Sex and its many varied preferences are not something that we are born with a knowledge of, rather, it is a combination of several factors. Some are inbuilt and no matter what we do, we cannot change them, they are with us for life. Others we acquire due to our environment, our families, and the things that we see and hear during our formative and then teenage years.
Born at the end of the war, my family was no different to thousands of others. Son's, brothers, husbands, and fathers had gone off to fight with sadly, many of them never returning. When I did start school aged four and a half, more than a quarter of the pupils had fathers who had never returned or relatives killed in the bombing. We only knew what our mothers told us and so each of us was convinced and believed that our dad's had died fighting the enemy. It wasn't until later in life that I finally found out that in my case, that wasn't even remotely true.
I lived in London's east end with my mother and grandmother, a street full of terraced houses commonly known as "Two up and two downs". Downstairs there was a living room and a kitchen, and upstairs two bedrooms. The house was lit by gas and heated by the large fireplace in the front room. The toilet was situated in the yard, a tiny brick outhouse in which you used cut up squares of newspaper to wipe your bum until proper toilet paper stopped being in short supply.
In my early years and without a bathroom, the only recourse several times a week was to get out the old tin bath, place it in front of the fire and fill it with hot water. There was a hierarchy on bath nights, usually because mum and gran would be going out dancing up the Palais. I would be plonked in first and scrubbed to within an inch of my life before being taken next door to Lucy Kelly's.
With me out of the way, gran and mum would then take their leisurely ablutions before donning their finery and drawing lines on the back of their legs to simulate nylons if they had not managed to obtain any from one of the local spivs.
Resplendent in their best dresses, they would come and say goodnight before setting off for an evening on the town. Aunt Lucy, actually no relation to us, was a spinster I had been told, whatever one of those was. The notion in my head of her dancing around in circles in her front room and getting dizzy puzzled me for years. Sometimes I would be collected later on that night, but if mum, gran, or both of them "pulled" I would spend the night at Miss Kelly's, sleeping in her spare bedroom. It mattered little to me whether I was in her house or my house, she was like a second mum, and I would happily drift off to sleep wherever I was.
London had taken a pasting during the war, but those first twelve years were the best times of my life. The streets were our playground as there was very little traffic about and later on, we discovered the bombsites and derelict buildings, exploring and rummaging through peoples belongings which had been abandoned. The girls were left to play skipping and hopscotch while we lads took up our wooden guns and went in search of the enemy, never returning with prisoners.
At school, I slowly progressed through the first few classes. Our fifth-year teacher was a young woman who went by the name of Miss Cummings, a name that we lads never failed to appreciate and find funny. To be honest, I was smitten by her, she was young, she was pretty, and I suppose in my eyes she was perfect. I did exceptionally well in her class for no other reason than I wanted to please her. That's all it was, we lads never thought of females sexually, even though we would use words we had heard without realising their true meaning.
That winter was a cold one with plenty of snow. It did not stop my mother or grandmother from going out and on those cold chilly nights when I stayed next door, I would be invited into Aunt Lucy's bed for added warmth. Dressed in my cotton pyjamas, she would have on her long white nightdress and together we would snuggle under the covers as we watched the snowflakes fall from the night sky through the open curtains.
I looked forward to those nights, houses were cold in those days, the only room with any warmth being the front room with its fire and that extra body in a bed made all the difference on a freezing night. There was never any impropriety, in a way I suppose, she treated me as if I were her son and the next morning there would always be sweets, toffee or biscuits to take home with me.
It was just before I left school that I found out that my father had been a GI who had been repatriated before he realised that mum was pregnant. There had been no notification of my grandfather's demise, he had simply not returned home. I suppose lots of men did that, they had travelled the world and experienced many different things, why would they return to their dreary existence when they could simply disappear and start again. Gran had given birth to my mother aged eighteen and mum had given birth to me when she was nearly seventeen, which meant that as my eighteenth birthday approached, mum was only thirty-four and gran was fifty-two, both of them still strikingly attractive women.
Up until the age of ten I had shared my mother's room, her in the double bed and me in a single, but suddenly and for no reason that I could understand, things changed, mum and Aunt Lucy reaching an arrangement as I began to sleep in Miss Kelly's spare room each night.
At the age of eighteen, I discovered the delights of local girls, happy for a fumble down some back alley or in the park after dark. But it was exceedingly rare that you managed to get any more than that without some kind of commitment. The war years had made it easy for young women who found themselves in the family way, there was always the excuse that their menfolk were off fighting. But with hostilities finished, the stigma returned, and woe betides any young woman who found herself pregnant without a young man to walk her down the aisle.
