Chapter 7: A Go Ahead

Maureen and I were side by side at the kitchen table when her mother and father walked in. Mr Farrell was carrying a big brown paper bag which smelled absolutely delicious. The smells themselves were unfamiliar, but they made my mouth water.

Maureen lit up. “Chinese! Thank you Daddy!”

Mrs Farrell (there was no way I was going to call her Rhonda without a direct invitation) assembled plates, bowls, spoons, chopsticks, and a fork for me, and served up. The meal was amazing. The flavours were new, and my mouth was literally watering.

I had never had Chinese food, but I watched the Farrells carefully and copied Mr Farrell well enough to use chopsticks with some dumplings stuffed with gingery chicken, and I used the fork and spoon for everything else.

“The food is wonderful. Where did it come from?”

Mrs Farrell smiled. “There’s a new restaurant called ‘Peking’. It’s just opened recently.”

Mr Farrell cut in. “No connection with Peking except that means ‘Chinese’ to most Kiwis. The owner is actually from Hong Kong, and so are most of the dishes on the menu. They don’t do takeaway food normally, but I knew the owner in Hong Kong, and was able to help him with an immigration problem, so he will always pack up a meal for me and give me a small discount. He says they’re too busy to have a takeaway business right now, but he’s planning to enlarge the kitchen and employ staff so he can.”

The family talked about living in Hong Kong, where Mr Farrell had been an Assistant Trade Attache for the British, before moving to NZ to head the British Legation’s Auckland office.

It didn’t take long to clear away the meal and Mr and Mrs Farrell adjourned to the lounge with their coffees while I washed dishes, Chick dried them, and Maureen put them away.

“So how long did you live in Hong Kong? Did you go to school there? Can you speak Chinese?”

“We were there for three years, Chick had a couple of years at an international school, but we came here when I was due to start school at St Agnes and Chick started with the Marist Brothers.”

Chick grinned. “I used to have a hundred words or so of Cantonese, but I’ve lost most of them.”

We joined Mr and Mrs Farrell in the lounge. They sent Chick away again, telling him to go and get on with his homework, and then got straight down to business with Maureen and me.

Mrs Farrell started. “On Tuesday, you told Sean that you have been sexually active without risking pregnancy. How did you do that?”

Maureen was interested, but also embarrassed. “Do we have to talk about this stuff Mum?”

“We do. You told me how you have been feeling about David. You eventually admitted you want to start exploring sex with him.”

Mr Farrell was also dead serious. “Sexual activity is adult stuff. If you want to start exploring adult stuff, we need to make sure you can approach it in an adult way.” He turned back to me. “Well?”

I took a deep breath. “Pregnancy comes from sperm in or near a vagina. Sperm is present in spunk and the dribble that sometimes comes first. No naked penises anywhere near vulvas, ever, ‘cos sperm can swim a long way. That means only fingers, lips and tongues for quite a long while, and no spermy fingers!” Maureen was squirming slightly, whether from embarrassment or anticipation I didn’t know.

Mr Farrell was deadpan. “And?”

“When we get to actual intercourse, if we ever do, it’s condoms and spermicide during a safe part of the cycle.”

Mrs Farrell laughed. “You do know we’re Catholics, don’t you?”

I didn’t know how to respond. My knowledge of Catholicism was pretty limited. I knew that Uncle Frank had had real problems with a Catholic fiancée over sex before marriage and with contraception, but I also knew that Pauline was Catholic and even though she had been to parochial school and her brother went to St Pauls, her mother worked for a well known abortion campaigner and she had no problems about having her daughter on the pill.

I risked Pauline’s joke. “You can use condoms – but only holy ones?”

Mr and Mrs Farrell laughed, and after a second or two, so did Maureen.

Mr Farrell had to top that. “There’s a technical term for people who depend on the rhythm method – they’re called parents!” We all laughed, and then he went on, looking directly at me. And can you honestly say that you have never taken a risk. Never rubbed it around, never put it in ‘just a little way’?”

I eyeballed him right back. “Never! And never going to either!”

Mrs Farrell looked quite intently at both of us. “So can we have your word that you won’t ‘go all the way’ until we have had another discussion?”

Maureen nodded, and I offered an emphatic ‘Yes’. Mr and Mrs Farrell looked relieved, and I certainly felt that way. Then I remembered ‘pussyrubbing’. For about half a second I considered letting that lie, before deciding that was a silly idea.

“There’s one more thing.” Everyone gave me their full attention. “Before I’ve got to full intercourse before, I’ve done pussyrubbing with Saranwrap.” Mrs Farrell and Maureen both looked interested, Mr Farrell was slightly sceptical.

“I’ve heard of kids using clingwrap instead of condoms. That’s not OK!”

I hastened to correct him. “No. What we did was have me lie on my back with a layer of clingwrap over my stiffy lying against my belly, while my partner sat on it and slid backward and forward. No penetration, not even a little way, and only at safe times of her cycle.”

