That, and the usual adolescent longings. How come I could be so aggressive and forceful in my dreams, but when it came to real, flesh and blood boys, I was too nervous to open my Goddamned mouth? I suppose it could have been worse. I could have been a wallflower in my fantasies, too. That would have been an unbearable bummer.
What wasn't? Tomorrow afternoon Jill and Greg and their parents were going off for a month's vacation by the sea, and I'd be stuck here in the middle of Ohio, all by myself for four lousy weeks. With Jill away I wouldn't have anyone to talk to even, let alone share my secret dreams and wishes with. Was I supposed to chat with my mom and, in the process, tell her about this dreamy fantasy I had of getting fucked by Tony Orlando or Robert Redford or Jill's big brother Greg? Fat chance!
Horseshit! Why couldn't Mom and Daddy have let me go along with Jill and her family? I'd been invited, but my parents said no, I didn't need to be running off, so here I was. Stuck. About the only thing I could look forward to doing the next month was a lot of masturbating. What else was there, for God's sake? I felt alone and deserted already, even with Jill standing beside me. It was like she was already gone.
She went across the room toward her bed, stripping off the tiny new bikini as she walked. Picking up her shorts and halter she turned in my direction, and I had a quick glimpse of her naked front – the little-mouthed smile, the soft, brown tipped boobs, the auburn thatch of her beaver which I'd helped trim into shape for the nude look of summer. I wished, then, that we weren't so grown-up and sophisticated. It would be nice to tell her goodbye by rolling on the bed the way we did when we were kids. I'd kiss her lips and chew daintily at her nipples, and she could do the same for me. We'd get all sweaty and musky, and our pussies would be so drippy-warm and ready that fingers would slide into the slippery depths with no trouble at all, and we could moan and sigh together as we climaxed like angels in heaven. Maybe – now that I knew it was a normal thing to do – I'd even be brave enough to part her cunny lips with my fingers and use my tongue on the coral pink slickness inside, and of course she'd have to do the same for me. I wondered how it felt to have a tongue working on your cunt. I used to wonder about that a lot. The books all said it was ecstasy unrestrained, and I wished I knew how ecstasy unrestrained felt, because I didn't have the least idea.
But Jill was dressing, and clearly she didn't share my ideas about the proper way for two girl friends to say goodbye for a month. Oh, it was kid stuff anyway. We hadn't known what we were doing, really, till after we quit doing it and got a little older and wiser. Now it was too late, to recapture the innocence of the past. Who even wanted to?
We needed guys, guys of our own, to do all the magic things to us that so far we'd only been able to dream about.
'I wish you were coming with me,' Jill sighed, tying her halter into place. It covered her titties like a coat of paint, and her nipples were thick and obvious in the fabric. She smoothed her hand across them, then looked at me with a shy smile. 'Wow,' she confessed, 'sometimes they still ache the way they did when they were filling out. Remember? And I get so horny, Didi! I'll bet we could find ourselves some male talent if we were cruising the beach together. Guys who weren't afraid of our being so tall and ugly, guys who'd want nothing more than to ball our brains out. If we have any brains, I mean,' she giggled. 'God, I may even give it a try without you! I don't think I can live through this summer if I don't get some, and I'm not talking about a tan!'
'Lots of luck,' I said flippantly, but I knew exactly what she meant.
'C'mon,' she said, 'Mom and Daddy aren't home yet. We can sneak a couple of beers out of the refrigerator and get tight before they come in.' It looked like the best available, so I followed her downstairs, my heart riding inside me a little lower than my ass.
Six draggy days later I got Jill's first letter. I should tell you now that she is a compulsive letter writer. She loves to do it. When we were in sixth grade, and I was out of school for a week with measles, she wrote me every day – six, seven, once a ten-pager. It was that way every time we were separated for very long, and when I saw the envelope in the morning mail, I knew this vacation would certainly be no exception. So I grabbed a can of sugarfree and went to my room to read the news from my old buddy. Ten minutes later, after stifling an unplanned scream of shock, I decided I'd better walk down to the park and finish reading it:
Dear Didi,
I haven't seen you in three days, almost, and it seems like a month at least. So many things to tell you already, and we've only just gotten settled in here. We're staying in a hotel on the beach, and it's fabulous – sorta like Las Vegas by the sea, except that there's no gambling, of course, and no gangsters. At least, none that look like gangsters, but you remember Al Pacino in Godfather? He didn't look like a hood, but he sure was.
