After an enlightening adventure amidst the darkness of a matinee cinema show in the late 1950s, a thirteen-year-old convent schoolgirl cannot wait to broaden the experience of her best friend.
I told Pam what had happened after she left the cinema … no, that’s not true. I only told her some of it; I omitted the penis-related bits. Pam wasn’t as daring as me and though just as curious as to the sex organs of boys, I suspected she would have been horrified if I’d told her that I had innocently caressed that stranger’s penis to ejaculation – horrified and frightened probably, perhaps even to the extent of confiding in her parents. I couldn’t risk that.
The discovery of what they were after when they put their hand up your skirt was another story though. We all had a vested interest in discovering that secret – and I was sure of that now, after yesterday’s revelation.
Pam sat slack-faced and open-mouthed as I confided the process from breast rubbing to rubbing between the legs, then wide-eyed as I reached the literally climactic ending.
Pleasure like you’ve never felt before; so intense it almost makes you scream; so exquisite you know that it’s a sin – a feeling that transcends any sensation the nuns even suspect exists. I was right, she was excited. After school, I said: that was when I told her I would show her what to do.
Pam was an only child and both of her parents had jobs that entailed the house being unoccupied until about six every evening – that gave us plenty of time. So, after school we made a beeline for her house; mind you, as we passed the cinema and the provocative ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ poster outside, we could feel blasted by the erotic rays (yes, this was the fifties, with spacemen, robots and ray guns part of the Zeitgeist and Sputniks orbiting the earth), accelerating our progress to Pam’s bedroom.
We sat cross-legged on her bed facing each other, our gymslips pulled up to our waists exposing our navy blue regulation knickers. Pam made herself comfortable, lodging a pillow against the high slatted wooden bed head; I mirrored her position against the lower slatted foot. Having removed our shoes and socks, our legs were bare. I started, running my fingers with whispering touches along my inner thigh from my knee upwards and encouraged Pam to duplicate my moves. But there was something missing; I couldn’t understand it – after all, I’d done it just last night in bed with total success, yet here, it wasn’t working; it seemed just too… mechanical?
Pam felt it as well; she wasn’t getting it either – and she was complaining that her legs were too cold. That must be it, I realised. That first time, the stranger had put his coat over my legs to ‘keep them warm’, and on every subsequent occasion I had been in my bed, snug under the covers. I swiftly moved up beside Pam and we both pulled the covers over our legs as we sat side by side and legs akimbo. This created a problem though: there was no visual aid for Pam to follow, so, without thinking too deeply about it I decided there was no alternative but to teach her as I had been taught – with one alteration – to ensure she was doing it correctly she would have to copy the movements on me.
This made all the difference. Within moments, we were feeling toasty enough below the blankets to begin, each of us with a hand on the other girl’s knee. As I began tracing lightly up her inner thigh, right up to the knicker gusset, Pam followed my actions; this was another revelation – the unsurpassable pleasure was being surpassed! Doing it to someone else was chokingly exciting, especially as they were doing it to me as well, copying every movement I made. As I brushed lightly back and forth over the gusset she was doing the same to me; my god, I just wanted to lie back and let her take over, just like the man in the cinema had done – but I couldn’t, I was the instructor.
I slipped my fingers below the elastic and found her opening damp, as no doubt she was finding with me. I parted her a little – she did the same to me; I ran my fingers up and down the opening, lingering with gentle forefinger movements around the top – she did the same to me. It was becoming difficult. My ecstasy and Pam’s increasing writhing was making it difficult: I had to concentrate. And then, as she began to climax before me, her thighs snapped shut, trapping my hand, while her hand, still inside my knickers, went into a spasm of improvisation – forefingers inside me, thumb rubbing madly – sucking me into a vortex of gripping, squirting ejaculation. Rolling on top of me, we both jerked against each other like dogs on bitches, kissing mouth to mouth, then pulling our hands free from each other’s knickers, groping and caressing each other through our gymslip tops.
The shame of our behaviour, obvious to us both, was massively overshadowed by the revelationary apotheosis we had both experienced. This is what it was all about; no wonder Helen had left Menelaus, abandoned her family and homeland, and triggered the Trojan War! This was real sex – this was earth-shattering! Could it ever get any better than that – it seemed not just unlikely, but impossible? We fumbled each other semi-naked beneath the covers, groping and stroking – though I must admit, I was getting the better value as Pam was sufficiently developed to be wearing her first bra – each of us striving to hold on to some of the magic as it wisped and faded like smoke in a breeze.
We agreed that we must never reveal our scandalous behaviour to anyone. Okay, we had now experienced the forbidden fruit, and we could hint coyly to our peers that we knew certain things they didn’t, but we must never share that secret – our lives could never survive that.
