by Paul Sykes
Cath was a schoolgirl, untouched and virginal. She had to be, she was only 15, and wouldn't be 16 until next March. No doubt she'd been groped in the bike sheds at school. If I’d been at school with her I wouldn't have been able to keep my hands off. I wouldn't have cared how many times she told the teacher. It would be well worth getting the cane but I wasn't a schoolboy now and I wanted more than a quick squeeze of her tits while she wriggled and tried to bite like most of the girls had done at my old school. There had been two, I remembered clearly, who'd giggled and nudged each other watching the gym teacher going onto the field to take the class for rugby, saying they wouldn't mind all those muscles holding them and they'd only been 14 and he'd been as old as I am now. The same two
wouldn’t entertain the lads in school. If she had their mentality I had good chances, she might have done a bit of snogging in the chip shop doorway with some young kid who'd left school, had a motorbike and a hair style in the latest fashion, pretending she was in love. Having a crush they called it. Having a crush! She'd have a crush if I could get a grip of her and no messing. The way she wore a pullover with only a bra underneath so when she moved it lifted and showed her belly-button. It was moments like those when my thoughts were pure. Pure, unadulterated nonce. Molestation, dark woods, moonlight, her and me. It was moments of blissful ecstasy. Four times I'd woken with my dick hard enough to dig roads.
Hollywood didn't have a sex symbol who could hold a candle to her. Her skin was the colour of pearl and just as flawless. Her breasts were full and firm. Her thighs and bum were round and juicy and made for love. Full-face she could melt roses and her profile would grow them. Her rich dark hair fell in natural waves so only the tip of her cute button nose and the curve of delicate vermillion lips showed. She laughed like kids on Christmas morning and had dimples on her knuckles. If I could catch her now before she'd ever been hurt, double-crossed, let down, lost faith, lost trust, I'd love her to death and provide her with anything in the world she wanted, anything at all. I would never lose my temper, sulk, be jealous or mean. I'd train and keep fit. I'd never allow myself to get a belly like Mick, or snore, or leave a tap dripping, or squeeze the toothpaste at the wrong end. If I could just make her mine I'd never give her any reason not to love me as I loved her.
For days on end I plotted and schemed how to capture her, until an idea took root watching Kay, brushing her long blonde hair in the mirror one night before she went out. Mother was out, the old feller was in the bathroom. It was a chance I had to take. If she gave me a look of horror I'd never mention the subject again and probably die of shame for even thinking it.
'Kay,' I said quietly, 'how would you like to stay in a posh hotel overnight, have a night out, and it doesn't cost you a penny?' She halted in mid stroke and looked at my reflection in the mirror for a second, calculating.
'What's the catch?'
Here goes I thought, it's now or never.
'I'm going to Rhyl tomorrow and I want you and Cath to come. I'll book you into a double room and at the last minute we'll swap.' She turned to read my face for a second.
'Ooooh, it's like that is it?' She put the brush down, her face beaming at the revelation. 'I knew you liked her but I didn't think you had it that bad.' Yes, she would help me, she'd always liked Cath. And she wouldn't mind Cath at all for a sister-in-law she added reflectively. There was only one drawback. She would have to get a feller, a total stranger, to make the plan work. She would ask Cath to share with me so she could be alone with him. It was the most frustrating two hours of my life driving to Rhyl and not being able to tell Cath. At the Welsh side of Chester I had to get out of the car and walk rather than sit in the car with them. Kay drove and picked me up about four miles down the road.
'You're getting crankier than me Dad,' she said critically, picking me up.
Christmas Tree paid me with a wheezy laugh and said it was well worth it, all the threats and fiddling had stopped long since. It was a pleasure to do business with me. He said the same thing every time and usually followed with a complete run through of his latest medical report as though I was his personal consultant. The treatment I prescribed was a large whisky to help the blood through the arteries, to take it easy and not to worry.
