by Max Howell
“I never bet, Uncle Les,” said Mark, looking at this thin, earnest man, endeavouring to judge his human qualities.
“You are wise, son, unless you give it full-time study.”
“Well, I do not plan to do that. I am going over to the USA to study,” said Mark.
“Yes, your father told me, but I also read it in the papers. But what do you want to see me about, Mark?”
“Well, Uncle Les,” said Mark, taking a deep breath, “as I said I am going to America on an athletic scholarship. They will pay me when I am there, but I am a little worried financially about looking after myself on the ship going over and during my first weeks in America. I have very little money, and Mum and Dad have not any either. I need about thirty pounds, Uncle Les, just to tide me over. It would only be a loan, and I will certainly pay you back within three months, with interest if you like.” He was relieved that he had been able to get the request over with, but his uneasiness remained.
His uncle did not change expression, but shifted in his seat, coming closer to Mark. “So that is it, right? Well, let me say first I have admired you from a distance, and everyone tells me you are a credit to your family and your country. I could not think of anybody more deserving of a loan than yourself, and I have complete faith that you would repay it like you said. I have, however, very few rules I operate by, one is I never loan money to anybody, and for whatever reason. So all I can do is wish you the very best in America. It has been very nice seeing you again.” His uncle rose and then walked away.
Mark felt a chill throughout his body, and felt his face go pale. He was so astonished he could hardly speak. He felt as if he was in another world as he drew himself slowly to his feet and found his way out of the room where he had met his uncle. He stumbled towards the door, and he gazed stonily ahead as the doorman opened the main door and said, cheerily, “Nice to meet you, Mark, best of luck in America.”
Mark looked around desperately for Faith, and when he saw her he started to run, and fell into her arms. Faith did not know what to think as his head went down on her shoulder, and he started to sob. “The bastard!” he cried out. “The rotten bastard! He spoke to me as if I were an insect, a fish. I feel unclean, I need a bath. I have never in my life felt so humiliated. I never thought I could hate anyone. But I hate him, Faith, and I will never forgive him if I live to be a hundred. He turned me down cold. The rotten, rotten bastard!”
Faith had never heard Mark swear before, and she was taken aback by his vehemence. She knew that whatever had happened, it had upset Mark more than she had ever seen him before. All the way home, in the tram, he was silent, an inner fury controlling his mind. All he could think of was the coldness, the impersonality of what had happened. People preached forgiveness, but he knew he could never forgive his uncle over what had happened. Faith did not say a word, just held his hand.
When he got home, his father greeted him immediately, “Well that was not so hard, eh, Mark. You can always depend on family in the clutch.”
“The rotten bastard did not give me a cent, Dad,” he said with hatred, “I do not need his help or for that matter anybody else’s. I should have known better. I will be all right, Dad, do not worry.”
“I’m sorry, Mark. Frankly, I never did like the bludger. He was a cold sort of bloke.”
“Just forget it, Dad. You did the best you could. It was a good lesson. I knew you would give the money to me if you had it, and that is the main thing.”
“You know I would, Mark.”
Mark walked away. Telegrams had been pouring in, and there were messages from many people and others kept dropping in, so his mind was taken off what had happened.
His father retreated to the Coach and Horses, but in about an hour came rushing back in the house with thirty one pound notes in his hand and with a big smile on his face.
“Do not ever say your old man does not come through in the clutch, son,” he said, tossing the money to Mark.
“How did you get it, Dad?” enquired Mark, fingering the money.
“Well, I was a bit upset after you told me about your bloody no-good uncle, so I went up to the pub for a beer and to talk to me mates. I told them about that old bludger who was worth a fortune and would not give you a brass razoo. They were really browned off, so they passed the hat around the pub and everyone emptied their pockets. The publican, who never bought anyone a beer in his bloody life, coughed up six quid to make it thirty. He is so tight I thought there would be moths in the notes. Anyhow, there it is. The boys from the Coach and Horses may be a lot of no-hopers, Mark, but they have got hearts of gold if you can dig that deep,” said his father, obviously pleased with the turn of events. “I told you I would never let you down.”
“Thanks, Dad, I really appreciate it and I will send it back to you. It is just for an emergency.”
“Give it back, son? Don’t be bloody silly: half the silly buggers would not even remember giving it to you to-morrow,” replied his father.
“Still, Dad, I will send it to you as soon as I can and you can do what you like with it. You can shout all your mates if you want.”
“Fine, son, but do not lose any sleep over it.”
“I will not. But I tell you, Dad, I will never forget Uncle Les in my lifetime.”
“He is not worth worrying about, son. One of these days he may be asking for a bit of help himself, and then we will see. Anyhow, get on with what you have to do.”
“Dad, I will stick around till 9 o’clock, but I promised Faith I would see her at 9, so I will have to excuse myself then. I have hardly seen her, and it is our last night.”
“Do not blame you son. She seems a real decent sort.”
“She is, Dad, she is.”
