a seal.

"Shall we have a race?" she said. No. "Don't like to be beaten?" Don't care. "If you beat me you can have a prize!" Not interested. "Not interested in a kiss? Fun for us both!" I sighed and agreed to be humiliated. Then I had a thought. She wanted to do four lengths. I knew I would probably drown trying. "One length," I said. She wrinkled her nose but agreed. I had no stamina but I had been a very good county class sprinter, I could do 100 meters in 11 seconds dead. Maybe my sprinting ability would enable me to do a concentrated effort for a short period. . "Kolme, kaksi yksi!" she said and with a mighty shove I kicked off from the wall. Knowing I only had to do one length I put everything into it. I had no goggles, she was on my right and I only breathed on my left when doing the crawl, so I had no idea where she was. I touched the end, and looked sideways. She was there. "You won!" she said. I was sure I had not. "Do you want your kiss now or later?" she raised an eyebrow at me, suggestively. I was hanging on to the end of the pool for dear life and looked down into the abyss (well it was 12' 6"). Deep enough. Too deep.

 "No petting in the pool!" I said pointing at the red and white sign which forbade all sorts of anti-social (as they saw it) behaviour. There was a little drawing of a couple with hearts around them next to the people running, bombing and such like.

 "What is petting?"

 "Kissing and cuddling!" I answered.

 "Who would forbid such things?"

 "British people!" I said pointedly. I was sure that Finns were just as lascivious as Swedes and Danes. It was probably the cold winters or something to do with having to eat pickled fish.

"Bugger them!" she said, surprisingly. She had learnt a lot of interesting vocublary from my uncle, I discovered.  She put her arm around me, under the surface. I then felt her hand stroke my back. I asked her to stop. "Don't you like?"

 "I like a lot," I replied, "But not here!" She flipped over into an underwater somersault and shot off down the pool. I followed more slowly, as my shoulders were aching from my earlier effort. She was waiting for me at the end ot the pool and gave me another hug, I don't know what it is about hugging people in water but there is something about skin on skin in water. I saw the lifeguard staring at us so I broke away and said it was probably time to leave. She wrinkled her nose again. I watched her lift herself out of the pool on her strong arms and tried not to look at her bottom in the wet swimsuit. It was big but firm looking. Quite unlike A's girl's bottom.  This was a woman's bottom. I realised I had to get out now, as there wasn't room for an erection in my swimming trunks.

We walked back along the towpath. It wasn't as warm as the previous year and we had to put our jumpers on. J didn't offer the promised kiss and I didn't ask for it. I couldn't expect kisses from every girl I met, I reasoned. It was probably just the sexy feeling of the water.  I suddenly felt a pang of guilt about A. She had only been gone just over a month and I was already contemplating kissing another girl.

 "Did you have a nice swim?" asked my mother when we returned., "It was OK," I said. "Mr Witt wasn't there!"

 "Perhaps he's drowned," offered my sister, hopefully.

 At dinner, we were presented with a salad by my mother which was not what I wanted, having swum and walked three miles on top, Neither did my sister who poked at her lettuce in disgust. This would not endear J to her, I thought. J told us about her swimming programme in the lake in Finland.  She had been doing a mile a day.  I struggled with 25 metres at a time.  How anyone could swim for a mile was beyond comprehension.   We thought it must be freezing. Not in the summer, she said.

 "At least you don't get chlorine in your suit," said my mother, who had had to rinse our swimming things out and hang them on the line. "I swim naked!" said J.

"Oh, of course!" said my mother. "Much easier!" I tried not to think about it. Then I decided I would and just enjoy it. My sister kicked me under the table and glared.

 If I had hoped J would slip into my room that night, like A did, I would be disappointed. I thought about her body in her swimsuit and masturbated, happily.

 Next day we went swimming again and she challenged me to another race. "This time if I win I get a kiss!" I asked what the difference was from yesterday's competition She said that yesterday I won a kiss from her. Today she could win a kiss from me. It was quite different. I struggled to contemplate this distinction but was starting to realise that I couldn't lose. She beat me by about two yards. I asked her when we got our prizes. She said she would decide. "Not here!" No petting!" she pointed at the sign.

 That evening she came into my room for the first time, after dinner. She examined my record collection critically, "There is no modern music!" I pointed out that I had three Beatles records which I had inherited from my aunt, the one she had been au pair to. She pointed out that they were ten years old at least. Virtually all my music was classical with some big band and military music inherited from my father. He had been to see Glenn Miller and the Army Air Force band when they had visited England during the war. I really liked Glenn Miller, as I still do. She noted my Sibelius and asked to hear one of my records. I chose the excerpts record and she recognised quite a lot. Finlandia, of course. "I know a modern record you will like!"she said. I said I didn't really like pop music that much. Not enough to buy an album, anyway. "I will get you something!" I told her not to as I didn't really want an ABBA record.

 Eventually, she said she better go to bed as she had to go to London again the next day. She gave me a kiss on the lips and told me that that wasn't the kiss I had won. "A taste of a kiss only!" she said and disappeared next door. After she had gone I actually touched my lips. A taste of a kiss? What would a proper kiss be like?

Next day I worked on my Antony and Cleopatra essay and made an attempt to start Jane Austen's Emma. What a terrible book to set seventeen year old boys. I found it completely un-engaging and, in fact, I never did finish it, despite having to write a question on it in my A-level exam the following summer. We went to collect J from the station late that afternoon. She was grumpy and said that her agency had reported back that the person she had seen about the au pair's job on Monday had said she was "too sexy". "I'm not too sexy. I am very nicely dressed!" She was,indeed, wearing a very sensible jacket and skirt..

 "I think it's what is underneath which might worry some women," said my mother. I said nothing. After dinner she came up to my room again to give me my present which she had bought during her trip to London. I told her I didn't need a present, although in fact I was worried that I would have to then find something to buy her. It wasn't the money so much as trying to think of something appropriate. She had an HMV bag which obviously had a record in it. I knew it wasn't going to be Sibelius. She pulled it out of the bag and gave it me. I recognised the very distinctive sleeve straight away.

 "It's called Tubular Bells and you should listen to it, not just say you don't like it!" I said I was very happy to listen to it but we mustn't have it on too loud as my sister and mother were downstairs watching TV. My record player was an old Magnavox, donated by one of my other uncles. It was about ten years old and it was quite a good one at the time. It was supposedly portable and had a handle on it like a suitcase. The end of the case detached to form the second speaker which I had deployed all the time. I put it on the record player and J told me to turn the lights off.

 Since the days of my mother bursting in on A and me, I had fitted a bolt to my bedroom door. My mother said it wasn't necessary but didn't actually object. I went over and bolted it. "Are we going to have fun?" she asked. "Lie down next to me" I did and we listened to Tubular Bells (Part one) in complete silence. It was very different music from what I usually listened to but I really liked it. The fact that it didn't have inane lyrics but was an instrumental helped a lot. Interestingly, some years later the BBC classical music radio station Radio 3 had a broadcast (perhaps for its 10th anniversary) where they played Tubular Bells followed by Sibelius 5th symphony, "A piece," they said, "with which it has some affinities."

 J wriggled in closer, so our bodies were touching, lying on the floor, in the dark. About half way through she took my hand and I held it until I had to turn the record over. It occurred to me then, that with every girl you met you had to start from the beginning. Shy kiss, Hold hands. See if you are rebuffed or can move to the next stage. Like snakes and ladders. A terrifying but exciting prospect.

Just as we were about to listen to Part two my mother called in from outside the room,. "Good night you two!"

"Good night!" I said brightly. Trying to impart a scene into her mind where we were sat separately on the floor, some yards apart, just by the inflection in my voice. "Good night. Thank you for a lovely dinner!" said J. "Shall we turn off the music?"

 "No need. I can hardly hear it!" said my mother. Even though part two had started playing, it was a quiet passage.

The second side finished with that funny little sailor's hornpipe. I laughed and told her it reminded me of the TV advert for butter which used the same hornpipe,, She didn't know it, of course, so I sang her the verse.

There’s an Anchor sign on Britain’s favourite butter, 
It’s the Anchor sign that tells you it’s the best. 
If you like your bread and butter, 
There’s no other word you’ll utter ’Cos you’ll always want the butter 
With the Anchor sign! 

She thought this was funny and made me sing it again.

 "Let's start it again!" We listened to the whole thing twice and then J left for bed.  Giving me another slightly longer kiss.  "That still isn't the kiss!" she said.  "Tomorrow, more music in the dark!"  I went to bed, my heart fluttering and my cock throbbing.  I just loved girls.

