| The 40 In 40 Days Project. | ||
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15. The First Time (1979) |
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The Au Pairs |
Ah, the golden
summer of 1979. A-levels were over, and my boarding school in Cambridge
turned into a holiday camp for the last few weeks of term. We would
spend lunchtimes drinking in The Anchor, and afternoons sunbathing by
The Mill, overlooking the punts floating past on the River Cam. For the
first time in my five years there, I could honestly say that I was
enjoying the place at last. Tubeway Army’s “Are ‘Friends’
Electric?” was Number One, and for a while it was ubiquitous; every
time you walked down the study corridors, you could hear it coming out
of someone’s room. In fact, we were in the middle of a golden age for
hit singles. Up The Junction, Silly Games, Babylon’s Burning,
H.A.P.P.Y. Radio, Girls Talk, Good Times, Sunday Girl, Boogie
Wonderland, Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now, We Are Family, Pop Muzik, I
Fought The Law, Ring My Bell…what a soundtrack. Philip (not his real name) was part of
our crowd. He was fair, athletic and impossibly handsome without being
in the slightest bit aware of it. I’d had a secret crush on him for
ages. Late one night, back from the pub,
someone dared us both to strip naked and walk along the first floor
study corridor, down the main staircase, and then along the ground floor
corridor. Neither of us hesitated for a second. “Shit,” he chuckled
as he took his clothes off, “I’ve got a massive stiffy down here.”
“Same here,” I mumbled back – relieved I wasn’t the only one.
Relieved – and suddenly very curious. We went through with the dare,
and collapsed naked and giggling onto his bed. Neither of us seemed in
any great hurry to get dressed again. The air seemed to be crackling
with something unspoken. It remained unspoken. I went back to my room,
head pounding. The crush began to intensify. A few nights later. We had all got into
the general habit of sitting around on each other’s beds with the
lights off, smoking crafty late night cigarettes with the windows open.
It was quite normal to go into someone’s study and find two people
sitting on a bed together in the dark. And on this particular night,
after everyone else has disappeared, I am still sitting on Philip’s
bed. There’s that crackle in the air again – it’s unmistakeable. “D’you know what?” Philip’s
voice is completely casual, like he’s just had this sudden thought out
of the blue. “I wouldn’t mind trying your clothes on. You can try
mine on as well, if you like.” How far could we push this, I wonder,
as once again we strip off in front of each other and swap clothes. I
already know that there is a massive rip in the seams of Philip’s
black trousers, starting from the bottom of the zip, running all the way
underneath, and finishing halfway up the seat. We’re wearing each other’s clothes
now. What next? Philip leans over. “Have you noticed how big the rip
has got?” he asks. “It goes all the way from here” – he places
his index finger at the top of the rip – “to here” – and follows
the slit all the way round to the back. My temples are thumping, my pulse is
racing, and I’m starting to shake, visibly. We are on the brink of
something here. I have never been this close to the edge before. I
hardly dare to hope where this might lead. “Right, I want them back now”, he
says. I don’t move. “Oy! I said I wanted them back!” Pause. “Are you going to give them to me, or
am I going to have to take them back myself?” Pause. “Right. I’m going to count to ten,
and then I’m taking them back off you. You can’t say you weren’t
warned.” 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7
– 8 – 9 - 10. He lunges forward, grabs my zipper and
starts yanking it down, while I start writhing, giggling, and pretending
to struggle. He’s laughing away too. It’s happening. It’s really
happening. The trouble is - I haven’t got
anything on underneath. And I’m very excited. Well, I only get caught in the zipper,
don’t I? There is a sudden shooting pain. My pantomime cries of
“Stop! Stop!” become real. Philip hasn’t noticed my change in
tone. He keeps laughing and pulling harder. The pain intensifies. There
is blood. Bit of a passion killer, that. Of course, blood does play a part in
many people’s first sexual experiences. But not usually in this
kind of sexual experience. It’s like the cruel punchline to a comic
strip. You can almost picture me with a Charlie Brown style zig-zag
mouth. Just. My. Luck. To this day, if you look closely, you
can still see the tiny little blemish which this left on me. My mark of
shame, no less! Philip and I still had a few weeks left
before the end of term. And yes, we did. Several times. But I can’t
pretend that these encounters made me happy. There was a basic
inequality between us. He was mucking around because, in an all-male
boarding school, there weren’t any other options. But for me, these
encounters meant everything. At 17, I was still imbued with a huge
romantic idealism. There was still no separation between my sexual needs
and my emotional needs. And so I suffered, horribly. I fell madly,
hopelessly in love – and I choose my words carefully here. Of course, I didn’t tell him that. Didn’t want the fun to stop. Not completely stupid, you know. But our mini-fling ultimately caused me far more pain than pleasure, and afforded me precious little useful emotional experience for the future. My first proper boyfriend was still three and a half years away… |