He closed his eyes with a sigh.

***

“Do that again, I dare ya!”

His eyes fluttered open and he blinked at the girl in alarm.  The sky was bright with a thin winter sunshine that seemed oddly… wrong… and he felt utterly disoriented.  What…?

“I dare ya!” the girl repeated, anger apparent in her tone.  “What’s a matter, are ya scared?”

He tried to focus his badly disjointed attention on how the brown haired girl was standing, the way she had one shoulder thrust forward, the chip on it nearly visible as she glared at him defiantly.  He must have given her a little push, although he didn’t remember doing it.  But it was a dare, how could he possibly back down?  And she’d said the magic words, are ya scared?; his response was patently assured by her challenge!  Everyone was looking on with eager anticipation. 

Hoping his action was appropriate to the severity of the situation, he gingerly poked the girl in the shoulder, hiding behind a false bravado, his heart beating triple time with a nervousness born of apprehension and excitement. 

This all seemed so familiar, but why didn’t he remember the beginning of the argument?

“You…… you bastard!” the girl swore viciously.

Everyone in the watching crowd drew in a breath of delighted shock.  This was apparently escalating beyond all expectations.  And it had apparently been the right action, but what reaction was it going to cause?  He didn’t have long to wait.

Glaring, the girl pushed her arms out of her winter coat and advanced on him. 

Winter?  That didn’t seem right.  But he didn’t have time to puzzle on it!

It took all his courage to keep from cowering away.  To be truthful, he was tremendously excited over the idea of having some physical contact with the girl, but if she gave him a hiding, the other lads would think he was soft.  Not to mention what the other girls would think, something else he really didn’t care to contemplate.  And so the approaching melee was eagerly anticipated…… as well as feared.

Thank God for the timely intervention of a school bell!  Or perhaps he should be cursing the un-timely intervention.  The boy breathed a hidden sigh compounded of relief and frustrated longing as the bell rang and the girl turned in indecision.  Scowling furiously, she shook her fist at him as she gathered up her fallen coat and started back across the street to her school.

“Just you wait, George Harrison, you’ll get yers!” she threatened.

“Right, from you an’ what army, Janet Decker?” he sneered quietly. 

He had to sneer quietly; if he was too loud about it, Jan would prob’ly forget about school and come after him regardless!  He thought she’d done just that a time or two before, but he couldn’t quite remember, not ‘zactly.

What was wrong with his memory?  Everything seemed familiar but not quite; he could remember some things but not others!  He shivered in his thin winter jacket, realized again that ‘winter’ didn’t seem right, but it was obviously cold weather!  This was definitely nutters!  What was happening? 

He turned his attention back to the girl; she stopped in her tracks for just a moment, she must have heard him, and George’s heart gave a curious lurch in his chest.  But then she continued on towards the building, muttering something about ‘nasty boys’. 

Breathing easy once again, George admired the way she walked, the smooth, entrancing way her hips moved, the new gait and subtle sway only recently discernable.  Her dark brown curls fell below her shoulders and bounced gently against her back; he longed to touch one, to tug at it and see if it would stretch out and then spring back into that plump sausage curl, or if it would un-curl and lay flat against her back.

Oh, no, he’d best stop thinking of anything like that, the very idear of ‘flat against her back’ made him twitch in discomfort as she disappeared into the building with nary a backwards glance.

George sighed and began trudging back to his school down the road as the crowd dissolved with mutters of disappointment.  They’d wanted blood, and it was probably a near thing that it had been avoided. 

He seemed to remember that Janet had thumped him once or twice when they’d been younger, and George was afraid she could still do it!  Even though he was a lot taller than the girl, she was pretty compact, and the very thought of getting a hiding from her was enough to make him break out in a sweat.  Although something seemed to be faulty with his memory and his attention, he very clearly remembered the bird sitting on top of him one day when he’d been only ten or twelve, giving him a good pounding.  It had been humiliating and yet abjectly wonderful at the same time, and had kept him twisting and turning in his bed at nights for months after, sweating and wondering what was happening to him.

Of course, now that George was thirteen, he knew exactly what was happening, and he knew what he wanted, too.  He was nearly a man, and he needed a woman.  Not that Jan was really a woman yet, she was only twelve, he thought derisively from his lofty perspective of being one year and one grade ahead of her in school, but she was starting to get those tantalizing curves that simply bewitched him with their promised mysteries. 

God, talk about tossing and turning in bed at night, all night, gnashing his teeth and dreaming, hoping, wondering!  ‘It’ was all he could think of, all he could dream about, and he couldn’t wait until ‘it’ happened to him. 

The boy sighed as he drifted up the steps of the Inny with a few mates around him.  He wished that he and Jan were going to one of the more progressive schools in the city, where boys and girls were allowed to attend classes together!  He remembered hearing Ma talking about it, exclaiming over the fact that the students would never get any studying done, and Da had laughed and said there’d be plenty of studying being done, but Ma had shushed him.  Something about the way he’d laughed, George had guessed instinctively what he was talking about, and that had been enough to fuel a few dreams and some more tossing and turning.  The idea of sitting next to a girl in a school class was one thing, what Da had implied with his emphasis on ‘studying’, well, that was the kind of studying he wanted to do more than anything!

George continued daydreaming about ‘it’ as he took his seat, and the physical effects caused by his daydreaming were damned uncomfortable!  His mind drifted and the school day was nearly over before he blinked twice, which was very odd; the days in class usually lasted decades, but today seemed to pass in a fog, p’rhaps he was coming down with a ‘flu or something.  But his lessons were boring and he wasn’t prepared for them anyway, so he was happy that the day passed quickly; he wished every day would proceed this fast!

It was unfortunate that the schoolmaster called on him with a question at the very end of the day.  George didn’t have any idea what the old man had been on about and standing up was out of the question, so he pretended to be asleep.  Timely intervention again, the school bell rang and class was dismissed.  George dawdled, pretending to wake as everyone fled the class, and he was finally able to stand without being too obvious.

“Mister Harrison?”

The disadvantage of dawdling was immediately apparent as the command was rapped out sharply. 

Brilliant sod, George cursed himself. 

It would have to be Master Porter, ol’ Portly Porterhouse, wouldn’t it?  George reluctantly turned to face his teacher, trying to will the old man’s eyes to remain on his face.

Unfortunately, ol’ Porterhouse had a habit of looking a student up and down with a great deal of scorn when addressing him.  Despite George’s wishes and prayers, today was no different than any other time he’d been sentenced to stand before the master.  George resolutely looked past the schoolmaster’s shoulder as the old man scanned him from head to foot and he pretended not to notice when his teacher’s eyes noted the obvious reaction to the daydreams his student had been having.  George could feel his ears starting to burn with the knowledge that he’d been caught out.

God, this is so bloody embarrassing!

He surreptitiously glanced down his slim body as the master turned away and he felt the blood drain from his head; what had happened to his trousers?!?  He was standing there before the schoolmaster in his after-school dungarees!  How had he gotten out of the house dressed in prohibited clothing? 

Oh, God, please don’ let ol’ Porterhouse notice ‘em!  I’ll be in detention th’ rest of th’ school year if ‘e sees me dressed like this!

George closed his eyes in abject fear and prayer, then looked again, terror stricken, and blinked dazedly in relief when he realized he’d been wrong; he was fully clothed in his school uniform, thank God!  He must be going nutters for real, this was bloody mad!  He’d have to ask Ma for some physicing tonight, some kind of medicine or awful tasting elixir to cure whatever was wrong with him!  He jumped when Master Porter cleared his throat, he’d nearly forgotten the old man was there whilst he’d stood aghast in confusion over his clothing.

Mister Harrison,” the man continued, his voice surprisingly mild but amused. 

God, the old man’s amusement was doubly embarrassing!  George thought he’d almost prefer the scorn.

“Young man, you’re spending far too much time in dreams, you simply must pay more attention in class.”

“Yes, sir,” George muttered. 

His ears were on fire and he just knew that his face was burning a brilliant cherry red.

“Now, beginning tomorrow, you’d best be making a more concerted effort in this class or you’re going to fail,” the old man continued

“Yessir,” George muttered again.  “Can I please go now, sir?  I’m gonna be late for me bus.” 

The teacher sighed and shook his head.  “George, you’re never going to amount to anything if you don’t pay attention to your lessons.  Can’t you get that through your head?”

“Yessir,” the boy replied.  Time had slowed to crawl at an inchworm’s pace, after having sped so rapidly through the day!  “I’m really gonna be late fer me bus, sir, please, sir, can I go, sir?” he begged shamelessly, aching for an escape into the hallway and an end to this depressing scene with all its associated madness.

The man held out his hand and the boy stared at it without comprehension until Master Porter looked pointedly at the journal George realized he was holding in his hand, although he didn’t remember picking it up.  The boy sighed as he reluctantly handed it over, the book slipping from his grasp following a frown and a tug from the master; there was no other choice.   But George wished fervently and fruitlessly for an escape, any escape; even death seemed preferable to this horrible scene.  He wished a hole in the floor would open and he’d disappear into it all the way to China! 

Master Porter left him standing there as he slowly looked through the book, the boys’ face flaming even brighter and his ears hot with embarrassment, his excitement gradually shrinking as his apprehension increased.  Without even thinking on it, he knew the book was filled with drawings rather than study notes; it was full of girls and guitars, the only things he ever daydreamed about.  What would Ol’ Porterhouse have to say about it?  George stood and sweated, the crawl of liquid making his sides itch where it traced a thin path from his armpits to the waistband of his trousers.  He fidgeted, he twitched, and he tried to pray for an escape, but the proper words for prayer just weren’t coming to his mind.

The schoolmaster shook his head and tsk-tsk’d as he slowly flipped through the pages of the journal, then snapped the book shut with a crack, making George jump in surprise at the loud noise.  The old man slapped the book against the boy’s thin chest and George grabbed it without thought, heady with relief.  Since he’d been given the book back, it didn’t look as if Master Porter was going to send him to the head master again!

Thank God! George thought gratefully.  Ma an’ Da would ‘ave kittens if I got sent up again!

The thought of parental disapproval made him shiver in dismay.  He didn’t mean to be bad, he really didn’t!  But school was so bloody boring!  George held his breath as he waited to hear his sentence.  Was it going to be the paddle or the switch?  Or the ruler? 

God, please, not th’ ruler!

The ruler was the absolute worst.  Would Porterhouse sentence him to stay after school for a whole week, an eternity, cleaning the boards and straightening the room?  George sneaked another glance downwards to ensure his clothing, he was wearing his school trousers, but it was the pair he’d drainpiped in secret.  At least Porterhouse couldn’t punish him for that offense; they were still uniform, even though they were so tight he could hardly bend over whilst wearing them!

“Mister Harrison, get your mind away from gutter and guitar,” the old man said scathingly, his eyes narrowed in disapproval.  “You’re going to amount to no good, lad.  Be gone!” Master Porter commanded, his voice thunderous, his disdain readily apparent.

Escape!  Reprieve!  He was free with nary a penance to pay!  George thought he could easily bear the disapproval and scorn from his schoolteacher, but a paddling would have been horribly embarrassing, and having his parents notified would have been equally so.  He was astonished at his teacher’s gift, but he wasn’t going to stay to discuss it, Ol’ Porterhouse might change his mind.  With a token bob of his head, he was out of the schoolroom, the closing of the door cutting off the sound of his teacher’s sigh of resignation.

George gleefully raced through the empty hallways and tumbled down the steps, dashing for the bus stop.  Freedom!  And no whacking and no other punishment either!  Life was grand, simply grand!

The bus was pulling out just as he rounded the corner, and he knew that no amount of running was going to catch it.  George slowed his breakneck pace to a dejected trot. All his friends would have caught the early bus, and now he had an hour-long ride to look forward to with no friends to chat up.