From then on, J came into my room every night to listen to music and I tried to get her appreciate her cultural heritage by playing Sibelius but she didn't seem to get it.  We swam a lot too, although I was losing in our races by five to one. Half way through our second week she asked my mother if she could stay another week as she had more interviews arranged and one looked very promising.  My mother was quite happy until J spent ages on the phone rearranging her flight.  My mother hated anyone using the phone and we always got a low user rebate because of it.

The weekend when she should have been flying back to Helsinki we went to Staines on Saturday.  I didn't want to take her to the ABC cafe as I felt that somehow A would know, so we went to Debenhams cafe (although my mother still referred to it as Kennards, it's former name) instead, on the top floor of the department store. We were lucky and got one of the tables with a view.  We shared a Bath bun; she pulling small chunks off it and licking the sugar off her fingers.  I was surprised she was eating it as I knew from my mother that all dieters are just one Bath bun away from a relapse.

She told me she was glad we had another week together but opined that it was obvious that I was still thinking of A. I asked her about this as, in fact, I was felling guilty because I actually wasn't thinking about A as I was enjoying J's company so much.

"We lie together in the dark and you do not try and kiss me or touch me!" she said. "You do not like me, I think!"  I was struggling with this early example of a woman saying she thought one thing as a means to get you to contradict it and reinforce her fragile ego.

"I like you a lot.  You are fun and gorgeous!" I replied. You can never over-do compliments to women, my Uncle L had told me when we were down in Christchurch.

"Well you need to do something about it!" she said, finishing her coffee and standing up to leave.  I thought I should have given her a big kiss there and then but the cafe was full of old people and mothers with young children so I felt rather inhibited.  She strode ahead of me towards the escalators and I realised I had upset her in some way.  By the time we got to the ground floor she seemed alright again.  However. I thought a kiss now might be seen as too little and too late.

We went next door into WH Smiths and I decided to buy another Mike Oldfield record. I looked at the copyright dates on the back and saw that Hergest Ridge was the next one after Tubular Bells.  J told me that Hergest Ridge wasn't that good and I should get Ommadawn instead. I hate getting things out of order, however. I cannot watch a TV show unless I have seen all the episodes of all the series in order. Fortunately, I had made some money by doing a portrait of a neighbour's dog and had enough to buy both records.

Coming out of Smiths we ran into Dobs from school.  I introduced J and he looked straight at her chest which, as usual, appeared to be trying to burst out of her slightly too tight blouse. After we had had a brief chat we headed off around the corner to the bus stop. "Your friend likes my tits!" said J, accusingly, as if I did not.  I apologised on his behalf but she said she liked them being appreciated.

On the bus back home her Nordic mood seemed to have lifted and she chattered away as usual. Everyone was looking at her out of the corner of their eyes as she was so obviously foreign.  I wish I could have told her that English people don't talk on public transport but didn't want to upset her any more.

That night, despite her protests, I put Hergest Ridge on the record player.  Although it is widely regarded as the weakest of Mike Oldfield's initial trilogy of releases I have always liked it.  Lying next to J, I put my arm behind her neck and she cuddled up closer than we had before.  Pretty much, so far, in my interaction with girls I had responded to their initiatives but I sensed that J wanted me to "try it on" to use the phrase employed at school.  This is something that women expect of men, knowing full well that they have the ultimate power of refusal to cooperate.  'You have to make the first move and if we don't like it we will soon let you know and possibly never speak to you again!'  You might also get the 'I like you but not in that way' response. Or, at least, that was what if felt like as I slid my other hand on to the hip of her denims.  A number of possible targets had entered my mind but I chose her hip as it wasn't as aggressive as going for her bust but was rather more intimate than her arm, for example.  It also enabled me to stroke her thigh, as I did, and, fortunately, she didn't say anything or, worse, flinch.

At one point, I decided to make a move and so kissed her.  Her response was very enthusiastic indeed and, much emboldened I rolled on top of her and gently pushed my knee between her denim clad thigh.  She opened her legs immediately and I gently rubbed my leg against her hot groin for some time as we carried on kissing. J was a more aggressive kisser than A had been; her tongue was much more active and her mouth seemed, well, wetter; her saliva dribbled down my chin.  She put her hands on my bottom as I flexed my thigh muscles against her groin and she soon started to grind her hips.  Unfortunately at this point side one of the record finished. We broke apart.

"I thought you would be a shy boy and I would have to seduce you!" she said as we caught our breaths.

"You make me feel not shy!" I said.

"I can feel!" she laughed moving her leg against my erection.  There was no way to hide it but she didn't seem to mind at all.  She told me that I had now officially discharged the kiss I owed her but she pointed out that she still owed me five.  I asked her if she wanted to start now but the mood had been broken so I turned the record over and we lay next to each other once more.

Next day she wanted a walk, so we went into the park where there was a small playground for children with swings a roundabout and a slide. She insisted I push her on the swing, although I knew that they were for children only and thought someone might complain if they saw us but it was Sunday morning and quiet.  She wanted to use the slide although I thought that her bottom might get stuck on the way down. I didn't say anything, of course. She walked over to the metal slide and obviously changed her mind as she just sat on the iron steps each of which was was formed into the words 'Wicksteed Kettering' the name and place of manufacture of the maker.

"I'm sorry I have been in a grump!" she said.  "It is my time of the month and I am moody!"  Slightly shocked by this intimate admission (A had never said anything about this woman's issue) I pretended to be all understanding and adult about it.  I laughed and said I thought it was because she was from the frozen north.  She then got very defensive about Finland and said that Finnish people were not grumpy. She then realised what she was doing and laughed. "Kiss!" she said and I leant in, as she sat on the steps and we had a long, wet lingering one. We walked down towards the river through the little wood next to the abbey.  From the park to the river was a hidden path against the abbey fince and sheltered in thick trees.  We stopped halfway for a proper snog and I put my hands on her bottom.  She straddled my thigh and I got stiff very quickly, not just from her hot groin but also her breasts pressed against me.  "Tonight we will listen to Ommadawn and take some clothes off!" she said.

This, needless to say, built a great feeling of anticipation over the rest of the day. When J came into my room after dinner there was an electric atmosphere that had been missing before.

 "Shall we take some clothes off now?" asked J. As I put the record on.

I said that would be nice, as I bolted my door as quietly as I could.  I wan't sure how many clothes "some" might be. I was wearing jeans and a short sleeved shirt, If I took the jeans off that might look a bit pushy. If I took the shirt off that would reveal too much skin. But she had seen me in my swimming trunks anyway.

 I wan't worried about my body, although teenagers weren't nearly so body conscious then. Although, I had stopped my sprinting due to a calf injury at Southern Counties I carried on with the press ups and sit ups we were encouraged to do by Mr F, one of our scary gym teachers, Mr F wielded a short wooden plank in P.E. class and if he thought you weren't working hard enough, were late to class or committed any other seemingly random offence you would get a swift crack across the backside with it. The other gym teacher Mr K, was even more terrifying as he was a sarcastic Irishman who taught maths. This was one of the subjects I was very glad to give up the previous year, His favoured punishment for doing badly or not concentrating in class was for the offender to chase the seagulls off the school field. He would pick a time at random. Five minutes, six minutes etc. However, many seagulls remained standing on our 30 acre school field when time elapsed was how many lines (times 10) you would get. You had to frantically cover the whole field scaring the birds into the air and hope that, when the time came, as few as possible had landed again. The other boys in class would helpfully count for him.

 J solved the problem for me by removing her blouse, so she was standing there in her bra and jeans. She looked at me and I pulled off my shirt. "Good!" she said. I started the music and we both lay on the floor again.  This time she lay on top of me, like A used to do. She was a lot heavier than A, though. I could feel her bra pressed against my chest. A often didn't wear a bra if she was wearing a sundress as she hardly needed one.  J's bra was a huge construction with what seemed like an immense amount of fabric in it.  Her bust was really huge.

 I began to stroke J's naked back as we kissed, down from her knobbly neck vertebrae to her bra strap, a quick jump over and then down her spine to the top of her jeans. She didn't object so I kept doing it. After about three or four long, slow strokes like this she reached behind her and undid her bra strap to give me uninterrupted access to her backbone.

She kissed my chest, on which her head was lying.  She sat up, her bra hanging loosely and she pulled  her bra off. It was dark in my room but light enough, given the street lamp outside to see a pair of huge breasts with enormous areolae. "Do you like?" I told her they were a wonder and she supported them with her hands, jiggling them, distractingly. "We do tops off!  You kiss and lick them!" she said,lying on her back on the carpet.