Over the following weeks Pam had become, like me, expert in self-satisfaction before sleep, but we also – without any overt decisions being made – would find ourselves in situations where we would revisit our mutual pleasurings, yet never speaking aloud of them, even to each other. In the post-coital quiet of one of these afternoons, Pam spoke of her older cousin Julie, who was at our school, but, at fifteen, moved at a more rarefied and glamorous stratum than we did. I knew Julie to say hello to, but nothing more. She was a pretty brunette of medium height with an impressive bust, which I suspected was all her own, and a boyfriend a year older than her. Imagine – a boyfriend – at fifteen!
Julie, Pam told me, was conflicted. She and her boyfriend Howard had, so far, indulged only in kissing and what they called ‘petting’: she would let him feel her breasts, over her clothing mainly, and she would allow him to lie on top of her, fully clothed, and rub up and down against her. She had never touched him below the neck; he may have, once or twice, managed to touch a bare breast or stroke a thigh, that’s all. And things were coming to a head.
Julie was not made of stone; the urges were as strong for her as for Howard, but she knew the dangers and was ignorant of other, safer, alternatives, hence she was at a loss what to do. She had confided this to Pam, since she had heard on the school grapevine, that Pam – or, more particularly, me – might be able to advise her, to solve her problem. (Amazing how rumours spread, especially if there’s a kernel of truth to them)
Events had been brought to a head by her discovery that Howard fancied a girl in his own school that was older than Julie and who was not quite so prim. Desperate, Julie approached Pam for help. This terrified Pam; she was uncomfortable with the prospect of her family having any hint of her being at all knowledgeable in the sex field, and anyway, what did she expect she could do? Julie stammered out her ignorance: like a lot of girls then, she had an imperfect notion of the raw sexual act; knowing mainly that it consisted of a mutual plugging-in and was fraught with the dangers of pregnancy, disease – and, last but not least, eternal damnation. That it could entail sublime physical and emotional pleasure with little effort and running none of the risks she feared (except eternal damnation, of course) didn’t even occur to her. So Pam tried to explain.
Julie was interested: so interested that she pleaded with Pam for instructions. As long as it was risk-free she was prepared to do whatever was necessary to hold on to Howard; he, she knew, was just as ignorant as her – he needed instruction as well. To Pam: Impossible! Even the prospect of educating Julie was overwhelming, but to have to explain, even in the most euphemistic language what the whole point was of feeling under a girl’s skirt struck Pam dumb. But she wanted to help her cousin, so she spoke to me.
Pride, of course, is the primary cardinal sin and acknowledged as a source from which all the others erupt; so, when I heard the appeal from Julie and the hailing of expertise from Pam and my peers – I was overly pleased. Despite my physical drawbacks I had achieved an elevated position in the school even beyond my year – others were seeking my help.
Yes, they needed my help and it would be unfair to deny them. Anyway, as Julie was a good-looking girl the thought of helping her began to excite me, and, who knows perhaps I would get to meet Howard and guide him through the same instruction? The possibilities sent me into a tizzy. Pam said she would organise something with Julie in her house the next day.
It was difficult to sleep that night, even after my ritual stimulations; though my mind remained clear and confident in my abilities, totally free from self-doubt. So, after school, Pam and I went directly to her house where Pam declined to participate at all, saying she would be terminally embarrassed doing anything like ‘that’ to, or in front of, her cousin. So, we planned a course of action that solely involved me and I went up to Pam’s bedroom alone, stripped down to my school blouse alone and slipped under the covers to await Julie. I didn’t have long to wait; I was barely in the bed when I heard the doorbell ring. My pulse was racing with excitement; I had even begun stroking my thighs in anticipation – then the door opened and Julie entered, just in blouse and school skirt, slightly flushed and looking gorgeous. Following behind her and a little taller was a pleasant looking blond-haired boy. Howard, I presumed.
My self-confidence (okay, pride) carried me through. I knew I was the one in control; they were probably more terrified than me, so, business-like from that first moment, I plunged in and gave them no options.
‘Undress from the waist down, and sit on the bed, please,’ I said in the tone I would use to insist that they took some tea.
They were stunned, paralysed, unmoving. What did Julie think I was going to do – draw a diagram?
‘This is the easiest way,’ I said, ‘and nothing will go beyond this room. Howard, take your trousers off and sit down.’
Wordlessly, they undressed, with Howard leading the way. With subtle urging they were seated on top of the bed in a couple of minutes, both of them still in underwear. During their strip I spoke about their problem as I saw it: Howard could not be expected to continue being sexually frustrated; we were all agreed on that, I said. On the other hand Julie could not be expected to run the risks associated with penetration, especially pregnancy. I assured them that in fifteen to twenty minutes I could show them alternatives that would solve both their problems and leave everyone satisfied. Julie looked at me warily throughout my little speech (no doubt wondering what this gawky ugly girl could even know about things like this); Howard, on the other hand, looked interested – he was trying to conceal it, of course, but I was sure his penis was protruding awkwardly from his underpants.