Kay and Cath were somewhere about the town looking for sideshows or anything they'd not seen before. There wasn't any chance they would, Rhyl was as original as a stick of rock. I was sitting at the side of a large lake, or maybe an inlet from the sea, behind the small, scruffy, pleasure beach at the south end of the promenade, and watching seagulls dive-bomb discarded fish and chip wrappers, and thinking. It was cold and windy and day trippers were few and far between.
If it went according to how I'd planned I would have broken the law. Before I did, or even had the chance, I had to analyse my feelings free of all pressure and outside influences. I was putting my neck in the noose and I wanted to make sure I could face the consequences if I was caught. But how could I be caught? If she came to my room and shared the double bed she would be doing it of her own free will. I would just have to make sure I didn't do anything to upset or
frighten her. Going with a girl who was under the legal age of consent didn't bother me one jot, it was the thought I was letting myself in for all the heartache and sleepless nights I'd had over Pauline that played on my mind.
If it came to the crunch I would spend a thousand sleepless nights thinking of Cath for just a single night sleeping with her. If if meant losing a leg first I wouldn't have to think about it.
Like Kay said, I had it bad. With the decision made, it had been made weeks and I'd only been kidding myself it wasn't, it was only a question of killing time until tonight, and there were better places than sitting in the draught to kill time.
Walking the streets looking at the price of houses in estate agents' windows, the railway timetable, the cinema billboards and the state of the donkeys on the beach, the afternoon dragged by until about 5.30. I was ravenous. Sitting in the fly-blown cafe in a back street off the prom eating £1.50 of whatever was left in the fridge, the thought of Kay going with a total stranger rankled. If I didn't like the look of the feller Cath wouldn't be sharing with me, no chance, and I didn't care how much I wanted to.
There weren't any Robert Redfords or lames Garners amongst the spotty, undernourished kids who passed the window wearing 'Kiss me quick' hats, eating junk food and with radios blaring in their ears. No wonder Kay hadn't had any qualms about me going with Cath. So I was 31, big deal, I was a million times better than this shower. For all my confidence, butterflies the size of dinner plates fluttered under my ribs.
It was 10.30 when Kay winked and gave me the nod.
'Don't look now,' she said 'but that's him in the blue jacket. He's got his own shop on the promenade and an S-reg. car.' She smiled confidently, and then pushed through the crowd standing at the bar and went back to her seat.
We were in a disco pub on the sea front and I was talking with the lads who worked holiday resorts every season, selling novelties and relying on quick wits and a sharp brain to earn a living. The conversations was stereotyped, the jokes chestnuts that are cracked every season; nothing new, nothing original but Kay's words. They hit home like the bell for the first round. There was no backing out now, not unless I was struck by lightning.
It was all quiet inside, outside, everywhere. Not a sound to be heard. Cath had been in the bathroom at the end of the double bed ages. It seemed like ages but in reality about five minutes. Kay was in the room next door with a small dark-haired Jewish-looking lad. There wasn't the slightest danger he could overpower her. She'd break him in half if he tried, but he looked a sensible lad not given to taking risks. Cath had sat on the bed while I'd used the bathroom and the minute I'd come out and started to take off my trousers she'd slipped quietly in and locked the door. She hadn't said a word or even looked at me. She'd hardly moved a muscle. If she didn't emerge very soon I'd knock on the door and ask if she was all right. No, I'd .listen first
to see if she was crying. She wasn't daft, far from, and she'd know what to expect sharing with me. If she was crying, too scared to come out, I'd tell her not to worry, I would go and sleep in the car. She might not be crying, but fast asleep in the bath and reasonably content, but I wasn't having that either. A girl her age was entitled to a proper bed. If she said one word, one single word, or made a gesture I'd get dressed and leave. No way did I want to frighten her or have her upset. I could bide my time. Years if necessary. I would wait forever if I had to.
She came out just as I was about to get up. Her hair had been
freshly brushed and she'd changed into a nightdress.
Some nightdress! It was a red, silk, karate jacket, bulging with her
breasts and matching panties. My heart almost knocked my back
teeth out. The act of physical sex came off her in waves like the sun
off a tarmac road. She was heart-stopping, absolutely mouth-watering. There was something wrong, she wasn't the same height she normally was. She walked round the bed, pulled the blankets back and
climbed in. As she did I noticed her ankles were thick, not fat but
thick and round without any definition. She pulled the light cord and
snuggled down, taking care not to touch me.
