Now fifteen, or almost-sixteen, as I prefer to call it, my sexual education has been in virtual hibernation for the last two years, never progressing beyond the faltering few steps I have spoken of previously. In the meantime I have not neglected my physical self-improvement schemes, nor have I neglected my bedtime self-satisfaction routines. But who is a filthy bitch?
Yes, I have changed somewhat over these past couple of years – but I can see no miracles. My hair is still my worst fashion horror, especially now that I no longer have crooked teeth, thanks to nearly two years of braces-wearing. Sometimes, when I look at my profile using two mirrors, I can even almost convince myself I’m sort of growing into my nose, and dream of developing a sophisticated profile such as that of the French model/film star Capucine – Barbara Streisand hadn’t come onto the scene at this stage, though I’m not sure I would’ve been as keen on this comparison.
I’m still tallish, but the other girls have been catching up and it’s no longer the embarrassment it used to be. On the contrary it has been an advantage as I’ve become very sporty, playing hockey, netball, and a selection of track and field events – and I’ve been doing well in them all. No doubt as a result of all this activity I’ve been filling out as well; my body is lean and my long legs have become shapely, much to the envy of some of my classmates. I’ve filled out up-top as well – so well, in fact that it’s been some time since I’ve spent overmuch time massaging my bust when I go to bed (who knows if that ever did make any difference, but my breasts are firm yet pleasingly sizeable; and yes I do make sure I wear a pretty heavy-duty bra when I’m playing sport).
Having reported all the above in a positive sort of light, I’m afraid that when I look in the mirror I still see the sub-text: UGLY.
My friend Pam and I no longer experiment on each other; it has become an unspoken secret that we never refer to, a time that has been pigeonholed, locked and filed under ‘Schoolgirl Silliness’. We are different girls now, more mature and less innocent – but just as interested.
A lot of the girls in class have had boyfriends, of a sort. Whether or not any of them have even had the sort of experiences I encountered when I was thirteen it was difficult to tell; none of them ever boasted about that sort of thing – coyness seemed to be the rule. Pam, of course, because of our friendship and history, did disclose the efforts of the occasional boy that she’d gone out with – but really, these episodes never amounted to any more than a bit of over-clothing groping on the boys’ part, whereas she was always too shy to reciprocate. Then her grandmother died.
Pam’s grandmother had been sharing her home with Pam’s Uncle Sam, or Mr Coyle as he was more formally known to me. Mr Coyle was a music teacher and the choirmaster at school; he was Pam’s mum’s elder brother, so maybe about fortyish, and he was the only male on the staff. I wasn’t in the choir, but I was quite familiar with him as Pam and I would spend quite a bit of time round at her grandmother’s. To encourage Pam to visit often, her grandmother had kitted out part of her attic as a sort of recreation room, providing a radio, record player, comfortable chairs and a desk – and Pam and I did take advantage of it.
So, when she died, Sam inherited the house and immediately began to modernise. The first thing he did was to install central heating throughout, even in the big attic room, and he insisted that Pam was to continue to consider it her fiefdom and come and go as she pleased. Pam had her own set of keys and the heated rooms, over the winter, ensured we would spend more and more of our time together there.
One Friday afternoon we went straight up from school, she said she had something interesting to show me – but no matter how much I asked, she just told me not to be impatient. We threw our schoolbags in the hallway and she led the way upstairs; she stopped on the first floor and opened the door to what I knew was her uncle’s study. The study had a big desk with drawers on each side sitting towards one wall of the room with a wooden swivel chair behind it. There were bookcases, a couple of other regular chairs, and a record player; I didn’t know what we were doing in here and I wasn’t comfortable, especially when Pam started opening a drawer. I protested, but she shushed me saying that Sam had a choir practice after school so there wasn’t anything to worry about. Then she pulled out a thick foolscap-sized manila envelope addressed to Sam, opened it, and pulled out dozens of photographs and laid them on the desk.
