It's Gill With a 'G'
The bus was late. Why this morning? It usually turned up on time; however its running behind schedule this morning was to my benefit, as she was not at the bus stop yet. Usually she would be here, waiting for the bus at eight. The timetable had the bus arrive at eight oh four, now it was eight oh seven. I could have, should have, caught the 107 service which stopped four minutes earlier, that took a more direct route to get me to school, but I had for the past few mornings waited for the 104 service that went into Birmingham, where I would have to catch another bus that would get me to school in the nick of time. Why did I take this risk? Because of this rather pretty girl, who I was trying to find sufficient courage to talk with. She caught the 104 to where she worked in the centre of Birmingham.
I saw the bus come round the bend about four hundred yards away, a red behemoth belonging to the 'Birmingham and Midland Motor Omnibus Co' fondly known as the 'Midland Red'. Now I had no choice. I had to take both the bus and the inevitable detention for being late. Then I saw her, walking very quickly, it was touch and go whether the bus would get to the stop before her. That was when the Gremlins decided to give me a break for a change. The bus arrived. Now these buses were double decked, as was the usual British style in the fifties, and they also had pneumatic folding doors at the rear nearside to allow passengers to alight and board. The driver operated the controls remotely from his cab, but they were to say the least temperamental. This was one of those times, the doors didn't open. We waited, and that wait gave her the time to get to the bus stop. The driver tried his control a couple of times, you could see the doors shudder, but they didn't open. So I stepped forward and pressed the passenger emergency button on the panel just next to the door. Bingo! It worked. I stood back and let the other three people get on the bus, and then waited for her, the last to arrive. I received a smile that made worthwhile any punishment for lateness.
She climbed the stairs and I followed her. The top deck was arranged in two by two seating with a central gangway. She sat down next to a window, which left a vacant seat next to the gangway. I hovered, as if I was deciding where to sit, when she looked up, and moved slightly closer to the window, gathering her skirt so that the seat next to her was clear, then she looked up at me. The invitation was apparent, so I sat. She was a slim girl with mousy blonde hair. Her figure was not in any way voluptuous, her waist had to be about twenty-two or twenty-three inches but her hips set the skirt she was wearing swishing nicely. I had noticed her bust surreptitiously on previous mornings. Her breasts swelled her blouse nicely but didn't announce their presence boldly. Even with the medium heels she wore she was slightly shorter than me. She was attractive without being obvious, the sort of girl that you get to know, and with that familiarity grows a gradual realisation that there is a beauty about her not immediately apparent.
"That was clever." She praised me. "I didn't know those buttons worked."
"Well, I ... I just assumed that that was what they were there for." She turned slightly in her seat and looked at me.
"What School do you go to?" It was obvious I was still at school, uniforms were compulsory then.
"It's in Handsworth." I replied.
"I presume it's the Grammar School?" She pushed me further.
"You are in the sixth form."
"Yes." I was sitting next to my dream and couldn't work out how to put two words together.
"I'm Gill, with a 'G'"
"Are you usually Andrew, or do your friends call you Andy?"
"And do you speak in sentences of more than one word." She was smiling and I blushed, almost as red as the bus was painted. I was saved by the conductor, wanting our fares. Gill paid her fare, and I just showed him the travel pass issued to me by the Education Authorities. I apologised to Gill.
"I'm sorry, but I seem a bit thick at the moment." She smiled.
"Don't worry. I haven't much practice with talking to boys. What are you studying?" Her confession and understanding helped me to finally get my tongue undone from the knot it was in and allowed me to talk with slightly more ease than before.
"My course is in English language, Literature and Art."
"Are you doing well in English language?" She was grinning.
"It would appear not. Perhaps I need more practice."
"Well you're getting better."
