"Chris, for heaven's sake, hurry up! How many times have I got to tell you? You're going to be late again!" Mum would yell from somewhere downstairs, "Come on, get a move on, you'll miss the bus if you're not careful!"
"Yeah alright Mum, I'll be there; I'll make it," I'd shout back as I hurriedly gathered all my bits and pieces together.
And then my sister Sharon might join in too - and that really made me hurry up. No way did I want to get on the wrong side of her!
Mum was always yelling at me back then and if it wasn't her then it was my sister - thank heavens that Dad kept out of it; I guess he was just too busy to worry about little me.
I was always running late in those days; always the one who had to be chivvied out the door; always the last one to leave the room; always the one who had to run to get to wherever it was I should have been two minutes earlier.
I always knew I was running late because I was an avid clock watcher, always checking my watch to see how many minutes - or even seconds - I had left before I'd be late and yet somehow I was never actually late; seldom if ever did I miss my school bus, or a lesson or a meal. It was always with a narrow squeak that I made it and it seemed that I was always like that; it was part of my psyche or something.
Even once I started work, once school and college was done and dusted, I'd be almost late. Never to the point of actually being late; of incurring the wrath of my boss but always right on the limit. Seldom if ever did I have a document on his desk, a letter in the post or a job completed before time...but somehow I always managed to squeeze my actions into deeds just before anyone complained. It was almost as if I'd made an art of it - and yet it was all very unintentional.
My tardiness, well 'near' tardiness, might have been even considered to be normal had it not been that my sister was the complete opposite. Sharon was the one who'd be standing there tapping her feet impatiently; marching back and forward as she waited for me or joining in to yell at me just like her mother did. She was always the one whose school work was always handed in first; who was always at the head of a queue or who stood there imploring the bus driver to wait for me.
I occasionally found myself wondering if I wasn't late just as a foil for her eagerness but I also felt entirely grateful for her patience, especially so because she'd sometimes get me out of trouble. It would be she who would make excuses for me or even help me to finish my task before the deadline passed - she was brilliantly supportive of me for some reason and despite my callow youthfulness I loved her dearly.
There was something about her that always made my eyes follow her around, even in those years before sex raised its head. She bounced through life so brightly, breathed an air of happiness around her and raised the liveliness of the atmosphere - without even doing anything! Sharon was just one of life's wonders, in my juvenile opinion.
By the time she'd left college and started work she was my dream girl. She was as tall as me; although being five years older than me helped there and just as I was entering puberty so she was moving into a stage of development that turned her from being a beanpole tomboy into a voluptuous young woman. Her breasts were becoming substantial works of art, as was her ass; her attributes being enough to cause me to hold my breath and to stare stupidly whenever she appeared. Already she was fast becoming my fantasy woman as I stroked my growing penis and by the time I'd reached eighteen the only woman in my mind at night was her. Truthfully she was the only woman I knew, apart from Mom of course...and those electronic images on the internet.
To be honest, any man would have swooned over her, such was her allure. Her blond cascade of hair always glowed with sunlight; her bright cheeks and lips spoke of her warmth; her melodious voice awoke happiness in all who heard her and every man lost control of his mind when she was near.
The only downside to her, if you could call it that was this ability to be there when I was late; to chase me along. I'd have been much happier to be left alone but then I'd probably have been bullied by Mom instead...
"Oh come on Chris, please hurry up," she might say imploringly.
"Please don't be late again," she'd sigh as she gathered my bits and pieces for me.
"Don't take all night!" she'd say, her fingers tapping at the doorframe as she waited for me to leave the bathroom.
In a way I'd get exasperated that she pestered me and yet I was also very grateful because she was helpful too.
"Come on, I'll give you a hand," she'd say if it appeared that I was struggling with something.
"Let me help," she'd say as she'd lean over my shoulder.
"I'll do that for you," she'd say as she completed something that I'd almost failed to finish.
She was so helpful as to be a nuisance sometimes but then again it seemed that my body created situations; set up problems for her to solve...just so that I could have her near me!
It was only when I was well into sexual adulthood, when my penis had achieved its full potential, when I spent my evenings wanking, when I was almost twenty that I understood that fact.
Yes; perhaps I did do it on purpose. I certainly enjoyed her presence - she turned me on terribly and that was without her help! She didn't tease me intentionally but she seemed careless when she was near me at home, flashing a bum cheek or two or a breast almost to the nipple or just generally showing a lot of flesh. Or when she helped me she might press her breasts against me, probably unintentionally but terribly erotically.
Whatever, her actions and even just her presence turned me on so much that she became the idol of my wanking; the perfect dream and yet the unachievable goal - the one person who could never figure sexually in my reality.
Truthfully though I had to admit that had I been so lucky as to entice her into a horizontal position with me, I really wouldn't have known what to do with her! While I knew every inch of my penis I knew almost nothing about women's bodies except that they turned me on. Oh I knew the mechanics of the bits; I was an avid reader of both pornographic and more intelligent articles and I'd watched enough porn to know where things went, but the fact of the matter was that I was almost a virgin.
That sounds stupid but what I mean is that I'd had sex with a few girls but it had all been quick stuff - a couple of knee-tremblers and even a blow job but I'd never bedded a girl; hardly ever even got past the chatting-up phase.
Perhaps my intended girlfriends all became sick of me being 'almost' late; perhaps my approach was wrong or perhaps there was some unknown factor. But the fact was that although I took a number of girls out we seldom progressed past the first date and my lack of success began to dwell on me. I started to become morose after each failed date, staying in my room to lie on my bed and stare vacantly at the ceiling, only reluctantly being prised out of my den.
If I'd had my own place then perhaps I'd have roused myself eventually, or perhaps become a complete recluse but being at home was different. If Mom wasn't to hand then Sharon was. Sharon and I could both have moved out since we both had adequate incomes but home was better.
Dad had invested heavily in the house and had extended it several times so we now had loads of space. The house actually comprised the main house and a 'granny annex' - a separate smaller home that had been for Dad's mom to come and live in...before she died rather unexpectedly. So instead of her using it, Sharon and I took over...sharing the amenities and with a bedroom each.
It was more comfy; there were more social interactions between the four of us; there were more 'amenities' for us to use - so why move out?
And it was there that Sharon found me late one Saturday evening, gloomily pondering my latest failure at entertaining some local lass, having had high hopes of breaking my duck; of getting a girl back and into my bed. The particular girl was known to be a bit free and easy and my expectation had been high when I talked her into going out with me that night but it didn't take long for the evening to start to fall apart.
It started when we eventually reached the club - just as they were closing the doors. As we hurried towards the building a swift glance at my watch told me that we had just minutes to go - but their timing was different to mine.