Faith stayed as long as she could, but went home to have dinner with her parents. When the dinner was over, she said: “Mum and Dad, I have another special favour to ask. It is Mark’s last night, as you know, and I promised to meet him at 9. I will not see him for four years. I would appreciate it if I can do it, and I do not know what time I will be back.”
Her mother looked at her father, and he nodded. “Of course you can meet him, Faith. You know we trust you completely. You stay out as long as you want. When he has gone you can study for your exams.”
Mark’s house was like the night before, crowded with well-wishers. Telegrams and now letters were piled high on the living room table, and Mark tried to look at them in between people wishing him the best. Frank was there, and so was Wallaby Wiechman, and nostalgia overtook them as they started to tell stories of their boyhoods. Mark did not drink, but Frank and Wallaby did, and as the evening progressed they had their arms on Mark’s shoulders and were all laughing.
Mark’s Dad, as always, was the centre of conversation. He rarely moved from the kitchen, and went from one story to another. Laughter swept through the house. As he looked out to see his father, Mark thought to himself that he loved him deeply, admired the way he could embellish a story, and wished that he had some of those same qualities. But at the same time he could see his many weaknesses, and he resolved never to succumb to them.
His eyes searched for his mother, and there she was. Making sandwiches, serving drinks, talking to the women, committed, calm, determined, making the best of a bad situation. What did she really think, what really went on in her mind? She had an inner resolve, you could see that, and great energy, but she was like a fly trapped in a bottle, denied freedom, trapped in an environment she could not get out of. There was little evident love that he could see between her and his father and yet he could mesmerise others. Maybe one time he hypnotised her as well, but it was if the spell had now worn off. She at least tolerated him when he was sober, reviled him when he was drunk, and hated him when he was antagonistic and took out his frustrations on her. Mark sighed as he looked at them. He could see their good qualities, and with a child’s idealism he had always wished for peace, happiness and security. Realistically, there seemed to be little hope. I am the
new generation, he thought, I must learn from them, and endeavour to work towards perfection. What is wrong with perfection, with idealism? He just wished that his mother would rush forward and take him in her arms and tell him she loved him. He could not remember that. He could not even recall a full kiss on the lips. Her guard was always up, as if to reveal oneself completely was a weakness. He wished it were otherwise. But how does one break down that initial barrier? Perhaps, he thought, his mother had given herself to his father in trust, and he had betrayed it.
The party showed no signs of diminishing, but Mark said good-night to Frank, Wallaby his father, mother and the others. “See you to-morrow,” he said, and walked out of the kitchen and down the back steps. He was soon in Church Street, and he looked anxiously towards where they always met. Faith was standing there, and he hurried towards her. He stopped a yard away from her and smiled as he appraised her. Her straight, lustrous hair, her angular features, her clear eyes, her flushed face. She wore a white buttoned blouse and a floral skirt which emphasised her youth and brightness. They fell into each other’s arms, then turned and walked back along Church Street, past his home where all the lights were blazing, by the Catholic College near Cowper Street, then to Dangar Street, and then turned on White and Evans Street towards Centennial Park, arm in arm. It was a beautiful feeling as he felt the muscles on her back with each change of step, and the movement of her waist and rear, as he gently touched them, moved him sensually.
Faith’s parents had looked out of the window as the pair embraced and walked away. “I am worried,” her mother said, “they are so much in love anything can happen as it is their last night. I just wish I had not let her go out.”
Her father took his wife in his arms and consoled her. “I agree, but we had to let her go out. She would never have forgiven us. It means so much to her. All we can do is hope for the best. She is just so damned young.”
“It is all true, but she is a baby no longer. She is a grown woman, with deep feelings.”
He sighed. “It all seems to have come so fast. She is barely eighteen, and yesterday, it seems, she was a baby and we were changing her nappies.”
They went back to their living room and turned on the radio, each anxious and preoccupied with thoughts of their daughter.
Faith and Mark entered Centennial Park, crossed Grand Drive and walked until they found a secluded place, a grassy bank overlooking one of the lakes. It was a warm night, and overcast, which ensured their privacy. There was no one to be seen. They were alone, and in their private world.
She lay on her back and stared at the sky, her hands behind her head. He propped himself on his side, supported by his left elbow, and looked at her.
Without looking at him, she said innocently, “Mark, I just wish the world would stop now, at this moment, us together here. I wish we could be frozen in time.”
“So do I, Faith, so do I. But whatever happens, I will never forget any of these moments we have had together. They are forever seared in my mind.” His eyes ran over her body. He could see her breasts taut against her blouse, and his eyes moved over her flat stomach and the depression of her dress at the groin as she lay there with her legs apart.
“It has all been so perfect, Mark. I am yours till the end of time.”
Deeply moved, his lips moved towards hers. She closed her eyes, and returned his kiss with passion. Their tongues met, searching one another out.
