Uncle Frank, Pauline, Sex, and Me
Copyright© 2024 by Fatbastard
Chapter 32
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 32 - Coming of Age in 1960s New Zealand. My father's much younger brother guided and mentored me from early adolescence through my teenage years and a series of girlfriends. While each story can stand alone, readers will get most out of this series if they read chronologically starting with Andrea, and progressing through Bronwyn and Robyn to my adventures with Pauline
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Teenagers Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Farming School Vignettes First Oral Sex Petting
November – December 1962
Not too much had changed back at the house. Jax’s ‘boyfriend’ Roger had come for the long weekend and was still in residence. He showed no sign of wanting to be anywhere else except her bed, but was willing enough to help in the kitchen. He was cooking with Jax when I arrived, and I was interested to note that she was making no attempt to order him around.
Judith’s guy Tony had gone back to his guiding job at the Waitomo Caves. Judith seemed to be coping.
“It’s true lust!” She grinned. “Just as well Labour Weekend is a big one for that business and he had to go back to work. I was getting sore!”
Jax grinned too. *Are you boasting or complaining?”
Judith was thoughtful. “Boasting I think. He’s only the second guy I’ve had a sexual relationship with. Sex was wonderful with the first one, but he somehow got me to believe that it was all him, and it was his amazing love for me that produced the fireworks.” She frowned. “It wasn’t. I’m having it just as good with Tony, and there’s no true love ‘leave my wife’ bullshit.”
Roger stopped grating cheese. “Has Tony got a wife?”
“Not unless he’s lying through his teeth, but the important thing is that I’ve learned it’s actually about me.” Judith paused, and seeing Roger’s blank look went further. “Now I know that I can have terrific sex with someone other than bloody Malcolm Lewis, I know it’s about my feelings and responses.”
“So now the world’s your oyster?”
Jax sniggered “More a bearded clam!”
Roger was looking blank again and it took me a second or two to get it, but when I did, I helped him out. “Jax’s clam isn’t bearded!” He snorted and went back to grating the cheese.
Jax was cooking something new. Parboiled potatoes, sliced thinly and layered with cauliflower florets. Then the whole thing was smothered in a cheese sauce, topped with grated cheese and baked. Delicious!
Pauline arrived in time to eat with us, and told me she was inviting herself to spend the night in my bed. She had her dad’s car so she could take me to school in the morning. What’s not to like? We had long ago sorted the nature and limits of our relationship and we both knew that it was okay for either of us to ‘invite ourselves’ over and equally okay for the other to say ‘no’. She was bleeding, so I rubbed her off through her knickers, and she stroked me off with baby oil, spit, and some very naughty ‘cunt talk’. Nice!
The school year was winding down. The Fifth formers (year eleven) were sitting School Certificate, the Scholarship boys from years twelve and thirteen were head down and bum up into their National Scholarship exams, and the idle or insubordinate year twelves who had not been accredited their University Entrance were sitting the exams. I had been accredited, and at that stage, I was interested only in cricket.
That was a blast. The last two matches of the High School competition were spread out over the last four weekends of the final term. During this time, we got a couple of days of very heavy rain which couldn’t have been better timed if I had been in direct contact with God.
In both the matches, we had batted first and made a reasonable total on the first day, and it had then rained heavily during the week, soaking the pitch. Each time, the rain was followed by enough sun and wind to dry and crust the surface, producing a classic ‘sticky wicket’. – a batsman’s nightmare and bowler’s wet dream. I cleaned up both times with a bagful of wickets every time Ross Orchard tossed me the ball. The other bowlers got a few too, and we won both matches easily.
And very soon it was the end of the school year. We don’t do High School graduation in New Zealand, and the end of year Prizegivings at school (one academic and one sporting) were couple of extended morning assemblies. I went up on stage in my turn, the Headmaster shook my hand and smiled at me, and I got the ‘Barnwell Memorial Prize’ for English, and the ‘Townsend Memorial Prize’ for Biology. A couple of two pound book tokens! Whoop de shit!
But the prizes and my attitude towards them taught me (or rather retaught me) a lesson I should have learned over my selection for the Soccer First XI a couple of years before. I somehow ‘forgot’ to tell Mum ‘n Dad and the Grandkerrs and Frank ‘n Emma about my success. But I mentioned the fact that I had won a couple of prizes when I wrote to Sandra. She told Della, Della told Grandma June, and she told Mum. Then the shit hit the fan.
