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.
