I grew up in Rhodesia, an African country now known as Zimbabwe. It was a marvellous place to grow up - the weather was superb, usually not too hot, and very seldom cold. I went to a boys' school, and as you can imagine, by the time we were in the sixth form the most regularly discussed topic was girls. Some of the boys had girlfriends, and a few boasted about having sex with them. We could never be too sure if they were telling the truth, but the talk fired up our imaginations and those of us who were still virgins were desperate to meet a girl and 'get the deed done'.
Sadly, most of the girls who went to the local girl's school were totally unapproachable, at least, they seemed that way to me. I sometimes tried striking up a conversation if I met some at the local 'flicks' which was our term for the movies, but never got far. I was not like the sporty types in the rugby team who all seemed to get gorgeous girlfriends with ease. I came to the conclusion that girls fancied the more muscular hunks, and being of just average build - OK somewhat skinny build, I decided that my chances of getting a girlfriend were pretty slim.
Masturbation was the only outlet. Sometimes imagination provided enough stimulus as I tugged on my cock, but I found it was far more enjoyable if I had a sexy picture to look at. Censorship in Rhodesia was unbelievably strict. Movies with the slightest bit of bare flesh were cut to ribbons, and hard-core porn was impossible to get. I had never seen any and I was eighteen years old! We often made do with pictures of film stars, or models cut from women's magazines. The ones wearing bra and panties were the most desirable.
Sexy magazines like Playboy usually got banned outright, especially if they showed any pubic hair. One of my most treasured items of wanking material was a Playboy magazine. I had read on the cover that it featured Ursula Andress, who we had all seen in the James Bond movie, 'Dr No'. For some reason the censors had let it through. I was desperate to get hold of a copy - I had enough cash from my part time job as a golf caddie and resolved to buy a copy. I had expected the newsagent to refuse me as I did not really look eighteen, but he didn't bat an eyelid.
I pedalled back home with it and locked myself in my room. Oh my goodness! My hands were shaking as I opened it and scanned through the pages. When I first saw Ursula's naked breasts my mouth became instantly dry and my heart started pounding in my chest. Kids today have such easy access to porn - they have no idea what it was like for a red-blooded lad in those days. Needless to say, my cock was soon in my hand, and I was tugging away like crazy. I looked at each picture in turn; one in particular sticks in my mind.
Ursula was leaning languorously against a rock in a pond. Water was cascading around her and her back was arched, making her round breasts so prominent, and oh my God, look those tantalising nipples! That picture did it for me - in seconds I was shooting long streamers of cum across the wooden floor of my bedroom. I usually wanked into carefully placed tissues, but I had been so eager that I hadn't got any prepared.
I put the magazine aside and started mopping up. Later in life I learned that not all men shot their semen as far as I did. I usually propelled seven or eight long streams that could travel five or six feet on a good day if left unhindered. Years later when I did get to see porn movies, I was surprised at how so many pornstars would just dribble semen out of their cocks. There seemed something incongruous about a stud with an eight-inch cock just managing to ooze out a few meagre drops of cum.
That treasured Playboy magazine served me well, and I soon lost count of the number of delicious orgasms that Ursula had inspired. But eventually my desire for 'the real thing' came back to torment me. I was determined to be bolder - there must be a girl out there for me.
Then, quite unexpectedly, my fortunes changed. One Friday afternoon I was walking back to my home from town, and passed the wire fence that surrounded Swindon Lodge. Swindon Lodge was a home for 'wayward girls'. We all used to speculate as to what outrageous deeds the girls had done to end up there. Rumour had it that most of them were as randy as hell, and had been sent to 'The Lodge' to keep them under control. I later realised that many of the girls had led very troubled family lives, and did not deserve the slutty reputation that befell them.
Sitting under a tree some ten feet from the fence was a girl. She looked about my age. She had shoulder length blonde hair, rather untidily kept, and wore a white blouse and khaki shorts. She was barefoot, as many of us used to be in Africa, and I could see that her legs were slim. I thought she looked a bit like Zola Budd, the famous South African athlete, but with longer hair. I was instantly attracted, and I paused by the fence.
"Hello," I said. Brilliant hey? A master of the chat up lines...
The girl looked up from the ground where she was idly scratching at the dusty earth with a twig.
"What?" she said.
Her face was cute. She had a bit of a tomboy look, a little up-turned nose, small mouth, and seemed to have a few freckles scattered over her cheeks. Most of us were well tanned due to the sunny climate, and she was no exception.
"Hello," I repeated, desperately wishing I had something better to say.
"Fuck your knuckle and keep the change!" said the girl.
I was stunned. I had hardly ever heard a girl swear, and this retort hit me like a thunderbolt. I was almost about to shuffle off with my tail tucked between my legs when I started to laugh, partly from embarrassment, and partly because it was such a good comment... 'Fuck your knuckle and keep the change'... superb!
"What are you laughing at?" she said, rising to her feet. She was about six inches shorter than me, and I am five foot ten. I could see that like her legs the rest of her figure was slender and trim. Definitely my sort of girl. Beneath her white blouse she appeared to have smallish breasts, and her blouse momentarily drew taut across them as she stood up. It looked very much as if she wore no bra - did I see a hint of darker nipple poking beneath the white fabric? I could feel an instant stirring in my groin.
"What you said," I answered, "that's really good!"
A smile flickered across her face. She really was very pretty. I noticed her eyes - they were a vivid blue; I don't think I had seen anyone with eyes that colour before.
"My name is Luke," I said, "what's yours?"
Crikey - it was happening; I was chatting to a girl!
She looked at me a while, appearing to be deciding if I was worth the effort. She slid her fingers into the pockets in her shorts, and once more her blouse grew taut across her breasts. There was no mistaking it - I saw two distinct nipple peaks - she was definitely braless.
"Carly," she said after a pause. "Do you go to the school?" she asked and tossed her head in the general direction of where my school was.
"Yep," I affirmed. "I am in the Upper Sixth. How long have you been here? I haven't seen you before."
"Three weeks," Carly replied.
"What's it like?" I asked.
"It could be worse, I suppose," Carly said, "it is not as strict as I thought it might be."
I surveyed the wire fencing that bordered the property.
"Do they let you out?" I asked.
"Of course, Carly replied, somewhat indignantly, "it's not a jail."
