Chapter 1
As these things are measured, I have been quite a successful person in life, and I am often asked about the secret of my success. I would have to say that it's my confidence with telling people the truth, being honest when you know that telling might hurt them but being considerate when you do which lies at the root of why I have found good fortune in the things that have interested me. I wasn't always this confident though, and looking back, I can trace that turning point back to a 2-week period in my youth. But to illustrate my story better, I should start with a brief history of my life to that date.
I was born in 1928, in Windsor, just outside London and my parents could not be more different as people. My father was a labourer who had come back from the great war of 1914-1918 a broken man, according to my mother, and which made him a bit of a drinker. He was a few years older than my mother, she had known him as a young girl, before going onto marry him when he got back from service.
Now I am older I think it's a miracle I was conceived at all as my memories from him an early age revolve around my mother alone with my father only occasionally appearing. When he did deem to make an appearance, he reeked of booze and was not really a nice guy to be around.
From my recollection he never beat my mother but she did do her best to shield me from him, particularly when he was in a sour mood, which was most of the time.
My mother could not be more different. She was a warm, very loving person and I felt her presence constantly. She was a homemaker but could turn her hand to most things and I think this was where I get my creative side from.
Our lives were to change in the winter of 1934. It was a particularly cold winter and things were pretty tight financially with work hard to come by. That didn't stop my father from drinking though and it was a constant source of tension and arguments in the house.
One particular night, I heard my parents in a particularly vicious fight after I had been sent to bed.
"Stan, for god's sake, did you take the housekeeping money out of the jar? I can't believe you've left us nothing! Can't you just stop?" I heard my mother shout at my father in the living room.
My father was drunk and therefore incoherent in his reply but I did understand the smash of something breaking against the wall after his response.
"I cant talk to you when you are like this, I am going to bed and you better sleep down here, I'm not sleeping with you when you're like this but I will tell you this Sonny Jim, you had better have an idea of how we are going to replace this money by the morning because I am at the end of my tether!"
I heard a door slam and my mother coming upstairs. I pretended to be asleep, as I knew she would check on me before she retired to her room herself and once she had done that, she entered her own room and shut the door.
The following morning, I was awake early and went downstairs to get ready for school. I knew it was likely that I would be hungry until teatime and that we probably would have no food in the house, so I was thinking of how I might try and steal an apple off the greengrocers stall on the way to school to tide me over when I tripped over my father.
He was lying on the floor with an empty whisky bottle in his hand and at first I thought he had just passed out but then the smell hit me and as my eyes accustomed to the light in the room, I could see his face was in a pile of vomit. He was blue and cold to my touch, his glassy eyes telling me that this was no ordinary drunken stupor.
"Dad?" I said as I tried to shake him awake.
I knew I had to fetch my mother immediately and bounded upstairs to get her, "Mum, Mum! Come quick, something's wrong with Dad!" I shouted
Her door opened and she appeared in her dressing gown, hurrying straight passed me and down the stairs.
"Stan? Stan!" she cried as she saw my father's body but even then, she must have known it was too late.
My mother rushed me next door to our neighbours, Elizabeth and John Miller, who had moved in about 2 years previous. They were about 5 or 6 years younger than my parents but my mother, and Liz as she liked to be known, had struck up a strong friendship straight away and were always in each other's kitchens.
I was bundled into the living room as my hysterical mother explained through sobs and hushed tones to Liz and John what had happened. John went with my mother and left me with Liz for the rest of the day. As a boy, you don't really know what's happening in the adult world around you, but I guess now that John helped my mother get a doctor and alert the authorities to my fathers demise.
The next few months were a bit of a blur if I am honest.
As my father hadn't been a constant part of my life, I didn't really feel any different other than knowing he wasn't coming back. They say kids are more resilient than you think to this sort of thing and I guess that is the case as I went back into my routines pretty quickly. My mother on the other hand, was left in a right state.
Obviously, she would have to find a job to help support us and had luckily found a position as a housekeeper in a well to do household about 30 minutes by bus from our house. This position however did come with its downsides as she would work long hours, which meant she couldn't spend the time she used to with me.
She was constantly worried about me though so asked Liz if she would keep an eye on me after school until she got home and so I ended up spending quite a bit of time at the Millers.
During this period in my life, I naturally ended up getting quite close to John and I would often end up in his shed workshop with him showing me how to use certain tools and how to work with my hands on metal and wood, which is something I continued to love to do all through my life.
So, things started to settle down into a new routine and life seemed pretty good.
That was until Hitler decided to invade Poland.
