Catharsis under Lockdown

"Very well," she replied, "It's actually fascinating to hear how a guy can be brought up with so much sexual ignorance. I'd like to say it's not like that now, but today there is so much access to pornography that it's almost impossible for teens to not know the basics. However, from those sources, teens can be very misinformed about sex. Normal women are usually not like the women you see in porn videos."

We sipped our coffee for a few minutes, then Skyla asked if I was ready to continue. I agreed, so she started the recorder again as a memory came to me.

"So, having been given the book by your parents, once you were of an age to become sexually active, did your parents ever discuss contraception with you?"

"No, never. Condoms, or French letters as we called them, were the stuff of jokes. In senior chemistry class, we used them to fill with hydrogen gas, tie them off and let them float to the ceiling. I knew what they were and what they were for, but had no idea nor, at that stage, any need to use them. I didn't even have the confidence to buy them. Later, when I was dating Wendy and we were becoming sexually active, it was she, not I, who bought the condoms."

"So, to carry on, what happened next in your life?"

"Well, I guess I found girls, or one girl in particular found me. My first encounter with the fairer sex was in my final year at school. I'd just turned 18 and I would go to the swimming pools during summer holidays. There was a girl there who apparently took a fancy to me and one day she came home with me. My parents were both out working and I was showing her the house. In my parent's bedroom, which opened out onto a private patio, she came up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I can remember I was in complete shock; I'd only even been kissed by relatives before. What to do? I remember that I panicked and quickly told her that she needed to go now. Opportunity number one lost. I sometimes wonder how life would have been different if I'd taken that opportunity, kissing her back, and possibly... Who knows where that would have led?

"During that summer when I was home alone while my parents were at work, I used to sunbathe naked on the private patio. At that stage I was fascinated with my cock and balls and created a large number of devices to tie up my balls, compress them, stretch them and generally stimulate my genitals, culminating in release by masturbation. Some of the ways I did this were to use my mother's panty girdle to cover and compress my whole genital area, being very careful to replace the garment in exactly the same place and folded in the same way as I found it."

I paused, and Skyla changed tack a little. "Before you go on too far, I'd just like to ask how your parents had treated you, how they had disciplined you as a child. Also, how your schooling was and how you felt about that."

My mind went back to my earlier childhood; I felt again the hopelessness as I was sent to my room, yet again, for something that I was suspected of doing, to await my father returning home to punish me. I remembered the narrow leather strap that hung in the kitchen cupboard. I remembered the efforts I had made to try to please my mother, always to no avail. I sighed and made a start, reluctantly, yet aware that it was important for the record, and also important for my catharsis.

"My mother expected me to be the best in the class. Early on she realized that I was reasonably bright, so after only a couple of weeks in the new entrant class, I was put up into the next class. I spent the rest of the year, only a few weeks, in that class and then my parents agreed that I should go into the third-year class. Back in those days, promotion between classes was on merit, not age. So, after being at school for a matter of a few months, I found myself the youngest in my class with kids who'd been at school for two or even three years; I remained youngest in my class throughout my schooling. Obviously, I was socially very immature, both because of my age and because of my sheltered upbringing.

"This was a distinct disadvantage, I quickly found out, and with that age difference and the fact that I went home for lunch every day, I had virtually no friends, as I've already mentioned. I was not interested in sport, but far preferred to read at morning break. It lasted like that for the rest of my school years."

A memory returned and I grinned to myself, then explained the reason. "I remember that when I was moved up from the junior to senior school, probably at the end of my first full year at school, I was meant to play in the senior playground but instead I returned to the junior playground where I had been the previous year. I was happier playing there with kids my own age. However, one day the duty teacher saw me and growled at me for being in the junior playground when I was a senior. After that I enjoyed the breaks far less and became socially isolated. Many of the boys would bully me, and I had no idea how to deal with that. Girls were a totally unknown quantity and I tended to steer clear of them, as they did of me.

