It wasn't going to be like that tonight. Nobody was coming with us. Lenny was drinking like a champion, downing the beer like it was his last night on the planet. We were downing it like also-rans, amateurs in the world of beer drinking. After four or five pints were downed things started to move into the surreal. The smoke was getting thicker and our heads were becoming so thick with drink we didn't know why we were there. Smiggy was starting to get very graphic about all aspects of his sexual prowess and the animal desires of the girls we were going to meet. The whole thing got so explicit that I felt like throwing in the towel and calling the whole thing off. It would've been a good move.
The location of the small party was finally given to us. We sort of knew the street, and with luck we'd find the house, listening for the loud party music. Then we would meet the girls who were not from our school. We couldn't imagine meeting women old enough to have left school. If this was the case that thought alone would have scared us back to our own beds, safe in our own hands.
We were going to get the deed done, and once that was over with we could chat to any girl with confidence. There was no way we weren't going to go to this organised party. Our sole aim was to lose the burden of virginity and gain the knowledge of real sexual pleasure. Were we going to do it? Oh fucking yes we were!
“How many we âad?” I asked.
“Not a north,” Bob said, or tried to.
“One more then, just get us right,” I said.
“Least one more. I'm losing nerves,” Bob said.
Two more it was then. I'm not sure even to this day if the two more was one each. I had no idea how much I'd consumed by the time we left, or what time we left at. The destination for our virginity mission was a mystery to me because I couldn't remember where the hell we were supposed to be going. In fact I was so pissed I think I'd forgotten the mission. I don't know where Bob was, but I was in a twilight world between drunk and unconscious.
When I asked Bob where we were going I think he said something like this:
“Shagging womenâ¦fucking shagging women. Tonight will be special, we won't forget it.” I think that's what Bob said, or something equally profound.
“Scum on den,” I said.
We left through the battered side door of the pub pushing against the dirt encrusted cracked paintwork, and working hard against dry hinges to force our way into the night air which was surprisingly cool after the choking, smoky heat inside the pub.
The handle had turned in my hand, and the cool breeze met my alcohol-fuelled body. We were stepping boldly into a new world of real men, or some such shit! I can't remember what we were talking about. It must have been rubbish. God we were pissed!
In the pub at this very moment, a mushbie was selecting âKnock Three Times' by Dawn, another shit life choice.
We weren't making shit life choices were we?
The sun! God, the sun! Where in the hell was I? I closed my burning, single opened eye as tight as humanly possible. I was warm and uncomfortable, lying beneath an untidy heap of blankets on some small folding bed. I was sweating, my whole body felt slick with water pumping out of every pore. I was far too hot. I squeezed my eyes tight, but the pain permeated every fibre of my conscious thought. Everything inside my skull was agony. The sensations of the heavy morning after went further than that. My whole body felt like it was glued immovably to this strange bed. Incapable of moving, I was unable to think of anything but my wretchedness. God we were pissed last night. I wondered where Bob was sleeping.
The nausea and the migraine dialogue continued for half an hour or so, but how was I to know how long? I was trapped in a dark sea of head pain. I'd thrown myself into this sea of post-drunken misery without a lifeboat, but nobody deserves a hangover this violent.
I started very slowly, almost imperceptible at first, to feel at some level more human. I was in the process of considering moving. You know the hangover? Do I move? Do I drink? Do I just lie here until I die? At this point I was in the “God I need a piss” moment. The one certain option I had was either to force myself to my feet and go to the toilet, or lay in a pool of my own making. Getting up was the thing. Small miracles start somewhere, I attempted with great success the eye opening task, one eye at least. My pupil reacted to the brilliant sunlight-filled space.
Then it struck me. The room, where I was being roasted alive under the blankets, I'd never seen before!
If I had been here before, at that moment, I couldn't remember whose house it was. I was slumped in a sweaty sad heap on a folding camp bed in a sunlit lounge. The rising sun was burning through the east-facing window melting me alive. This wasn't Bob's house. This wasn't Smiggy's grotty flat. It was a modern quality home, good furniture, big room, nice fireplace, but still I was lying in a house I'd never seen. Where the hell was I? Through the pain in my head not a single clue came to mind. This was followed by an even bigger more pressing worry⦠Where's the bloody toilet?
Where's the kitchen for a glass of water? I was desperate to get it out at one end and equally desperate to force some liquid into my dehydrated body from the other. Now up and about I remained in a torpor not moving any faster than my very best snail pace. This is when I considered the option that Bob and I had met somebody last night, and this was their house or their parent's home. I was considering, well, not really considering much, I didn't have enough active brain cells turned on for consideration. Just loose thoughts about this and that were passing through what was left of my brain. The lounge door opened. I would've jumped in surprise if that part of my body had been turned on.