Immediately in the aftermath of Britain declaring war in 1939, conscription started and as he was under 41 years of age, John was drafted into the forces. I sensed the shift in my environment immediately as Liz become much more quiet and often she would have this faraway look in her eyes, staring into space.
She was distraught when he left for basic training and then deployment. Naturally, I then became the centre of two women's worlds as they needed to focus on something other than the nightmare of the world around them.
Again, for the next few years, things settled into a new pattern and the three of us spent a lot of time together in the evenings, keeping abreast of places where John was deployed, anxiously waiting for any titbit of news on the radio about where the conflict was at its heaviest.
One day in 1943, I came home from school to find my mother waiting at the gate for me.
"Hello Mum, why are you not in work?" I asked, "We had better go inside love." she said
It was in that moment that I knew the worst had happened and that John wouldn't be coming back.
It turned out that the ship he had been stationed on had been sunk by a German U boat and he had perished along with 148 of his comrades.
I felt desperately sorry for Liz, but also for myself as John had been the only real male presence in my life who had given me any kind of attention and direction. Once again, life for us was in turmoil.
Liz leaned on Mum quite a bit over the following couple of years and until once again, she learned to smile and laugh a bit like she used to. By that point in my life, I had just turned 18 at the time, girls and women seemed to suddenly be everywhere and impossible to ignore.
I had shot up quite a bit between my formative teenage years and now stood a good 6'2 and had filled out as well from my skinny youth. If you saw a picture now of me as I was then you would also say I was a good looking lad but at that time, I was painfully shy, a bit of a loner due to my quiet nature and oblivious of my impact on women.
Perhaps it was the lack of male influence or the fact that there was an over positive female presence around me but although I had grown normally I just didn't know what to do to get to the next stage of even just talking to a woman.
Due to my natural abilities honed during those times working in the shed with John, I had found a part time position in the well to do household my mother worked in as a handyman. I was also undergoing an engineering course and apprenticeship, which I would eventually use as the basis to form an extremely successful business. At the time though, I had just hopes to pursue that as a career but my course did not start until that September, so I had to spend the summer working, as much that I didn't have a social life than the need for extra money. Benefits of working all of the time though, was that it helped with my physical development and you could probably tell from my physique that I was a fit boy.
Not that this helped with the ladies though. Even in my work environment, if a female member of the household would speak to me, I would blush, turned red and mumble through a conversation. As such, I tended to avoid such engagements and therefore ended up with a bit of a reputation as a sullen character, which I did not make any effort of to dispel.
My 'type' as they say tended to veer towards the voluptuous, and women that were older than me held a particular fascination. I felt their 'experience' would be what I needed to help my progress from boy to man. Therefore, older, confident women with big tits and slimmer waists would hold my fantasies for some years but having no opportunity to venture outside of my social circles to meet new people, Liz, a few of the women at work and dare I say it, my own mother, were the subjects of my nightly masturbation sessions.
Soon after my birthday, I ventured home earlier than normal due to unexpectedly finishing my duties earlier than I thought I would. This wasn't a normal occurrence, but it was the holiday season and the household were away, so were all of the small staff they employed, including my mother, who was at home.
Anyway, as I would be doing nothing, I was keen to earn some extra money and I had taken on a list of jobs to undertake whilst no one was around, so had used the opportunity to get them done. Without any distraction or worry that I would be faced with another person being there, I quickly completed what I needed to do and then managed to catch the early bus back home.
As I entered the house, I could hear Liz and my mother talking in the kitchen. I was about to enter when I heard my name mentioned and froze, curiosity getting the better of me, waiting to hear what they were talking about.
"Liz, I just don't know what to do," said my mother, concern in her voice "its just not normal is it?"
"Well I don't know Margaret, as you know John and I couldn't have kids but it must be, Trevor is such a normal boy."
"It's every day Liz! His sheets need changing every day and the amount of stains on them you couldn't imagine!"
"Doesn't he have a girlfriend or anything Margaret? He must have, he is very handsome."
"I don't think so, he is very quiet all of the time, doesn't go out and hardly speaks to anyone in work, especially women." said my mother
"Do you think he, you know, likes men?" said Liz
"No, I don't think that's it as I do catch him sometimes staring at various women in the village and at work. I think he is just different. I am so worried he will end up like Stan was."
There was a silence and then, "Well, would you like me to talk to him? I don't mind answering his questions and if he is curious, I can show him a thing or two. It's an age since I've had one up me!"
At this point, I was frozen to the spot, heart racing and instantly pictured Liz and her big tits, my cock in her hand, showing me how to make love to her. I was instantly hard and it was actually quite painful.
After what seemed like and age, my mother said, "What are you saying! He is just a boy Liz and at your age, that's disgusting!"
