Bert Vennix was a school friend with whom I cycled to school every day. Polderland, always wind force 6 headwinds, but Bert had strong legs and did not care. I do. Just like me, Bert came later in a school year. For other reasons than I do. He had just come to live in our village, I came across a failed mavo adventure. That's why we were immediately the pibble in the classroom.
The lts was a provincial disciplinary school with iron discipline, Christian teachers who were pupils who were predominantly lumbering farmers, and who did not have any knowledge at home about TV. We fell completely out of the boat.
Bert came from a large family. Brothers and sisters who were put up in a too small apartment house in a reasonably rigorously reformed manner were brought up. I recently made another attempt to track it through the internet but in vain. What remains from that period are some class photos and some small pictures of a school trip in Germany that we were able to experience to our surprise.
A nice boy with a Zaans accent, which of course immediately went wrong with the farmers. The collective of stupidity also had to gymen during that time. Showering was mandatory but due to religious objections some boys were allowed to do so with the gym clothes (!). Those gym clothes consisted of a shirt with long sleeves, underpants and long pants with the legs cut to just below the knee.
And in between we walked in our flashy shorts. Bert had the bad luck that puberty let him grow real tits. I believe that those farm kitchens had never seen a woman's breast, but I could place their comparison of his inflated areola with the udders of a sow. In those two years that we saw each other his tits continued to grow .. I was perplexed. He did these things very much so that he would not have to participate in one day.
I had no growing tits. Until recently then. Because if I look in the mirror now I can call myself owner of a few tits with cupsize A.