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.

Then 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.  To 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 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?

Thursday, 18 August 2016

1976: Transports of Delight

After my unexpected introduction to oral sex by A, under  a tree in the middle of a summer rain storm I was, not surprisingly, desperate to see her again.  Next day, however I got a telephone call saying that her parents had booked a last minute holiday to Spain and she would be away for two weeks, leaving that Friday.  I asked if we could meet up before she went but she said she couldn't, as she had to get things ready for her holiday. She would also be away for her birthday, she said. I hadn't known her birthday was coming up.

However the more I thought about it the more I thought that maybe I had gone too far with her, sexually and that perhaps she regretted the whole episode.  This all despite the fact, of course, that she had always made the running in our increasingly physical relationship. But being an emotional sixteen year old I didn't employ logic when negative imagination could get me in a right old state. What if she decided she didn't like me when she was away for two weeks?  What if she met another boy on holiday?  What if she was seduced by a Spanish waiter?  

Instead, I threw myself into reading my first set book for my English A-Level course, DH Lawrence's The Rainbow. This seething whirlpool of disappointment, frustration and sexual longing was not the ideal complement to my emotional state at the time.  What if A went off with another woman, I mused, thinking of Ursula Brangwen from the novel and the lovely entwined women from the Men Only pictorial in the magazine I had found under the train seat. I listened to Sibelius over and over again, as its emotionally cold and spare tones suited my mood precisely. 

After a week of this I was quite convinced that A and my's budding relationship would be over on her return.  "Dumped" was the word used at school when someone's older brother had been unceremoniously let go by their heartless girlfriend.  Girls held all the cards; what you could or couldn't do was entirely down to their capricious whim.  I needed to talk to someone.  But who?

There was only one person I knew who had a girlfriend;  Dobs. He only lived a mile away, in a house by the river, which I must have walked past many times with A. However, apart from a shared experience of snogging French girls at the age of twelve we didn't have much in common.  He was very good at sports, liked amateur dramatics and didn't like science fiction or classical music.  He was, however, doing A-level English like I was,  Taking a chance and helped by the fact that he had an unusual surname I found his telephone number in the phone book. 

"I'm having trouble with The Rainbow," I said,  "Can I come around and talk about it?" We had been set a series of essay questions on the book and I was finding it hard going. 

"Yes, of course but only if you tell me about that girl I saw you kissing on the river bank!"

Dobs was very helpful on the DH Lawrence and even more helpful on the girlfriend management front. He had been going out with S for six months; they had met in a volunteering club shared between our boys school and her girls' school. Girls, he maintained, liked being told how pretty they were, how nice their clothes were, liked receiving letters and needed to be given presents.  Make sure there is a nice letter from you waiting for her when she gets back from holiday, he said.  All excellent advice, I thought.

"So where have you got to with your girl?" he asked, eventually.  I didn't know what to say but he said there was a sliding scale from one to ten.  Ten, of course was 'doing It'.  The Holy Grail.  He told me about someone we both knew, vaguely, who was not at our current school but had been in the year above me at junior school.  He was very tied up with a religious youth group run by the local church.  The organisers saw it as a way to channel the misguided interests of potentially rebellious teenagers into something constructive.  The teenagers who attended just wanted to meet people of the opposite sex.  The volunteer group Dobs and his girlfriend were in at school had some common members with this local church group. He said that this one boy, M, had been found to have had sex with one of the girls in the group.  They were both seventeen or eighteen but the boy had been taken to the local vicar and was caned.  We both thought this was outrageous.  Neither had done anything wrong but he had received ten strokes.  But then this was the vicar who I had heard, one Christmas, giving a vitriolic sermon against the evils of Science Fiction and Fantasy, charm bracelets, horoscopes, Jews and, above all, Catholics.

