Should she help one of them along the road to ruin? If she were 'accidentally' to rub against either boy in just the right way she knew he would explode immediately and ignominiously. Also, she was sure whichever boy it happened to would be so embarrassed he would immediately invent some excuse to go below and clean up, leaving her alone with the other. Which one did she want.
Albert was a year older, several inches taller and more grown up in every respect. He was almost a man. But he was still a boy so far as staying power went. The other boy, younger and smaller, might be less endowed with an imagination. Maybe he would last longer.
Good God, she thought. Here I'm actually thinking that far ahead, making plans to let one of these grubby little boys get between my legs and stick his stabber right into me! And after she had survived twenty-five years in show business without once letting it happen!
Little John used the opportunity of her slight movement when she rang the bell to move an inch closer to home plate. Albert still struggled with his botched knot. She remembered his sullenness when he first came aboard. The fourteen-year-old was feeling his oats, helpless under the first full flush of masculinity which wracked his body. But, she decided, having a stiff prick was not that much of an excuse for being a prick.
Little John's eager hands were doing their thing down there. But he wasn't so foul-mouthed as Albert. Albert-mouth. Now what was she thinking about? She remembered that first day with Mr. Hammel and wondered what these boys could be taught to do. It was hard to tell. Boys that age were so delicate in their psychological contradictions. They needed a woman so badly and were so angry at being aware of that need that they couldn't be civil to any woman. But little John hadn't insulted her yet…
Ted leaned forward and caught the bell rope again. John's hand inched closer to the hem of her short shorts. She gave thanks they were the tight kind and that he wouldn't be able to get a teasing finger inside.
Albert struggled with the knot. As she leaned forward he tossed caution to the winds and got both hands up under her parka. She saw the throbbing bulge in his crotch. As the finished ringing the bell she let the lanyard fall in such a way that it dropped squarely atop the bulge. Albert winced and gasped, stopping for a moment his struggle with the fractious knot.
"Sorry," she murmured, and picked up the bell lanyard from his lap. The palm of her hand in grasping the line fell warm and soft over the bulge in Albert's trousers.
"Ssssshit!" he hissed in a voice so low she could hardly hear.
She let the lanyard slip from her fingers and had to pick it up again. She wondered if Albert knew he was being had. Probably not, she guessed. Each generation thought it had discovered set, that old people knew nothing about it. Probably he thought she was busy thinking those abstruse thoughts reserved to the over-thirty crowd and totally unaware of his busy hands trying to undo her halter knot. She let her hand fall warm and soft over his cock again.
The boy stiffened. She felt his fingernails dig into her bare back. His whole body galvanized with the effort not to cum. She was tempted to give him another good squeeze but it would be hard to explain dropping the lanyard three times in a row. Besides, the boy was suffering. He had growled and snapped at her. Now he might as well find out who needed whom worst.
As long as little John with the curly head was so eager to get his hand between her legs Ted knew she had no need of a surly fourteen-year-old who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. She felt him still stiff, cataleptic in his effort not to come. He had been frozen for nearly half a minute.
Meanwhile John's creeping hand had reached the hem of her shorts. Instead of trying to get under the impossibly tight leg he contented himself with exploring every contour of her crotch through the tight-stretched cloth. Imperceptibly, she forced the boys farther apart and opened her legs slightly to facilitate John's reconnaissance.
Why, she wondered, did it feel so wonderful just to have a boy's hand feeling her crotch? Forbidden fruit, she guessed, the element of excitement and danger with Albert glowering only inches away. Probably it wouldn't be nearly as exciting if she and little John were both naked and in bed with uninterrupted hours to work out their fantasies.
But this was so frustrating. She couldn't actually do anything with either boy-not so long as the other was around to glower, to interrupt, to tell tales ashore. Truly there was safety in numbers. She remembered the first doubtful look when the lady gone-to-far with a stationwagon full of kids had learned that Ted was not a man. Obviously Miss Stationwagon of 1941 had known there was safety in numbers. She had not hesitated to entrust the souls and bodies of these would-be studs to Ted. If only she knew!
She would know, Ted suddenly knew. The whole world would know if she didn't give Albert, the sullen fourteen-year-old enough forbidden fruit and enough hope for more next time… Boys liked to talk and brag. And Ted had lived long enough to know that when it comes to gossip, some women can keep a secret but no man can ever.
Albert was just beginning to relax after nearly a minute of gritting his teeth and straining with the effort not to cum. She was tempted to touch his cock again and force him into another spasm or better still, make him cum. But if he retired from the competition in disgrace-if he were to learn that even now the younger boy was out pointing him in every way. If Albert's fourteen-year-old pride were hurt there would be no silencing him. Somehow she had to bind him to her. And there was only one thing she had that he wanted. How could she give him a free sample without running the same risk with the little boy? A disappointed thirteen-year-old's reaction would be even more childish.
