It was alright until I got her bra off. It was like driving through the mountains and suddenly taking a sharp right turn into a ravine. She started to shout and scream at me. Tell me that they are too big! Too anaemic white! Too horrible! Too blue streaked! And so it went on.
I thought they were fine. Yes, they were big, bigger than I had expected, each bigger than my head, big is also beautiful. Yes, they were white, I expected pink breasts, I don't know why, they were the same colour as the rest of her, white marble, she was so beautifully blond. Yes, they had blue veins, but do my thighs.
What could I say? Nothing! She screamed and shouted and screamed. I held my face out to her and turned it to one side. She hit it. I showed the other side. She hit it. It hurt.
She took my face in her hands and felt the heat of my pain. She held a cheek against my cheek to feel the pain. I held her in my arms and she hit my back with her fists. It did not hurt. She continued to scream and shout and hit.
After some time she stopped. Why am I doing this? She started to cry.
Hold me tight and say nothing! The first and last boy who saw my breasts, shouted at me, that they were huge and horrible and unnaturally white and anaemic and funny shaped and streaked with disgusting blue and he ran away. Oh, did he hurt me! You men are all the same. You hate me, everyone of you.
Why do you hate me? I may not be the most beautiful girl on the planet, but I can't be that bad. Why do you all think that I am so ugly? Why do you all want to hurt me? That's why I hit you. I hit you because you are that awful boy. I hit you because you are a man and all men are awful and hateful and you all hate me. I have hit you to hurt you because I have been hurt.
But why do you still hold me? Why do you hold me tight? Why do you not call me names? Why don't you run away? Is it because you are not that boy? No, you are not that boy. Is it because you don't want to call me names? You have said nothing. Is it because you don't want to run away? You are holding me so tight. Is it because you like me? You hold me tight. Is it because you are not like that other boy?
My name is Tidke and your name is Colin. I think that I like you. I have tried to hurt you, but you still hold me tight. You like me. You have been hurt, but I'm happy in your arms. You like my body. You have forgiven me. You don't want me to ask for forgiveness. You have already forgiven me. You like me a lot. Perhaps you love me a bit. I like you a lot, I want you inside me, but not today. I have been stupid, but I am strong in your arms. Hold me tighter and say absolutely nothing!
The next day we met by the lake and we made love very gently. We were in love.
Tidke did not like Notty and Notty did not like Tidke. This was good, this time Notty stayed away and didn't try to drive a wedge between the two of us. I didn't see Notty for months, perhaps she had walked to the North Pole and back. Tidke and I met every day, we were so happy.
But somehow my Mother found out, I don't know how. I had told her nothing. She started with her funny remarks: two ponies don't fit in a basket: it's too early to pick apples from a baby seal. And then after ten months Notty came back. It's not that either of them said anything to us directly; but Tidke and I slowly drifted apart. It was very sad really.