I asked Dobs how the ranking worked and he admitted he didn't know either but he reckoned number one was holding hands and number two was kissing with number three being French kissing.  We sat on the floor of his bedroom, which looked out on to the towpath, which explained how he had seen A and me kissing, and tried to come up with a definitive list.  Eventually, we reckoned he had got to stage seven which we decided was kissing and caressing and rubbing "the naughty bits" through clothes.  I asked what stage eight was and he said doing the same naked.  I then asked what stage nine was and he answered "she sucks you off".  There was no mention of any reciprocal attention for girls, probably because their pleasure wasn't contemplated.  Eventually, I had to admit I had reached number nine.

Dobs was incredulous. "She sucked you off?  Outside?  In public?".  I said it wasn't really in public as there wasn't anyone around. But he was obviously impressed.  I made him promise not to tell anyone at school and, to give him his due, he never did.

I went home and composed a long passionate letter to A, explaining how much I missed her and how I was looking forward to seeing her again.  I put it in a separate envelope and tucked it inside her birthday card. Then, I realised that I didn't know her address but the phone book came to the rescue again.  I spent some of the money I had received for doing well in my O-levels (my mother never did believe my A grade for Maths and thought they must have marked someone else's paper) on an LP of Sibelius 5th symphony, to give A as a birthday present on her return from Spain..

The boost I had received from talking to Dobs slowly ebbed away and I was soon convinced, once more that A would dump me when she returned from Spain.  Then, I came down to breakfast one morning and my mother told me that I had had a postcard from "your girlfriend".  She handed it to me.  A nice sunny picture from the Costa Brava.  My sister picked at her bacon disconsolately with her fingers (she was not good in the mornings and needed an hour until she could use tools, like cutlery) and sneered at me.  A had written a short note about the temperature, the horrible food and the boring journey (it was her first trip abroad). But right at the end she had written "Missing you.  Wish you were here!".

"That's nice," said my mother, reading it (again, no doubt) over my shoulder. "What a nice girl!"  Good job you don't now what we get up to, I thought. "Why doesn't she come over to dinner when she gets back from holiday?" said my mother.  My sister tutted.

The postcard should have cheered me up but. of course, I realised she must have posted it as soon as she had arrived in Spain and she might have met a Spanish waiter by now. I also didn't know about this suggestion that she come over to dinner, especially given my mother's cooking.  I tried not to count the days until she returned.  Actually, I couldn't anyway as I was not sure if she was coming back Friday, Saturday or Sunday.

The call came Friday night.  She had just returned and could we meet the next day?  That's it, she wants to dump me, I thought.  My mother kept calling out that she should come to dinner the next day and she could stay over if she liked.  I decided not to tell A this but she heard my mother calling out from the kitchen,  She would have to ask her parents about staying but she would certainly come to dinner.

The next day I tried to persuade my mother to let me cook something like Coq au Vin but she said I didn't want to be fussed about cooking with my girlfriend there.  I wished she would stop calling her "my girlfriend", especially in front of my sister, who I was very close to.  We never annoyed each other and always played happily together, when we were younger..  I didn't want A to cause a rift between me and my sister.

My mother decided to do spaghetti Bolognese which she cooked by putting raw mince, raw onion and a tube of tomato puree into a casserole and baking it for two hours. No pre-cooking of any of the constituent ingredients just bung it all in and hope for the best.  It invariable ended up with a burnt ring around the edge where the sauce had fused to the casserole but was, usually, more or less edible.  She splashed out and got a tub of Parmesan cheese, which always smelled like sick to me (you couldn't buy fresh Parmesan in the shops then).  My mother made up the bed in the spare room, just in case, although I thought the chances of her parents letting her stay were slim.  Anyway, she was going to dump me.

Her mother drove her over early evening,  "She has a Volvo," my mother said, approvingly. The two mothers chatted briefly, approving of each other's accents.  "She does go to a private school, after all," my mother had observed . A had an overnight bag with her, I noticed.  Surely not?  A's mother left, without taking the offered cup of tea and said she would pick A up whenever she wanted.  She gave me a hug, embarrassingly, and left.  A, I was surprised to see, was wearing light make up.. A touch of eye shadow and some pale pink lipstick.  It made her look older.  I thought that I preferred (as I still do) girls without makeup.

