This is not a work of pure fiction; it's not a verbatim record of events, either. Rather it's a recovered and organized memory with partly imagined details. What I mean is -- the events happened; to me and to my friends; but I have had to reinvent the dialogue. The emotions have stayed with me and I have not had to remember, invent or reconstruct a single one. However, all the characters and events portrayed in this story are fictional. No resemblance to real people of events is intended. So there; if you think you recognize yourself or the events, you can't sue me!
After my mortifying faux pas in the disco.
I suspect that the word got around school within thirty minutes on Monday: Rachel held her boyfriend's willy in public. Everyone in the class seemed to know. In some ways it did me some good; in other ways it did nothing but harm. With just that one second-hand story, I had proved myself to be straight', normal, and completely extinguished any thoughts some girls may have had about me and Bernadette. But at the same time it erected monumental barriers between Bernadette and I. She avoided me for three days, deliberately sitting away from me, completely disappearing at lunchtime and generally ignoring me. At last I caught up with her after school. I knew she was furious with me, she didn't have to say anything. She stood there with her arms crossed underneath her bust and her legs crossed as well. This had been Bernadette's normal posture all through school. Only in the past few weeks had I tempted her out of these rigid confines and got her to relax just a little. But her she was again, all wound up like knotted wire. "I suppose you've heard all about it." She ignored me, and began shoving books and pencil cases into her satchel with undisguised fury. "You know what Guy is like, you danced with him at my party." She stopped and looked at me; hard. Then looked away, crossing her hands before her as usual. I had seen her dancing with him. She had responded to his sexuality, vivacity and charm. Girls might prefer one thing or another, but generally they only want to have fun. You can respond to someone on one level and remain totally resistant to them on another level. I remember reading somewhere that an artist is someone who can hold two fundamentally opposed principles together at the same time. On that basis, most of us are artists. Anyway, back to 1985. "It wasn't like that. He's not my boyfriend, and I didn't hold it; I just moved it out of the way." No response. "He has only had gay sex with boys at school before." That got her attention. Now she turned to look at me again, lips pursed together making the prettiest little cupids bow you've ever seen. When Benradette pouted, she could just break my heart. "I don't believe it just happened'" she spat out at me. "Things like that don't `just happen' between people." Was she was jealous? "We were at the disco," I explained. "Just dancing." "But when we danced close together, we were very close and . . . " My voice trailed away, but I slowly raised my index finger in front of me to indicate what had happened. Bernadette watched my finger. "So I moved it out of the way. Paula and Katie saw, of course. And I wanted to die!" She snorted in disgust; she was not convinced, she reached down for the flap of her satchel, fumbled it, and an avalanche of books slipped out onto the floor. We both dived to collect them and cracked our heads together. She squealed and clutched her forehead "You fool, Rae!" We scooped up the books together. "I've missed you." I whispered into her ear as I passed her a handful of textbooks. She said nothing, just looked at me and re-packed her bag. But as she swung it over her shoulder and left the classroom, she looked at me for just a moment over her shoulder. I thought I was making progress.
More than a week later. I had given up trailing after her all over the school. It felt like hide-and-seek with no `feignits' or whatever you called in your locale to call a truce to the game. So this lunchtime – it was wet and stormy outside – I repaired to the art room store, where I could get some clay out of the pottery bin and fashion a few simple figures. Somehow, Bernadette had tracked me down, and now she stood in the doorway, arms crossed on her chest. "I suppose you're trying to make a friend." She spat at me. I stopped shaping the clay. "What?" "Well you haven't got any real ones, so you might as well make one!" I looked at Bernadette open-mouthed. I simply couldn't believe I had heard her say something that horrible to me. I couldn't say anything. I was crushed. I bled inside. "No one likes you They all think you're weird and a queer git!" She slammed the door behind her. I stared blankly at the door. What on earth had made her do that? What had changed so much in the past ten days? Despite myself, I cried.
