That First Time!

I was thirteen, I’d been to a Boys Brigade camp near Saundersfoot and met an exciting young lady of similar age who was a maid at a nearby hotel. Anxious to capitalise on this acquaintance I returned to Saundersfoot the following year and booked myself into a boarding house.

We consummated our ‘reunion’ under a laurel bush in the hotel grounds during a thunderstorm. We were thoroughly wet, overexcited and it was, in retrospect, thoroughly unsatisfactory, but at the time wildly exciting; premature ejaculation not withstanding.

On my return to the boarding house I found myself locked out. I managed to lever up the front sash window and affect an entrance, trudging muddily across the lounge carpet.

In my room, still shaking with the magic of concupiscence I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the hands that had so recently touched the untouchable.

The room swam dizzily before my eyes and God’s voice thundered in my ears “SINNER!” He had justly punished me. He had turned my fingers PURPLE!

Surely this was some dreadful pox visited upon me for my sins. I rushed to the sink and scrubbed desperately at my contaminated fingers, but to no avail.

I returned to the bed, sat down and cried for the longest time, my hands held out in front of me so as not to contaminate anything with my diseased fingers.

God was kind and eventually allowed me to sleep, albeit fitfully.

With daylight came sanity and memory… navy school knickers… pouring rain… dye?