'How come you're shorter Cath? You seem to have shrunk.'
'It's my shoes,' she explained. 'They're platforms.'
She sounded her normal self, no apprehension or hesitation, or
fright. I could see her in my mind's eye, leather bomber jacket and
tight, flared jeans. They swept the floor and I'd not seen her shoes.
Platforms, thick platforms, like walking on two house bricks on
edge.
The smell of soap and toothpaste and warm pink flesh reached my
nostrils. She was here, laid by my side in the dark in a posh hotel, posh for Rhyl, and I'd cracked it, I'd made it all come true. Careful, careful, don't rush it. Put her at ease. 'You know I worked with our Kay, don’t you?’ I explained, trying not to gloat.
'She asked if I'd share with you,' she answered 'so she could be alone with the feller.' '
‘I know, it was all part of the plan so I could be alone with you You've been conned Cath.'
She was silent, hardly breathing. Her brain was ticking over though, I could here it.
‘I guessed something was up,' she said thoughtfully.
'And you didn't argue, your foot or something’
'In me platforms' she chuckled. ‘I'd put a hole through the floor.'
'You know why I've gone to these lengths don't you Cath?'
She didn't answer. I waited and waited and waited, maybe for as long as ten seconds. All that I'd said had sunk in and if she didn't want to know then the light would be on and she would be getting dressed.
Slowly I turned and placed the palm of my hand on her stomach. 'You know I've not been able to sleep for weeks thinking about you Cath.’
She was in my arms like an iron filing on a magnet. She was mine, and it wasn’t a dream.
What happened next came naturally as breathing and without a second’s conscious thought. Her panties had been thrown and I had my tongue inside her so far the skin underneath was hurting as it stretched to its limits over my bottom teeth. Crinkly black hairs were tickling my nose and her warm, silkysmooth thighs were spread wide. She jerked once, twice her pubic bone flattening my nose even further. A sigh shuddered through her. If she’d been a 3-course meal I’d have eaten her in two bites and I would now if my dick wasn’t hurting so.
'Can I make love to you Cath?' I whispered, looking over her mons Veneris like a sniper.
Her jacket was thrown wide open and her lips were forming a perfect circle. She nodded, 'Yes, Yes.' She sounded very close to the vinegar strokes.
'Aah.' She gave a short cry which entered my heart like a barbed arrow.
'Am I hurting Cath?' I asked urgently. 'I'll stop if! am.'
'A little bit you are,' she breathed.
'Don't fuck about Cath. Do you want me to stop or not?' It would be the greatest test of self-control I'd ever faced if she said yes.
'No, no.'
'But I've only got half in.'
'No, no, its okay, it's not that bad.' She made it sound like sweet agony.
Dawn was filtering through the curtains when she gently shook me awake.
'What is it love?' I was alert to every word, intonation and inflection of the night before. Had I hurt her? Ruptured something that wouldn't stop bleeding.
'What is it Cath? What's the matter?'
She smiled lazily, her dark eyes laughing.
'I couldn't sleep,' she murmured.
'Do you want to go for a walk? A swim in the sea? We'll have a stroll down the front. I don't think there'll be a tea bar open so early.' Anything to keep her happy.
'Do I hell!' She laughed at me.
My brain raced until it dawned ... 'but could it be true?
'Do you want me to do it again?' My heart beat against my ribs hard in rhythm and the back of my throat constricted.
She stretched, pushing both arms back over her head until her breasts were standing like two small mountains.
'Please,' she said, like a cat over the cream, and knocking every last doubt and fear to kingdom come.
The resolve I'd had when I'd first come home about not letting myself become emotionally entangled again evaporated as if it hadn't existed. There wasn't a chance I could keep her at a distance. She was my girl and I'd gladly die for her. I was in love like I'd never been before.