I was utterly heartbroken. I fought desperately to see Bernadette after school, but she'd already gone. I was desolated, so I sought out JJ the next day. "Haven't a clue, sweetie. The daft bitch can't make up her mind whether she wants to play mummies and daddies' or just mummies', I shouldn't wonder." JJ looked at me directly. "Fuck it. Forget her!" "Find another squirming little tart who will find the ability to fuck within her personal morals." I looked away quickly. "Oh dear. Is that the problem. I should have guessed, darling. She's a proper apprentice virgin is Bernadette. Doesn't give a toss for males, but is too repressed by them to enjoy her own kind." "It's not like that JJ." "Then what is it like, darling? I bet Daddy has told her to stay pure for him. And she daren't even experiment without reporting back every Sunday morning! Move on! You'll never win there." I opened my mouth to reply, but no riposte came. So I closed it again. JJ looked at me inquiringly with one eyebrow raised, but said nothing. At last I had it "It doesn't matter. I still love her." JJ gave me her pitying look.
We did `The Merchant of Venice' in English that school term. I loved the part where Portia cross-dressed to save Antonio. How noble to abandon everything you know and adhere to, in order to save the one you love. The pattern was that we would read the play in character, taking turns to be the various characters. I was Portia for a scene or two. Opposite, Paula was Antonio and someone else was Shylock. I poured out my heart in those few lines. Easy to make the words sing when one could direct them to someone as perfect as Paula. She just looked at me with those beautiful eyes and I nearly lost my balance staring into them.
"You know about gays'." Paula used the term with an emphasis. This was the mid 80's, we were all aware of these labels. "Mmm?" "Well you know about women like that." "Mmmmm?" "Well, have you ever seen one?" "What?" I pulled up sharply in our walk across from the music room to the main school. "I wish I hadn't started this" she groaned, rolling her eyes skywards. "What are you talking about, Paula." "Well, it's just that some people look that way!" She continued walking, and I gaped after her like a codfish hooked on a line. I scurried along to catch up. "What? Who do? Or does or what?" "Y'know. Just sometimes when people look at you!" She stopped and dropped her voice. "You know how men look at you sometimes. Well, just like that, but it's a woman." Her eyes flicked up to mine. Her pretty blond eyelashes curled up deliciously. I knew exactly what she meant. But I also knew that I was part of the problem, not the solution. "Who in particular? Come on, who?" "Miss B! She does to me, anyway. All that looking down her nose at you as she passes. I reckon she's looking at your legs!" "Rubbish, Paula!" I exclaimed, making it sound as convincing as I could. "Bucky's not like that – she's absolutely straight!" "Straight?" Now I'd done it. Straight' was not a term used by schoolgirls at the time. "You know; `ordinary'. Anyway, didn't you reckon she fancied Mr Davies a few weeks ago?" Mister Rodney Davies was our stand-in Classics teacher for the term. Tall and broad and very, very Welsh, we had seen Miss Buckingham pay careful attention to him soon after he had arrived. She had definitely been interested in getting his attention for one reason or another, and Paula – together with many others – had made an assumption.
"But that's how she looks at me!" Paula was defiant and she pouted to prove it. "Anyway, does it really worry you?" I responded. "She hasn't tried to kiss you or anything, has she?" "No. No, and I don't know what I'd do if she tried, either." I looked sidelong at Paula. What was this all about? Was she really telling me she wouldn't resist the homosexual advances of one our teachers or just advances in general. Paula was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen; I would have died for her body – just for one hour. She could have charmed the very Pope with her beauty. Girls are normally good at fathoming out the messages we send each other through word and gesture: but me, I'm just hopeless. I cannot decide if my girlfriend is telling me what I want to hear or the whole truth; I cannot read a relationship situation in the same three-dimensional clarity as my sisters. Perhaps that's why I hate soaps.
And so Paula walked off and left me none the wiser on this. I watched her walk towards the language labs as I turned towards the art room. Over her head, I saw Bernadette standing on the steps, looking at both of us.