When George got to the stop, he sprawled on the kerb to catch his breath as he wondered how late this was going to put him?  He’d planned on riding the upper deck with his mate Paul McCartney and going through some guitar chords Paul had been having trouble with.  It was really smashing to know more than an upperclass boy knew, but George tried hard to avoid having a swelled head about it.  But just knowing that he knew more about chords than Paul was enough to let him secretly gloat at bit!  Well, it looked like he wouldn’t be making that appointment today, and he settled himself to wait for the next bus, idly picking at the hole in the knee of his dungarees.  Wait, hadn’t he been wearing……?  George resolutely turned his attention from his strange clothing, he just wanted to get home, p’rhaps if he went to bed early he’d be feeling more like himself when he awoke!

He was deep into his favourite daydreams about girls and guitars only moments later, when someone punched him in the shoulder.  He twisted ‘round, only then realizing his daydreams had hid the approach of many feet.  The girls’ school had let out, and the girls were gathering for the bus.  The puncher was Janet, and she appeared intent upon renewing the argument they’d been having at lunch.  He wished he could remember what they’d been arguing over!

George stood up unhurriedly, not wanting to appear a coward, and looked down at the girl, towering over her by nearly a full head.  He tried not to be cocky; she outweighed him and if she got him on the ground, he’d be in serious trouble.  Oh, God, on the ground, what he wouldn’t give to feel that, wrestling with her and surreptitiously touching her budding curves……  He started to sweat and tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere, but they remained stubbornly fixed on mental images of him touching the girl.

“What d’ya want, Janet?” he asked, trying to sound confident, but it didn’t help that his voice broke on the second syllable of her name.  Damn!

“I want an apology, George Harrison!  You called me a bratty girl at lunch time an’ ya better apologize!” she fumed. 

So that’s what th’ whole argument’s about, George thought, just some silly name calling?

God, she was beautiful, her cheeks red with cold or anger, and she had incredible big brown eyes, with a lovely sprinkling of freckles across her nose and full pouting lips.  Even her coat couldn’t hide her delicious budding curves, the ones that he wanted so badly to touch.  George wished he could just throw her down on the ground right there and have his way with her, he was more than ready for ‘it’, he couldn’t wait for ‘it’.

“Yeah, well, turnabout’s fair play, Janet,” he croaked through parched lips, pausing to clear his throat before he continued.  “You started it by callin’ me a dope, an’ I don’ take kindly t’ name callin’ either, ya bratty gurl.” 

It seemed a fair assumption, even though he didn’t remember the argument, but George belatedly realized he’d overshot the mark.  Or maybe his increasingly lurid thoughts had forced this to happen, maybe all his daydreams during the afternoon had simply created the inevitable outcome. 

Janet slipped out of her coat and was on him like a tiger, a whirling dervish, all fists and fury, slapping, kicking, punching.  She was strong, but George had the advantage simply because he could hold her at arms length and she couldn’t reach him.  But keeping her at arms length wasn’t what he wanted, that was for certain!  His excitement reared its head and he was nearly bursting with desire.

All the other girls crowded ‘round, shouting encouragement and threats, and it was pretty close quarters.  Oh, God, the touch of her body during the struggle, it was…… it was simply shattering!  He could hardly catch his breath, and spared a bare thought of worry that he might go off whilst wrestling with her, but the contact was too delightful to even consider calling an end to it.  Thank God that he was able to keep to his feet, George thought if he’d landed on the ground with her, he’d have definitely spilled right then and there, no matter who’d have been the victor on top!  The very thought of being on the ground with her, rolling about with her on top of him and then him on top of her…… he gulped desperately and tried to push the images from his mind as he fought to keep the damage to a minimum.

George didn’t want to hurt her, of course, and he spent a lot of his time simply trying to keep her from hurting him, and at the same time holding her as close against him as he could get away with.  She landed a few good punches, but, God, it was worth it!  It was simply incredible!

At one point in the scuffle, as her violence and desperation to connect with him grew, George forcibly turned Janet until she was facing away from him, then crossed his arms over the girl’s chest to keep her still by holding her against him.  Oh, God, this was smashing, the touch of her tiny breasts against his arms, it was simply incredible!  It took more control than he thought he had to keep from rubbing against her backside, but she was doing enough moving that it was worth her stomping down on his foot and nearly breaking his shin with a backwards kick from the heel of her shoe.  He gritted his teeth and tried to keep from burying his nose in her hair as she twisted in his grasp in her attempt to get away.  But her mysterious flowery scent and the heavy texture of her long hair just inches away from his face made him weak in the knees, and his head drooped closer despite his best efforts. 

Oh, God, he wanted to bury his face in those silken curls, breathing in her intoxicating scent whilst touching and kissing her everywhere!  His imagination couldn’t quite supply him with the exact knowledge of what he wanted to do and where he wanted to touch, but it didn’t stop him from thinking about penetrating the mysteries of the unknown! 

He knew in general what ‘it’ was all about, he’d heard (and joined in!) enough dirty talk with his mates to fuel his eager senses, and he’d become intimately familiar with what he imagined to be his part in the process.  Even though his imagination didn’t stretch very far, he was fairly certain he could figger out the bird’s side of things pretty quickly when the time came, and he wished fervently that now was the time!

George wallowed in the sensations flooding his brain and loins as he breathed in the girl’s scent.  When she threw her head back, he jerked away and narrowly avoided a bloody nose from her struggles, but he didn’t care, it had been worth it!  He closed his eyes and savoured her scent and her delicious struggles, the touch of her body brushing against his creating an agonizing, rapturous pressure in his groin.  Oh, the way his arms were pressing against her breasts as he tried to hold her still……

George was ready to burst when a blonde schoolmistress waded into the melee, pushed her way up to them and demanded to know who’d started the fight.

“And take your grubby hands off my student, young man!” she demanded. 

Her cheeks were red with outrage, and she was a nice looking bird, even though she was probably near thirty!  Her pretty blonde hair was tied back in a bun at her neck, her eyes were a lovely blue with dark lashes, her figure was trim and neat with very nice curves.  She looked utterly fantastic for an old bird!  George suddenly wished his teachers looked like this, he’d be the best scholar at the Inny!

He blinked at her, wondering why this all seemed so very familiar…… why she seemed so familiar……

The boy reluctantly let Janet go, and the girl got one more kick in, but he neatly avoided it as he straightened his school jacket and hoped it would cover the evidence of his excitement.  He could swear he was ready to spurt, it was been simply wonderful having her held against him like that, the way she’d been moving, his arms pressing against her curves as he’d tried to hold her still, the way she smelled, the way her soft and silken ringlets had felt against his face……  He groaned inwardly and swallowed dryly.

“Well?” the teacher demanded, interrupting his catalogue of remembered sensations.  “What’s this all about, then?”

“Errrr, just a misunderstanding,” George croaked when it became apparent that no one was going to squeal. 

The schoolmistress took him by the ear and hauled him out of the group of girls, much to his surprise.  He was marched into the girl’s school without any further ceremony and despite his weak attempts to free himself.  He couldn’t really struggle too hard, she had a firm grip on his ear and it was agonizing, not to mention that she was a teacher and he had to do what she told him, even though she wasn’t his teacher.  The thought of disobeying didn’t occur to him, and he followed her meekly, he didn’t really have a choice.  Besides, if he broke and ran, it would be all the worse on him later, when someone came forward with his identity.  And someone surely would!

George was marched down a hallway and into a school room, breathless from the pain and shock, and then he was finally released, to rub his sore ear and look at the woman in trepidation.  He changed his mind about wanting a teacher like her.  Ol’ Porterhouse was quick with the switch or the paddle or even the cane, but he never pulled ears, and George was astonished at how much it had hurt!

“Your name?” she rapped out.

Should he give her a false name?  P’rhaps he should tell her he was Paul McCartney?  George hesitated for only a moment before remembering how much worse it would be on him if he got caught out at telling a lie to a teacher.  And there was no if, it was when, he thought morosely, and when it happened, Ma would be devastated.  He had no choice.

“G……George Harrison, ma’am,” he stuttered.

“What was all that about, then?” she asked, picking up a ruler from one of the wooden school desks and tapping her own palm with it.

George swallowed hard, eyeing the ruler.  He’d had a few whacks from one of them in the past year and it wasn’t pleasant, ‘specially when ol’ Porterhouse had used it on his hands; he hadn’t been able to play guitar for days afterwards.  He hoped this lady wasn’t going to be whacking him!  His hands started to sting just thinking of it, and he swiftly put them behind his back, clenching them into fists of apprehension. 

For one mad, wild moment of utter insanity, he thought of striking her and running, but the thought dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.  He must be going nutters to even think of it, she was a woman and a teacher!  He could never strike a woman or a teacher like that, it just wasn’t done; he was going ‘round the bend if he even thought it seriously!  Yeah, something was definitely wrong with him to even be imagining these things!  But maybe the biggest detriment to the whole idea was that Ma and Da would be so disappointed; he might as well just run away from home if he did anything like that!  The thought of having to leave his family was so unpleasant that George stood up a bit straighter and decided to manfully take whatever punishment was coming.

Just……

Please, God, not me hands, I’ll take it anywhur else, jus’ not me hands, please! 

He couldn’t bear the thought of being unable to play guitar, even if only for a few days.  George prayed she wouldn’t hit him as hard as Master Porter always did.

“It was j…just a bit o’ name callin’, miss,” he muttered, keeping his eye on the ruler as she tap-tap-tapped it against her palm, waiting anxiously to see where it would fall.  “I…I was jus’ tryin’ t’ keep Janet from hurtin’ me, an’ tryin’ t’ keep from hurtin’ her as well.”

“So,” she said, eyeing him up and down, just like ol’ Porterhouse, “you’re the good Samaritan, then?” 

George knew he flamed bright red when her eyes lingered on the front of his trousers; the excitement of the fight hadn’t died down, even through the pain of the ear pulling and his fear of the ruler.  This was bloody embarrassing, that was for certain, even worse than when Master Porter caught him out, he simply wanted to die!  What would this lady do, was she going to paddle him?  Or laugh at him as he stood there before her with his excitement undiminished?  He grew even warmer at the thought, how bloody embarrassing would that be?

George was shocked when the woman stepped close to him, so close he could nearly feel the heat of her body, his eyes nearly crossing to keep them focused on her face.  Oh, her lovely face, with large blue eyes framed by dark lashes, her full pouting lips, red as crimson…… how would they feel pressed against his?

“A good boy, eh?” she purred.  “How good, then, Master Harrison?”

The boy swallowed and thought he’d pop the buttons off his trousers.  He’d never in his life been this hot and ready.  He couldn’t even stutter a reply as the heat of her body moved a little closer to his, her…… her tits! actually pressing into his chest! 

George’s mouth dropped open in shock, and she kissed him right then, her lips warm and wet against his, her tongue snaking its way into his mouth, touching his teeth and playing with his tongue that met hers halfway as if it knew what it was doing.  Oh, just what he’d been wondering, her lips were soft and sweet and, God, a French kiss, too, Jesus, the lads had been talking about that just the past week!

He moaned, his arms awkwardly going around her back and pulling her even closer, her breasts mashing against his chest, her lower body pressing against his excitement in a way that made him shiver uncontrollably, prickles of desire racing through his legs and arms.  It felt like the sparks of electricity he’d seen jumping the poles once when there’d been a terrific storm and the lines had gone down!  Oh, Christ, this was better than what he’d felt during Janet’s delicious struggles, because he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t touching her!  He couldn’t help but move against the woman as the delightful pressure cascaded through him, but she pulled back a little when he did that.  He was left panting in a fever of lust, reaching for her when she stepped out of his encircling arms; he was hardly able to catch his breath.