Damn! she thought. Why had she ever let herself in for this? It was still not too late. All she had to do was stand up and go below for a minute, leaving the pair stiff-pricked and empty handed. Maybe it would be best that way. But that soft warm hand in her crotch felt-so nice.
Suddenly she felt another hand. Little John had turned and devoted his full attention to her. Swathed in blankets, she wondered if either boy knew or guessed what the other was up to. What, she wondered, would happen if their hands met under the blanket?
Albert was still fumbling with her halter. At that moment she finally felt the knot slip loose. He gave a relieved sigh and twisted back into a more natural position, one hand at his side as the other finished untangling her halter straps. Meanwhile, little John's hand had abandoned her crotch. Both his hands were struggling with the waistband button of her shorts.
Little John's lightning maneuver had so surprised her that Ted had not managed to let her hand fall on Albert's straining crotch again. One mad corner of her mind wondered what would happen if she were to drop all this pretense and just plain unzip their pants, grab their cocks and squeeze until the boys were both empty gasping wrecks.
It would all be over in seconds, she knew. And afterward… She didn't know. Would they be shamed? Would they be relieved? It was hard telling what lengths a boy would go to in the effort to salvage his pride. Probably they would convince themselves she was some kind of degenerate. Sure as hell they would talk about it. God, would they ever talk.
Little John's hand went down into her halfmasted shorts searching for her crotch. She knew from his sudden hesitation that the curly-headed thirteen-year-old had not expected to find panties. He had thought he was home free, ready to romp in the elysian fields of her pubic patch. She now felt almost sorry for his disappointment.
Meanwhile Albert had finally arrived in tit territory. His hand under her parka crept around her midriff and crept slowly up until he was cupping the bottom side of one of her firm, upward pointing tits. Gently, as if he hoped she was still unaware of his presence, his fingers crept toward her nipple.
Ted leaned forward and caught the bell rope again. The fog was thick but at the masthead she could see a pearly luminescence that meant sunlight was only thirty feet away. The fog could burn off or blow away any minute. She pointed upward and explained this fact to the boys.
Albert took advantage of her upraised arm to cup, her full firm tit in his hand. Ted wondered how many times in her life she had felt somebody else's hand on her tit. Mostly she wondered why it had never felt this good before. But this had to end. In another minute they'd have her naked. And the name of the game was to get them to take their clothes off first. That way she would gain some sort of psychological advantage. Somehow she suspected that it would not be in her best interests to be anchored in the middle of nowhere with a couple of ghetto boys who knew they could get away with undressing her. The solution was amazingly simple once she thought of it.
She grasped the waistband of her shorts firmly. "You boys stay here and keep ringing the bell," she said. Before they could prepare themselves she stood. The hip length parka concealed the loose waistband of her shorts. From the waist up she was fully covered now that Albert's hand had come out. "I'm going below to put on something warmer," she said. Before either boy could move she had cleared the cabin scuttle with one magnificent arabesque. She slammed the slide shut behind her and latched it from the inside.
She drew curtains across the portholes, made sure the fore hatch was bolted from inside, and only then did she peel off the parka. Her unlatched bra came off with it, leaving her clad only in bikini panties since her unzipped shorts had settled to her ankles the instant she let go of them.
Despite her hurry she stopped an instant before the full length mirror on the door to the head. Her body really was something! Her tits stood proud and firm. Full contoured, but they hadn't even started growing until she was almost nineteen. Her tiny waisted, ballerina body was still hard muscled but she had filled out until she was no longer a dancer. Now the was a woman, fully developed, with long straight legs capable of tempting a cardinal. Her ass was well rounded but firmly muscular, without an ounce of flab. Her late-grown tits were big enough now but still pointed defiantly skyward as if she were twenty instead of thirty nine. Her hair grew long and straight, braided now to keep it out of the way when sailing. She knew if she were to peel down her bikini panties the hair down there would match the glossy almost black of her waist-length braid. Definitely, her body was built to be used. She toyed with the idea of tossing one of these little brats overboard.
No use. She couldn't do it. Even, if she were capable of such a beastly idea she knew it would take all the bulge out of the other boy's' crotch if she were to start acting like some mate-devouring mama spider. What was she going to do? Nothing, she guessed. Sadly, she found a pair of jeans and began pulling them on.
