Chapter 16: More Progress - September, 1961

Friday study group, rabbit stew, and Mary’s World shift were incident free, although Pauline stayed the night and wanted to know more about my Thursday session with Maureen than I was comfortable telling her. I dropped her off at her AYD rehearsal on Saturday morning and did a couple of hours ‘chickenshit work’ on a fence for Frank before cricket.

By now, he was happy to show me small jobs, make sure I had the necessary tools and materials, and then leave me to get on with it. This particular job was fairly easy. The bushes planted inside a paling boundary fence had grown and started to push some of the palings off the rails they had been nailed to. Frank had agreed with the owner, a rather tired looking woman in her forties, that I would cut back the bushes and re-nail the loose palings. They had agreed that the job should take two and a half hours, and that Frank would provide the extra nails required.

The job went well. I sawed off the offending branches, cut them into suitable sizes for burning in the forty-four-gallon drum that served as her garden incinerator, and stored them in the garden shed to dry. Then I started nailing. I was about half done when the owner invited me inside for morning tea. She had gone to some trouble, and was now dressed quite elegantly and subtly made up, and there were fresh baked scones with jam and whipped cream. When I thanked her, she made some remark about having ‘nobody to spoil’ but I let it pass. When I got up to go back to work, she asked me to come and look at a loose leg on her dresser, and led me to her bedroom. The leg on her dressing table was in fact loose, but when she sat on the bed, and began to play with her hair, smile at me a lot, and talk about how hard it was to be a ‘woman on her own’, I started to feel quite uncomfortable. I told her that it was a job for Frank, thanked her again for the morning tea, and escaped back to the fence.

I talked about it with Frank later, and he said it was what he called an ‘occupational hazard’, but he strongly advised me never to ‘mix business with pleasure’, and flatly forbade me from relating to ‘his’ customers in anything other than a ‘professional’ way.

Maureen was, as promised, a little more than friendly at cricket, but even though it was obvious to everyone that she was lovestruck, she behaved with relative decorum. Chick was the star of the day, with a very quick seventy three, and I drove both of them back to the Farrell mansion for tea, where I had the second kedgeree of my life. I made a mental note that this was something I should try cooking myself. Mrs Farrell seemed to go out of her way to be nice to me.

Maureen had news when we eventually got back to her bedroom. “Mum caught me whittling down the carrot! I told her everything.”

To say I was apprehensive was an understatement. “How did that go.

“I think she was a bit hurt that I didn’t talk to her about how tight I am when I first got my period, but she said that some girls just have a very small entrance, and that some marriages used to get off to a very bad start because of it. She thought the carrot was a good idea so that I could use tampons, and she gave me this lube.” She produced a tube labelled ‘KY’

I laughed, at least partly from relief. Maureen bristled slightly, and I hastened to reassure her. “I’m relieved. When you said she had caught you, I started to have all sorts of awful fantasies. Have you tried it?”

“Not yet.”

“Let’s do some licking and sucking first.”

We did some hugging and kissing before that, I didn’t get to spurt, but well before the alarm (eleven o’clock for eleven thirty since it was Saturday), I was probing Maureen’s very wet post orgasmic entrance with a well lubricated whittled down carrot. It went in a little way before she winced.

“I think that’s enough for the moment!”

I lay half on top of her, sucking one nipple, tweaking the other, keeping gentle but steady pressure on the carrot with the fingers of my free hand, and rubbing her button with the thumb. As Maureen climbed towards another orgasm, I increased the pressure slightly.

“Ow!” Her climb towards orgasm was interrupted, but the peeled down portion of the little carrot was all the way in. “Shit that’s tight!”

“Well done! Can we leave it there for a while?”

Maureen grunted assent, but her vagina had other ideas. As soon as I took my hand off the carrot, it came back out. Many years later, I watched a bar girl in Bangkok shoot a ping pong ball from her vagina. The carrot didn’t go nearly as far - a couple of inches at most, but the ‘schlupp” sound was similar.

She sighed. “Nearly there! Just a wee bit more and I’ll be able to use tampons. You have no idea what a difference that will make. I hate napkins!” She fingered her pussy carefully. “Can we put it back?”

“You try.” I handed Maureen the carrot. It seemed to go in a little easier this time, and she winced, but made no sound.

She moved the carrot in about half an inch a couple of times, and let her vaginal muscles squeeze it back out. “It’ll be a long time before we can get your monster in there!”

“I reckon you’re doing really well. Maybe carry on with this one, and try something slightly bigger later in the week.”

She reddened slightly. “It’s not just about tampons – I really do want to fuck you.”

That was the first time she had used that word. She had joked about being split from ‘arsehole to breakfast’, but when talking about sex, her vocabulary had been appropriately limited as befitted a nice Catholic girl. I wondered if Uncle Frank’s theory that ‘good girls’ are really adventurous when they finally overcome their programmed inhibitions might apply. I thought I’d test it.

I snuggled into Maureen’s neck and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Right now, you’ve got a vulva, or a coochie, or a love tunnel.” Maureen kept her hand on the little carrot, moving it slowly in and out, but didn’t react. I reached down, trailing my hand over her belly and bush to her clit. By now it was very slippery and swollen.

I fingered it gently and went on. “But when you’re stretched and wet and slippery, your sweet little coochie will become a tight, hot, juicy little cunt!”