Mrs Farrell was decisive. “No. None of that until we have talked again. Promise?” Maureen and I both nodded.

There was a slightly awkward silence. I didn’t know what to say, and it was clear that neither did Maureen.

Mrs Farrell rescued us. “Show him the garden. You can show him your room later.”

We escaped to their quarter acre. It was dark, and even though it had stopped raining, everything was still wet and smelled of earth and citrus blossoms.

The rich volcanic soil had made the Auckland isthmus a prize to be fought over ever since the Maori had arrived. They named it ‘Tamaki Makaurau’ (Tamaki of a hundred lovers), and the soil had been further improved by a succession of property owners, until now (as Mr Farrell was later to boast) ‘you drop a seed in the ground and step back, before the seedling comes up and hits ya in the balls.’

But that was much much later. For now, Maureen and I walked round the garden holding hands. I didn’t know what to say, and it was clear that neither did she. Ironically, my joking to Mr Farrell that we would spend more time talking about cricket than getting sexy popped into my head.

“We could always talk about cricket!”

Maureen laughed. “Well we’ve certainly talked about sex. Jesus! I thought Mum gave me the third degree, but they sure put you on the spot.”

“Worked though. We have a go ahead to start exploring sexy stuff.” I paused and eyeballed her. “But only when you’re ready.”

“I’ve been ready since I saw you on Saturday. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Some people believe in love at first sight, but I can’t believe I love you because I don’t know you. But I do want to have sex with you. When I saw you it felt like a jolt of electricity all through my body.”

“Wow! My last girlfriend had something like that when she laid eyes on the guy she’s with now. We went to the School Ball, and as soon as she saw him she was hooked. They were psychically all over each other all evening.”

“Shit. Your girlfriend! How was that for you?” Maureen didn’t wait for an answer. “Weren’t you jealous? How did you handle that?”

“I was a bit embarrassed, but I realised that neither of them could help what they were feeling. Jack Gavin hadn’t done much dating and had no idea how to handle the situation, and even though Robyn and I had had the hots for each other for years and were having a pretty juicy sexual relationship, she had never felt that sort of an attraction before.”

“Jack Gavin? The guy who was captain of the seconds last year? He’s with the girl who used to be your girlfriend?”

“Sort of. We had agreed that we were ‘temporary boyfriend and girlfriend’ and that it wasn’t for ever and it wasn’t troo lurve.”

“So what about us? I sure have the hots for you like I’ve never had for anyone, but it can’t be love. I don’t bloody know you.”

I channelled Frank. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, but I’ve talked a bit to people who have. So try this. We’re all hard wired to mate, and having the hots for someone is a result of that circuit turned up full. It doesn’t have to be mutual. My Uncle Frank told me to look up the meaning of ‘limorance’, but I haven’t got round to that. He says love is different, and grows out of trust and affection and commitment.”

Maureen’s nod was emphatic. “We don’t have that, but I guess this conversation is a start. In the meantime, we might forget about love and do the limorancy thing.”

I wasn’t sure if Maureen was joking. “Limorandy makes more sense.”

We were standing facing each other, and by wordless consent, we moved closer together and leaned in for another kiss. It was better than our first one, but after we progressed to some tentative tongue contact, I felt her lips get tight and her body become tense.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m getting very wet.”

“Let’s go back inside. Your Mum said you could show me your room.”

We did and she did. We made it back to her room without any more contact with the rest of the family, and she closed the door behind us. I was certainly no expert, but it seemed to me like an average girly room. A big one with a bay window and a newish single bed, a desk, a dressing table with a big mirror and a chest of drawers with framed photos of a much younger Maureen on top. Elvis, Cliff Richard and James Dean posters. Maureen sat on the bed and motioned for me to sit beside her.

We turned towards each other, and this time our kissing wasn’t tentative, and neither was our tongue contact. Side by side sitting on the edge of the bed soon became lying on it with the fronts of our bodies pressed together as we kissed, and that very soon became grinding our pelvises together as we each grabbed a handful of each other’s buttocks. There was lots of panting and low volume moaning.

“Would you like to see my tits?”

“Yes please!” We disengaged. Maureen sat up, and I helped her take off her blouse, and she immediately reached behind her back and then shimmied briefly. Her bra fell away, and there they were. Her breasts were grapefruit sized, and seemed to sit very high on her chest. They were pale, with slightly darker areola, and came to a blunt point with no obvious nipples. I hadn’t seen a lot of breasts, but that was new for me. I started to stroke them as we resumed our kissing, but the change in our positions made it impossible to kiss, stroke and grind our pelvises at the same time, and it was soon clear that choices had to be made. Again wordlessly, we settled for pelvic grinding and breast stroking, and Maureen gradually moved to straddle me as I lay on my back, with her denim clad crutch grinding on my dick behind the fly of my grey serge school shorts. My fly buttons provided interesting sensations for both of us, and I could reach up to fondle her breasts as she rode me.