preteen lolita


Related post: My Early Life BODY {MARGIN: 20px} P {COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, san-serif; TEXT-ALIGN: justify;TEXT-INDENT: 32px} H3 {COLOR: navy; FONT-FAMILY: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, san-serif; TEXT-ALIGN: center} My Early Life My Early Life. Yeah, I know it's been used before. And perhaps, as a title, it's a bit pretentious. Pretentious, moi? I know, I know, that one's be used before as well, and too often. I could call this My Early Sexual Encounters, but I won't, because, sorry to disappoint you, that's not really what this is all about. I could use some really pretentious pseudo-academic title like My PsychoSexual Development. But My Early Life is as good as any. And I know his life was rather more interesting than mine. Who wants to read the early life of Ben Carter, you may ask? Good point. Well, you don't have to. But here it is all the same. My best friend for the first eighteen years of my life was the girl next door. Yeah, I know, mundane, isn't it? But there was quite a good reason for it: I was born a month and a day after Emily, and it was handy for our mothers. I mean, if you're going to have to look after one small brat, you might as well look after two. So we spent a good deal of time together when we were little, as one mother or the other took care of us. Mind you, I don't remember the very early bits, but then no one ever does. When I was little I couldn't say 'Emily', and instead said 'Ems', and I still do. So we played together as toddlers, and went to primary school together, and to the middle school, and then the comp. Life had been good up to then, but I didn't enjoy the comp. Not at all. Lots of reasons, really. I was a late developer, which didn't help. When all the other boys were answering their names at registration in deep gruff newly broken voices, I was still piping away like one nude free 70 of the girls. I remember one of the other boys mimicking a high pitched 'Yes, miss' from me when I was thirteen. And the things that they were interested in didn't interest me at all. And the other way round too. Football left me cold, but I would happily sit in a corner with a book for half an hour. Something else too. Girls. They all started talking about girls. And they didn't interest me either. I put it down to being a late developer. Sometimes after P.E. I'd sneak a look at the other boys as they changed. Now, I knew this was dangerous. But they were all big and hairy, and, frankly, I wasn't, and I was curious about the difference. I found out how dangerous that was when one day someone turned round, and said: "Carter's gay! Look at him staring!" Up to then, 'gay' had just been one of those routine insults that people handed out. "Christ, that's gay!" they would say, when something went wrong. But now there were other undertones. I nearly got thumped that day. And I realised that being gay was dangerous. Not that I really knew what being gay was. Just that it was wrong and to be gay meant you could be thumped. But in time my voice began to break too, and I became something less of an oddity. Other changes were happening too, which was a relief, since I had begun to think there was something wrong with me. Of course, it wasn't just boys who changed. The girls did too. Ems did. Now this is not the story of Adam and Eve and the serpent. Yes, she did offer me the apple. But I didn't bite. It happened like this. We were both fourteen, and it was the summer holidays, and it was a bright hot day. I was over at Ems' house, and we were lying on her bed talking idly. Just as we'd done for years. Except it was all starting to lose its innocence. Because it was so hot, we weren't really wearing much. And obviously Ems' hormones were beginning to kick in - in fact, they had done, long before mine. We began a sort of exploring game. Yes, you can imagine. And she wanted me to explore her. It seemed a good game. And at that age, exploring someone was, well, interesting. Except, the snag was that it wasn't having the sort of effect on me that it should have done. Ems' blouse was well and truly unbuttoned, and I had explored what was inside. And she started exploring me, and was rather disappointed in what she found. Yes, it was quite big and hairy now, but somehow, well, it just sat there. It should have leapt to attention. Indeed, it should have been at attention quite a long time ago, and it wasn't. I think now that if it had, Ems and I would have lost our respective virginities that afternoon. But my dick was having nothing of it. I knew that indeed it could grow alarmingly, and become all big and stiff. And this was enjoyable. But why it wasn't big and stiff now, I didn't know. Ems was very disappointed. She twiddled and tweaked it, but without much result. Then she asked if I wanted to see what she was like 'down there'. I thought about it, and gave a disturbingly honest answer. 'Not really'. She buttoned up her blouse and I zipped up my trousers. We lay there for a bit longer, then she said: "Ben?" "Hmm?" "Are you gay?" I knew this was bad and dangerous. "Course not." "Well, you don't seem very interested in girls." The whole business can't have done much for her ego. "Umm, well, not really. Perhaps I've got to grow up a bit more," I said hopefully. "Yeah." But she seemed doubtful. "I mean, do boys interest you?" "In what way?" I was still very na´ve. At fourteen too. She sighed. "Do boys make you go hard?" I hadn't really thought about that either. "Umm .." "Think about doing something with a boy." "Like what?" "Well, imagine that instead of me lying here feeling you, imagine it was Mark Jones ." I don't where she came up with him from, but I did. Imagined his hands inside my trousers. Imagined ... then Ems grabbed me. "There," she said in triumph, "you're hard now!" And it was true. I was. "There. You must be gay!" "I don't want to be gay!" "Yeah, but you are." I didn't want to argue. We left it there. And it was another two years before Ems did lose her virginity. As for me - well, with girls, I never did. And the other problem was that because of what she'd said, late at night I started thinking about Mark Jones, and that had its effect on me, and then I'd start doing - well, you know what. Then it became other boys as well. And a few months later, I said to Ems idly one day: "You, I really think I am gay." She snorted. "We found that out ages ago." Obviously the rejection still rankled a bit. "Yeah, but your talking of Mark Jones like that." She