      




First Love : by (c) Hamilton Joyce  mf   Mfm

I have her photo in front of me as I write, almost the only relic of those long ago 
days, because of all the travels and travails of my life. In monochrome she 
stands there, a pouting, truculent teenager, but heart-stoppingly lovely. Long 
blonde hair to her shoulders, bedraggled into rats' tails as she has clearly been 
swimming. Her white swimming costume is in contrast to her sun-tanned skin. 
You can see she has grown since she was given the costume, as her breasts seem 
to be in danger of popping out. And if I look closely at her little mound I can 
just make out the shape of those cuntlips I loved so much. The photo only 
survived at all because it has nestled in my wallet, a constant companion, for 
fifty years.

On the back of the photo, in a childish, penciled scrawl  I had written ' Sandy. 
Age 13. 1958.'

 During the school summer holidays that year, and for several before, my father 
parked me and my mother at a strange place called Juggs Haven. He had 
somehow acquired an abandoned Catalina flying-boat, left over from the war. 
Or rather he had the fuselage. Everything of value had been removed during the 
war, and he had removed the wings to convert it into a sort of lifeboat. Sandy's 
father had converted a wartime landing-craft, equally abandoned by the Ministry 
of Defense. Side-by-side, in their muddy creek, the two wrecks sat in the mud, 
or floated up with each tide. Little brown and green crabs scuttled around and 
between them. And through my porthole, I could see Sandy at her porthole.

Juggs Haven is now an up-market Marina. Then it was a ramshackle collection 
of wooden shacks, up on stilts to be above the spring tides, up-turned boats, and 
converted debris of war. There were about a dozen regular inhabitants. As I 
remember it they were all male. Calling themselves longshoremen or fishermen, 
they scratched a poor living just on the wrong side of the law.

Over the other side of the estuary, it was true wilderness. The beach was called 
Horse Strand, and it still had the iron scaffolds and spikes put there to foil any 
attempted invasion during the war. Behind the Strand was a relic of another 
European war, a fort built to foil Napoleon's invasion. It was ruined, and in 
parts flooded. Behind that was just miles and miles of tidal marshes and muddy 
creeks.

Sandy and I loved Horse Strand, of course. But it was only possible to get over 
there on fine weekends, when, if there were enough takers, a fisherman called 
Rollo would ferry people over in the morning and back in the evening for 
sixpence. On weekdays it was impossible, and the current in the estuary was too 
dangerous, even though both of us were strong swimmers.

Not that it was boring our side of the estuary. We were called mudlarks, as we 
enjoyed playing in the muddy creeks, where we would get covered in the rich 
black mud, only to wash it off in the clear sea-water the other side of the shingle 
spits. There were eels to catch in muddy buckets, and release in the tidal pool in 
the center of the settlement. We also caught eels on baited lines in the estuary at 
the slack of the tide, when they congregated, and would fry them up with eggs 
and marsh samphire grass on fires made out of driftwood, and coconut husks. 
Strangely, the beach was covered in washed-up coconut shells then. You never 
see any now. We had a yellow rubber inflatable dinghy, Royal Air Force rescue 
equipment, in which we used to paddle up and down the creeks.

On Friday evenings our two fathers would appear, in the same car. Then the 
silence of the marshes and seabirds would be broken by moans, grunts and 
panting from the thin-walled houseboat cabins. Sandy explained to me what my 
mother and father were doing, and in great and graphic detail too. Sex education 
was even then better for girls than for boys. Perhaps they just listened more 
attentively. Anyway, it was something we giggled over a lot.

But it was the mystery of deserted Horse Strand that always beckoned us. 

'Please Mr Rollo. Take us over. We won't be no trouble.'

'Couldn't , sweetie. You know the cost of diesel?'

A word about Rollo. He was more debris from the war. He had had one of those 
strange wars, mixed up in all sorts of dangerous expeditions behind enemy lines. 
And he was one of those who never came to terms with civilian life. He lived by 
himself in an upturned barge with a door cut in it and covered in black tar. He 
still had the authority of his former army rank. (My guess is he was a sergeant). 
All summer he wore the same ragged khaki shorts, and nothing else. Sandy and 
I were tanned brown: he was nearly black, He was tall, and muscular, without 
being heavy. More a runner than a boxer if you see what I mean. His curly 
blonde hair was bleached almost white by the sun, and was longer than the 
'fifties convention. As I remember him, his chest was almost hairless. He was 
startlingly handsome, with his blue eyes and burned skin. His open profession 
was lobster fisherman, but he certainly smuggled. He was also one of the 
'salvage sharks'. These gentlemen of the sea fought each other to get a line onto 
any yacht or small boat in trouble, and then claim the salvage.' He was a rogue, 
but a nice one!

