F E A T H E R S T O N E
R O G U E T A L E S
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V O L U M E O N E
F i r s t T i m e
Published by Frank Wall
Copyright 2013 Frank Wall
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* * *
It happened on the flagstone floor of her kitchen one wet afternoon not so very long ago. At least, it doesn't seem that long ago. It was in fact August 1965; Friday the 13th to be precise. I had been of a mind that it would never happen. I certainly didn't think it would be with Jean. She was so much older than me and the boss's daughter no less. Beautiful Jean with the bright green eyes; she took charge, showed me how, and quickly added me to her long list of lovers to be forgotten. But I'll always remember her. She was my first time.
First times don't always come easy, so the song goes. Sometimes, poets tell the truth. It certainly didn't come easily in my experience.
I've always been fanciful; even more so when I was a boy. I spent most of my time daydreaming of girls while teachers droned on about this and that but never the other. I would sit and half listen while in my mind I'd replay and edit my favourite night-time fantasies.
Thoughts of Gloria outweighed the importance of mathematics as I recalled every tender kiss we'd shared the night before, and I before E except after C sounded nonsense, and made me think of Gracie with the teasing smile. Victoria may well have once been Queen of England, but the Victoria I knew, lived in the house on the corner and I'd imagine the words she whispered in her sister's ear as I walked by. "That's the one, that's Featherstone. Isn't he wonderful?"
I'd had a few real girlfriends as well. Some of them nearly as beautiful as fabulous Virginia, who sometimes smiled, and I think would have liked me to speak, but I didn't dare. Most were quite pleasant. Helen and Diana come particularly to mind, but none of them were 'that kind of girl'.
Then again, I didn't know what any kind of girl was really like. I learned all that I knew from school yard chatter. I'd listen to older boys talking of coming and fucking, and sticking cocks in quims and other strange sounding places. "That's how you get babies, you know." Wanking and fingering, why doesn't anyone else tell me of such things?
The dictionary proved useless with no mention of fuck under fu, and as for cunt…Even virgin was missing. But whatever it meant, I didn't want to be one. I wanted to be like my mates, the initiated, but chances of that were slim. The girls I met in my younger years held on to their 'not below the neck' doctrine, and kept their knees firmly pressed together whenever allowing me into their passionate embraces.
Left to picture what lay beneath their clothes, I'd wonder at the secrets kept hidden in bras, and imagined what it would be like to place my hand up a skirt, and reach higher to feel those soft folds of silken flesh and moist promises.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself. I certainly never thought of pussy in that way back then; that mysterious place somewhere south of navel and slightly north of thighs.
Growing older, I longed for more freedom. I wanted to join my peers as they left school for the outside world, and earn wages to spend in pursuit of my first time goal. But I had to stay on and do bloody exams.
I wasn't the only one. Except for a small group of weird swotty types who seemed to enjoy the intricacies of calculus and such, there was a hard core of guys just like me who preferred to experiment with unclasping brassieres one handed, when given the chance.
We lived for the weekend, freedom and parties, wishing our lives away for Saturdays to come around. Five days of blind obedience and long multiplication would be cast off to lie crumpled alongside school blazers and dull grey flannels, as we donned our garb of blue denim and tight hipster pants. Two days of liberty. Us boys and them girls; no longer separated behind the railings of our single-sex schools.
V O L U M E O N E
I was chatting with Thomas Balding. He was a close friend of mine, but that was probably because his parents had a holiday cottage. Whenever they went away, their house became the venue for parties. I was already half drunk on a mixture of Guinness and cider. We shared a joint as Bob Dylan whined on about something meaningful. But it was only background sound as I looked casually around. The usual crowd were there. I'd just returned my attention to whatever Tom was saying when I noticed a girl I'd seen earlier. "Who's that?" I asked.
"Who?" Tom replied.
"That girl there," I indicated with a nod, "the one with the Cathy McGowan haircut and Mary Quant minidress."
"That's Sue, John's new bird."
"Dunno, haven't seen him."
I watched her for a while as she swayed out of time to 'Subterranean Homesick Blues'. A bit short, maybe even a little chubby. A couple inches taller and she'd be gorgeous. But gorgeous girls I deemed out of my league. Sue looked to be just right for me, dancing all alone.
"I couldn't help noticing how sad you seem," was my opening line. It was the thing I'd say first to most girls, no matter how they seemed. Sounds corny now but it usually got me through those awkward introductions.
"Oh, he's so dweamy, don't you juss lub Dylan?" she twanged in reply.
So her speech is impaired, but there's nothing wrong with the rest of her. I couldn't have cared tripe about Dylan; Bob Dylan, Dylan Thomas nor Dylan and Dougal for that matter. If there's the slightest chance, I'll find out what you have in your pants. "Yeah, he's cool," I replied, trying to sound like The Man himself, "but not as cool as you."
She stopped swaying. Looking me up and down slowly, she seemed to like what she saw. "Woth's your name then?" she cooed.
"Featherstone," I replied.
"Fefferstone, I like that." Reaching up, she planted herself into my arms, wrapping hers around my neck.
Quite a while passed until the next words were spoken.
We moved together in each other's embrace, while Sonny & Cher sang, 'I Got You Babe'. Standing on one spot, rocking back and forth in slow motion, a casual onlooker could have thought we were dancing, but I knew we were making love.
My stiffness was obvious, but she didn't pull away as other girls had. In fact, she held me closer. I became bolder and rubbed against her with clear intent, moving my hands down her back to the spot just above her full, but yet tight looking buttocks.
She responded by shifting her body, massaging my thigh with her pelvis. We moved as one, with her head nestling up to my lower ribs and my cock resting just under her breasts.
The song finished, but we'd only just begun. Our first kiss was awkward. The difference in our heights had to be overcome. Someone changed the record as I manoeuvred her to a dark corner. Between the sofa and an armchair, we found a space that wasn't already occupied by snogging couples. We lay down.