Obviously, by now, I had heard of pornography – or ‘dirty pictures’ – but I’d never seen any and this was the last place I’d have expected to come across them. The subject matter was wide-ranging, as was the timeline. They were all black and white, but, judging from the costumes and hairstyles, some of them dated back to the late years of the 1800s. All of them involved at least two participants, mostly human but there were a couple that involved animals – dogs and donkeys – ugh! However, from an educational point of view, most of them were very interesting: we could see quite detailed photos of male members being inserted into vaginas, into mouths, sometimes even the members of two men doing it, one at each end. She told me she had come across them the previous day in one of her nosy searches and she was convinced he had just received them – something he would never had risked while his mother was still alive.
We poured over them wide-eyed and open-mouthed, occasionally pausing to discuss one or other of them; there was no giggling. I was staggered, who would have thought that someone like Mr Coyle would have photos like these in his possession, never mind actually look at them? Then we heard the front door open – we had spent too long.
‘Quick! Run down and stall him. I’ll put these away and then go upstairs. Just say I sent you down to make some tea,’ Pam urged me.
There was no option. I ran downstairs, stopping halfway down the final flight as Mr Coyle looked up at me, one hand on the kitchen door handle.
‘Hello, Priscilla. I didn’t know any one was here – is Pam upstairs?’ He was smiling; an innocent, welcoming smile that belied the horrified associations I’d been imagining only moments before as I’d perused his pornographic stash.
‘Yes, Mr Coyle.’
He interrupted to scold me for not calling him Sam. ‘Remember, you’re not in school now.’
‘Pam just sent me down to make some tea… would you like a cup?’ I said.
He accepted my offer, and as I filled the kettle and put it on the gas stove he removed his overcoat.
‘Freezing out there, this evening,’ he said, moving up beside me, suddenly placing his cold hand on my face, causing me to jump. We both laughed. ‘See what I mean?’
He took out cups and saucers and laid them on the table before sitting down at it and proceeded to open his mail – but not all of it. There was another large, thick, buff envelope that he set to one side; I could feel my heart beating faster at the thought of the contraband that it might contain.
It led me to puzzle over his predicament for the first time. For years I’d been aware of him, but only as a sexless cipher in school or a selfless bachelor who lived as a companion to his mother. In all the years I’d been visiting here with Pam there had never been the merest hint of a female friendship or attachment.
That’s it, with the constraints now gone he was free to discover himself, a sort of delayed development that had been stunted for years – and the postal pornography was an attempt to educate himself, to widen his horizons, to find out more about the opposite sex. In a strange sort of way he was an older version of me, except ironically, in this case the student might just have more (granted, limited) experience than the teacher. Mr Coyle was having to take a correspondence course in sex!
As I poured out tea for the three of us Sam stuck his head into the hallway and called up to Pam, then came over and sat down beside me. We each took a sip of the steaming liquid and as I replaced my cup in the saucer he placed his hand on my bare thigh, just above my stocking-top.
‘See, I’m warming up nicely now. Thanks for making it; I miss the female element in the kitchen – even though it was my mum.’
He was smiling at me as he rubbed his hand vigorously on my thigh, still under my hemline, leaving it sitting there, unselfconsciously.
‘I must say,’ he added in a low voice, leaning towards me, ‘when I saw you dressed up at the funeral, you know, out of school uniform, I realised that you’ve really grown up into a young lady – all the childishness gone. The boys will all be running after you now, I’m sure. In the meantime, any time you’re at a loose end and Pam’s busy, please feel free to pop in, I’m always glad to see you. ’
I didn’t know what to say, but I was saved by the sound of Pam bounding down the stairs. He took his hand from my leg, looking straight into my eyes, silently letting me know it was our secret.
As Pam and I washed up the few dishes, Sam lifted his mail, including the unopened envelope, and went up to his study. Pam nudged me; she had seen the envelope, too.
‘Quick, back upstairs – I’ve something else to show you!’
Once in her eyrie she turned on the radio and as music filled the room she beckoned to me, warning me to be quiet. We went out into the attic hallway where a large new hot press had been created to accommodate the plumbing associated with the central heating.
On the far side of the slatted racking, piled with sheets and blankets, I could see a strip of light. It was coming from where the new pipes had been installed, except the gap was much too wide – it had obviously been overlooked before the job was finished.
Pam and I knelt side by side, peering down: almost directly below us Sam sat in his swivel chair, the pile of black and white photos we had seen earlier on his desk. He was opening the new envelope.