Anyway, for a week he refused. And then one day we saw him considering 
something. 'Shouldn't! But show us your tits, sweetie, and I'll take you over.' 
Sandy always was a daredevil, and not at all timid. And, it must be said she had 
tits any girl would be proud of. She just pulled up her shirt and showed him. 
'Worth a trip,' he laughed. 'And you Boy-Ronnie, show us your cock.' Sandy's 
were the first tits I'd really seen, not counting photos of black girls in National 
Geographic, and I now know they were the best I was ever to see in a long and 
lecherous life. So I had a hard-on when I unbuttoned for him. 'Worth a trip, 
too.' I could see Sandy's eyes gleaming as she looked at my pecker, and I didn't 
mind at all that I was hard for her!

Horse Strand was even better when we had it all to ourselves. We had explored 
the fort, run along the beach, skipped stones over the mill-pond sea, and were 
lying side-by-side on the sun-hot shingle. 'You think he'll bring us over again.'

'Yes. You should have seen his eyes narrow when you showed him your tits. He 
loved it.'

'And your cock, Ronnie. Show me again.'

'Yours too, then. We don't need all these clothes.'

And so in a couple of seconds two teenage playmates were transformed into 
lovers. Innocent and unskilled perhaps, but lovers nonetheless. We both had 
grotesque tan-lines where decency had forced us to cover what were in the 
parlance of the 'fifties known as our 'privates', and she a tiny strip including her 
rosy-pink nipples.

'I think you look lovely.' My prick was, of course hard.

'Mmmm.' Her finger had strayed down to her mound, with its light, almost 
invisible blonde fuzz, and as I watched, the index finger slipped between the 
plump pink lips, so mysterious to a young boy.

I found I was jerking my cock too, almost without thinking. 'I like doing this. I 
didn't know girls do it too.'

'Well, I do, Ronnie. Look, you do mine, and I'll do yours.'

She moved so we were touching thigh-to-thigh, and her tiny, soft hand moved 
up and down my shaft, while my finger slid into her slippery slit. 'Higher, yes. 
You feel that nub. That's called a clitoris, and it's the best place. Am I doing it 
right?'

'Yes. That's lovely. Down the front is best, but all over, really.' She was feeling 
a nipple with one hand, and I knew she wanted me to, so I pressed my hand on 
that firm little breast and rubbed the nipple between finger and thumb. She was 
flushed, and I could feel I'd come soon. I rolled over so my chest was on hers. 
We kissed, and as she heaved beneath me I came into her hand, and from her 
sudden quietness I knew she had come too.

We lay side by side. 'That was better, for me, Sandy.'

'For me, too. Better than by yourself. From now on I only want to do it with 
you, Ronnie. Let's save it up for each other.'

And so every morning and evening Rollo got his peepshow, and all day Sandy 
and I played, and petted, and jerked each other off.

It was probably a week later that the inevitable happened. It must have been at 
least a week, because I can recall her body that day, with its tan-lines faded, 
burned away by our new nudist life. We had played together twice, coming in 
our childish way, and were laying in the warm water of a pool left behind by the 
morning tide. Sandy was playful and was tickling me under my armpit. She 
loved this, as I was very ticklish (still am). I was fighting to get away from her,  
wriggling and struggling and laughing hysterically. I lay on to of her to try to 
stop her. Imperceptibly, our struggling became lovemaking. Her tits pressed into 
me, and her arms and legs were round my back as we kissed. I felt my cock slide 
in her slit, stopping wedged against the opening of her vagina. Then I felt the 
knob slip into her. She gave a start, but her belly pressed harder into me, and I 
felt my cock slide into her. And we were fucking...just like she had described 
our mums and dads doing. I felt her come, her vagina gripping and milking my 
young cock. And then I was coming, so much more intensely than ever before.

We lay there, shell-shocked.

'That was....'

'I know, Sandy. It was...'

'Let's go up on the shingle, and do it again, Ronnie...'




Our families were respectable, despite their hippy-like existence in summer, and 
on Sundays we went to chapel. I had to wear flannel shorts and a jacket and tie. 
Sandy wore her best dress, white silk with blue satin trimmings. And more to 
the point, no lady went to church then bare-legged. So she had to wear stockings 
and suspender-belt as well as her pretty panties. My lifelong love of lingerie 
probably dates from these Sundays. The preacher was worth listening to, as he 
threatened the congregation with hell and damnation for fornication. I would 
catch Sandy's eye, and see the gleam there. We both felt that our fondling and 
fumbling with each other was well worth the outside chance of a rendezvous 
with Old Nick.
When we knelt for prayer, her hand would slip up my shorts and grip my cock. I 
would slip a hand up under her hem and feel her panties, slipping a finger 
towards her clit. How I loved, and still love, that two inches of soft flesh above 
the glossy stocking tops!