“Wait, my darling young man, wait just a moment,” she breathed, and she walked over and locked the door to the classroom as he watched in excited disbelief and longing.  Was this it, then, was this going to be ‘it’?

Oh, God, please let this be ‘it’, please, please, please, he prayed urgently.

The teacher walked back from the door and brushed past him with a sidelong glance and a curious little smile, and George turned to watch her walk to the front of the classroom.  She put the ruler down and sat on the edge of her desk, then beckoned him forward. 

George was nearly perishing with excitement as he hurried up the row of chairs and desks, afraid to blink lest she vanish!  He stood before her awkwardly, terribly unsure of himself, but wanting this more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life!  When she kissed him gently and placed his hand on her breast, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.  He’d tried to do a bit of stealthy fumbling with a few of the local girls over the past few months, but he’d never gotten very far, it always seemed like they wore steel armour because he simply couldn’t feel anything!  But this was really different, soft and loverly, and the boy knew he was gonna burst in just another minute.  But then the schoolmistress unbuttoned her shirt, and the shock of seeing the skimpy bit of material and the swell of flesh her bra contained stayed his reaction for another moment. 

She encouraged him to touch her again and George nearly fell over when she pushed the lacy material aside; just seeing her breast all naked like that, well, the boy eagerly did as she asked, he’d been dreaming of something like this for so long, so long.  He was close enough to her that he could tell that she smelled good, like flowers and sunshine and fresh air, and when she encouraged him with a little smile, he awkwardly, tentatively kissed her breast, and, oh!, she tasted good, too!  The moan she gave nearly undid him, nearly made him spill right then, but he didn’t want her thinking he was just a kid, and he struggled to keep his sap down.  He sucked and nibbled and tried desperately to keep his thoughts on dirty dishes in the sink, boring school lessons, anything other than what he was doing, in an effort to keep from going off in his trousers. 

She told him when he was too rough or not rough enough, and he was a quick learner, following her whispered instructions quite happily.  Greatly daring, he pushed the remaining bit of her bra to the side, and filled a hand with one breast even as he filled his mouth with the other, he simply couldn’t believe this!

His lips moved of their own volition, up the creamy skin of her neck to fasten again on her mouth, eagerly kissing her and trying not to be sloppy about it, his fingers moving through her blonde hair as it fell from the bun at her neck.  Oh, and her hair smelled good, too, more flowers and sunshine, the subtle scent arousing all his senses.

When her fingers brushed against the front of his trousers, George knew this was it, he knew he was gonna get ‘it’, right now, and he was ready for ‘it’ more than he’d been ready ever before.  The physical discomfort was only mitigated by the knowledge that he was gonna have a shag.  He was rock hard and ready, straining against his y-fronts, ready to take the plunge into what he’d been imagining constantly for the past year.

It was as if there was no impediment, as if the buttons on his trous weren’t even there to need unfastening!  A warm hand simply closed over his straining flesh, and George closed his eyes in utter appreciation and joy, waiting for the stroke that was gonna take him to heaven.

***

Heaven didn’t materialize. 

The next words he heard in his ear weren’t sweet nothings coo’d in a lovely feminine voice.  Instead, they were insults shouted derisively in a familiar masculine growl.

“Wake up, ya arsehole!  Time fer school!”

What the bloody hell was his brother Pete doing here in the classroom with him?  The door was locked, wasn’t it?  He’d seen the lovely teacher lock the door, hadn’t he?

George’s groggy brain registered the fact that the warm hand urgently closing over his straining flesh was his own.  He opened his eyes in confusion and realized that the lips pressing against his own were simply a fold of the pillowcase, wet and slippery with his saliva. 

A hand on his shoulder shook him roughly, and he fought the abrupt awakening, coughing and gagging at the cottony taste of the linen on which he’d been sucking.

Oh, God, it had just been another dream!  Not again!

“No, go ‘way, Pete, leave me alone!” he groaned at his brother, pulling the pillow over his head and struggling to remember and relive the point in his dream that he’d almost reached.

Oh, God, why now?!?  Couldn’t Pete have waited another five minutes?  Hell, hell, hell!  Damn!  Pete wouldn’t leave him alone, either, kept after him and after him until George finally sat up in bed, disoriented, rubbing his eyes and bent nearly double in pain.  Damn Pete!  His brother grinned evilly at him.

“Ya been tossin’ an’ moanin’ all mornin’, don’ try an’ tell me yer not awake!  Quit makin’ tents in yer bedclothes an’ get dressed, Ma’s got brekkie ready, ya better not miss th’ bus again or yer gonna be in trouble,” Pete warned.  “It’s yer last day o’ th’ school year, so try t’ be on time t’day, idiot!”

Pete walked out of the room and, left to himself, all George could do was moan; he’d been so damned close!  He was utterly devastated and disoriented, it had been so smashing, if only he’d had a few more minutes.

“Oh God,” he moaned, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

He sighed in regret, trying to organize his muddled thoughts.  Every single time he had the dream, he woke disoriented, and this morning was no different.  He was fourteen, practically a grown man, and not the babe of only thirteen he’d been in his dream!  Why was he always thirteen in the dream?  And it wasn’t winter, it was summer.  God, it was amazing how much the dream always confused him!  No wonder everything had seemed familiar, it was just the same lovely, awful nightmare he had at least once every week.

George stood up and stretched, reaching for the ceiling and groaning in pleasure as the vertebrae in his back popped.  Turning to the dresser, he began searching for clean clothes, his thoughts turning back to …… her.

He’d only ever seen the woman once, but that once had been enough to fuel his dreams ever since!  He’d been only thirteen, p’rhaps that’s why he remained thirteen in his dreams of the woman.

“Seven bloody months I been dreamin’ ‘bout ‘er,” he grumbled as he tried to stick his arms through the sleeves of a shirt that was intent on hindering him.  “An’ I only ever saw her fer real that once!”

George’s mind drifted back to the past November, the day he’d been sneaking ‘round the girl’s school, peeping in windows and hoping to catch sight o’ Janet of an afternoon when he’d sagged off class.  Instead of seeing the adolescent girl, he’d caught sight of a real beaut and been instantly entranced; a lovely schoolteacher in an empty classroom, her blonde hair like the sun, her figure enough to take his breath, a flash of knee when she’d sat on the edge of her desk and twitched her long, old fashioned skirt aside to cross those stunning legs……  Oh, she was simply grand!  He’d stood there in silence, staring in a red haze of lust and longing; his blood had pounded in his veins as his mouth had hung open like a fish taken from the Mersey.

She’d looked up as he’d stared at her and he’d ducked away, but he’d caught her glance, seen those dark lashed blue eyes looking directly at him, a little smile on her lips.  George had hidden amongst the bushes in anxiety, wondering if she’d send someone out to catch him in the act.  He’d finally got the courage to peep through the window again, but she’d disappeared, vanished as if she’d never sat on that desk and crossed her legs like that with the little smile just for him, and George had taken off like a shot, afraid of capture. 

The end result of his flight was that he didn’t even know her name, and he’d never been lucky enough to catch sight of her again!  She was his ‘mystery woman’, the pretty schoolteacher that lingered on his mind and in his dreams since he’d seen her that once.  The woman he thought about and lusted after, the one who fueled his imagination and desires with the memory of that little smile on her lips.  Had it been almost …… inviting? 

Oh, yeah, she was utterly his object of desire; the woman who frequented his waking moments every day, and haunted his dreams at least once a week…… and more often if he was lucky!  Sometimes the dream never went very far and sometimes it went almost to the point of culmination.  He always woke at that point, praying to return to his dream, but unable to keep from taking care of matters himself, if it hadn’t already just happened. 

George sighed again as he finished buttoning his shirt, absently rubbed his ear, wondering at how sore it was, almost as if his dream had been real! 

He struggled into his trous, but buttoning the tight drannies simply wasn’t possible, and George had to have a quick wank before he could get into them.  It only took three pulls and he was done, he’d been that close to going off.  The relief it afforded him wasn’t nearly as satisfying as when he was dreaming and warm and comfortable in bed, but it was a lot less messy anyway, he thought with a sigh, damning Pete under his breath. 

Dressed and combed, he took the stairs yawning and treated his brother to a frosty silence as he tucked into the eggs and toast and bacon that Ma had fixed.  He ate as fast as he could, hoping to catch the early bus and p’raps see the teacher going into the girls school whilst he hung about the corner, smoking a fag and waiting for the bell to herald the start to another boring school day.  He’d never once seen her arrive at the school, nor leave it, but it had been worth waiting out each time, fuel for more clandestine meetings in his dreams.  And maybe today, he might get lucky and see her.  Maybe she’d smile that little inviting smile at him, promising…… something.

George brightened as he remembered what Pete had said, it was the last day of school and classes were finished after today.  He’d nearly forgotten, in his confusion after the dream had ended.  No more teachers, no more books, no more Porterhouse!  The schoolmaster had told him yesterday that he was passing him to the next form, but only by the thinnest margin and only because he wanted to be done with him.

George had the entire summer to look forward to! 

He was ecstatic at the thought, then instantly fell into dejection as he realized that no more teachers meant no more chances to see his mystery woman.  He gave Ma a kiss g’bye, then scowled at his brother as he headed out to catch the bus for his hour long trip to the Inny.  Well, he’d only seen the lady that one time last November and she’d been on his mind and in his dreams ever since.  And maybe he’d see her again next school year!  The start of the school year was far away, though, nearly eight long weeks of freedom, an eternity to enjoy!  George’s dejection quickly faded at the thought, and he was nearly beside himself with joy at his approaching freedom.  Only one more day to survive!

But the dreams are brilliant, he thought as he boarded the bus. 

Some nights, most nights, he simply couldn’t wait to go to sleep, hoping he’d see his schoolmistress in his dreams.

***

How could the damned summer be over already?  George trudged onto the bus, depressed and anxious over the start of another school year.  He attempted a half hearted smile when Paul waved to him from the back of the bus; his mates’ hazel-brown eyes were sparkling with suppressed excitement.

“Hi, George, did ya ‘ave a nice holiday?” Paul called as George closed the distance between them, dragging his feet down the narrow aisle.

“Yeah, I s’pose so,” George replied dispiritedly, flopping down in the seat beside his mate.  “Can’t b’lieve summer’s over, though, hope I don’t get Creepy Collins this form.”

All he had to look forward to was another eternity under a teachers’ glare.  He’d been so happy when school had let out for the summer, but the reprieve hadn’t lasted near long enough.  Why, oh why, did summertime pass so quickly, and yet the school year dragged into utter boredom?

“’ow was yer summer?” George added belatedly.

“Oh, it was good, ta.  I joined a band,” Paul announced casually, his eyes still sparkling.

“What?”

Paul was apparently in the mood to be expansive, or maybe he’d been waiting to pour it all out, George thought crossly.

“Yeah, went to a fete over in Woolton,” Paul said smugly, the words in an apparent rush to escape his lips, “ya know ol’ St. Peter’s church there?  I went with me friend Ivy back at th’ start o’ summer holiday, an’ he introduced me t’ th’ fellers in th’ skiffle group that was playin’.  Called themselves The Quarry Men, fer their old grammar school.  Kinda played a bit fer ‘em before th’ evening show an’ they liked me.  Showed ‘em how t’ tune their guitars an’ played Twenty Flight Rock fer ‘em.  They came ‘round shortly after an’ asked me t’ be in th’ band.”

Paul was looking incredibly self-satisfied, but George couldn’t blame him for that.  A band!  A real band, a professional group, one that was playing at a fete!

