People called Rebekah a tomboy. She wasn’t. She was just a free spirit.
Her home was near mine. We lived in a quiet suburb on the edge of the city, but we were never bored. There was a forest nearby, with hills and streams and ferny gullies, and there we spent our summer days. There were a few other kids in the neighbourhood, but they were into things like BMX racing and team sports, so we didn’t mix them very often. Rebekah and I were children of the forest.
When we were about thirteen, we found a wonderful hideaway. It was a clearing amongst a dense canopy of trees, with a miniature waterfall and a crystal-clear stream emptying into a pond about half the size of a backyard pool. The ground was covered in a plush carpet of grass and moss. The undergrowth closed in so tightly on all sides that you would stumble upon this spot only by accident, as we had done. We may well have been the very first people to come to this special place.
We spent as much time there as we could. We would bring a picnic lunch, and when we tired of sitting around, we would explore the rest of our leafy domain. We unashamedly played childish games, far from the censorious gaze of our peers and our elders. These were truly the best days of my life.
Rebekah was my age, athletic but small for her years. The top of her head barely reached to my shoulders. Her breasts were only just starting to form, perky little bumps on her chest, inconspicuous when she wore anything much at all. Her hair was cropped short and rather spiky, so in a pair of scruffy jeans and T-shirt she was easily and often mistaken for a boy.
“I’m a girl,†she would proclaim with blazing-eyed indignation. But it didn’t really matter, and I think she took an impish delight in people being fooled.
In fact, Rebekah was not at all self-conscious about her body. When she and I used to swim at the local waterhole, she was an unashamed skinny-dipper. To those who saw her as a boy, she would pout and clamp her tiny fists on her narrow hips, and thrust out her slender, naked pelvis. Then, with a saucy grin, she would make a sudden dash for the water. She was a true innocent.
After we’d found our refuge deep in the forest, we spent less and less time at the waterhole; and we never shared our secret. As soon as we arrived, she would strip off her clothes and plunge into the icy water of the pond. She’d shriek with delight and shock, and emerge shivering violently and laughing hysterically and teasing me for not having the courage to join her.
One day, she went too far with her taunts. After she’d dried off and dressed, I retaliated. We ended up wrestling on the grass. Being so much bigger, I easily pinned her down. I flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her arms behind her back. There were vines hanging from nearby branches, and creepers running along the ground. I bound her wrists with a strand of vine, and secured her feet with a rope fashioned from the creepers. She squealed and giggled, and when I used her discarded socks to gag her, she glared and glowered, defiant and helpless.
This was a game that we were to play over and over, throughout that summer and into the next. Once, after I had her bound and gagged, to punish her for some indiscretion, I stomped off into the undergrowth, pretending to abandon her. I went only a short distance, but when I returned she was panic-stricken and had cried herself into a state of near exhaustion. I quickly untied her. We hugged and I begged her forgiveness. I feared that I had spoiled a good thing. However, she quickly got over it.
Sometimes we reversed roles; but mostly it was I who tied her. Rebekah started to grow, but she never lost her free spirit.
Around the time I turned fifteen, my mother was offered an overseas appointment that would keep our family away for a year. Before we left, Rebekah and I made one last visit to our secret hideaway. We played our games for most of the day. I tied her to a tree and tickled her until she screamed and begged for mercy. I pinned her to the ground, spread-eagle fashion, at first on her back and later on her tummy, and enjoyed her squirming as I caked her with mud and grass. I hog-tied her and watched her struggle in her bonds, puffing and moaning with childish delight through her gag. And as the afternoon sunlight began to diffuse into a dull pink glimmer through the trees, with great sadness we left our special place behind.
When my family and I arrived back, the first thing I did was to call on my little Rebekah. I was stunned by her transformation. Gone were the unkempt hair, the tattered sneakers, shaggy jeans and battered T-shirt. Standing before me was a beautiful young woman, with honey-blonde hair caressing her shoulders, and, in a short yellow dress, the soft curves of a ripening body. She was still petite, her eyes still sparkled, and her lips still curled into a mischievous smile; but no-one could any more mistake her for a boy.
Seeing her, I was so afraid that our secret life in the forest was over. To my relief, as soon as she could she took me aside and whispered, “When are we going back?â€
She had not been there in all the time I had been away. It was our place, she explained. And on the following Saturday afternoon we returned. The clearing was somewhat overgrown but was otherwise as we had left it. There was no sign that anyone else had been there. Immediately, Rebekah was out of her clothes and splashing about in the water with glee. Now she had breasts which bounced and jiggled as she played, and a wisp of hair softened the contours between her legs. But she was still my Rebekah.
“Come on in, the water’s.... f-f-fine,†she called through chattering teeth.
I shook my head, as I always had.
“Chicken,†she said, as she always did.
She came out shivering, her bare skin tinged purple.
“Towel, please,†she demanded.
I was standing near the edge of the pond, clutching it under my arm.
“Towel, please,†she repeated.
“You called me chicken.â€
She shrugged her slim, bare shoulders with resignation. “I’m sorry... forgive me?â€
“Too late, I replied. “Now you’re going to have to beg.â€
“Never!†she cried and leapt at me, lunging for the towel.
Caught off guard, I toppled backwards, but on the way down I grabbed her arms and we tumbled into the long grass. She fell onto me but I rolled and was instantly on top of her. I seized her arms and pulled them to her side, pinning them with my knees. She gazed up at me and I looked down at her. For a while we said nothing, did nothing. Then I let her up. She put her clothes on, and we ate our picnic lunch in silence. Something had changed, and I felt a strange sense of unease, being there alone with Rebekah.
Yet after we’d finishing eating, she giggled like the Rebekah I had always known, lay face-down next to me, and put her hands behind her back. I bound and gagged her, and sat back to gaze at her as she lay helpless in the grass. She turned her head to stare back at me, looking as sweet and vulnerable as she ever did.
In the months that followed, we returned to the forest; but not every weekend. We were no longer children, after all; we had commitments; but when we did manage to get there, nothing changed. We still played our silly games. Rebekah still liked to skinny-dip and I still loved to tie her up.
Then one day, after school, I saw Rebekah with a boy from my class. They were holding hands. He was a good friend of mine and a really nice guy. I turned away before they saw me. A couple of days later, I asked if she had plans for Saturday.
She shook her head sadly. “Paul and I...†her words faded out, into a wistful smile.
We never went back to our secret place.
Our schooldays came to end. We attend the same university now, and our paths cross occasionally. Rebekah is studying medicine, and she and Paul are getting married soon. She is beautiful and elegant and sexy and sophisticated. She has come so far from that tiny, scrawny girl who laughed and squealed with the thrill of the cold water and the rapture of the ropes.
For all I know, our hideout is still there, hidden in the forest, exquisite and untouched... like my memories of those wonderful summer days and Rebekah.