sat up and looked at me. "Yeah?" I suppose I blushed. "Well, late at night, well, I think of him - or other boys." "When you wank, you mean." She could be very direct at times. I blushed again. "Yeah, well." "Well, we can't both have him." So that's why his name had come up. "Might be interesting though." I laughed. "A threesome?" "If he had the stamina. He might have, come to that." I thought about this, and decided I'd prefer to keep him to myself. But after that, it became accepted, I suppose, between the two of us. I trusted her enough not to think she'd tell anyone else. But things started getting difficult at the comp. There were always the big ones who were happy to pick on the little ones, and despite the fact I eventually made it to just over six foot, I was still one of the little ones then. I either used to travel to school with Ems, or of she wasn't there, I got very adept at arriving one minute before the bell, and leaving one minute after it rang at the end of the afternoon. And I found hiding places for lunchtime and break times. I think my parents got wind of this. They could have afforded to send me to a private school, but hadn't. The local state schools were pretty good on the whole. But there's no doubt my work suffered for a time. I think they must have gone to see the headmaster, for after that things seemed better, and some of my teachers seemed to be keeping an eye on me. The head of our pastoral group would take me aside from time to time, and ask me how I was getting on. I did start making much more of an effort for my GSCE year. There was a good sixth form college near us, which both Ems and I wanted to go to. But they could afford to be very choosy, and we knew we'd have to do well to get in. We used to help each other with our homework. Oddly enough, she was the wiz at maths, and me at things like English and History. I would help her disentangle some of the knottier bits of syntax in a Shakespeare speech, whereas she would look through my maths homework and sigh. "What's wrong with that, then?" I would say, pleased with myself for having got the right answer. "You did it in six lines," she said. "So?" "You can do it in two lines. Look." And I'd understand how she'd done it, but I wouldn't have been able to get that solution myself. "Girls aren't supposed to be good at maths," I'd grumble. "Oh, yes, Mr Stereotype? And drama queens can't deal with Shakespeare - is that right?" I had to grin at that. "OK. You win." "Of course." And we got mostly A stars between us in the exams. Which meant we did get into the Sixth Form College. It was closer too: we could cycle there fairly easily. And the thugs who had made life difficult for me didn't get in. "We'll have to find a boy friend for you now," she said. "No way!" "Why not?" "Because for a start, you're the only person who knows. And I don't want anyone else to know, thank you very much." Most of all I didn't want my parents to know. Perhaps I'd better tell you something about my parents. Dad worked for local government - he wasn't the Chief Executive of the county, but something quite high up. He didn't talk about it much - said work was work and home was home, and when he got home, he wanted to forget about work. Mum - she worked in the local hospital. She'd started as a nurse, but had worked up, and now was in charge of a collection of wards. She didn't talk much about work either. I was the only one - don't know why. Ems was an only child too, but that was because her mother couldn't have any more after her. I'd heard my mother and hers talking about it one afternoon. So we were a happy middle class family - nice house and all the rest of it. And I got on well with them - not like some of the stories I used to hear from other people at school. Perhaps we were a little cool emotionally as a family, but it's difficult to judge from the inside. And as well as not letting Mum and Dad know, I didn't want to be some sort of freak at the college either - 'the one that's gay'. No, thank you. So I wasn't going to spread it around there either. "Well," Ems went on, "there are about a hundred and fifty in our year. Half are girls, so that's around seventy five boys. If ten per cent are gay, then leaves another six and half for you." "I don't believe the ten per cent figure, anyway," I told her. "Maybe one per cent." "Hmm, well, that's three quarters of a boy. I reckon that's you then. All the rest are mine!" "And that's why there's no point in me coming out. If I'm the only one, then I'm not going to find a soulmate." "You could strike a blow for Gay Lib." "Yeah - but tell me why I'd want to bother." "Gays are an oppressed minority." Ems was in a very political stage at that time. "Do I look oppressed?" "No. But that's not the point." "As far as I'm concerned, it is." Starting at the college was good. Probably for the first time I met teachers who were not just interested in teaching the subject, but actually had an interest in it for its own sake. I certainly know that it was one of the history masters there who got me actually interested in what history was all about, and that's why I ended up doing it at University. But that's jumping the gun. And another thing. We'd need money at University. Oh, I know my parents would pay the fees, and give me an allowance, but I'd be a lot happier if I had some sort of financial cushion, just in case. Perhaps a car. I don't know. But anyway. Ems and I went along to the local Sainsbury. I think half their cashiers must have come from the Sixth Form College; all, like us, trying to earn some pocket money. Ems and I presented ourselves, had a five minute interview, an hour's training, and found ourselves working the tills. It could be pretty mind numbing. We had agreed to do twelve hours a week - any more, and we thought our work would suffer. Mum and Dad thought so too. We usually worked four shifts in the evenings - they kept open until ten at night. And we could work Sundays too. You got extra money for that, and it suited us anyway. And that's where I met Tony. No, not what you're thinking. Well, not quite. Not quite by a long way. You see, Ems and I D0G SEX TUBE got put onto the baskets checkout. Some people liked that, others didn't. It meant that you served lots of people in an evening, since we got the ones with only a few things, and it didn't take long to deal with each one. I got to know quite a few by sight - those who came in most evenings, and got half a dozen items at a
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