A and I sat on the sofa and watched the film version of Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.  We both knew the series but hadn't seen the older film. We had just got a colour TV for the first time so it was much better than the black and white TV version I had seen before.  As usual, dinner was late but we managed to watch the whole film before we went into the dining room, at which point my sister appeared, looking sullen.  Dinner wasn't actually inedible, mother had bought some Chianti and it never occurred to her that A wouldn't have some.  In fact she hadn't had wine before but I drank it at home from a young age.  I had my first glass of wine, in France, when I was two and a half and from the age of about ten we had it every Sunday lunch time with the Sunday roast, Round the Horne or The Navy Lark on the radio.  My sister thawed, somewhat, at  dinner when she found out that A played the clarinet too.

My mother ensured that she and my sister went up to bed quite early (this was a first example of how my mother, from then on, always disappeared if I had a young lady round, for which I was very grateful).  A and I stayed up, theoretically, to watch a late night double bill of old black and white horror films but in fact to reacquaint ourselves with each other's mouths.  I had relaxed when it didn't appear that she was going to dump me after all.  She sat on my lap, on the sofa, as I caressed her now quite brown legs. They seemed particularly smooth and silky, which she put down to after sun lotion every day.  I was just wondering about getting more horizontal when she suggested we get ready for bed.  I was disappointed as it seemed our amorous activities might be over for the weekend. I kissed her good night outside the door to the spare room and she disappeared inside with her Sibelius record, which she was delighted with.

I rushed to use the bathroom and get ready for bed as I knew how long girls took at things like that.  I put on my pyjamas and got into bed, thinking about A and getting stiff.  I could hear her come out of the bathroom and go into the spare bedroom.  I waited for what seemed like ages but she did not appear.  I was gently stroking myself, wondering whether to go the whole way when my bedroom door opened and  a pale shape entered and closed the door.  It was quite dark, although.there was some light in the room from the road outside the house, filtering through my unlined curtains.  I do not like completely dark rooms and when away always make sure that I open the curtain just a chink to let some light into the room.

"Did you think I wouldn't come?" she whispered. I had actually thought that she had gone to bed, so was surprised by her presence.

She approached my bed and I sat up.  She pulled her cotton nightie over her head, dropped it onto the carpet and slipped into bed next to me.  Fortunately I had a 3' 6", not the standard 3', single bed but there was  a lot of wriggling involved in her getting under the sheet and blankets ( I didn't get a continental quilt for another four years).  My heart was pounding.  I was in bed with a completely naked girl!  A naked girl who was unbuttoning my pyjama top. After being frozen, initially, like a rabbit in headlights, I reanimated myself and helped her get my top off which I threw onto the carpet next to her nightie.  She started fumbling at the tie cord on my pyjama trousers. She started to push them down before she had undone it, catching my erection on the cord. I helped free myself and pushed them down to my thighs.  She pulled them off the rest of the way but they remained at the foot of the bed.  She was now lying on her side next to me.  Her hand grasped my cock and she wriggled up for a kiss.

We didn't speak, just kissed and caressed each other.  She climbed on top of me, her thighs astride my hips her hot groin pressed on my cock.  I could feel her pubic hair on my erection.  I reached down and stroked her naked bottom for the first time.  We were kissing all the time and she was starting to rub herself on my cock; backwards and forwards.  She lifted herself up and supported herself on her forearms . I leant forward and licked her erect nipples.  She was breathing hard. "Huh, huh, huh"  I had my hands on her bottom feeling the muscles under her skin flex.  I could feel  myself getting close to coming and was worried about the proximity of my cock head to her pussy.  I wondered about pushing her down a bit but she was lost now, gasping and grinding.  I started to ejaculate onto my (and her) belly. She kept rubbing and then gasped and I felt a flood of wetness flowing onto my cock root and down my balls.  This business of girls flowing like this was something I had not imagined before.

A rested her head on my shoulder, breathing hard. She kissed my neck, softly.  I turned my head and we kissed again and gently stroked each other's sweaty skin.  I could feel my spunk on my belly, drying.  She flung the bedclothes back, as we were both sweating like pigs.