She found an old jersey then remembered she had lost her bra. Rummaging through drawers, the first she found was a full-cut bra with the hooks in front between the cups. She grinned at the thought of Albert going slowly insane trying to find them. If the boy was from the ghetto, chances were he had never even heard of a front latching bra. She put it on, hurriedly pulled on a jersey, found some socks and boat shoes and was puffing her parka back on as she opened the cabin scuttle to go back on deck.
The boys still sat where she had left them, each glowering into the fog thinking long thoughts. It was cruel, she supposed, to interrupt but she had no intention of being stripped naked out here in the fog by a couple of would-be studs who didn't even start taking their own clothes off first. What, she wondered, would have happened if she had let them get away with what they had been starting?
She caught the lanyard and rang the fog bell again. Somewhere in the distance. she heard the deep booooo of a fog horn.
"What's that?" little John asked.
Ted explained about foghorns and lighthouses.
Albert still glowered at the fog.
Fuck him! she thought. He wants to fuck me but he isn't gentleman enough even to be polite.
Let him spend the next five years growing hair on his palms and maybe he'll appreciate the next woman who gives him a free feel. If he wanted to give her the silent treatment she was perfectly used to living alone without even a seal or seagull to talk to.
"How long we gonna be here?" Albert asked unexpectedly.
Ted shrugged. She sat across from the boys on the opposite side of the cockpit, just out of reach of their roping hands. She wondered if either of them would have enough gall to come over and sit beside her. Probably each of the boys was consumed with projects to get the other out of the way. She almost laughed.
The combined air of charged sexuality and the veneer of innocent I-don't-know-what's-going-on reminded her of that halcyon day on the casting couch in Mr. Hammel's office. She had been relaxing as best she could under the stimulus of that tongue between her legs, those busy hands caressing tits and ass when suddenly Mr. Hammel had writhed out of his clothes and before she quite realized it he was on the couch too, kneeling between her thighs.
Now how, she wondered, did he manage that without me knowing it? Suddenly, despite her twelve-year-old virginal innocence she had known what was going to happen next. Mr. Hammel was going to slip his thing into her. He was going to fuck her. And that would be the end of her career as a dancer.
Ted didn't want to dance all that bad but her mother did and Ted had long ago accepted that she was to be sold into a life of bondage to satisfy a whim her mother had been too busy fucking to gratify. Like any obedient child, she had accepted her mother's will as divinely ordained. Now Mr. Hammel was going to spoil it all.
Ted didn't know what her mother would say if Ted were to lose her virginity at this age. But she knew, perfectly well what would happen if she were no longer able to dance. Firmly, she closed her thighs.
Mr. Hammel was in between and she couldn't close them all the way. Before he could react she performed a back somersault and, legs tight together, rolled off the couch and onto the floor. Red faced and pantsless, Mr. Hammel was thoroughly ridiculous. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'm a virgin," Ted said firmly. "I'm going to be a prima ballerina in your next production. You promised. If I let you do what you're trying to do I won't be able to dance as well."
"You'll be good enough," Mr. Hammel reassured her. "Besides, you'll still be a virgin when I'm through."
Ted, like any child, had been deceived by broken promises before. She remembered her mother in a bargaining mood. "I want to talk to Momma first," she said.
For a moment it looked like Mr. Hammel would have a heart attack. Then, wiser than Ted in the ways of show business mommas, he finally picked up the phone and instructed his secretary to get Momma on the interoffice telephone. While Ted listened he said, "The audition's going very well. You've signed and received your copy of the contract, haven't you?"
There were scratchy noises on the other end.
"Yes, yes, that's fine. The audition my take another hour in case, you'd like to do some shopping," Mr. Hammel hinted. "By the way, would you like to give little Teddie the good news?" He handed Ted the phone.
From the outer office Momma said, "Ted, just be nice to Mr. Hammel now. Everything's all arranged so do whatever he tells you. I'll be back in about an hour."
And thus did Ted cease being a little girl and enter the grownup world of lying, deceit, and all the usual sins of omission and commission which give rise to the relationship between such words as adult and adultery. "All right, Mr. Hammel," she said, and climbed back onto the couch. She was still clad only in black patent leather shoes, white ankle socks, and a pink hair ribbon. Mr. Hammel wore shoes, socks, undershirt, shirt, vest, tie, stickpin-everything the well-dressed impresario of twenty-seven years ago wore-except his trousers. He climbed back up between her legs.
At twelve Ted had never heard of a stoic. But stoical was her attitude as the red-faced man knelt between her thighs. Her dancing days were over. Maybe lacking would be more fun. Either way, she was being a good girl, doing what Momma told her to do.