I'm going to fast forward a few weeks to just after New Year. Christmas was beautifully ordinary; just us three, plus Granny at home; I loved it. Amongst other things, Toby got a skateboard and a crash helmet. I had a go and twisted my knee! Dad sent me a package of sexy underwear. I went up to see Guy on the 29th of December as he had planned, and he collected me at the station in the Land Rover. Anyone who has seen Brideshead Revisited would remember the moment when Sebastian and Charles looked across the lake to Sebastian's home – Brideshead.. Well it wasn't quite the same for me when I saw `The Castle', but I cannot pretend I was not astounded by Herlemere Castle on the other side of the valley. "That's home!" Shouted Guy above the rattle of the engine. I looked across him to the right and my jaw dropped. I saw a castellated and towered mansion set above a lake and below pine forests. The short winter afternoon light was already dying in the south west and there was just a trace of red sky reflected in the upper windows. He pulled sharply right onto a gravel road, down and across the valley, weaving between the lakes. Past the Home Farm, through gates and into the castle. "Not real, y'know." "Hmm?" I was in a state of shock, gazing up umpteen storeys to a barley twist tower. "Great, great grandfather knocked the old one down in the last century to build this. It's even got central heating – when the boiler works!" He hustled me indoors in his blasé, enthusiastic manner. "Put you in a room overlooking the lake. Thought you'd like that. We'll leave your stuff here, let's see Mamma for tea." Right turn, left turn, through the double doors. Into a sequence of rooms each with double doors to separate them from each other. Two Golden Retrievers came hurtling out of the end room to greet us as we arrived at the threshold. "Get down! Leave! Leave!" Guy's shouted commands stilled the dogs in their inquisitiveness and I entered the salon of Lady D. "Darling Guy! This must be Rachel. How pleased I am to meet you. Guy has been boring me silly with his countdown to when you would arrive! Now you're here, we can all relax." What an introduction! I hesitated before the ordeal of my first words to her. "Come and sit here, have some tea and tell me about yourself." She raised her hand to speak theatrically behind it "I'll send Guy away, then you can tell me what a rotten lover he is!" The three others in the room – one man and two ladies - tittered politely at this. Lady D patted an armchair next to her and I duly parked myself there. She introduced me to the other guests and poured tea, while I gazed around the room. "I think you may be ahead of us, Rachel. What do you see?" "It looks a bit like Pugin, around the columns in particular. Oh, and the fireplace of course." Lady D reached out her hand and grabbed mine strongly in her grasp. "Clever girl!" "But the furnishings are Moriss, of course. And that's an original!" Involuntarily I stood and approached the towering canvas above the fireplace. Monarch of the Glen, by Sir Edwin Landseer. I looked up at the painting quizzically, it was an original, but not the original. "What do you think, Rachel?" Lady D's voice was softer now and it occurred to me that she might have some emotional stock in the painting before me. "The light is lovely! The colour over the stag's shoulder is super. Much more atmospheric than the original. I like it!" "Mamma painted that." Said Guy moving to stand behind me. "Last year of Art School – a long time ago! I picked Landseer because I couldn't think of a less fashionable artist!" "I decided that I was going to be a famous painter, but then I met this man, married and had these three horrible boys!" She scowled at Guy, then grinned and poked her tongue out. I liked her enormously. She was tall with very slim legs and wonderful long dark auburn hair that she kept swept over her shoulder. There was more life in her than in many.
Guy showed me to my room overlooking the lake. It was magical. It had gothic swept headed windows right down to the floor overlooking the croquet lawn and the lake. The ceiling was high and irregularly vaulted. I tried to decide if it had been two rooms, knocked in to one or whether the architect was just squiffy. Whatever. There was small but luxurious bathroom en suite. I bathed and changed, loving the luxury and taking my time before coming down for the evening to meet Guy's father and brothers, Charles and Horatio. They were all quite disarmingly good looking, in their very unassuming way. Lady D, as a young art student must have stood no chance against the charms of Sir Peter as a young man. He was sharp, attentive, charming and gentlemanly. And he had taught his sons well; they all made me feel at home and as valued as a family friend. Hori (Horatio) was accompanied by Isobel, his fiancée, a largish blonde with a silly laugh and nothing at all between her ears, She was one of the most irritating females I have ever come across, and she almost made me ashamed of my sex. I felt justified in my dislike when Lady D made plain her contempt for Isobel. "What if anything, have you done today that is interesting, Isobel?" How had Isobel landed Hori? She was dull as ditchwater; he was as sharp and bright as a diamond. Over cocktails we discussed the plans for the party on New Years' Eve the next night. Although they quite confused me by calling it `Old Year's Night'. I'd never heard it called that before.
