Please read parts 1 and 2 of this story together. They are the same longer story split in two halves to make it easier to read. For lovers of incest in particular, the 'main event' is in Part 2.
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It was November 1983 and I was in my final year of school – the year we call the 'Upper Sixth'. England was a world without internet, mobile phones, personal computers, e-mails or text messages. Like most of Europe, it was a country with dirty, badly lit phone boxes that ate your money then disconnected you, letters that got lost for weeks, a poor motorway network and very few students with cars. Sex was much less casual though AIDS was almost unknown - condoms were made only by Durex and were a source of embarrassed giggling rather than a life-preserving necessity.
It was just past my eighteenth birthday so I could now legally drink in pubs and was learning to drive in my Mum's already elderly Mini.
I thought I was so grown-up!
Of course I was mostly working flat out for my forthcoming exams the following May and June, with the exciting prospect intended for all of us in our Private School – getting into a good University.
There was a lot of sport too – there was always a lot of good, healthy sport in Private schools – but I enjoyed that too. Apart from being a break from the relentless pressure of academic work, it helped to keep me in shape physically and for an eighteen year old girl in 1983, being good looking was very important indeed.
Very tall for a girl, skinny and dark like my older brother Michael, I suppose I was considered quite good looking but had always felt self conscious about my height and tended to dress down and be a bit shy. On the few occasions when I wanted to look a little sexier and not being confident in my own dress sense, I would try and copy the way my brother's girlfriend-of-the-moment dressed, whether it suited me or not. This resulted in a number of fashion disasters, which if you remember the 'eighties' were widespread and didn't help my confidence with boys.
As a result, most boys didn't consider me good girlfriend material – still less a prospect for a one night stand - especially after I had spectacularly failed to deliver the goods on a couple of dates. Consequently I had acquired a bit of a reputation for being inaccessible – frigid as one cruel boy had put it – and my usual dress of jeans, trainers and a sweat shirt didn't do anything to dispel that impression.
I wasn't a virgin though; on two occasions I had allowed a boy's penis to enter my body. Both times had been with the same boy; my brother's best friend and look-alike, David.
David had taken my cherry after my brother's eighteenth birthday party at our house when, unaccustomed to drink and full of emotion, I had allowed him to take me into my own bedroom and deflower me on my own bed while my brother slept off his boozy evening on the sofa downstairs. It had been awkward, clumsy and had hurt a lot. Fortunately my mother had believed my story of an early period to explain the blood stain on the sheet.
The second occasion had been a week later in the same room when I learned that my deflowering had been David's first time too which explained the extreme clumsiness and awkwardness we had both suffered. The second occasion was much better, if rather short and although it still hurt, I did get some pleasure out of the experience.
In our naiveté we didn't think to use condoms – they were much more difficult to get in those days before AIDS made us think more sensibly. On both occasions, unable to control himself, David came deep within me and I was lucky not to fall pregnant.
Now I am over 50 and with much more experience, I realise that I was quite tight and David unusually large as well as inexperienced, providing an unfortunate and painful introduction to sex for us both. Frankly, this put me off doing it with anyone at all for a while.
Then David and my brother Michael went off to different Universities and I was left at home with Mum and Dad. David and I kept in touch intermittently by letter for a few months then I learned through Mike (who didn't know he and I had actually slept together) that David had found a new girlfriend at University.
I cried a lot for a few days then got on with my life.
'Getting on with my life' mostly involved working flat out for my exams which of course added to my reputation for inaccessibility and frigidity. Although I did have occasional boyfriends, none of them got further than the heavy petting stage so I remained secretly 'busted' but celibate until the moment this story begins.
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It was Winter Term at school and the pressure was on! The English education system involves taking Advanced Level exams in three main subjects at the end of your final year, which is usually at the age of eighteen. Known as A Levels (please don't laugh), they are all-important in that the University you go to, or indeed whether you go to University at all, depends entirely on the grades achieved in those subjects.
The final year at school is therefore spent focussing hard on exam success and of course, on choosing the right course at the right University. There is still time for sport and a few other activities but academic pressures always come first.
Part of the University selection process in those days involved attending Open Days and having interviews at the Universities that were in the list of five you were allowed to select. Being a 'Straight A' student I was looking at those colleges that offered the best course in my chosen field. Inevitably, some Universities were strong in more than one discipline and among the list of my top five choices were Oxford and the University where my older brother had been studying for a whole year already.
Mike had done well at school and was at that time in his second year of Medical School in a prestigious University in the south west of the country. Tall, dark and athletic, Mike had played rugby throughout his schooldays and had continued it at University. He had always been a favourite with my school friends, most of whom had at some time had major crushes on him – to be honest I had always something of a crush on him myself - and at least two of my friends had tried unsuccessfully to tempt him into bed. Their failure had partly been due to a lack of self confidence on Mike's part but mostly due to a reason I didn't realise at the time.
So I had applied to Mike's University as one of my five choices and had been called to interview. The first important step had been passed! My appointment was to be on a Saturday morning following the department's Open Day on the Friday, a day in which all important parts of the University would be offering presentations and demonstrations so potential students could have a really good idea of what going there would be like.
I had attended just such an event at a University about twenty miles away the previous month so knew what to expect and was excited about the whole, grown-up experience. I was, as you would expect, very nervous but Dad had given me lots of interview practice and I was as prepared as I could be.
The plan was to go down by train on Thursday evening, stay overnight at Mike's, spend Friday at the Open Day, another night with Mike then for Dad to pick me up straight after my interview on Saturday morning so I would be in time to play hockey for the school that afternoon.
All went well with my journey, despite the best efforts of British Rail and Mike met me at the station looking even taller and more handsome than I remembered, confident in his new stomping ground wearing the obligatory jeans, trainers and a brightly striped rugby shirt from our team back home.
After we had hugged our hellos, he nobly took my suitcase and we caught a bus through the big city towards his house.
I was enchanted. We lived in a market town in the midlands so the city and the prospect of living there for three years was quite an adventure. And as cities went, this one was special too, filled with imposing buildings from bygone periods but still bright, busy and trendy with a waterfront, hills and plenty of green areas. I could tell why Mike loved being there so much.
My brother shared a house with four other boys in a pleasant but run down area not far from the University. The house was big with high ceilings and rather tatty but to the eighteen year old me it seemed like a palace and the freedom it represented was a dream come true.
I had met some of Mike's housemates before at rugby matches and had got on well with them, although they had tended to treat me like a little girl – something I was determined would not happen this time. One or two had made an attempt at chatting me up but it appeared Mike had declared me 'off limits' and all attempts had been half hearted, though I had been flattered by the attention of good looking older boys. It certainly helped that they were almost all well over six feet tall, which made me feel a lot less self conscious about my own skinny height.
After I had dumped my bag in Mike's room and seen the mattress on the floor where I was to sleep for the next two nights, we ate the classic student staple diet – spaghetti Bolognese - in their kitchen before the boys and two of their girlfriends took me on a night time tour of the city, stopping off at a few favourite pubs as we walked down by the waterfront and along the old streets. As a gesture to the 'big night out' I had put on a little more make-up than usual and was wearing a slim fitting jumper rather than my usual shapeless sweat shirt, though the jeans and trainers remained.
