Jamil slowly withdrew his bloodstained, condom covered prick, removed the sheath and wiped me, then himself, before we snuggled down again under the soft sheets of the hotel bed. While I hadn't reached the heights of ecstasy I'd read in many stories, I'd enjoyed the experience and was glad the boy I loved took my virginity. We'd finally overcome the difficulties and barriers our parents and our unnatural shyness put across our paths. No words were spoken, none were needed; we lay close, our naked bodies touching, and kissed gently until I heard Jamil's breathing become shallow as he drifted off to sleep. Lying quietly alongside him, my mind went back eight months to our first meeting and the events that led to us being together.

At fifteen and a half tears old my growth spurt stopped at a measly five feet one inch. And I didn't develop much in other directions either. "Karen, you're as skinny as a rake and have tits like a boy," one of the better endowed girls taunted me in the shower, "Any boy that goes out with you will be a homo." As usual I just kept quiet but I knew she was right in that no boy had ever asked me out, not that mother would have allowed it. She was the cause of my shyness, or at least, that's what I believe.

I'm an only child, born prematurely, which may account for my small size, and mother, Sharon Donavan, is a large, domineering woman. Ever since my earliest recollections, I've been ordered to be quiet and if I spoke and requested something or even dared to disagree with mother, I would be treated to a long harangue and made to feel inadequate. Long before school age I withdrew into my shell and said nothing and only spoke in a hushed whisper when absolutely necessary. This carried on at school and I would never read out loud in class or put my hand up to answer questions even when I knew the answers. Mother always objected to counselling, probably because it might reveal her role, and even when the authorities insisted, I took an instant dislike to the woman counsellor and said nothing. In every other respect, I was well above average at schoolwork and excelled in science, maths and art.

Daddy quietly accedes to mother's wishes but he seems to have the knack of getting what he wants anyway. He's a well-paid banker and part of his job is negotiating deals with other banks and companies, a job at which he is skilled as I found out later. With mother working too, we're comfortably well off and live in a detached house in an 'executive' area that includes several millionaires but we're not quite in that league. Usually if I want anything I go to daddy and if he believes that I really need it, he manages to get it for me somehow.

Jamil Jones's family moved into the house next door during the summer holidays of 2006. Although they appeared quite wealthy, mother and some of the neighbours were horrified that an Indian family had moved into 'their' upper class, all white estate and I was ordered to stay away from them but it was difficult to actually stay away from Jamil because he was my age and we walked to the same school at the same time each day.

His shyness stemmed from the colour of his skin, being, like his father, on the light side for an Indian and too dark to be white. His grandfather served as a captain in the army stationed in India and brought an Indian wife home with him and their son, Jerad, Jamil's father, was born in England and married another England born Indian woman, Serala. Jamil was their only offspring. Both parents were keen for Jamil to marry a girl with an ethnic Indian ancestry and were not pleased for him to associate with me.

Like me, Jamil is small for his age but is fairly well muscled. Even so, with the vast majority of students at his previous schools being white, this combined with his small size and above average intelligence, led to a considerable amount of bullying which he combated by hiding away and remaining silent whenever possible.

I saw him several times during the school holiday period but didn't we speak, not even when he followed a few yards behind me on the walk to school. In class we exchanged a few quiet words but only on essential, routine things but several times I caught him looking at me and I'm sure he noticed my glances at him. The breakthrough came one windy morning towards the end of September when the folder containing my English essay homework, slipped from under my arm and the pages blew in all directions on the capricious wind. While I darted hither and thither to collect them, Jamil rushed to the rescue. Of course I thanked him and we walked the rest of the way, side by side but didn't speak again although I wanted to and found out later that he did too; unfortunately neither of us could get the words out. We didn't hold hands either but walked in a companionable silence.

Our walks to school continued in this way for another month. Always I left a few moments before Jamil but when I'd turned the corner of the cul-de-sac and out of sight of our houses, I waited for him to catch up and we walked together and even talked a little, mainly about schoolwork.

