Harry's Island Initiation

My athletic ability should never have been the bane of my life. Running freed my spirit, gave me a sense of power as I drove myself to greater speeds. I was fourteen when I discovered that I could cover 80 metres faster than other boys in my school. At 15 I was area champion at 100 metres.

Passing years have revealed that there are mothers who need to control, or rather direct, any sign of ability their child may have. A seemingly laudable fact. 'Talent needs to be nurtured'; 'Too young to know what's best for them." So it was that, by the time I was fifteen, my mother had taken charge, and the restrictions on my life began.

"No late nights. No smoking. No drinking. Girls will hold you back. Believe me, I only want the best for you. You'll be twenty one when the 1956 Olympics start. We'll have you in perfect condition by then," she declared. She set me up with a personal trainer, but supervised everything he did.

My father, a success in his own air conditioning business, was sympathetic. "I'd like to see him do well, Greta. But the lad needs a life."

"He'll have a life," my mother would reply," but it will be a successful one."

My father would shrug hopelessly in my direction. Successful and positive as he was in his business world, he always relented in the face of my mother's determination.

So the activity I loved became a hindrance in so many ways. No late nights naturally precluded much activity with girls. My mother was constantly warning me how physical contact with the opposite sex would interfere with my progress.

By the time I was seventeen my experience with girls had been limited to remote, flat kisses, a fumble around the breast area before my hand was knocked away. Remember, this was decades ago, when most girls believed they should keep it until they were married.

At least that's what I thought. But hearing my school mates talk of their experiences you would have thought we lived in an age of rampant nymphos. Much of their boasting was empty wishful thinking, I told myself, but wondered how they could know so much. Just reading about it, I hoped, but hating the idea of being left behind.

Anyway, it left me wondering, as I approached my eighteenth year, just how I would ever be able to react in an intimate situation with a girl. I would be starting university at the end of Summer and was beginning to see it as a gateway of escape from my mother's oppression. Not that I didn't appreciate her intentions for me. Being an Olympic athlete was an appealing goal, but her methods were just way over the top.

Such was her involvement that I was sure that many of my High School colleagues saw me as a 'Mummy's boy'. It seemed to me that soon I had to take some kind of stance.

Then she came up with what was to be a life changing arrangement.

She had that pleased-with-herself look on her face as she announced, "I've booked us a lovely holiday for your eighteenth birthday, Harry. Three weeks on a quiet Greek island. You can keep up your training, read some of your study books, and your father needs a quiet break from the stress of his work."

All my friends were going off to Summer camps, or touring together. And I was going on holiday with my parents. Mother's boy, indeed.

"Do we have to?" I asked plaintively.

"It's all booked. You're going to love it."

If only she knew just how true her words would be.

The island of Agistri was only a short ferry ride from Piraeus, the port for Athens. A jewel in an azure sea, the brochure said. For me it appeared to be a disguised Alcatraz, only just over two miles wide at its narrowest point.

It has changed much over the years, but at that time Agistri boasted one small hotel and a couple of tavernas, alongside scattered cottages of residents, mostly fishing folk.

It turned out that my room in the hotel was on the ground floor, whereas my parents were on the first floor. I immediately saw some advantages in that. Although I couldn't tell myself what they were.

My mother had called it a quiet island and the significance of that was immediately apparent. It seemed that most of the other hotel guests were there for the peace and quiet of their twilight years. Out on the street I saw l one or two back-packing couples, who might be island hopping or who, over the subsequent years, would become hippie folk.

My mother quickly showed me the sandy beach just down from the hotel. A stretch of almost white soft sand, with the landward side shielded by clumps of shrubbery, with the occasionally vivid red of bougainvillea.

"This is where you can run, Harry. A good stretch for three quarter pace and the occasional fast burst."

I felt like being awkward, "There's no tide, so it's all soft sand---speed won't be much."

"Running the soft sand will help strengthen your legs," she smiled that smile of extra wisdom," and if you run just on the very edge of the sea you'll find it firmer---and nice and splashy."

"What about the heat?" I persisted with my negatives..

"Oh, early in the morning, of course, before the sun gets too high."