"Wow!" was all she said. We lay together until she rolled off me and stood up as she needed the loo. She pulled her nightie on and slipped out.  I went after she had returned and when I got back into the room she had stripped off again and was back in bed.  I climbed back in with her and she wriggled across the bed to the wall (my bed was in the corner of the room).  Having not said much up until that point she now wanted to chat about what we had just done and how nice it had been and when we could do it again.  She was so excited I had to keep hushing her.  I idly stroked her pubic hair with the back of my fingers until she opened her legs, took hold of my wrist and guided my hand between her thighs.  I explored her slippery parts with my fingers, amazed by all the fleshy folds.  I stroked her inner surfaces and wondered, again, at the amount of liquid they produced,  I could sense her entrance with my finger but didn't want to penetrate it.  I knew from school biology lessons that virgins had some sort of membrane there and if you broke it it bled.  Instead, I concentrated on the rigid little fold at the top of her pussy and soon had her gasping away again.  She clamped her thighs on my hand stopping me from tickling her any more. She was dribbling liquid again and I worried I had inadvertently broken her hymen.  "Stop!  I've come again!  I love it!"

"I love it too!" I replied giving her a kiss.  I turned onto my side and my erection pressed against her hip.

"My turn!" she said.  She pushed my legs apart and knelt between my thighs, taking me in hand before enveloping my knob in her soft mouth.  I managed to hold off for some time, really enjoying it as she slurped wetly all over me.  It was when she started to tickle my balls with her fingernails that I lost it again.  I pulled out and came over her collarbones.  She wriggled up me and lay on top of me.   I stroked her bottom.

"You'd better go," I said.  She said that she would really like to cuddle up in bed but she agreed that she had better go back to the spare room.  Reluctantly, we both got dressed in our night clothes again and after a lot more kissing she slipped away. I hopped into bed hoping I would get another erection so I could masturbate over the memory but I fell asleep almost immediately,

After breakfast, the next morning, we went for a walk in the park and along the river bank, although heading downstream rather than the way we used to go when I walked her home.  We were sitting on the bank near the bridge, our legs dangling over the brown waters as a couple of boats cycled through the lock. She said she had something to confess to me and my heart started to pound. She had another boyfriend? She had had a fling with a Spanish waiter?  She was dumping me after all?  It was not that but nearly as shocking.  She thanked me for her birthday present again and the card and letter I had sent.  Her birthday had been last week when she was on holiday.  I knew it meant that she would be one of the youngest girls in her year, whereas I had a January birthday so was one of the older ones in mine. She then confessed that her recent birthday was her fifteenth.  I would be seventeen on my next birthday.  She had still (just) been fourteen when she sucked me off under the tree. I had assumed that the summer exams she had sat in June had been her O-levels like mine and she was now sixteen.  But hers were her mock O-levels.  She confessed to not being entirely honest when we had discussed these, when my results came out at the end of July.  She thought I wouldn't want a younger girlfriend so she had pretended to be the same age as me.

Certainly, at school your friends were almost exclusively in your own year.  You didn't fraternise with older or younger people. A was eighteen months younger than me, which meant about ten percent of my age less than I was. She was actually closer in age to my younger sister. I gave her a hug and a kiss and said "so what?" but I was still a bit shocked.  She said it meant that we couldn't have sex for another year.  I was surprised by the boldness of her statement.  Sex was something you had to cajole girls into, I thought. I hadn't even contemplated "It" with her, really, despite the fact that the previous night we had been very close.  I realised that there was a big gap between number nine on Dobs table and number ten.   Maybe we needed a number nine and a half.

I had already achieved far more with a girl than I had imagined and far more than most of my school friends except Dobs and now also, we knew, JM, who had got his girlfriend down to her knickers while romping in his bedroom. He was, however, half French so we expected him to be more capable with women  We knew this because another schoolmate, S, had witnessed this and had complained that his 'date' wouldn't strip off.  Getting any sort of contact with girls was still such an unlikely and distant prospect that even though S perceived it as a failure to get his girl to disrobe it was still seen by the rest of the class as an achievement just to be romping around with her on the floor.  At least he had a girl, they thought, jealously, even though they were rude to him to his face.