Bingo! Maureen’s intake of breath seemed very loud, and her pelvis came up off the bed as her back arched. “Jesus!”

I went on. “And cunts are built for cocks! Big hard throbbing cocks! Slipping right in there, in where it’s hot and wet and slippery, filling them up! Fucking them!”

She moaned softly, went rigid, and twitched a couple of times. I was on a roll, so I went on. “And slippery juicy cunts smell delicious! Boys can smell the juice and know that they’re ready for a big hard throbbing cock to slip in and fuck them.” Maureen kept moaning and twitching, and I kept fingering her button through several more orgasms.

We lay sweatily together for a while. I was still hard, but my attention was on Maureen, and what she might want or need as she came down.

She wanted to talk. Well – sort of. “That’s so dirty!” I Hmmed, and she giggled. “It’s exciting but wicked!”

“Perhaps it’s exciting because it’s wicked?”

Maureen eyeballed me with what I can only describe as a leer. “It’s exciting for you too – isn’t it? You like talking about my juicy little cunt!”

I found my mouth was dry. I nodded, and she reached for me. Her fingers were slippery with my saliva, her juices, and her mother’s KY. That felt amazing, and as she started to jack me slowly, she began to whisper. “That’s nice and slippery, and it’s tight and warm, but not as tight as my cunt! When I’m bigger, you can slip right in there, right inside my hot juicy little cunt! You can fuck me! You can fuck my tight little cunt!”

It wasn’t subtle, and as ‘dirty talk’ went, it was pretty limited, but I was on the edge very quickly, and as I began to pant and thrust my pelvis up against her hand, Maureen bent to bring her mouth down to my shaft. She let a big gob of spit drip down onto my knob, and then evidently changed her mind and licked it.

“It’s sweet!” She was evidently tasting the remains of the KY, but her exploration was cut short as I erupted over her lips and face. I gasped and groaned, and we both laughed. Maureen had prepared for our coupling by bringing a damp facecloth to bed with us, and we cleaned up and lay together dreamily dozing until the alarm went.

“What about tomorrow? Can you come over?”

I was reluctant. “Working and swotting.” That was true, but not quite the whole truth. I also wanted to pull back just a little, and once a week with Maureen was really all I had time for. And perhaps (although I wasn’t saying so) it was really all I wanted.

Maureen was disappointed and said so. “Aww – I can’t wait for the next time. Can’t you come for tea tomorrow?”

I should have fronted. Shoulda woulda coulda! Instead, I made an excuse. “I’ve got School Cert in a couple of weeks. Isn’t Chick hard at it?”

“He is, but I want you hard in it!”

That was a sort of lifeline. If Maureen could joke, we weren’t in drama territory. I took advantage. “How about you settle for a slightly bigger carrot in the meantime, and we have a proper date next Saturday after cricket?”

That was the best I could do, but Maureen was wanting more. She changed tack. “Are you going to the School Ball? I nodded. “Chick is taking Susan.”

The question of who I was taking hung in the air. “I’m taking Pauline Miles.”

Maureen couldn’t quite hide her disappointment and for a moment, her face fell, but she rallied. “She was ahead of me at parochial school, but she goes to Girls High. My friend Maureen goes out with her brother. Is she your girlfriend?”

I drew another deep breath. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I have some friends who are girls, and I do sexy stuff with some of them, but I don’t have a girlfriend/boyfriend relationship with anyone.”

Maureen settled for what was available. “Okay, are you coming for tea after cricket?”

“I thought I’d take you out to eat somewhere, then come back here to bed.”

She seemed both surprised and pleased. “I can’t wait. Carrots in the meantime!”

We got dressed and I said my goodnights to Mr and Mrs Farrell, and had a last smooch with Maureen before going home for some chemistry revision.

Frank had a day’s work for me on Sunday, and I hadn’t been untruthful telling Maureen I was busy, even if I hadn’t quite told her the whole truth. There were also preparations for the Ball on top of everything else. My suit still fitted, and I learned that Pauline would have a peach-coloured gown and ordered a corsage to go with it.

I had a good day at cricket the next Saturday, and collected my first ever five wicket bag. Sometimes ya get lucky! I bowled well but not brilliantly, the pitch was helpful but no batsman’s nightmare, and the opposition played some unfortunate shots, but no very silly ones. Pauline was suitably impressed, but gave me enough technical criticism and ‘things you could work on’ to stop my head swelling.

We parked Harriet on the fringe of the Central Business District and after a lengthy, but not particularly comfortable smooch across the centre console and gearstick, we walked down Queen St to the newly opened ‘Tony’s’ on the waterfront. There, a steak with chips and two vegetables, with two slices of white bread and butter, followed by a cup of tea, could be purchased for five shillings. Maureen was again suitably impressed and we had a lot of fun together. We didn’t talk about cricket. Well - not much.

“I’ve never been on a proper date before. Let alone been taken out to dinner!”

I twirled an imaginary moustache. “And when I have dazzled you with my wealth and sophistication, I can take you somewhere private and have my way with you.”

Maureen clasped her hands in front of her chin. “Just so long as you don’t cast me cruelly aside as soon as you have seduced me and ruined my virtue.”

We held hands all the way back to Harriet, and we were naked in Maureen’s bed with a couple of hours to spare before my ‘you should be gone by’ time. Hugging and kissing soon became nipple sucking and pelvis grinding.