Chapter 6: Bowling a Maiden Over

Chick Farrell sought me out at Monday lunchtime. He clearly wanted something, but was having trouble asking. After he had hemmed and ummed for a few minutes, I took pity on him.

“What is it mate? What’s on your mind?”

“Maureen is smitten with you. She talks about you all the time. She has pestered me ever since Saturday afternoon, wanting to know everything about you. This morning, she even asked if I’d ever seen your cock!”

“Wow!” I remembered Bryan Reid and his sister. “So did you tell her I’m hung like a horse and would split her in half?”

“Fuck off – in ya dreams! Chick laughed, and then got serious. “I don’t want her hurt.”

“Of course not, but she was coming on really strong on Saturday, and if she’s besotted and I go along, it could end badly. I certainly turn on to her. Shit – who wouldn’t!”

“Me for a start!”

“And if she wasn’t your sister?”

“Dunno. Never thought about it.” He paused and I waited. “Look.” I kept waiting. “Will you come round to our place after school?”

I shook my head. “I have a study group after school on Mondays and Fridays and we have practice on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

“What about tea after practice?”

I thought ‘what the hell’ and settled for Tuesday before the bell sounded for afternoon classes and Chick went off to Geography while I hurried to Biology.

Study group that afternoon was cruisy. Aapi and Alison finally ‘did it’, and looked pretty happy after ‘resting’ in my room and ‘Aunty Flo’ was still visiting Pauline, but she stayed for tea and we cuddled for an hour afterwards. I wasn’t sure how much to share about Maureen. I wasn’t sure if there was actually anything to share anyway, but as Frank said at one stage of one of my relationships ‘Women seem to have a sixth sense about these things’, and Pauline picked up that there was something going on.

“So what aren’t you telling me?”

I decided to front. “One of the guy’s has a younger sister. She came to cricket and she seems pretty keen on me. I’m going to tea at their place tomorrow after practice.”

I wasn’t able to fully gauge Pauline’s response, but her body stayed relaxed as she cuddled against me and she didn’t seem too perturbed, so her rejoinder took me by surprise.

“Wow – meeting the parents already. When’s the wedding?”

I didn’t know how to take that and said so. “I hope you’re joking!”

Pauline grinned. “‘Course I am ya silly bugger! You won’t be engaged for at least another month!” I tickled her until she begged for mercy and threatened to piss my bed. Then she got serious.

Is it okay to joke about this stuff? I know we agreed that we are friends who fuck and we don’t even need to tell each other if we get lucky elsewhere – but you did react.”

“Yup. I guess I’m nervous. I have no idea where the thing with Maureen is going – or even whether there is a thing with Maureen.”

“Maureen. That’s a good Catholic name. Maureen who?”

“Farrell. No idea about her religion.”

“I have. She was a year behind me in parochial school. But she went on to St Margarets, while I went to Girls High.” She giggled. “If she’s a good Catholic girl there’ll be no sex until you’re married. You’ll have to wait a month or two!”

I tickled her again, and that gradually became a clinch, which evolved into some nipple sucking as I rubbed her off through her panties and she extracted my dick and sucked me to completion. We straightened our clothing out and said our goodbyes, but Pauline paused on the veranda steps and turned back. Her grin was in evidence.

“Can Catholic girls use condoms?”

“What?”

She giggled. What are the only condoms Catholics are allowed to use? I shrugged.

“Holy ones!” It took me a few seconds to get it, and I waved my middle finger at her retreating back.

Tuesday dragged, and my mind kept drifting to the prospect of tea at the Farrells, but I managed to avoid drawing attention to myself and 3.30 eventually saw us released from the classroom. Mr Smythe worked us hard at practice, since a couple of days heavy rain was forecast before it cleared for the weekend and he expected the wicket would be soft and would make batting difficult. He said that would give us a chance to win outright so he drilled us on our fielding and bowling with real intensity. For a couple of hours I was too busy to worry about how tea at the Farrell’s would go.

In fact, it began and ended well. Chick and I walked together round to the North side of the mountain – grand old two and three story houses on big sections with mature trees. It was a location I would later come to think of as ‘superbia’, and the Farrell’s house was a good twenty thousand quid’s worth of anyone’s money. Maureen was nowhere to be seen, but Mr and Mrs Farrell were welcoming.