“Hello, Peter,” she said.
“Oh! Hi, hello,” I replied. My response had been witless, I didn't have a clue who I was greeting.
“You look a bit worse for wear,” she continued, in her sunny bright voice.
I was speechless, and the main reason for this was the obvious familiarity with which she addressed me. An indication she knew me quite well. I was perplexed. Here I was sleeping in what was probably her lounge and I didn't have a clue as to who the hell she was!
“Would you like a cup of tea, Peter,” she asked.
“Oh, uuuuurrrrm, yes,” was all I could manage.
My eyes were beginning to focus. I wasn't yet in full eagle eye mode, if indeed I ever achieved that. I was, however, breaking through the fog and taking in my surroundings. Then I noticed she was wearing a very attractive and almost diaphanous nightgown. She was probably somebody's mother, quite old, definitely old, about thirty-six or seven. For her age she was not bad, better than not bad. She was quite attractive. The sun was helping my impression by silhouetting her body. She was very fit. Nice thick, shiny hair tumbled across her shoulders. Best of all she possessed a lovely smile. It was this smile that had me wrong-footed. I didn't know who she was and it was obvious she knew me well. This in itself was a deep and disturbing mystery.
“I'll make you a cup of tea, Peter. I think you need it,” she continued,
“Go upstairs and get yourself comfortable in my bed. It's much cooler up there.”
It might have been my startled look, I don't really know. This woman wants me to go upstairs and get comfortable in her bed. She then added:
“I'm up now, and the bed is much cooler and more comfortable than that thing. You look like you could do with some more sleep.” With this she walked off in what I assumed was to be the direction of the kitchen.
To this very day I don't quite know why I obeyed her. Some internal instinct, previous knowledge, genetic programming, not that that genetics existed in 1971, they were invented in the early 80s!
I'd dragged myself from a strange bed and had been confronted by this unknown woman. Everything in my life was strange and so out of focus I didn't realise I was standing naked in front of her, but I wasn't! I was wearing a pair of underpants except they weren't my underpants! She'd stopped halfway across the room and was looking me up and down. She smiled at me, a glowing, lustrous smile.
I felt embarrassed standing there in my underpants or not my underpants in front of this strange woman. She just smiled back as if she knew and understood something. Moments later she turned away and continued towards what I assumed to be the kitchen. I was assuming one hell of a lot, but I didn't know anything. She had gone out of the room, so I was going to get out of the lounge and up the stairs pretty damn quick. The thought of her return was filling me with teenage angst. The last thing I wanted was to be standing on display in underpants in front of this old woman. They still weren't my underpants! The style was all wrong.
What in hell's name had I done last night? Different underpants, a strange house and this woman asking me if I'd like to use her bed. It was all so strange that my fuddled brain couldn't think of any answers. I obeyed and plodded up the stairs, harbouring too much of a killer headache to care. I hauled myself step by step up into the house concentrating on my feet. These were made of wilful disobedience lead, not obeying the slightest instruction.
Where was the bedroom? This is the point where I found a bit of luck. Reaching the top of the stairs I was confronted by a large pair of double doors. Both doors were open, and the bed turned back on one side, and for some reason, which remains a vague sensation, I assumed correctly this was her bed.
Everything looked very comfortable and I could feel a coolness coming from the room. They had air conditioning. I didn't know anybody who had air conditioning, so obviously now I did. I found to my surprise a bathroom accessed directly from the bedroom. It was almost like a hotel. I peed like a horse and it seemed to last for two minutes. Afterwards I dragged my weary body towards the bed. I was asleep in a matter of seconds, and awake what seemed to be seconds later when Sam entered the bedroom. Sam was not the family dog. Sam was not even a man. Sam was this quite attractive older woman holding the cup of tea. How did I know her name was Sam? I didn't, that would come later!
“I'm off to get changed.” That's all she said as she placed the cup of tea and some biscuits on the bedside table next to me. I was contemplating if anybody else was in the house. She was getting changed to go out somewhere and I didn't have the energy to leave the bed. Would I have to get up if she was leaving, and could I manage this without exposing my semi-naked teenage body to her all embracing gaze yet again? She seemed quite amused by my awkwardness.
I didn't know it was Sam until about half a cup and five minutes later when I discovered something important. I was lying there taking refreshing sips of my tea. She had disappeared some minutes earlier into what I knew to be a joint bathroom and dressing room. By this time I was feeling almost, and I have to stress,
almost
, human. What was starting to creep into my clearing head was that since the night before in The Cauldron something about me had changed. At first I couldn't put my finger on it. Then it struck me. I appeared to have become fatter, or was I just bloated by the beer? It was a feeling more than anything else. I felt full, and somehow weighty. I don't know, I couldn't make the thought connect. Had I eaten all the pies in the pub? I don't know, it must have been gas.
