Uncle Frank, Pauline, Sex, and Me
Copyright© 2024 by Fatbastard
Chapter 43
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 43 - 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
Final Term Begins - 1963.
I hadn’t opened a book for three weeks, and after the effort I had been making to ‘catch up’ in the three subjects I had slacked off in, the August holiday break did me no harm at all. I was impatient for cricket to start, and although I couldn’t pretend to be hugely interested in Chemistry, Physics, or (particularly) Maths, I knew I needed to do enough to maintain the grades I had recovered.
Meanwhile, there was fencing. Dad was winding up my cardiovascular training, working me hard with exercises to practice various ‘prises de fer’, and, despite Brian Pickmere’s opinion that my footwork probably couldn’t be improved much before Nationals, he was pushing me in that area too. I was training hard, with Tuesday and Thursday nights at Jean-Paul, and Wednesday in Mum ‘n Dad’s garage. When cricket started a week into my final term, I was going to be busy.
Pauline was still in lust with Bruce, and I was still getting by with whatever time she had left over. I occasionally wondered whether some other young woman might be available if I looked, but the reality was, I simply had too much on my plate to explore what might be possible with anyone else. I got by with some help from Mrs Palmer.
Cricket started with a hiss and a roar. Bartlett had grown stronger and picked up another half a yard of pace over the winter. He was now a genuine ‘fast bowler’ by any standard, with his fastest balls delivered at close to 8o mph, and his average pushing 70. On the uncovered pitches we used, he troubled even the best batsmen.
He didn’t have much of what Mr Smythe (privately) referred to as a ‘cricketing brain’, but if I used him carefully and kept talking to him and advising him throughout each of his ‘spells’ with the ball, he was easily the most effective bowler in our grade, and most weeks took five wickets or more. Even though I missed a couple of games, we finished top of the local competition.
I continued to love the game, and I made some runs and took some wickets, but I realised that I had progressed as far as my talent and ability was going to take me. I was a little disappointed to realise that I was never going to be good enough to play at provincial level, but consoled myself with the thought that my fencing career was just starting, and (since Pauline was at that stage still besotted with Bruce), I might find time to develop other relationships when the Secondary Schools cricket competition wound down at the end of the school year.
In the event, Pauline’s infatuation waned as she became increasingly irritated by Bruce’s unwillingness to risk his mother’s displeasure, and about six weeks into the term she kicked him to the kerb. She was a very little bit sad, but just as I had when Chick Farrell went to Wellington, I consoled her. Repeatedly!
My final School Ball in September was a blast! I took Pauline, and both the band and the music were different from previous years. That was largely down to the arrival of a new music master at the school. I don’t know how Mr J R Radford MusBach. Dip Ed. got the nickname ‘Rhubarb’, but he was a very sharp dresser in what was becoming known as the ‘mod’ style. I don’t know how he afforded it on a teacher’s salary, but he always appeared immaculately turned out in slim fitting trousers, jackets with narrow lapels, buttoned down shirts with narrow ties in paisley patterns, and ‘winklepicker’ boots or shoes.
He had arranged the band. They were called ‘The Swamp Dwellers’, and while their repertoire included a couple of relatively decorous instrumental numbers for the Head and Staff to dance to, they mainly covered hits. It was very obvious that they were having an extra good time, and we did too.
We all knew ‘Rhubarb’ played the piano, but halfway through the evening, he surprised us all, joining the band and picking up a guitar for a wild rendition of ‘Surfin’ USA’ which was roundly applauded, even by the Head and Staff.
Somehow, the change in the music made the whole ball much less formal, and we bopped along - twisting, jiving, rocking and rolling to the fast numbers, and hanging all over each other and swaying for the slow ones. There were more liberties taken in relation to wandering hands and (relatively discreet) smooching than staff would have tolerated in previous years, and Pauline and I allowed ourselves some latitude. I was pretty horny, and she giggled whenever she felt my stiffy and ground herself against it.
We stayed hot for each other through to the last dance, and Pauline groped me all the way back to the flat, or rather tried to - given the lack of space between Harriet’s steering wheel and my junk. I got almost painfully hard anyway, and she was certainly soaking wet and juicy by the time we undressed each other in my room. We were less than conscientious about hanging up my suit and Pauline’s ball gown, and also (and much more importantly) completely unthinking about our contraception.
Pauline had some excuse, she was on the pill, and the ‘deal’ we had negotiated with Frank and Emma to use spermicide in addition had not applied to her dalliances with Bruce. I had no such excuse. We had transgressed once, several years before, and the ructions that had caused had made sure we were very careful thereafter. But not this night.