But I would never have seen those pretties were it not for a happy chance. It 
seldom rained that summer, but one Sunday on the way back from church it did, 
just as we were passing Rollo's shack. It was heavy summer rain,  big spots 
making craters in the gray dust . 'It'll spoil my frock.' Sandy was casting about, 
trying to find some shelter.

Rollo was at his door. 'Don't stand there like stranded codfish. Ere, come in out 
of that.'

'Ere, some of this to freshen up that tea. Tea without brandy is poor spinsters' 
piss. This is good stuff straight from France. No mean little English grocer ever 
got his hands on this stuff.'

The 'stuff' certainly warmed me, and I could see Sandy getting round it, too.

'You look pretty as a picture, sweetie. Almost worth going to chapel to see you. 
Almost...but not quite.' He took a slug straight from the bottle. 'Nice quiet place 
for a boy and girl to play, Horse Strand. Nobody to see, eh?' Another slug. 'I 
seen you, you know. I seen your little games.'

I'm sure I choked on my drink, and I can remember blushing. But Sandy went 
straight into the attack. 'None of your business Mr Seth Rollo. Spyin on people. 
And it don't harm nobody, not no how. So there!'

'Waren't spyin. Clearin a lobster pot washed up on the Strand. Couldn't miss 
you there at top o beach. And very nice it war too. But you shouldn't let him do 
you, sweetie, not without a French Letter.' Condoms were called French Letters 
then: they came in little individual envelopes,  colored pink and claret, Either 
that or durex, the company that made them. 'You let him do you like that and 
you'll get knocked up. And then you'll be in trouble, both of you. Ain't worth 
it.'

'And where will I get durexes from?' They were sold at the pharmacy, or at the 
barber's shop. 'Something for the weekend sir?' I could just imagine the 
reception a thirteen-year-old would have got trying to buy contraceptives. 
They'd probably have called the police!

'Can't have you in the family way, though, sweetie You're way too pretty. I'll 
get some for you. I'll get you a gross. That's a hundred and forty four. Enough?'

'Cor!' I was doing mental arithmetic, one hundred and forty four divided by 
three. We usually fucked three times a day. I probably thought it was about sixty 
days worth.

'Course, I'll want to use some myself.'

'With Sandy? I'm not sure...'

'What's it to do with you, Ronnie? It's my cunt, and I wouldn't mind Rollo doin 
me. I'd like Rollo doin me. So there!'

'That's right. You tell im, sweetie. Here. I got one here.' He undid his belt and 
his tattered shorts dropped to his bare feet. He was stark naked, and he was 
erect!

Now, I've seen many a cock since, and I expect some of them have been longer 
or broader. But none of them have ever had the effect that the first adult cock, 
fully erect and ready, had on me. I was astounded. And so was Sandy. We both 
gasped, and stepped forward.

'Like what e' see eh?' He opened the little envelope and threw the paper on the 
floor. I watched entranced as he rolled the pink latex the length of that 
astoundingly long cock. 'There. See, sweetie. That's what you need. You 
watchin, Boy-Ronnie. You might larn summat!'

Sandy had decided. As I watched, she pulled the white silk dress up over her 
head, and dropped it in a careless heap on the floor. She stood there in her little 
white court 'chapel' shoes and her glossy tan stockings. But it was the white 
lace suspender-belt and the dazzling white, shiny, satin panties that held me. As 
I write, fifty years later, I'm hard at the memory of them.

His cock waved in front of him as he walked towards her, smiling his handsome 
smile. 'Now, ain't you a picture in your pretties, little missy.' She hugged him, 
her blonde hair just reaching his chest, and I could see she was holding his cock 
as he slipped his hands inside her panties and eased them down her thighs, till 
they fell to her feet of their own accord. 'And ain't that pretty too? Lovely little 
blondie cunt. Old Rollo'll fill that for e, sweetie.'

I watched as he lifted her as if she were no weight at all, and carried her to his 
cot bed. He lay her down on it, and kissed her tits, each of them, her belly 
button, her mound, and then, laying beside her, her mouth. She was still holding 
onto his pink-rubbered cock. I felt no jealousy, only excitement, as he rolled on 
top of her, and  could see from her face that he had penetrated her. The look of 
shock and apprehension as it was forced in was immediately replaced by a smile 
of contentment, and her arms gripped his shoulders even tighter. Her legs 
crossed over his bottom as he began to fuck her. 