I started tentatively with little kisses that avoided her large nipples.  He breasts spilled down her ribcage like collapsed puddings.  I started to stroke the outside curves with my fingers and was soon holding them and grasping them as I kissed the soft meadow between her breasts.  I started to kiss her nipples and her teats became erect as I did so.  Until that moment they had been quite flat.  I was literally licking them into prominence.  Moving from one to another, like a plate spinner, in case one subsided while I attended to the other. J was squirming with pleasure and stroking my neck and back.  I wriggled up to kiss her lips and pressed my groin against hers. I started to grind against her and she rotated her hips.  All the time I was stroking the sides of her breasts, bulging out like two fat cushions.

She pushed my head back down and got me licking her nipples again, while continuing to stroke the side of her breasts.  I put my knee between her thighs and I am certain that she came at that point.  I didn't want to ask as it seemed a bit pushy but she stopped moving and relaxed.  She told me she thought that was another two kisses repaid; one for each breast.

She went back to the spare room not long afterwards which was disappointing as I had hoped we might have another session, after a brief pause, as I was still stiff as anything.  I wondered if I had done something wrong,  Gone too far or not gone far enough.  A had been much easier for me to understand but then I knew her much better.

The next day we went to Windsor to visit the castle.  My sister wanted to come but my mother wouldn't let her, much to her annoyance. "At least the other two weren't fat!" hissed my sister, as I waited downstairs for J.  I said that I didn't think J was fat any more.  "How would you know? You only ever look at her tits!" said my sister, employing an uncharacteristic vulgarity.

We took the bus to Staines and then the Salter's Steamer to Windsor. Although now powered by diesel these boats, which still run, were built in Edwardian times or the nineteen twenties.  J enjoyed the two hour trip up through the locks.  In Windsor, where we had to race around the castle quite quickly as we had only two hours before the return trip, J was very affectionate, holding hands and stopping for kisses.

"Did you have sex with your girlfriend?" she asked, completely unexpectedly, as we looked at the Chapel Royal.  I rapidly told her to be quiet until we were in a more private and more appropriate place.  I tried to explain the nature of A and my physical relationship without using any words which related to physical activity as we walked back to where the boat was moored.  I was finding it very difficult to talk about physical relationships with one girl to another. She kept pressing for details which I didn't give. "Did you do things like we did last night?" she said, not, as I had hoped, abandoning the subject, as I tried to explain the concept of Eton College to her. I said that we had been naked together a number of times. She didn't quite understand this at first as she was obviously just thinking of saunas where nakedness was quite normal in Finland. Eventually, I got over the idea that we had been naked and passionate not just sitting in a hot wooden shed and hitting each other with birch twigs. "Yes but did you stick your thing in her?" she persisted. I conceded that we had been very close but hadn't, in the end.  She looked thoughtful and, thankfully, said no more upon the subject.

That night there was more enjoyable breast play.  Things proceeded rather further than the previous night as she reached down between us and pulled at my belt buckle.  We broke apart briefly to remove our jeans.  She didn't remove her knickers so I didn't remove my underpants.  This time she sat on top of me, her breasts hanging in front of me like big, succulent fruits.  Watermelons, in fact.  I kissed and squeezed and licked and sucked them as she slid her cotton clad groin up and down my thigh. I felt her hand grasp my erection through my underpants and then she pulled them down.  I lifted my bottom to assist her. I thought that she would rub my cock or, perhaps suck it, but instead she placed her breasts either side of my erection and started to press them together. She moved back and forth so that I slid between them.  I started to thrust between them and this delightfully soft friction soon had me spurting into her voluptuous valley.  "You came for me!" she said, me in the dark, her teeth catching the light from the street lamp outside.

She lay where she was, my spunk drying tightly on my skin as she gave my chest the occasional kiss.  She started talking and I was starting to realise that girls seemed to have some compulsion to talk after a passionate act, whereas I just wanted to lay there is silence and stroke her shoulders and neck. She said it was a shame that it was her time of the month or we could have done it but, she thought I should save it for a girl who I would be with for the long term.  As she was going this weekend she didn't think it was right to do it when we wouldn't be seeing each other.  I said I didn't mind and that it might be a nice goodbye,  It I!t !It!  So close!  If I had said I had done it with A she probably would have done it with me.  Except for it being the wrong time of the month.  What bad luck!  Bugger!

That was the peak of our sexual interaction. The following day she went for another interview in London and later heard that a family wanted her to be their au pair in Spain, which she was delighted with.  There were no more nocturnal visits and no more kissing.  She later wrote me a note from Spain, thanking me for helping her get over her boyfriend.  In retrospect, I had fulfilled some need to prove that she was still desirable, I suppose.  We took her to the airport on Saturday and she gave me a rather shy kiss, as my mother and sister were there.

As I later told Dobs when we returned to school in September, it was getting frustrating meeting mice girls only for them to disappear to far clung places.  Still, I reasoned.  I would soon be able to find another girl for sexy fun.  Oh, how wrong I was.

Sunday, 28 August 2016

1977: Foreign Bodies - Water baby 1

Although I pretended to my mother that I was fine about A moving to Scotland I was bereft.  I missed her little face and her bouncy, optimistic demeanour.  But most of all I missed her taut body, her passion and willingness to take part in sexual activity.  Indeed, to initiate it; something I had believed women did not do. 

Worst still, my friends at school kept asking after her. "Did she dump you?" I was asked repeatedly.

"No, her family moved to Scotland," I replied.  Again and again. 

The letters became much less frequent.  One a day to start with, then one every three days then one a week.  They were very sweet and some were very sexy. "I wish we had  done it, now," she wrote on July 10th.  "I wish I could have felt your cock inside me, making me wet and making me come!"  Yes, I wished that too.  We were so close to It but it didn't happen.

Partly, the drop off in letters was my fault because I found writing back painful.  I was probably the one who slowed on the letter writing front.  Initially, we had been full of optimism about trying to meet up but soon realised that it wasn't going to happen,  "You can't go to Glasgow.  It's a terrible place!" said my mother.  She did not approve of Scotland.  A wrote that her mother had started to realise how close we had got and decided that any further meetings were out of the question without a chaperone.  Not what we wanted.

"There are lots more girls," my mother said.

 Yes, but where?  Nowhere at school, that was for sure. Dobs thought I should join the volunteers organisation we shared with the girl's school next door.  I asked if there were any nice girls in it. 

"Not really," he admitted.  Other than his girl, S, I assumed but I didn't know that their relationship had cooled.  Fortunately, other boys were starting to get girlfriends in the sixth form, so you were of less and less interest if you had one.  Or used to have one. JM, was reputed to have done It with a girl.  It was widely accepted that he was the first in the year.  Part of the reason for Dobs eventually breaking up with S was that she didn't want to do It. 

 I was starting to realise that A had been a very singular girl.  What if A was the only girl who would ever like me?  I was not very interesting.  I didn't like sports or pop music.  I didn't go to the cinema or to parties.  Other boys were staring to have birthday parties where some girls were invited but I lived a lot further away from school than most.  Dobs was the only one I knew who lived further away than I did. One incident perked me up during that time, though.

Towards the end of the summer term, we had an English department trip to London to see Dorothy Tutin and Alec McCowen in Antony and Cleopatra, which we were studying for A-level.  We were quite excited, as I, Claudius' Derek Jacobi was in it (as was an unknown actor, playing second soldier, called Alan Rickman).  We had all enjoyed I, Claudius on the BBC, which ran in the Autumn of 1976, as it was full of debauchery and nudity. I watched it with my mother quite happily as she was very liberal as regards sex and nudity, thank goodness.  We were all brought up to wander around the house naked at bath times and such like. Tutin, who was in her late forties at the time, gave a surprisingly sexual performance to the delight of the school group,  I can still remember her grinding on a couch, to the delight of my classmates. Unfortunately, some of our party got so excited that they had to stop the play at one point and tell us to be quiet and behave or we would be ejected from the Old Vic. Of course, the teachers in charge gave us a good talking to during the interval.