George groused about in depression for several weeks, wondering why he couldn’t have gone to the fete as well, he was a better guitarist than Paul and he’d been the one to teach Paul the chords to Twenty Flight Rock in the first place!  But good humour eventually won out and he eagerly awaited the daily, hour long bus rides to and from school so that he could hear all about the practices Paul was attending.  The Quarry Men were all a bunch of older lads, and George listened enviously to Paul’s tales. 

He tried not to pester his friend for details, or for an invitation, but he tried to hint at how he’d like to come have an audition. 

Please, God, let ‘em audition me, if they just ‘ave a listen t’ me, they’ll like me, I know it!

Months, an eternity, passed like this and his hints and his prayers began to hold a heavy degree of desperation.

Paul’s being thick-headed, he’s ignoring all th’ hints, George thought dispiritedly.  An’ God must not be listening much, either.  I jus’ want ‘em t’ ‘ave a listen, that’s all!

Out of serious envy, the younger boy organized a band with his brother Pete, called them The Rebels, and practiced with them as often as he could.  He didn’t think the other members were as committed to the band as he was, and he wondered if Pete were just humouring him.  George despaired of it ever turning into anything good.

Eventually, after what seemed like ten eternities, but was really only five months when George stopped to count it, Paul grandly announced that he’d talked the lead fellow of the Quarry Men, John somebody-or-other, into having a listen!  Never mind that George had been hinting and praying and trying to get just this to happen for nearly ever, since the very first day of the school year, it was finally gonna happen! 

Oh, an’ thanks, God, I ‘preciate ya finally takin’ notice!

He practiced with renewed zeal, trying to make sure he’d several songs down perfectly in case this John fellow wanted to hear more than one.  George turned his thoughts to music and totally ignored the distraction that birds offered, wasn’t even really thinking about them, whilst he prepared for the audition with single minded, nervous, intensity.

He wasn’t quite sure why he was so nervous, really, because The Rebels had played in front of people before!  Well, that was for just one show, though, they’d split up after that, but they’d gotten a good response from their one gig and several bob each!   But this was serious, a real band, not just one with his brother and a few mates, but a real band, and with older lads in it!  He was scared and nervous and his stomach kept twisting and turning in his belly, but he tried to ignore it and kept methodically practicing, waiting for the day to arrive.

The day finally arrived in early February of 1958, and George was racing for the bus to meet up with Paul and John, his head down and one hand stuffed in his pocket to keep it warm, the other frozenly clutching his battered guitar case.  It was cold as a witch’s tit outside, February was simply a miserable month; the only saving grace for the month was that he had his 15^th birthday to look forward to in a few weeks. 

Intent on reaching the bus before it left, George bumped into someone and pulled hand from pocket just in time to grab the person’s arm to steady him, then was utterly stunned to realize that it wasn’t a ‘him’, it was a ‘her’…… and it was his mystery woman!  He quickly let go of her, standing awkwardly holding his guitar, feeling as if his hand was scorched by the very touch of her coat, his treacherous loins kindling in excitement to be this close to her.  The cold weather was immediately forgotten, lost in a surge of heat that coursed through him from his toes to the top of his head.  Burning heat, devouring everything in its path……

“I…I…I’m sorry, miss, uhhhhh……” he stuttered.

She kinda frowned at him as he tried to apologize, but George thought she had a sparkle in her eyes at the same time. 

Damn it all, the bus was pulling out!  His audition!  And he was already late!  He couldn’t miss the bus, not today!

“Sorry, miss……”

He ran to catch his ride, but turned back to see her again.  Somehow, she’d disappeared in the instant he’d been turned away, and he nearly tripped over a flowerpot as he craned his neck to look for her.  Thank God the driver saw him running and put on the brake, allowing him to catch the bus.  George scrambled on with a muttered ‘ta’ and climbed the stairs to the upper deck, unmindful of the cold, gazing back as they pulled away from the kerb, his eyes searching for her amongst the people on the street. 

Nothing. 

He sighed and settled himself for the ride, only becoming aware of the cold as his thoughts turned away from the woman and back to his approaching audition.  He swiftly climbed back down the stairs and found himself a seat in the relatively warmer interior of the bus.  Not that it was much warmer, there were no doors on the bus and it was unheated, but at least the downstairs was out of the cold wind. 

George closed his eyes and relished the memory of bumping into her like that.  Jesus, she’d been simply gorgeous up close, hadn’t she?  Blue eyes, dark lashes, pale skin so devoid of colour it was nearly translucent, that white-blonde hair he wanted to run his fingers through.  He thought about her the entire ride, and although he couldn’t smell anything on his hands, they’d touched her, so he kept his fingers close to his nose, hoping without success to catch something of her scent.  In his dreams, she always smelt of flowers and fresh air and sunshine, almost like a garden in early spring.  But nothing remained on his fingers, no trace of his mystery woman; it was as if he’d never even touched her.

Later that evening, unable to sleep, George reflected that the audition had gone well despite his preoccupation with the woman filling his thoughts.  Perhaps that had been to the good, he’d not been as nervous as he’d started out on his way to meet Paul and John.  And he knew he’d impressed that John fellow by playing Raunchy note perfect, even though the older boy hadn’t said anything.  George was a bit disappointed that he wasn’t offered a position with the band, but if they weren’t going to ask him, he’d just have to start coming ‘round for practices and such.  They’d eventually realize he’d be great in the band, he’d just have to prove his worth.

George rolled over in his bed and tried to relax, but he was still a bundle of nerves from the day.  He started thinking about his mystery woman in an effort to stop thinking of the audition, and eventually slipped in the realm of dreams.  She reappeared in his dreams and graced him with her presence, then began to visit him nearly every night thereafter, much to his delight and dismay. 

Ah, the dreams were smashing, he thought as he practiced his guitar late at night at the end of the week.  What was it now, nearly a year and a half since he’d seen her in that classroom?  And to see her outside of school, oh, yeah, the dreams that chance meeting had rekindled were wonderful!  He wondered if she fancied him?  Well, he certainly fancied her!  Sometimes he wished he didn’t fancy her so much, it was bloody uncomfortable to have her in his thoughts so frequently.

Like right now; he needed to keep his mind on his music!  The audition was over, but he couldn’t drop his guard or rest on his laurels, he had to get even better at the guitar!  The Quarry Men, it was a good name for a band, wasn’t it?  George Harrison and the Quarry Men.  That had a nice ring, what a birthday present that would be next week!  Well, he could only hope, and pray, and dream.

“So stop daydreaming, ya stupid git,” he scolded himself, “an’ start practicing again!”

George bent over his guitar and tried to push the mystery schoolteacher from his thoughts.  He’d tonight, and his dreams to await……after he was finished practicing!

***

The school year finally ended, another summer slipped past with frightening speed, and another (dreaded) school year began.  George couldn’t believe it was already October, with his 16^th birthday only four months away!  Why, it seemed like only yesterday that he’d been waiting for his 15^th birthday to arrive!  The band was coming along well, even though he’d never really been invited to join up, he was still there all the time, wasn’t he?  And sitting in with them more and more often!  John didn’t seem too keen on the idear of him joining up, but George knew he was the same age as Paul had been when he’d joined up, so he didn’t let the older boys’ condescending attitudes bother him.  He simply played diligently and was there all the time for practice, standing in for Eric when the older lad couldn’t make it. 

Perseverance, right?  That’s what Da always says! 

The tortoise always won the race even though the hare was faster at the outset!

In the meantime, George decided he’d had enough of school; it was a bloody bore!  George knew that Ma and Da were going to be upset, but he was just too busy for it any longer.  And the lessons were worse each day, week and month that went by.  The months might be flying past, but the days that he spent in a classroom were sheer torture.  Master Wilson, his teacher this form, had given up on him in disgust after only a month.  He simply let George doodle in his notebook or sleep in the back of the classroom, never called on him for answers to questions and didn’t even bother saying anything about the fact that his student never turned in his homework or tests.  It was simply a matter of time, and only short time at that, before he was out of Wanky Wilson’s class!

The one thing that kept George on the bus every day was the possibility of seeing his mystery woman.  He didn’t really understand why she was so often in his thoughts, and from just seeing her twice!  But that first sighting of her, with the flash of leg as she’d sat on her desk, ohhh, it had been grand, it had literally seared itself into his memory!  And then to have run into her in town that winter day eight months before, well, she hadn’t changed a bit, she’d been absolutely beautiful.

Escaping out of school to freedom late that October afternoon, George realized that the girl’s school had let out early for some reason, and the bus was crowded.  He manfully gave up his seat for the hour long journey from the Inny to Speke, but he managed to maneuver it so that he gave it up to Janet.  He hadn’t seen her in ages, and she was looking quite nice in a blue dress that fitted her a bit tightly across her blossoming chest area.  He sneaked glances at her whilst standing at her side.

“So, Janet, ‘ow’s school been?” he asked, feeling somewhat awkward and unsure of himself.  At least his voice wasn’t breaking like it had only months before!

She giggled.  “Fine, ta, I been enjoyin’ me studies this year ……”

She continued on in that vein as George pretended to pay attention.  She was a pretty fourteen year old now, but she’d turned into a bit of a chatterbox, hadn’t she?  He fondly remembered the tussles he’d gotten into with her, but they’d come to chance less often as her curves had sprouted, replaced with blushes and giggles that were sometimes irritating.  Still, she was a good looker, even if she was talking nervously fast; at least he was able to fill his eyes with her whilst trying not to appear too obvious!  He drifted back to an awareness of her conversation.

“…… we ‘ave a new teacher this year, Miss Preston, an’ she’s wonderful with history an’ I even got better grades in maths, an’ that’s a subject I simply hate……”

An opening!  George jumped in without thinking.

“So, what ‘bout that blonde teacher, is she still thur?  What’s she teach?” he asked as casually as he could manage.  Maybe he could find out her name!

Janet gave him a funny look, then shrugged.  “We don’t ‘ave any blonde teachers at school,” she replied.  Her seatmate, another girl from her school by the looks of her uniform and tie, asked a question and George was left out in the cold as Janet turned to answer her.

Maybe she’s not workin’ at th’ school this year?  George decided to try once more.

“Did she…… did she leave t’ get married or sommat?” he asked, bravely wedging his way into Janet’s chatter.

Janet’s four-eyed seatmate frowned at him, and took over the conversation when Janet giggled.

“There aren’t any blonde teachers in our school, most of the instructors are rather gray haired, actually.  It’s been like that as long as I ‘member, and I been goin’ to the school for several years,” she said, glaring at him, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Janet nodded agreement.  “Right, most all our teachers are utter gargoyles, aren’t they?” she giggled, then grew thoughtful.  “But I seen photos in the teacher’s lounge, some of the teachers they ‘ad working ‘ere long ago, ‘member that one, Mary?  That really beautiful lady who taught ‘ere back in the 1920’s?  I think she was blonde.  Wasn’t her name Lydia something-or-other?” she asked her partner.  At her friend’s nod, she looked up at George and continued, “The photo’s one o’ those really ol’ fashioned ones, where she’s wearing a long skirt, nearly to ‘er ankles.  She looks like a movie star!  She prob’ly retired a long time ago, or died.”  As her friend nodded again in agreement, Janet gave George a curious glance.  “Why d’ya ask, George?” she sniggered.

Both girls looked up at him with what appeared to him to be small, knowing, smiles curving across their lips and George was filled with terror at being caught out.  He shook his head quickly, forgetting his confusion over her remark that there hadn’t been any blonde teachers working at the school in recent years.  Of course his mystery woman worked there, both girls were mistaken.  P’rhaps she simply taught a different form.

George cleared his throat, searching desperately for anything he could use to explain why he’d been asking questions.