'I Can't Get No Satisfaction' became the overture to the first time I felt the object that focused most of my dreams. It was Sue's pussy, and I know when I take my last breath, while life flashes past one last time, I shall linger on the memory, and smile.
We fumbled to find our goals in the dim candlelight. She seemed as eager to get me into her hand as I was to get her onto mine. My task was easier as she wore a mini dress that rode up with a stroke. She wore no tights, and her loose fitting nylon panties slid sensually over the mound of her pubis as I caressed her in time to the music. The mood was ecstatic.
I, of course, wore Levi's 501s. They were the latest brand. Mine were new. I hadn't had time to shrink them to fit by wearing them in the bath for an hour, then running them through the washer half a dozen times. So they were still a bit baggy and stiff.
She swore as she broke a fingernail trying to get the rivet buttons undone.
I tensed. Her fumbling was breaking the mood. I wanted the moment to be magical. I removed my hand from between her thighs and unfastened the buttons myself. Mood became less important as we became two unrestrained young lovers, delving into the depths of each other's underwear.
I pulled my jeans down my hips, and continued where I'd left off. Only I went straight to the waistband of her panties, pushing my hand down inside. -- My God was it hairy in there. The shock put me off my stroke, but Sue seemed too busy fondling me to notice my slight hesitation.
I lay there enjoying the first time sensation of a strange hand doing what I did to myself daily, twice, three times a day if I had the chance. The familiar feeling tightened in my groin, I felt it begin to rise. -- And sink back into its sack as she stopped stroking, showing signs of impatience with our one-sided game.
She rubbed her crotch against the back of my hand that rested, trapped between waistband and shaggy minge. I turned my wrist to stroke her. With the coarse hair against my palm, I slid two fingers up and down her wet slit trying to find the hole I'd been told about. I guessed I must have been doing all right because Sue started stroking me again.
I knew it to be there, somewhere. I must have been close; her soft moan let me know I was in the right area. But where exactly is the hole? I delved deeper and deeper until my wrist was in her pubes and my hand out the other side, holding the globe of an ass cheek.
She quickened her motion. I pulled my arm back until I found it: The treasure cave I'd spent so long dreaming about.
My wrist was wet, my hand was wet, and my fingers were wet. I'd been told that girls' juices flowed when they got excited. "To lube up the old man, make it easier to shove it in." I was keen to get my fingers in at least. Teasing it open, I slid one finger in and tried for two.
Sue froze, pushed me away, and sat bolt upright trapping my hand, making me roll over. I looked up. As faint as the light was, I could see her expression; whether it was one of shock, horror, delight or surprise, I couldn't really tell. I decided it was disgust when at last she spoke. "That was my harshole you fwucking wanker!"
No, Sue didn't turn out to be the sweetest mouthed of girls, nor the most lucid. I thought she might let me have another go sometime, after all, everyone deserves a second chance, and we did share the same taste in music, didn't we? But no, she never did.
* * *
AND HE SHALL PROVIDE
The Saturday night following my first, first time started awkwardly. I was anxious on two fronts; that Sue would show up and scorn me, or she wouldn't show up and I'd miss the chance to get better acquainted.
She'd obviously mentioned what had happened. As the booze began to loosen reserve, my so-called friends started coming out with comments like: "Bet you feel a right ass don't you?" and "Be careful where you put that finger, I know where it's been." But it was good natured enough, and I felt my embarrassment was probably proxy for us all, covering up for similar cock-ups of their own.
There was no one there that I fancied. Most I'd been with before. The ones I'd already tried it on with, and had to walk home promising not to take liberties ever again.
Things began to slow as party timetables dictate. Lovers paired off for a lazy night-time of snogging, groping, rejection and eventual drunken sleep.
Sue hadn't shown up. Relieved? Disappointed? I didn't know. I was too stoned to care less. Only the losers were left standing, and I was one of them. I stood in the corner amongst the half dozen swotty guys who didn't seem that interested in girls; weird bunch. It was too early to go home, and too late to catch a bus to get me there. Six hours 'til dawn with six pricks and my aching penis. I'd deliberately left it unattended all day in the hope it would get something better. I contemplated spending the next six hours trying to find interest in their chatter about the escalating conflict in Vietnam, and other unintelligible subjects.
"Did you see, Irwin Unger won the Pulitzer."
Unger? Won what?
"The U.S. has just performed another nuclear test."
"And the Chinese, and the French."
"David Attenborough is going to…"
Oh, fuck off.
I began to pray. Well, what harm can it do? God in his blessed mercy provided for me last week. Give this poor sinner another chance.
Neil Acne had pulled a cracker earlier; a gorgeous brunette. I hadn't noticed her arrival. How could I have missed seeing her before? I was kicking myself.
Her long black hair fell half way down her back towards a pretty little arse packed into flared hipster pants. Her breasts were not too small, not too large but obviously bare with nipples like punctuation marks; parenthesis to the 'Ban the Bomb' logo on the front of her yellow tee shirt.
I eyed Neil with envy. I can out-pull him any day. But I followed the code of conduct that forbade intrusion on to a mate's turf.
I noted they'd managed to bag the armchair. They'd just got into snogging mode when Neil suddenly jumped up and made out the door. I presumed he was off to the can. "Thank you," I muttered to the ceiling and shifted over to where she sat.
"I couldn't help noticing how sad you seem," I said, holding out a bottle of Babycham. It was the alcopop of the day; very sophisticated, so we thought. I offered her the drink gallantly along with its advertising slogan: "Fancy a Babycham?" I thought of the catchphrase we'd invented ourselves. Three Babychams and you're anybody's.
"No thanks, I've had four already, I just need a hug," she slurred.
I was in like Flynn. I needed to be, with Neil due back to re-claim his prize at any moment. All's fair in love and war went through my brain as I fell into her welcoming arms. What the fuck is that? I thought as our lips touched. I'm kissing a sailor. She had a distinct moustache, if not a full set of whiskers. But it was too late, all I could do was Think of England, the suction was so great. I couldn't break away, and her tongue was too powerful to resist as it forced its way into my mouth to lap at my clenched teeth.