Fast forward again to New Year's Day. The party had been wonderful the night before. The castle was full of happy, joyful people and we saw the year in with champagne and flares on the lawn! I drank much too much and really paid for it in the morning. Guy woke me up at nine with breakfast in bed and a sloppy kiss; I didn't really want either. But by noon, I was feeling better and full of hot chocolate and brown toast with marmite. "Come on, we're going out!" "Where, Guy?" "Surprise. Tell you when we're there!" he flourished my coat before me like a bullfighter's cape. I struggled into it. "Tell me now! I hate surprises." "No. Can't do that. Promised I wouldn't." And off we went in the Land Rover again. Over the hill behind the castle, throgh the pine plantation and out of the estate onto public roads. No clue to our destination. But we were going south west-ish by the sun, and I guessed. Guy said nothing, but I knew. Guy knew the road well, and that confirmed the destination to me. So when he pulled off the road at a sign for Westcote Farm, I already knew we were going to see Hillie.
Yellow sandstone walls around a tiny cottage garden, the L shaped farmhouse seemed to hug itself into the hillside to keep warm. This New Year's Day was now chill and dull, but the farmhouse glowed with warmth and love inside. The front door opened and there she was. Hillie was on the brink of tears already, She held out her arms to me and I rushed to embrace her. We held each other close and sobbed; just sobbed. In the years I had known Hillie at school, we had not kissed or hugged, barely even touched. But now we held each other so close, arms wrapped about and cheeks pressed lovingly together. We straightened up slightly and I felt something between us and jumped back in shock as I realized it was Hillie's belly. "It's ok, I'm just growing a bit!" I still held her hands and just stared and her rounded swelling. She was well covered in sweater and cardigan, but instantly I wanted to make sure her baby was warm and protected. We went into the lounge and Guy followed. He made himself comfortable and inconspicuous as we spoke about school, friends and the baby. I knew now that Guy had been there many times before, and I was pleased for both of them. Hillie was ambivalent towards the baby, almost dismissive and seemingly impatient to be rid of it, but I couldn't believe that was the case. It was not her nature to be so detached. The lounge door opened and a lady came in bearing a huge tray of Christmas cake and tea. Guy sprang to his feet and took the tray from her having cleared a place on the coffee table. "Keep her warm and well fed, Guy!" "I will, Julia. Promise!" I looked from Hillie's Aunt Julia to Guy to Hillie. Guy was well known here, there was a relationship forming. Guy looked at me quickly, then away. He was wondering if I had caught the truth of the situation; I had and I was perfectly happy with it. I needed to pass that on to him. Hillie looked wonderful, her little football' stomach was growing perfectly. And although I would have preferred her not to have been pregnant, I was happy for her and desperately wanted to protect her and the baby. She was still only fifteen, she would need all the love and protection she could get. I don't know how to express love for someone apart from to say I love you'. With Hillie, I never got the chance, but I still loved her.
Fast forward to being back at school. I felt that I had grown up quite a lot over Christmas, having been away on my own and seen Hillie – and swearing a vow of silence about our meeting – I had information and gossip that would give me power at school, even though I knew I would never use it. Bernadette was still strange and cold to me, I still ached for her and tried everything I could to charm her into just talking to me. But it was hopeless; she had shut me out of her life for what reason I did not know. I kept running that outburst of hers through my mind. "No one likes you They all think you're weird and a queer git!" Maybe that was the point. In the wake of my adventure with Guy's member, no-one thought I was queer. Bernadette had only had sexual relations with me; she was the queer' and maybe she felt isolated by it. Maybe she felt that I had betrayed her with my heterosexual' episode. The winter was cold and so was her heart; we both needed to find solace and warmth elsewhere. But I wouldn't stop trying.
