Part One

Robert Fanshaw is my name. I was born in 1942 during the Second World War.

My father was serving his country on the day I took my first breath. Dad was extremely thankful for my appearance in the world, because having both a wife and a child at home it meant he was reclassified from being a typical soldier to a supply sergeant. That’s really what he should have been doing in the first place, as he had a natural affinity for being highly intelligent, thoroughly organized, and detail-oriented. He excelled at his new position. Like most other members of the wartime military, he was discharged shortly after the Allies secured total victory in 1945.

I was an only child, so my parents doted on me constantly. I was a bright kid, too. I could read quite well by the age of four and solve basic arithmetic problems at the same age. By the time I started school, I knew where most of the world’s major cities were. When my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Cutler, told the class she was originally “from Portland”, I asked her, “Which Portland? The one in Maine or the one in Oregon?” That was not the type of question she anticipated from a five-year-old. She knew I was atypical (in a good way) and tried to have me promoted to the first grade where she knew I would easily handle the work. Under the state’s education rules at the time, that could not be done. Therefore, Mrs. Cutler kept me occupied with reading and math exercises while the rest of the class did more age-appropriate things.

Hillcrest Public School where I was enrolled had students from kindergarten through grade eight. Every year was basically a duplication of kindergarten for me. I’d prove inside a day that the work I was handed was not challenging at all. I’d be finished four math problems before most of my peers had finished reading the first one. Thus, I had oodles of spare time. I spent plenty of time reading until the next boring assignment was given to the class.

I became an object of pity for the principal, Mr. Larramore. His hands were tied about what to do with me, so he often gave me special assignments to occupy my time. Once, when I was nine, he gave me the task of creating a schedule for the school’s intramural basketball league in which the seven teams would play each other once. To his amazement, I had the final draft completed in less than 25 minutes.

“Here it is,” I said as I passed it to him. “It wasn’t that difficult. I assigned letter names to all the teams from A to G. There’s one thing that I ought to mention, though: You didn’t say so specifically, but I arranged the schedule so that each team plays three games as the home team and three as the visitors for the sake of fairness. I assumed that would be okay with you. That was a fun little assignment. Thanks!” As I was departing his office, I overheard Mr. Larramore say to his secretary, “That’s incredible. I tried to figure out how to do this last night. I gave up trying after two hours.”

Part Two

When I was in the fifth grade, I was called to Mr. Larramore’s office for another special project one early October afternoon when, as usual, I had completed my schoolwork well ahead of my classmates and had an abundance of free time to kill. This task didn’t require smarts, just good social skills. There before me in the principal’s office stood a very cute little girl and her mother. Mr. Larramore introduced me to them. I learned the daughter’s name was Alexandra Milford and she was seven years old. Her family had just moved into the city from a town located 50 miles away. She would join Mrs. Kennedy’s second grade class the next day. Mr. Larramore asked me to “act like an ambassador” and give Alexandra a thorough personal tour of the school, both inside and outside. I only had one instruction: “Take your time, Robert. I know you like to do things as quickly as possible. This is not a race. Answer any questions your companion might have.” I nodded and said, “Of course.” At least it was something different.

I took Alexandra’s right hand with my left one—and something odd happened. It was as if a small charge of electricity ran up my spine. I had never felt anything like that in my life. Moreover, I had never before taken any interest in a female at my school—or anywhere else, for that matter. Apparently, Alexandra had a similar physical experience; I could tell by the expression on her face. “That was an odd sensation that just ran through my body,” I stated to everyone in the room. “Did you feel that, too, Alexandra?”

“Yes, I did!” she quickly admitted. “It was definitely strange—but I liked it.”

I then said something extraordinary but completely honest. “Maybe it was a sign from above that we’re supposed to be together as a couple. Maybe we’re supposed to get married someday.”

Both the adults in Mr. Larramore’s office laughed aloud, but Alexandra and I did not. Despite our young ages, we sensed something very positive was brewing between us. She had an enormous, infectious smile that brightened her already attractive face. Alexandra eventually asked, “Can we start the tour of the school now, Robert? I want to hold your hand all the way through it.”

“Likewise!” I said.

I gave Alexandra the grand tour of every hallway. We stopped into the library where I introduced her to Mrs. Zellers, the school’s librarian. I showed her where the gym was, where the two sets of washrooms were, and the door she’d likely be using to get to Mrs. Kennedy’s class the next morning. When we finally ventured outside, I showed Alexandra everything in the playground and then I took her to an isolated area near the teachers’ parking lot. That was a deliberate choice I made. I pointed out there were strange configurations in the brickwork there, where amorous students could go to do some kissing, if they were so inclined, without risking being seen by teachers or anyone else.

Alexandra was a bright little girl. She knew my intention. “Are you trying to kiss me, Robert?” she asked me with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Well...yes, even though I’ve never kissed a girl in my life, not counting my mother or my aunts. You’d be the very first one, Alexandra,” I admitted.

“Okay, it’s settled,” she declared. “I’ll be the first one! I like you a lot, Robert. I mean I really, really like you!”