We sat in that clinch for what seemed a fortnight. It wasn't quite that long, but the feeling is a common one, I'm sure. I was too much the gentleman to push her away, and her need for affection appeared so strong that she couldn't allow me release.
Not long into our marathon snog, I felt her breast. The action was out of habit I guess, and the man in my jeans has a mind of his own. She mumbled something without removing her lips, so I slid my hand inside her tee shirt. She wriggled a bit, took my arm, pulled it away, and mumbled the same words again.
I got the message, so moved to her thigh. Running my hand up and down, I stroked nearer and nearer, returning her kisses with more passion. My fingers slipped into the vee. She didn't resist. I delved deeper between her tightly closed legs. She relaxed, I started fiddling. Then I realised I was doing all the kissing. She'd drifted off into her drunkenness, no doubt with dreams of her next sea voyage.
I'd never heard of necrophilia, but knew I couldn't do it all the same. Slowly, I extracted my hand, folded hers into her lap and slunk off. My lips were sore. I had razor rash on my chin, and was in desperate need of a drink.
Pushing past the weirdoes who were, do doubt, still debating the merits of Chekhov against modern day playwrights, I made for the light.
I froze at the sight of Neil standing at the makeshift bar on the kitchen table. I relaxed a little when he winked all-knowingly. Expecting, almost hoping, for a well-deserved bollocking at my act of betrayal, I grabbed the first bottle to hand.
"Alright?" was all he said.
I looked at him, but could do no more in reply than nod my head weakly.
* * *
CYDRAX WITH GINI
It was the first day of spring break. It was also the first day with sunshine since, well since forever it seemed. Neither of those two things promised a holiday for me, however. I had a pile of homework to plough through. The final term loomed, threatening the prospect of failure in the exams to come. Maths was no problem, there's nothing much to memorise besides remembering how to calculate the answers. History and Geography were different animals, all those dates and places. But worst of all was English. One, won, wan, two, to, too, three, free, four, for, fore, there, their, never mind. Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Shelly, Keats, Hardy. Thank God for Laurie Lee and 'Cider with Rosie', a piece I actually enjoyed reading.
With the book under my arm I was making my way to the park for some outdoor revision when I bumped into Virginia. She came running out of the house where she lived. Her mother shouted, ordering her to her room. Virginia shouted back in defiance. We collided.
"You can fuck off as well," she told me, hurrying on down the street.
"I'm sorry too," I called after her.
I'd fancied Virginia like crazy for ages. She was quite the most beautiful girl I knew. We lived on the same street, and I dreamt about her often, though strange as it may seem, not in a carnal way. Even in my imagination, I couldn't be that bold with Virginia.
Now we were intimate. We'd touched, had even spoken at last.
The spot on my arm where her breast had been still focused my thought as I rounded the corner to the main road. I saw Virginia sitting on a bench near the bus stop. I walked towards her, she glanced up, seemed about to rise and move on. But she must have had second thoughts and sat down again. I had to say something. Oh, not a chat up line, of course. What do I say?
"You seem sad," I said, as I stopped and sat next to her.
"Sorry, Featherstone," she replied. "I didn't mean to be mean. It's my bloody mother."
She knows my name. "Yeah, they can be like that at times," I said, trying to sound worldly wise while keeping my heartbeat down to double figures.
"Well, do I look like a slut to you? My mum says I do."
Of course I'd have said no, even if she did. I stood, stepped back and studied her. She began to blush. God, she was beautiful. OK, I can see the dress is a bit short, but I like it. "No, you look cool," was my considered reply.
"You're so sweet," she said.
I was prepared to drop to one knee and propose marriage right then and there. Instead, I sat down, saying nothing.
"What's that?" she said, indicating the book with a nod.
"A book," I said, thinking the answer witty.
"Dumb question, dumb answer, what's it called?"
I handed her the novel.
"'Cider with Rosie'-- oh I wish we had that. We're doing 'Lord of the Flies'."
"We did that last year," I said, sounding superior.
"We did 'Far from the Madding Crowd'."
"Oh, we're doing that as well."
We carried on discussing literature in that way for a while longer, until Virginia changed the subject. "Fancy going for a picnic?" she asked.
She pulled her long blonde hair back behind her ears. I know eyes don't actually twinkle, but I swear I saw hers do more than shine when she smiled as I apologized for having no money.
"That's alright, I'll stick it on tick at Gregg's," she said.
I didn't know who to thank; Jesus Christ, Lord Buddha or my lucky stars. I thanked them all, including my mother for insisting I take a bath the night before, and wear the clean underwear she'd laid out. If Picnic with Virginia turns out anything like Cider with Rosie, I'll be all the more grateful.
The bus conductor wasn't at all shirty after I'd played out the pantomime of looking in every pocket for our fare. He showed great patience as I went through the act he must have seen a hundred times before. He simply asked that we get off at the next stop.
We'd managed to travel a good distance for free. Out of town, into the countryside, near enough to the woods we decided would be the perfect spot for our lunch.
We continued chatting in an easy way, mostly about school, how we wished our lives away for the day, soon to come, when final exams would be over. It seemed quite natural to hold hands as we walked across the meadow. She does like me.
She laughed when I confessed my feelings for her.
"Oh Featherstone, you're silly, why on earth didn't you say something before?"
"I don't know. You always seemed so aloof."
"Scared more like."
"Yes, well no, not scared, I don't know, my parents I guess."
I could tell she didn't want go into detail, so changed the subject. "Here, this looks like a good place." The perfect spot we decided; a clearing in the trees, a small lea on the hill.