That was the start of an emotional journey that I travelled for years, and am still travelling. It may seem strange to some that I got tongue-tied. You really have to blame the education system of that era in the UK. After the eleven-plus exam, those boys and girls who were deemed suitable for higher education were separated into different single sex schools. The resultant was that they emerged six years later into the world, heads full of knowledge apart from the vital subject of knowing how to talk with these strange creatures of the opposite sex. It was even worse if you went on to study for University entrance, as I was doing. Young men, with hormones demanding attention, and little knowledge of how to create any kind of relationship with the member of the opposite sex are in a particularly invidious situation. It's crazy! Here I was at seventeen gauche and uncertain with a girl who was the same age as me. I looked as if I should be at ease with girls, two inches under six foot, brown hair, that would, if I let it get long, flow back from my brow in corrugated waves, I didn't want that so I kept it short almost a crew cut. I had been skinny for most of my life, but at last I was filling out quickly. I would not describe myself as handsome, that was for others to say, but my face was regular and symmetric. So it never sent anyone away screaming in fright. Now having screwed up my courage I was going to see if I could relate to Gill with a 'G'.
Gill and I would see each other every day after that first faltering start. We would travel in to Birmingham in the morning, and I would wait for her to get out of work in the evening. Gill's father had died two years before we met. Typically of British companies at that time there was no company life assurance, and the state would only pay a meagre amount in widow's pension. So Gill, despite being of above average intelligence had to leave school and find a job to help with the family expenses. She worked with the Inland Revenue doing mundane clerking work. It was employment that did not in any way challenge her intellect.
We did go to the cinema from time to time, but money was always a problem, most of her wages were needed at home, and I of course wasn't earning anything, my time being full with study. During holidays I would get part-time employment, with the postal service at Christmas, and with various stores at other times. So Gill and I would enjoy all the pastimes that cost nothing like walking in the countryside and sitting in the park people watching. We would amuse ourselves making up fantasy stories about the others we saw there. These fantasies were not malicious, even so I suspect that the stories we made up would not amuse those who were the subject. Yes there was another pastime that cost nothing, but in those days girls usually went on their honeymoon as virgins. The pill was becoming available, but a girl needed her parent's permission to get a prescription, and how many would do that? Very few young men of my age had the confidence to walk into a chemist or a Barbers to buy condoms. So sex was not on the menu. I tried, of course I tried, we spent many happy hours kissing and cuddling but apart from allowing me to fondle her breasts from outside her clothing, Gill had no intention of allowing further intimacy. She did seem to enjoy my caressing her breasts though, so I, who had only ever felt one girl's breasts before, was content.
Eventually the time came when I went away to university. Gill and I were both in tears at the thought of this separation, and for a while I had thought not to go. My parents were adamant that I would go, and Gill, who would have found a place at University easily, were it not for her family's circumstances added her voice to that of my parents. Sadly I packed the clothes and books I would need for the first term. I had been accepted at Cambridge, and there was very little chance of getting back to see Gill until the end of term. I think my unhappiness at being away from Gill, on my own without family to back me, and the new world I had entered was the cause of my inability to fit in that first term. I came home that Christmas determined that I would not return. Some hopes. Gill while delighted to see me, would not hear of my dropping out. We talked long and hard, and eventually she convinced me. It also helped that she allowed me more intimacy than hitherto. She had unbuttoned her blouse and allowed me to slip my hand inside her brassiere. Her breast sitting beautifully soft and warm in my hand was a powerful argument. Our kisses reached a new high in passion. I persuaded myself that another term would have me enjoy even more of her.
We exchanged letters on a weekly basis. It was frustrating for me as although I was studying for a BA in English Language and Literature, I seemed unable to express in writing what my heart and emotions wanted me to say, so my letters were generally about what I was doing and studying that week. Her letters were chatty, catching me up on all that was happening, but always expressed her loneliness without me, and how much she looked forward to seeing me again. I had now settled at Cambridge, becoming used to my surroundings and the systems. Studies were going well. But I looked forward to the spring break, with aroused anticipation for what Gill would allow me next.
Aroused anticipation was not telling me the truth. Gill would allow nothing more than she had at Christmas. She must have a will of iron. My hand inside her bra was obviously getting to her, her nipples erected stiffly, and her gasps as I rubbed them with my thumb and forefinger told the story, yet when my free hand wandered slowly up her skirt, I managed to find the top of her stocking (long before pantyhose, happy days!) but there she clamped her legs together so tightly my hand felt it was caught in a Mangle. She had her limits, and I had to respect them.
