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Chapter 10
Loss of Innocence
As we journey through childhood there are many individual decisions and
choices favoured, but immaturity in these early stages render neglect for the realisation
of the repercussions of those decisions and choices. We cannot prognosticate
the future, or know how our insouciant judgement can bring about circumstances
having the ability to shape our lives and personalities forever. And few of us
have the psychological intellect at a young age to decipher the impending
consequences of our actions; Don was no different, he was certainly in the
category where actions were adopted before the brain could process
perspectives, and in this case a whole new world was ready to open up with the
help of Fran’s characteristic sexual profligacy.
He had no idea what the word ‘virginity’ meant, it was not yet a word in
his limited vocabulary, and naturally one has to question whether or not nine
years of age is too young to claim the loss of one’s purity. Or is it simply a
normal part of growing up? We know a loss of innocence is something almost
everyone encounters during a stage of life, but at what age should that stage
occur or not occur? The answers can only lie in one’s own personal belief,
faith or moral standing. In many countries it is accepted as the norm for the
very young to undertake adult sexual roles. In European Judaism females between the ages of three to twelve were
completely subject to their father’s authority relating to arranged marriages.
In Saudi Arabia girls aged as low as
nine years of age are married with the sanction of the legal judiciary, and
prostitution has a loathsome recognition for using girls under nine years of
age in many countries. All over the world males of a very young age experiment
sexually alone and with the opposite sex. So, whatever stance taken, or opinion
one may defend, it does not change actuality, in such; life’s opportunities, or
the lack of them, can assert prominence on a situation to make it a reality.
For Don this was one of those times when a chanced opportunity would change
forever the way he contemplated the opposite sex.
It was Saturday lunchtime. Don rode his ‘Malvern Star’ along the
‘Princess Highway’ to Sam’s residence. From the time he got out of bed he was
secretly distressed over the plan supposedly about to unfold. His inner wish
was in hope Fran would reject the offer to play with them at Fowler’s. When he
arrived at Sam’s, as always, Mrs Clay gave him a tall glass of lemonade, a jam
sandwich and a piece of sultana cake. It did not matter if you were hungry or
not because when you visited Mrs Clay’s house you were expected to eat. Her
hospitality was above exception and whatever colour or creed one featured she
treated everyone the same. Don learnt a long time ago from previous visits,
refusal was futile; it was easier to accept the inevitable, eat it all and say;
“Thank you Mrs Clay, the
food was nice. I’m full now.” With a lot of luck she would let you go without
forcing more down your throat.
While Sam and Don where eating and disputing their obligatory
overindulgence, Weepy set off from his home and made his way via the track over
to Sam’s. On his way he walked the path past Fran’s and shouted out to her;
“Fran are you home? Are you
comin’ out with us?” She walked to the back door and down the two concrete
blocks set in step fashion and replied;
“Ssshhhh! Not so loud. Mum
will hear.....Yea, I guess so. Is Don going?” Not knowing the correct reply
Weepy answered very cautiously;
“Yea everyone’s going.
Sterge has got grog and cigs and I’m taking a bottle of ‘Pepsi’ for you.” Fran
enjoyed her cigarettes and alcohol but treasured her ‘Pepsi’ above all else.
“Ok, I’ll meet you over
there later,” she said. Weepy felt a little hesitation in her voice and asked;
“How long will you be?”
“Not long. I’ll come when
I’m ready,” she uttered in a harsh and abrupt tone. Weepy had the opinion she
was stirred up but had no idea why. He thought: ‘Maybe she’s worried her mother heard me.’ Saying no more he
continued on his journey to Sam’s.
On arrival he was received with the same hospitable reception as Don,
and required to eat and drink until bloated before he would be permitted to
leave. While he was being nourished, Sam and Don went about organising the
yabbying gear. This consisted of string, ladies stockings and gamy raw meat;
the more putrid the meat the better. The idea to successfully catch a yabby
was; get a stick to use as a ‘rod’, any shape, but fairly straight and about
four foot long, then tie off on the end of the stick a length of string;
usually around nine foot long. The other end of the string would have attached
a stocking, and in it the decaying meat; this was thrown in the billabongs. The
rank smell attracted the yabbies, when they tried to claw at it they would
tangle in the stocking. Once snarled it was easy to pull the line in with them
attached. They were untangled and placed in a bucket of water in readiness for
the hot salty water in the cook pot at home.