Paula, Katie and I went to a party. It was being held at the home of someone that Paula and Katie knew vaguely through youth club. And by chance it was sort of midway between her house and mine, so of course I blackmailed my mother into taking me and paying for the taxi back. From drop off time at about eight to collection at quarter to twelve, I was free. Paula had just got to the suburban house before me, and we both shed our coats and dumped our offerings of wine and beer in the kitchen before launching into the dancing in what must have been the dining room. There were surprisingly few people there, normally a teenage party would have been inundated by friends and hangers on. But not this evening's event, it was oddly empty. The host was someone called Mike who Paula knew vaguely but certainly could not identify or find this evening. But I had the vague idea that people were disappearing upstairs for ten or fifteen minutes before reappearing downstairs. I had no idea what was going on. I could never understand how Paula, this beautiful statuesque blonde, always seemed to be unaccompanied. She was exquisitely beautiful and worthy of any male's attention. And yet, she was alone whenever I saw her socially. But here, in the darkened, disco of this party Paula was besieged by suitors. She danced and so did I as various males came and went. By chance we were both dressed in black leggings and T-shirts, but Paula filled out both far more attractively than I did. Suddenly Katie and her boyfriend were with us in the dancing and we all jigged about madly. At last I had to give up, it was stiflingly hot in there and I thought I'd melt. I staggered back towards the slightly cooler kitchen with Paula giggling after me and poured two paper cups of hideous Liebfraumilch. We knocked those back instantly and I poured two more. Paula giggled at me again. "What are you doing, Miss Stevenson? Can I trust you?" "No. Certainly not. Never. Drink up and let's go back!" We sank those two as well and I grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the hall after me. But here she stopped and pulled me the other way, towards the stairs. "Come on, let's see!" So Paula had noticed the traffic up and downstairs as well. She led and I followed up the stairs and onto the landing. On the way up those darkened stairs, I followed Paula and was delivered of the most magnificent view of her bottom. Tight and hard, yet unutterably feminine, her strong and perfect buttocks could have preceded me to heaven. Three open doors, two bedrooms and a bathroom, plus a closed door on the landing. The open rooms were all dark and empty; it was the closed door that hid the intrigue. There on the landing I sort of noticed a funny sweet and herby smell, difficult to describe but very distinctive. Partly it reminded me of my uncle Brian who smoke herbal cigarettes. Kathleen, his wife, made him smoke them in the shed. The smell was nearly the same, but not quite. We sort of tiptoed – giggling and shoving each other – towards the closed door at the end of the landing, and as we got within a few feet, it opened, well sort of. The door slowly half opened to reveal points of orange light and clouds of smoke within, and then it closed again. But that split second was enough time for Paula to shove me sideways into a darkened doorway and close the door behind us. "Shhh!" I giggled. "Shh!" she hissed at me in the dark. Footsteps passed outside. More came up the stairs, passed and then retreated. Pausing right outside the door. Now my eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim and I could see Paula hunched at the door before me, trying to look through the keyhole. There were still people outside, I could see from the shadows of light leaking under the door. I couldn't help but giggle again. Paula whirled around to me "Shhh!" >From the landing outside, someone scrabbled for the door handle and a blast of light screamed into the room. Paula reacted the very microsecond that the door opened and grabbed me, pulling me close and our mouths together. Over her shoulder, I saw the outline of a male head peek round the door "Oh! Oops, sorry." And the door closed again. There in the dark, with my hands on Paula's hips, I didn't know what to think. She'd grabbed me and our mouths had met in a sort of kiss, but that was subterfuge rather than passion. And now, how was I to get out of this situation with my dignity and secret intact? And yet I didn't want to move. Paula was so soft and sexual before me, positively fragrant like a delicate flower. I felt if I moved, I would break her. Our boobs were interlocked and I felt the delicious pressure of her breast on my arm. I wanted to stroke and suckle, but I dared not move. "You know what I said about Bucky?" She whispered, our faces only an inch or so apart, and I could feel her breath on my lips, there in the dark. "Yes, what?" "I think I'd like to try." We kissed, properly this time. Lip to lip, full of finding out and nervousness. We twisted around slightly and now I could see Paula's eyes glistening in the light from the door. Her eyes were open as our mouths approached each other, and then closed as our lips met. I don't know what she expected of me, but the gush of soft female loveliness from her was almost too much for me to bear. I swam in the pools of her perfume, totally adrift in her luscious beauty. I was enchanted by her sensuous presence; her hair, her hand around my waist, the incredible softness of her lips on mine. We kissed and kissed again. When we broke for breath, I giggled slightly embarrassed in the dark, so did Paula. "What do you think?" I whispered. "It's fun! Different. What about you?" I nodded enthusiastically in the dark. She sort of shepherded me towards the single bed that lay against the wall and still clutching each other, we half sat, half fell upon it. I went back too far and banged my head on the wall and screamed with giggly laughter. Paula guffawed, and we lay there sprawled across the bed diagonally just laughing for several minutes. But now it was serious again. Paula half lay on me and presented her mouth to mine for more kissing, her tongue played with mine like a quick darting animal. But now becoming still as she concentrated elsewhere. Her hand was inside my t-shirt, stroking my nipple through my bra. Tracing around my areole and exciting the central button. This was all so unexpected. I had lusted after Paula from the first day I met her and I would have swopped bodies at any time with her. But I never dreamed that I could be here, sexually experimenting with her – and with her taking the initiative. I don't know what she thought of me, but I began to believe that she didn't realize that I was even vaguely bisexual, let alone that I was a sexually experienced committed homosexual. She was just playing, whereas I was loving.