I lifted Alexandra off her feet and kissed her on the lips, followed by several on her cheeks. To my delight, I discovered I quite liked smooching with pretty girls when Alexandra happily returned the favor. We ended up spending ten minutes there—far longer than we had in the library.

When we got back to the principal’s office, Alexandra was no longer holding my hand. Instead, she had her arms wrapped completely around me as we walked. I had my right arm around her.

Her mother said, “Alexandra, I was going to ask you if you enjoyed the tour of the school, but I can tell without asking that you totally enjoyed it—especially the tour guide.”

“Yes, I know where everything is now, Mom,” Alexandra replied. “I also know I really like Robert. In fact, I love him. Can he walk home with us, too?”

I answered before Mrs. Milford had the chance. “The final bell won’t ring for another half hour, so I’m stuck here at school until it does,” I said.

Mr. Larramore intervened. “Robert, you can have the rest of the day off with my permission for being such a good ambassador, as long as you accompany this girl and her mother home.”

“Deal!” I said. “I just need to collect my jacket. It’s getting cool outside and I need it.”

It was a good thing I was given extra time because the Milford family lived in the opposite direction that I normally walked. It was a six-block hike. When we got to her house, Alexandra insisted on giving me another terrific kiss before I headed off to my home, which was now an 11-block jaunt because of my detour. “What’s come over you, Alexandra? I’ve never seen you behave this way before,” her mother stated.

“I guess it’s all because of me, Mrs. Milford,” I suggested. “Honestly, Alexandra and I had this strange feeling come over us the moment our hands touched. I can’t explain it. I really think it was a sign telling us we were meant for one another.”

Alexandra nodded in agreement. In contrast, Mrs. Milford shook her head, not necessarily in disagreement, but more out of disbelief.

Part Three

When my three-person family had dinner each night, it was customary for one of my parents to ask me how my day had been. Usually, my response was along the lines of, “I got all my schoolwork done quickly, so I spent most of the day reading.” This day, however, I skipped the typical boring part and got right down to my experience with Alexandra Milford.

I explained that Mr. Larramore had recruited me to show a new student around the school and its grounds. “A strange thing happened before we started the tour,” I began. “The student was a little girl named Alexandra who will be in a second-grade class starting tomorrow. When she took my hand, I felt something odd run through my body—and so did Alexandra.”

My father immediately dropped his fork and looked at me with grave seriousness. He asked, “Robert, was it like a small jolt of electricity running up and down your spine?”

“Yeah!” I quickly confirmed. “Alexandra felt it too. It was a very pleasant feeling, though. We both liked it.”

“I know exactly what that was, Robert...” Dad began to say but Mom interrupted him.

“You’re not going to tell Robert it’s the same eerie sensation you had when you first met me, are you?” Mom said with an unhappy expression on her face.

“Sure I am!” Dad insisted. “I know you think it’s a bunch of nonsense, dear, but this sounds very much like the same thing that happened to me in 1940—with you! Maybe it’s something that is passed from father to son in this family. The big difference is that you felt nothing, Beth. If Alexandra had the same sensation as Robert, I think it’s a true harbinger. They’re are destined to be together. Congratulations on finding your soulmate at such a young age, son. Some people never do. Robert, please invite this girl to dinner sometime soon so I can meet my future daughter-in-law.”

I did that very same night. We found the Milford’s phone number through directory assistance and I made the call. Dad insisted I invite Alexandra and both her parents to a barbecue this coming Saturday, which was three days away. The invitation was accepted.

In the interim, I took special interest in making sure that Alexandra found her second-grade classroom the following day and got used to the school’s daily routine. We did a lot of kissing during recesses, which was thought to be downright weird by more than a few students. The staff members who saw us, oddly, were quite liberal minded about it and didn’t seem to care.

On the day of the barbecue, upon arrival, Alexandra saw me, charged out of the backseat of her parents’ car, and basically leapt into my arms. That was where she essentially stayed throughout the meal, sitting contentedly upon my lap with her arms engulfing me. I didn’t mind a bit.

“Considering that just a week ago Robert showed no interest in girls whatsoever, this is all rather stunning,” my mother told the Milfords.

Mr. Milford chimed in, saying his daughter’s sudden shift in behavior was just as mystifying. Her general opinion of boys had been “they’re yucky” until she encountered me. I took that as a huge compliment. Dad proffered his theory about destiny intervening. I could tell by their body language that the Milfords were almost as skeptical about it as my mother was. Regardless, I treated Alexandra like a precious jewel throughout the entire meal and afterwards. When it was time to leave, Alexandra was very reluctant to do so. It took a five-minute hug from me plus half a dozen kisses to convince her it was time for her to go home.

About three days later, Alexandra informed me she had had a dream in which she envisioned us as a married couple with a daughter named Emily. That same night, I’d had the exact same dream with the same details—including our little girl’s first name. When we told our parents about having the same dream, my father smiled knowingly. My mother and Alexandra’s parents became less skeptical about the idea of kismet guiding our future.