Finally, Weepy finished his feast and everyone was prepared. They set
off on their adventure. After crossing the highway they paced across an open
paddock until reaching the boundary where the thick bush began. The winding
track to Fowler’s started here where it was barely visible to the unaccustomed
due to the overgrowth enshrouding its lack of use. A few steps into the cover
of the bush and they heard someone near the road shouting frantically;
“Hang on. Wait for me, wait
for me.” They could see Fran running towards them, she was gasping for air,
waving with one arm outstretched and holding a bottle of ‘Pepsi’ in the other;
she was definitely addicted to the stuff. The closer she got the more her
puffing revealed her exhausted and unfit state. When she reached the point of
their position she passed without a word of hesitation and took the lead;
“Quick, com’on; hurry. I
told mum I was going up the road to see a friend and I wouldn’t be long.” They
followed without delay until such time as they were far enough in the guise of
the bush to allow for a slow walk and a chance to regain regular breathing.
After arriving at their chosen spot the first job was to set the yabby
lines. Once casting was out of the way they rested and discussed trivialities.
It was not long before Sterge arrived; as usual he was sucking on a stem of
Paspalum grass and brought with him bagged bottles of grog and cigs. He always
had a fresh stem between the teeth because, as he maintained, the moisture and
juices from the grass would ease the discomfort of his gums. Fran said;
“Where’s my ‘Pepsi’.” Acting
the cretin he so typically practised, he replied;
“I tipped it out on the way
over, it got heavy.” Fran ignored his never-ending imbecility. They sat on the
rocks outside the shack and shared the ‘tallies’ whilst puffing on a packet of
‘Craven A’s’. One could feel the tension in the air from Sterge who thought it
his right to rule everybody, and believed he had an unconditional prerogative
to have intercourse or any other pleasure with Fran he so desired. Weepy was
different to his brother in lots of ways and did not seem perturbed about
contesting for sex, probably because he reckoned he was happy with the
attention he was receiving from Doris; he did not bother trying for Fran’s interests.
The air was thick with tension causing Fran to speak with urgency;
“I can’t stay long. I’m
supposed to be at my friends. If I get caught I will be in heaps of trouble.”
Sterge voiced his authority to be first to claim what he took as a foregone conclusion;
“Come inside with me then
and I’ll do ya.”
“No!” she said in refusal.
“If I’m gunna do it with someone today its gunna be Don. I haven’t got much
time so hurry up,” she ordered looking at Don. With a boggled mind he was
dumbstruck, astonished and unsure whether or not she took pity on him because
he was the youngest, or she felt sorry for him from his school yard mishaps or
for his puerile innocence, but whatever her reasons Sterge did not take well to
the rejection. His mental state was a bone of contention compared to the sane
people they knew, and his temper always suspect and unpredictable. He exclaimed
brusquely;
“Don’t be a dick head, he’s
too young. He wouldn’t even know what to do with it. He’s a dumb shit. Come
with me.”
“No!” She reiterated; “No! I
said Don only.” Sterge’s face went redder than normal, his gums exploded out in
anger and his foul-smelling breath aired stronger with each bellowing word.
“Why? He’s just a fuck wit.
Don’t be a slut. Come with me or else.” Fran retaliated;
“Or else what?” He turned to
Don and roared in a belligerent tone;
“Go’on fuck off before I
thump ya.” Don was scared and backed away, he knew from experience he was no
match for Sterge. Sterge went up to Fran’s face, called her a ‘slut’ again and
slapped her around the cheek with the palm of his hand. Weepy jumped to her aid
and rattled off a mouthful of imaginative profanities and gestured obscenities
and told him to go home. It was unusual punches were not exchanged, but it was
implied there were four of them and one of him; truth be known he would have
won even if they did gang up on him. Any other time anybody spirited enough to
order him around would have copped a hiding, but for some unknown reason he
took the hint and marched off ranting and raving profusely.
