In today's moral climate when young girls barely into puberty are given sex advice, condoms and pregnancy tests and their parents don't even have the right to know about it, the sexual mores of the past are quite unbelievable. No, I'm not talking about the long ago past, but only fifty years.
I was an only child and spent my early years in the shadow of war with bombs dropping on a 'North East Town' as the news bulletins had it. No names were used for some reason, which always irked the good citizens. Both my parents survived the war so we resumed being a happy family. They were not exactly demonstrative people, even with each other, so I was never aware of any kind of touching and certainly no kissing. It must have happened at some point or I wouldn't be here today, but I don't think sex was high on their agenda.
As can be imagined, talking about such matters was also taboo, so I learned absolutely nothing from them about the birds and bees. School lessons weren't much better. I attended an all boys grammar school - the same one where Andrew Marvell and William Wilberforce had been educated - and saw nothing of girls. Sex education, such as it was, confined itself to little tadpole type things swimming along a tube inside a woman and finally meeting something similar. Lo and behold a baby was born! How one got to the other was never explained.
I left school - and home - completely ignorant about the joys of a man and woman coupling and with no idea how to go about it. Hard to imagine now. 18 years old and never seen a naked woman - or even part naked. I had no idea what they looked like; what wonderful treasures lay beneath their layers of clothes. Such images were, of course, completely banned in all the media and in films when a man and woman were in a bedroom they were never allowed to lie together in bed, even though they were supposed to be a married couple. The man - it was usually the man - always had to keep one foot on the ground.
Now, all this is not to say that I didn't feel some sort of magical attraction towards women, for there was something about their shape and the way they walked that pulled me towards them. However, I was far too shy and unknowledgeable to actually do anything but admire them from a distance. Everything changed when I went to stay with my aunt in London for a while.
Although it was a pretty large house the bombing raids had left their mark. The adjoining property was completely demolished and a whole side wall of my aunt's house consisted of nothing but tarpaulin. Consequently the number of rooms in use had been somewhat reduced. There was a lodger, whose rent helped my aunt make ends meet, and no spare room for me, which meant we had to share. It was a large room with two completely separate beds, so there was no need to share. Which, maybe, was just as well.
At that time 'gay' meant happy and cheerful, or brightly coloured; however, Ivor was gay in the modern usage of the word. Luckily he made no attempt to impose his predilections on me and, in fact, was most eager to help in my quest for an explanation of the way human life was propagated. After a few succinct words of elucidation I got the picture. And boy! What a picture! I was most eager to have a practical demonstration, but how? I knew no girls, except my younger cousins and they weren't eligible. What was to be done?
These were the days before the Government decided to clean up the streets. There were certain areas of London where prostitutes were thick on the ground. I was young and not earning much money, but my living expenses were small, thanks to the generosity of my aunt. I could afford to lay something out to buy the services of a 'lady of the night'. Ignorant about the actual sex act I might have been, but I knew that something happened and somehow I also knew why so many women were strolling up and down the streets in such an aimless way.
I made my decision. This was the way to get my first experience. Two nights later - how could I have contained myself for so long? - I made my way to the centre of London. I was panting to get going. My penis was pretty hard just thinking about my little project. It got even harder when I got in amongst the women offering themselves for sale and my chest was tight with anticipation.
Soho was a hive of activity for the sex industry of the day. The Windmill Theatre had been there since before the war and boasted 'We Never Closed', meaning it kept going through all the bombing whilst other theatres closed their doors. Of course, compared to today it was pretty tame stuff. Strip clubs were opening up, but they were real dives, stuck away in basements, where they sold cheap drinks at an exorbitant rate and the girls were hard-looking and lacklustre.
The pavements of Soho were not paved with gold, but they were certainly rich in nubile flesh - well, maybe not so nubile - for sale. I walked up and down one street, eyeing every female, sometimes not quite so certain they were actually on the game. I turned a corner and walked up and down another street. For two hours I circled and prowled, my heart beating fast and a slight tremble in my limbs.
Two hours.
Nothing.
Not one of the women attracted me. Besides, I lacked the courage when it came to the bit. I looked at them and looked away. I must have passed the same ones half a dozen times. A couple even offered useful information.
"Ten bob up the alley or a pound in my room."
I smiled wanly and marched on as if offended by such brazen hussies. I must admit, dear reader, I gave up. I slinked back home, tail between my legs and money still secure in my pocket. I lived to fight another day.
Actually, it was a week later when I resumed my prowl around those same streets with the same result. I was getting more and more frustrated and embarrassed with the whole business. I wandered aimlessly off the well- beaten track and found my way to Shepherd's Market, where more women were standing about. I noticed a distinct improvement in their dress and presence. Some of them were even bordering on pretty. Oo, yes. Things were looking up.
I spotted a likely applicant for my favours. I approached. She smiled. Not at all bad. I could go for this one.
"How..." I croaked. Where had my voice suddenly gone? "How much?" I managed to ask.
"Five pounds, love."
Good God! I backed off with a sickly grin. Five...did she say...FIVE POUNDS? She turned out to be less than pretty with a coarse voice. Five...I felt ill. I had enough money in my pocket - more than enough - but all the same...five whole pounds.
I staggered away, barely knowing where my feet were taking me. I was somewhere else, slightly lost. I looked at the street sign. Curzon Street. Nice houses in Curzon Street I inwardly remarked. Some nice looking girls too. Much more attractive than Soho - and Shepherd's Market. But what about the price? If lesser mortals were five pounds - I still couldn't believe it - how much are these angels going to charge? Well, perhaps angels was a slight exaggeration. But they weren't at all bad. I could easily pick out half a dozen as I walked along. These girls were obviously a few notches up from the...
Then I saw her.
She can't have been any older than myself. Medium height, dark-haired, slim and elegant. Was it possible? Perhaps I was mistaken and she wasn't a prostitute, but some young lady waiting for her escort. I decided not to be too bold, but to hold back and observe. There were other men walking along. One of them stopped by my girl. There was a brief conversation, a shake of the head and he moved on, crossing the road to speak to another girl. I became convinced that my first deduction was right. This was the one for me.
By now I was starting to feel extremely hot - in all senses of the word. My heart was beating ten to the dozen and I had the trembles again. This was it. Screwing up my courage to breaking point I went towards her.
And that's where we cut to me emerging into the street again after a most....
What do you mean - NO?
Surely you don't expect me to reveal in intimate detail the events of the next - how ever long? Do you? Take it from me I lost my virginity and that should do.
Oh. You feel let-down. Your hopes and expectations were raised only to be dashed. Well....all right. If you insist.
Where did I leave you? Feeling hot...screwing courage...towards her. Ah, yes.
She smiled. Angelic.
She spoke. "Good evening, monsieur." Delightful.
"Hell...hello." I stammered.
