The Lost Hours with Annabelle

With Annabelle and I now dating other people and the time commitments of Year 12 and our part time jobs, our pen pal friendship died on the vine and our letters in the second half of 1962 infrequent before stopping altogether. Annabelle was mentioned in a Christmas card that the Smiths sent to my parents, and I was mentioned in a Christmas card my parents sent to the Smiths, but that was it, we lost contact and life moved on.

"Are you okay Jim?" Sandra asked me as I stepped off the train and stumbled a little.

Sandra put a hand on my shoulder, and Doris moved in to support my other shoulder.

"Fine thanks, probably just sitting still for too long," I said, hoping the dizzy feeling would pass and wasn't a sign something more serious was about to happen. I had problems with angina at times, but if my heart was going to give me problems one could not have two better people alongside than my wife and my sister.

When leaving school in 1963, Sandra had become a nurse, Doris following her into nursing a year later when she finished high school at the end of 1964. They had both taken breaks from their nursing careers when they had their children -- like Sandra Doris and her late husband Henry had two daughters and one son -- but had resumed when the kids were old enough and when they retired a few years ago both were nurse managers, or matrons to use the old expression.

Fortunately for Sandra and Doris I was just fine and didn't need to bring their nursing skills out of retirement, I sat down and recovered in five minutes before we set off for home. Home for Doris, Sandra and I was a retirement community in Melbourne's northern suburbs, and the three of us liked living there very much. It was a good move after we all retired, the two women from their nursing careers, me from my career as a civil engineer and Henry had been an accountant.

Sandra and I lived in one villa, Doris and her husband Henry lived in another, but when Henry passed on three years ago it left just my sister living there. Not that she was lonely, she had lots of friends among the other residents at the community, and she and Sandra were close friends.

They hadn't been at high school, with Sandra a year older than Doris, but when Doris starting going out with Henry who was in Sandra's year at school and Sandra and I started dating, then the two developed a close bond, and this continued on through nursing school and was still clear many years later.

Doris went back to her villa and Sandra and me to ours. We had enjoyed plenty of carnival food at the show in Geelong, so had a healthy salad for tea. Afterwards though I could not stop thinking about the strange events today and how they brought back memories of an even stranger day now more than 57 years in the past.

So strong were my feelings that I opened up a cabinet and took out an old and now somewhat worn photo album, one of several in the cabinet. When first Dad and then Mum had died, I had inherited the old family photo albums, but while I rarely looked at them I would never get rid of them either, it seemed disrespectful to the memories of my late parents.

The album I opened was from the early 1960s, and I looked at the photos of our family back then. The indignant eyes of our cat Patsy looked back at me in a photograph from Christmas 1960 where Dad had attempted to get her to wear a Santa Claus hat, the cat not impressed by this affront to her dignity, Mum laughing so much she couldn't keep the camera steady. Patsy certainly lived a long life, we had adopted her as a kitten in 1952 and it was 1972 when old age called her.

I looked at a variety of photos from 1961, before turning over to 1962 and looking at the ones taken early in the year. "Wow 1962, that's the year you asked me out for the first time," said Sandra, my wife having come up from behind me.

"That's right," I said. "Just taking a trip down memory lane, I don't know why, something just came over me."

Sandra sat down next to me. "Actually Jim, that's what I wanted to talk to you about you. You seemed a bit odd, sort of not with it at the show, you didn't say much on the train on the way home and you had a bit of a turn when we got back to Southern Cross. Are you sure everything's okay?"

I nodded. "Yes, fine thanks Sandra. Maybe a bit tired, that's all. It's kind of a long day, I must be getting old."

"Jim, you're 18-years-old, turning 19 next year," my wife joked. "I was going to head to bed, like you said it was a long day. Are you coming too?"

I shook my head. "I think I might stay up and look at these photos a bit longer. I promise I won't wake you up when I come to bed."

Sandra nodded. "Okay Jim, goodnight then."

"Goodnight Sandra."

My wife and I exchanged a kiss and Sandra departed for bed. I stayed in the living room and with trembling fingers turned to the photographs taken at Easter 1962. I saw my late parents, Doris, Eddie and I as teenagers and of course the Smith family. George and Marjorie Smith, now presumably no longer with us, the son Chris and daughter Annabelle.