"You'll still be a virgin when we're through," Mr. Hammel whispered.
The only other person Ted had heard of who had accomplished this feat was God. With his pants off Mr. Hammel somehow really didn't fit her preconception of God. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"I'm not going to put it-in you there."
Ted didn't know whether to be relieved, or annoyed. Alter all the trouble she had gone to shedding her attitudes about virginity… besides, if he wasn't going to fuck her, what was he doing between her legs?
She discovered what he was doing when abruptly Mr. Hammel grasped her knees. He lifted and hooked them over the rough tweed shoulders of his jacket. Ted's nude twelve-year-old body hung suspended from her knees and the nape of her neck. She felt the blood rush to her head and to the nipples of her tiny just budding tits. Then his large hands grasped her waist and took most of the weight off the back of her neck. Then he arched his neck and put his tongue back into the gaping hairless lips between her legs.
It felt so nice Ted didn't care if she hung upside down from her knees all day. His warm strong hands around her waist squeezed and she felt warm waves of passion surge from waist and cunt to meet in a tiny explosion in mid belly. She could feel her tender breast buds throb with hot rushing blood, aching for the feel of those hands, that mouth.
She wondered if it would be possible for Mr. Hammel to grow two mouths so he could kiss her tits and pussy at the same time. Then she wondered about the more practical solution. What would it be like to lie down naked on this couch and let one man kiss her hairless, virginal cunt while the other took care of the rest of her burning body?
She stored away the idea for future reference and somehow it managed to remain in storage for twenty-seven years until now she was aboard the yacht, fully dressed, sitting across from these two ghetto boys. There was a sudden warming of her insides at the thought. She had been concentrating so hard on getting rid of one of the boys…
What would it be like to try it with two at once? What, she wondered, could they really do? Her mind reeled at the possibilities. Or were they impossibilities. She guessed they had to be possible. Nobody could write all those things in the magazines-none of the moralists could get so totally bent out of shape about group sex unless somewhere somebody was doing it. But who? Where? Did thirteen and fourteen-year-olds go for it?
The two boys both sat across from her in the cockpit. Despite the parka Ted felt the chill. She suspected that the boys each wrapped in a blanket, would feel the chill too if they could stop burning for a moment. Moments ago before her precipitate flight each had been close to explosion, each with his handful of flesh and hopeful of more and more handsful. Now they sat bereft and alone, not even able to sympathize with each other because neither was willing to admit that the other might have been doing the same thing he was.
"I'm cold," Ted said. "I think I'll go below."
"Who stays up here and rings the bell?" Albert asked.
Ted smiled. "This yacht's rigged for single-handing," she explained. She flipped a switch and the electric timer took over.
"Why didn't you tell me about that before?" Albert growled.
"You didn't ask." She gave another look around. Actually the fog was lifting. In another hour there would be no excuse for anchoring. It was her escape hatch. She had one hour to play around and do whatever she wanted with these boys. And when that hour was up neither would be able to argue against her explanation that a boat anchored in bright sunlight was an invitation for everybody from Harbor Police to Coast Guard to come prying. She went below. The boys didn't look at each other. After a moment Albert got to his feet and went below.
Little John followed and after a couple of fumbles managed to close the cabin scuttle behind him. The arrangement below decks was practically a duplication of the cockpit, with two narrow settee berths facing each other. Forward of the mast the berths converged into a wide, roughly triangular mattressed space.
Ted sat on one of the berths. The boys sat across from her. There was a charged air of expectation as each waited for somebody else to make the first move. Slowly it began warming up inside the closed cabin. Topside the bell clanged. The boys still huddled each inside a blanket.
"I think," Ted began, "that it's time we started being honest with one another."
The boys looked at her in wary surprise. For a moment Albert's surly veneer cracked and he became an unsure fourteen-year-old. Little John's curly hair surrounded his face, making him look like some child angel who had managed to be forn without original sin.
"Let's start by admitting where everybody had his hands a moment ago."
The boys looked at each other in mutual surprise. Ted tried not to laugh as she discovered that really, neither of them had suspected the other.
"I suppose," she continued dryly, "that everybody would like to get his hands back there again."
After a moment's shocked silence the boys gave wary nods. Topside the bell clanged again.
"And just where," Ted continued, "are my hands supposed to be all this while?"
From the open-mouthed stares it was obvious that the boys had never considered this side of the question.
"I suppose," Ted continued with just a trace of snappishness in her voice, "that you thought I was going to just sit there and let you undress me."