Her hand snaked around my back to unclip my bra and I arched my shoulders to help. Reclining again, she brushed my bra out of the way and touched my nipple. I wanted to regain the initiative and almost wondered how far she would go with this experiment, so I moved my hand down onto her bottom as she stroked my boob. I pushed my hand down the back of her leggings and threaded my fingers inside her high leg pants. Smooth skin; I knew what her bottom looked like, I had watched her change for gym dozens of times. But here, now, I was caressing those pretty buttocks as Paula made love to my breast. I moved my hand to her hip and pushed her back a little bit, I wanted to touch her front, but I hadn't reckoned with the narrowness of the bed and as she rolled backwards she slid off the bed grabbing wildly with a little shriek as she hit the floor. I couldn't move to help her for giggling so much and Paula wasn't any better than me, she just laying there on the floor laughing. At last she pulled herself up to her knees at the side of the bed. "'Spose you think that's funny!" And sniggered wildly I helped pull her back on the bed and now we lay along it properly, our heads on the pillow covered by a candlewick bedspread. Now side to side, facing each other on the bed, I wanted to carry on where we had left off. I put my hand down the back of her leggings, onto her bottom again, then withdrew my hand and began to tug her leggings down. Paula let me. She lifted her hips from the bed and let me pull her leggings down. Then she reached out and slid her hand inside the waistband of my leggings. It was obvious; she wanted to do the same, and so I lifted slightly and let her slip my leggings down towards my knees. But with my leggings went my knickers. We held and kissed again and again, our bellies pressed together and arms clasped tightly around each other as we lay on our sides. Paula's hand strayed down to my bottom and caressed my cheeks. Again I put my hand on her hip to gently roll her back to reach her front. I put my hand on the front of her knickers, feeling the gentle bristle of her pubic hair inside. But she moved just as purposefully and slid her hand onto my exposed pubis. We stroked, rubbed and pressed each other in unison. The only difference between us being that Paula was finding out, experimenting with the feel of another girl's genitals, whereas I already knew. I slid my hand around her hips again and prised her pants down, right down with her leggings, past her knees. She pulled my clothes down too so that we could both entwine our thighs and open ourselves to each other's fingers. I traced her tight slit around from perimeum to clitoris, finding only a tiny slice of lips protruding. I parted them slightly and found her slightly lubricated between. Up her lips to find her tiny clitoris under the hood, and down again to the entrance to her vagina where she was damper. I circled my fingers around there, just enjoying the wetness and intimacy, then back to the hood. As I did this, Paula almost mirrored my actions, but more inquisitively and with less certainty. I felt her cup my pubis and trace her fingers along my protruding labia. Her ring finger slipped between and up to my clitoris that I knew now protruded lewdly. She explored me with her fingers, and sent tiny ripples of pleasure through me as I tried to provide the same thrills for her. I knew I was wet, I could feel her fingers sliding easily between my folds. Paula was less well lubricated and although I wanted desperately to insert my fingers into her vagina, I wasn't sure if she would welcome me or be repelled. But she decided for me; Her ring finger curled beneath me and just ever so gently slid into my vagina. I was on fire; I wanted her to shove it right in, two, three, even four fingers right inside, but her one little, probing, questioning finger would have to do. I followed suit on her body, running my ring finger down and underneath her lips, between the fold and into the warmest, most secret place. She was tight and small, wet but not gushing. I thrust in and out slowly, gently. I wanted to lick her and enjoy burying my face into her sweet smelling hair, but I was scared of being rejected or revolting her with the intimacy. And so I moved my slippery fingers again back up to her clitoris and circled it lovingly. With my tongue deep in her mouth, I stroked and circled, drawing grunts and wriggles of pleasure form her. With my thigh thrown over hers, she made minute examination of my labia and clitoris with her fingers, stroking my lips and running her fingers between and inside me. She didn't come, neither did I. But we grappled and fiddled our way through each other's sex with pleasure and secrecy. "We ought to go down." She whispered. I knew what she meant, but I wished she mean go down – on each other'. I often fantasized about sixty-nining' a girl, I