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| Bob Geldof, rock musician |
Looking for Lemonade |
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Mrs. Armstrong from down the road was my first fuck. I was thirteen and not looking for it. I was looking for lemonade . . . At the end of the terrace, I bumped into her.
"We meet again," she said.
"Yes," I replied. I felt gangly and awkward.
We walked together towards my home. "What a hot afternoon," she said. "Perhaps you'd like to come for a glass of lemonade?" . . .
Mrs. Armstrong sat down next to me so that her leg rested next to mine. She leaned across and, putting her arm around me, drew my body to her. Her lipstick tasted like a boiled sweet on top of the lemonade. Then I felt her tongue push between my lips and toy with the tip of my own. I could feel her breasts squash against my weedy little chest. Then she pulled away.
"Have you ever seen a girl naked?"
I shook my head.
"Would you like to see me naked?"
I nodded dumbly.
She stood up. Her light summer dress had buttons down the front. She undid them from the neck downwards. The dress sprang open at the top. She unbuttoned it completely and stood before me with the frock just open. My eyes went down from the edges of her breasts to the dark triangle of hair between her legs . . .
Mrs. Armstrong lifted her hands to her shoulders like a Charleston dancer and flicked the dress off them. It fell onto the patterned green carpet behind her. Her hips were wide and her breasts very full, they hung like strange fruit. She leaned over. With one hand, she gripped the waist of my jeans and with the other she pulled down the zip. I wriggled in my seat. Her hand went into the top of my underpants. I could not believe what was happening. I was trembling. She pulled me to my feet and pushed my jeans down to my ankles, then fell back onto the sofa.
"Kiss me here," she said, pointing to her tits. I did. "Good boy. Rub me here," she said, indicating between her legs. She held my bottom and with her other hand she pulled my head to hers and kissed me again, her tongue forcing itself roughly round my mouth. Then she guided me inside her and then, realizing that I did not even know it was necessary for me to move she started to slide me up and down. It lasted for all of three seconds. She kissed my neck. She stroked my head and whispered: "Ssssh, ssssh." She said: "You're a very good boy. Did you like that?"
"Yes." I was strangely ashamed but proud and utterly confused.
"Good, so did I," she said, though she probably didn't. (Dublin, 1960)
from Is That It? by Bob Geldof with Paul Vallely (Sidgwick and Jackson, © 1986)
© 2000 Nerve.com, Inc.
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