Even more exciting was the presence of a girls' school group during the same matinee performance.  Much eyeing up ensued. As we went back into the auditorium one of the girls came up to me and said: "You can be my Antony," before slipping off with her giggling friends. No doubt it was some sort of dare. But, she had chosen me to show off to her friends with.  Needless to say, I was ribbed about it mercilessly on the minibus back to school. One of our number, M, was going on about my "new girlfriend" and being generally irritating, as he usually was. One of the teachers snapped at him along the lines of "you should be so lucky to have a pretty girl come up to you like that,  That is why he can get girls to pose naked for him and you can't!"  Oh dear, the dreaded nude pictures of A surfaced again.  It shut M up, though.  He was a pompous little squit and had ridiculously long hair, even for 1977.  One of the other boys, H, who was very grown up for his age, ventured that being admired by women was a great life asset.  He was shouted down because he was short and intellectual.  His father was a sculptor which everyone laughed at, imagining some sad person making ugly things from clay, while, we assumed, his mother had to work to bring in the cash.   Years later, I found out that he was a really famous sculptor, a Royal Academician and his bronzes were in galleries all over the world. If you want to buy one these days you will have to pay around £45,000 for a big one.   He did a lot of sculptures of naked women; one of his models for these being his wife, H's mother.   never mentioned any of this and just ignored the baiters,

Shortly after A had gone to Scotland, I did my mock A -levels and my Religious Studies O-level,  My mock results were very good indeed.  I was called in to see the Deputy Head (Conk-corde, as he was known because of his prodigious nose) who said he was going to put me down for the Oxbridge group.  This meant staying on for an extra term and doing seventh term entry to university.  It meant that you had already got your A-level results when you applied, instead of being made offers and then trying to achieve them.  You spent the term preparing for the entrance exam and the interview.  It also meant that unlike everyone else who applied for University in the first term of the Upper Sixth, you had to take a year off (actually ten months) between school and university. My mother thought this was brilliant but it meant I had to be on top of my game with every essay.  It became a three way battle in English and History between Dobs, Mutt and I to see who could get the best mark every week.  There was, therefore, little time to think about girls, except at night when I thought about A and her delicious, prawn cocktail flavoured pussy.  

Just after we broke up for the summer holiday, we went down to see my uncle and aunt in Hampshire.  They wen't my real uncle and aunt but they were our closest family friends.  They used to live in the house next door when we lived in our previous home.  They now had a big house a few miles away (which my father had designed, as he was an architect).  But they also had a house down in Christchurch where they had a motor cruiser.  We were going to have a long weekend with them, which I was looking forward to, as I would get to steer the boat, My mother worked Tuesday to Friday but took a day off so we could drive down Thursday evening.  They had an unusual house, built into the side of a hill,with a double garage and their master bedroom suite on the ground floor while upstairs was an open plan living and dining room, a connected kitchen and three other bedrooms, where we would be staying.

What I liked most about their house, though, was the picture they had in their living room.  It was a huge print, about 4' by 3', of a drawing of a naked woman, her back arched, her breasts and erect nipples thrusting upwards, one leg raised to reveal her pubis.  She was seemingly supported on her back by random swirling lines, as if she was weightless.  She looked, frankly, like she was in the throes of a massive orgasm.  The picture was called Ecstasy and I loved it.  I wished I had drawn A like that.  I could have draped her across my chair but I had forgotten about the picture until I saw it again.

Uncle L's boat was moored down in the river at Christchurch and it was very tidal dependent as to when you could get out to the open sea.   So we had to get up early the next day and get down to the boat so we could have a day out on the Isle of Wight.  Behind my Uncle L's boat was moored the boat of his best friend, Mr B, who was a very amusing, quick witted man with a German wife. He had met her in Germany at the end of WW2.  She was not attractive and was always moaning in her appalling German come cockney accent.  "It's cowld," she would winge, "I vont to go back to Vindsor!"

We always went out in the boats together.  We all said hello, as B's wife moaned about the early start.  I helped Mr B get the cover off the boat as she refused to do anything like that.  Just as I had finished and hopped back onto the bank a girl appeared weighed down with bags of stuff.  Mr B introduced her as Mrs B's niece from Germany, P.  

"You can look after her this weekend as she is about your age.  Oh, but she doesn't speak any English" said Mr B.  Great, I thought.  Then I looked at her and thought, could be worse. Rather surprisingly she reminded me of A.  She had similar coloured, light brown hair and it was in an identical shoulder length style.  She was slim, as well, and had a nice smile.  Yes, I thought, I don't mind looking after you at all. I helped pass her various items across to her on the boat.  She fumbled the binoculars and they dropped towards the river but I managed to grab the neck strap and catch them. "Well held!" said Mr B.

"Dank you!" said P, smiling at me.  What a nice smile!  I am hopeless for a girl with a nice smile.

It was decided that P should go on our boat as she could be with my sister and me.  P endeared herself to my sister by admiring her charm bracelet and they sat and looked at each charm while my sister gave the English word, hat, bell etc and P gave the German word.  The last charm was a gold clarinet, the instrument my sister played. "Klarinette!" said P, laughing.  It was a shame, as my sister had chosen to do German for O-level but wouldn't start until that September.  We took the long trip down the river out to the river mouth at Mudeford, where the sand bar was which restricted your ability to get in and out at low tide.

P spotted a cormorant sitting on top of a wooden post at the edge of the channel. "Wie heißt es?"

"Das ist ein Kormoran!" said my mother, following it up with a sentence or two in German.

"You speak German?" I asked her, amazed.

"My grandfather was Austrian," she said.  I sort of knew this but I had never heard my mother use any German, ever.  She spoke good French but German?  Anyway it made P relax a lot, knowing there was someone on board who could translate. P and I sat on the bow of the boat as we made our way through the lake-like Christchurch Harbour, towards the narrow exit to the sea,  I found that, actually, P did have some English as she was learning it at school. She also had some French so we managed to communicate quite well using a horrible combination of three languages. Although I admit my German was limited to phrases like hände hoch and schnell, schnell, which were not much use.

We had to get into the stern of the boat, once we got onto the open sea and went up on the plane.  With my Uncle L steering and five of us in the stern it got quite cosy and I was pleased that P sat next to me, our legs touching.  My sister caught my eye and nodded at our touching thighs as if to say, get out of contact, but I ignored her.   I steered the boat for part of the way and then P and my sister had a turn. We were back sat in the stern when the boat hit some chop coming up to Hurst Castle and we bounced around a bit.  P fell onto my lap and pushed herself back up by placing her hands all over my legs.  My sister shook her head in despair.

We arrived in Yarmouth and went into a pub we always visited, the King's Head, where they did a very good lunch.  I always had scampi and chips. My uncle asked if I was eighteen yet and I told him not for six months.  He said I looked eighteen and asked if I wanted a cider. This I shared with P.  She hadn't had it before but liked it.  "It's made with apfel, I said, deploying one of my few non World War 2 film German words.

"Must!" said my mother. P nodded in comprehension.

On the very short walk back to the harbour, where we had to catch the harbour ferry to the boat (there were no pontoons just standing piles to moor against), P, who had got quite tiddly on a third of a pint of cider held my hand.

"I don't know what girls see in you," muttered my sister. I didn't either but I wasn't going to complain about it.

The following day I helped Uncle L, refuel the boat, while the others went off, with Mrs B, to buy things for a picnic which we had decided, given the good weather forecast, that we would have at Newtown Harbour on the Isle of Wight.  This was a really beautiful natural harbour where you could get to a beach.  Later that morning Mr B turned up with P in tow.  He had to replace some part on his engine and Uncle L was going to help.  He suggested I take P off in the dinghy to look at the river.  Two rivers meet in Christchurch so there was lots to explore.  I knew how to operate the outboard, so we chugged off together.  Despite the good forecast for the next day it was a bit chilly on the river so we both put on lightweight kagoules.  I got mine knotted somehow and was struggling to get my second arm into the sleeve.  P helped me into it, and I got an unexpected frisson from her touch on my arm.

"Danke schön!" I said.

"You are velcome!" she replied.  We both laughed at each other's language attempt.

We had a nice chug up and down for an hour and only returned as we were getting low on petrol . She chattered away, incomprehensibly, so I did the same.  She kept asking what things were called in English.  For the first time since A had left I felt a bit happier.

I did see P again that night as we all went for dinner at the King's Arms Hotel in Christchurch.  Uncle L had owned his own firm and had retired at fifty,  He had lots of money and was very generous in spending it.  Aunt J didn't like cooking so we went out most of the time when we were down there. P was wearing a flowery sun dress, rather than the jeans and baggy shirt she had worn earlier and looked pretty and feminine. The first thing I noted, however, was her unexpectedly prominent bust.  It wasn't huge but it was significantly larger than A's.  Not that I was particularly a  bust man at that point; it was just that that was the agreed measure of feminine worth at school.