When I suggested they kiss and fondle each other, Howard led the way. Julie responded like a piece of wood as he went straight for her breasts, trying to get his hand under her shirt and bra – she struggled against him.
It’s not going well, I thought to myself, though I was having trouble keeping my eyes off Howard’s penis which was no longer hiding, but sticking out the top of his underpants, a smear of wetness catching my eye as it moved.
‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s not a brawl, it’s mutual satisfaction that we want here.’ I directed them to get under the clothes each side of me, and I would show them what to do.
Julie still looked at me distrustfully, but came in; Howard seemed to have no problem. With me as a buffer zone, I calmly stroked each of their thighs under the covers, explaining that this would be a soothing introductory step for each of them, and that no one could complain about this. They agreed. I turned to concentrate on Julia, stroking her tummy, then taking her hand to stroke mine. She was warm beside me, and as she stroked my belly I explained that as I was a girl, like herself, there was nothing to fear or be bashful about as I unbuttoned her blouse and squeezed her breasts through the stiff bra. Howard looked on with interest, such interest that I could feel his erection pressing against my bottom; he began to follow the instructions I was giving to Julie – but on my thigh and belly.
Julie was relaxing a little now – I was not a threat, I was there to help them both – I allowed my hand to brush over her hips, then eased her knees apart to stroke up the inside of her thigh. I could feel the stress vibrations coming from her, but as I stroked three fingers over her knicker crotch she began to melt, began to move, and as suddenly as opening a shaken-up lemonade bottle, with further crotch caresses, she began to come. She gripped my hand to her, as if she was afraid to touch herself, and jerked against it. Poor Howard didn’t know what was going on, he was still groping me and trying to lever his penis between my thighs – but the ice had been broken. I pushed back the blankets from Howard and eased her in his direction.
‘Feel him,’ I said, as Howard rolled back trying to look as though he’d been lying there just waiting.
But I could see the fear in her eye. ‘Look,’ I said, taking a hold of his standing red glistening-topped organ. Oh, it felt just the same: it didn’t look like would feel so velvety, but it did, and I began to gently move my clasped hand up and down the shaft, just as I had been shown. ‘That’s all you’ve got to do, and it will be ecstasy for him, just as that was for you.’
Howard had fallen back on the pillow now as I pleasured his prong. I urged Julie to take over – he was her boy friend, and tentatively, she did.
‘Don’t be afraid of it,’ I whispered to her, ‘speed it up just a bit… this is what he’s been waiting all these months for. Just do this properly, and he won’t leave you!’
That did the trick, she started to pay attention but was still timid. I gripped over her hand, tightening her grip and started on the rhythm I remembered from the cinema. Howard exploded in a moaning grunt, a stream of ejaculate soaring from the bed like milk from a big-bore cow’s udder; he bucked against our grip for at least a minute until there was just a gel-like seepage from the end.
Julie looked transformed; she embraced me and thanked me: she had jumped off the high board and enjoyed it. She was all smiles, and so was Howard.
I used this change of attitude to explain that Howard would need to learn to pleasure her as well, and that she should allow him a little more leeway ‘up-top’. She nodded, removed her shirt and removed her bra to reveal a pair of firm rose-tipped breasts that I was so envious of. Howard climbed over both of us and slipped in beside her; I noticed that he was beginning to arise again – just like jealousy was arising from my pride. He began kissing her, rubbing against her. This was no good – he was missing the point.
‘Howard, this is a lesson – control yourself. You have to learn to pleasure Julie the way she has pleasured you! I will show you!’
I grabbed his hand and placed it between my thighs; I lay back and spread my legs: This is what you do, I told him, and using his fingers slowly teased myself until I could stand it no more, speeded up, then crushed them into me as I squirted in climax.
The ice was well and truly broken now; he repeated the exercise on Julie, sucking on her bosom as he did so – he was a quick learner – until she screamed to a climax.
They would have stayed there all evening, but Pam’s parents would be home, so they dressed and left, effusive with gratitude, but pleading that I didn’t tell Pam exactly what went on.
I obliged their wishes, after all, I now not only had felt a penis, I had seen one, close-up and in action, doing exactly what they are designed to do and both of them were happy, praising my expertise and help.
What a proud, sad, little twerp I was: delusional. Still, that evening was to fuel many, many solitary stimulatory nights in bed over the next two years. Despite my self-vaunted expertise I didn’t know I wasn’t going to further my sexual education any until I was sixteen.
I became depressed, I’d just gotten too big for my boots – face it, I’m just a tall, ugly, ginger-haired teenager. I devoted myself to my studies and began to lose myself in participating in sport.