Alone in the hotel bathroom as I wrestled my necktie loose, I could think of few more awkward moments in my life up till then. The anchor motif on the tie was a perfect symbol of my predicament: I was sunk in deep water. I removed my jacket, shirt collar and shirt, draping them across the edge of the bath, then I sat on the edge and pulled off my shoes and socks and stood to undo my belt, so that the trousers, always slightly too big around the waist, concertinaed around my ankles. Stepping free, I folded them and smoothed them over the edge of the bath. I’d have to hang them up somewhere later on if I was going to wear the suit in the morning.
Standing in my Jockeys I gazed down, but nothing stirred, nothing stretched, nothing woke from deep slumber. At that very moment Juicy Fruit entered the room entirely naked and without a glance at me she stepped behind the shower curtain and turned on the shower. I stood where I was, growing increasingly anxious, unsure what to do next. I could see her blurred silhouette through the curtains and she seemed to stand there motionless for ages. When she finally emerged her hand and arm glistened with water. ‘Perfect,’ she announced. I realised then that she had been adjusting the temperature.
Now she faced me full frontal and pointed silently at my Jockeys. Keeping my eyes fixed on hers I slowly slid my underpants down to my ankles and stepped out of them. She’d removed the hairpins that held the victory rolls and brushed out her hair. It now fell softly from the crown of her head to her shoulders. Juicy Fruit was Mary Magdalene; in every possible way she was every woman that ever was, not beautiful but much, much more than that. She wasn’t young or old, innocent or experienced in the ways of men; the only way I could think to describe her was that she was of the earth and perfectly, delectably ripe. The word fecund sprang into my mind, beloved of D.H. Lawrence, who seemed to like his women rich, lush and flourishing. It seemed to apply to the glorious woman who now fixed me with large brown eyes that glinted with gold flecks.
I would come to know a lot of women and make love to a great many of them, but there is always one moment when you know that you are about to make love to every woman at once. In barely a few seconds it seemed to me I stood rampant. ‘Come, Jack,’ Juicy Fruit invited, then, not even glancing at my erection, she took my hand and we stepped into the shower together. ‘Hold me tight, Jack,’ she said.
‘How?’ I asked, glancing down.
‘Oh,’ she said, laughing. She reached down and held my cock then shook it like a recalcitrant child.
‘Don’t!’ I cried. ‘One more like that and I’m a goner!’
‘Oh, this is such fun,’ Juicy Fruit cried, stepping into the shower. As the water streamed over her head and shoulders she lifted her face into it, allowing it to cascade over her tightly closed eyes and down her cheeks. She stepped back and wiped the water from her face, sweeping her palms down her neck to her wonderful breasts, her nipples bouncing as she swished the water from her skin, her lovely body glistening. Finally she opened her eyes. ‘Now it’s your turn, Jack,’ she said, laughing.
I wet myself down, rubbing the water over my skin and being careful to avoid the unsheathed but overeager erection that couldn’t be trusted to behave for a moment. I told myself I had to concentrate on something else until we got into bed so that I could lose my virginity properly. I greatly feared what was to come, and worried that I would not last a minute before I disgraced myself.
I turned Juicy Fruit back into the warm cascading water. She searched blindly for the soap and handed it to me with her eyes tightly shut, her face directly under the shower rose. Speaking in a bubbly sort of underwater voice she said, ‘Jack, soap me everywhere, with your hands, with your fingers, every part. You got to know every part of a woman when you go to bed with her, so I want you to wash every single woman’s part of me.’
Instructing me like this under the shower made it seem a bit more natural. I’d never touched a woman’s breasts before, much less the neatly clipped pubic bit I’d observed only once before, when Miss Flash had opened her coat and shocked me to my core. It was central to all of this and the grand entrance to manhood. I’d spent hundreds of hours imagining the naked female body, this part in particular, but I still knew nothing about it. Sure, I knew you could slide in and move up and down and soon grand things would happen, or they were supposed to. In Reggie Blunt’s case, he’d discovered that even though he possessed a marriage licence, free entry was barred. But I knew this wasn’t going to happen to me, just the opposite in fact. Juicy Fruit’s suggestion that I soap her was a stroke of genius. Armed with a bar of soap I could guard against any lascivious thoughts. I had a task to perform, almost a duty, which allowed me to curb my prurient fantasies. After all, I’d been obeying instructions from women all my life.