"Andy, I want to do all these things with you, but think how much better it will be when we are married. We can go to bed on our marriage night and I will be naked for you. All we want then, we can have, without shame." Fine I thought, but that doesn't help me now with a raging erection.
I had little doubt that I loved Gill, nor that she loved me. The tears when we parted for me to go back to Cambridge were without doubt genuine. The way she clung to me, knowing I had to go, yet extracting the last ounce of contact before I boarded the train. Our partings were painful, and the greetings when I returned ecstatic. Neither of us questioned that we would be married as soon as I gained my degree. Yet the three years at Cambridge asked for and received a heavy toll. It was the third Christmas that I went round to see Gill. She had gone down with a really heavy cold, and was in bed. Her mum was just going out, and asked me to make Gill a hot lemon drink. I took the drink upstairs and knocked on her door. I knew which bedroom she slept in, but had never been in.
"It's OK Andy. I'm decent." That was a blow. I opened the door and went in. Gill was sitting up in bed, wearing a nightgown. I knew that she hadn't made a mistake, as she let her arms fall to the side offering me the view. The nightgown was diaphanous, and her breasts and erect nipples could be clearly seen through the fabric. She smiled at me, a smile of welcome and apprehension. Heavy cold or no, I had to kiss her. I put the drink down on the bedside table and sat, leaning forward to draw her into my arms. She gave me her lips willingly, and as we kissed sought and found my hand and placed it on her breast.
"Touch me, Andy." I did. Caressing her breast in the manner I had before. Her moans told me that it pleased her, but her next action told me even more. She again found my hand, and slipped it through the opening of the gown finding once again that jewel surmounted by a ruby. She moved a little, and without her help her nightgown opened, exposing those two feminine moons as never before. I moved down and took her nipples one by one in my mouth. Gently suckling and nipping. Her gasps were more frequent and at a higher volume now.
"That's so good. I didn't ever imagine that your mouth on my breasts would be so exciting." More movement as she kicked at the bedclothes, then lifted my mouth from her breasts, asking me without words to look at her. The gown was parted all the way to its bottom hem, and Gill lay there naked, unashamed. Her breasts didn't slip to the side, they carried insufficient weight to do that, her stomach was quite flat so her hip bones raised gently either side like small hills, and there was that little patch of curly hair, guarding, yet highlighting the treasure between her legs. As if of their own accord her legs opened, and the lips of her vulva unstuck and spread.
"Gill, you are so beautiful." She smiled happily, knowing that her body pleased me. I understood what Gill was offering me. Years of tormented lust urged me to explore her depths and take her. But Love asked a different question. I knew that it was Gill's wish to come to our marriage bed a virgin. If I loved her, how could I not allow her to make the gift she longed to give? I also knew that later I would hate myself for this, but I had no choice. I leaned down and placed a kiss on her cleft, she smelt wonderful, and then I pulled the bedclothes up to cover her.
"Gill, I love you. I love you enough to want the same thing that you want. You and I coming to the marriage bed as virgins. Believe me it is painful not to take advantage now. But you have been clear about what you want all these years. I will graduate in six months. We have waited for four years. Can we not wait another few months?" The apprehension left Gills face to be replaced with a calm loving smile.
"Thank you Andy. I would have given myself to you, you know. But I am so pleased that you also think that we should wait." She offered her lips to kiss. The she smiled a secret smile of mischief.
"I know I will love it. Your lips on my nipples were good enough, but when you kissed me down there it was like an electric shock. How come you knew to do that?" I was as confused as Gill about that.
"I don't know. Your ... your vagina was so pretty, that I just had to kiss you there. Do you mind?"
"No my darling I loved it. You'll have to remember that, and I'm glad you think my vagina is pretty." I didn't know where that kiss came from. You don't get an instruction leaflet with a woman, and if there were books on the subject, they were certainly not in my school library. I was an English undergraduate. I had seen the word cunnilingus. But at that moment the words on a page did not relate it to the kiss I gave Gill's vagina.