I stood by the bed and watched from inches away.

'Take those shorts off, Boy-Ronnie and help her. Feel her up a bit. And show us 
your prick.'

My clothes joined theirs scattered over the wooden floor, and I knelt by the bed. 
He had his weight on his elbows now, and I could reach for her breasts and 
fondle them, as I knew she liked. I tweaked her nipples, and squeezed her firm 
tits, and was rewarded by a moan of pleasure. Her eyes were closed. I ran a hand 
down Rollos' back from the tanned, leathery shoulders to his startling, white 
bottom. Here the skin was smooth and soft, as soft as Sandy's bosom. An 
impulse took me, and I leaned over him and kissed his buttock as he moved up 
and down, into and out of her.

'That's the way, Boy-Ronnie. Get on top and give me a good lickin. Look at her 
face.'

I knelt between his legs and felt the leathery skin of his thighs, and then the 
white softness of his buttocks. I was licking more than kissing now. I could see 
her face, and I knew she was on the verge of coming. Without stopping my 
caressing of Rollo, I reached around and under him, and squeezed her breast 
again. Now she came, with those little moaning squeaks I knew so well. This 
time, however, they kept rising until she was making a shouting, grunting noise 
that I was sure could be heard all over the settlement. And her language was 
something else.

I was sure Rollo had been holding back till she came...I had just learned how to 
do this myself for her. As soon as she was coming at her noisiest, I heard him 
grunting as his thighs crashed into her even harder and faster. Then they lay still, 
and silent.

I sat on an old upright chair and waited. Rollo rolled off her, stood up,  and 
pulled the French Letter off. I could see it was full of much more cum than I 
could make. He tossed it into a bucket in the corner, and wiped his cock on his 
shorts. 'Now that war something. You've taught her well, Boy-Ronnie.'

'Have you got one I can use, Rollo?' My balls were aching with lust, and my 
prick was like steel with wings.

'Have to wait till tomorrow. But I'll show you another good way, when you 
don't need one.'

Sandy had heard this and it had broken through her satisfied post-sex reverie . 
She closed her legs and sat up. I caught a glimpse of the bright pink of her inner 
lips, that I knew so well.

'It'll have to be on the floor. No room on the bed for all of us. He threw a 
cushion and his two pillows on the floor. 'Now, you first, missy.'He positioned 
her on her side, with her legs open. 'Now you, Boy-Ronnie. With your head 
between her legs. Now kiss her. You know where she wants to be licked. ' He 
completed the triangle with his limp cock up to her face. Now you suck me till I 
get hard again, and I'll suck this pretty cock.'

For the first time I felt a warm, wet mouth over my cock ,a tongue flickering 
round it, and the suction of his lips and cheeks. I concentrated on giving 
pleasure Sandy, nibbling and sucking at her clit, fondling her bottom, and 
rubbing her cuntlips with my free hand. I knew from her plumping cunt, and the 
way she was moving her bottom in little fucking motions that I had it right.  But 
it was all I could do to stop myself from coming. I wasn't sure whether Rollo 
would want me to come in his mouth, though I knew that one day I wanted him 
to come in mine.

I managed to keep myself at the very edge of pleasure, until I felt and heard her 
coming again. I had my index finger in her, and I felt her vagina contracting, 
relaxing, and contracting again on it. I forgot everything else as I shagged 
Rollo's mouth, and pumped my cum into it. I needn't have worried. He 
swallowed it all, and licked the last oozing drops from the end.

Sandy had got Rollo hard again. Her mouth, and the feel of her hard young tits 
had worked their magic on him.

'And now, I'm going to show you a way that you have to learn how to like. It's 
like brandy. Hurts and burns at first. But when you're used to it it's good. You 
want to try. 'Oh, yes,' Sandy said. I didn't know the question was addressed to 
me, so he had to repeat it. 'It may hurt a bit at first, but then it's good. You want 
to try it, Boy-Ronnie?'

My reply was hesitant. 'Ok, Rollo.'

'Sweetie, there's some olive oil by the stove there. Bring us it. Now, Ronnie, my 
sweet, you lay on this cushion, yes, with your leg bent like that.' I felt the oil 
dribble down the crease of my arse, over my arsehole. Then his fingers pressing 
and rubbing there, slipping up and down. 'You enjoyed my bottom while I was 
fucking?'

'Oh yes, Rollo. I loved feeling and kissing it.'