P was sat between me and my mother and as I sat down next to her she squeezed my thigh.  My sister was glaring at us from the other side of the table.  We had wine at dinner and P had a couple of glasses.  Mrs B said that she shouldn't have any as she was only fifteen but her husband told her that a bit of wine was fine.  She did not get noticeably intoxicated but did give me a shy kiss in the street outside when we left. Fortunately my sister didn't see us.  My mother did and gave me an encouraging nod.  I had been quite morose since A had left for Scotland so she obviously thought that something that would cheer me up would be a good thing.  I was inclined to agree with her.

The kiss from P certainly did cheer me up.  I had despaired of meeting another girl after A left and yet here, only a month or so later, was a girl who liked me enough to kiss me.  Even if she was perhaps a bit drunk.  It was just a shame that she lived in Bavaria.

The day we went to Newtown Harbour the weather was, indeed, lovely, in what was turning out not to be a brilliant summer. Although we had been to the Isle of Wight quite a few times in the past we always went to Yarmouth or Cowes.  Newtown Harbour was invisible from the sea.  There was just a narrow entrance which you went through into a large salt water lake with inlets and scattered islands.  It is still one of my favourite places.  More than twenty ears later I would have sex in the dark on the foredeck of a sailing yacht anchored there and afterwards we would both lie on our backs staring up at the Milky Way.  One of the few places I have seen it, in light polluted south east England.

After we had anchored, the girls went below to change into their swimsuits. P came back into the cockpit wearing a flowery bikini which confirmed her nicely shaped bust and also a trim waist, long legs and a golden tan. She looked lovely,  "You look lovely!" I said.  My mother quickly translated but I think knew what I had said, given her big smile.  Fortunately, my sister hadn't come up yet, While Aunt J took my mother, sister, P and the picnic to the beach at the harbour entrance, in the boat's little tender, Uncle L and I locked up the boat and waited for Aunt J to return to pick us up.

"I know you have had a bit of a disappointment with a girl, lately," said Uncle L.  "But the best thing is not to mope but to just jump back into the saddle!"  He told me that Mr B had told him P really liked me and had asked if I had a girlfriend.  He said he had told Mr B  that a girl had just been horrible to me and I was feeling very upset.  I protested that A hadn't been horrible to me but he said it would be best if P felt sorry for me. "I think if you made an overture she wouldn't resist!" he said.

When we arrived at the beach the others had spread out towels and blankets and were laying out quite an elaborate looking picnic.  The main thing, from my point of view, was that it had pork pies and a tube of Colman's mustard.  My sister, I was surprised to see, was paddling in the sea with P but I decided not to join them because they seemed to be getting on.  My mother tried to encourage me to join them but I said, maybe after lunch.

Uncle L had bought (quite a lot of) Champagne for lunch and P and I drank rather a lot.  After lunch the adults sat and chatted about boring people they knew, my sister settled down with her Ursula K LeGuin book and so I took P for a walk along the beach, away from the harbour entrance. We were not in a rush,  as we had to wait for high tide before we could get back into Christchurch Harbour. The thing about this beach was that you could pretty much only get to it by boat.  There was a footpath to it from inland but that would involve over a mile and a half walk from the nearest parking.  As we walked further there were trees coming right down to the beach on our left.

P said something to me and pointed at the sea.  I wasn't very keen on swimming, especially in the chilly Solent and I shook my head. I told her to go ahead. She pulled on my hand, gabbling away.  I shook my head again.  She grinned ,put her hands behind her back and whipped off her bikini top.  I was completely shocked.  I should have looked at her perky bust but instead I just looked up and down the beach, making sure no one was about. There wasn't but by the time I looked back at her she was pushing her bikini bottoms down too, revealing her dark brown fluff. She kicked off her plastic sandals and said something to me, pointing at my trunks.

Did she really think I was going to take my clothes off and jump naked into the sea with her?  For a start, it was illegal.  I knew they had nudist beaches in Germany and Sweden but we wouldn't get one in Britain for another three years. It only became legal to be naked in public in Britain in 2003.  I was so anxious about this I didn't really take in her body at all. It was only later that I realised that her tan was an all over one. She was wading into the sea squealing at the cold. Or it could have been the pebbles on the beach.. If you are going to make an exhibition of yourself do it quietly, I thought. She got in up to her thighs and turned around and pointed at me, jeering.  I assumed it was the German equivalent of 'cowardy, cowardy, custard'.  Kowardy, Kowardy, Kustard. She was squawking away, still making far too much noise.

The she held her arms out to me. "Kommen!  Bitte!"   She blew me a kiss. I remembered what Uncle L had said earlier and also something my grandmother once said to me when I was about ten.  "You only regret the things you don't do!"

"Alright but be quiet!" I said, unknotting the cord of my swimming trunks and pushing them over my thighs, anxiously looking both ways up and down the beach as if I was about to cross a busy road.  "Look right, look left, look right again. If all clear, quick march!" as the road safety TV adverts used to say.  In fact, thinking about marching and the appearance of the local constabulary shouting "now then, now then, what's going on 'ere!" I decided to keep my canvas boating shoes on, in order to  facilitate a quick escape. if necessary.

The water was freezing but I was in a dilemma as I thought I ought to get my genitals modestly under water but also wanted to accustom my legs to the chill slowly.  P splashed water over me, twisted around and swam off away from me, her feet kicking up spray and her taut little bottom sometimes showing just above the surface.  I took a deep breath and jumped forward to set off after her.  Swimming in shoes was not easy and I wasn't a very strong swimmer anyway,  A powerboat had passed by several hundred yards out and eventually the wash hit me causing me to splutter and have to stand up.  I tried to get the water out of my nose and blinked to clear my salty eyes.  P appeared in front of me looking anxious and making solicitous sounding comments. I smiled and said I was OK.  She put her hands on my hips and then slid up to me, standing about six inches away and raising her face, expectantly.

I initially thought that the last thing I needed was to get all emotional with a girl, especially another younger girl.  But she looked so happy and cute and I liked kissing and she was a very pretty girl with a lovely figure, so I put my hands on her shoulders, dipped my head and kissed her.  Just a soft kiss not much more than I'd give any girl.  Not a sexual kiss.  I pulled away after a second or so. But she put her hand behind my neck and pulled me in for another kiss.  This time she started to work her lips on me and then I felt her tongue dart between my lips.  Oh well, I thought, if she wants that.  I slipped a hand down her back and it settled on her bottom. She moved in closer and somehow seemed to mould herself to my body.  It was almost like some sort of alien plant that started to envelop me.  I felt that she was melding into me. She lifted one leg and ran the inside of her knee against the side of my thigh.

It occurred to me that she might be quite drunk on the Champagne and I was taking advantage of her.  But now she was straddling my thigh as we kept kissing.  I was quite stiff by now, not surprisingly., despite the cold water.  The feel of her naked skin pressed to mine in water was just wonderful.  Her hand closed on my erection and she kissed me harder. I started to edge her around so I could look over her shoulder to the beach and check no on was coming. Still all clear, miraculously. Suddenly she broke contact and headed for the beach.

I set off after her, realising that I had actually enjoyed being naked in the sea.  Something elemental about it, I supposed.  It being the Solent, the water was none too warm anyway, so I was glad to get out.  Also, I couldn't believe our luck had held this long and nobody had appeared. With another look around, I followed her, only to see her pick up both of our swimming things and run into the trees.  I followed into the shade and found her standing naked in front of me with our swimsuits held behind her back.  Her skin was covered in goosebumps and her surprisingly dark nipples were erect.  She pursed her lips in a kiss. "One more," I said, stepping towards her,  Her body was cold but it felt wonderful. She dropped our swimming things and we ran our hands over each other's wet backs and bottoms for several  minutes.  I didn't initiate anything more.  She didn't touch my cock again so I kept my hands away from her breasts and pussy.  Then she stepped back and put her sandals on.  I was still very stiff but our interlude was obviously over, as she was putting her bikini top back on, rather disappointingly.  I pulled my trunks on easily as at least they were dry.

Gradually I subsided and we stepped out from the trees to walk back along the shingle beach.  A yacht was anchoring only fifty yards out to sea from where we had been.  We had been lucky.

But that was it for P and I.  She went back to Windsor with Mr and Mrs B but flew back to Germany a few days later.  I seemed to be doomed to meet nice girls who would then disappear to far flung places.