thought it would be wonderful. And I wished that was what she was proposing now. "I know." "You won't say, will you?" "No; you won't either?" "Promise." "Me too." "Did you like?" "Mmm." "Have you ever done it with a boy?" "No. Have you?" She nodded. "Hurts a bit, the first time anyway. What about Guy, then?" "I think he's a bit big for me!" I admitted and she squealed with laughter. "Think I'd walk funny for a week afterwards!" We giggled and squealed together. We sat up and pulled out clothes back up. I pulled up my t-shirt to redo my bra as Paula stood and pulled up her knickers and leggings. Still in the dark, I did the same and we composed ourselves as best we could before opening the door a crack to check that the coast was clear. We scampered downstairs giggling like – well, naughty schoolgirls. Back into the kitchen. The Liebfraumilch had gone so we shared plastic tumblers of artificially russet cider, looked at each other and giggled. "Where did you two get to?" Katie and boyfriend bustled up to the drinks table, fiddling to find something left amongst the empties. "Went out for some fresh air." Said Paula lightly. "Really stinks of something in here." "It's the wacky-backy." Said Katie in a mock confidential way. "The what?" Paula and I responded together. "Wacky- backy, you know. Weed, dope." She looked Paula to me and back again. "Marijuana. Upstairs in Mike's room."
Of course we pretended to know, but really I don't think either of us had a clue what had been going on upstairs. We were still very innocent in the ways of the world, or other teenagers as well.
Mum sniffed as soon as I sat down in the lounge. "Whose party was that? What exactly was going on there? Were his parents there? Who was in control of the party? Were they aware of what was going on? At what point did you become aware?" You can imagine. She smelt marijuana on me and went into legal overdrive. I answered as best I could and then excused myself and went up to bed. I `secured' the door (with a chair back under the handle as I had seen on the movies) and then I retrieved my rubber monster from around the back of my desk and set him to work.
First I stripped in front of the mirror, throwing my unwanted clothing into the corner. Next I tickled and massaged my nipples, rolling them and rubbing them stiff and alert. Now I was nearly ready for the rubber monster. I sat down on the bed, still facing the mirror and just touched my labia. I seethed with excitement and desire. The inconclusive action with Paula had primed my body and I was going to finish it tonight. My clitoris protruded and my labia minora showed outrageously. Now I just touched the entrance to my vagina. I flooded. I was seriously wet. All over my fingers and up and down my slit. I squirmed myself back and forth with all the lubricant, wonderful. I would never be more ready for the rubber monster than now, and I introduced it quickly into my vagina, Hard and powerful, it filled me completely and I wriggled with pleasure and thrust back at its intrusion. I fucked myself sore. As my rubber monster was concentrated inside, my fingers rubbed my button. I came and I came and I came. Different positions and different views. Thighs splayed as I lay across the bed looking into the mirror, then bottom in the air as I knelt on the bed and applied from behind, next standing at my desk, thrusting against my rigid hand as I faced the uncurtained window. Grimacing and gasping with six inches of rubber invader inside while I wanked furiously with my right hand on my clit. Finally, finally. I tried a variation on human sexuality that I had not tried before. I smoothed my sticky rubber monster with Vaseline and presented the tip far underneath; at my anus. I pushed with no effect. I squirmed it around at my sphincter, but still with no effect. So I knelt on my bed and dropped my chest to the bedspread . In the mirror I could see my hips high in the air, and I forced myself to relax and for my back to `hollow'. Now I could feel my anus relaxing and opening, so I presented the very tip of the monster there. Relax, again and let the invader in. More. More and more. Now I was full. I looked in the mirror, at least six inches of rubber still protruded, only two inches inside. How on earth did gay men mange this?
I have no idea when I finished masturbating that night, it seemed like hours in a single orgasm and I had several of those. But as I played and lusted, and even with my experience of Paula freshest in my memory, the figure in my mind as I wanked was Bernadette. Her bottom, her black pubis, her tiny titties. I still wanted her. I had to have her.
That's the penultimate part of 'Me at School'. I wonder how many mistakes I've made in this part?. The last part will finish a few things off. Tell me what you think please, rachelfrizz@hotmail.co.uk - I need to know that SOMEONE actually reads it! Bye, Rae.