Most of the photos were of places where we had taken the Smith family during their visit to Melbourne like the zoo and among the bathing boxes at Brighton Beach, but one showed all nine of us together standing out the front of our house.

It had been taken by Mrs. Ellis across the street, a widowed octogenarian who did not own a TV, called cars motor cars, referred to her radio as a wireless, played records on a gramophone and whose telephone had a trumpet shape with a separate ear and mouth piece. Presumably she thought photography involved a tripod upon which was mounted a large box, the photographer covering his head with a sheet and a puff of smoke visible when it was taken.

However, despite Mum's concerns when getting the photograph developed that she would have cut off Annabelle's head, she had done a fine job both with our camera and with the Smiths' camera to take the same photo. We were all in the shot, even Patsy could be seen staring out the front windows, and the 6 foot 9 Annabelle could be seen in her entirety.

The photograph was in black and white but it did not diminish Annabelle's beauty. I looked at her uncertain of what to do, and the tall teenager giggled. "Jim, what's wrong?"

I looked across the Yarra River from our rowboat under the weeping willow tree and at the rowing shed and change rooms on the Hawthorn side of the bank, just up the path from the jetty where we had moored the rowboat. The sounds of Bert Kaempfert and his orchestra still came from Annabelle's transistor radio.

"Oh nothing Annabelle," I said. "Just thinking what a nice day it is today."

Annabelle again laughed. "Really?"

I nodded in affirmation. "Really."

"I could have sworn you looked like you wanted to kiss me," said Annabelle.

I was keen to seem like I had only noble intentions. "No, not at all, sorry if I gave you the wrong impression." My heart pounded, and I looked into the river, seeing my nervous and blushing 18-year-old face looking back at me from the waters of the Yarra.

Annabelle put a coy look on her pretty face. "That's a pity Jim, I really was hoping you would kiss me."

Now my heart really was pounding. "Really?"

"Really," said Annabelle. "Jim, I see the way you look at me, and I really like you too. You're so nice to me, don't look at me like I'm different like other boys do."

Annabelle sat with a look of expectation in her blue eyes, and I was so keen to kiss her that I nearly leaped out of my seat, risking sending us tipping over into the cool and muddy waters of the Yarra. However I maintained composure as I approached her. My brown eyes looked into her blue eyes and vice versa, we put our faces together and we kissed.

It was shallow at first, just on the lips, but soon we kissed deeper, a French kiss, our mouths locked together and our tongues intertwining, and before long we were making out in the row boat, intermittent sunlight through the leaves of the weeping willow reflecting off our teenage bodies. I could taste the minty toothpaste that Annabelle had used to brush her teeth that morning.

I put my arms around Annabelle, feeling the tall teenager's bra strap at the back of her dress and I felt her own strong hands on my own back, or running through my hair. Needing to draw breath, we stopped kissing and Annabelle said, "Wow, so that's what my first kiss felt like."

"Your first kiss?" I found this hard to believe. How would any boy back in Annabelle's home town Adelaide not want to kiss such a beautiful girl? Even a poofter would think twice about whether he liked girls if Annabelle was put in front of him.

"Uh huh." Annabelle nodded. "Most boys don't want to go out with girls who are taller than them, and in my case I don't know boys six feet ten or taller, so that's that. Anyway I don't want to think about that, I want to have a good time with you, Jim."

Annabelle and I made out again, and I felt the softness of her tongue in my mouth, our hands roaming all over each other. Some people passed by on a small motor boat, the middle-aged passengers looking at us disapprovingly filled with pious indignation, no doubt concerned about declining morality amongst young people in this new decade of the 1960s.

When we stopped kissing, Annabelle said, "You know at my high school some of the other Year 12 girls have their boyfriends come and pick them up in their cars after classes finish for the day. But instead of driving off, they stay there making out in their cars like its Lovers' Lane. And I think to myself, 'Get a room,'"

I laughed, having seen this at my own high school. "I know that feeling."

Annabelle nodded. "Well, I think we're at the 'get a room' stage now." She indicated the motor boat that was now going on its way downstream, the passengers no doubt talking about 'young people these days.'

"Problem is, we don't have a room." I looked around.

"Maybe we can get the next best thing?" Annabelle suggested. She indicated the Hawthorn side of the river. I followed her gaze. The girls from the private school had finished packing up after their rowing practice and the last of them were departing in a car.