Later in the week A and I went to Kingston to go to the art shop  She was doing Art O-level and needed a new art folder as hers had fallen to bits.  She caught the 218 bus to where I lived and I waited at the stop until the bus she was on arrived. We sat in the back seats and I stroked her leg all the way there, even getting my fingers under her skirt to rub her damp, cotton clad crotch.  We  had a few kisses but the bus was quite full and sitting further towards the front was "the lady who sounds like a crowd" as my sister called her and who knew my mother.  The "lady who sounds like a crowd" was so dubbed because you would be in the house and you would hear what sounded like four or five people walking past the front of the house chatting.  However, when you looked out the window you would just see the one lady with her toddler in a push chair.  Maybe she was a ventriloquist.  At one point A started to unzip my jeans but I had to push her hand away.  Far too much risk of discovery!

Shortly afterwards we made another trip together, this time up to London. This was a big trip for me as I don't think I had been to London on my own before. We took the train from the station I used to get to school l and found ourselves in one of the closed compartments. As we sat waiting for the train to leave (it was at the end of the line) she kicked off her sandal and started to rub my crotch with her foot.  Given that, in doing so, I could look up her skirt and see her knickers it wasn't long before she had me throbbing in my jeans.

As soon as the train pulled out she unzipped me, knelt next to me on the bench seat and started to suck away.  The problem with that line was that as there was a stop every couple of minutes or so, we would have to desist at every station to make sure no one was going to get into our compartment.   The first few miles were through fields but I was starting to get increasingly nervous as the area along the line got more built up, as we approached the usual stop I got out at for school.  A was, however, by this point, really in to it and she didn't stop even when we pulled into the station. There was a man on the platform and I am sure he glanced into the compartment and moved on.  Slightly more relaxed as we got on the move again, I told her that I was about to come but she kept her mouth firmly over my knob as I ejaculated into her soft mouth. I remember her pulling off me, looking at me and swallowing.  Then she gave me a particularly wet, spermy, I realised, kiss.  "Mmm!" she said, just as we pulled into the next station.

In London our destination was a science fiction bookshop called Dark They Were and Golden Eyed. which was in a dingy part of Soho.  Today Soho is full of film company HQ offices, trendy restaurants and shops.  In those days it was full of seedy strip clubs and prostitutes. A thought it was fascinating.  I felt totally responsible for her. I wanted to get out of the area as fast as possible so after we had picked up a few US edition science fiction novels we headed out of the side streets.  A chose Samuel R Delaney's Dhalgren, largely on the basis of an explicit sex scene at the beginning.  I tried to read it once but found it a lot of overblown pretentious claptrap. We went to Foyles bookshop where A wanted to buy a copy of the paperback Emmanuelle.  Trying to find anything in a bookshop where books were arranged by publisher not author was impossible however!   I think she eventually got a copy in WH Smiths at home. We thought about going to the Prince Charles Cinema in Leicester Square, where the film was running but didn't think we could pass for eighteen.

On the way home we got into another single compartment but, much to our annoyance, some other people got in too so we didn't have long together on our own until we reached the end of the line.  Enough time for A to get me completely stiff again, however, but no time to do anything about it.

Shortly after our London trip it was back to school, after an unbelievably torrid summer holiday.  My experiences with A had given me a new confidence, however, and this was reflected in my performance at school.  Although it could have been something to do with giving up all the subjects I was rubbish at like Maths, sciences and French.  Having been a bit average, I discovered in the autumn term that I was actually really good at English and History.  I was getting A and A+ grades instead of my usual B's.  (I even got an A for my DH Lawrence essay!).  "What's 'appened to you, boy, over the summer 'olidays?" said one of my History teachers, Spiny Norman, in his West County yokel's accent.  "You look different too!"  I said nothing.  I enjoyed having a girlfriend but I enjoyed having a secret girlfriend even more.

In my last reminiscence involving A we head into 1977.