Chapter 2: Cricketing glory?

I met Robyn again after school on Monday. We went back to the milk bar.

“Frank’s offered me a room for study and whatever.”

“So he really has bought a house?”

“Yeah. In Newmarket - not far from Emma’s place, but it’s old and dirty and run down and the trains go past the bottom of the garden and the section is tiny!”

“Sounds as though you don’t think much of it?”

“We pulled up outside this pile of shit and I was horrified when he said he’d already bought it. Worst house in best street and all that – but this is the worst house in a shit street!”

“Emmy’s been studying house prices as part of her job – something to do with a policy group they’ve formed. She says that prices of places within walking distance from downtown will boom over the next few years. That’s why she bought her place – though it is on the other side of the tracks! Dunno if that makes a difference.”

“Jesus! Does she own that house? It’s much bigger and nicer!”

“Yes, and I’m sure she paid a lot more for it. That’s why she has to have flatmates.”

“Frank got his place for about two grand, and he has me, but I’ll be putting in hours rather than money.”

“So what’s the deal with the room?”

“I keep living at home, at least for a while. Frank will move in within a couple of weeks, as soon as we have given the place a really good clean. I’ll help him renovate, and he’s getting me a key, so we can use ‘my’ room for study or whatever.” Robyn’s grin was devilish.

“Reading, writing, ‘rithmetic and rooting!” I wasn’t going to be outdone

“Integrating intimate anatomical exploration and academic excellence!”

We both laughed, but Robyn had nodded towards the elephant in the room. Were we eventually going to go ‘all the way’? When we finally ‘did it’, would it be with each other?

“I haven’t asked anyone else to join our study group though I’ve thought of a couple of girls – have you?”

“Haven’t thought too hard, but no. Most of the kids in my class are actually terrified of girls.” Robyn laughed.

“We don’t bite – but some of us lick and suck!” The laugh became a leer, and Robyn reached for me under the table.

That got to me. I had been calm and rational, a relatively mature fourteen year old boy drinking a milkshake with a temporary girlfriend. I don’t know whether I became unconsciously aware of Robyn’s arousal, or was stimulated by a whiff of her pheromones, but suddenly I was a hormone driven animal ready to mate. The change wasn’t subtle. It was as if a switch had been thrown.

Nothing was said, but we made and kept eye contact, and as if by mutual agreement moved very close together on the bench in the booth. I reached for Robyn’s crotch under the table as she squeezed my cock through my grey school serge. Her eyes widened as I slipped my hand under her uniform skirt and fumbled with the elastic leg of her panties. She was wet wet wet, and it was at that precise moment that I knew that I was going to do it with her. We were going all the way. We were going to fuck! Not there on the table in ‘McKenzie’s Milk Bar and Icecream Parlour’, though right then, that was what we both wanted – but soon!

And that knowledge pushed me over the top. When I pulled myself, I had learned to prolong the pleasure, but with Robyn’s hand on me there was no chance of that. I erupted with a gasp that caused a few heads to turn, and Robyn to let go of my shaft and push my hand away from her pussy. She kept eye contact though, and seemed neither surprised nor unhappy. But I was worried about a big wet spot on my pants. It felt as though I had spurted buckets.

“Oh shit! I need to go to the gents and clean up.” Robyn giggled.

“I should go to the ladies and put some toilet paper in my knickers.”

We drew a few interested stares as we exited the booth and made our way out to the toilets in the foyer of the Ascot cinema across the street. I hoped my gradually shrinking stiffy wasn’t too noticeable. Robyn was waiting for me when I emerged, and we walked back towards her house holding hands. I had a thought.

“Let’s study at your place for a week or two, just the two of us, while we keep thinking about expanding the group. Perhaps we could sometimes go to my place too.”

“That’ll keep both sets of parents happy.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that Robyn had moved house when her mother had married Allan Thomas, until she led me round the base of the mountain instead of going past it. Her new house was a couple of streets over from the now tenanted Reed’s place. Definitely upmarket!

Robyn’s mother had cut back her hours after she remarried to ‘do a bit more parenting’. She was no longer managing the craft shop where she had got work after Robyn’s father was killed, but she was maintaining that interest by quilting at home. She had set up in the sunporch on the north side of the house, and was producing some quite striking pieces.

Mrs Thomas seemed slightly embarrassed when Robyn was keen to show me what she was working on, and delivered a mini-lecture on the importance of girls having a career, and always having something to ‘fall back on’ if ‘something happened’. Robyn listened patiently, but it was obvious she had heard it all before. I had learned a few things from watching Mum manage Dad’s ‘shell shock’ all my life, so I spoke to her mum’s deeper concern.

“It must have been pretty hard. You were suddenly a widow and solo parent with a young child.”

We had only just met, and my comment was very forward, coming from a young person at a time when many people still believed that children should be ‘seen and not heard’, and ‘personal matters’ were rarely discussed, but Mrs Thomas warmed to me immediately.

“That’s why it’s important to study hard and keep your grades up!” Robyn was getting very slightly restless, but I was keen to let her mum know I had got the message.

“I certainly need the study group to keep me focussed and maintain my grades. Robyn is the maths and physics genius, but I can help her in English and History.”

“You’re welcome to come here and study. I’ll be busy here in the sunporch most of the time. You can set up in the dining room.”

We did. And we managed to ignore our mutual lusting and concentrate on Ohm’s Law for a good hour before Mr Thomas arrived home and I took my leave. I managed a quick smooch with Robyn on the front porch, and she wiped a finger covered in pussy juice across my upper lip as we parted.

That kept me hard all the way home and I showered before dinner and took care of myself before rinsing my crusty jockeys and dropping them in the bottom of the copper.

Tuesday was cricket practice. I was in the school 3rd XI. My homeroom teacher, Mr Smythe, was new to the school, but his background as a provincial cricketer had qualified him to coach the 2nd XI. He called me aside at the end of homeroom.

“A word Kerr.” I went over to stand by his desk.

“Sir?”

“Come to practice with the second eleven tonight.” That was a surprise. My performance since the season had resumed after the Xmas break had been reasonable but not outstanding. Was I being promoted?

“Yes Sir! Thank you sir!”

The rest of the day dragged, but 3.30 eventually arrived, and I joined a dozen older boys at the practice net on the edge of the cricket field. They were not actively unfriendly, but neither were they welcoming. I was clearly going to be ‘on trial’, and they were reserving their judgment until Mr Smythe either confirmed my place or banished me back to the ‘Thirds’. There was one other Form IV boy in the team. I knew Chick Farrell’s name, but that was about all. He gave some brief advice.

“Listen really hard and do exactly what Smythe says. He’s hot on guys being ‘coachable’. That’s what got Hitchcock dumped.”

I knew nothing about Hitchcock being demoted. He was a prefect, with status just below god. He had never arrived in the ‘Thirds’, and I learned later that after his demotion, he had simply stopped playing cricket and boasted he would rather ‘chase pussy’ anyway.

Mr Smythe wasn’t interested in my batting, at least at that stage. He had me bowling steadily for an hour and a half, standing by the single stump that marked the return crease at the practice net, and calling the ball he wanted me to bowl as I passed him walking back to the mark where I would start my run up. It generally went okay.

God blessed me (cricket wise) by making me left-handed. Whatever difficulties that produced with can openers and scissors, it made it relatively easy to bowl in a way that potentially troubled many right-handed batsmen. I did, and at 5.15, Mr Smythe called a halt and asked me if I was free to practice on Wednesdays as well as Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“Yessir!”

“Come tomorrow.”

Mum and Dad were pleased to learn that I might be promoted, but Mum was also concerned that the extra practice might hurt my grades.