"I remember one time when I was in my senior year at that school and there was a student teacher teaching our class. He was involving the whole class in a play which we were to practise during school time and then put on for the school and parents in the last week that he was in our school. It was a play about pirates and my only memory of it was that I was going to be killed and eaten by cannibals. I was having none of it. Firstly, I was not going to get up on stage in front of the school kids and parents, and secondly, I had absolutely no intention of being eaten, real or acted. So, I rubbed my name off the blackboard where it was recorded that I was to be someone who was eaten, and simply didn't take part. I didn't take the notices about the play home to my parents, and just made no mention of the whole affair. I let it all simply pass me by.

"Not being interested in sports meant that sports, which were scheduled for one afternoon a week, was a non-event for me, just mooching around, trying to avoid contact with teachers, who would ask awkward questions. I played cricket once and once only, ending up being hit on the head with a cricket ball as I gazed everywhere but where the game was being played. I did later play softball and soccer for club teams, but not while I was at elementary school.

"They also had choir or orchestra one afternoon a week. I enjoyed singing, so first opted into the choir. However, I was classified as a groaner, meaning I couldn't sing in tune. Hell, I could've told them that if they'd asked. So that year I had to sit in a classroom with the other groaners and do math. The next year I went into the orchestra, but had great difficulty playing the recorder, a plastic flute-like instrument, so again I was kicked out to do math. I was quite good at math and enjoyed it, so I didn't mind at all.

"The one part of that school I did like was being a milk monitor. Back in those post-WW2 days, a half pint of milk was made available every day for every school child. Milk monitors delivered crates of milk around the school before school, then collected the crates and empty bottles at morning break. I liked it for two reasons. Firstly, I was working with only a few other kids on a common task, which I could tolerate. I learnt much later that I could not tolerate crowds; even as an adult I don't like crowds. Secondly, I enjoyed pushing a four wheeled trolley at what seemed to be breakneck speed around the school, which was great exercise, and thirdly I enjoyed being able to drink a couple of extra bottles of left-over milk each day."

"So, coming back to your parents again, how did they respond to your school achievements?"

"Well, every half year we had exams and I would take home a report. We would also have frequent tests on specific subjects. To begin with, when I scored quite highly in tests or exams, I would take the results home and proudly show them to my mother, who would simply ask what marks did others get? There was a girl in my class, Margaret, who was very bright and always came top of the class in everything. So, when I showed my test results to my mother, she would always ask me what Margaret got. She always got a couple of marks higher than me. Coming second in the class, while being the youngest pupil in the class, was not enough for my mother! So instead of the praise I thought I deserved, at best it was a terse 'Well, you'll have to do better next time' or a 'You're just not working hard enough' and she'd send me to my room to do more study."

I stopped then, feeling my emotions welling up once more as I thought of the disgust and hopelessness I felt for myself back in those days. Actual tears trickled down my cheeks even after nearly 60 years of living and achieving. I felt Skyla's hand on my arm.

"It's Ok," she said quietly, "You're fine now. It's over. Let it go."

It took several minutes before I could continue.

"Once I completed elementary school, I went to a middle school for two years before attending college. We also moved house, so I left behind any friends I may have made, and once again I was alone amongst a crowd of unknown and, to me, unknowable people. My first year there, once again the youngest in the class, we had a relief teacher. The 'proper' teacher was away on a scholarship and would return for the third term. Once again, I hated this school. The work was either totally boring or far too hard. The relief teachers, and there were three of them in the first two terms, were terrible. The class ran riot. It was impossible to learn anything so I spent a great deal of the time gazing out the window at the world of freedom outside. Lunchtimes I spent in the library with books, my friends; they never bullied me, hurt me or made fun of me."

I paused, my mind going back to those unhappy days as I felt again the frustration, anger and hopelessness of life back then.

"So, you were bored to tears in middle school, then what happened?" she prompted.

