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Published by Terry Collett

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Published by: Terry Collett on Jun 26, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Christina sat at the dressing table to brush her hair, the hairbrush her aunt had given her, in her hand. She was still in her nightgown, her school uniform was on a chair by the bed, the bed still unmade. She looked at her features, her hair a mess, her eyes still had sleep in them. She brushed her hair slowly, a hundred times, her mother said, does it best. She dragged the brush through, pulling through the knots at the ends. She thought on Benedict, her friend's brother, the boy she had become smitten by. She wondered if she'd see him today; unless she waited by the school fence and peered through when his school bus arrived and he descended and went by the fence into his playground, she might not. Maybe if it was fine and they were permitted to go out on the sports field she would. They'd met the first time there, after his sister had told him that Christina liked him. Thinking about him now, made her feel excited, made her insides turn over, not nastily, but weirdly, as if fingers stirred inside of her. She had dreamed of him the night before, dreamed he had sat at the end of her bed, and she had wanted him to enter, but he just sat there talking. She stopped brushing her hair and put the brush down on the dressing table. They had kissed.

Hard to find a place at school where they could be alone. They had found a few moments in the gym during recess a week ago, just them, the smell of sweating bodies, gym shoes and feet. They had their ears pricked for any sounds, but then kissed. Lips on lips. His tongue met hers, touched, strange sensation that, she murmured to herself sitting gazing at her reflection in the mirror, as if she'd touched a live wire, it tingled, rather made her feel open, wide open as if someone had pressed something within. She daren't tell or ask her mother even if her mother wasn't in one of her low moods. Only when she menstruated the first time did she mention to her mother about her body. Oh you'll get use to it, he r mother said, the curse women have to put up with. Sometimes in bed or when she got out of the bath, she would put her arms about her body and pretend it was Benedict, imagined it was he doing the caressing and holding and touching. Time to get ready for school, she thought, taking out of the photo of Benedict out of the drawer and kissing it. He gave it to her after she had given him one of herself. Not a good one, she had to sneak one out of the photo box her parents wouldn't miss. Benedict liked it, said he kept it somewhere safe. His was good, her damp lips had left an impression. She wiped it off and held it against her breasts. She sighed. At night she kept the photo under her pillow and took it out to kiss before going off to sleep. She put the photo away

again and stood up. Time to get dress and get down for breakfast before her mother bawled out up the stairs to her. Out of the window she could see blue skies, a sun was rising. Might see Benedict after all, she said, taking off her nightgown, and letting it slip to the floor. Oh to see him always, and see him more and more and more.

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