Chapter 1 -- Defloration and Desertion
Johnny Preston and I had been best friends ever since we were four years old and his family moved into the house next to ours in the Dorset seaside village in which we lived. Though quite picturesque, it wasn't one of the famous, must-see villages so hadn't been over-developed and still retained most of its traditional fishing village charm. Our parents had become close friends instantly so Johnny and I had been thrown together constantly for as long as I could remember.
We were both the only children of hard-working local parents so had grown up closer than most brothers and sisters ever do. Johnny and Robyn; Robyn and Jonathan; Johnny and Robbie; even our names went together well.
The same age to within a few weeks, he and I had gone to the same playschool, primary school, secondary school and Sixth-Form College. In our early years, we had often been in the same classes but as his academic achievements began to soar above mine, we found ourselves separated during the day and had to make do with seeing each other on the school bus or of course, when we were at home.
Of course we had squabbled sometimes -- little boys and girls always do -- but most of the time we were firm friends, playing games, riding our bikes, exploring the fields and the hills around our houses, hunting for treasures on the beach and basically having a good time together.
It was unusual for young boys and girls to be this close but for a long time we were so inseparable that the grown-ups started calling us 'Batman and Robyn'. That used to make me really happy although of course I pretended to be cross.
It certainly helped that for most of my life I have always been a real tomboy. With short dark hair and an almost complete lack of interest in dolls, dresses and make-up, I preferred boys' shorts to skirts and camouflage green to pink.
I even preferred being called Robbie to my more feminine real name.
Quite tall and physically strong, I could hold my own with most of the boys in terms of important things like climbing, running, cycling and playing football. When it came to fighting other boys, what I lacked in physical strength, I made up for with cunning and guile and was seldom to be found helpless on the grass after a scrap.
For years, Johnny and I were inseparable. We shared family holidays, birthday parties, trips to adventure parks, the occasional holiday with our families and all as 'just good friends' until that summer -- the summer when everything changed.
I hadn't had many boyfriends in my life; my rather boisterous, tomboy nature seemed to intimidate or put off most of the boys around me. I knew there had been rumours that I was a lesbian but they were untrue; I had no interest in my fellow girls whose motivations were something of a mystery to me.
All I wanted was to be with my Johnny.
Nevertheless, some boys had been brave enough to try their luck with me; I admit there had been a few hurried snogging and groping sessions after birthday parties. A couple of boys had even managed to 'cop a feel' of my rather unimpressive boobs in the dark but until that summer the contents of my knickers had remained a mystery to all except myself.
I had explored myself 'down there' many times but that wasn't something I wanted to talk about.
Johnny of course was the dream boyfriend for most of the girls at school. Taller than me, dark haired, athletic, handsome and intelligent he was clearly destined for greater things and was the object of many schoolgirl crushes.
My closeness to him was a constant source of bafflement for the more 'girly' amongst our cohort and frequently attracted some unpleasant comments but when it was clear that our relationship was platonic, more like brother and sister, they left me alone.
But I didn't want it to be platonic. I didn't want to be just Johnny's sister.
Though I fought hard to deny it, I had been in love with Johnny since the first time he and I had kicked a football together in his parents' back garden. As we had grown up and spent more time together, that love had grown deeper rather than dissipated.
I wanted Johnny more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.
Hidden carefully under my bed were notebooks full of love letters to him that would never be sent, pictures of the two of us in multi-coloured crayons, large pink hearts with our names inside and, of course, pages and pages where I had tried out my new signature; the one I would have once we were married.
Mrs. Robyn Preston. Mrs. Jonathan Preston. Robbie Preston. Mr. & Mrs. J. Preston.
It was about the only respect in which my behaviour could ever have been considered 'girly'. I despised myself for it but couldn't help myself.
Of course I made sure I didn't let anyone know how I felt, especially because Johnny didn't seem to feel the same about me. Paying me compliments that broke my heart he would punch me in the ribs playfully and say things like:
"I like being with you Robbie. It's not like being with a girl at all. I can really be myself when I'm with you."
It was all I could do not to cry.
Of course it was too much to hope that such a boy would remain without girlfriends throughout his schooldays and over the years I spent many evenings sulking in my room as he took one or other of my contemporaries out on a date. I had to run from at least two school parties when I saw him kissing another girl in the corner of the room or worse, outside in the darkness.