“Oh, no reason, jus’ thought…… jus’ wondered, errrr, I seen ‘er once, thought she looked a bit familiar, she…… she might o’ been a friend o’ me mum’s…… errrrrm…… oh, look, it’s me stop, nice chattin’ with ya gurls, ‘bye!”

Sweating, he scrambled off the bus although it was several stops short of his normal exit near Upton Green.  He heard the girls’ laughter ringing in his ears and stalked away from the bus stop with his head down and his ears burning.  He had to walk a few extra blocks to get home, and he cursed himself for being so obvious about his infatuation with the blonde teacher.  He’d have to avoid Janet now, as well as her four-eyed friend, or they’d slag him about it even more!  Damn, why had he said anything?

Oh, but the dreams he had that night, she was there with him all night long……

***

The months slid away, the Christmas holiday approached and was filled with family and friends and laughter, all the aunties and uncles coming for visits when Harry and Irene got married less than a week before the holiday.  The Quarry Men played their wedding, it was smashing having ‘renie in the family now, and George hoped her new status of being his brothers lawfully wedded wife didn’t change their relationship!  He worried ‘bout that a bit, he wanted his friendship with ‘renie to stay the same forever.  They got on famously; why, he’d practically lived in her pocket whilst Harry had been doing his National Service!  And she’d never said a word to Ma about him sagging off school and coming ‘round to see her to sneak off to the cinemas during the week.

The morning after New Year’s, George woke with a miserable headache and his first thought was to worry about the band now that Colin had quit.  Oh, it had been an absolute drunken brawl at Da’s company holiday party last night, and George and his fellow Quarry Men had partaken of all the sneaked lagers they could get their hands on once they’d come off stage.  At one point, Colin had simply gotten into a furious row with all of them, but George couldn’t even remember what it had been about!  The drummer had stormed off, taking his drum kit with him and telling them all to get stuffed. 

So the Quarry Men were now without a drummer.  What a difference a fortnight could make!  Less than two weeks after Harry an’ Irene had got hitched, only one day into the new year of 1959 and nearly within touching distance of his long awaited 16^th birthday, George wondered if he’d even be in a band for much longer!  If things didn’t improve, he’d start looking for work with another band before long.  Maybe Rory Storm and the Hurricanes might have an opening, they were a gear band, very professional, and they wore incredibly snappy suits!

Well, he’d simply have to think about it later, wouldn’t he?  It was the new year and it was too early to be awake, so George closed his eyes and rolled over, hoping he’d fall into a dream of his mystery lady.  She hadn’t been gracing his dreams as much lately, but he still thought of her, and he wondered if she’d be visiting him soon.  He hoped so.  It would be a nice way to start the new year.

Later in January, George and the Quarry Men played another late Christmas party in Woolton.  After that, it seemed as if his prediction had come true and the Quarry Men malingered on the edge of breaking up.  George began playing with the Les Stewart Quartet; he barely saw John or Paul any longer.  Out of boredom, he actually tried to put some effort back into school, but it was too little, too late, and the schoolmaster announced he was going to hold George back a year.  George determined that he wouldn’t be returning to his classes again come the fall term; he’d simply not go!  What could they do?  He was nearly an adult.

Summer was spent knocking about and playing with the Quartet, but the weeks slipped past with astonishing speed, and the new school year approached.  Only weeks before it started up again, the band was contracted to open a new teen club in West Derby and George looked forward to the gig.  Unfortunately, Les and their drummer Ken got into a furious row a few days before the show, and Les had walked out on them. 

“I hate lettin’ Mrs. Best down like this,” Ken complained.  “D’ya know anyone could fill in fer th’ show?”

George shrugged.  “I got a few mates I used t’ play in a band with, want me t’ ring ‘em up an’ see if they’re free?”

Ken narrowed his eyes.  “Who is it?  I don’ want jus’ any Tom, Dick or Harry, I wanna play a good gig fer the Casbah!”

“John Lennon an’ Paul McCartney,” George replied, thinking that Ken was being pretty snobbish about this, he was a beggar, and like Da always said, beggars shouldn’t be choosy!  “They’re decent players, haven’t played with ‘em since first o’ th’ year, though.”  He wondered if they’d given up playing or not?

“Well, we don’ have a lotta choice, do we?” Ken groused.  “Yeah, ring ‘em up an’ see if they’ll save th’ show.  Can’t b’lieve Les jus’ walked out like that.”

George wisely kept his mouth shut, realizing that he’d just be pouring oil on fire if he said anything.  Ken was a bit of a hot-head, but he didn’t need to hear that from George right now!

The Quarry Men were a smash at the opening of the Casbah Coffee Club, and they were immediately booked for the next two months.  George glowed with pleasure to have saved the day, and it was grand being back in with his old mates.  Friendships were renewed and they started talking about making a real go of it, trying their hand at becoming a real professional outfit.  When school started up, George dutifully rode the bus each day, but sagged off his classes.  He spent his time walking the streets, sneaking into the cinema, visiting ‘renie, and getting into as much trouble as he could get away with.  Paul and John often sagged off as well, and on those days, they’d often gather to practice their songs.

George couldn’t remember a better school year!

About the only detriment to George’s decision to quit school was that he missed the excitement generated by the possibility of running into his mystery teacher.  Thankfully, she still graced his dreams from time to time, and he supposed he had to be content with that.

Unfortunately, sagging off school finally caused a letter to be written to his parents.

“What’s all this about, son?” Harry asked, a concerned expression on his face.

“I’m done with school, Da, that’s all thur is to it,” George replied stubbornly.

George steeled himself when Da raised a fuss, but he was thankful that Ma was supportive.  He remained adamant and Da’s temper was high for a while until the elder Harrison finally accepted his son’s decision.

Thank God, George thought with a breath of relief when that day finally arrived.  He hated being at odds with either of his folks.

When Ken quit the band in October after a row about money, they continued to play the club occasionally sans drummer for the next couple of months.  Things went pretty dormant for the winter and into spring, with John and Paul going up to Berkshire for the Easter holiday in 1960, shortly after George’s 17^th birthday.  When George found out they’d performed at Paul’s cousin’s pub as “The Nerk Twins”, he tried to hide his hurt that they’d left him out.  He finally shrugged philosophically; he’d been on holiday with his brother, camping ‘round Wales, so it wasn’t as if he’d really been free to join them!

Things picked up with the warmer weather and by mid-summer, George often had pocket money from time to time, courtesy of the increasing number of gigs they played.  Unfortunately, the band had been renamed so many times over the past months, he’d lost track of what they were calling themselves!  One day they were The Beatals, then the Silver Beetles, then the Silver Beats.  Some loony had even suggested they call themselves Long John and the Silver Beetles, but they’d laughed themselves sick over that, although John had bragged that it was an appropriate nickname, and they’d had to slag him unmercifully over that!  George wondered what they’d be calling themselves next?

But whatever they were calling themselves this week, they were going places!  Finally!

When Paul arrived that afternoon for practice, George asked him, “What are we calling ourselves t’day?”, and Paul had to stop to think about it before answering.

“Silver Beetles, I think.”

When John arrived with his customary crash of the door opening, he looked to be brimming with exciting news, a wide grin on his face.  Stuart, the new fellow in the group, trailed behind him, also smiling.

“Sorry, Mrs. H,” John called out his traditional offhand apology for the slamming of the door.  “Ta fer lettin’ us practice ‘ere.”

“That’s all right, John,” George’s mum sang from the kitchen.  “You know you lads are always welcome.  Would you boys like some tea?”

Enthusiastic responses were given and George could hear Ma filling the tea kettle.  He hoped she’d bring some san’wiches or chips or biscuits with the tea today, everyone was prob’ly hungry.  He turned his attention back to John as the older boy pulled off his lightweight jacket and threw it over the arm of the sofa.

“We’re goin’ places, boys,” John announced with a gleeful smile.  “Th’ Silver Beetles are goin’ t’ Scotland!”

“Are we gonna be backin’ Billy Fury, then?” Paul asked, excitement gleaming in his eyes.  “Did we pass th’ audition?”

“Well, yeah, but not fer Billy, Larry Parnes offered us th’ job o’ backin’ Johnny Gentle,” John replied, seeming unable to sit down; he was pacing with nervous energy.

“Johnny Gentle?  What kinda name’s that?” George wanted to know.  Seemed a bit funny to him, most all stage names were wild, like Fury and Storm and Hurricanes and stuff like that!  What kinda name was “Gentle”?

“Who cares ‘bout names?” John replied logically.  “We’re definitely goin’ places!  That audition was just th’ start o’ things!”  He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice in conspiracy.  “I heard some fellers talkin’ ‘bout gigs available over in Hamburg.”

“Whur’s that?” George asked.

“Germany, ya soft hapath!” Paul shouted in excitement.

The continent?!?  George could only stare at his laughing friends!  In his wildest dreams, he’d never thought of going anywhere outside of England, he’d have been happy as could be just to make a living playing guitar in the ‘pool!  Germany?

“How long’s th’ Scots tour anyway?” Stuart asked.  “Ya never did say.”

“It’s fer a week, startin’ May 20^th,” John replied.  “It’ll be me an’ George an’ Paul on guitar, you on bass, an’ we’ll get Tommy Moore fer drums.”

“Shall we use stage names fer th’ trip?” George asked eagerly.

John shrugged, but it was Stuart who replied. 

“Guess we could.  I rather like th’ idear o’ namin’ meself Stuart de Stael!”

“Yeah, that’s good!  I’ll be Paul Ramon,” Paul announced grandly.

“I think I’ll call meself Carl Harrison,” George added after thinking about it for only a moment or two.  A tribute to his hero, Carl Perkins!  It had a nice ring, din’t it?

Ma came in with a tea tray and sammies and chips, so George helped her to set everything down and played ‘mother’ with the tea, all the boys chorusing their thanks as Ma left him to it.  He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he poured, but he was incredibly excited about the tour.  He didn’t really want the older lads to know about his excitement, they might slag him, and being younger than the rest was something that never left George’s thoughts.  But the Silver Beetles were absolutely headed places!

And after heading to Scotland, maybe they’d land a job in Germany!  George couldn’t believe it, Germany, the continent, an international tour!

Life was grand, the band was smashing, and they were going places!  First Scotland, maybe Germany next and then…… the world?!?

***

“Ma, Da?  I’m home……”

George was near dead on his feet when he got home from The Beatles’ first Hamburg gig.  He was fuming, too; he’d been bloody well kicked out of Germany, couldn’t believe it, but there it was.  At seventeen years old, he was underage and they’d given him the boot.  Talk about depressing!

Once they’d survived the hells of that summer tour to Scotland, he’d been depressed about the whole thing, but they’d trudged on and played ‘round the ‘pool at various gigs, even backing a stripper for a week, a job they’d all enjoyed.  After that, Da had started pushing him towards a real job and he’d had to go to work for Blacketts as an electrician’s apprentice, but had hated it from day one.  When the Hamburg job had come up, he’d quit his job in a trice and had departed for the continent filled with renewed excitement.  That excitement had turned to dismay when they’d all seen the dump where they’d be playing and living.  But they’d managed to get by, and it had been fun and exciting, mostly.  Except for being constantly hungry and exhausted.  And except for getting the boot out of the country at the end of it!

Ma and Da were thrilled to have him home, of course, and the brothers and ‘renie gave him a bit of slagging about being thrown out of Germany with not much more than the clothes on his back, but it didn’t really cover their relief to have him home, either.  He just wished he could have returned to the ‘pool in triumph, not like a dog with its’ tail ‘tween its’ legs.  He didn’t know what was gonna happen from here, and he was feeling fairly depressed.

He was even more depressed that there’d been so much opportunity for ‘it’ in Hamburg and he’d been afraid to take advantage.

