One of the worse things about growing up is that growth spurt that hits you around puberty. It can start when you're as young as perhaps 12 or even as old as 18, but whatever your age it seems to really take hold just when you don't want it to - just when you're finding out that girls are fun and when sex rears its head in earnest.
Suddenly you grow six inches taller; suddenly all your trousers are way too short for you and your shirts too tight. Suddenly too your penis takes on a life of its own and changes from a little wee-wee to a damn monster that keeps interrupting things! Not so suddenly your voice changes, sometimes becoming falsetto; sometimes breaking into a bass growl. And all this is just when girls are starting to look interesting - and when they too seem to start noticing you as well.
Everything happens at the worst possible time it seems...
And one other thing happens - you become clumsy! Suddenly taller, you're prone to banging your head on things. Your legs now stick out a lot further than they used to so you trip over anything. Your arms are longer too so when you reach out to get something you miss your aim or if you wave your arm you sweep something off the table. And it was this clumsiness that got me into a lot of trouble, or fun really, as it turned out.
I'd done most of my growing and now I was past 18 I reckoned that I was a real man; all grown up and capable of taking on the world. I was suddenly right on six feet tall; I weighed almost 11 stone (steady on 155 pounds); I'd got some decent muscles where before I had very few and even my penis had grown considerably and was now something over seven inches long and a lot thicker than I'd ever have expected it to get. My scanty pubes had thickened and spread and I'd even got a small collection of hairs on my chest now.
Seemingly another side-effect of post-puberty was that my damn cock wanted to become erect over just about anything, any time, anywhere and my trips to the bathroom or my bedroom for relief made both my parents chuckle and rib me mercilessly. Thank heavens they were both pretty broadminded; they knew why I had to rush off so often!
Apart from a few minor problems with broken crockery, which got me banned from washing up for a while, my clumsiness wasn't a major problem; it was more of an embarrassment than anything but it was my older sister Sharon who became the one to really suffer from my clumsiness when we went out one night.
Neither of us had a date but Sharon wanted someone to go to a club with her so I got roped in. It wasn't that she didn't have any friends; far from it, but she picked a night to go out when some other event was on to which many of her friends were going. But not liking the DJ, she'd opted for this particular club instead, to which I was now invited although I actually think I was invited simply because I could drive; therefore she could drink...and get a free ride home.
Being 18 now did have its benefits and with the help of a backhander of some folded notes from Dad, I felt quite capable of being a decent escort for Sharon and I felt quite proud to be accompanying this pretty 20 year old blonde down the street from the car park.
Dutifully I kept off the booze because although in Britain I was now old enough to drink, I just wanted to dance; to be seen out there, hopefully by some young and eager females and it wasn't long before I was on the floor throwing myself around with massive abandon, my arms and legs inevitably flying everywhere.
And I don't actually remember kicking Sharon, or anyone else for that matter, but suddenly she screamed loudly and fell in a heap to the floor.
A whole pile of us immediately surrounded her while she cried out in pain and held her knee and we were soon helped out by a large security guard who part lifted, part carried her to a first aid room with me following them, almost wringing my hands with embarrassment and concern over what she was going to say.
Her right knee was already swollen and poor Sharon looked a proper mess; her hair was everywhere and her make-up was smeared from her tears.
"You fuckin' idiot," she yelled at me as she registered my presence, "Kicked me, didn't you, you clumsy fuckin' bastard!"
"I didn't know! I didn't do it on purpose," I said, feeling very uncomfy and very small too, "I was just dancing."
"Dancing like a fuckin' scarecrow," she said, "Everything sticking out and flapping about everywhere!"
The guard, who had now administered some first aid, turned to me.
"Is she with you?" he asked as if he didn't already know and I confirmed that she was.
"I'd get her home if I were you," he said, "Either that or off to hospital for a check-up."
"Take me home - I'm not going to bloody hospital," said Sharon, still wincing, "You did it - you can fuckin' well look after me for a while."
I ignored the implications in that statement and between us we got her outside the club, where the guard kept her company while I fetched the car and eventually we got her seated and strapped in. I thanked him for his help and drove carefully home, Sharon wincing every time I drove over the slightest bump or cornered too fast for her liking. She was being a proper baby, I reckoned.
Fortunately I could park the car quite close to the front door and somehow I managed to get her up and out and down the hall to her bedroom, where I gently lowered her to the bed, although not without at least a few more moans and groans.
Once on the bed, at least she smiled at me, her initial anger and pain now having subsided somewhat.
Mum and Dad had already gone to bed and I knew better than to disturb them - they both had a fixed routine of early to bed, early to rise, complimented by a sleeping pill each, so I asked Sharon what I could do for her.
"Well, first thing, since I left my drink at the club, you can get me another one - I was on Bacardi and coke," she said, "Dad's got a bottle in the cupboard."
Actually our parents kept a quite well stocked booze cupboard so I was able to grab a can of lager as I fixed her drink, my first for the night. My hand shook as I poured her Bacardi, my confidence at a low ebb and my over-long arms not helping one bit with my pouring.
"Thanks Chris," said Sharon as I handed her drink to her, then she held up the glass to inspect it.
"Bloody hell, I wanted a glassful not a bucketful!" she said, "Couldn't you find a smaller glass?"
"I didn't know," I said contritely, "I didn't know how much you wanted."
"Enough here for the rest of the night," she said as she drank deeply, "Fuckin' hell - that's strong! Oh well; won't need a refill for a bit."
Silence reigned for a few moments as we both supped at our drinks, then Sharon spoke.
"Sorry I shouted at you but you were dancing like a fucking zombie or something and your foot bloody well hurt me."
"I'm really, really sorry," I said, "You'll have to teach me - I'm not used to clubbing - I don't know the latest moves."
"Don't know any moves, do you? Yeah, I'll teach you but I'll need to get back on two legs first," said Sharon, taking a big swig of her drink, "Now, what can I do for the pain?"
"We could try a cold compress," I suggested, remembering that we had some ice chest freezer blocks; take one and wrap it in a towel and it might well help.
Sharon nodded her agreement, "How will you get one?"
I told her about my idea and she nodded.
"Yeah ok. I'll need to get my tights off first though," she said, taking another swig, the fumes of the Bacardi swirling around, "Better take my skirt off too, I guess."
Getting her skirt off wasn't too hard for her but bending her leg to remove her tights was almost impossible now so my help was enlisted and if Sharon had done things in reverse order perhaps nothing more would have happened. But now that she had her skirt off, her lower body was only encased in her tights and just her little g-string knickers beneath them and suddenly Sharon looked a bit worried.
"Don't look," she said, "You're not supposed to!"
"Can't help it if I'm here pulling your tights down, can I?" I said, "Don't want to hurt you any more."
"Well, try not to look," said Sharon as she began to work her tights off over her hips.
"Not as if I haven't seen you before, is it?" I said, because she didn't always cover up completely when she came out of the bathroom.