He slowly undid the buttons of her blouse, and then opened it up to reveal both her breasts. As usual, she wore no brassiere, and he admired the roundness and firmness of her breasts, the pinkish-brown surrounding the nipples, which were erect. He fondled them, marvelling how each was lost in his large hands, then brought his mouth down on one, kissing it and playing with the nipple with his tongue. He could feel the emotion surging through her as she strained to bring herself closer to him. She moaned occasionally as the waves of ecstasy took over. She could feel herself slipping away to a dream world again, as she often did with him. There was no resistance, only blind and innocent acceptance of the beauty and wonder of it all. It was if she were being drawn into a whirlpool, out of control, but wonderfully so, moving round and round as she approached its vortex.
His hand moved down to her groin, and he slowly inched her skirt up to her waist. He saw her white panties, close-fitting, and could see the roundness of her waist and the thinness of her legs. His hand went over her pubic area, and she opened her legs further so he could run his hands freely over it. He could feel the moistness of her underwear. The amount of her body fluids always amazed him. He slipped one finger under her pants, and slowly and carefully ran his finger along her opening, and then gently inserted his index finger inside and moved it slowly around. He withdrew it, and then kissed her mouth and her breasts, as his hand went to her waist and started to inch her pants away. As they started to come off she lifted her rear from the ground to assist him. When her panties cleared her rear he worked them down her legs, over her knees and ankles, and then they were off. He placed them carefully to one side, his heart thumping with emotion.
He saw the contours of her body perfectly. He could see her pubic hair, and ran his hand over it, delighting at its softness, and its wetness.
“Oh Mark,” she exclaimed, trembling, “do not stop! Please do not stop! I want you so terribly!” She reached towards his groin, and felt Mark’s hardness. All she could think of was that she wanted him inside her, she wanted complete fulfillment, she wanted a memory of him that would stay with her for four years, or a lifetime. She undid one of the buttons of his pants and, carried away with the mounting excitement and expectation he undid the rest, loosened his pants and pushed down his underwear. His penis was enlarged and hard, and instinctively he moved on top of her and inserted himself inside her. She was so wet there was no forcing, and he was amazed how simple it was, and so beautiful. She raised her legs to allow him complete entry, but the fierceness of her own contractions and his occasioned immediate and simultaneous orgasms. His instinct was to withdraw as he felt his own ejaculation coming, but she held him tightly, placing her hands over his rear, and pleaded with him to stay. “It is all right, Mark,” she panted, “it is all right. Stay there. I know what I am doing.”
Though he knew it was foolish, it was so pleasurable that he stayed inside until the last of his seminal fluid escaped, aided by her own contractions. As his hardness ceased, he withdrew and rolled over, and they collapsed in one another’s arms, their faces flushed and their hearts racing.
“Mark, oh Mark, it was so beautiful. As soon as you entered I had an orgasm. I just wanted you so much.”
“It was fantastic, Faith, I have never felt anything like it in my life.”
They lay in each other’s arms for about five minutes, scarcely saying a word, their lips brushing occasionally. His hand touched her breast again, and his tongue caressed her nipples. He felt his penis hardening again, and he had an irresistible desire to get inside her once more. He rolled her over and came on top of her. He went inside her easily, and she raised her legs to allow him to go in further. This time he was inside to the length of his penis, and he moved backwards and forwards, his hips undulating, almost withdrawing his penis and then inserting it completely.
Faith started to have an orgasm, and it brought on his own. She held on to him, refusing to let him move away, until he was drained, and he finally fell away, and then they were in each other’s arms once more, expressing their love to each other.
In about ten minutes he was inside her again, but this time he did not have an orgasm so easily, and he could go longer, so he changed the rhythm, moving fast, then slow, and raising himself more off the ground. She had a number of orgasms, and cried out as each one occurred, but he found he could ride through them, and carry on to bring her to a climax again and again. He found he was more inside her, his own pubic hairs pushing against hers. She closed her legs at one point, and he could feel the pressure of her thighs against his penis. A
lmost without knowing it, they rolled over, so that Mark’s back was on the ground, and she mounted him, her hips moving furiously in and out as she worked his penis. He just lay there, mesmerized by it all, absorbing a pleasure beyond his imagination. His climax came, and she kept thrusting, overcome by her own orgasm.
They fell, exhausted, into one another’s arms.
“I did not know it could be done like that,” she said, trembling with emotion. “I was not too certain how it was done, but we turned over and it just happened.”
“Both ways were beautiful, Faith. I love you so very much, I will love you until I die.”
“And I, Mark. There will never be another! Never! It is you till my death! Please promise me, Mark, please promise me you will love me always, no matter what happens.”
“I promise, Faith. You have my solemn promise. To my death, no-one else. I love you, Faith, I love you. To death! I promise!”
“Kiss me once more, Mark, and seal our promise.”
They embraced, their idealistic commitment sealed forever with a kiss.
He then helped her dress, doing up the buttons on her blouse and helping her with her underwear. Mark stood up, and extended his hand, but she could not stand up, her legs trembling through the experience. He pulled her to him, and said, “You will be all right, Faith, I will hold you a while.” As he held her, he could feel the tremors going through her body. He had no experience with anyone else, but he was astonished how emotional she could become. Slowly, she could stand, and they walked arm in arm from Centennial Park until they reached her house.