I set about with gusto, soaping my large hands before I began at her feet and ankles, deciding I’d do the parts we had in common first. After all, while a woman’s back might be more shapely, it didn’t differ all that much from a man’s. Legs, bottom, back. In this manner I could delay, or work up to, soaping the major differences, all of which seemed to be situated at the front. Or so I’d hitherto imagined.
It was lovely to soap and lather her as the shower splashed over her front, and soon enough I arrived at her delicious bottom, the walking wiggle, the part of the female anatomy that had turned me on a hundred times, mostly when it belonged to one of the twins as they left the club. I knew the twins used it as a weapon, showboating, strutting their stuff, but I guessed that while it had a powerful effect on a male, it probably didn’t have the capacity to make a woman feel horny. I soaped her rump carefully, my big hands moving in circles over both cheeks, then suddenly she bent over, her hands grasping her ankles. ‘Holy smoke!’ I stumbled back into the shower curtain and what hove into view very nearly caused me to fall on my ass. ‘Jack, soap me, sweetheart, right inside,’ Juicy Fruit said. Of course I knew what I was looking at, but never in my wildest imaginings had I expected to see it from such a viewpoint, two lovely mounds with paradise valley enfolded between them. ‘Soap me, Jack,’ Juicy Fruit instructed. I did as she requested, gently soaping this astonishing female part, which I had long imagined. She ran her hands up her calves from her ankles, resting on her knees but still bent over in full display. ‘Now rub your finger along inside, just a little at first, at the very top. Not hard, gentle, with the pad of your finger.’
Again I did as she asked and my finger slid in so effortlessly I had to draw it back to meet her requirements. ‘Yes, yes, just like that, at the top, that’s nice . . .’ then a little later, ‘a little harder, baby, but don’t dig . . . slide. Oh god, that’s lovely,’ she gasped. ‘Now just a little deeper, slide the whole finger up and down, Jack. Oh, Jesus! You’re giving little mama pleasure, darling,’ she said breathlessly. I could see her bottom starting to grind. ‘Gimme the whole finger, Jack! There,’ she guided my hand. ‘Deep!’ she said as I hesitated, afraid I might hurt her. ‘Go, Jack, faster!’ Then suddenly her bottom went berserk, moving so quickly that my finger had almost no work to do. Then, several gasps and whimpers later, she suddenly grasped both taps and cried, ‘Oh, oh, oh my god! Oh my god!’ The strength of her muscles was awesome. When at last she quietened, the sound of the water masked her panting as it splashed and trickled over her body.
Juicy Fruit straightened and kissed me. ‘You passed your first exam, Jack. I’m giving you an A-plus, honey,’ she said, her beautiful breasts rising and falling from her previous exertions. ‘You’ve still got my back and then the front,’ she said, giggling.
I continued to soap her, bemused by the way the night was unfolding. Already I’d been taken way beyond my imagination, which hitherto I’d always thought of as dangerously extreme.
I lathered her lovely back and neck and then her breasts, which felt soft and firm at the same time. Her nipples were taut and lovely, little pink rosebuds that pointed upwards. ‘Kiss them, Jack,’ she instructed. On a sudden impulse I dropped the bar of soap and cupped each breast in my hands, allowing the w
ater to sluice the soap from her breasts before I took each nipple into my mouth in turn. It was a bold move, the first deliberate sexual act I’d ever initiated. I played with each one for a short while, rolling it around my tongue as if it were a delicious sweet. Miraculously, Juicy Fruit said breathlessly, ‘Oh, Jack, that’s lovely. I want more of that later.’
Suddenly I felt good about myself. I was still a virgin, but now I possessed a sort of rough road map, some experience at least. Not much, but some. I retrieved the soap and continued to lather her stomach, moving my hand down onto the soft pad of dark wet hair. I felt as if this was not entirely unfamiliar territory, although I was approaching it from a different perspective. Nonetheless it was one I treated with great circumspection, careful not to attempt any further innovation. Breast kissing was one thing, I had imagined that before, but I had to be careful because I had a sudden urge to kiss every part of her, to use my tongue again. It seemed only natural, especially after what Juicy Fruit had done to me on the train. She grabbed my hand and grasped my forefinger, saying, ‘Lovely big fingers,’ as she guided it into her body, then, removing her hand she wriggled her thighs until my forefinger had been completely accommodated in what I can only describe as a firm but altogether surprising grip. ‘See, Jack, it works from the front as well,’ she said wickedly.