I had been working for Frank as usual. There was plenty of work, and we had settled into a routine pretty much as soon as school was over. Emma was due in a couple of months and was starting to feel (as she put it) ‘like a beached whale’. She was finding work a struggle and had decided to take the last of her accumulated leave from her job with State Advances.
In those days, maternity leave provisions were much less generous than they are today, and Frank and Emma had decided to save the maternity leave so that she could stay home with their baby after the birth. So Frank was working as hard as he could to keep the wolf from the doors of the three houses and the business that they owned between them. Frank would come and pick me up every morning at eight and take me to where I was working, either on my own or with him.
He arrived as usual on the Thursday morning of the first week of the holidays. I was standing on the veranda waiting when he pulled up outside and got out of his van. He wasn’t happy. I knew there was trouble as soon as I saw his face, but I didn’t know whether it concerned me and if so, what it was about. I didn’t have to wait long. He came up the two steps and eyeballed me.
“Your Mum heard you won some prizes.” His voice was flat, but his face was thunderous.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Coupla two quid book tokens.”
Frank snorted. “So how come she heard about it from her mum?”
Now I knew what was wrong, but I didn’t have the wit to know what to do next. I shrugged again. “Didn’t seem important. It’s not a big deal.”
For a second or two, I thought Frank was going to hit me. He tensed his muscles and shifted his body weight. I stepped back half a pace and he relaxed a bit, but he was still very red in the face.
“You’re a selfish little shit!” He turned around and went down the steps and back towards the van, pausing as he opened the door. “I don’t want to be around you right now. No work today. Think about what you’ve done!” He got into the van and roared off, leaving me standing on the veranda.
Shit! I thought for a minute or two, then went inside and rang Pauline, hoping for a bit of sympathy. I caught her before she left for her gardening job. In some areas, I’m a slow learner, but I remembered the last time Pauline and me had got into strife with each other. I had wanted sympathy but hadn’t asked, and then I got shitty when she didn’t deliver what I wanted, and it was all downhill from there.
I got it right this time. “I fucked up by not telling my folks about winning a couple of prizes. I’d like a kind word.”
She laughed. “I’ll giveya a couple. Sympathetic. Empathetic.” She paused “Generous. Forgiving. There - that’s a bonus for ya.”
I bristled slightly. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“I’m due at work. I thought you’d be gone by now anyway.”
“Frank was really shitty. He doesn’t want to be round me. No work today.”
“So it’s serious. You could come over and work with me. We could talk as we weed.”
I did, and we pulled oxalis and inkweed and adventitious (looked it up) kikuyu together. Pauline was brilliant.
“So you say you know what you did wrong. Tell me.”
“I managed to win prizes – something that would make all the family proud and give them lotsa pleasure, and I didn’t tell them.”
“Yeah, but what did that mean?”
“Huh?”
“So what did not telling them mean?”
“They didn’t get the pleasure?”
“Yeah – but more importantly?”
“Dunno.”
Pauline curled her lip. Looking back, I think she was drawing on her Youth Drama experience to drive her message home. Every inch of her body dripped contempt. I thought hard, but couldn’t come up with the answer that was clearly obvious to her. I probably looked blank and certainly felt distressed. After what seemed a very long time, Pauline took pity on me.
‘Here’s a clue. What did Frank call you?”
“He said I was a selfish little shit!”
“Think about that.”
I did, and after another pause. I got it. “I didn’t think about them.” Pauline nodded and I went on. “I didn’t see the prizes as a reward for the encouragement and support they’ve given me. I didn’t think about them at all.”
Pauline almost smiled. “And how they heard about your success?”
“They heard fourth hand through Grandma Henley. That multiplied the hurt.”
The smile appeared. “So what do you need to do?”
“I need to go to my olds and the Grandkerrs and to Frank ‘n Emma and acknowledge how thoughtless that was, and how hurtful that must have been. I should acknowledge that my success was due to their support and invite them to celebrate with me.”
“Good. You should do that this afternoon.”
“Thank you. That’s really helpful. You’re marvelous.”
Pauline’s smile became a grin. “Do I get a reward?”
I twirled an imaginary mustache. “Come round tonight and I’ll do nice things to your body!”
The grin became lascivious. “Come with me!”
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