I took off my jacket and laid it on the ground. We sat. She removed her white cardigan, folded it neatly and smoothed down the skirt of her powder blue dress. It was a slightly lighter shade than her eyes I remember thinking as I unstoppered the bottle. I offered her first swig of the cider. The cider that was, in fact, Cydrax, an apple flavoured soda; as near as we could find to the real stuff in Gregg's the grocer shop.
I closed my eyes as I took a sip, savouring the sensation of knowing Virginia's lips had touched the same place.
She burped softly, put her hand to her mouth and continued to talk about her parents, how strict they were, how suffocated she felt. "It's my life, not theirs, isn't it?"
Of course, I agreed.
"They'd go mad to think I was here on my own, with a boy. I'm not even allowed to talk to boys. Isn't that crazy?" She took an angry swig at the Cydrax, like a cowboy in the movies drinking whisky.
"Well, I guess they're just worried. I mean, you're a very pretty girl. It must be difficult for them."
"Oh that's right. Agree with them why don't you."
"I'm not agreeing with them. I'm just trying to see it from their point of view."
"No it's not."
"So, me just talking to you means we're going to have sex?"
We can live and hope. "Of course not," I said. "What makes you say that?"
"Well that's what they think. I mean, we could be lying here naked, talking as we are. Would that lead automatically to us wanting to do 'It'? Would it?"
"I don't know if I can answer that."
She looked thoughtful for a second, and then blurted, "Let's find out."
"Let's find out. Let's get undressed and see if we can carry on having a sensible conversation without sex rearing its ugly head."
My mind was in sudden turmoil. Is it a challenge, an invitation, or only my imagination? Did she really say, "get undressed?" I know of one ugly head that might rear. What does my smart mouth have to say? I burbled a string of words hoping some of them made sense.
Virginia had begun to unbutton her blouse. She paused. Maybe what I had said was giving her second thoughts.
No, please don't change your mind.
"Alright," she decided, "but before we do, there's one thing to get out of the way."
She kissed me, a full on passionate French kiss. For a girl not allowed to talk to boys, she certainly knew how to snog one. The goddess Virginia bestowing a most treasured gift upon an undeserving, but grateful subject. Given freely, something I'd have paid for with both the arms I wrapped around her.
"There, that's got that out of the way," she said, as our mouths parted. "I know that's what you wanted. There will be none of that when we're naked. Do you understand?"
"Now wait a minute, Gini. For one thing, I hadn't wanted to do that," I lied, "and two: I can't promise anything if we get undressed. That's the whole point of doing it. To see if we can resist each other. Isn't it?"
"We will, you'll see. I'll prove my parents wrong. I can have a conversation with a boy and not have sex with him."
I was even more confused. I could see some logic in her argument, and I certainly wanted to see her naked, but I couldn't decide whether I was willing to be used as the object for some sort of point to be made.
My mind was made up for me as she continued undressing. "Well come on then. This has to be two sided, you know."
Virginia was everything she promised to be, standing there naked, silently inviting comment. A wisp of hair covered her pubis, a shade of blonde one tone darker than the hair on her head. She pirouetted joyously, showing off her near perfect body. Her breasts were maybe a little large for perfection, but hey, I wasn't judging Miss World. If I were, she'd have worn the coronet for sure.
"Well, does this make you think of nothing but sex?" she asked.
I replied, "No," but couldn't think of anything else. I wanted to grab her, pull her down and make passionate love, but my cock seemed somehow indifferent. When we'd kissed, clothed, he'd shown every sign of wanting to get into her glorious body. But standing there naked with only our eyes doing the exploring-- Oh yes, Virginia was examining my body the same way I was looking at hers-- I was pleased that he behaved himself in a manner not at all predictable.
Virginia sat on my jacket, laid back, closed her eyes, and raised her arms above her head.
I gazed at her breasts, rising and falling with every breath she took. They were the same English Rose complexion as the rest of her body, capped with just the suggestion of nipples peaking from bruises of areolae the size of half crowns. I traced a line with my eyes, down her flat stomach, dipping into her navel, to the mound standing proud with its covering of soft golden hair.
My stare lingered on her pussy, and then refocused on her face when she opened her eyes and spoke.
"Oh this is wonderful. I feel so free at last." She patted the ground, her expression one of fondness. "Come, Featherstone, lie down beside me, but no touching, you promise?"
We laid side by side, deep in our own thoughts, watching clouds slide through the branches of trees, feeling the warmth of the sun on our bodies. We discussed the shapes, how quickly they changed. A light breeze soothed my nervousness, and the peaceful calm of that perfect spring day created the sensation of being the only two people on earth.
I felt drowsy, totally relaxed at last. Virginia was the first to break the stillness.
"Does your penis ever get hard?" she said. "Only, I've heard they do."
What the fuck is she talking about? I pushed myself up and leaned back on my elbows. "Gini, I thought you said you could talk to a boy and not think of sex?"
"Well, I'm not. I just asked a question. I wanted to know if it's true."
"Don't you ever wonder why daffodils are yellow? Or want to know why little puppies can't go to heaven?"
She raised herself, mirroring my pose. "Oh that's funny. Please don't make fun of me. I've told you I don't know much about boys. You're the first one I feel I can talk to, you know, someone I thought I could trust not to make me feel silly. I wish I hadn't said anything now."
Oh shit, when will I learn? "I'm sorry, Gini. I didn't mean to make fun. It just took me by surprise, that's all. I mean, 'does your penis get hard'? Of course it does. It was hard when we kissed."
"Was it? Was it really?"
She lay back down. I did too. I thought it was the end of the subject. I'd pushed all possibility of making out with Virginia from my mind. Now she's started getting him interested. I rolled onto my front.
"Let me see," she suddenly said.
"Show me your penis hard. Can you do it whenever you like?"
God she's turning me on. "Do you really want to know?"
"I mean, what if I become a sex maniac?"
"OK then. Put out or shut up."
I remembered one of my mates telling me he'd said that to his girlfriend and she did. Put out that is. I became hard thinking that Virginia might do likewise. I waited for her to offer to put out, but she shut up instead. Shit.