She tried not to smile, knowing each of these would-be studs had hoped and prayed for exactly that. She sat lacing them fully dressed now in boat shoes, socks, bikini panties, a front latching bra, jeans, a jersey, a watch cap and a parka. She wondered if the boys had the slightest idea what she had in mind, if they were doing frantic sums in their heads trying to figure out how many articles of clothing each wore.
Albert was so overcome by the vistas opening before him that he couldn't trust himself to speak. Little John, at thirteen, was more of a pragmatist. "You want us to undress first?" he asked.
Ted let a wintry smile flit across her face.
"Sheeeeiiiit!" Albert growled.
"If you don't wish to participate, feel perfectly free to go back on deck and ring the bell," Ted said. "It'll save running down the batteries."
"How do I know you will?" he asked.
"How do you know I'll what?" Ted asked.
Though he wished to remain aloof from such things, Albert could not avoid being drawn into this conversation. Albert gulped and searched for words. "How do I know you will if we do?" he finally managed.
"You don't," Ted said. "But on the other hand, you know perfectly well that, if you don't, I won't."
From his silence she guessed Albert found this argument convincing. He glanced at John. The younger boy glanced back. Without speaking both boys let fall their blankets and began untying their sneakers. Topside the fog bell clanged. Down below the cabin was growing warmer.
Ted regarded her own emotions with wry amusement. Moments ago both boys had had their hands on her, busily probing for home plate. And she had not felt the erotic excitement she was feeling now with this delicious sense of charged expectation as everybody knew something wonderful was going to happen, but nobody knew exactly when or how. She glanced through a porthole at the thin fog. There was time for play. There was time for foreplay.
She whipped the parka off and noted the sudden brightened expectation in the boys, followed immediately by disappointment when they learned she now wore a jersey underneath.
The boys sat across from her, each clad in Levi's, shirt, and a light jacket. She wondered if ghetto boys bothered with underwear. They sat tensely, looking at one another, each waiting for the next move. Ted thought a moment, then, stretching in ways known only to tomcats and ballerinas, she extended her feet one to each of the boys. After a moment's discombobulating, Albert managed to tie another hard knot, this time in the lace of her rubber-soled boat shoe. He opened his mouth, then hastily closed it again. He breathed deeply and began picking at the knot. After a moment it yielded to his patience. Covered warmly from head to ankle, she sat with a naked foot in each boy's lap, her preternaturally sensitive heels absorbing warmth from the hot throbbing mounds of maleness in each crotch. She knew all it would take was the slightest wiggle of foot and each boy would erupt like some miniature volcano of eroticism, unable to withstand the assault of his own imagination so far she had not exposed a single inch of controversial skin. "Now you," she murmured.
Without hesitation little John peeled off his jacket. Albert hastened to do the same. Doing hasty mental arithmetic, Ted wondered why she had let the boys take off her socks too. She wondered how this game was going to come out but her mind was so filled with vistas of wonderful things to come that she could not work it out ahead. The boys each still wore shirt and Levi's-and Christ only knew how much else underneath. Ted still had her jeans, her jersey, bikini panties, and bra. Then suddenly she remembered her watch cap. She peeled it off, still leaving her bare feet one in each boy's lap.
The boys were momentarily nonplussed. But little John was quick enough to see this was a game in which it would be hard to separate winners from losers. He peeled off his T-shirt. Albert, after an almost imperceptible hesitation, did the same.
Ted tried on her Mona Lisa smile. "Your choice," she said, and left it to the boys whether she would remove jeans or jersey first. Little John was plainly neutral. As long as he got some article of clothing off her taut ballerina body the smaller boy didn't care much which came first. But, looking at Albert she could almost see the wheels spinning inside his head. She knew exactly what the older boy was thinking. He had unlatched her bra. Maybe he had even managed to catch a glimpse of her peeling it off with the parka in the moment before she had drawn the curtains. He would assume she was bare-titted under the jersey. "Your top," he said, and glared, daring the smaller boy to disagree.
Ted obligingly peeled off her jersey, revealing her smooth-skinned torso clad only in jeans and a snug front-latching bra sincularly free of the Irish pennants and dangling hardware of so many American brassieres. It looked more like a generously cut bikini top than a bra. She was amused at the boys' disappointment.
Face-fallen, they faced her in their bulging crotched Levi's. Without exactly planning it that way, she knew she had come out winners in this crazy game. "Don't take it so hard," she sad. "I'll spot you both five points." While the boys watched wide-eyed she unfastened the waist of her jeans. Each boy still had one of her bare feet in his lap. "Pull," she commanded.
The boys pulled with such concerted enthusiasm that they nearly pulled her off the settee. She managed to hang on and felt her jeans slip down past her ass, down past her bikini panties.