Just before we went home from Uncle L and Aunt J's they gave me a book.  It was A5 sized with a hard cover but inside it was blank drawing paper.  They knew I was good at art and asked if I would like to have it.  Someone had given it to them but they had no use for it  I was very pleased with it but rather than drawing I started to jot down notes in it.  Too call it a journal would be giving it a rather grander title than it deserved but I did (occasionally) write down my thoughts and experiences.  My first skinny dipping experience was the first thing I wrote down in it when I got home.  "Had a lovely one last night,  First time for ages not thinking about A. Wish P and I had had more time together!"

But pretty P from Bavaria had helped me in a huge way.  I now knew that A was not to be the only woman in my life.  At least one other girl found me attractive.  I just needed one who could be around a bit longer and one who could speak English.

I had something to tell O when I went back to school in September, anyway.  What I wasn't to know was that my next girl would appear in just a few weeks, would also be foreign and our interaction would also involve swimming.

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

1977: The Taste of Things to Come

The return to school in September (how I hated all those "back to school" posters in the  shops - I knew it was coming I didn't need to be reminded of it) saw a break in seeing A, as I coped with the very different requirements of studying three main A-level subjects as against 9 O-levels.  There were no more romantic walks along the towpath as I took her home after archery.  The weather wasn't co-operating as regards archery anyway, The balmy summer of 1976 had dissolved in the rain.  September and October were awful; cold, wet and stormy. In addition, schoolwork was taking all my spare time.

As I mentioned in my last chronicle I was finding that I was doing really well in English and History while studying the new subject of Economics.  The school thought that another O-level might be useful so I took on Religious Studies (despite not being at all religious) as well.  This turned out to be a dense and challenging subject.  In addition, I had really wanted to do Art A-level but was told it wasn't academic enough for me.  I was the best artist in the school, though, art editor of the school magazine and designer of most of the posters for school events, so the Art teacher got me special dispensation to do Art A-Level without taking the classes but I would have to do all the projects in my own time at home. We also had to do General Studies A-level.  I was then told, at the end of the first term that I should do S-level English and History as well.  These were extra papers designed for people who were likely to get an A grade and who might have a shot at going to Oxford or Cambridge.  My school was one of the top three, academically, in the country;  I think in my year we had around twenty boys get into Oxford or Cambridge.  What all this meant was that there was enormous pressure from the school to do well academically and so I was getting huge amounts of homework  I was doing three to four hours a night and doing more at weekends.  A was going into her O-level year and was nearly as busy. 

A started to telephone me every few days but it was difficult having a conversation in the middle of the house, so our conversations tended to be about school  "We just need to get more time together in your bedroom," A had whispered one evening, her parents obviously out of earshot. There didn't seem any prospect of getting time in A's house (which I had never been to).

Half term was at the end of October; a week's break from school.  We had arranged to meet on one surprisingly sunny day at the archery club on the Monday. Unfortunately it was very windy and we found shooting quite a challenge, especially as we had to keep putting our coats back on between shots.  We decided to give up on a bad job and A helped me get the target back into the shed at the sports ground.  Having manhandled the big straw target back inside we looked at each other, standing in the gloomy shed. There were windows but they mostly had stuff stacked against them.

A made a grab for me at the same time I made a grab for her, as a result we both contacted each other awkwardly and I tripped on the leg of a target stand and ignominiously toppled onto the floor. Embarrassed and in some pain I soon forgot about both as A knelt down on the rough wooden floor and started to unzip my trousers.  I helped with my belt and she tugged my jeans and pants down to my knees. Her frenzy started to get me stiff, especially when she pulled her knickers down and put them up on one of the shelves. "Cock! Cock! Cock!" she gasped, straddling me. See grasped my erection and actually rubbed my glans up and down her sopping pussy.  Was she going to actually...?

But no, she sat down on me and began her frantic pussy rubbing against my cock. I was, mentally, still adjusting to the whole scenario when she came really quickly.  "Christ!" she gasped.  I had never heard her use anything like strong language before. She wriggled backwards a foot or so, so she was astride my thighs and took hold of my cock.  She started to rub it up and down.

"Harder! Faster!" I said.  We had never done this before but I was now so turned on that I started to come almost immediately.  Despite masturbating every night, thinking about A, I shot a huge load straight up into the air. A kept rubbing and my follow on spurts flew everywhere, including over her unbuttoned school raincoat. Not content with that she leant forward and started to lick my still rigid cock. She put her lips around me and started licking my glans inside her mouth.  Amazingly, her attentions kept me stiff and soon she was applying herself in her increasingly skilled manner.  I couldn't believe it when I came again, only five minutes after my first ejaculation. She pulled off me and smiled at me, still massaging my penis until I asked her to stop as it was just too sensitive at this point.

"You came twice!" she said, leaning forward to give me a kiss.  I told her that it had been totally amazing and we agreed we needed more time together during half term. I wondered if I could get my mother to agree to her coming over to stay again. We pulled ourselves together and I realised that my clothes were filthy from being on the floor and my duffel coat was spattered with drops of semen.  A brushed down the back of my coat.  We were both sweating heavily, as although it was quite a cold day we had soon heated up inside. .A's knees were covered in grime too. We stepped back outside to lock the shed only to find E, the club member who was our instructor approaching the shed.

"Been having fun?" he asked our disheveled selves. We both must have looked tremendously guilty and I know I blushed, as he laughed. "Isn't archery good?" he said. I gave him the key and A and I hurried across the field towards the road.  Just as we reached the sports club entrance she stopped dead and told me she had left her knickers on the shelf. She said she had to get them back and I said she should leave them but she was worried her mother would notice when she did the washing.  I said that she would not notice one pair of missing knickers but she insisted on going back.  I saw her speaking to E outside the shed as I waited by the entrance. Then she went inside for a few seconds and ran back to me.She said he had told him she had left something inside and she had gone in and put her knickers on.

"I am so ashamed.  We can never come here again!" she said, looking distraught. I reassured her but worried myself that he would tell my mother at work.  But he didn't, or at least if he did my mother never said anything.

Sadly, that was our only sexual interaction in the Autumn term, as we couldn't arrange another stay over.  The second half of the term we had to limit ourselves to sending each other increasingly erotic letters and having the occasional cup of tea and a jam doughnut at the ABC cafe in the town on a Saturday.  My mother had actually increased my pocket money so I could "buy things for your girlfiend."  However, these cafe visits were usually when one or other of us had been taken into town by our mothers, so sneaking off for a snog was out, just leg rubbing under the table.  Occasionally, I would walk along the towpath to town but the weather was usually grim.

"I have done nothing but think about your cock!" she wrote, in a letter dated December 10th, 1976. "I lie in bed and get all wet and play with myself."   This was an admission; she had never said anything like this in person. I must have written back in a similar manner as I have a letter from her dated 19th December which said: "I wish I could watch you wanking while you think about me and spurt your spunk everywhere.  Except if I was there I'd suck you off and swallow it!"

The Christmas holidays arrived but we couldn't meet as her family had relations over for Christmas but she came over to my house in the New Year. My mother had taken my sister to the January sales in Kingston and made a point of telling me she would be out until about six, when she would come back and cook dinner.  A's mother dropped her off late morning well after my mother and sister had already left.  I was worried that A's mother might ask to see my mother but she was in a rush and didn't even get out of her car.  I shut the front door behind A and we were immediately in each other's arms, kissing passionately, me sliding my thigh against her groin through her thick wool skirt. After some time we pulled apart and looked at each other, grinning.

I wanted to strip her off there and then but she wanted a cup of tea and my mother had even bought some jam doughnuts which sealed the deal for her.  We sat in the kitchen and talked about the tremendous storm we had had over the weekend; many people had actually been killed, it was so bad and she said that a big branch of a tree had come down in her family's garden.  Our tea became  a sort of game, with her having more and more cups.  We both knew what we wanted to do but now we had the luxury of time we wanted to build anticipation. At one point she stood up, hiked her skirt up and pulled down her knickers. She put them on the table in front of me, provocatively.  I told her I wanted to sniff them.  She told me to go ahead and I said I wished I could keep them.  She said she had taken them off because she was so wet they were getting uncomfortable.

After about four mugs of tea and three doughnuts she stood up and said she needed the loo.  She went upstairs to the bathroom and I went in the cloakroom downstairs, the tea induced pressure on my bladder having forced my erection to subside after the knicker removing incident. She didn't come downstairs so I went upstairs, hoping to find her naked,  She was still clothed when I went into my room, looking at some of my drawings in my art folder. At school I was well known for my pen and ink work which I had done a lot of for the school magazines and posters.  These were usually Science Fiction or fantasy influenced.  I had done a series of fairies which she really liked. These were naked apart from floral headdresses.  "I want you to draw me like that!" she said.