Time lingered, and then ceased to exist. I felt drowsy again as the warmth of the sun on my back calmed the last of my lustful feelings. A leaf fell and began tumbling up and down my spine in a rhythmic dance. I twitched, but it wouldn't fall off. I twisted my arm behind me to brush it away, and felt Virginia's hand. She stopped tickling and laughed.
"Be careful," I said.
"Why, doesn't that feel nice?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied. "Too nice."
"Is your thingy hard?"
"No." I turned over. "There." If Virginia the virgin is so interested in cock, I'll show her.
"Make it hard," she demanded.
"I can't. Only you can do that."
"No, I said no touching."
"Well say something sexy then."
"Bum, fuck, titties."
"You call that sexy?"
"Well, what then?" She giggled.
I looked at Virginia. God she was beautiful. We were naked and I had to fight the urge to reach out and grab her. She seemed so naïve. Somehow, it felt wrong wanting to sully such innocence. She knew practically nothing of sex. She teased me by asking for some of its secrets. I knew little more than she did. I'm expected to teach her, but not touch?
"Tell me what you are thinking," I said, hoping for some encouragement.
"Oh, I don't know. I feel a little strange; I guess you might call it sexy? I'd like to touch you but I'm afraid."
"Well kiss me then."
She seemed to consider the prospect.
I thought I might have pushed too far. I knew it would make me hard, but then what?
Virginia's curiosity must have been too strong. She leant over, pulling her hair away from her face, and softly put her lips to mine, pulled away and looked down.
"It doesn't work instantly," I said. "Here, kiss me as if you mean it."
"Oh, but I do, really I do. Please get hard for me."
We kissed again, with passion. I broke the no touching rule and ran my hands down her back. Her skin was even softer than I'd imagined. As I reached her buttocks, she broke our clinch. Our tongues untwined. Our lips separated. We sighed.
Lifting her breasts off my chest the desired effect was plain to see.
Her face was alive. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, when she saw what she'd done
I lay basking in her admiration. "Happy now?"
"Wow, that's fantastic. I don't believe it."
I made it bob up and down. She laughed. Of course, the bugger wanted more. I pulled her back down, to kiss her once again, dismissing bullshit notions of purity; I wanted to take things to the next level.
"No," she spoke softly. "Sorry, Featherstone, I really can't. I want to, but I'm scared."
"Well what about my erection? You caused it. You're satisfied. What about me?"
"Can't you just wait for the seed to pop out? It'll go soft and small again then won't it? My friend, Corrie said it does."
"Well, your friend, Corrie, doesn't know much. Did she tell you what to do to make the 'seed pop out'?"
"Yes, but I can't. I want to. I really do. Oh please, I'm sorry."
What could I do? I was there with a nearly empty bottle of Cydrax and Gini, the most beautiful girl in the world, both of us naked, me in a strop, with a hard on, she having doubts and fears.
She started to dress.
I continued to sulk, it hadn't turned out the same as it did for Laurie Lee. But hey, it's better than being alone in the park trying to swot. I brightened up a little at the thought.
As I pulled on my thankfully clean pants, Virginia fumbled with the clasp of her bra.
"I don't suppose you'll want to see me again," she said.
"Are you kidding? Of course I'd like to see you again. Why would you think I wouldn't?"
"You know, 'It'. I can't. I'm not ready, I…"
"Well how about tomorrow? Don't worry about 'It'. We'll go to the park, read a book if you like."
"OK. I'll bring the Cydrax."
"Don't do that. It tastes like piss. Besides, it wouldn't be the same with our clothes on."
"Nothing is the same with clothes on."
"I think you're right there, Gini."
Nothing is the same with clothes on. I didn't think much of it when Virginia uttered those words on the first day of sunshine that year, so many years ago. Metaphors tell of naked truths kept hidden under veils of secrecy. Innocence exposed with lies stripped away. It takes time to realise that they all mean: Nothing is the same with clothes on. By then it is usually too late.
* * *
I walked out of Woolworth's feeling pleased with my haul. I'd stolen two pairs of socks, a handkerchief, a Mars Bar, and twenty Players cigarettes that Joan had slipped me from under the counter as I winked at her when paying only for the penny stick of gum. The traffic light red lipstick was pure greed. It was easy to steal and begged me to take it. To what possible use I could've put it escaped me by the time I was out of the door. Maybe I was planning to give it to Virginia who'd become a sort of girlfriend, a nothing below the neck kind, but definitely the best looking girl in town. Only Woodbine Suzie the dockside tramp would be seen dead wearing that colour.
I dropped my unwanted prize in a bin and ripped the cellophane off the packet of fags, letting it fall to the pavement. As cool as James Dean, I pulled out an unfiltered tab, flicked it into the corner of my mouth and lit up.
Drawing too heavily to light the cigarette made me cough, and as I quickly pulled it from my lips, the piece of skin attached came away as well. It smarted, and smoke filled my eyes when I spat out the loose flakes of tobacco. I'd only just started the habit and hadn't quite got the style right. The practice that should have ensured my hipness had the reverse effect and left me hapless, watery shut eyed, coughing, with a sore bottom lip.
I recovered enough, and the first thing I saw was the girl watching me. She sat on the bench where the old timers spent their last days complaining about the weather and the trouble with kids nowadays.
She was obviously amused by what she saw; the prat who didn't know how to smoke, but I interpreted it as a come-hither stare. She was a pretty little thing with nice tits, straight white teeth, nice tits, beautiful shiny black hair and nice tits. A nod's as good as a wink to a blind man so I walked over, sat down, and offered her one of the remaining nineteen tabs.
"No ta," she said. "They're no good for you, you know."
"Who wants to die old?" I said.
"I do," she replied.
I did too really, but it wasn't a cool thing to admit. "You look sad," I said.
"No, I'm happy enough."
"You look happy," I said. "What's your name?"
What an ugly name. "That's a lovely name."