My parents found out sometime in October. Rain poured down as we ran home from school and I dashed inside and before I closed the door, saw Jamil running along his drive but by then I was inside. Half an hour later, when I looked out of my bedroom window, Jamil sat huddled on the porch of his house getting drenched by the torrential rain. Opening the window and signalling him to come over, I quickly let him into the utility room. The poor lad was soaked to the skin. "Get those wet things off and put them in the dryer, Jamil please, otherwise you'll get your death of cold. I'll bring you a robe to wear until they are dry." He looked very unsure but by the time I brought the robe, he'd removed most of his top clothing. "You'd better take your shirt off as well while I make us some tea to warm you up." I showed him how to work the dryer and a few minutes later, he came into the kitchen. Mother might not have been too angry with that but unwisely, I suggested that we could do our homework while we waited and for this we needed my computer in my bedroom and became so engrossed we never noticed the time or heard mother arrive. She was livid and berated me for having a near naked boy in my bedroom and implied we'd probably been doing things we shouldn't. No mention was made of Jamil's colour but she made it quite clear he wasn't a suitable boy for me. All I could do was cry and Jamil only stuttered a few apologies.

As it turned out, his parents had returned while we were doing the homework so Jamil was able to dress and escape. Mother continued to berate me but I largely shut it out. When daddy came home, he had to listen to several recitals of my misdeeds, misdeeds that seemed to grow with each telling. At least I was able to explain what really happed to him when we were alone and he appeared sympathetic and only suggested that I shouldn't take any boy into my bedroom while I was alone in the house, but I knew he didn't wish to say anything against mother.

Later that evening, Mr. Jones came to the door and much to mother's disgust, daddy invited him in. I happened to be in the kitchen at the time and could hear what he said. "Sir, I would like to thank your daughter for the kindness she showed my son when he forgot his keys and became extremely wet and cold while waiting in the rain. I understand she got into trouble over it and I would like to offer her my sincerest apologies and ask her to accept this simple gift." Daddy thanked him and dragged me out of the kitchen to receive it. I stuttered my thanks and muttered something about it only being the Christian thing to do. It was a bar of Indian chocolate, quite different from our Cadbury's.

Mummy kept conspicuously out of sight during Mr. Jones's visit but later I heard her arguing that daddy shouldn't have accepted the gift or even allowed him in the house.

Our art course, which both Jamil and I excelled in and enjoyed, consisted of four modules of nine weeks each. The graphic art module finished at the end of November and next we had to take was performing arts. Both Jamil and I were too shy to get up and read out loud, let alone get up on the stage and act. Most teachers knew the reasons for this and we expected to be kept out of the way and do behind the scenes work. In our minds this was not true art but we had to do it as part of the art course and we needed a grade to get a decent pass mark. With Christmas approaching, Miss Strykker, our new drama teacher, decided everyone was to participate in the end of term nativity play. "Even you Karen Donavan will take part," she announced and handed out part sheets. I shook my head, no, but she insisted. "It's time you learned to get over this quirk in your behaviour so you will take part, and you will go on stage for the production." I looked around and all eyes were on me. Only Jamil's showed any sympathy and I knew he wouldn't wish to speak his lines either.

"It'll have to be a mime before she'll do it," a boy called out but that only brought a sharp rebuke from Miss Strykker. However, when it came to my time to read, I just could not get more than two words out in a barely audible voice.

"Louder Karen, we cannot hear you." I fled into the dark corner behind the stage and cried. Jamil came and held me but we were only left a minute or two but that was enough for me to remember the sensation of his arms holding me tight for a long while afterwards.

"Get out the pair of you. This nonsense has to stop. Jamil you will read your lines now." He shook his head and an infuriated Miss Strykker abruptly gave us detention for the following night. "You will write a play that you can perform even if it is only in private," she hissed.

