Celine's Seduction To Rubber

Chapter One

Chapter One

Beginnings

I was born in Hanover, Germany, and though my father was German, I had a French mother and lived my pre-teen years safe in the bosom of a loving family. Soon after my twelfth birthday my Mother was cruelly taken from us and during her short but painful illness I watched my father’s own health suffer too. It took him well over two years to come to terms with her death. I still have not.

My only other female relative at that time was my paternal Grandmother. She though, was already over seventy years old, and could not realistically be called upon to assist my father in my upbringing. I learnt quickly that I would have to look after myself and him.

I was made of stern stuff and matured quickly and from others, learnt those important things my Mother would have taught me had she lived, soon blossoming into a young woman and doing well with my education. And so I stayed on at school beyond the average leaving age; being in my final year when the change that warrants this story took place. One that was to have permanent and lasting consequences on my life.

Some six months before this point in my tale, I had met a boy called Michael and our companionship grew steadily. My father approved of him and actively encouraged our friendship so that we visited each other’s homes on many occasions. It was on such a call, when he and I were studying for examinations, that we both sat upon the bed in my room, so that we might swap question and answer to help each other with our studies.

I now freely admit that I had more than once felt a longing in my loins upon being so close to him, but was naively still unprepared for what happened next. His touch, at first innocent, soon turned to caress. The caress emboldened to insistence and before I knew it, his hand was moving from my thigh up to my virgin flower. I should have stopped him, and yes, should have stayed his searching hand, but I was eager to learn what might result from these attentions. In moments, our school work forgotten, he had worked his fingers into my pants and I shuddered, feeling them circle the moistening flesh of my labia.

A moment later the heightening pleasure of this my first s****l encounter was to be dashed on the rocks of sorrow. The single knock upon the half-open door of my bedroom was like the knell of doom. Unaware of my current circumstances and not even guessing at what he would find, my father entered the room bearing a tray dressed with lemonade, glasses, and some cakes. I recall that these contents seemed to tumble gradually to the bedroom carpet, as though part of a film scene re-played in slow motion, when the tray fell from his hands. Without a word, he glared first at my would-be lover, then at me, before turning on his heel and slamming the bedroom door. I listened to his loud footsteps retreating down the hall.