The Facts of Life

From the day I learned the truth about Father Christmas, at ten years old, I considered myself wise to world and everything in it. But at the age of twelve, I wasn’t so sure. Girls were soppy, inferior things, an irritant to be endured, but clues to a greater mystery were now coming thick and fast. Not that I was alone in my ignorance. We Twydall boys were all in the same boat. Growing up together, going through the same biological changes, discovering a whole set of previously unheard swear words, giving V signs; everything was new. And I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to seek confirmation of certain words in the dictionary and smirk at the definitions.  

Everything fell into place when Gary Winter, a worldly second year, had us gather round him in the playground one afternoon.

‘Well you know that thing between your legs?’

‘Y-e-ess’ we said warily, being careful not to fall into a trap.

‘Well, you know when it sometimes goes stiff?’

A pause followed while anxious glances were exchanged. Any confession would have to be unanimous. A silent pact was made before, in the space of a second, our initially hesitant response rose to a boastful end.

‘Y-yesSSS.’

‘Well, you know girls have something different?’

An even longer pause, this was powerful stuff. As each boy searched his own guilty conscience, rude images came to mind of summer days in the long grass with a very forward Sue D'enim. Until I saw my darkest secrets reflected in the faces of others, I had no idea I wasn’t alone in exploring this rite of passage.

Another rising ‘yes’ was returned.

‘Well when it’s stiff, you stick it up hers and it tickles a bit of gristle and she has a baby,’ said our all-knowing expert.  

‘Bloody hell!’