Her attitude infuriated me and I whispered to Jamil what I planned to do. He looked aghast but said he would cooperate with me. We part roughed it out on my laptop during the lunch break but finished it during our detention period. I titled it, "The Bullying Teacher," and in it I set out the humiliations two children had gone through under Miss Stripper's (from the description everyone would know who it was meant to represent) tutelage but I did it in play form. At home I printed two copies, one for Miss Strykker and one for the headmaster.

We had to wait until after the weekend for any reaction but on Monday we were called into the head's office and nervously stood on the carpet in front of his desk while he tried to interrogate us. In situations like this I clammed up and I shook with nervous fear until Jamil held me. The head knowing our history and having seen the reports from counsellors, wasn't totally against what we'd done but he pointed out we hadn't gone about it in the most diplomatic way and he would have to suspend us from that course until the New Year and he would send a report to our parents.

Mother was furious when she received the report and lectured me long and loudly, mainly for the disgrace I'd supposedly brought upon her and the family. As usual I shut my mind against her words until she forbade me to see Jamil and told me I was not to even walk to school with him. My hidden stubbornness came out and I quietly said, "No, I will not leave Jamil. He is all that I have in life."

Horrified at my words, she continued to remonstrate me on my duty to her and daddy. Finally she repeated her demand that I not see Jamil ever again except when in class and under the supervision of a teacher. I fled to my room and reiterated, "Jamil is my life, not you. I will see him at every opportunity.

"We'll see what your father has to say about that!" she screamed.

I emailed Jamil and told him what had occurred and poured my heart out to him in a lengthy letter. An hour later I had a reply.

<Dear Karen

Like you I suffered a lengthy rebuke and instructed not to see you again. Unlike you, I didn't express my opposition to it but just stood and said nothing. Tears rolled down my face at the thought of not being with you because my love is as strong for you as yours is for me. I am resolved to follow your example and tell mother that I will see you whenever I can. I know we have not spoken before of our love but I'm sure we both knew it from the closeness we've been and the incident over the play script has only brought it into the open, therefore I will say clearly now, 'I love you Karen Donavan and I hope we can be together always.' Father and mother are both in the lounge now, probably discussing the report so I will go down and face them and I will summon the courage to tell them of my feelings and try to change their minds.

Love

Jamil XXXXXX>

For a while I wept and still sobbed quietly when mummy brought daddy to my room and forthrightly gave her views on my behaviour and ordered daddy to back her decision to keep Jamil and me apart. "I won't, I love him." My tiny voice barely carried to daddy but it was enough to set mummy off on another barrage of accusations and demands, while I curled up on the bed and buried my face in the pillow.

"Please leave us Sharon, she won't take in anything while you shout at her." Daddy's quietly spoken words surprised me.

"Don't you go soft on her, David. You know how stubborn she is when she wants." Mummy slammed the door as she left.

Daddy handed me a tissue. "Sit up Karen, we must talk about this and try to find a solution." He talked quietly, as he always did, and in that respect he was more likely to make me conform to his way of thinking than mother with her loud, blustering way. It's probably how he'd learned to survive in their marriage. "It seems there are two issues Karen, one if you don't complete the art module you'll get a fail mark and while you could get high marks in the other three modules and pass the course as a whole, the total mark wouldn't be very high." I nodded. "In the morning I will phone Mr. Trenter, the head of art, and arrange a meeting to see if there is a way around the problem. No promises but I will see what I can do."

"Thank you Daddy. Most of the other teachers accept that I cannot speak in public but Miss Strykker doesn't seem to like me, or Jamil for that matter."

"The second problem is going to be very much more difficult to solve. Your relationship with Jamil. What you may not know, and I only knew last Sunday when Jared and I talked over the garden fence, is that Serala, Jamil's mother, is trying to arrange his marriage with another Indian girl. I gather it will be a financially arranged marriage and the couple might not even meet until the wedding day."