Fran was crying and calling him names as he disappeared into the bushes.
Then she blurted to Weepy;
“Your brothers a fuckin’
idiot. I hate him.”
“He’s gone now; ‘ere have a
drink,” said Sam. He handed her what remained in the bottle of beer. She gulped
it down, and without waver turned to Don and said;
“Do you still want to go
inside and play?” In meek reply with nervous splutter, he answered;
“Nah. Weepy or Sam can go
first.”
“I already told you, I
haven’t got time. Now hurry, this is your last chance.” She grabbed his hand,
pulled him up off his bum and dragged him towards the shack. He wanted to
oppose the offer and run away, but his physical resistance was mild due to the
verbal mockery he was receiving from Sam and Weepy;
“Don’t be a scared-e-cat, go
on, go. Scared-e-cat, scared-e-cat, scared-e-cat, Scared-e cat.” They tormented
continuously until submission, he could not refuse or he would look like a
wuss. There was no option but to surrender to peer pressure. Sam urged;
“Hurry up. We’ll go and
check the yabby lines.” They stood and walked over to the water’s edge in the
opposite direction to where Don and Fran were heading. She was still leading
Don by the hand quite forcefully, facilitating his repeated stumbling on all
the minor obstacles in his path. When they got inside the shack she shouted out
loudly to the others;
“Don’t you’s come in. Stay
there until we’re finished.” She could see them through the painless window
frame, and glanced often to ensure they were doing as they were told and stayed
put while attending their lines.
The excuse for a bed was strewn with rags directly below the window. She
stood to one side at the foot of the bed and pulled down her underpants from
under her long cotton dress. Don caught a glimpse of a bunch of hair between
her legs before she lowered her dress, this immediately reminded him of Sam’s
oldest sister in the shower; the thought excited him. She lay on the bed still
covered to the knees and said;
“Com’on, pull your duds off.
Are ya scared?” Don was scared. He was embarrassed and abased, but she was full
of zest and relished in her own extravagant immunity from humiliation. He
deftly undone the top button of his trousers and slowly, one by one, unfastened
the buttons of his ‘fly’. He stood on one leg whilst lifting the other out of
his trousers and got his foot caught causing a loss of balance and falling to
the ground. She laughed aloud hurting his feelings. He knew he was taking a
timorous approach and thought: ‘Whatever’s
expected of me is hard enough without her teasing.’ The situation was past
the point of no return. In a failed attempt to rise to the challenge the added
pressure of tears was imminent and did nothing for his confidence, but with a
little sympathy and instruction from Fran he managed to hold the waterworks and
gather his dignity. After lifting his self from the floor he sat on the edge of
the bed and peeled off his trousers.
She lay there with both legs together then tugged her dress up around
her waist, spread them and murmured in a coarse timbre of excitement;
“Come on. Lay on top. Get
on, put it in me.” This was the first time Don came face to face with a girl’s
vagina. He did not know a great deal about sexual feelings except gratification
through self-stimulation and autoeroticism; but this was different. An unknown
stirring was churning in his lower abdomen, reaching deeply into his scrotum.
He could feel a rising and thoroughly enjoyed the stimulation in its entirety.
“Hurry up,” she said without
feeling, then impatiently grabbed his arm and dragged him on top. Don was tense
yet ecstatic; he could feel the warmth of her pubis on his infantile half erect
penis.
“Put it in. Put it in.
Com’n,” she repeated. “What are ya waiting for?” He was like a navigator
without a compass; lost, not knowing where he was going or what he was doing.
His fumbling ordained a response from her as she wriggled to line him up for
the conquest. With firm pressure, in it slid, warm and wet, encasing his penis
so tightly it felt a little painful and yet highly pleasurable. It was
completely different to anything he ever dared before and got into a
progressive rocking rhythm for about sixty seconds until he felt other urges
about to explode within; his mind became lost in a host of tactual sensations.
He never experienced such pleasure and was not sure what was going to happen
next, but he knew he wanted to keep going; faster and faster he went, up and
down, up and down.
The urge to ejaculate was upon him, suddenly, ‘SPLASSSHHH’, a torrent of
water poured gushing through the windowless opening and exploded onto his back.