'Well, I'm enjoying yours too. Nicest bottom I've seen in many a year. Boy 
bottom, that is, Sandy. Yours is the nicest girl bottom. Now is that nice?'

'Tickles. But it's nice.' The tip of his finger was slipping into me. I liked it, and 
wondered why he had warned me about pain. Then his whole finger slid into 
me, and I could feel it moving about in me. Suddenly the neutral feeling was 
replaced by a shock of pleasure. 'That's what I wanted, Boy-Ronnie.' As he 
spoke he withdrew his finger and now I knew two fingers were up me. I arched 
back to meet them. He was stretching my bottom, and I guessed what he was 
going to do.

'Oh, Not that, Rollo. You're too big.'

'If this little sweetie can take me in her tight little cunt, then you can in your 
lovely bottom. Now be patient.' I was sure he had three fingers in me. And then 
he paused. He was oiling his angry looking cock. I felt his weight against the 
back of my thighs, and then an urgent pressure of his knob against my anus. 
'Sandy knelt my the bed and kissed my neck. I felt her softer hand caress my 
shoulders. 'Be brave, Ronnie. I'm sure it'll be good. And I'll let you do me like 
that if you want.'

As she spoke, I felt the knob slide in, and then a sudden pain as the length 
slipped up me, and my anus contracted on it in an involuntary spasm. 'Relax, 
Boy-Ronnie, and it'll go away.' It did pass, of course, and he was fucking me, 
slowly and gently. I can't say there was much pleasure in it for me. But there 
was no pain either, and I was happy to be giving Rollo pleasure. I knew I was 
because he was fondling my bottom, and whispering flattering comments about 
my body. He was going faster now, and then he reached under me with both 
hands and pulled me up till I was kneeling. He pulled me back onto him, and I 
could feel the broader part of his cock stretching me as he won that last inch. 
His thighs were smacking against mine, and then I heard the grunts that meant 
he was coming. Suddenly his cock moved easier, and I knew I had received his 
spunk.

He wiped his cock in a bowl of water by the stove, and came back with a damp 
cloth to wipe my sticky bottom. 'Be nice to carry on more. But you better be off 
home. Rain's stopped now, and wouldn't do for your dads to know what you 
been at.'




Next morning, Rollo had a quick feel of both of us as well as his usual 
peepshow.

On Horse Strand, we found a heap of old ropes, and Sandy turned them into a 
good game, combining our childish adventure games with our new sex play. She 
was the Pirate Queen, and I was her captive. She tied me to one of the anti-
landing-craft scaffolds and strutted around me acting out her role.

She had decided I was a hell and damnation preacher, like Pastor Smike at the 
chapel. 'I have you now, you old, black cockroach.' The short piece of rope she 
wielded stung me across my thighs. 'I'll give you condemning young girls to 
hell just for pleasuring themselves.' Again the rope struck, higher this time, 
across my prick and belly. Her tits were lovely as she swung the rope, and I was 
as usual erect. 'I shall have you buggered, by Captain Rollo. That will teach you 
to preach at me.' She couldn't keep the game up as she giggled. But she had one 
more try. 'I know a sure way of sending you to hell, Preacher. You are about to 
commit a sin.' Giggling, she knelt in the shingle in front of me and took my 
knob in her mouth. Using what Rollo had taught her the day before, she sucked, 
licked and nibbled. I was helpless, of course, but close to paradise. Then, as I 
was about to come, I felt her tiny finger slip into my bottom. I just exploded into 
her mouth.

Later. 'What about you, Sandy?'

'Oh, I came too. I was jerking while I sucked you. When you filled my mouth, I 
came. Next time, you be the Pirate Captain, and I'll be a helpless Princess 
you've captured. You can rape me. I'd like that.'



Rollo was early that afternoon. We thought he would be! He left his shorts in 
the little boat, and walked up the beach to us dangling a box, tied in a red 
ribbon. He presented it to Sandy. 'A present for missy. One hundred and forty 
four fucks, tied in a ribbon'.

'Oh, Rollo. Thanks,' She kissed him, her breasts against his smooth chest. She 
opened the casket, and took two envelopes out. 'One each.'

As I rolled the latex over my cock for the first time, Rollo was organizing the 
event. 'I'll do her from behind, so you can suck her clit at the same time. Then 
you do her, and I'll suck her.'

'Mmmmm.' Sandy was kneeling down ready. 'And then we've got a new tying-
up game we can play.


It was a long hot summer, all summer long.

                                           FIN

All that was a very long time ago. I still feel that you are out there somewhere, 
Sandy, and if you read this then know that I would still like to play pirates with 
you on some deserted beach. 




 