Anyway, the place is mostly staffed with college kids earning themselves a beach vacation. The girls all sound like they're from Boston or someplace… you know – 'Pahk the cah' – but some of the guys are definitely righteous, and I just wish you were here so we could ogle them together. And there are bikinis even skimpier than mine on the beach. I saw a girl who was wearing what looked like two Band-Aids and a cork; she was brown as a Negro, and if you know my Dad, you know who he was looking at. Mom got a little pissed, of course. I don't know why. She oughta be glad he's thinking about putting it to somebody else, if she doesn't enjoy having it put to her. Greg, of course, is the hit of the seashore. I hardly ever see him. He's usually surrounded by an army of girls, most of them disgustingly beautiful. Maybe you should have tried that little scheme on him the other day, after all.
There are millions of boys here, or so I'm told, but I haven't seen that many yet. Mostly middle-aged men, balding with paunches and sicky patches of white skin all over, not to mention fat wives whose best friends should have told them how terrible they look in tight swim suits. Someone saw a shark this morning, but no one seems to care. The people on the beach are thick as ants at a picnic; I don't think I'm even going to venture down today. Maybe I'll go for a walk instead. They tell me that the crowd thins out considerably a mile or so down the beach, and since nobody's paying my string suit enough attention, and since I just mined the mail pickup anyway, think I'll go strolling. Bye for now.
'Dee – I am back and you honest to Jesus God will not believe this!'
Let me get my head together, sugarplum. I need a drink to steady my nerves, I think. Or do I? Who knows? Who gives a shit? This is too fabulous to hold back, so sit down and get ready!
I went for my walk, right? Past the lines of beach umbrellas and past the yelling little kids and their sunburning parents, and I just walked and walked. I was wearing my new bikini, the sexy one, and the sun was cooking me on the way, and it felt good, sooo goooooddd, I just wanted to splash in the water and maybe do a bikini ballet on the beach or something. The sky was incredibly blue, and the smell of sea water made my head giddy.
Well, I must have walked two or three miles, just strutting along, and after a while I didn't see anybody at all. Just me and God and the seagulls, communing with nature. Until I rounded a little point of land that angles down to meet the tide, and THERE… HE… WAS! Just like in a book or a movie, Didi! It was a boy, and he was lying on the sand watching the sea, almost as if he were waiting for me. Stretched out on a blanket, six and a half feet of tanned manhood-his height, I mean; he had two feet like anybody else – and he was beautiful. Try to imagine, if you can, Michelangelo's David come to life. Swim trunks covering up the most interesting part, sure, but they were tight trunks, the kind Greg was wearing the other day, and they didn't exactly do a figleaf's job of concealment.
I saw him first, and I just stopped, dead in my tracks. My heart was beating a mile a minute and I was getting wet between the legs. God, it was just like when Robert Redford took off his shirt in that movie and you knew he was gonna go to bed with the girl and both of us were sitting there moaning, wondering why it couldn't be one of us – or better still, both of us…
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah! I stood then, staring at him the way a dog stares at a fresh juicy bone, and finally he must have realized I was present, because he looked in my direction, hit eyes sparkling as they surveyed me up and down, and then he kinda sat up and said 'Hi.' 'Hi.' Two little letters. Why should they make you break out in a sweat all over? Why should your legs get so weak you don't think you can stand on them another second?
So I said 'Hi', too, and he smiled – ohhhhhhh, did he ever smile!!!! And I still couldn't move, not even when he patted the blanket and said, 'You going anywhere special?' At least I didn't think I could move. Silly me! When I looked down at the tips of my toes, I noticed that they'd come to a stop less than a foot from his nearest, prettiest thigh. Sitting down with him was a surprise, too, but it was a very nice surprise. And I looked at his face, Didi, and it was so and it was so beautiful that I fell love right on the spot.
He asked me what my name was, and I told him, and he said his was Kerry. Kerry Sullivan. Very Irish, huh?