It was freezing. With a great gasp in surprise it took him from moments of
complete ecstasy to one of shock and panic. As reflexes prompted him to arch
his bum upwards he let out a blood curdling howl, together with Fran’s
screaming and the inertia of her rolling him off caused the biscuit tin
supporting one corner of the bed to shake loose, collapsing the frame and
rolling them onto the floor in a dither barren of words. They were
flabbergasted and speechless. Weepy and Sam looked through the frame in
hysterics. Their decision to throw a bucket of water through the window was a
huge joke and plainly funny to them, but at the time Fran was not impressed,
she used vulgarisms Don never heard of before. After drying themselves, still
crestfallen because of such an interfering prank, they chased Sam and Weepy
around the paddock throwing buckets of water and anything else they could lay
their hands on; at times they just threw the bucket. Of course, once the
cursing, initial scolding and the whinging was all said and done they did see
the humorous side and it became a story to tell for many years.
A relaxing mode of frolic followed for a while before Fran realised her
time had expired so she started to walk sprightly in the direction of home.
Still not completely happy and indistinct in enunciation, she said;
“I’ve got to go home now, me
mum ’ill be looking for me. I don’t know ‘ow I am going to explain these wet
dirty clothes. Ya fuckin’ idiots.” Don watched her walk into the bush and took
a moment to process the short affair; ‘Yahoo,
my first skinscrape. It wasn’t exactly a bonanza but it was a victory’. It
was not the most romantic initiation into a sexual performance of any kind, but
Don was as ‘proud as punch’ and reacted as part of the team and all grown-up.
“Let’s go do a tad more
yabbying,” said Sam. “We’ve plenty of time before we ‘ave to be home.” Don was
happy to engage in anything, he was still on a high and felt as though he could
wrestle a crocodile. They took a leisurely stroll back to the ponds, chatting
jovially about the day’s events they discovered two of the three sticks holding
the bait had been dragged far into the middle. Sam paddled in knee deep to
retrieve them, he knew by the weight there was something on the end. On his
wade from the water’s edge he handed the rods to Weepy and Don who slowly pulled
in four yabbies. The day yielded positive results considering the small amount
of time they spent catching their prey; the sum of four good sized yabbies was
sufficient for dinner. Don was still on cloud nine and the catch was a further
bonus. It was decided enough was enough; a good day was had by all so they
headed for home.
Weaving through the track, sneezing a few times from permeation of the
sweet fragrance of the ‘Golden Wattle’, their attention was snapped into
arousal. Ahead in the depths of the thick vegetation echoed a menacing scream.
They looked at each other, firstly with equivocal responses, then
simultaneously all took a full canter forward to investigate the commotion. In
nearing the kerfuffle they slowed in fearful expectations of the unexpected. As
they turned the bend they could hear and see Fran screaming, shouting
explicatives and struggling to rebuff her attacker; she was being accosted by
Sterge who hid in waiting for her for what must have been a lengthy period.
Weepy grabbed him, pushed him away and did the most shouting to dictate his
release of the grip he had around her wrist. Sam and Don were not a lot of
help; it was from a safe distance they verbally gave moral support. Sterge was
not one to fawn in the face of adversity, but being well aware of his unruly
behaviour he had second thoughts about expressing opposition and decided to
flee when Weepy threatened to tell on him if he did not go away. He did go,
though truth known, Weepy had no one to tell who was capable of castigating
Sterge’s behaviour, Sterge knew this and most likely turned tail because of the
conscious revilement and foray from Fran.
To this day they never found out what his intentions were but feared the
worse if help did not arrive. They were bound to secrecy in regard to telling
the adults because Fran was not even supposed to be with them. On the way home
they discussed what could have been a perilous outcome from Sterge’s possible
actions, yet for unexplained reasons, she expressed her opposition to their
conclusions and acted as defence counsel for Sterge as if he was on trial. Why
she defended him was a mystery, Don, Sam and Weepy dropped the conversation,
went home, boiled the yabbies over an open fire in a cut down gallon oil tin
and continued skylarking until bedtime.
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