"What's yours?" she asked.
"Featherstone what, or what Featherstone?"
Introduction out the way.
Seduction comes into play.
"So what are you up to?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, any plans? Fancy going for a walk somewhere?" 'Fancy a fuck' had crept close to my tongue.
"Yeah, that sounds nice."
We left the bench and wandered down the High Street. It was a Saturday, of course, no school and never much to do. With no money to spend, wandering around the shops was one of only two main options. Wandering along the beach promenade was the other, so we slowly wandered off to wander along the prom. No wonder I became a wanderer.
I casually took her hand, she didn't refuse. I recited my poems that I stole from Dylan. Bob Dylan that is, not the Thomas one. Fortunately, she seemed ignorant of his lyrics. I didn't think she'd have been familiar with the work of Dylan Thomas either, but there again, nor was I. She obviously thought my words clever; she was clearly impressed. I moved my hand to her waist in response to her praise. She put her arm around mine in return.
We walked on not knowing for how long. We had no idea where we were going, and I'm sure, couldn't have cared less. The closeness of our bodies; hips touching, thighs rubbing, caused a familiar stirring against the socks stuffed into the pocket of my 501s, so I pulled them out to allow the young man a chance to breathe.
I handed the socks to Sheila, "Here, put these in your bag will you?" From my other pocket, I took out the Mars Bar. It was flattened, soft and squishy. I held it out for her. She shook her head, so I dumped it in the next bin as we passed, licked the slur of chocolate from my fingers and pushed them back into my jeans to comfort my friend who was struggling to get out for a look at his present. I had to hold him down firmly. This lead to my cool swagger becoming an awkward gait, but Sheila seemed not to notice.
I didn't know how wet her pussy was, but with her body pressed so close to the wandering poet as we walked, and with improvised words along the lines of, Lay Sheila, Lay whispered softly in her ear, she must have been gushing buckets. I was so confident of this I stopped, pulled her to face me and brought my lips to hers.
We stood in the middle of the pavement locked in a passionate embrace, oblivious of the passers-by, who meekly parted to avoid colliding with us in our moment of intense infatuation.
For the rest of that afternoon, we were content to stroll along, occasionally stopping for another warm clinch full of long ardent kisses, my jeans bulging with promises and her knickers sodden wet.
Dusk came and went. The day's bright sunny sky was replaced with a dark curtain pricked with lights that shone brighter than ever before. Yes, I was in love with Sheila. So much in love I was desperate to get her under the pier, into the soft darkness and bed of hard shingle.
Levi's 501s were definitely cool, though a handicap to wear during the act of lovemaking. I undid the buttons for her. I didn't want to break the mood with broken fingernails as had happened with Sue. Sheila didn't seem the least impressed by my thoughtfulness and made no attempt to shake hands with her new friend.
He was eager to meet her pussy though and showed equal lack of interest in formalities.
She wasn't as wet as I'd imagined her to be. I caressed her damp mound as she lay reposed, sighing. I rubbed hard against her naked thigh but she still didn't take the hint. I felt it best not to rush. I slowly pulled at her panties. She did lift her bum to assist.
I marvelled at her pussy; what a sweet beautiful thing. The hair was soft, the lips yielding. The inside of her thighs felt smooth against the outside of mine and parted invitingly as I lay on her and tried to enter. I pressed hard in my search to find the gateway to heaven.
The hole I expected to discover in the folds of her labia was not there at first poke, only a hard little lump at the top. I manoeuvred further down, poking, probing, until the horrors of my experience with Sue came rushing back. I panicked knowing a finger trying to force its way into an unwilling anus was bad, and wondered what Sheila, the new centre of my love and affection would think of me if I made the same mistake, and tried to shove something else up there?
I played it as cool as I could under the circumstances. Balancing awkwardly on my elbows, with my knees between her legs, I lovingly caressed her, hoping she thought I knew what I was doing, while all the time still trying to find the right hole.
Sheila didn't help. She made no attempt to reach down and guide me in. I guessed she must be thinking that I did know what I was doing.
I probed around in my quest for what seemed an eternity, sliding my cock up and down.
She started to make throaty groans and bit onto my ear.
I pressed more urgently in my need to enter her.
She shuddered. Her body stiffened and twitched.
I was scared. I was hurting her. But how?
She finally relaxed, and let go of my ear. "That was wonderful," she sighed.
Wonderful? I wondered what was so wonderful. I haven't done anything yet.
She lay tranquil and dreamy as I continued rummaging; seeking to satisfy us both.
"No, please," she yearned. "Just hold me, I love you Featherstone."
Well, what could I do? I wanted to please her. I figured I'd failed again. I stopped as she'd asked, rolled off her and lay on the shingle beach. She turned and snuggled up.
I felt deflated, unsated and thoroughly pissed off. My only satisfaction was in knowing I was one step closer to my 'first time'.
* * *
AN EASY MISTAKE TO MAKE
I couldn't wait to see Sheila again. She'd told me her parents were strict about curfews and would never allow her to stay out all night. What is it with girls and their parents? I wanted to take her to Tom's party; show off my new catch, make them all nudge me and say, "Cor," and, "What a cracker," and, "Not bad at all."
I was still seeing Virginia. She wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I ached to let everyone know I was going out with the most beautiful girl in the world, but then, we weren't really going out. We'd grab and snatch moments before she rushed home with lies about where she had been.
Sheila is different, surely? She is almost as pretty as Virginia, and certainly more forthcoming. I thought I might have spent the night with Sheila, found a dark corner and a square of stained carpet, carry on what we'd left undone on the beach. But, alas, I'd walked her home, kissed her good night, waved at her dad standing at the window behind the curtains, and promised to see her the next day.
I didn't go to Tom's in the end. I Just didn't fancy standing around pretending to be jolly while all the time thinking of Sheila. I didn't want to get drunk, act the fool, be sick, and feel sorry for myself. I decided that was all in the past. My future lay in the arms of Sheila, wonderful Sheila, the new love of my life. And a sure shag to boot.