So the routine began. The next morning, which happened to be my birthday, I was out just after eight, barefooted, and wearing only a pair of shorts. As soon as I began running, I felt that old exhilaration, that sense of power. Striding over the soft sand required more effort, and I did a three quarter rate the length of the beach, which I estimated was about three quarters of a mile.

On the way back I attempted a few faster bursts, splashing through the edge of the transparent sea. By the time I'd finished I was coated in sweat, and was happy to plunge into the warm balm of the water.

That evening it was surprising to find that the food in the hotel restaurant was first class. Afterwards, because there was nothing else to do other than perhaps take a walk, I succumbed to my mother's pleas to join her and my father in the small bar area. "To get your present," she said with an excited smile.

There were comfortable booths around the main area with maroon leather sofas and seats. A handful of other people were scattered about the room, and piped music, low, gentle issued over the whole scene.

My father ordered a Greek beer for himself, a Bacardi and coke for my mother, and, with an apologetic glance at me, an orange juice.

With an excited smile my mother placed a small gift wrapped package on the table. "Happy birthday, son," she said, rather huskily, and as I reached for it she added, "but before you open it-----" And she raised her hand in the air.

Immediately the piped music changed to the tune of 'Happy Birthday', and the hotel manager appeared carrying a decorated cake complete with burning candles. My mother began to sing, my father joined in in his growling tones and as others turned their heads they joined in too.

I so wanted to feel grateful, yet I couldn't avoid the sense that I was being treated like a nine year old. The song ended and there was a little patter of applause as I dutifully blew out the candles.

I opened the package and found a very presentable gold watch. "It has a stop watch in it." My mother said. I wasn't surprised. But it was a fine looking watch and I warmly expressed my gratitude.

After a few minutes, I excused myself to visit the toilet, which took me past the bar, where only one person was sitting. A lady with long dark hair down her back, over a sleeveless turquoise dress. Briefly my mind registered the curve of her waist to hip.

As I was on my way back, she turned in her seat and her dark eyes watched my approach. The dress was cut low enough to give a hint of a gently sloping bosom. Her wide mouth smiled as I was about to pass.

"Happy birthday," she said quietly. There was a warmth about her that I couldn't define.

I muttered my thanks and was about to move on, uncertain how to say more.

"You're twenty first?"

I stopped, feeling my face redden, " Eighteenth."

Her eyebrows raised, "Really? You look more mature---and an athlete."

I just stood, wanting to ask how she knew that, but was lost in her interest.

She laughed, "I saw you this morning. Very impressive."

She saw me? How could she do that? I was sure I had the beach to myself. More importantly, why should she notice enough to comment. My mind whirled.

"Might I buy you a drink---to mark your birthday."

I glanced towards the booth where I saw my mother watching, her eyes narrowed, " I don't---can't--"

She followed my glance and said simply, "Oh, I see. Well, have a good night."

Totally abashed by a sense of inadequacy I returned to our table.

"What was that woman saying to you?"

"Just happy birthday."

"Watch yourself with women like that."

"Or just watch her move," my father chuckled. The woman had slid from the bar stool and was swaying towards a side door. Her whole body undulated sensuously. "Oh, yes."

"Raymond!" my mother hissed.

But I was grateful to my father for breaking the tension.

The next morning I was out and running, with the sun low over my shoulder, already warming. The idea of coming out earlier had crossed my mind, but had no appeal.

As ever, the freedom of running lifted my spirits and on my return I really turned it on as I splashed on the water's edge. Breathing heavily I eased back at a point where the shrubs grew closer to the sea, narrowing the beach at that point. There wasn't another soul in view.

"Very impressive," the gentle call, followed by the clapping of hands startled me. I looked towards the shrubs, and immediately saw her, almost hidden, seated in a gap between two bougainvillea, close enough for me to recognise her immediately. The dark hair tied back, the open smiling face, and, my heart skipped at the illusion, only bare skin visible, as she sat on a blanket with her arms wrapped around her knees.

I hesitated, fearing the embarrassment of her being naked. She laughed and called, "Have you been warned off me?"

She leaned back and I could see that she was actually wearing a brief blue bikini, and her words told me that my worst fears were confirmed. She knew I was dominated by my mother!