Life, for me, took on the rosy glow of complete contentment and Cath was the reason. Her parents imposed no restrictions on her movements at all, she could come and go just as she pleased. It took some believing at first but after a month when we'd been to Middlesborough,
Blackpool a couple of times, Liverpool to see Del, and Rhyl again, I was convinced. Our age difference made not the slightest impression on her by then but in the beginning she'd been quite subdued which, at times, made me feel like a teacher with a pupil of one. My wrinkles didn't worry her, in fact I wasn't wrinkled, a bit piggy-eyed she said, but that's nowt. Everywhere I took her she behaved like a lady, never threw a tantrum, sulked, worried, or said a word out of place, and looked as if she'd just stepped straight from the bath. No gummed eyes and smudged lipstick and hair matted after a night's sleep like Elaine and plenty of others I knew. I had to pinch myself to check I wasn't dreaming but it was more fun pinching her. We played putting in the park and stayed until after dark to watch bats flitting and darting amongst the trees. Sometimes we'd play during the day and afterwards sit quietly to watch hoards of grey squirrels in the trees behind Thorns House School. She hadn't known there were squirrels in the park until I pointed them out. She thought far more than she spoke which gave me immense pleasure. It proved to me I wasn't boring, another run-of-the-mill feller a girl with her looks could have twenty to the dozen of, and the things I said and showed her gave her plenty to think about.
She could swim but was too self-conscious of her short legs to parade in the baths. The bones from her knees to ankles were stunted as if they hadn't had enough room in the womb to grow to their full extent. It didn't worry me but it worried her. Platform shoes had been invented for her.
We spent four hours going from one ride to another on the pleasure beach at Blackpool, to make up for my refusal to go on anything on the pleasure beach at Rhyl the morning after we'd stayed the first night. They didn't look strong enough to hold my weight I'd said, but promised I'd make up for it later. If I hadn't known the lads taking the fares it would have cost £30 and I came home feeling as if I'd been through a food mixer. Cath was thrilled skinny especially when she realised it hadn't cost anything. She gave me a look when the penny dropped as though I must be crackers not coming every day.
Everywhere I went she came with me and everywhere I went I had an ulterior motive. In a few weeks I'd be starting my career and I wante
d as many people to watch as I could possibly get and the only
way to do that was to keep them all informed. Cath came with me to the gym and sat out of the way while I sparred. She timed me when I needed timing, and recorded my progress in one of her school exercise books. She was just the job. No arguing, no suggestions, no stupid remarks, she did exactly what I asked and I loved her totally. Time was marching on. The school holidays were over, the boxing season in some parts of the country had started already and Tommy had fixed my first fight. It was at Liverpool Stadium, chief supporting bout against a feller from Leicester called Rocky Kelly, over 8 three minute rounds. It was time now to peak my training
There wasn't a trainer in the world who could tell me anything about myself. Nobody had to bribe, cajole or drive me. Nobody had to tell me when to stop. I knew me better than Arthur Negus knew antiques, or Percy Thrower knew his garden. Training was something I had to do, training was something I enjoyed, and training for total fitness was something I did alone, unless it was interval running when I preferred to have somebody on the clock. I could manage without if I had to. My strength and lungs were in excellent condition but I wasn't totally convinced I was fit enough to fight flat out for 8 rounds if I had to,
Over the years I'd lifted a million tons in weights, run thousands of miles in sprints and raced round circuits until my pulse had been below 40 for over 7 years. It was around 40 now at rest, a heartbeat slow enough to merit a mention in the papers if I'd been a star, Bjorn Borg or Jim Ryan or somebody, and I'd acquired it with short intense bursts of effort. Any kind of training I loved but long runs, boring long runs. Running needed an efficient heart and lungs and the power I'd grafted hard for, heaving and gasping, lifting weights, pounding around circuits, pull-ups, press-ups, dips, jumps and heaves, worked against me when I went on long runs. Boring long runs. It didn't give me the feeling I was working. Running was essential, though, just to let the body know it had to keep going for longer than it was used to but not too much otherwise I'd be running off muscle strength I'd grafted so hard to acquire.