“We’ve heard an awful lot about you and your performance over the last few days.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I couldn’t say nothing, and I remembered how knowledgeable Maureen had been about cricket, so I went with that. “I had a good day on Saturday. Their seamer was hard at first, but he got easier later, as the shine wore off the ball.”

Bingo! The Farrells were ‘into’ cricket! Bigtime! A lively and highly technical discussion developed as we drifted into their large and luxuriously appointed kitchen. Whatever was cooking smelled wonderful! I sat at the kitchen table with Chick and Mr Farrell while Mrs Farrell ‘tutued’ with various things on the stove, participating fully in the discussion while she worked. The prospects of the Australian team in England were analysed in detail, and the technical deficiencies of the English bowling attack explained.

Ater about fifteen minutes, Maureen appeared in the doorway to my right. She was not expecting to see me.

Surprise, pleasure, chagrin, and anger wrestled for control of her body. Pleasure won, and she came towards me with a huge grin, pausing only to frown at Chick as she did so.

“I’ll kill you for this.” I didn’t think she meant me, but I didn’t fully get it.

Her parents also wrestled with their emotions. Predominantly mirth. They lost, and as Frank would say, ‘they fell about laughing’. I still didn’t fully get it, and Maureen stopped a few feet short of me, as the pleasure in her face gradually morphed into an expression of embarrassment.

Mrs Farrell saw my vague puzzlement and took pity on me. “Perhaps we might have forgotten to mention to Maureen that you were coming to tea.” Her grin broadened. “Perhaps Maureen is disappointed she didn’t stay home from school to have enough time to properly prepare for your visit.”

I got it. If they were ok with teasing Maureen about her feelings for me, there was no need to hold back. I decided to wing it. “Maureen doesn’t need time to make herself look good.” That got me some Brownie points. Maureen lit up and her parents laughed.

Chick must have had a rush of blood to his head. “She could have tidied her room and changed her sheets!” That was a bridge too far.

His father looked at him. His tone was icy. “Charles Edward Farrell. That will do!”

Chick looked at least momentarily abashed. “Sorry!” I made a mental note that jokes implying occupation of Maureen’s room and bed were off limits. I decided to stick to cricket. We did. Maureen sat herself down beside me as we all immersed ourselves in that topic

The Farrells were obsessed. Mr Farrell had played County Cricket in the UK for a couple of seasons after the war, and had transmitted his love for the game to both his children. His wife had developed her knowledge (at least so she joked) ‘in self defence’. Self defence or not, she was even more knowledgeable than her daughter. And Maureen exhibited the same chameleon like ability she had revealed on Saturday. In less than a second she could switch from a horny lovestruck teenager coming on strong, to become a mature, perceptive, and very knowledgeable critic and commentator on some highly technical aspects of the game. In that latter role, she was effectively asexual.

All the Farrell family knew lots more about cricket than I did, and our lively discussion continued as Mrs Farrell served grilled pork chops with potatoes, peas, and silverbeet from their garden. Bottled peaches and vanilla icecream were followed by the best coffee I had ever tasted up to that time in my life.

Then Mr Farrell got down to business. “Well David Kerr, you seem like a nice young man.” Shades of Bronwyn Reed’s father! I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut as he continued. “Maureen seems taken with you. She has talked of nothing else since Saturday.”

“Da-ad!” His daughter was clearly embarrassed, but he ignored her and went on.

“And that poses us a problem.” I kept listening as he paused, then went on. “Two problems really. First, the rest of us are sick to death of hearing how wonderful you are.”

His wife cut across him “Unless you really can walk on water?” I shrugged, Chick stifled a guffaw, and Maureen stood up from the table with a very red face and left the room. Mrs Farrell got her laughter under control and addressed her husband. “Now we’ve done it! She’ll sulk for a month!”

“Go and make peace. I’ll talk to David.” He turned to me as Mrs Farrell went in search of her daughter. “Maureen is too young to be in a serious relationship.” I nodded. “She hasn’t been in love before, but she is clearly head over heels with you.” I nodded again. He turned to Chick. “Go and tell your mother she wants you.” I was puzzled, but Chick got the message, shrugged, and followed his mother out. Mr Farrell eyeballed me.