Stupid, bloody idiot! he cursed himself nearly every other breath.

George knew he’d just been too nervous, the rooms had been awful and there was no privacy.  He’d had to lay there like a stick sometimes when one of the other lads were having it, trying to pretend he was sleeping, and it had been bloody horrible!  Exciting, but awful to think that the roles could have been reversed; they could just as easily have been listening to him doing ‘it’ for the first time.  What if he…… well, what if he couldn’t do ‘it’ if he tried, if he knew they were listening?  What then?  He couldn’t face the possibility of the shame and failure, and so, had lived in utter misery and constant stimulation during the entire trip, wanting ‘it’ so badly that it felt as if he’d simply die without it, but unable to bring himself to do anything about it. 

And now, home sweet home, all the girls were still wearing steel armour; they dressed nothing like the birds in Germany.  George knew he was sunk.  He was certain he was gonna die a virgin, and his depression hung over him like the stink from a cloud of cigar smoke.

“George, will you run to the shop for some vegetables for dinner?” Ma asked a couple of afternoons after he got home.

George nodded morosely and took the money his mother gave him.  He didn’t even bother to take the bus, took shank’s pony instead, ‘cause it was a beaut of a day with the sun shining even in the winter, and he felt like a walk.  Maybe it would cure his gloomy outlook; he knew he was normally fairly cheerful, and this on-going depression didn’t sit well with him.  The walk to market was quickly accomplished, and he was shortly browsing through what winter vegetables were available for the soup pot.

George was sizing up the carrots when a slim arm extended a hand to the same carrot he’d been reaching for.  The young man raised his eyes and was immediately captivated by blue eyes with dark lashes; it was his schoolmistress!  They each held half of the carrot as George stared; he finally realized what he was doing and dropped his end to let her take the vegetable.  He smiled as best he could, but he’d broken out in a sweat, and he was certain he was blushing under her scrutiny.  Was there a smile in her eyes?  Oh, God, he’d been dreaming of her off and on for three bloody years, nearly four!  To be face to face with her like this……  And she hadn’t changed a bit, she looked exactly as he remembered from his first sighting of her, as if there’d been no passage of years at all.  He’d have thought she might look a bit older, after all, she had to be nearly twice his age.  But no, she looked simply smashing, utterly gorgeous, and exactly as he remembered her!

“Thank you, love,” she said.

Oh, God, her voice was beautiful!  The first words she’d ever spoken to him, the first words he’d ever heard her speak outside of his dreams, and her voice was low and musical and even a little bit throaty, sexy, tantalizing! 

George licked his suddenly dry lips and simply stared, the desire rising up so strong and so fast that he nearly staggered from the pounding of the blood in his veins, the sound of it audible to his ears.  There was a definite smile in her eyes then, and she nodded before turning away.  The lad held his breath as he watched her stroll down the aisle, her coat thrown over her arm, her hips swaying slightly in an intoxicating rhythm that kept him spellbound.  The skirt of her old fashioned dress brushed against her shapely calves, her stocking seams were straight and perfect, the curves of her hip were enhanced by the stricture of a wide belt at her waist.  George thought he’d pass out from lack of oxygen and finally remembered to take a breath as she reached the end of the aisle.  She turned and caught him looking; a little smile crossed her lips and then she was gone.  Oh, God, that little, mysterious, inviting smile, just as he remembered it from that long ago sighting of the woman in her classroom!

He tried to hurry after her, but she’d vanished as if she’d been a dream.  How could she have disappeared so quickly?

George quickly paid for the vegetables and left the store, looking anxiously down the streets, but he didn’t see her in any direction.  She couldn’t possibly have vanished like that, could she?  P’rhaps she was still in the market?  Or in another nearby shop?  

After checking the marketplace again, he bashfully peered into the dress shop next door, but he didn’t see her.  He’d have seen her if she’d been on the street, he was certain of it!  He’d finally a chance to say hullo and he’d been unable to utter a single word! 

Idiot, stupid bloody idiot, he cursed himself viciously, walking faster and looking down every side street, hoping to catch another sight of his mystery woman.  A thought brought him up short.  What would he say to her if he did catch up to her? 

Hullo, nice t’ see ya again?  Lovely weather we’re ‘aving?  I… I can’t stop thinking of ya, dreaming about ya, wanting t’… t’… t’ ‘ave a go with ya?

Damn, this was ridiculous, he couldn’t even think it without stuttering!  And he didn’t think that would be the best way to approach a bird, either, but how could you tell a girl you wanted to have s…s…sex with her?  And anyway, it was the truth, it was what he wanted more than anything!  He’d seriously been dreaming of her for years, on and off, even through the trip to Germany, and today, when he’d finally seen her in person, he couldn’t even get a word out of his mouth.  He was bloody well haunted by the woman of his dreams, but he’d been so tongue tied, he’d not even been able to say hullo.  Damn!

George scuffed at some pebbles trapped in the bitumen of the street, morosely back-tracking past the market and turning down the end of Mackett’s Lane.  One last glance down the street afforded him a nice view of a dark haired girl walking towards him, and he paused to enjoy her approach, nice curves, freckles……

“George Harrison?” the girl asked with a friendly smile as she came closer.  “I ‘aven’t seen you in years, how are ya?”

“Janet Decker?” he responded brilliantly.  She’d grown up.  A lot.  Her curves had evened out beautifully and she was smashing.  He just stared.

The girl nodded and gave a little giggle.  But it wasn’t an irritating giggle any longer, it was kinda cute.  She must have learned to moderate it, he thought cynically.

“I’m on my way t’ market,” she said with another friendly smile.  Almost inviting?

“Oh.  Errrrm, d’ya need some help with yer shopping?” George asked.  The vegetables in his own bag would wait, Ma wasn’t expecting him back immediately, was she?

Another friendly and inviting smile!  George turned ‘round and walked back to market with her, helped her with her shopping and then walked her home, surprised to learn she lived only a few streets over, on the outskirts of Woolton.  Her family had moved up on the re-housing lists, just like his had done, and they chatted about the neighbourhoods wherein they’d lived and the moving about they’d done over the past few years.  George made her laugh with his story about the move from Upton Green to Mackett’s Lane, with his bicycle nearly being run over by the moving truck and how upset he’d been.  In return, she told him about moving from Admiral Grove (just a few streets over from where he’d lived on Arnold Grove, he marveled) to Speke, and how she’d cried for days when her cat had run away.  The new residents of their old house had rung up to say the cat had appeared about a week later, apparently preferring Admiral Grove to Speke.

Jan was fun to chat up, and she wasn’t at all hard on the eyes, George thought.  He remembered chatting with her near school sometimes, and they laughed over the fights they’d had when they were young.  She’d been twelve, George had been thirteen, but he was now seventeen, nearly eighteen, and those years seemed to be a thousand years in the past. 

Standing at the doorstep to her home, George handed her the sack of groceries and then stood awkwardly silent for a moment.

“Errrm, maybe I’ll come by an’ take ya fer a coffee some aft’anoon?” he ventured, anxiously awaiting her rejection or acceptance, trying to appear as if he weren’t anxious about this.

“Oh, that’d be lovely, George,” Janet beamed.  “I’m apprenticed t’ the seamstress at a dress shop ‘cross town, but I’m off on Tuesdays an’ Sundays.”

George inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t turned down his overture.

“Right, then, I’ll come by Tuesday aft’anoon, then?” he asked nonchalantly.

She nodded, a transparent blush colouring her cheeks, and George gave her what he hoped was a casual smile.  The door opened and her mum stood there, glaring at him, so he smiled politely and nodded to her before turning and walking away.  He waited until he’d turned the corner before he gave a little skip, hop and jump of excitement he could no longer contain.  He hurried home with the vegetables, turning his thoughts back to his mystery woman and looking down every side street.

Oh, the dreams George had of the schoolteacher for several nights after that chance meeting at the market, well, thank God his brother wasn’t shaking him awake for school each morning, he at least had the dreams of his schoolmistress to enjoy!  Oh, and she was bloody incredible, and even though George usually woke up at the critical point and had to finish matters himself, it was still worth it!  He’d seen enough in Hamburg that his education was pretty evolved; even though he hadn’t done ‘it’, he still knew a lot about ‘it’.  And in his dreams, she did too, and she did all of the things to him that he’d seen and fantasized about in Germany. 

He had to meet her again, had to talk to her, had to somehow sound her out to see if there really was any interest or if it was just his imagination!  How could she have vanished so quickly that afternoon?

George started lurking about the shop and walking the streets.  If she’d been shopping there, she must live fairly close to the area, right? 

By Tuesday, George was a bit discouraged, he hadn’t seen a trace of his mystery woman, but he wasn’t gonna give up.  First things, though, he was taking Janet for a coffee, so he had to beg a few bob from Da.  Thankfully, Da was pretty easy going.  Once he’d got a bit of change from him, George went to work on Ma.  She was even easier going, and by the time he worked his way through the brothers, he had enough for a nice date. 

He wondered when and if he’d ever be making any money of his own, but the idear of going to work just din’t appeal to him, no matter how many subtle hints his parents gave him.  He studiously ignored the hints and prayed Ma and Da wouldn’t push matters; working at Blackett’s had been bloody awful!  He just wanted to play guitar, he thought mournfully, that’s all he ever wanted to do!  Well, when John and Paul and Pete and Stu came home, maybe they’d start playing again and p’rhaps they’d get some money coming in.  Hamburg had certainly been a bust, though, all things told, and he’d barely had enough cash to get home!

He casually mentioned the German trip to Janet as they walked to the coffee house he’d picked out.  It was close, which meant no bus fare, and it was cheap.  Not as cheap as Harald’s or Chung-Ou’s in Hamburg, he thought privately, but still pretty easy on the wallet.  If he could keep the date to just coffee and biscuits, he might have enough left over for that guitar strap he’d been eyeing over in the music shop!

“Oh, yer in a band?” Janet asked, her eyes wide with surprise. 

George smiled in delight at her reaction.

“Oh, yeah, we spent a bit o’ time on th’ continent, they loved us over thur, we had quite a following, actually.”

He told her about the trip abroad, but left out the fact that he’d been kicked out of the country, of course.  She kinda had stars in her eyes at the telling, so George found himself embellishing and glamourizing it, but he didn’t think he was obnoxious about it.  He just played it up a bit, that’s all.  He kinda liked how she looked at him during the tale. 

The birds like a feller in a band, don’t they? he thought smugly.

He just wished he could take advantage of it!  But Janet was practically a school chum, and despite the way they’d fought as kids (and the way he’d enjoyed wrestling with her!), he couldn’t really start anything with her.  It just didn’t feel right.  Even though she was a pretty bird and rather sweet.

He tried to figger out a way to bring up his mystery schoolteacher, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything.  The memory of that long-ago bus ride and the girls’ laughter still made his ears burn with embarrassment, and the words he wanted to say gagged in his throat, so he gave up and steered the conversation onto other subjects.

Coffee and cigarettes shared and chat completed with money left over for the guitar strap, George walked Janet back home and they stood outside her house for a few minutes, saying goodnight.  He dared to give her a kiss on the cheek, and she didn’t slap him, so that was good.  In fact, he fancied that she leaned into it!  Well, well, that was encouraging, and all his thoughts about not wanting to start something with a bird who was practically a school chum went flying out the window. 

He looked at the dark haired girl appraisingly and she looked back at him, appearing a bit shy.  She wasn’t making a move for the handle of the door, so he stepped a bit closer, just testing her resolve.  Janet still didn’t move away, so he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers before straightening to look at her.  She licked her pink lips but otherwise didn’t move, so he did!  George kissed her good and proper then, and she had a soft little mouth, although she didn’t really seem too sure of herself.  It was kinda endearing; George felt very much the ‘older man’ and took full advantage of the situation!