The contents seemed to be wrapped in tissue paper, sealed with Sellotape. He ripped the paper off, revealing large full colour photographs. These were modern, no doubt about it. Glamorous women, again in various stages of undress, were all involved with erect penises, either massaging them, sucking them, or being penetrated by them. It all seemed so much more real, being in full colour; my attention was drawn to one model in particular, large-breasted, statuesque legs still clad in dark stockings and suspender belt, and wild red hair – not unlike my own. There were a handful of photos that featured her and Sam was selecting them, laying them on the desk. Then he stood up, undid his trouser-belt and pushed down both his trousers and underpants to his knees, before swivelling sideways legs splayed in front of him, caressing his erection with his left hand as he lifted and gazed at one of the photos of the red haired girl on her knees, penis in her mouth and another penis in her rear.
He was talking to himself, but we couldn’t hear what he was saying. He was gripping himself harder now, sliding his hand up and down his shaft faster and faster. His voice was getting louder, but still not clear; though I’m sure I heard the F word featuring a few times. The speed of his hand almost became a blur – and My God – just as he started to spurt in orgasm, the sperm arcing on to the desk spattering some of what I’d suddenly come to think of, in a demented way, as ‘my’ photos – photos of me – I’m sure I heard him grunt my name, ‘Cilly’!
I had been so engrossed in what was happening below I hadn’t noticed Pam beside me, but when I turned to her she was bent over, one hand between her legs frigging herself to orgasm, lips tightly clenched in order not to be heard from below.
On returning to the main attic room we were both emotionally exhausted, and Pam physically. What a show – we both agreed, Pam enthusing over the size and power of her uncle’s erect penis (something, which I’ve already mentioned, doesn’t do it for me on its own – I need a personal, emotional or cognitive involvement (a different matter then), but at no stage did she mention hearing anything he said. Okay, maybe it could’ve been my imagination, wishful thinking, or delusions of grandeur – but it gave me an inner glow, in all the right places.
Thirty minutes later I decided to go home but Pam intended to stay for an hour and do some homework until her folks were due home – it was warmer here. As I went down the stairs I could see Sam was no longer in his study, but as I turned on the middle landing I could hear the television from the lounge downstairs. I headed for the door to say good-bye, but before I tapped, I straightened my tie, tucked my school shirt tightly into my skirt waistband while rolling the waistband internally to shorten my skirt a little. I licked my lips to moisten them, rapped on the door and entered.
Whatever Sam had been looking at was swiftly moved to the floor on the other side of the settee where he sat – but I’d glimpsed colour and felt a frisson of excitement at the proximity of such filth in this situation.
‘I’m just leaving Sam… Pam’s staying to do her homework… so, goodnight,’ I said.
He smiled up at me, patting the seat beside him. ‘Come and warm yourself properly before you go,’ he said, indicating the blazing fire. ‘I hope you’ve got a warm coat with you, you’ll catch your death going out half-naked like that.’
I blushed, the incongruity of the words half and naked being applied to me by a man I had just watched masturbate over photographs closely resembling me (yeah, in my wildest dreams) was overpowering. If he had pushed me down on the settee at that moment, spread my legs, ripped my knickers off and pulled my breasts free, I would have succumbed and given as enthusiastically as I got. But he didn’t.
I did sit down beside him, though in such turmoil that I barely comprehended what he was saying for a few minutes. I was aware though that his hand was again on my stockinged thigh under my skirt, his fingertips brushing the naked skin just above the top.
‘Yes, Cilly, (he really did call me that – I was right) you really have blossomed.’ He paused before he added, ‘And between ourselves, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve developed one hell of a body (he squeezed my thigh), yes, very strong, firm legs… and altogether a great shape.’
‘Thank you, Sam,’ I stuttered, ‘No one’s ever said that to me before.’
‘Believe me, they will – you’ll see, I’ll be just the first of many.’
He was sitting very close to me now; he removed his hand from below my skirt and draped it along the back of the settee behind me. As it encircled my shoulders I felt him drawing me towards him. Suddenly his mouth was on mine (my god – I was kissing a man, a teacher) and he clutched me tighter as his right hand grasped my left breast and began to knead it. I was being pushed back as he levered himself on top of me.