The radio was playing somewhere. It was Radio One but I didn't recognise the DJ's voice. Today they were playing none of the usual rubbish. They'd trawled the bottom of the music industry and were playing some new mushbie music. Somebody was singing something about tying a yellow ribbon around something followed by a dirge welcoming somebody home. The only reason I knew it was Radio One were the announcements suggesting it was the only radio worth listening to. In 1971 it was the only radio you could listen to! Apart from this I didn't recognise anything being played. Some band were wailing their guitars and singing about crazy horses. This was followed by something I quite liked: âThis Flight Tonight'. It later became a favourite that would often ignite forgotten memories.
I was contemplating my change of physical state peering under the bedclothes to look at my stomach which appeared to be larger than I remembered. My entire body, every part of me appeared to be larger. I must have damaged my eyes or my brain! Nothing in my world seemed remotely connected to last night in the pub. Try as I might, two and two were not going together. I was in the middle of this hazy contemplation when the door from the bathroom opened.
“Fucking⦠hell!” I think that's what I said.
“Peter, don't you want your little Sam this morning?” she whispered.
My
little Sam? Was that what she said? She wore only high-heeled shoes with a bright red lipstick smile.
My hangover disappeared. More accurate, was forgotten in panic. I was frozen like a rabbit in the rush of headlights. The first thing that came into my head was a truth. This strange woman, who called herself Sam, was “my little Sam”. I didn't even know her! I had never laid eyes on this woman in all my life and now through some trickery she was trying to convince me that I was more than a friend. I was a seventeen-year-old virgin, unsure about everything in the world. I could swagger but it was only swagger. My lips moved and made words without any connection to a thought process making her laugh.
“I don't know who you are, or what you want from me,” I said.
“Oh, you don't know who I am? Are you going to play one of your games with me this morning?” she replied.
Moments passed, more moments passed. I was thinking of these games of mine, games I knew nothing about. I finally stuttered out the unthinkable.
“I'm a seventeen-year-old virgin and I don't know you are!” I said this and it was the best I could manage. My tongue was in knots, as was my stomach. I could barely speak I was so afraid. This comment kicked Sam into action starting with that lovely smile beaming at me. Then she approached the bed and put both hands on my shoulders pushing me down into the pillow.
“My naughty Peter. So this is the game you want to play this morning. This is a new one from you,”
I was terrified and fascinated. Her nipples were right in front of my face, full, large, dark and frightening. I didn't know whether to touch something, scream or run. All the options raced through my mind without answer, or I could lie there in panic. I was performing the small animal trapped by dazzling lights manoeuvre, and she kissed me wetly with a very full investigating tongue. I was trapped in delight and terror. I wanted to know much more about what was going to happen. I was frightened to know, God, I didn't know what I wanted! She stopped kissing me. Instead of continuing she pressed down on my shoulders, staring into my eyes.
“What are you?” she asked.
I wanted to be this older woman's lover, I wanted to run, I wanted a huge erection, and I was frightened that I might not get one at all. God I wanted her, God I wanted to run. Best plan, lie still, see what happens. That's not a plan, that's the rabbit waiting to be crushed under the wheels. My mind was frozen solid, not a single useful thought came into my head. Then I was saved, my penis was interested. I waited to be run over.
“What are you?” she asked again.
“I don't know you. I'm a seventeen-year-old virgin.” I spoke the truth.
“You're sticking with that! I'm going to make you suffer,” she responded. All I could see was her red smile. This looked delicious, like an advert in a glossy magazine.
If in doubt do nothing. All I did was smile back, too terrified to say another word. My smile might have come out as a little bit rigid. Other things were getting rigid and tension was gripping every muscle in my body.
The next thing she did took my breath away, and most of my erection. Sam moved back onto her feet rising from the edge of the bed. In this movement she threw the bedclothes back and, in one deft sweep of the arm, revealed my nakedness by removing with expert movement my unfamiliar underpants. I don't think I breathed for about thirty seconds. By this time she was back on the bed sitting across my stomach, both hands on my shoulders and kissing me with renewed passion. I could feel her wetness on my stomach. I could also feel my penis hard against the back of her soft buttocks.
“A seventeen-year-old virgin you said? Some parts of you aren't too shy,” she said.
Then, to my shock, her hands released my shoulders. Instead she pressed my chest down with one hand and with the other behind her back starting to massage my testicles and erection. I was trying to concentrate on anything but what was happening, trying to control the hair trigger teenager inside me. Somebody on the radio was belting out something about canning the can. I tried to concentrate on the music. It didn't work.