"What, with wings?" I asked, already sensing a new experience.

"No, naked!  All real artists do that!" I told her that my Art teacher had told me that I needed to get away from my small, detailed "finicky" illustrations and my Christmas project was to do big bold drawings in charcoal on large sheets of  paper.  I wasn't allowed to do anything small or detailed.  I had drawn the view from my window and a couple of still life pictures but it was not the sort of drawing I enjoyed.

"Right!  You can draw me now!" she said and started to take her clothes off. Even though my mother and sister were out I remember going straight to my bedroom door and closing it, just in case.  "How do you want me!"  On your back with your legs apart, I thought, thinking of Men Only.

"However you like", I said. It was the first time I had seen her completely naked in the daylight.  The only other time she had kept her knickers on.  Now I got my first sight of her fluff which was curly and a light brown colour.  It was quite sparse as was the hair under her arms which was even paler; almost blonde.  Her bust looked bigger than when I had seen it in the summer and it occurred to me that she was still developing physically. She was fifteen and I would be seventeen in just over a week's time. The tan she had after her summer holiday was well and truly gone.  She stood with her hands on her hips looking quite confident.  I told her that she looked quite magnificent and she beamed in delight.

She pulled my chair from the corner of the room and sat down on it and from that point she became a drawing exercise.  I positioned her so that she was sitting across the chair resting her elbows on her knees.  I had done (clothed) figure drawing at school but we only had each other to draw.  I soon discovered that I could reproduce an anatomically accurate figure but I always left the faces off as I didn't think I could get a good likeness.  However with A I reckoned I could attempt something in profile.  I did warn her that it wasn't going to be a portrait but a figure study.  I sat on the bed with my paper clipped to my drawing board and set too; getting the main structural lines in first: head, spine and legs.  I kept hearing my Art teacher;s voice.  "Fast! fast,! Don't take too long,  Big strokes!"  I spent about ten minutes on it and showed her.  Fortunately, she approved and then posed for another one, kneeling on my orange (I had chosen it myself) carpet. My confidence increasing, I did about six or seven pictures in an hour.  The last one I was confident enough to have her standing up against my built in wardrobe double doors.  This was the most difficult pose to do as the proportions had to be spot on or it was immediately obvious.

This was the first time, of course. I had done a life study but since then I must have done hundreds. of drawings of naked women.  Almost all were of current girlfriends but in several cases they were girls who were not yet but soon became 'girlfriends'; the artist/model relationship soon becoming something more.  An article in one of the newspapers a few years ago said that a survey had found that artists had more sex than any other profession!

Despite having scoffed three out of the four doughnuts A wanted to stop for lunch.  She didn't want to get dressed again so I lent her my dressing gown which was a rather odd bottle green velour number.  Enticingly, she didn't do up the tie but kept it undone giving me little glimpses of her body as we pottered around in the kitchen making ham sandwiches.

After lunch we went back to my room and I asked her if she wanted to pose for any more drawings. "No I want to kiss and lick!" she said and stepped over to start removing my clothes. After I was as naked as her, once she had shrugged off my dressing gown, we stepped back and looked at each other.

A asked if I had a full length mirror.  I replied that my sister did and she shot out of the room with me in pursuit.  She stood in front of my sister's mirror and made me stand next to her.  We regarded ourselves.  She did look very delicate next to me.  I was nine inches taller than her and she was very slim. She took hold of my semi-erect penis and started to rub it, watching herself all the time.  She told me to turn sideways on to the mirror and then knelt down in front of me and put her mouth over my knob.  She started to fellate me while watching herself in the mirror.  "I'd love a film of this!" she said, popping off me.  There was, of course no opportunity to make a sex tape in those days. I was slightly concerned about this whole scenario, however much I was enjoying her oral attention. When I wasn't looking at our reflection (it really was fascinating), looking at the top of her head or her lips sliding wetly up and down my shaft, I could see my sister's old teddy bear staring at me, disapprovingly, from her bed, next to the mirror.

I managed to persuade A to go back to my room before I ejaculated all over my sister's rug. A lay down on my bedroom floor.  Soon we were both completely naked on the floor kissing and caressing every bit of skin we could reach. Writhing around like two eels in a bucket.  We really enjoyed the freedom of having a large space on my carpet on which we could manoeuvre, although a couple of times I got carpet burns on my knees and elbows.

My mouth had been all over her perky breasts; licking kissing and even nibbling her thimble-like nipples. She pushed my head down. "Lower. Kiss me lower!" she said. I worked my way down to her belly and stuck my tongue into her belly button which made her giggle. "Lower!" she urged. Did she mean...? I kissed her sparse curls. I could smell her thick scent. She opened her thighs and started to gently rotate her hips, lasciviously. "Please!" she begged. I had no idea what I was doing but gazed at the pink parts emerging from her fluff and just dived in; sticking my tongue out like a blind man with a white stick, not really knowing what I was going to find. What I found was musky, wet, salty and not dissimilar in taste to the prawn cocktail we always had before Christmas lunch. Whatever, I liked it. I liked all the fleshy bits that you could flick with your tongue. What I really liked was that touching different bits seemed to provoke different reactions from her. A gasp here. Fast staccato breaths there. And wetness everywhere. Juice running down my chin. White, creamy juice dribbling from her livid entrance over the fleshy bridge of her perineum.  I licked it up and then wriggled up to give her a kiss, repaying the sperm-wet kisses she had given me by letting her taste her own juices. "Back down there!" she urged after a few seconds.

I happily wriggled back down her, parting her outer lips with my fingers as I lapped away at her delicious cunt. Her hips still grinding madly as I licked away.  It was becoming something of an effort to keep in place.  Her slim, but muscular, thighs started to clamp my head and I had to prize them back apart to stop being crushed by those dancer's legs.  My fingers could feel the bunched tendons at the top of her inner thighs. I was licking up and down her folds now and she was still wriggling about, one hand on my head the other playing with one of her erect nipples. I looked up at her but her eyes were closed. My erection was pushed against the rough carpet and I could feel myself building. I wasn't even really moving my hips that much but I started to come on the carpet; the sensory experience alone bringing me to climax. I kept licking, despite the root of my tongue starting to ache, as her breaths were getting faster. Then she really clamped my head and stopped moving. I felt a wash of juice from her all over my lips and tongue. I felt her thighs relax and looked up at her. She was grinning broadly at me. I wanted to lie on top of her but was very wary of my semen. "Just one sperm can make a woman pregnant" our biology teacher had told us in our one sex education lesson the previous year. I didn't want my seeping prick to get anywhere near her minge. I knelt up between her spread legs, unable to keep my eyes off the apex of her thighs, She was wet, pink and swollen.  White goo continued to dribble from her entrance.  "What happened to this?" she asked, flicking my flaccid prick with her fingers.

 "I came on the carpet!" I admitted. She laughed and sat up to look.  It was quite a large wet patch. We decided to have a shower and enjoyed all the soapy slipperiness of our skin as we rubbed against each other. I was soon stiff as a pole again and she dried me off and took me back into the bedroom where she made me lie on my back while she played with my cock and, especially, my balls which she seemed fascinated with. They had tightened up sufficiently, as she rubbed my cock with her hand, for her to get my whole sack into her mouth.  I came all over my belly and she licked every drop up.

"Wouldn't it be nice," she began.  "To be married and just spend all day doing this?"  Oh, no, I thought.  Danger, Will Robinson! Dobs and I had discussed this on the train home before Christmas. All girls want to get married and have children and then your life is over, he maintained.  Parents don't do it, he had said.  My parents certainly hadn't been close.  I never saw my mother and father kiss or hug and before he died I know my father and mother argued all the time.  My mother was actually relieved when he had gone.  I was not yet seventeen.  I didn't want to get tied down.  I said nothing and she did not pursue that line of thinking.

I did some more drawings of her and she actually posed lying on my rug with her legs spread wantonly, like the girls in Men Only or a Klimt drawing (except I hadn't seen a Klimt drawing at that point).  It was gone five, so we reluctantly got dressed and awaited the return of my mother and sister.  That night, A slipped into my bed again and we both made each other come.  I realised, lapping away at her hot core under the covers, that I really, really liked bringing her to orgasm.  I actually enjoyed it more than receiving pleasure myself.  "It is always better to give than receive," they always used to say at church at Christmas.  I always thought that this was nonsense but now I had been converted.  Not to religion.  My father once said to me (and he didn't talk to me a lot) that religion was invented by primitive man to explain the world around them and that it had no place in the twentieth century.  I later found that my father's religion was the same as mine became: women.  My uncle came to see me at Oxford once and when he saw all the pictures of naked ladies on my wall observed that I took after my father. "The only important things in life," my father said on another occasion, "are music, art, food, wine and women.  Which are all basically the same thing!"