The soaping ploy had worked like a dream. I had been so preoccupied, applying myself with my usual obsessive concentration to learning all this new information and trying my best to please Juicy Fruit, that by the time it was my turn to be soaped I found that I had regained a measure of control over my body. If I could just maintain that control, then at the very least, I might be able to learn something about making love.
Just watching Juicy Fruit was a joy, as we finally rinsed ourselves under the shower and turned off the taps. She grasped her hair and wrung it out, squeezing the last of the water from the thick, glistening rope down over her breasts. She looked simply glorious as she smiled mischievously and said, ‘I think the boy could go places.’ She looked happy.
Clean and stark naked seemed so natural and easy as Juicy Fruit and I towelled each other dry and hopped into the four-poster, pulling the curtains around us. ‘Jack, you have a nice young body so we’re going to make love with the light on, and if you’ll let me tell you what I want, I think you’ll find it more fun, eh?’
Inwardly I jumped for joy. ‘Suits me,’ I replied, attempting for a moment to sound nonchalant. I knew nothing about naked women, but I knew a fair bit about the dressed variety, and soon realised that acting suave and assured, especially at my age, was doomed to failure. I decided to come clean. ‘Juicy Fruit, I’ve loved learning what you’ve shown me so far. I’d really like it if you were in charge. I want to remember tonight forever, but I’m afraid I’m going to mess it up for you . . . you know, wham, bam, thank you ma’am and that will be that.’
She looked at me with amusement. ‘Jack, sweetheart, you have no idea what that body of yours is capable of doing. You think I’m gonna let you get away with givin’ me woe? Honey, no way. You wait and see, it’ll be just fine. If it ain’t . . .’ she paused and chuckled, ‘I brought me a real sharp bowie knife and you don’t need to know what I’m gonna use it for,’ she laughed. ‘You cost me five raffle tickets and I ain’t gonna let myself have a bad time, so you might just like to come along for the ride, eh?’
Quite how she managed it I shall never know, but Juicy Fruit made my passage into manhood a sustained and wonderful experience and was kind enough to have an orgasm, although at the time I was too ignorant to understand exactly what was happening or why, let alone to know what it was called.
I was so elated and grateful that I leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom to retrieve my Hohner Elite. Jumping back into bed I serenaded Juicy Fruit with ‘Night and Day’ by Cole Porter. She knew the lyrics and the song suited her distinctive deep voice.
Miraculously we managed to make love three more times that night and each time, as we lay side by side, she’d request a song. She knew all the lyrics and seemed to enjoy herself immensely. Even today when I hear certain old songs I can recall the ways she wanted to be gratified. ‘Night and Day’ was the first song I played her, and I guess a fairly predictable choice, but it never failed to conjure up in my imagination the four-poster with its curtains and the sense of being totally enclosed and private the first time I’d actually made love to a woman.
Each time we made love that night my loving partner taught me something new and after each time she chose a song for me to play: ‘Cheek to Cheek’ by Irving Berlin, ‘My Funny Valentine’ by Rodgers and Hart and after that came Gershwin’s ‘Summertime’. Finally, when we were both dead tired and lying in each other’s arms, Juicy Fruit paid me a simply lovely compliment by singing, ‘Thanks for the Memory’. Hearing her unaccompanied I realised that she had a damn good voice. Dawn was just showing through the lace curtains as we both fell into an utterly exhausted sleep, marking the end of the night that had made Jack a man.
But it wasn’t quite over. I woke to find Juicy Fruit kissing me. ‘It’s ten o’clock, baby,’ she said, smiling down at me. ‘Time for you to have a shower.’
I sat up in bed and stretched, yawning. ‘God, it feels like I’ve been asleep for ten minutes. Okay, you go ahead, I’ll be there in a tick.’