* * *
She didn't want to break up with me, so long as I respected her freedom to share her with a bloke called Dave. Sheila told me that the next day. "I've been going out with Dave, for three months now, you see. I love him too. What can I do?"
Her words left me stunned and speechless. The lines I'd rehearsed the night before while lying awake planning our life together, crumbled in my brain and never made it to my mouth.
Well it's him or me, I thought. I'm not up for sloppy seconds, I was going to say. But as we were in a sexy embrace at the time, and her parents were out for at least two hours, and I already had her bra off, I made up my mind to tell her later.
I sucked on her breasts, as a starving man would devour…what? Peaches, I guess.
"So what can I do? I love you, Featherstone I really do, but can't seem to get Dave out of my mind."
I thought a whack on the head with a lump of wood might do the trick, but instead stopped further entreaties by smothering her with kisses. I had other things on my mind than discussing ménage a trois, or any other French poet for that matter. I'll sort the sharing her with no one else, after I've had her to myself. I fumbled with the gusset of her panties, as my lips pressed down on hers.
I risked releasing her mouth when her breath started coming in short sharp pants. It was a mistake.
"No, not, it's…" she began to say. I pressed my lips straight back onto hers.
She struggled weakly, and gently tried to push me away
I ignored her token resistance. Her soft pleas went unheeded. I found the space inside her panty- leg as our breath mingled. Our bodies were at last becoming one.
Sheila felt sticky rather than moist, but the hole was there, and it was definitely the right one. My hands were under her bum and could feel her anus as I guided myself in; I was finally coming home.
It was a very tight fit, not very wet inside; in fact, her pussy was dry. I should have given her a bit more foreplay. Too late now, I'm almost there.
Her resistance grew stronger; she struggled hard to pull her head away, to separate the four lips that gelled into one for eternity as Eros meant them to be. With a strong twist of her neck, she snatched her head away. My mouth slithered across her cheek and came to rest in her ear.
Free from my crushing kiss she breathed deeply, exhaled and said, "No, please, it's not a good time, I'm sorry." She started to cry.
My passion ebbed. I was concerned, no, I was worried for her. Have I hurt her somehow? Surely, she wouldn't accuse me of rape. I thought I was being masterful. I'm certainly no beast.
"Why, what is the matter Sheila?"
She made no reply, buried her face in her hands and continued to sob.
I withdrew the shrinking offender and looked down. It was covered in blood. My God what have I done?
"Sheila, I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell me you were a virgin?"
She removed her hands slowly to reveal a damp, questioning expression. "Virgin?"
"Yes, well," I said, finishing the sentence with my eyes passing back and forth between hers and the spectacle of my dick flopped lazily against her naked thigh, the clear evidence now drying and beginning to flake.
She gave me a strange look. "No silly, I began my monthlies this morning, I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen."
I quickly sought a face saving reply. The cogs in my brain whirred, darting through an inventory of catch phrases and excuses. Discussing the Dave situation doesn't seem appropriate. Don't apologise again you prat. Maybe make a joke of it.
"Yes, I knew that of course," I finally said, adding a titter. "Sometimes my sense of humour is a bit…" I paused to make sure I used the right word.
"Lacking," she completed for me.
* * *
Sheila was off limits for a while, by her mother's orders. Exams loomed, and every spare minute must be allocated to cramming, I was told. We needed to take time out, give our relationship a chance to breathe anyway. We still hadn't resolved the Dave issue, so the news that we were to part for a while came with a sense of relief in a way, and I agreed with her tripe about breathing relationships.
Exams loomed for me too, but I wasn't going to let them dictate my life. I had a reasonably well thought out and mature attitude for such a young man. I could speak English, didn't care much where the dots and squiggly little lines went, saw little use for a second language, and knew the price of a loaf of bread. Who gives a damn what seven sixteenths of a loaf costs?
The things I really wanted to know about I learned from my mate, Knocker.
Knocker was a couple of years older than the rest of us, and the font of all worldly wisdom when it came to the subject of women. Being in full time employment he always had plenty of money, on a payday Friday night at least, and wasn't shy about spending it. He could usually be found at The Fawcett Inn. (No, I haven't made that name up.)
We knew he would pay for our drinks. Beer was cheap but not as strong as it is today. It took eight pints to get me to that wobbly state where I still knew what I was doing, and found doing it, most amusing. I went looking for Knocker the night Sheila and I broke up for a breather.
"Hello, what're you having?" he said when I found him. It was his standard greeting.
We were at the four-pint stage when two girls came into the bar. Knocker decided the short one was mine.
"Fancy a Babycham?" he called out as they mooched around, appearing indecisive.
The taller one looked us both up and down, shrugged and said, "Sure, why not?"
"We're in," Knocker said out the corner of his mouth, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow.
"What are you two lovely young ladies doing in a dive like this?" Knocker asked neither of them in particular.
"Looking to meet you, I guess," the taller one replied.
That was that then. Knocker had pulled the bird he fancied, which was just as well.
"You look sad," I said to the short one.
She looked at me as if to say; well so would you if you were stuck with you, but she answered rather pleasantly, "Funny you should say that. My cat died today."
Fabulous, I thought. A bit of sympathy, show my caring side. Get stuck in, Featherstone. "Ah, what a shame, love cats I do, couldn't eat a whole one though, no, sorry I didn't mean that, I really do love cats. My nan's got thirteen you know, always getting run over, well not all of them all the time, they take turns, at least, get replaced when they get run over. Only to do it again, not the new cat of course, it hadn't got run over before. I mean one of the others, it's so hard to keep up with them all, who's been run over and who hasn't, which one never gets the chance to get run over ever again, who's been run over the most and which one has never been run over at all. I tell you, it's a nightmare."
"No, really it is. A bloody nightmare I tell you."
"Why are you laughing? It's not funny."