After our wonderful January interlude it was back to school,  The first week I took my art folder in for my regular appraisal by my art teacher and the details of the next project I had to work on. He was pleased that I had done the big charcoal still life drawings, liked the view from my window, and in particular a series of trees and fallen branches (brought down in the storm) that I had done right at the end of the holiday when I had gone into the park on a rare sunny afternoon.

"Oh this is excellent!" he said. Stupidly I had not taken my pictures of A from my art folder; mainly because I didn't have anywhere I could conveniently keep them safe. "You are lucky to have such a delightful model!" he said, turning over the next one.  My friend, O, who was also in the art room that lunchtime was over like a shot.  O was the second best artist in the school but, I hate to admit it, a better painter.  We had become friends during O-level art classes the previous two years.

"You did these from a magazine!" said O, looking at a picture of A lying on her stomach.

"These were done from life, not a magazine.  You can tell." said my art teacher.  "Unmistakably!"

"Really? asked O, looking at me.

"They're of a friend," I said, lamely.

"Quite a close friend, obviously!" said the Art teacher turning over a drawing to reveal the one of A lying on her back with her legs apart.  "It's like a Klimt!" he said.  I didn't know about Klimt.  He disappeared into the art room store cupboard and came out with a book on Klimt, amazingly.  We weren't allowed into the art store cupboard which was actually a room full of all sorts of interesting looking books and art materials. . I did recognise some of the famous paintings but hadn't been aware that famous painters did such graphic images.  Especially, seventy five years previously.  As we left the art room, O, of course, wanted to know everything about A.  There was only one question on his mind.  The key question.  The ultimate question.  "Have you done it yet?" It, It. It.  Still the holy grail.  Still the unattainable.  It!  No,  He looked disappointed.

"I have licked her pussy," I admitted as we walked downstairs.  He went into a sort of paroxysm of excitement, frustration and wonder.

"What does it taste like?"

"Prawn cocktail," I answered.

"I don't like prawn cocktail," he said, looking glum.

I reasoned that perhaps different girls tasted differently. He wondered if anyone tasted like Spaghetti Bolognaise.  Maybe Italian girls, we decided (they don't, as I discovered about seven years later)..

Unfortunately, the art teacher, Mr D was not as circumspect about my drawing activities as I had hoped.  The art assistant, Mrs S, who came in to help art classes a couple of days a week, stopped me in the corridor outside the chemistry labs "I gather you have been doing some life studies?" she asked.  A few, I admitted.  I wondered if Mr D had told the whole staff room (he had, it turned out).  She then admitted that she had thought about posing for a life class for the A-level students.  "You could come along too."  I later realised that this may have been a bit of a come on.  Mrs S, however was in her late fifties, with weird, dyed orange spiky hair and a figure like...well, she didn't really have a figure,  She had a body like a sack of irregularly sized root vegetables.  We all liked her, though, because she was quite naughty, used to swear in class and often made off colour remarks.  We later found out that she and the art teacher were often at it in the storeroom.  O claimed to have heard them once after school.

I confessed to A that she had become quite famous in the school which, fortunately, she thought was amusing.  During the Spring half term she and I ran into Dobs and his girlfriend S in town.  We went to the ABC for tea and felt quite grown up.  Even S knew about A's naked posing. "Would you be able to draw me?" she asked, over an Eccles cake.

"No!"" said A and Dobs simultaneously.  Oh well.

During the long Easter holidays A came to stay for a couple of days as her parents had to go to Glasgow.  Her mother had decided that I was a polite, well-behaved boy and that because everyone in my house was female, other than me, it was a good safe environment. A told me this the first night as we lay next to each other in my bed playing with each other.  I was rubbing her clitoral hood (my father had a book which had illustrations of all these vital things so I was now an expert) and she was stroking my erection. We were both very comfortable and I made her come with my fingers alone again. She made me come soon after and we cuddled up together, drowsily.  Too drowsily.

"Good morning you two!" said my mother. I opened my eyes and panicked.  There, between me and the wall was A, blinking, as my mother opened the curtains.   "If you want to come to Kingston we need to leave in half an hour or we won't get parked!"  Although we both wanted to spend time naked we had the luxury of three days together and we both needed things from the art shop.  Getting a lift from my mother would save the bus fare so we had agreed, the previous night, to go with her on her shopping trip. "I hope you two know about precautions and all that!" said my mother, looking completely unphased by the situation. "I expect you do all that at school!  Do you have any Durex?"

"We don't do that!" I said.

"We were having a cuddle and fell asleep!" said A.

"How sweet!" said my mother.  "Thirty minutes!" She left my bedroom, shutting the door behind us.  A and I looked at each other and laughed in relief.  A said that would not have happened if it had been her mother.  She said she would have to ask my mother not to say anything to hers.

After we had got back from Kingston, my mother cornered me in the dining room.  She told me not to be embarrassed if we were having sex but I had to use a Durex because A was underage and there would be big problems if she got pregnant. I reassured her that we were not.  She said she was going to buy me a pack just in case we changed our minds.  I knew what condoms were but I had never seen one.

I related all this to A that night as we sat in my room.  My mother had told me that she didn't mind if A slept in my bed that night. She also promised not to burst in on us, again.  She genuinely hadn't known A was there that morning. I was sitting up, naked, on my carpet, my back against my bed. A was sat on my lap, astride me, massaging my cock.  She started to rub my glans between her labia.   I looked down at myself sliding up and down in her folds.  She wriggled and then stopped.  She had let go of me but my very tip was lodged in her entrance.  Just held in place by the top of her opening. She looked at me.

"Shall we?" she asked.  I thought about it and realised that all I needed to do was push forward a little and I would be inside her.  She cupped my balls and tickled them.  Unfortunately, a combination of that, thinking about It and the sight of my fleshy column connecting our two bodies made my balls convulse.  Oh no!  I had to quickly pull out before spurting all over her belly.

"Oh!" said A.  "Bugger!  Perhaps we better get those Durex!"

On our final night we carefully avoided any cock/pussy rubbing and stuck to our usual sucking and licking.

A day after A went back home, she rang in the evening.  She told me she had to see me urgently as she had been speaking to her mother and father. I asked her what it was.  "Bad news!"she said. We agreed to meet the next day along the towpath where we could talk privately.  This all sounded very ominous.

"You didn't speak to A's mother about us?" I asked my mother, accusingly.  She assured me she had not.  Were A's parents going to stop us seeing each other? I didn't sleep very well.  Next day we had both started off from opposite ends of the towpath and met about half way.  A smiled at me and gave me a lovely kiss.  Then she burst into tears. I walked her to a bench.  She was now sobbing uncontrollably. I put my arm around her until she calmed down a bit and asked her what the matter was.

"Glasgow!" she snuffled.  "Fucking Glasgow!!"  I had never heard her swear like that. A explained that her parents had been up to Glasgow as her father had just got a job there and they were looking for a flat to live in temporarily,  They were going to be selling their house down here and then buying a house up there.  They had agreed that A could sit her O-levels at her school and then she and her mother would move up to Scotland in June.  It was now mid-April. A would be gone in two months leaving me and all her friends behind her.

She wrote to me that same day.  "Thanks for being so nice.  You are so nice to me.  I should have said it but I thought I would blub again but I love you so much!"  Oh dear, I thought.  I hadn't really thought about love.  I was very fond of A but love?  Love was a girl's thing and usually preceded weddings and other horrors.

I thought we might have a period of extra closeness before she left and we wrote to each other but she was deep into concentrated revision and we hardly saw each other.  If we did meet up in the town she would inevitably burst into tears.  It became that I couldn't face it. as I didn't want her setting me off.  That would have been too much.  In fact we never had a formal goodbye.  Everything conspired against us arranging a proper farewell.  I was doing my mock A-levels.  A's letter arrived postmarked Glasgow but I didn't even open it until after my exams.  I wrote her a short but affectionate note.  We continued corresponding but, by the Autumn, letters between us had dried to a trickle.  In her last letter she had written that she had met a nice boy and I shouldn't not pursue other girls just because of her.

 A was gone from my life.  What would I do now?