"Perhaps they've left a door unlocked or something?" Annabelle suggested. "Well, we could give it a try."

The thought of doing even more with Annabelle was something I liked very much. In my haste to get up there I stood too fast, making the boat rock but far worse showing Annabelle that our making out had had an effect on me.

"You're excited," Annabelle said, indicating the bulge in the front of my trousers.

I blushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean ..."

"There's no need to apologize, that's what it's there for," said Annabelle. "It would be no good if it didn't do that. But I think its best I walk in front of you on the way there."

"I think its best," I said, fearing meeting a policeman in my current state. He would be sure to run me in seeing the front of my trousers. "You're so lucky being a girl Annabelle, people can't tell if you're excited."

"True, but if they looked down my knickers they would," she said. Annabelle then looked directly at me. "Most people don't get to see what's in my knickers, but you will Jim."

My erection throbbed in my underpants at Annabelle's last words as she turned off her transistor radio and we took the towel, blanket and Annabelle's bag and radio with us, stepping off the boat to the jetty and walking across the riverbank towards the boathouse and changing rooms. Annabelle walked close in front of me, concealing my predicament, the smell of eucalyptus from a nearby stand of gum trees prominent in the autumn air.

We reached the girls' changing rooms and Annabelle tried the external door. It was locked. The girls' toilets however remained open and unlocked, serving as public lavatories as well. I felt most guilty about going into the girls' toilets and also thought it didn't seem very nice to have sex in a toilet. The police had come to our school before and shown us a film about homosexuals, warning that they enjoyed lurking around public toilets for dishonorable reasons. Hopefully there were no homosexuals here today, hiding in the bushes and watching us!

The female toilet block had a door at the end of the two rows of stalls, 'Female Change Room' inscribed upon it, obviously to allow changing girls who needed to use the toilet to come through here without having to walk around outside.

"Fingers crossed," said Annabelle as she tried the door knob -- and to our relief the door swung open, allowing entry into the female change rooms.

Annabelle spread out the blanket near some changing cubicles. "Now, were we?" she asked, both of us getting on the blanket and making out again. I felt Annabelle's strong feminine hands on my groin, stroking my erection through my trousers and underpants. My own hand went to Annabelle's bottom, feeling her panty lines through the soft fabric of her frock. Feeling braver, I put my hand up her dress, touching her soft white cotton panties. The tall teenager's giggles and squirms at my touch to her knickers indicated she liked it.

"Now let's get undressed down to our underwear, otherwise we might make a mess of my frock," said Annabelle.

I wasn't going to refuse this, and was relying on touch alone as I removed my shoes and socks, watching Annabelle sitting on an opposite bench. The knees of her long legs were open, showing off her white knickers up her dress to me, Annabelle reaching down to remove her white sneakers and then her cute white ankle socks, leaving her beautiful bare feet exposed. Annabelle was so pretty anyway, but barefoot she looked even more stunning.

I took off my shirt, and saw Annabelle looking at my hairy chest as she took off her neck scarf, and I pulled down my trousers, my underpants showing the shape of my erection, which only got larger as I watched Annabelle take off her dress, leaving her barefoot and in her bra and knickers.

As Annabelle approached me, I admired her feminine beauty. Even her exposed naval just above the waistline of her white full brief panties was attractive. It suddenly occurred to me. I wasn't just accepting of Annabelle's height, I was actually aroused by it. Okay, even if she was 5 feet 2 inches I would have found her attractive, but at 6 feet 9 she was so extraordinary.

We lay on the blanket together, Annabelle running her fingers through my chest hair and both of us touching the other's underwear. My nervous hands felt Annabelle's large teenage breasts through her white bra, and she stroked my erection in my undies, most pleased she was responsible for this.

My hands went to Annabelle's knickers, and I felt her panty lines and the indentations of her buttocks at the back, and her vagina at the front. We kissed again before Annabelle whispered seductively to me, "Don't be shy Jim, put your hands down my knickers."

"Really?" I gasped.

"Really," Annabelle affirmed.