"No, stop," she said. "My cat's not really dead. I don't even have a cat. I was winding you up." She took the glass of champagne perry and drank it to the bottom in one go.
I froze. Not only was she a catless pisstaker, she was greedy into the bargain. I only had a shilling in my pocket (I won't explain about pre decimal UK currency and its relative value in today's terms, save to say it wasn't a lot of money, at least not where entertaining this girl seemed to be.) I looked frantically around for Knocker. I had no idea what a Babycham cost. Is it less than a shilling? I spotted him at the other end of the bar. He already had the tall girl by the hand and was planting a kiss on it.
"Excuse me, I have to have a quick word with my mate. Don't go away. I'll be straight back."
"But I haven't got a drink," she complained.
"Don't worry, I'll be right back."
"Mind you do then."
I shoved my way through the Friday night crowd, and pulled Knocker by the sleeve. He looked at me, slightly peeved. He was obviously already pretty drunk, as it took him a second look to recognise his bestest best friend in the whole wide world.
"Can I have a word, Knocker mate," I implored.
"Here, Julie. Meet Fevver, Fether, Fettfer, meet my mate, whatshisname."
"Nice to meet you, Julie," I said, shaking her hand briefly. "Knocker, I got to have a word."
He pulled me to him, our foreheads touching. "Yes my luvverly mate, you tell Uncle Knocker."
"It's a bit private, like."
He sat back, tossed a handful of coins onto the counter. "Here, Julie pet, get a round in will you, two pints and two Babywhatsits or whatever." Standing up, using my shoulders as a crutch, he said, "Come on, I'm dying for a slash," and we made off for the Gents.
We stood side by side with our dicks in our hands. He glanced over, not in a furtive manner, looked back at his own, and smiled contentedly. I did the same, and turned slightly away.
I was enjoying the sensation of releasing the pressure on a full bladder. Knocker was obviously feeling the same. I watched cigarette butts flow in the current towards the drain when Knocker spoke.
"Ah, that feels good," he stated ecstatically, "better than a fuck any day."
Well, I didn't know did I, but wasn't about to admit the fact to Knocker. "Yeah, not half," I agreed.
"So what you want mate?" he said, as his flow of urine finally became a trickle, and then a few drips.
"Well it's a bit awkward. I don't want to play gooseberry with you and Julie, but I'm skint. You couldn't lend me a couple of bob could you?" (Again, 'bob' is slang for the old shilling which was…, oh forget it.)
"Couple of bob? Fuck me you're going to need more than that if you fancy a go at Mavis."
So that's her name. I should have asked. But Mavis? Who under the age of thirty is called Mavis? How old is she for fuck's sake.
"Here, You're going to need this to feed Mavis," he said as he thrust a ten shilling note into my hand. "No, better make it a quid," handing me another. "She don't look like no five bob tart to me."
I stood there dumb as an ox on market day. "Sorry mate, what are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about? These two are brasses. It's obvious. You won't get them sucking your dick for naught."
But I didn't want my dick sucked. Not at any price. I wasn't even sure I wanted anything more to do with Mavis, who must be in her eighties looking nineteen. But Knocker was obviously eager, rubbing his hands together in glee, either that or drying off the piss.
"Right, let's get back to it; Julie's going to be one lucky lady tonight," he announced.
I followed him meekly. My grandmother was right after all. I thought about what she had told me when I'd asked what prostitute meant. "Ladies who go into pubs," was her end of subject reply. And I remembered thinking she must be a prostitute, whenever she took me with her to the pub.
Now I found myself in a pub full of prostitutes, alone, except for Knocker, which felt worse than being alone. At least I could have sneaked out without having to pay anyone.
But I couldn't do that to Knocker. I girded my loins, deciding to see how things panned out.
The two girls stopped giggling as they saw us return.
"You two have been a long time," Julie greeted us cheerfully.
"Been playing with ourselves have we?" Mavis giggled.
God, this is turning into a nightmare.
"We missed you," Mavis said. That was obvious. Their glasses were empty.
"We missed you too, here give us a kiss," Knocker said, taking hold of Julie's shoulders and planting a smacker on her mouth.
Mavis looked at me longingly.
"Get off, you cheeky beggar," Julie said.
"Here, let's leave the two lovebirds alone," Mavis said to me.
She manoeuvred me away from where the 'lovebirds' sat, looking into each other's eyes. Mavis dragged me to the other end of the bar. I looked back beseechingly; for Knocker and his protection once again.
Knocker was one of the older kids when I started 'big' school. He was the largest and hardest thing my impressionable mind could imagine. My best friend, Chris, was his cousin and by association that protected Chris and I from anyone stupid enough to upset us. His ability to knock you out cold with a single head butt, the Knocker Kiss, earned him his moniker.
Knocker wasn't about to head butt Mavis for me. I'd have to do it myself. Metaphorically speaking that is. I decided that acting hard and mean would do the trick. I'd get her so pissed off she'd have to chuck me. I knew I could handle that kind of rejection. I'd been chucked often enough.
"Well, are you going to buy me a drink or not?" I demanded.
"You've already got one," she pointed out.
So I had. I hadn't touched the pint Knocker had just bought. I put the glass to my lips, opened my throat and emptied it in one long gulp the way hard men do. I immediately wanted to regurgitate. I held my breath and waited for the urge to puke to recede.
"My, you can certainly hold your drink. I'll say that for you. What's your name by the way?" she asked me in awe.
That didn't work, I'll have to try harder. I was scared to reply in fear of covering her in sick. OK, it would have solved my dilemma, rid me of the unwanted hussy, but seemed a bit far to go. I exhaled carefully. "Feather…Fred," I said at last.
"Fred? That's a bit old fashion sounding. How old are you Fred?"
"Old enough. And Mavis ain't such a fucking great name either." I was slipping nicely into my hard, mean mantle.
"Yeah, I know, I hate it as well but what can I do? I didn&rsqu