College Girls

By Frank Wall

The Swinging Sixties: Not all it’s cracked up to be? Or the greatest time ever to be young?

Featherstone thinks it is. He’s an art student, past his First Time barrier, and thinks he knows it all.

The Sixties are in full swing: Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll. Featherstone does his bit to help make the slogan a legend.

Not one to pass up opportunity, he chances upon a way to make big money: Porn.

Soho, London. Strippers, Models, Gangsters, Sleaze; Featherstone is sucked into the world he often dreams.

But it turns into his nightmare.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Wall
• Release date: Sep 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301410224

Frank Wall

Like his characters, Frank Wall imagines his life to be more exciting than it actually is. When it came to writing a biography he stated, “Make something up; I’ll go along with it.” This attitude has muddled him through life, 3 marriages and six wonderful children. That is the truth. Frank has been a writer since he became a grown up, not seeing the point when at school. For twenty years he wrote; mostly advertising copy and letters to creditors. He started using joined up letters at the turn of the century, producing five reams of manuscripts fit for the shredder. In 2013, Frank Wall introduced Featherstone, an affable young man who meets life in the mid 1960s. It is seen by some as an account of the author’s own experience. Sadly, that isn’t the case. FEATHERSTONE Rogue Tales is now available POD through CreateSpace and also Ebook at Amazon.com. Well, it’s a good place to start.

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F E A T H E R S T O N E

R O G U E T A L E S

* * *

V O L U M E T W O

C o l l e g e G i r l s

Published by Frank Wall

Smashwords Edition / Copyright 2013 Frank Wall

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September 13, 1965. Not much happened that day. The Beatles hit the number one spot with ‘Help’, but that isn’t why I celebrate September 13. It was the first day of the rest of my life.

Like many great and not so great things, major life changes seemed to come about by chance. Being in a certain place at a certain time, fate and all that crap, plus a bit of good old-fashioned greed usually pushed me down the paths I took. Hey, Featherstone, you don’t want to do that. You must be blind if you cannot see. Look, over there, the two foot high flashing letters, with an arrow pointing at its head >OPPORTUNITY

>ART COLLEGE< was writ large. It seemed not so much an option, as clearly the way to go. My choices were limited anyway: Join the army, or become an apprentice whatever. Get a trade and a good job, was the order of the day. But the thought of having to do anything that included the words: job, trade, or even career, I found disheartening at the age of eighteen, so I became an art student.

Memories of Jean with her bright green eyes were still fresh. She was my ‘first time woman’ and I treasured the idea of seeing her again. But I valued my life even more. For another taste of sweet Jean, I would have had to get past Boris, her butcher father; the High Street purveyor of meat, poultry & game.

I might even have proved ‘game’ if chance gave me a shove, and I found a little courage, but the distractions of college life eventually pushed thoughts of Jean down the shelves, to the back of my mind. Meeting so many new people at one time demanded all my attention. Especially as so many of them were girls.

I was pleased to find out that Art College was a very different world to that of school. There was no use of surnames and no ‘Sir’ or ‘Miss’ for the teachers. They’d relabelled themselves ‘lecturers’ and were called Bob, Tom, Max, and Billy.

Hi, welcome to Fine Art Foundation, Bob said that bright, chilly morning when he addressed us newcomers. I’m a painter, have been since I was three years old, but I still consider myself a beginner. He scanned the room as if choosing a victim. The guy with wild wiry hair sitting nearest flinched. Bob let him go, and asked us all, Is there anyone here who thinks they can paint?

I looked around. No one dared move a muscle.

Bob scanned the roomful of fresh wannabes. Come on, surely there must be at least one painter here. How about drawing? Who can draw?

That question proved to be easier to answer. A hand rose at the back of the room. Encouraged, another one went up, and then another, until eventually we all held our hands in the air.

Hmm, well we shall see about that, he said, and sat down.

The chap next to Bob, a short, prematurely balding man with a goatee beard, stood. He seemed to be wearing a false smile, like the red plastic lips found in joke shops. His bulging eyes were obviously real but may have been purchased from the same place. Hi, I’m Tom. I paint, but sculpture is my passion. It was quite clear that he held our attention, but he checked each of our faces to make sure. I get a hard-on when my work goes well.

Tom’s statement shocked us all, as presumably, he‘d known it would. Us guys were too cool to show a reaction, but a pair of blonde girls audibly gasped, and the pretty red-head’s eyes widened. I imagined Hackers, my old maths teacher having an erection when getting his sums right. He’d told us maths was his passion.

Tom sat down, and the next guy stood. A rather non-descript person, the type you step on at parties. Hi, I’m Max. I’m a photographer. It’s just a job.

No, I couldn’t see Max getting excited about much, but I was getting more than excited at the prospect of being introduced to the woman sitting at the end of the bench.

Hi, everyone, I’m Billy.

From that moment, and for a long time to follow, Billy occupied nearly all of my dreams. Billy taught life drawing. She was from Huddersfield, but had gained her degree in The USA and spoke with an American accent tinged with Yorkshire. The combination of tongues caused a peculiar feeling to gush through my body whenever she said my name. Hi, Featherstone. Ouch!

What a beautiful mouth Billy had. Where Jean had eyes that focused my attention, Billy did so with her mouth. Thoughts of Billy wrapping her gorgeous lips around my cock as Jean had done made for slaked sleep as I lay at night alone in my bed.

Whereas Jean was dark haired with bright green eyes, Billy was blonde and blue eyed. But both were mid-twenties, and similar in size and build. They shared a basic physique with their full breasts and broad hips. I couldn’t help comparing the two, for Jean had been my only experience of a real woman. Making love to Billy was a fantasy, so some reference to the real thing was useful when I imagined us together.

Mixing freely with girls was a cool new experience, sharing the same room, not just the same building, us boys and them girls, together. I felt as if I’d walked into a candy store with a whole pound in the pocket to spend.

We soon formed little cliques within the group.

The girls were a wonderful mixture of size, shape, and nature. Kathy was olive skinned. She had mousy, straw like hair, but had a most delightful arse. Sarah was a bit plain, but hey, you don’t look at the beak when you stuff a turkey. There were two blonde Sues: Big Tits real blonde Sue and No Tits dyed blonde