I slid my excited but nervous hand down the back of Annabelle's panties, feeling the firm flesh of the tall teenager's bottom cheeks. Then I went down the front of her knickers, my heart racing as I touched her pubic hair feeling the soft curls and her feminine mound, my hand going deeper between her legs and into her genitals. I could feel how damp Annabelle's vagina was, and as I pushed my fingers further in I touched her clitoris, Annabelle giggling and squirming at my tough, the toes of her bare feet clenching and unclenching.

"You want me to really get you in the mood before, you know?" Annabelle asked.

"Yeah!" I said.

"Well out of my knickers then, and I'll do it."

Extricating my hand from the moist, warm and hairy environs within Annabelle's panties, I watched as she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. The undergarment came away to show Annabelle's bare teenage breasts. Then hooking her thumbs into her panty waistband, Annabelle pulled her knickers down her long legs past her knees to her ankles, before stepping her bare feet out of them. On the white double cotton saddle of Annabelle's panties I could see creamy colored feminine stains from Annabelle's vagina self-cleansing during the day, and this increased my ardor even more.

Hottest of all though was seeing Annabelle's pubic hair, her feminine mound covered in a perfect triangle of blonde curls proving the hair on her head was her natural color. If there was an example of something perfect in the world, the naked Annabelle would be it!

I enjoyed another good sight as Annabelle turned around to pick her knickers up off the floor, and I saw the teenager's bare bottom, two perfect peach-shaped buttocks. "Stop looking at my bum, Jim," Annabelle giggled as she turned around, and put her hands on my underpants.

I of course put up no resistance as Annabelle pulled down my underpants and freed my erection. Annabelle admired my penis and balls, before taking my shaft in her fingers and masturbating me gently, her other hand going to my scrotum and teasing my testicles with her touch. My own hands were not idle, stroking Annabelle's bare bottom, her hairy pussy and her bare breasts as she did so, feeling how hard young Annabelle's nipples were to my touch.

Then taking her hands away from my groin, Annabelle replaced it with her mouth, sucking at my penis with her sensual tongue, licking the shaft and at times moving her mouth to my balls, before returning to my penis and fellating me hard. So excited was I by tall Annabelle blowing me that I worried I would lose control and fill Annabelle's with a substance that looked like clotted cream, but most definitely was not clotted cream and neither smelled or tasted like clotted cream.

Having had fun playing with my penis, Annabelle and I looked at each other and we kissed again on the blanket. "This is it, Jim," she whispered. Annabelle lay her tall figure flat on her back, and spread her long legs wide to display her crotch.

She giggled in a shy, self-conscious way. "Be gentle with me, Jim. This is my first time."

"It's my first time too," I said, still finding it hard to believe this was happening. "I promise I'll take it nice and gentle."

"I know you will Jim, you're such a gentleman," Annabelle responded.

Kneeling on the picnic blanket, I looked at what lay before me, young Annabelle with her legs wide apart to make herself available to me. Annabelle's pussy was the first pussy I had ever seen in person before, and it was worth the wait that was for sure. At the top was her female mound and her curls of blonde pubic hair, then was her perfect pink vagina, oval shaped and kind of like a seashell. I could even see the small opening to her urethra. Below Annabelle's vulva was a sensitive strip of skin that led to her anus, Annabelle's tight rear opening looking like a little starfish. It felt so forbidden -- yet so exciting -- to see the most private place on Annabelle's young body.

With a throbbing erection I got into position to make love with her, but suddenly paused. We had no protection like a condom, and there was that controversial new pill that came out last year to stop women getting pregnant, but I doubted that Annabelle's parents would allow their teenage daughter to take it. What if I got Annabelle into trouble, and we had to get married and have a baby at age 18?

Fortunately Annabelle saw my hesitation and picked up straight away what might be wrong. "You're worried about me getting knocked up, aren't you Jim?"

"It did enter my mind," I admitted.

Annabelle was very relaxed and understanding. "You can rest easy Jim. I obviously don't tell boys about my visits from my monthly friend, but I finished my last period only on Thursday. So we'll be swell, I won't be getting pregnant."

I thought back to when the Smith family had arrived, and I had accidentally caused Annabelle's suitcase to open, and I had seen her sanitary belt and the packet of her napkins, clearly she was telling the truth that she was menstruating up until Thursday. But obviously she wasn't menstruating now as we wouldn't be doing this, and I thought it best not to disclose to Annabelle that I had caught sight of her feminine hygiene products that day lest she should be embarrassed.