Keeping Abreast…

I Had a conversation recently with a young man, no need to talk about birds and bees; only that the first lot dump their droppings on your car when you’ve only just cleaned it and the latter sting just because they can!  Actually that’s not strictly true but both are an annoyance at times….essential to the ecology, though still annoying.  Anyway, this conversation was all about puberty and prompted me to recall a story from my own concerns about why certain things happen.  So, here we go…

The need to reminisce at ten years of age doesn’t quite have the same attraction as it might do much later on in life.  At that early age the cares and concerns of the [slightly] older generation haven’t quite begun to distract us from simple pleasures and the worry-free state that we’re in.  So before puberty and the gradual juvenescent realisation that more serious challenges wait on us, things are usually not worth concerning ourselves with.  We’ve no need to reminisce because we’re enjoying ourselves.  We might not feel a hankering for a care-free past and bathe in more pleasant memories to console us in heartbreak, penury or ill-health.  At times during adulthood though, we may find solace in closing our eyes and imagining that we’re back there in that colorful and seamlessly happy land of childhoodshire…  Pre-pubescent youth provokes the come-what-may attitude; it can take a brave and honest adult to say that with any conviction.

Puberty wasn’t ever a word that I’d given any great discourse to,  I mean, why should I have ever?  But puberty’s stealthy and deliberate, inevitable onset couldn’t be arrested; its irreversible path is a determined one and in some cases, an odd crafter – nudging our bodies here and there into slowly noticeable changes.  As well as physical changes it plays croquet with our psychology too – knocking our thoughts and feelings through one hoop to another – but I’m not sure ever-pleasant.  The benefits of the pleasure of post-puberty come later, however, the pleasures come at a cost.  In an attempt to stave off either fruitiness or maudlin thoughts (I’m not sure which at the moment), I’ll move on…

Gradually we begin to care about how we look, ensuring that we’re properly bathed, our teeth are clean, our clothes are tidy and relatively fashionable and that we smell nice.  We see changes and wonder at some, while reeling with fright at others.  For instance, acne and blackheads; although I suffered neither.  Hair begins to grow in certain places and you’re either proud because you can almost trip on it, or you’re just simply embarrassed that you don’t have enough!  Either way, I’ve always found it annoying, untidy and a chore to groom to an acceptable neatness.  “Mum, mum!  Look under my arms!  My stuffing’s coming out!”  Which I thought was quite funny until she questioned with an odd curiosity, “many down there yet?”  Shrink and look for a hole to swallow me up!  And what on Earth was this Adam’s Apple I was supposed to be growing??  For me though, those occurrences came a little later on (as far as I’m concerned); staying reasonably smooth and hair-free long after some of my peers were sprouting – I’m still not the most hirsute of men now!

Just a little later on, tummy-flips and wracking brains as to whether holding hands was enough or whether one day, we might even dare move in for a kiss!?  How does that work though?  Perhaps I was a little fortunate in that department, however, that’s a whole other blog post…  The real problem though, was summoning the nerve to make that move; you’d either pine and spend dreamy nights waiting for the next one, or you’d simply have to log rejection and learn from it – grow a thicker skin and a suitably hardy bounce-back policy…

Now don’t be thinking I’m bordering on rude but it goes without saying that before I get to the main point of this post, I mention the….**looks both ways and whispers**…ess, ee, ex, word.  Yeah, sex.  What on Earth was all that about?  In old Sunday Matinees on television, men poured out sweet nothings and made violent love their women!  Seemed simple enough…  Grab a girl, press your lips on her face and keep them there motionless for about twenty seconds!  Bingo!  She’s in love with you and will cook, clean, raise the children and sew things for you.  What an absolutely fabulous prospect!  My tongue is firmly in-cheek, I assure you.  The earliest stirrings I ever had been knowing I had a stirring while kissing only to wonder why?  Felt nice but at that point it never occurred to me where it was supposed to go??  Okay, enough of that.

The whole point to this post is to share with you the fact that I was the proud owner of a breast.  Yes, a breast.  It was sore, it would have been large enough to nestle in a small brazier and my nipple would swell agonisingly.  Now this was almost pre, pre-pubescent.  Far far too early for my age.  Perhaps my wrong-gender-placed mammary gland can make up for the boasting rights I’d have lost on the lack of pubic hair?  Erm, don’t think so…wrong sex for a start.  All I was, was parodied and pained.  With a family full of adolescents, my titty soon became public knowledge and often through that very painful time people would ask for a look – obviously not serious, just more to demean me and make fun of me.  Mum though, took it seriously enough to worry and take me to the doctor, who assured us that this was a common occurrence in young males and could be a pre-cursor to puberty.  I longed for a muscular frame and at least a tad of callipygian form…

Hardly made me feel better!


About Robert

A fifty-something, retired Celestial Travel Agent. Walked many paths; some good, lots bad. Meandering through the past, plodding in the present, crawling toward the future.
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