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   This is fiction.  I don't condone the actions here.  If the prospect of
young people playing and exploring in a sexual and, sometimes, unruly way
upsets or offends, or if such topics are banned where you are, then read no
further.

   If you want to comment try here:

   knjfriend (at) yahoo.co.uk - you know the variation needed.

   Thigh Rubbing:

   When we were 12 or 13 we had friends on a farm nearby.  One July
Saturday we decided to visit and Jamie and I cycled over to the farm using
directions provided by Sarah (the main friend).  We arrived in tie for a
light lunch and then spent the afternoon having tours of various farm
areas, chatting and generally mucking around.

   It had been a really nice day until the skies clouded over and the
heavens opened.  We dashed back to the house and managed to avoid getting
too soaked.

   The first plan was to play cards while the rain passed but after an hour
it seemed to be getting heavier and neither of us fancied cycling home in
that weather.

   Sarah's mum invited us to stay for tea and offered to get Sarah's dad to
drive us and the bikes home afterwards.  We gratefully accepted and rang
home to tell mum and dad what was arranged.

   Anyways, tea over and storm still hanging about Sarah's dad brought his
old Landrover pickup round to the front of the house, tossed the bikes into
the back ad covered them with a tarp and then yelled for us to make a dash.
We said hurried goodbyes and ran for the truck.

   For those of you who might not understand what a truly old farm
Landrover is like let me give you a bit of a description.

   It is a basic shell.  A very basic shell stuck on top of a solid steel
chassis and a 4x4 drive system.

   This one, like most others I have encountered had a basic three seater
bench seat.  I'm not sure if Jamie was being gentlemanly but he held back
and allowed me in before him.  This meant I got to sit in the middle seat.
The middle seat was directly over the transmission box as I now know it. 
Thus I had to sit with one foot in each of the footwells.  Moreover, the
gearstick was a long spindley affair with a bakerlite type ball on the top.
It rose up between my legs like a one eyed monster.

   Mr Simons grabbed the stick and waggled it left and right to check if it
was in neutral.  In so doing the cold of the shaft bounced off the inside
of each of my thighs.  I had decided on old denim cutoffs that morning so I
had little protection and, to avoid permanent bruising, I parted my legs a
little further.  A "little" was the only option as I was pressed in by
Jamie on my left and Mr Simons on my right.

   Content that we were in neutral Mr Simons turned the key and the engine
rumbled back into life.

   Pushing the gearstick far left and up, he both chose first gear and slid
the metal from the middle of my thigh almost to my kneecap.  We moved off
in a slow u turn and only when we straightened up and headed for the
gateway did he decide to jerk the beast into second gear.  This involved
the stick sliding back from just behind my left knee to within a few inches
of the bottom of my cutoffs.

   We chugged along the track bouncing and rolling with each pothole. 
Eventually we came to the farm entrance and ground to a halt to allow a
passing car right of way.  Fully expecting that first gear would require
another drag of cold metal along my leg I braced myself.

   Sure enough, the gearstick was pushed left and forwards, but this time
it was the back of Mr Simons hand which brushed along the inside of my
thigh.  A few moments later when he jerked the beast into second gear the
back of that same hand rippled up my thigh.  I tried to move my leg a bit
further away but there was no where to go.

   When he came to move to third, far right and up, his fingers traced
patterns over the inside of my right thigh.  Again I tried to move my leg
before he got to forth but this time his leg pressed back and, if anything,
my leg was closer to the path of the stick than before.

   Sure enough, when forth was selected his fingers trailed unashamedly up
my thigh.

   The whole journey might have lasted 10 minutes but Mr Simons changed
gear often, especially between third and forth.  With each switch to forth
his fingers seemed to press further up my thigh until I was sure that he
would hit the bottom of my cutoffs.  He never did.

   By the time we got home it had stopped raining.  We poured out of the
truck ad Mr Simons unloaded the bikes from the back of the Landrover.  Dad
came out to meet us and, in a way that only fathers can, unsubtly prompted
us to thank kind Mr Simons.  I found little energy to do more than mutter
but Jamie made up for it enough for both of us.