They had quite a snog on her doorstep, and George was panting for air when they finished; Janet was breathing heavily, too, and her eyes were kinda dazed.  George reached for her again, but the door came open just then, and her mum was standing there with a glare on, so he completed his move with a major detour, chastely kissing Janet on the cheek before saying a cheery good night.  He raced off into the gathering darkness before her mum could say anything; coward’s way out, he knew, but it worked and he neatly avoided a confrontation with the dragon!

A stop at the music shop completed the evening.  He was a few pence short, but he put on his best mournful look and the man at the counter took pity on him; the coveted guitar strap was shortly in his possession for the remainder of the walk home.

Alone in his bed that night, George dreamed ‘bout two girls, a blonde vixen and a dark haired virgin.  He nearly strangled himself rolling about in the covers, they were so twisted and tangled when he woke the next morning, and he didn’t feel as if he’d gotten much rest at all!  But Jesus, the dreams had been fantastic, being taken first by the blonde bird and taught all the practice of which he had ample theory, and then taking the dark haired girl and putting all the theory into newly learned practice.

The winter passed quickly, the lads got back from Germany with stories of their own, and George was soon spending a lot of time with them, playing gigs around town and the like.  Surprisingly, Stuart stayed in Germany with his girlfriend, so Paul ended up taking over the bass line, but George wasn’t sure it was going to work out. 

Fortunately, the band evened out a bit over time.  By springtime, things were looking (and sounding!) pretty tight; George had money in his pocket and they had another trip to Hamburg lined up, at a sharper club than the one they’d played before.  And no problem with him ever being deported again, he was eighteen, a man! 

Well, he was a man in most everyone’s eyes but his own. 

George swore he was ready to off himself, he was seriously afraid he was gonna die a virgin!  He never saw his mystery woman, although he kept both eyes open for her, and he kept dreaming about her nearly every night, the familiar haunting and erotic dreams to which he’d grown accustomed over the years.  The desire for her remained strong and urgent. 

He kept seeing his dark haired bird on an afternoon when she was free, too, but it was bloody frustrating, because he never got very far with her.  Janet wouldn’t let him get past a bit of a feel, and it wasn’t even a very good feel; she’d allow only a touch through the steel armour of her dress and bra, not even letting him touch skin!  His dreams always took him so much further, his memories of what he’d seen in Hamburg supplying his imagination with how it must feel to touch and fondle, but Janet wasn’t accommodating his imagination with any practice!  The snogging was grand, but George’s groin would be aching by the time he took the girl home from a date.  And her mum was always standing at the door with a glare on.  So it was always a chaste kiss on the cheek and a wave, even though he and Janet had usually spent the past hours locked in each others arms, with George trying his damnedest to get a bit of tit or a little finger pie.  The idear of going any further than that, well, there was prob’ly no chance in hell, but it didn’t stop him from hoping and wishing and dreaming! 

And the dreams were still pretty good, especially the ones involving his mystery woman.

The day before they were to leave for Hamburg, George thought he’d have his best chance with Janet, and he planned things carefully.  He picked up his dark haired girlfriend in the afternoon, took her out to a pub, then took her back to his home.  Ma and Da were out for the evening, and Pete was over visiting Harry and Irene.  George was convinced this was the time! 

He spent hours snogging, trying, grappling, pleading and begging but he was ultimately defeated, utterly frustrated, aching and dying for ‘it’.

“Look, Janet,” he finally burst out, “I’m leavin’ for Germany tomorrow, I’ll be gone fer months, who knows what could happen!  I might get in a bus accident an’ die, an’ then you’d feel bad all the rest o’ yer life that you din’t prove yerself t’ me!”

George knew he was being cheap and low, but he needed it bad!  He knew he was gonna die if he didn’t get ‘it’.  He couldn’t stop thinking of it, couldn’t stop needing it!  His dreams kept pushing him, urging him on; the erotic dreams of dark haired girl and golden haired woman had kept him on a razor edge of desire for many a long week!

“George,” Janet sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, “I don’t wanna fall preggers.”

“I got a johnnie,” George blurted, feeling triumph close at hand.  He’d nicked a few rubbers from Harry’s dresser, hoping against hope that he’d someday need one! 

T’day’s th’ day, he thought gleefully.  Success, success, success!

“George, if ya love me, yer gonna wait ‘til we’re married,” Janet said with a frown. 

Failure, failure, failure. 

What was that about love and marriage?  Christ, he’d never once said he’d marry her!  He liked Janet all right, and he wanted whatever she was gonna put out, but…… marriage???  It felt as if she’d taken a cold glass of water and dumped it over him, his desire was quenched instantly.  All he could think was how could he get out of this?

“Errrrm, I don’t think I’m ‘zactly ready fer marriage, Jan,” George muttered dejectedly.

She looked crestfallen, and her big brown eyes filled up with tears. 

“But I thought……” 

Her voice trailed off, and George didn’t have any words of comfort for her.  He tried desperately to find something to reassure her without promising anything.  He hated to see a bird cry, and he felt like a heel, but he hadn’t been leading her on, had he?  Hell, maybe he had.

“I s’pose we’ll just have t’ talk a bit more when I get back from Germany,” he stumbled weakly.

The evening was finished, and they were shortly walking back to her house, much more subdued than they’d been only an hour before.  George gave her a kiss on the cheek even though her mum wasn’t waiting at the door as always, mumbled a goodbye and escaped.

Walking home with his head down and his hands in his pockets, George jerked to awareness only when he walked straight into someone.  He reached out to steady the other person and realized it was his mystery lady.

“S…s…sorry, miss,” George stammered, realized he was holding onto her arms and quickly let her go. 

He was feeling hot and cold at once, all thoughts of Janet flown out of his head, the desire he’d previously felt for his dream woman rampant.  His heart pounded uncomfortably hard in his chest, his skin felt flushed and it tingled where the cool evening air kissed his neck and hands.

“You need to watch where you’re going, young man,” the woman scolded gently, her low, throaty voice twisting his insides with sheer lust.  “That’s the second time you’ve nearly knocked me down!”

“Figgered it was the only way I could meet ya.”

Who said that?  George was aghast to realize the words had come out of his mouth!  Smooth, you idiot, he cursed himself as he felt his ears burning.  He was surprised flames didn’t shoot out of their tips, he was so hot.

“Really?” she asked with an amused, throaty chuckle that made his knees weak.  He stood, utterly dumb, all smoothness vanished, and simply nodded in hopeful reply.

She looked at him with her head tilted to one side, her gaze appraising and amused.

“Haven’t the dreams been enough for you, lad?” she asked gently.

George started, staring at her in dismay.  How could she know about his dreams?

“Perhaps they haven’t been enough for me, either, I haven’t felt this strongly about a young man in a very long time,” she mused quietly, and George wasn’t absolutely sure he’d heard her right.  “I hope it hasn’t bothered you too much, my dear, but you were far too young when I first saw you.  I suppose I shouldn’t have ever let you see me, but you were simply the most darling young man.   You remind me of……”  The woman sighed, a sad expression crossing her face.  “Oh, I’ve been waiting so long for him and I’ve been so lonely.” 

She looked at George again, her blue eyes looking directly into his and holding him spellbound, all his dreams crowding his thoughts and knocking aside the questions he had, who did he remind her of, who had she been waiting for?  A smile touched her lips, lightening her expression.

“P’rhaps… how old are you, love?” she asked delicately.

“Ei…ei…ei’teen,” George stuttered, barely understanding what she’d asked, hope clouding his brain, desire turning his knees to jelly.

“Oh really?  The years simply fly, don’t they?” she asked, then stood still for just a moment before adding, “It seems like only yesterday that you were thirteen.”

This was decidedly strange, and George pinched himself, hard, to ensure he wasn’t having another dream.  It really hurt, so he was fairly convinced he was awake.  But how could she have known his age when he’d first seen her, how could she know she’d been in his dreams ever since?  And did she know the content of his dreams?  Oh, God!  He blushed hard at the thought.

“Would you like a wee spot o’ coffee?” she asked abruptly, shattering his train of thought.

Knocked out of his bemusement, George simply nodded again, struck absolutely dumb with sheer hope and desire.  He followed her when she began walking, down a side street, across the road, up another street and then to a little two-up two-down no different than his or Janet’s.  He couldn’t say a word, and she didn’t seem inclined to chat either, so when she opened the door with a key and let him in, he just followed her into the kitchen and watched numbly as she put the kettle on and fixed up a tray.  When the kettle began to sing, she took it off the burner and then moved into his arms, the coffee forgotten.

George hardly said a word that evening, and she didn’t say very much either.  She kissed like an angel, but the other things she did were as dirty as anything he’d ever dreamed.  And he’d dreamed a lot!  Oh, God, she was utterly fantastic, her lips, her tongue, her skin, her hair, Jesus, George thought he’d seriously died and gone to heaven, it was fantastic!  She didn’t mind him looking at her, either, so the young man delightedly got to fill his mouth and eyes and brain with the whole theory thing.  Everything about her was fantastic, as good or better than his dreams! 

Only one thing was puzzling, she had absolutely no scent whatsoever, no flowers and sunshine and fresh air that he’d always imagined her to smell like, but he simply shrugged that puzzle away and enjoyed every minute of his evening.

When he was absolutely more than ready for the culmination of his desire, ready for ‘it’ in the worst way possible, she shook her head and he was in agony until she did something else he’d heard about and fantasized about and it was bloody incredible!  Oh, no wonder some fellers liked this so much, maybe even better than ‘it’, although he didn’t yet have any comparison!  Oh, Jesus, this was fantastic! 

Once he’d recovered from what she’d done, George decided he wasn’t going to push matters, considering the fact that he was getting a lot more than he’d ever gotten before!  He wasn’t going to rock the boat, although he left her house late that night as technically virgin as he’d been when he’d walked into her kitchen earlier in the evening.  But theory had been put into some incredible practice that led to the main event, of which he was still ignorant.  But not for long!  He was determined to do ‘it’ in Germany this time, he wasn’t going to waste the second chance!

George was exhilarated and exhausted when he left her home, kissing her goodbye and thanking her for a lovely evening.  He had to clear his throat to say anything, all he’d done was moan and groan during the entire night, and his voice was rusty from disuse.

“I’m leavin’ fer Hamburg t’morrow, but when I get back……” he began, but her finger across his lips stopped him from saying anything further.

“Bon voyage, my darling young man,” she said, then kissed him and closed the door.

***

Armed with newfound confidence and knowledge, Germany was an incredible adventure for George this time ‘round.  The club they played was nicer, it was great to see Asser and Stuart again, the quarters were better, and he finally got ‘it’ from a sweet little blonde German bird who didn’t speak any English. 

‘It’ was fantastic.  Incredible.  Unbelievable.  Brilliant!

George figgered practice made perfect, so he practiced ‘it’ as much as he could during the trip.  The other lads groaned about him turning into a sex fiend, but he didn’t pay them any attention, too caught up in his new experiences to let them disturb his single minded concentration on getting ‘it’ perfect.

When they returned to Liverpool in triumph, George spent a few nights with Ma and Da and the brothers, then snuck off the third night home, took a breath and went over to Janet’s home.  He was grateful to learn from her glaring mum that she was out on a date with ‘a nice boy’.  It was one less thing to worry about.  Although he’d kinda hoped he might have a better chance with her, Janet was pretty obviously holding out for a ring and a wedding bed, and George knew he wasn’t ready for that! 

Walking back home, his feet took him of their own accord and he found himself on the path to his mystery lady’s house.  It took him a long time to find it, and when he finally arrived at the right doorstep, the home didn’t look like he remembered, more run down and ragged, he s’posed.  George knocked on the door and stepped back in surprise when a little old man answered the door.

