Chapter 1

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.

"Yes."

"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'"

"I'm Andrew."

"Are you usually Andrew, or do your friends call you Andy?"

"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.