|My Last Virgin Summer (standard:other, 1969 words)|
|Author: pheonix||Added: Dec 01 2008||Views/Reads: 1739/1183||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A World War II young conscript 'breaks his duck' before enlistment.|
My Last Virgin Summer It was late summer of 1942, I was eighteen, and spending a last holiday before answering the call of my 'Conscription Papers'. I would be fighting for King and Country whilst still a virgin - The thought embarrassed me. To others I was full of self-confidence, the world my oyster. This façade hid the real me: shy, insecure, longing for a girlfriend, lacking courage to pursue one. It was a Saturday: My friend Jim wanted a favor. He'd arranged a date with a girl in a nearby village and needed to let her know he couldn't make it. (There were no mobile phones in those days, and phone-booths in the country were few.) He knew I was going to the village that night, and wanted me to take her a present, and explain his absence. I agreed. He gave details of time and place of the meeting, and a description of the girl. I promised to seek her out and pass on his gift of a third bottle of gin, some lime squash, a bar of chocolate, and ten cigarettes. Following tea, I set out to complete my mission. If the bus were on time, I'd have fifteen minutes to travel on the mile foot uphill to my rendezvous. The bus arrived five minutes early. I bought some fizzy drink and cigarettes, before hurrying to meet the girl. The meeting-place was on a footpath, which wound with consummate ease along the valley, following the river, fed from streams off the mountain slopes. It provided a delightful view of assorted waterfalls. Normally, gentle crystal cascades, these waterfalls changed dramatically, following sudden showers; Erupting into boiling, spewing torrents, reaching far out from rock ledges before falling into fully-fledged maelstroms in turgid pools below... She sat straddling a railing that guarded the adjacent waterfall. It had to be her: dark shoulder-length hair, over-sized almond-shaped brown eyes, white high heels, and gold wristwatch: A broad white belt, held in her trim waist, emphasizing her prominent bust. I slowed as the distance between us shortened, wanting to steady my breathing after the arduous uphill approach. She looked older than her given age. It was probably the make-up she wore so skillfully. She was the image of my favorite film star - Gail Russell. I had a crush on Miss Russell; had even written for a signed photograph. Mass-produced no doubt, but it meant a lot to me, frequently providing bedtime stimulation. I became aware the girl had spoken. "You all right?" I must have been looking a bit odd. Inside, I was in an emotional turmoil; her looks had completely thrown me. Blustering, I assured her I was fine, then blurted out how much she resembled the film star, adding stupidly, "But you have a much better figure." She spoke again in a rich musical voice. "Thank you kind sir. Sure you're alright?"　 Her educated voice was a surprise, but in keeping with the rest of her. Not sure how to break the news, I asked if she were waiting for somebody. "Maybe? Why?" she smiled. "Well he isn't coming." Cocking her head she laughed, "I know. So he sent you instead?" I nodded foolishly. I knew I was blushing. Sliding elegantly to the ground, and standing legs apart, arms akimbo, head held to the side, she stared into my eyes. Her thrusting breasts nigh hypnotizing me as she continued, Click here to read the rest of this story (172 more lines)
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