We had been dancing together, rubbing against each other, smooching a little bit, and looking forward to more for at least four hours. When a naked Pauline jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist, my glans was squeezed between my belly and her slippery and fragrant crutch, and I think the blood in my body was going to my little head rather than my big one.
Smell has always been a big turn on for me. I don’t seem to have a very sensitive nose in other respects, but the smell of a sexually aroused woman is pretty much guaranteed to get me going. The smell of Pauline’s pussy filled the room, and without thinking, I put my hands under her bum and adjusted her position, lifting her until my glans found its own way to her slit, and then lowering her to embed myself fully. She was tight, hot, and very wet and slippery. I carried her the few steps to my bed, and still connected, I laid her back on it. Then we fucked each other. Vigorously!
We had been lovers for nearly three years, and we knew one another’s responses pretty well. But there was nothing subtle about this first joining of the night. We rutted, and I emptied my balls inside Pauline sometime between her second and third orgasms. We collapsed panting, in a sweaty juicy, and deliciously smelling heap. Then I remembered the Gynomin.
“Shit! We didn’t put a tablet in! I’ve just pumped you full of little wrigglers!”
Pauline wasn’t concerned. “We can put one in later.”
I went along. Dumb, but I was at least partly influenced by the prospect of some licking and sucking and burying my face in Pauline’s centre before spoiling the taste with spermicide. “Some eating then?”
We did, and I was soon hard again while Pauline came a couple more times. Somehow, we moved into fucking again before putting a Gynomin in. The second time was much more gentle, sensual, loving, and extended. Then, we compounded our sin by drifting off to sleep, stickily entangled and still without spermicide where it should have been. It was close to two o’clock by then, but I still woke after a couple more hours, quite conscious of my irresponsibility, and also a little scared.
I grabbed a tablet and tried to push it into Pauline’s vagina. She was still three quarters asleep, and I don’t know what was going on in her head, but she pushed me away and muttered ‘no’. From my first adventures with Andrea, six years before, I had known very clearly indeed that ‘no’ always means NO! and I felt like I was between a rock and a hard place. I should have put a tablet in before my penis the first time, and most certainly remedied that deficiency before our second bout, and now Pauline was very clearly saying ‘no’. I was stuck!
I lay beside a sleeping Pauline and stewed. I had a deal with Frank and Emma – or did I? I had certainly had one when I moved into the house, and the ructions that had resulted from breaking it had made Frank’s position very clear. But then we were under sixteen and any sexual activity was illegal and a pregnancy would have put him at risk as well as screwing up our lives. That was then. Now we were legally allowed to screw our brains out, and since Frank was with Emma and no longer living on the premises, he was more clearly a landlord than ‘in loco parentis’. Was our ‘deal’ still operative?
Pauline and I clearly needed to talk - and that couldn’t wait until morning! I got up and made two cups of tea. She wasn’t keen to wake up, but I persisted, and after a minute or two of gentle prodding, she rather grumpily sat up and took her tea.
“So what’s with you? What’s the problem?”
I tried to explain my dilemma, but since my own position wasn’t clear in my own mind, that was difficult. Pauline interrupted after the first few fumbling and stumbling sentences.
“You want to put a tablet in me?”
“Yes, but you said ‘no’.”
“I was half asleep, you dickhead! Do it now.”
She kept sipping her tea and spread her legs as I slipped the Gynomin inside her, and then she put her half-finished tea down, snuggled down in the bed, and rolled over with her back to me.
“Spoon me!”
I flipped the bedside lamp off, and like the good boy I am, I followed her instructions. I had already come a couple of times, but I still woke soon after six with morning wood nestled into her crotch, and when Pauline responded with a sleepy giggle and enough squirming to slot my knob, I eased my way inside her warmth and wetness. That was something else again. We started slowly and sleepily, and moved against each other gently for a long time. Then Pauline started to roll onto her stomach. I began to roll with her, but she reached behind her back to hold my hip and push me away. We disengaged, and she put a pillow under her hips and favoured me with a grin which even in the half-light of dawn, was clearly lascivious.
“Ride me cowboy!”
She bent her knees to raise her middle slightly, and I bestrode her scrawny buttocks and slipped back into her. That was really nice! Sit bones pressing into my groins, my sac enclosed by slippery thighs, and my shaft buried to the root in a warm velvet sheath that rippled and gripped me as Pauline wriggled and squirmed. Blissful! I decided that I didn’t need to confess our sins to Frank ‘n Emma, but I also resolved to ‘sin no more’.
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