Growing up, we lads never associated with the girls on the street if we could help it, the women of our childhood were always far older than us, parents, teachers, neighbours, these were the women who were part of our lives.
When at last, I reached that magical age where the world was finally unlocked, I had been down the local with a few friends to celebrate. With hindsight, I was grateful to Miss Cummings, she had spurred me on, and I had done well at school even after I moved from her class. I had got a job as a junior accounts clerk when I left school, being sharp and quick-witted meant I quickly progressed and by eighteen, I was earning good money compared to what my friends were paid.
Rocking up at Aunt Lucy's after the pub, I let myself in. As a consequence of my spending so much time there nowadays, I had been given my own key and it was with quite a bit of fumbling that I managed to get it into the lock and open the door. She was still up and about when I entered, I wasn't drunk, honest, but I will admit to being more than merry. There was something different about her tonight I concluded, but I just couldn't put my finger on it until I suddenly realised that never before had I seen her wearing make-up. Despite her age, my beer-fuelled eyes found her attractive, and I was inclined to dance with her as music played from the large radio over in the corner. It wasn't my type of music; it was the music of the older generation. New groups and music were springing up, music that was faster, sexier, and aimed at us teenagers. This was the slower big band sounds coming out of the speaker as I took her hand and we shuffled around her front room until, for some unfathomable reason, I decided that it was a good idea to kiss her.
Believe me, it was as though I had unleashed an animal. As our lips met, her arms went around my neck, and she thrust her small breasts and her groin against mine. It was not as though she was a stranger to me, she was someone I had known all my life and felt relaxed with, which was probably why within a few seconds, my erection was pushing back against her.
'I couldn't think what to get you as a birthday present,' she whispered as we broke apart and she took my hand, leading me up to the bedroom we had shared on and off when I was younger and slept over.
Tonight, though was different, in the past I had never seen her dressing or undressing, when I was young, I would get undressed in the spare room and she would already be in her nightdress by the time I entered and shared her bed.
The light had to be out, of course, I was eighteen, she was a woman in her forties and perhaps embarrassed that I might not appreciate her body the same. She need not have worried, I was under no illusions that Lucy's body would have changed and aged, just the same as my mum and gran.
She helped me to unbutton her dress and ease it from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor while I slid the straps of her full-length slip down her arms, allowing it to follow the dress and leaving her stood in bra, panties, suspenders, and stockings which I could just about manage to make out in the darkened room. I feared she was going to rip my shirt off as she scrabbled at its buttons before fumbling with my trousers and pushing them to the floor along with my undies. I must have looked a bit of an idiot with my pants around my ankles, but it did not seem to bother her as once again she thrust herself against me, my naked erection now pressed against her belly.
Her lips tasted sweet, her mouth grinding against mine as she raised my hands and placed them on her breasts. I was eager now, pushing her bra up and out of my way as her small tits popped free, my fingers massaging the soft flesh and feeling her hard nipples pushing into the palms of my hands. Having discarded what was left of our clothing, I joined her on the bed, Lucy pushing me onto my back as she straddled my hips and rubbed her fanny against my throbbing shaft. I was still inexperienced and allowed her to take the lead as she raised herself, fumbled for my cock and I felt it's head rub against her pussy lips before she lowered her bottom, calling out with glee as its length filled her cunt.
Bouncing up and down on my shaft, she leant forward, her nails digging into my shoulders and raking my chest as I continued to caress and squeeze her tits until she pulled my head from the pillow and asked me to suck her nipples. With unerring patience, she showed me where and how to touch her to make the experience longer-lasting and more intense. Pounding her fanny rapidly, she screeched, the sound loud enough to wake the dead as she orgasmed, and then cried out again seconds later as my cock filled her flue with my hot spunk, both of us spent.
Laying together later she instructed me to take a trip the next morning, 'You need to visit the barbers,' she said smugly.
Running my hand over my hair, I didn't think it felt too bad, lots of blokes were starting to wear their hair longer nowadays. She couldn't stop laughing as she tried to explain. 'I'm still young enough to have children, and you're not old enough to be a father yet.'
It struck me as to how lucky I had been, there had been a couple of girls and I suddenly thought of the implications if either of them had said they were pregnant.
Back then, the barber's was where you got your condoms. After a haircut and providing you were old enough, he would always ask, 'Anything for the weekend, Sir?'