I was gripping him tightly as well, we were equals, two innocents experimenting with the unknown, and before I knew it, my left hand had gripped his erect penis through his trousers. In immediate response he pushed his hand up my skirt and began frantic attempts to pull my knickers off.
The sound of my name being called from above was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over us. I jumped up, trying to straighten my horny dishevelment as I opened the door and shouted upstairs in reply.
Pam was at the top of the stairs. ‘Oh, you’re still here! When I saw your schoolbag I thought you might’ve forgotten it, that’s all.’
‘No, I was just saying goodbye and warming up in front of the fire before I left – I’m going now.’
Sam walked me to the door having a loud, innocent, nondescript conversation to disguise the frustrated passion, for Pam’s benefit. He winked and patted me on the bottom as I walked out the door.
My head was spinning, I couldn’t go home yet, I had to calm down. I turned in the opposite direction to where Pam and I lived and walked half a mile to a little café where I sat, had some tea and mulled over my options.
Yes, by the time I’d finished my tea I knew what I had to do. There was no doubt Sam was as desperate as I was. Okay there was a big age difference, but we were emotionally and experience-wise the same – and he had admitted to fancying me. I checked my watch. By now, Pam’s parents would be home and so would she, so I gathered myself together and headed back to Sam’s determined to use my limited expertise and my body to fulfil his desires – and satisfy my own.
Through the hedge I could see the flicker of the fire in the room I’d recently left, but I couldn’t just ring the doorbell – what if someone, maybe even a priest, had called during my absence? To make sure, I tiptoed into the small grassy front garden and peeped through the window. What I saw astounded me. Clothes were scattered everywhere – Sam’s clothes and Pam’s school uniform (she was still wearing the stockings and suspender belt, just like in the photographs). The filthy cow was bent forward, legs apart, as he gripped her by the hips and eased in and out of her without any frenzied movements, taking his time, as if savouring every moment. He began stroking her waist, yet maintaining his rhythm, stretching down and around her torso to grasp and palpate her breasts; I could see her head turn towards him and saw her lips move, but could hear nothing – it’s your uncle, you whore, your mum’s brother! Then he straightened up and slowly, with glacial deliberation, slide, inch by inch, out of her.
I could see the wet reflective sheen of his penis covering – I knew what it was, though I’d never seen one before. A contraceptive: he must’ve bought that by mail order as well, I thought, I couldn’t imagine him risking buying those in any chemist around here where he might be recognised.
He sat down on the settee and stood Pam up on top of it, her feet placed either side of his thighs. She was smaller than me and he was quite tall, so as he straightened up his head was level with her crotch. He grabbed her buttocks, pulling her vagina into his face; she steadied herself by gripping his shoulders as he started to work on her. This won’t take long, I thought; in my experience Pam came off quite easily – and I was right. Suddenly she was clasping his head hard into her as, head thrown back, she screamed in orgasm while gyrating into his face; now, I could hear her through the window. It looked as though Sam was at risk of being suffocated, but his erect swaying penis reassured me.
Sam wasted no more time; he pulled her down, first into a squatting position, then making her kneel either side of his thighs as he entered her. This was no measured coupling, this was passion; he sucked at her breasts and scrabbled at her thighs and buttocks as he jerked into her. In the firelight I could see that she was sheened in perspiration; was this jealousy I was feeling? I realised that just an hour or so ago, this could have been me.
With a final massive jerk he gripped her close to him, ripping her suspender belt in the process, and finished with a series of ebbing thrusts as she clung to him. This, as the nuns would recognise, was a scene from Dante’s Inferno: a latter-day wanton brutally used and abused, stockings and suspender belt torn (how was she going to explain that to her mother?) and as she stood up, revealing a wilting penis below, no longer rampant, sheathed in a glistening gut-like sack brimming with the devil’s spilled seed.
I had to go. Pam would be heading straight home and I mustn’t run any risk of her being able to overtake me. I picked my schoolbag up from the ground – I’d been standing on top of it so my shoes wouldn’t get covered in mud – and stealthily exited the garden. I strode out for home. On the way I could think of nothing else but how Pam had taken advantage of me – she hadn’t stayed behind to do homework. She had gotten rid of me so she could seduce her frustrated and inexperienced uncle. I wondered whether she would mention anything tomorrow.