I turned to face her, leaning towards her to emphasise my next words.

"I almost committed suicide back then. I wanted to but just didn't quite know how. Part of it was to end the misery, but another part was to teach my mother a lesson she wouldn't forget." I paused and smiled. Relaxing back into my chair. "Looking back now, I'm very pleased I didn't."

Skyla sat silent, waiting patiently for me to continue, which I did after a few seconds.

"Then term three and our proper teacher arrived. She was horrible; bossy, domineering, and seemingly unable to explain anything so I, at least, could understand it. She tried to push everyone through the syllabus to catch up on work we should have done, and that just didn't work. I distinctly remember that math was the worst. I used to like math and was good at it, but not anymore. With problems like five dogs eating eight cans of food over seven days, how many cans of food do I need for 11 dogs for 15 days? I would really struggle and could not see how to arrange the numbers to get the answer. My parents couldn't help me either, it seemed.

"After dropping further behind, I slowly realized that it was simple; I just took the number that was not paired, the one whose pair was the answer, and put the others as fractions so that if it would make the answer bigger, I put the big one on top, or, if smaller, the small one went on top. After that it was simple. Why couldn't anyone have told me that at the start? After that, with all math, I simply analysed the numbers like that and worked out my own rules. In the exam, I certainly didn't top the class, but I came a lot higher than I would have a few weeks earlier. The following year was a lot better, but still I wasn't top of the class so I still got hell and feelings of worthlessness from my parents."

"What about your social development at this time? I guess you must have been about 12 or 13 by now, so how did being younger than most people affect you?"

I looked at the clock, feeling pangs of hunger. "After lunch," I replied.

We shared a salad from the garden and enjoyed cups of tea while chatting about other things. She talked about how loving and accepting her parents and family were, never really punishing, but rather using misdemeanors as learning opportunities and also being totally honest and forthcoming about whatever she asked.

"Consequently, I knew a great deal about how my body worked. I find it amazing and appalling that your parents prepared you so poorly for adult life, especially sexually. You poor darling."

She wrapped her arm around me in a reassuring hug, then looked up at me. Her pursed lips looked inviting so I bent my head forward and gave her a kiss. She initially started, pulling away quickly, but then kissed me back sweetly.

After we'd cleared away the dishes, I looked out the window. It was a perfect day, sunny, warm, still. It was the type of day when, had I been alone, I would have sunbathed on the private patio. But with Skyla here? I considered it for only a few seconds.

"Normally, on a day like today, I would be out on the patio sunbathing. Are you interested in joining me in such an activity? We could continue the interview out there if you wish."

She looked at me inquiringly, possibly wondering what I had in mind. I actually wondered that myself. I always sunbathed naked, but I hadn't mentioned that to her; would she guess? I'd already mentioned that I used to sunbathe naked, so maybe she'd put two and two together.

"Sure, sounds good to me. I brought my bikini so I'll go change."

"Ok, if you wish," I replied, deciding that today I'd better wear shorts.

Once we'd changed, she collected her recorder and we stepped through the bifold doors onto the deck. We settled into reclining chairs and she continued the interview.

"Before lunch I asked about your social development, so let's go from there," she suggested.

"I was a social isolate, mainly. When I went to college, I was also the youngest in my year grade. We had an entry test on the first day and I didn't do very well, getting placed into the third-stream class. My mother was not happy and she drove me to more and more study. That worked, and after the exams at the end of the first term, I was promoted to the top stream class, where I stayed through each of my college years. However, I never topped the class, to be expected I guess, but it was a constant annoyance to my mother. It's a bit tough when being in the upper half of the top class in the top school in the largest city in the country is not good enough.

"Socially, well, apart from the people I'd meet at Sunday School each Sunday, I guess I was mostly alone with my family. I did get on really well with my grandparents. They lived a short bike ride away so I would see them frequently. I would play draughts with my grandfather and my grandmother was my mentor; I could tell her my problems and she would listen and offer sage advice. In my late teens, after I'd finished college and found a job in an office, I went to live with my grandparents for a while.

"Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. Apart from the first kiss from an admirer I've mentioned, my first girlfriend was a lovely girl, Hazel, who I met during college dancing class. I went to an all-boys college and senior classes teamed up with equivalent classes at an all-girls college close by. So once a week I would cycle to the girls' college for dancing classes. Once those were close to finishing, we needed to invite a girl of our choosing to the combined senior ball. I chose Hazel because, unlike many of the other girls, she seemed more mature and less giggly. She came from a farming background and was a boarder at the school, so it was difficult for us to have dates because of boarding restrictions. However, we enjoyed the ball together and a few days later a date at the movies, but after she returned home for the vacation, she wrote to me stating that her parents did not approve of our relationship and that she had been told not to see me again. She was sorry, but goodbye.

"Once again -- rejection. Looking back, I suspect that her parents had her lined up for some farmer's son rather than a boy from the city, but at the time that was no help for mending a broken heart. She was a lovely girl and I hold no grudges against her; I just hope she found her dream farmer and is still living happily somewhere with her husband, kids and grandkids.

"After I left college, I joined a club which went away for weekends for outdoor activities. The club had an old bus which had been converted, most of the seats being replaced with boards covered with mattresses so that we could sleep on the way to the locations we visited. It departed on Friday night and would take several hours to reach the destination, so, apart from the drivers, everybody could sleep on the way, or at least relax and chat quietly if they chose. After a few trips, a girl about my age and I became good friends. On the trips in the bus, we would lie alongside each other. Most of the time we would spend whispering to each other and kissing in the darkness, while, under the blanket we threw over us, we would caress each other sexily, sometimes skin to skin, and always under our outer clothing, although she would not allow me to caress her pussy beneath her panties. Obviously after only a few moments of this fondling I would be hard as a rock and her nipples were standing to attention. While she restricted my exploration of her pussy, it did suffice to confirm that she did not, in fact, have a cock, while she was most certainly aware that I did." I chuckled at this reference to my previous naivety. "Like a lemonade?"

She accepted the offer and I made two cool drinks and brought them outside.

"You seem to have had a really rough time growing up," she commented as we sipped our cool drinks.

I watched the condensation bead on my glass for a short time before I answered. "Yes, at the time it was not a good experience and it certainly programmed me for failure for much of my life."

"Poor darling," she replied, sliding her hand over my bare thigh. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, I think, but my body interpreted it differently, my cock twitching and beginning to respond. "Oooh, did I do that? I think he likes me," she said with a grin, noticing the bulge in my thin shorts.

"I think so too," I replied more cheerfully, coming out of my self-commiseration as I felt the stirring in my loins.

"Can I touch, please?"

"Sure, why not?"

Skyla gently reached her soft hand towards my hardening cock and gently touched the mound. We both watched as it hardened under her touch, but only I felt the tingles of arousal through my lower abdomen. I looked at her face, noticing her wistful grin. Then she returned to the business at hand and the moment was gone.

"You were telling me about this girl on the bus."

"Yes, Veronica. She took me home to meet her parents after a while. Lovely people who seemed to approve of me. She was working also and had moved out of home into a small apartment on her own. She invited me around there one evening so I duly arrived with flowers and a bottle of wine. We sat in the single living room, sipping wine and listening to folk songs played on her stereo. Back in the sixties the folk song revival, associated with a large protest movement in the US, was in full swing so youth had picked up these songs, but that held no benefit for my love life. She obviously expected a lot more; I was too immature to understand what she wanted. After all, I am now certain she didn't invite me to spend an evening with her to listen to music, and thinking back, if she had made moves to entice me into her bed, I really have no idea what I'd have done. Sex, to me back then, was almost a complete unknown, and definitely a solo activity. Second opportunity wasted. I never saw her again."