Tomboy Robbie couldn't be seen in tears, could she?
When we were eighteen and I heard rumours that he had actually bedded Sally, one of the prettiest, sportiest girls in our year, my despair was almost absolute.
Strangely, two weeks later, there was an incident in the showers after a hockey match in which bleach somehow managed to get into Sally's shampoo. Either that or she confused the bottles; there was always bleach around in the girls' changing room. Her long blonde hair turned green then actually began to fall out. No-one ever found out how that had happened. Eventually her hair grew back but she had lost her confidence and didn't go out with Johnny again.
But this humdrum, rather unsatisfactory world changed on a Sunday morning in late August of the year in which our compulsory education came to an end. We were both eighteen and our last school exams had taken place a few months earlier. The results had been published the Thursday before.
As predicted, Johnny had done exceptionally well but, rather than go to University, he had accepted a training place with a major national firm of finance specialists in London. It was a fantastic opportunity for him that he would have been foolish not to take but which meant he had to leave our village almost immediately and go to live in the metropolis for at least two years.
It also meant he would be leaving me. For the first time since the age of four, Johnny and I wouldn't be able to see each other every day; wouldn't be able to take walks together; wouldn't be able to be together.
I was heartbroken but just about managed to keep it hidden.
His parents were taking him to the station early in the afternoon to catch a fast train to London so he could get his shared flat in plenty of time to settle in before his first day at work. When I woke up that Sunday morning I knew that, in a matter of hours, the boy I adored more than anything was about to go out of my life. I told myself it was only for a while but I'm not that easily fooled, even by myself.
We had promised each other faithfully we would keep in touch but I was under no illusions about the likelihood of either of us writing much so, as we explored the beach together one last time, I knew it would be the last I would see of my beloved Johnny for some time.
My heart was heavy but I tried hard to appear normal; the casual, relaxed, easy-going Tomboy Robin to his cool, assured Batman.
We were walking side by side as we had done perhaps hundreds of times over the years; hands in pockets, kicking the driftwood while he told me all about his new job, his shared flat and how excited he was about living in the Big City for a while. It hurt me to hear it all but he was so thrilled and after all, this was the boy I loved so I bit my lip and listened.
The tide was coming in slowly, narrowing the causeway on which we could safely walk and before we realised it, we were stumbling over each other on the thin path of still-dry sand. As I jumped over a swirling pool I tripped over a hidden rock and Johnny caught my arm to steady me. When we walked on, he didn't release his grip and for a while we strolled hand in hand, Johnny still talking excitedly.
It felt unusual but it also felt good; actually it felt very good.
The causeway turned away from the sea and towards the cliffs, away from the popular areas where the holidaymakers go. It's quiet there and we had often hunted fossils and interesting driftwood when we were younger. My hand was still in his as we approached the cool shade of the cliff. I was enjoying being close to my adored friend, feeling the sun on my back and wondering how I could possibly cope for two long years without him by my side.
Then the rock I was standing on suddenly gave way.
Johnny's strong hand grabbed my arm, then my waist to stop me from falling. It worked; I remained on my feet but only because Johnny had pulled me tightly into his chest and wrapped his arms around me to keep me from slipping back down into the mud.
For a moment we stood, chest to chest, face to face, hip to hip, his strong arms around my torso. We stood completely still, my body motionless in his arms for what seemed an eternity.
And then, without warning, his mouth was suddenly on mine, his tongue between my lips forcing them apart. I was amazed, too stunned to react; I simply yielded. A moment later, his tongue was in my mouth seeking and finding mine. Then, before my mind could register what was happening, his hands were all over my body, on my back, on my boobs, on my bottom, squeezing me tightly against his strong frame.
I hardly knew what to do. It was what I had dreamed of for years; the boy I had loved since childhood clearly wanted me too. But how should I react? What should I do? My sexual history was so inadequate I had little clue how to respond to this wonderful, welcome advance.
My mind had no idea but, thank God, my body seemed to respond instinctively, mostly by simply letting this wonderful, adored boy do whatever he wanted with me. Though offering little positive response, I offered no resistance at all as his mouth forced mine wide, his lips smothered mine and his tongue explored the inside of my mouth as his hands explored the rest of my body.
My head span with a mix confusion and delight. Was this really happening? The thing I had dreamed of all my life?
