Ros's story
Why I was called Rosamund, I'll never know! Perhaps something to do with my mother's passion for horses, or my father's fondness for Schubert! Nothing to do with roses - I could never be compared to a rose!
I was brought up during the second world war and was regarded as something of a tomboy. I was into athletics and keep fit, and all that sort of thing. I am an only child and I think my parents were hoping for a boy. But they got me instead! No dolls and cuddly toys when I was young - cars and soldiers and boys' toys. I was brought up as a boy, with short hair, sensible shoes and trousers - though at school I had to wear the regulation skirt and blouse. I played football and cricket with the other boys, and excelled at games and track events, so I had well-developed muscles.
I wasn't very tall, but above average I guess. I had longish legs, but I didn't have big tits! My nipples were okay, though. Like a dried fruit on a small biscuit! And they really swell hard when excited! In fact, I was sturdy and quite boyish, though there was no inclination to be attracted to other girls, even though I was popular. I was outgoing and competitive - always wanting to be better than the others, to show my superiority at physical things. And I was fiercely independent - some would call pig-headed. That's why they made me head girl at school, I suppose. So, it was no surprise that I chose to study physical training at college. Coupled with English literature, which I enjoyed.
Whilst my peers were beginning to go out with boys, I had no particular interest in them, apart from playing their games, preferring to save my passion and strength for the track! In a curious way, winning a race would always give me a kind of orgasm which I can't describe, nor explain. I got a buzz throughout my whole body and felt the heavy tingling between my legs. I achieved my satisfaction by winning.
I remember one boy, jealous of my winning record, who decided to remind me that I was only a girl by trying to feel my tits. He came up behind me in the gym and, saying I was just a girl like other girls, he slipped his hands up my vest to prove it. I swung round on him and belted him. I think I caught him with my elbow, but anyway, he was felled to the floor, knocked out! So, after that, no boy dared to try to touch my body again!
My cousin Peggy was what I regarded as a conventional woman. She planned to get married to a doctor, which was why she was going to train as a nurse. She said nurses always got the man with the stethoscope. Until then, although she was curious about the male sex, her body was not to be tampered with by any other guy. She was friendly with Johnnie's pal, Roy, who pestered her to let him make love to her, to satisfy their inbred curiosity about sexual intercourse, he said.
'That's all he wants,' she told me. 'A biological specimen to examine. Sex without strings attached!' But she wasn't having any!
Besides, her elder sister was already married, and had passed on all the things she wanted to know about fucking. But, she was warned by her sister, once she did it, she'd want to do it over and over again! Every day! So don't start!
I was disgusted at the thought of a man pushing his lump of flesh inside me. Ever, never mind daily! Peggy laughed at me and told me to wait. It would happen one day. Not me!
'My body is private,' I said. 'And it'll stay that way. After college I'm off to Australia, anyway. I don't want to get bogged down with some jerk in this miserable country.'
So it came as a surprise to me when I felt myself attracted to Johnnie. I spent the last two weeks of the school holiday staying with cousin Peggy. Now, Peggy was tall, dark and beautiful. Not voluptuous, but with attractive bulges in the right places. She was one of a group of friends who knocked about together and most of them waiting to go up to college after the summer. They were a boisterous lot - always singing and laughing!
Despite her opposition to her friend Roy's ongoing effort to seduce her, they went to the cinema together quite often, where she fended off his many attempts to get his hand into her bra, she told me. Wearing high-neck sweaters with a belt round the waist all the time, was a bit hot for her, but necessary to avoid the expected assault. On my first evening with her, Peggy invited me along to the cinema with them, on a blind date with Roy's friend, Johnnie. I wasn't keen, but didn't want to be seen as a spoilsport. Besides, I wanted to see the film, so I agreed. It was a Friday.
Well, we met in the foyer of the local cinema, and Johnnie and I were immediately attracted to one another, like magnets, and sat together, laughing and joking until the lights dimmed and the film started. Johnnie behaved according to the rules. We eventually just held hands. He was fairly attractive, I suppose. Slim and clean-looking, blue eyes, straight firm nose, with short fairish hair and a ready smile that lit up his face. I liked him, I decided! Besides, we had such a lot in common, I thought. He was into literature and drama, so we could argue forever about Shakespeare and Jane Austen.
The code of sexual conduct was very strict in those days. Passed down from generation to generation, I suppose, but it was Peggy who first explained the code to me. On the first visit to the cinema, the boy was expected to behave impeccably. Holding hands was allowed. On the second visit, he was expected to put his arm round the girl's shoulders and sit cheek to cheek if she let him. He might be allowed a perfunctory kiss or two.
According to Peggy, it was on the third visit when the guy would try to feel her body. By agreeing to go out with him a third time, she was showing some interest in him. If she wanted no fondling, she would wear high neck clothing as a signal to that effect. He might, however, try holding her tits over her clothes whilst kissing her. On the other hand, if she was wearing an open neck blouse, or dress, she was inviting him to slip his hand into her top and feel her tits. She, of course, wouldn't allow him to feel her straight away, removing his roving hand. This would tell him that she was a 'good' girl.
If their friendship persisted, she might eventually allow him to slide his hand onto the upper swelling of her breast, restraining him from going further. More ardent kissing, however, might loosen her resolve and allow him, finally, to find her nipple and fondle the whole breast. But the area between the legs was still strictly private territory. That, at least, was the usual code of practice.