Part Four

For the next couple of years, Alexandra frequently visited me at my house, and I visited her at hers. We continued to be affectionate. We were still children, so our displays of love never advanced beyond long kisses. When I turned 12 and puberty hit, my father was wise enough to caution me about taking advantage of Alexandra, who was just nine years old. I was told, “Son, if you have urges that you can’t control, go to some place very private and beat your meat.” He gave me a few issues of National Geographic that featured photo essays of naked Polynesian and Aboriginal girls and women to help me out. They did! As far as I recall, that was the only sexual talk my father and I ever had.

When I was 18, Dad rewarded me for behaving myself with Alexandra, who was now 15. In our city, there was an infamous male “social club” within the community of people of Central American origin. My father knew a few of the men who were members. They told him outright that prostitutes regularly came to the club to service its members—and their business was thriving. The girls had access to back rooms with beds where their activities occurred. When Dad learned that some of the hookers were as young as I was, he quietly treated me to my first-ever lay.

“When I was in the army,” he explained in advance of our trip to the club, “prostitutes provided a valuable service for the men in my unit. They would have gone stir-crazy without occasional sex. Consider the prostitute you’ll be fucking today to be Alexandra’s substitute. Your mother must never know about this, Robert. The best thing to do is not tell anyone at all. So keep this between us, please.” He gave me a wink.

“So all I have to do is shut up about it, and I’ll get laid? That’s a deal!” I told him excitedly.

Accordingly, Dad made arrangements to bring me to this foreign social club which was situated on the outskirts of the city. He knew a couple of the club’s members who got us admission as guests. Within five minutes of our arrival, I was directed to a small-statured but busty teenage girl my age with a slightly swarthy complexion. She said in broken English that her name was Maria. She told me she would give me “a good fuck” for the sum of $15. I looked at Dad and nodded. With no hesitation, he pulled the cash from his wallet. Seconds later Maria was leading me to one of the back rooms for some carnal fun—my first ever.

I had the beginnings of an erection from the moment Maria first approached me. By the time we got to the room, I had a noticeable bulge in my trousers. Maria was a thorough professional despite her young age. She casually removed her clothing and set it on a chair. I was so keyed up that I basically flung my garb in all directions. I joined nude Maria on the room’s bed. I quickly fondled her lovely breasts while she stroked my erect penis. Within 30 seconds I had entered her pussy and was thrusting away. (I called her Alexandra by mistake during our coitus.) I probably came within three minutes. Maria was good enough to extend my time even though an ejaculation normally ended a customer’s session. “You can stay here with me for 10 minutes to make it look like you lasted that long.” I thanked her profusely and sucked on her tits for the remaining seven minutes.

On our way home, I told Dad I had a fantastic time bedding Maria—which I had, despite the brevity of the event. He surprised me by saying he would continue to treat me to hooker service at this club once a month provided I “didn’t lay an inappropriate finger on Alexandra.” I readily agreed to that plan.

The following month, I did much better: I lasted eight full minutes with Maria who easily remembered me despite having a lengthy list of regular clients at the club. This time I came after Maria performed fellatio on me. That sex act had been unknown to me—but I liked it. I had never considered putting my penis in a girl’s mouth before and did not realize how stimulating the sensation might be. I became a blowjob fan immediately! Receiving one from Maria became part of the monthly fun.

Practice makes perfect, so I steadily became more and more skilled at screwing with each visit I made to the club. By the time off my fifth visit, I could fuck Maria missionary style and doggy style for nearly 20 minutes before I came. More often than not, I pulled out before ejaculating, firing my load on her breasts or occasionally in her mouth. By this time Maria knew me by my first name. “Robert, you are becoming a very good bedmate!” she told me. Considering the source, I took that as a great compliment.

When I mentioned Maria’s comment to Dad, he laughed. “Hookers lie about the customers’ sexual prowess all the time to make them feel good about themselves,” he opined. I was having none of it. Maria had told me I was good in bed, so I was accepting her words at face value.

Occasionally, when Maria was unavailable, I bedded a different Central American girl. One whom I particularly liked was Juanita, who was said to be 19 years old. She had a curvaceous body and truly magnificent tits. I was glad I had eight romps with Maria to prepare for my encounter with Juanita. Her favorite sexual position was riding me cowgirl style. Her bouncy breasts and sexy gyrations made me ejaculate in less than ten minutes. The next time I had her, I spent the entire session just fondling and fucking her gorgeous breasts. They were that attractive! The best orgasm I ever had at the club came that day. I covered her boobs with a river of semen. Juanita was usually silent while working, but she did comment, “Wow! That’s a huge load!” That day I departed the club in triumph with my head held high.

By the time I was 20, Dad’s monthly treats had ended (although he still expected me not to have sex with Alexandra, who was now 17 and very beautiful). As I had become a semiregular there, I was allowed to continue my attendance at the club as a “permanent special guest”. I had my last romp there—with Maria as my bedmate, quite fittingly—when I was 21, a week before I married 18-year-old Alexandra. Our daughter, Emily, was born inside of one year.