   Mr Simons looked straight at me, grinned and said

   "Anytime.  It was a pleasure."

   I never got into a Landrover with him again but a few years later I did
use his technique for my own ends.

   I have written may tales about me and Jamie growing up.

   The reason for this little bit of extra wordage is to explain that Jamie
has often "shared" his girlfriends with me.  Not completely you understand
but he has pushed a few in my direction and I have had the opportunity of
enjoying their company for short periods.  I haven't had to return the
favour as Jamie isn't in the least bit interested in boys and the girls I
have been close to have been a little too old/independent for my bro. 
Consequently, I didn't worry about taking advantage of a situation with one
of his girlies even when he was right there with us.

   I don't know what it is like elsewhere in the world as far as getting a
driving licence is concerned.  On the films it always seems that the USA
gives them away like confetti to really young peeps.  Here we have quite a
struggle.  When we were taking driving lessons Dad invested in a beaten up
old Landrover for us to practise in.  His reasoning was simple, if we had a
specific vehicle we wouldn't dare ask to use his BMW.  A Landrover is cheap
to insure cos it doesn't usually go above 55 mph (or at least if it did you
went deaf) and if you do hit something, like a wall or tractor, you have a
good chance of walking away.

   Anyways, I digress.

   I passed my test at the first attempt.  Jamie, who took his test about
30 minutes later didn't.  So, for 5 or 6 weeks, until he caught up, I had
complete control of the old beast (Landrover that is) and ended up playing
taxi for him on a number of occasions.

   At that time Jamie had just started an interest in Becky Mitchell.  It
didn't last more than a few weeks before Emma, the love of his life and the
one who is still there today, came on the scene, but for a brief moment
Becky was his companion.

   A bunch of us had agreed to meet on the north coast and try and find
some surf.  Becky came along despite the fact that she had no interest in
surf.  In fact, by the end of the day her long dark hair was barely damp
and there was hardly any reason for her to bother changing out of her
bikini.  But change she did.

   Whilst the rest of us were changing alongside the vehicles using towels,
windbreaks or whatever to try and maintain a degree of modesty, Becky
disappeared into the public toilets and emerged 20 minutes later wearing a
white sun dress with huge red poppies printed all over it.  I have to
confess to a quick double take at that moment.

   Anyways, we said our goodbyes and the three of us clambered into the
beast.  The set up was almost identical to the Landrover Mr S had used
previously but we had a full back.  I suppose that meant that one of them
could have sat in the back but nobody did.

   The drive home is about an hour.  Less in a more normal vehicle!  For
the first 20 minutes or so I worked hard not to ram the gear stick into
those tanned legs but eventually something inside me said go ahead and do
it.

   The first time was changing down for a left hand corner.  No power
steering, no power assisted breaks means you have to use the gearbox to
drive the thing.

   I slipped from 4th to 3rd without contact but then switched my hand
position slightly and gently grazed the inside of her thigh as I moved down
to 2nd.  I felt her tense but nothing more.

   Slipping round the corner I pushed up to 3rd this time making damn sure
that I got as much skin contact as possible.  I couldn't believe how silky
smooth the inside of her thigh was.  4th followed shortly thereafter and I
was more aware of the material of her dress riding up her thigh than the
road.  Luckily there was very little traffic about.

   I had no real excuse for gear changes for some time after that but at
the next junction I went through the same routine.  This time I got the
impression that she was waiting for me and even that her legs pushed in a
little to maintain the contact.  I risked a glance and saw that she was
leaning against Jamie's shoulder, eyes closed.  When I got back to 4th this
time around I left my hand there.  Apparently I was simply riding the gear
knob but I can assure you that I was much more in contact with the silky
skin of that 14 year old than I was with a bakelite ball!

   That's pretty much it.  I spent the rest of the journey gently resting
against or stroking those silky thighs.  Nothing else happened until we
arrived at her house and she turned, kissed me lightly on the cheek and
thanked me for driving.

   Jamie moved on to Emma the following week so that was as close as I ever
got to that particular minx.