“Can I ‘elp ya, son?” the old man asked kindly, his dark eyes looking up at George through a massive network of wrinkles.

“Errrr, sorry, mister, I was lookin’ fer a blonde lady who lives here,” George said quickly, wishing he’d asked the woman’s name during that incredible night she’d given him.

The man looked startled, then slowly shook his head, sucking on a fantastically carved pipe he held between his teeth.

“I been livin’ here fer th’ past fifty years, lad, an’ th’ last blonde lady who lived ‘ere was me wife.  She’s been dead an’ gone fer nearly forty years now, son.”

George felt a cold chill down his neck, his skin crawling with the sensation.

“Maybe yer daughter?” he asked weakly.

The old man shook his head sadly. 

“Nah, ‘fraid not, son.  Me wife died very young, she was only thirty, an’ she died in childbirth, the babe with her.  She’d never wanted t’ fall preggers, said she ‘ad a premonition ‘bout it, but I’d insisted I wanted an heir,” he explained quietly, the garrulous nature of a lonely old man shining through and readily apparent to the young man who stood silently, wishing he could run.  “She did it fer me.  I been waitin’ t’ join ‘er ever since.  I know she’s waitin’……”  He sadly shook his head at the memory, then looked up at George sharply.  “Did ya say you were lookin’ for a blonde lady, son?” he asked.

George quickly shook his head in reply.  “No, she had dark hair, I must be confused ‘bout the street,” he said shakily.  He tried to turn and escape, but his mouth had a mind of its’ own and blurted, “Was…… was yer wife a schoolteacher?”

The old gentleman sucked contemplatively on his pipe and George felt pinned to the earth by his piercing, but kindly, gaze. 

“Aye, that she was, son, she taught at a girl’s school a piece from ‘ere.  I was lookin’ through the school windows one day, tryin’ t’ catch a glimpse of a gurl I knew, an’ I saw ‘er sittin’ all by ‘er lonesome in a classroom.  She caught me eye that day an’ I was caught good an’ proper.  Dreamed ‘bout ‘er fer so long that I finally ‘ad t’ arrange an introduction.  Oncet I was outta school, that is.” 

The old man sighed as George stood there absolutely frozen in his boots.   He couldn’t even move, could barely breathe as the man continued his speech. 

“We was very happy, y’ know.  But I was on th’ road a bit, a traveling salesman.  An’ she got a bit lonely from time t’ time.  She was a passionate one, had an eye for a handsome young lad, she did, called ‘em her ‘darling young men’, but she was a good woman, son, never strayed more than a night away at any one time.  She always came home t’ me.”  He laughed and added, “Eventually.”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, mister,” George said stiffly, his lips feeling as if they were barely moving to get the words out.

“No bother, son,” he said, looking George in the eye with a twinkle in his own.  “Would you like a wee spot o’ coffee?”

George started at the question, phrased exactly the same way as …… she …… had asked it, then shook his head dumbly and started to walk away, the urge to flee stronger than anything he’d ever experienced.

“Ya sure, son?” the old man’s voice followed the lad.  “Seems like maybe we got a bit t’ talk about.  Seems like maybe Lydia still has an eye fer a handsome young lad.”

George stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.  His mind raced back to that long-ago bus ride from school, and Janet’s words rang in his memory as if he were standing beside her on the bus, looking down at her dark curls and enduring her giggles, asking her questions about a blonde teacher he’d seen……

“I seen photos in the teacher’s lounge, some of the teachers they ‘ad working here years ago, ‘member that one, that really beautiful lady who taught ‘ere back in the 1920’s?  I think she was blonde.  Wasn’t her name Lydia something-or-other?”

Then, her voice, amused, distant, gentle in his memory……

“Haven’t the dreams been enough for you, lad?”

The old man’s voice, gravelly and contemplative, sadness lingering in his words of an event that had happened near forty years before……

“Me wife died very young, she was only thirty, and she died in childbirth, the babe with her.”

Her voice rang once more in George’s memory, as clear as if she stood before him right now……

“I suppose I shouldn’t have ever let you see me, but you were simply the most darling young man.”

Oh God, oh God……

“Lydia?” he asked numbly

The old man gave him a gentle smile, then took a suck on his pipe and let the smoke out in a fragrant wreath around his head, nodding in reply to George’s question.

“Aye, son, Lydia.  That was me wife’s name.  Looks like she left ‘er mark on ya, laddy.”

“What d’ya mean?” George asked as he started shaking.

“It’s in yer eyes, lad,” the man replied with a knowing, understanding nod.  “I can see it in yer eyes.  ‘s nothin’ t’ be frightened of, she just always liked a han’some young man.  Bet ya been havin’ a few dreams, eh?  Don’ be afraid, son, she means no harm.”

“I’m not afraid,” George blustered, feeling terribly frightened, cold with the fear that crept into his marrow. 

Simple shock kept him quiescent as the old man took George by the arm and led him into the house.  It was just as the younger man remembered, but older, shabbier, by about thirty or forty years of wear and tear.  The old gentleman made the boy sit down at the kitchen table whilst he puttered about heating water and putting some biscuits on a plate, and George simply sat there and shook.

The coffee was strong and sweet and hot, and George’s chills eased a bit as he drank, as he listened to the old man talk softly of his life and the passing of so many years, how quickly the time seemed to fly.  He talked about his marriage, how much he’d loved his wife even though she’d liked to stray on occasion.  He spoke of the loneliness of the years without her, wondering when he’d join her, knowing in his heart that she awaited him at the end of things, but he worried that she might not want such an old man as he’d become.

He smiled wryly.  “Ya couldn’t tell now, but I looked sommat like you when I was young, son, ‘ere, I’ll get some pictures out, stay put.”

It was odd talk for a teenager to listen to, but he sat quietly as the old man laid out a family album and began speaking of the photos therein.  Privately, George thought the photos of the old gentleman as a young man looked closer to Pete than himself, but the resemblance was remarkable.  His heart eventually quit knocking about in his chest, just about the time the old feller closed the photo album with a gentle smile. 

“That’s about it, son,” he said quietly, although the album still had many pages to look through.  George wondered if the remaining photos were of the man’s…. wife.

By the time the coffee pot was empty and the kitchen full of fragrant pipe smoke, the soft conversation and the normalcy of the surroundings diminished George’s chills to an occasional shiver.  Those shivers threatened to become full-fledged shakes when he let his mind wander from the present.  Or when his eyes chanced to fall on a picture frame near the stove, a photo of a beautiful fair-haired woman with dark lashed eyes and a God-lovely smile on her full lips.  He couldn’t look away.

The smile on the old fellow’s lips told him the answer to what he didn’t want to ask.

“Fergot that was there, sorry, lad.  Recognize ‘er, do ya?  Don’t worry, I’m sure she never meant t’ frighten ya, son.”

“’m not scared,” George whispered, shivering deep inside.  He averted his eyes, determined to keep from looking at it again.  He wondered if it was the same picture on display in the teacher’s lounge at the girl’s school down the road.  He stood abruptly.  “I gotta go,” he added, working hard to keep his eyes from straying back to the picture.

As George said goodbye to the old man, he found his hand shaken with a firm grip.

“Nice t’ ‘ave some company sometimes, son, glad ya stopped by.  Now, don’t worry ‘bout a thing, Lydia means ya no harm, she’s gentle an’ kind an’ she’d never have wanted t’ scare ya, she’s jus’…… well, she jus’ always liked ‘er darling young men, that’s all.  Didn’t ever ‘spect ‘er t’ change, s’pose she hasn’t,” he laughed, a rich twinkle in his eyes, then he grew serious. “If ya ever feel like stoppin’ by again, you’d be welcome, lad, that ya would.  I enjoyed ‘avin’ someone t’ chat up.  Ta fer listenin’ to a lonely old man.”

“Ta fer th’ coffee, mister,” George said, not quite sure how to address the old fellow.  They’d never got around to exchanging names, after all.  He tried to keep his mind from what else the man had said.

“G’night, son,” the man said with a smile, then shut the door and George quickly walked home.

***

Two weeks later, running a late errand before practice, George found his feet taking him on the path to the old gentleman’s home, drawn there by some force he didn’t understand.  P’rhaps he’d have a quick coffee with the old feller before going to practice. 

As he rounded the corner, he saw a county ambulance in front of the building, and he hurried down the street, arriving there just as a body was brought out on a stretcher, covered with a sheet.

George looked in the window to the home and stared.  It looked as he remembered it had the night he’d been there with the…… woman.  As he stared, he saw movement and turned to look towards the kitchen.  She was standing there, gazing into the eyes of a handsome young man who somehow looked familiar, standing in profile, with a familiar carved pipe held in his fingers and a tender smile on his face.  She moved into his arms and they embraced.  George watched as she looked over the shoulder of the man holding her; her eyes met George’s, then a mischievous smile crossed her lips.

George took a breath in surprise and realized that he was breathing in a delicate scent; it was astounding, he’d have expected to smell the normal street scents of his surroundings, autos and dinner in the cookpot and rubbish in the bins.  But this was different, like flowers.  And sunshine.  And fresh air, not the stale city air he was used to breathing, more like a park in the springtime.  He took another breath of the clean, fresh scent.  The woman’s smile widened, and she winked at him, then turned her attention back to the man holding her so tenderly, closing her eyes, the smile on her lips turning gentle and adoring.  George felt the prickling of tears in his eyes as he gazed at the joyful reunion.  Looked like the old man hadn’t needed to worry about whether she’d be waiting for him or not.

The hand that descended upon George’s shoulder made him jump nearly three feet into the air, and he turned breathlessly to face the policeman who was looking at him sternly.

“And what mischief might you be up to, young man, have ye no respect for the dead?”

“I…… I just wondered what happened, I had coffee with the old man a few weeks ago,” George squeaked out, his voice trailing off into silence.

The bobby’s eyes softened somewhat.  “Oh, aye, then, the old man died in his sleep, it was peaceful, son, no foul play, a gentle passing fer a very old man.  Be off with ye, then,” the bobby added kindly.

George nodded, the sweat of fear drying on his neck.  He glanced back into the window of the home and he wasn’t surprised to see that it was empty, and shabby, and run down.  It was once again the house in which he’d shared a coffee pot and some conversation with an old man who’d been so full of reminisces of the past.

George shook himself and began walking, moving down the street without a backward glance.  He wondered why he wasn’t scared, why he didn’t have the shakes, and he realized that he didn’t feel sad about the man’s passing, he couldn’t.  He felt instead a sense of ‘completeness’, of unfinished business that had finally been concluded.  They were together at last.  She’d been waiting for him for forty years, hadn’t she said “Oh, I’ve been waiting so long for him and I’ve been so lonely”?  Him?  Her husband, prob’ly?

It was definitely a happy reunion.  George tried to remember the joy on her face as she’d settled into the man’s embrace, but the memory slid away from his mind when he tried to grasp it, like a dream upon waking, leaving behind only the impression of happiness.

George kinda figgered she’d not be haunting his nights again, and he felt a little sad at the thought.  But they were together again.  And that thought caused a little smile to come to his lips.  That and the memory of the wink she’d given him.

Cheryl Mortensen has been a Beatle fanatic since the 1960s, but somehow went on to other things in the late 1960s, only rediscovering her passion for "all things Beatle" in the late 1990s (and on into the new century).  She is a computer programmer and an avid photographer. (Concert photos of bands and performers is her favorite area -- ask her about her Ringo pictures!!)  Cheryl lives with her husband of many years (Mike), her German Shepherd (Sorsha), and a bunch of fish in the tank and the pond that they've never bothered to name.