I slammed my hand down on the loudly buzzing alarm clock beside my bed, choking off its insistent drone. Glowing angry-red numbers showed the unearthly hour – six o'clock – but I didn't care.
At long last it was Friday. THE Friday! HE was coming home today. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.
My brother Mike was coming home for Christmas. My Mike! My big, beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous brother and, after that truly life-changing night in his University bedroom, the second lover in my young life.
My tummy filled with butterflies as my slowly waking brain ran through every scenario it could imagine.
What if he ignored me as if it hadn't happened...?
What if he hated me now, or thought what we had done was disgusting and wouldn't speak to me...?
What if he had a new girlfriend and didn't want or need me any more...?
But what if he still loved me and still wanted me THAT way...?
Oh please God let it be that...
They were ridiculous questions and deep down I knew this. After all, we had spoken briefly on the phone twice since my visit - always from a phone box so our parents couldn't overhear - and I had his wonderful letter hidden underneath my clean knickers in the bottom drawer of my dresser. I must have read it a hundred times already and knew it by heart but when you're in love, you never quite feel secure.
Not writing back, not telling him how I truly felt had been one of the hardest things I had ever had to do, but I knew if I told Mike how madly in love and in lust with him I was, I would never know how he really felt about me. And I had to know for certain!
For the first time, I was learning what it felt like to be newly in love and, contrary all I had read in my foolish holiday romances, it wasn't a very happy condition at all – especially when the object of your uncontrollable affection is not by your side. It was so easy to get things out of perspective and so hard to get him out of my mind. On the few occasions I did manage to concentrate on other things I felt guilty and insecure afterwards.
I suppose all girls in the throes of their first love go through similar pains, but for me it was doubly hard not being able to talk to anyone about the way I felt. Most girls confide in their best friend or even their mother but with Mike and my relationship so obviously forbidden even these outlets weren't available to me and with him still away at Uni with no phone, I often felt terribly alone.
And on top of the whole emotional girlfriend / boyfriend turmoil there was the increasingly undeniable fact that in his bed I had tasted real, highly pleasurable, passionate, orgasm-inducing sex for the first time, only to have it taken away again almost immediately. I had been surprised just how badly I wanted to re-live that incredible experience and how often I imagined myself climaxing at his hands again.
Over the previous three weeks, in an attempt to feel closer to Mike, I had found spurious reasons to go into his room, and sometimes would lie silently on his bed, imagining what it would be like to be lying there alongside him – or on other, more heated occasions, even beneath him! I wondered whether he was thinking about me the same way and looked about his room in vain for any sign that he might feel about me the way felt about him.
Sometimes I would touch myself as I lay there, remembering how it had felt to have his fingers where mine now worked, but it was no substitute for the real thing. And how many times had my dreams been filled with images of that amazing night, remembering how it felt to have his strong, handsome body above mine, feeling his lips on mine, feeling his hands on my boobs, feeling his incredible erection within my body once again...
On one occasion, I did find a small stash of porn magazines hidden under his mattress. Although I was initially shocked, after a few minutes flicking through them I was pleased to see that his taste ran to tall, skinny girls with small boobs. That at least I could provide!
And it had been so hard to concentrate at school, too. My best friend Linda had three times caught me unconsciously doodling the letters M and N in love hearts on my writing pad during lessons, but I had kept my secret despite her teasing me and trying desperately to guess which of our classmates I was besotted with.
If only she knew!
Whatever he felt about me, I would learn it today. I felt very insecure and nervous, desperately needing to be in his arms again, knowing how utterly devastated I would be if he rejected me after all we had so recently done together, and all I wanted to be to him in the future.
My school classes were due to end at lunchtime so I calculated I should be home about an hour before Mike's train was due to arrive. That should give me just enough time to make myself look my best for him, but just in case school overran, I needed to make a few preparations now.
With a final act of determination, I threw back the pink, flowery duvet and swung my legs over the side of the bed, my short cotton nightie riding up almost to my waist as I swivelled round on my bare bottom. Opening the third drawer of my dresser, I rummaged beneath the clean knickers where Mike's letter was concealed and drew out a long, slim packet of pills. With my eyes on the bedroom door, I popped one into my mouth and quickly swallowed it with a sip of the slightly stale water in the glass alongside me. I hid the pills away again, remembering guiltily my secret appointment with our Doctor, his assurance that my parents would never be told why I had been to see him and the prescription I clutched in my hand as I left.
That small but important job out of the way, I rose to my feet, my legs stiff from the previous day's exercise and stood in front of the full length mirror fastened to my wardrobe door. Turning first left then right, I smoothed down my nightie and looked at the legs revealed below. They looked long – ridiculously long and skinny too – but were still slim and soft; in need of a shave but that would be dealt with shortly. I ran my fingers over my skin as I hoped he would soon run his.
Would he still want to touch me? Slowly and properly this time in the daylight instead of the late night, unplanned, inexperienced lovemaking which was all we had managed before?
Would his broad hands cup my buttocks again, drawing my body into his?
Would his fingers squeeze my tiny boobs again, the way I loved so much?
I looked again at the clock. To my horror a full ten minutes had passed in this reverie. Pulling myself together I skipped across the landing to the bathroom and turned on the taps.
***
Half an hour later I was sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in my school uniform, pretending to eat breakfast, the plague of butterflies in my tummy replacing my normally healthy appetite. Fortunately Mum was so excited at the prospect of her son's return that she didn't notice any difference in me. As I sipped my orange juice I tried half heartedly to listen to her excited babble.
"...So I'll leave work on the dot of five to be here when he walks through the door... We've hardly heard from him the last few weeks..."
I knew the truth of that only too well. The two phone calls we had made and the single letter I had received had been totally inadequate for a love affair - but in truth were more than we had agreed.
In fact I had written to Mike at least two dozen times on pink paper with coloured pens and more love hearts than the human mind could comfortably cope with – but they were all still unposted under my mattress.
The result was that I still didn't really understand how my brother truly felt about... me... about us!
"If you see him first tell him there's juice in the fridge and plenty to make a sandwich..."