‘No, I’ve already showered, Jack. There’s something I have to ask you . . . a favour.’
I grinned. ‘Sweetheart, after last night, you can have whatever you want.’ She’d brushed her hair and look glorious. ‘You look beautiful, Juicy Fruit,’ I said, reaching out for her.
‘Jack, remember last night, the first thing we did in the shower when you were soaping me and I bent down?’
I nodded. ‘Lesson number one. How could I ever forget?’
‘Well, this is the last lesson and this is a fresh day, so you are no longer mine to command. It’s a special treat for me and you can say no if you want.’
I shrugged. ‘Anything . . . anything for you, Juicy Fruit.’ I grinned. ‘I need all the knowhow you can give me.’
‘No, this is just for me, Jack.’ She kissed me gently. ‘Will you do what you did with your finger, but this time use your tongue?’
I couldn’t believe my ears. It was what I’d wanted to do in the shower. It had seemed completely natural and the equivalent of what Juicy Fruit had done for me on the train. But of course I hadn’t had the courage to suggest it at the time.
I pretended to think for a moment, to add a little comic tension. Then I growled softly at her. ‘Grrrrrr! Come here gorgeous, delicious Juicy Fruit. I’m going to eat you up!’
Juicy Fruit had taken my virginity, and in return she had given me the most important lesson a man can learn in sexual good manners: that sex isn’t merely for your own gratification. With lovemaking, as with almost everything else between men and women, it is as well to remember that there is a time to give and a time to receive. I would spend most of the years to come in the presence of women and learn that, unlike Juicy Fruit, who had the courage to ask for what she wanted, most needed to be given the confidence to demand from a man the same satisfaction as he demanded from them.
On the journey back to Moose Jaw we had a compartment to ourselves where Juicy Fruit and I talked like old friends rather than recent lovers. At one stage she looked me in the eye and said, ‘Jack, I’m a working girl and that’s not goin’ to change for a while, honey. So I guess it’s friends, eh?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, I’d like that, I’d like that a whole lot.’
Juicy Fruit reached out and touched my hand and chuckled, keeping things light. ‘Jack, that was lovely and on my terms for a change. Let’s not spoil it. One day, perhaps, when I’m free again, who knows?’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I truly loved last night but it’s cost me dearly!’ She lifted her skirt to show a ladder starting at the top of the nylon stocking on her left leg. ‘It’s my only pair of nylons. I got these from a Yank commercial traveller and his offer was
the nylons for the trick, or he’d pay me. The nylons won hands down. They’re precious.’ Pointing to the ladder, she said, ‘It’s saying a heap, Jack, but you were worth it and the five raffle tickets. Such a pity you can’t be a virgin twice. Next time I’d buy ten.’
‘Thanks, Juicy Fruit. Everything was great for me, thanks to you. If this ever became a River Street tradition, raffling a virgin, I mean, I can’t imagine anyone ever getting a better deal than I got. You were simply fantastic!’
‘Jack, about being a working girl – I don’t mix business with pleasure. But loving ain’t just that . . . if you know what I mean. Any time you need a bit of loving, you let me know. You need me, just holler and I’ll come,’ she repeated.
I nodded. It was generous of her to say the least. I guess she meant like a big sister. ‘Sorry about the nylons. Rare as hen’s teeth, I know.’
I knew the twins were drowning in nylons, given to them by their top-brass clients. Senior officers could get as many as they needed from the Americans who had cornered the entire market for their own troops. A soldier, sailor or air-force guy armed with a couple of pairs of nylons when he went on rest and recreation was practically guaranteed a girl for the night. A pair of nylons was pure gold. Juicy Fruit had been forced to trade sex with some dumb commercial traveller for the pair that was now lamentably laddered. I’d write my mother to get a couple of pairs from the twins for her.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ I said.
‘What, Jack?’
‘You’ve got a nice voice, sweet and low, good accurate pitch – you’re obviously musical.’
‘My papa used to play the piano accordion. As kids we’d sing every night – ‘O Sole Mio’, ‘Santa Lucia’, ‘La Danza’, ‘Carmela’, and heaps and heaps more. One of the last things he sold before we were forced to leave our little farm was his accordion. He died in Winnipeg last year without ever playing a note of music again.’
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