On reaching 18 and having had a big party, and then securing a place at university I felt things couldn’t be better. But whilst I studied in a seemingly male dominated year and location I began to have envious feelings for those I’d left back home. Most of my friends were hooked up with girls, some that I’d even wanted to get hooked up to myself, and here was I, working for the future but missing out on today.
Every term break and visit back home deepened my disappointment about not having a girl, to a point on one occasion I didn’t want to go back to uni.
On this particular occasion my parents booked a late holiday and the start date co-incided with when they were supposed to take me back, although I was intent on not going back anyway so I didn’t really care.
I overheard my mum telling her friend on the phone that they would have to put me in a taxi and that will reduce their bargain by about £100. But then my mum seemed to be listening and saying quite a few things like “oh right, ok then.”
When she came off the phone she told my dad that she had saved him the £100 taxi fare, her friend Julie had offered to take me. I’m still not going, I thought to myself.
Julie had been a friend of mum’s since they lived next door to each other when I was younger and before we moved to where we are now, but they still kept in touch. They often visited each other for things like parties where women buy things in the home, and just general socialising and other parties. I couldn’t quite remember Julie when we lived next door to her but as I grew through my teens I occasionally had private thoughts about her, I’m sure you know what I mean. She always seemed interested in how I was getting on at school and then sent me a good luck card when I started uni.
The last time they came to our house I remember her saying how she couldn’t believe how much I’d grown since she last saw me a few months earlier, and although feeling a little embarrassed to be centre of attention I remember thinking that I was now fractionally taller than her husband. I was also about 4 inches taller than my mum who in turn was about 2 inches taller than Julie although my mum was about 10 years older than her.
What I specifically remember about that evening was frequently being in a good position to look down Julie’s blouse that was already showing a good portion of cleavage without the added advantage that a higher angle gave.
Julie had 2 young children and was probably in her very early 30s, she had short straight brown hair and brown eyes, a well shaped curvy figure without being thin or fat, and a wonderful chest that always seemed to strain against her tops or be on show to some extent. Thinking further, to help describe, I would guess she’s about 130lbs and I’d also guess 36 or 38d up top, which for a little women not much over 5 foot tall is quite impressive I think.
Anyway, my parents left for their holiday about 4am and Julie called round about 9am. I told her I didn’t want to go, and after much sympathetic prying and encouragement she eventually got me to back down and get my bags. We didn’t say much in the car, other than me giving her directions and her trying to be cheerful about my prospects, saying how proud my parents were of me and how pleased she was that I was doing so well.
My two roomies weren’t going to arrive until later so I unlocked and led the way in, dumping the bag of food on the kitchen table as we walked through, then into my small room putting my bag of clean washing on a chair. Julie close behind asking where she should put the bag she was carrying.
“Back in the car, I don’t want to stay here,” I said.
With a sigh that said “look we’ve been though this,” Julie became more direct.
“Are you being bullied?” she asked.
“No,” I quickly replied.
“If you are you should tell someone,” she went on.
“I’m not, nothing like that,” I said.
“Is the work too hard for you,” she probed.
“No, its not the work,” I said.
“You don’t like the people? The teachers? The students?” she kept on.
“No they’re all great, its just, its,” I almost told her.
“What then,” Julie probed, probably thinking she was close to unlocking the mystery.
“I can’t tell you, it’s not something I want my parents to know, or anyone else really,” I said.
“Is it something sexual,” Julie pried.
I looked at her, wondering if she had guessed what I was thinking.
“You’re not gay?” she quietly asked.
“NO,” I loudly replied, “nothing like that, the opposite in fact.” I added.
“What then?” Julie asked.
“I can’t tell you because I know you wont keep it to yourself,” I sadly confided.
Julie looked at me and thought for a while. There was an awkward silence.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Julie broke the silence.
“I think you will though, my mum, your husband, I know you’ll tell someone if I told you, look lets just go back home,” I tried to give the option for us to leave.