The thought filled me with determination to crush such conclusions. I moved towards her, intending it to be a purposeful stride, but the softer sand higher up the beach, made it more of a clumsy stagger, as I neared her.

"Hello," I said, seeking sensible words to say. "Up ahead of the sun?"

"Early sun is safer, I'll move out into the open shortly for a brief while."

She looked up at me appraisingly, her eyes moving slowly from my knees up over my shorts, where they lingered briefly, or did I imagine that? Then up over my chest until she was gazing into my face.

I looked down at her tanned skin, the smooth curve of her shoulders, the subtle rise of small breasts before they disappeared, just, into the bikini top. The enticing cleft between them held my eyes for a second or two, before I moved down to the crease her seated position made in her flat belly.

"Good body," she murmured, her head nodding.

Sure is, was on my lips before I realised she was talking about me.

"Very athletic," she went on. Then, her brown eyes taking on a mischievous gleam, she added, "Like what you see?"

Flip, confident answers flooded into my head. But they weren't my answers. I could only stand there, face burning, words failing to form on my lips. I became aware that my head was nodding inanely. To cover that I finally came up with the dumbest of responses, waving my arms wide, "Sand, sea and everything. Yes."

Her face showed a measure of understanding as she came up onto her knees and moved across the blanket. "Not very comfortable with the opposite sex, are you? No girl friends?"

Again a pack of boasting lies were anxious to be given a voice, but after my mute reactions so far I knew they were pointless. I just shook my head.

"Come on," she said kindly, "you look so uncomfortable standing there. Is that the effect I have on you? Sit down here beside me."

Worriedly, I looked back along the beach, half expecting to see my mother in full battle cry coming towards us. The beach was empty.

As I sank hesitantly to my knees she asked, "Is it your parents you're with?"

"Afraid so," I said fervently, glad that I was able to find my voice.

"How long are you staying?"

I told her three weeks, at which she gave a little nod before asking,

"You didn't answer my earlier question. Were you warned off me?"

I took a deep breath, "I've been warned off all females." Not strictly true, but near enough the mark.

"Why, for goodness sake?"

I looked into her open, sympathetic face, and, like a released dam, I was suddenly pouring out the whole background to my restricted situation, ending with the prospect of getting away to university.

She pursed her full lips and looked deep in thought before saying, "An Olympic prospect? I suppose it's a laudable goal---but really--so many barriers on your life. It can't be good."

I shrugged and stared out over the clear turquoise sea, lapping gently onto the beach. A ferry boat approached. "Are you on holiday?" I asked.

"Yes and no."

I looked around at her. She was leaning back taking the weight on her elbows, a pose that showed off the whole angular perfection of her body. It was an effort to keep my eyes focussed on her face, pleasing though that was. How old would she be? Although I wasn't good at that sort of guessing, I reckoned early thirties.

"I have a summer place over on Aegina," she explained, nodding out across the water. "Only twenty minutes away. Gets a bit hectic this time of year. So I come here for the peace and quiet, when the mood takes me. I keep a little room at the rear of the Risla taverna."

I glanced at my watch, and started to rise, "I'd better be getting back."

"A pity," she said with a friendly smile. "See you tomorrow perhaps."

"Yes," I said, and added bravely, "I'll look forward to it."

She laughed, and I gave her a wave as a hurried away.

Next morning, I was out and running a little earlier, my hands clenching as I neared the two bougainvillea. I lowered my pace, but my heart sank when I saw that the gap was empty.

I speeded up in exasperation. Since the previous morning I had been unable to get her out of my mind. The lean tanned look of her, her kindly open face, the warmth of her interest. The disappointment of her not being there drove me into a wild attempt at a sprint to the end of the beach. So vigorous was my effort over the clinging sand that I was glad to make my way back at only a steady jog.

Hell, I don't know why I should feel so upset. What was I expecting here? She was way out of my time zone and obviously fairly well off. Yet she had shown a willingness to talk. And that was something new in my experience.

Approaching the gap in the shrubs, I held my breath, and then released it in a relieved sigh. There she was, sitting in the same arms-around-knees pose as yesterday, and now she waved cheerily. I swerved up the beach.

"You were early this morning," she said with a smile, and shuffled across the blanket. "Come on. Sit down, you look like you've overdone it."