I left feeling very good about my noble stance. Two days later I went down with the head cold. The penalty for righteousness was a runny nose.
The next few months flew past. I was at my books from morning to night with the spectre of finals coming ever closer. By August I was back home Andrew Gresham B.A. (Hons). All degrees are supposed to be the same, but putting Cambridge (Cantab) or Oxford (Oxon) after them had a particular cachet. First thing was to find a job, and I was lucky. I was recruited by an advertising agency, AGH Associates. Most companies in the UK had something they called the Publicity Dept., responsible for what passed as advertising, such as billboards, posters on buses, enamelled signs on railways stations and the like. But with the advent of TV advertising a more professional approach was required. Using the knowledge and experience of the States (again) a number of creative types had set up agencies devoted to producing TV adverts. I knew full well that my tutors at Cambridge would have thrown up their hands in horror at this Honours graduate selling out to greedy Mammon, but I was getting married, and to get a mortgage to buy a house needed a decent confirmed salary. My Dad came up with the deposit, and within three months I was the proud owner of a three bed-roomed semi-detached house on the better side of Erdington. Gill was fully involved in the viewing and decision to buy, and her salary was taken into account for the mortgage.
We married in October. It was a Church wedding; Gill was a confirmed believer; but it was quiet. Mrs. Walton, her mother was unable to splash out on a big wedding, and Gill would not hear of my father paying, as he had already made the deposit on our house. After the Church, we went to 'La Reserve' a decent restaurant in Sutton Park for a meal, and later Gill and I slipped away in my hired car to Kingsbridge in Devon for our Honeymoon.
Gill grinned as I was unpacking my case. She leaned in and grabbed the pyjamas I had brought. Smiling she asked me.
"Do you honestly think that you will wear these?" I grinned sheepishly.
"I wasn't going to put them in, but as I was packing the case, mum came in with them, telling me that I had forgotten them. I didn't have the courage to tell her they weren't needed." Gill was laughing now.
"What does she think we will be doing?"
"Well I know what I will be doing." I took Gill in my arms, kissing her deeply, and felt behind her to unzip her skirt. She looked bright-eyed at me.
"Yes my darling. Take me to bed." We were undressed in thirty seconds and rolling around the bed. I think we were both delirious feeling each other's naked body for the first time. My heart was pounding, so much so that my hands shook uncontrollably. At the optimum time Gill grabbed my pyjamas and lifting her hips pushed them underneath her bottom.
"There may be some blood." Reminding us both that she was a virgin, as was I.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I know you don't, but it shouldn't be too much. Please Andy do it, I want to be your wife physically as well as in the eyes of God."
There was blood, and Gill did hurt, and I felt awful, having inflicted pain on the woman I loved. Gill would have none of it. All she said was. "Those pyjamas came in useful after all." But she saw my distress, and cuddled to me. "Andy you should not be upset. Women know there is pain in loving, being loved, and giving birth. We are prepared for it and suffer willingly for the love we have. The pain will soon go, and now my virginity has gone I shall be open for you whenever you want me. Give me a day, and then I will want you to love me again and again." She was true to her word, and we made love at every opportunity for the rest of our honeymoon.
I had read up on cunnilingus in the library at Cambridge, where they had a huge section devoted to erotica. Having read, I put the theory into practice. Gill went wild! The accepted convention in the early sixties was that the orgasm was the finale to love-making. The way the books described the act was as if the one orgasm was enough as if they were rationed? That myth was even in some of the books in the library. What rubbish. We could both climax when I was inside Gill, then I would kiss love her with my tongue and she would climax again. By this time I was ready once more, and upon seeing this Gill would happily open her legs and welcome me into her warm, wet depths. Not bad for two innocents. We did the actions, but the words were taboo. I had read and heard words like Pussy, Cock, Fuck and Cunt, and I am pretty sure that Gill had knowledge of them as well. But although they were in our vocabulary, they were never vocalised.