Sitting beside her and without thinking I said, "I thought you weren't here."

Her eyes held mine, "Would it have mattered?"

I felt the blood rush into my face and I looked out to the sea.

"You know I don't even know your name."

I told her.

"Well, Harry. I'm Laura. Pleased to meet you." And with a little chuckle she held out her hand. I gave her mine. Her fingers were surprisingly cool, and was that just a little squeeze before she released? I gave her what I hoped was a positive smile.

"How was your day yesterday?" she asked.

I told her how my father and mother declared that the afternoons were too hot to be out and about. "So I just wandered around the village here. Saw your tavern."

"Were you looking for me?" her voice took on a teasing tone.

"No, no, it was just chance." I had hoped to see her. "Then I did some reading."

"I like reading--anything I'd know?"

"Stuff for university."

"So a pretty boring day?"

"That sums it up."

She sat up straight and looked at me directly, "Well, Harry, have you seen much of the island?"

"Just around here."

"Well, this afternoon would you let me show you the shortest way to the other side of the island? About a two mile walk, testing in the heat but the pine trees afford good shade."

She was actually asking me to walk with her. The very thought of that made my breath quicken, but then breathing became really difficult at her next request.

She reached behind her and produced a lotion bottle, "I know you'll be rushing away, but before you go would you rub a little cream onto my back." Her eyes studied the expression on my face. "Please. I did my front yesterday---the sun can kiss my back today." Her eyes held mine, "Is that all right?" She handed me the bottle and turned to lie flat on her stomach, legs slightly spread. Wonderfully proportioned thighs, was the thought that popped into my turbulent mind.

"Not too thick," she said, and then leaned back. "Oh, just a minute." And she reached behind her to undo her bikini top. "No strap marks."

Trembling slightly, I opened the bottle and poured a little of the cream onto my hand. Tentatively I leaned over her and stroked at an area just below her shoulders, letting my circling hand flow over the top curve.

She had flinched at the initial chill, but now she said, "Oh, nice touch, Harry. So gentle."

The smoothness of her skin under my fingertips sent fiery tingles coursing through my body. As my hand moved down in ever diminishing circles I was sure she gave a little shiver. Of pleasure? I hoped so.

For me the fire had reached my groin and I was terribly aware of the pressure mounting against my shorts.

As I neared the end, my fingers passed along the top edge of her bikini bottoms, and I saw, and felt, the slight indentation of the beginning of her anal cleft. How could that be so erotic? Added pressure in my groin.

From her prone position she said, rather huskily, "That was so good of you, Harry. Just one more request. Could you fasten up my top for me?

This was an added intimacy. Would I make an idiot of myself? I reached across to retrieve one end, pulled them together and was relieved to find a simple hooking system, which I managed despite the trembling in my hands.

She rolled over, sat up and handed me a small towel, "Thanks for that. It wasn't too bad was it? Just wipe your hands dry."

We made quick arrangements to meet behind the village chapel at half past one. "That's where the easiest trail starts," she said, as I stood up. "Wear something you can swim in---we can cool off across there."

Instantly I was aware of her looking at my shorts, and I had to resist an impulse to place my hand over the tell-tale bulge. But she just gave a little smile as I turned away and she said, "Better walk back fairly slowly."

Feeling like the most callow of youths, I did walk slowly over the sand. But, at least, a pleasant afternoon beckoned. I just could not come to terms with her wanting to give her time to me, and all I hoped for was that I could appear more mature than I had so far.

Over lunch my mother wanted to know how I intended to spend my afternoon.

"Chasing the local beauties," my father joked, winking at me. "Might be a hard search, eh, Harry?"

"Oh, stop that, Raymond."

"Like yesterday," I sighed. "Exploring."

"Well, watch that hot sun---wear a shirt."

"I might keep among the pines---good shade."

"That sounds sensible," she agreed.

If I'd added, 'with a sensuous woman,' she might have had a heart attack.

One twenty five, and I was seated on steps at the side of the chapel, my eyes fixed on the lane below. Luckily, the steps were in the shade. The sun was high and the heat intense. I wore an open shirt and shorts that would double up as swimming trunks.