At first I didn't care if I never heard from Jill again. She kept asking me not to be jealous or hurt – mustn't she I have known just how much I would be? And, of course, I was. So, for a while, I didn't leave the house except when it was absolutely necessary. I worked on my tan in the back yard, and I read Helter-Skelter, and I drank a lot of Tab, but that was it. It seemed an ideal, if vegetable existence, and for a couple of days I didn't even look at the day's mail to see if it contained a letter from Jill.
But when four days had gone by without even a postcard, I became unfit to live with. I quarreled with Mom and Daddy, especially when Daddy asked if I wasn't still dating that Graham boy. "He's one hell of a basketball player, and I wouldn't mind seeing him around the house, if I had to see any boy friends."
I'd lay awake at night wondering what was happening down at the seaside. Why wasn't she wilting? Could she be that busy fucking? God, she seemed so anxious to gloat, about it all at first, the rotten bitch. Why was she keeping me up in the air now? Oh, I could imagine what she must be up to. Night long orgies in surf and sand, fucking till her pussy ached with gluttonous joy, sucking gushers of cum from his cock and smearing her face and brown-teated breasts with the sticky cream of life. Oh, Jesus, what if she got knocked up? She wasn't on the pill or anything, and she hadn't mentioned him using rubbers or withdrawal on her. Wouldn't it be delicious if she got herself a belly full of cum and presented the world with an illegitimate blessed event early next spring? Wouldn't it, though! One night I diddled myself to sleep just thinking about how Jill would look as her belly swelled in pregnancy, how she'd waddle around Albany while everyone snickered behind her back. It was nasty and vicious. She was my friend, and she just happened to be lucky. I couldn't compete with her, as events had proven all too clearly. Why should I hold grudges and wish evil upon her? Because it made me feel better, Goddamn it! That's why!
I read her two letters over and over, and sometimes I'd finger myself while reading them, pretending that if was me instead of Jill that all the good things were happening to. Once I even bucked half out of the bed, two fingers jammed up my tight snatch and worked like a cock in me, and I panted and sighed Kerry's name into the darkness of my room. It felt so good I did it all over again, as soon as my first orgasm's tremors subsided.
Thank God my parents are very sound sleepers. That would have been a difficult position to lie my way out of if Mom had happened to come investigating.
By the fifth day I was waiting outside for the postman, heart thumping like a drum as I anticipated a letter from Jill. It didn't come that day, nor the next, and Sunday was a torture beyond belief. I was really bitchy at dinner, and Mom told me that if I didn't start behaving, she'd send me off to bed right then and there. "You're not too old for a bit of discipline, young lady!" she snapped at me, as if I were a kid. I wanted to tell her differently, to tell her that I was a big girl, too, thanks to that nice basketball player Daddy kept asking about and thanks to my jealous desire to keep up with Jill. But discretion was the better part of valor, so I kept my mouth shut and jabbed the mashed potatoes with my fork, fuming internally and trying to smile on the outside.
Next morning the mailman handed me our consignment and I flipped through the envelopes, not daring to believe what I saw. Jill's hand, sure and plain, and it was certainly time! Smiling for real now, I tossed the other mail into Mom's lap and rushed up to my room to see what news Jill had sent me. My hand shook so terribly I ripped hell out of the envelope and tore a gash in the folded letter itself:
Didi… What's wrong? Why haven't you written? I think you're terrible! Are you having so much fun that you can't spare a minute to tell me that you're still alive? Is this all our friendship means?
I'm sorry I started off so bitchy, dear. But things haven't been going too well for me the last few days. Kerry and I – well, he's gone home. Do I really have to say any more than that? I don't know if you can appreciate the way I feel right now, Didi. There's an empty place in my heart that may never be filled.
It wasn't my fault, and I suppose it wasn't his either. Perhaps we were meant only to share a few days of passionate love, then doomed to part forever. I know I'll never see him again, and when we said goodbye, it was with bitterness that gnaws like a worm at my heartstrings, now when I remember it. Dear God, how can a relationship be so perfect and yet collapse so completely?
You're the only one who knows, Didi, the only one I'll ever tell. Mother and Daddy sense that something is wrong with me, but they can't begin to guess the real reason for my malaise. Greg hasn't spoken more than a hundred words to me since our arrival here – he spends all his time with same dynamically handsome beach studs, and I imagine they're screwing their way through the plethora of talent on hand. Only this morning I had to go to his room to borrow some tanning oil, and he came out of the bathroom wearing only his shorts. You'd have been delighted to be there, Didi, as thrilled as I was embarrassed. His prick was very noticeable, seemed erect in his underwear, and he flushed when he saw me. I did too, but it wasn't entirely all innocent blush on my part. Greg is a very handsome young man, and he really is well-endowed. I don't doubt that he's bigger cocked than Kerry was, and that's saying something. At any rate, I heard a noise in the bathroom, and even before I could ask him for the tanning lotion, the door opened again, and who should come strolling out but the floor maid!!! She's a prime piece, about nineteen I suppose, with vivid red hair and a million freckles and limpid green eyes. And she was buttoning her dress!! When she saw me she said "Awwpp!" and turned on her heel, disappearing into the bathroom again. Greg just cocked his head to one side and smiled roguishly, and I smiled back. He seems to sense that I'm not the same girl who came to the beach a couple of weeks ago, though he's never said anything to me about it. Well, I grabbed the lotion and left them to their games, but I wish to God I had someone to gamble with! The worst thing about being laid, Didi, is that it becomes so essential a part of everyday life. I thought I'd never have to masturbate again, but now I'm doing it six and seven times a day, whenever I can get a moment by myself. And it doesn't satisfy the needs that Kerry helped to instill.
Right now I'm at the pool. Yes, the hotel has a pool as well as a beach. I suppose there are those who'd rather swim in fresh than in salt water. Greg is gone, as usual, and Mom and Daddy took off yesterday. Mom wanted to do some shopping in Charleston, and Daddy has an old army buddy from Germany that he wanted to look up. So I'm at loose ends at the moment. They won't be back till day after tomorrow, and I don't know what to do. I suppose I could stroll down the beach and look for a guy, but I'm too afraid of being hurt again. Maybe you can tell that I'm just a little tight right now – well, not as tight as I was before Kerry took me in hand and started reaming me out – that started to be a joke, but it doesn't sound as funny as it did before Kerry sneaked into it.
I have to do something. I can't keep masturbating this way, because I'm getting calluses on my fingers. Oh, there's an itching between my legs right now. Maybe I'll cross them and saw on my pussy like – this – mmm, see how relaxed my handwriting has become – it's working, sort of – I need a man. You can't know the feeling, can you, Didi? I only wish I could communicate the desire to you in all its terrible, beautiful intensity. My pussy screams to be filled by throbbing muscle, to have its fires drowned by floods of male peckermilk.
Oh – I just saw him! A man. He's only just come onto the pool area, and something about him draws me like a magnet. Didi, he's not a boy. He must be – oh, God, forty, at least. His hair is paying at the temples, and his face is weather kissed, as if he's spent a lot of time in the sun. Perhaps on the steering deck of his sloop? He looks the sailor type. A trim, elegant body, long and lean and oozing with proud, confident masculinity. Try to imagine Cary Grant, only more outdoorsy. That's him exactly. Mature, seasoned, desirable. I-I – Didi, it's driving me crazy to sit here and just watch him. Oh, he's coming in this, direction! I know he doesn't even see me, but he's coming closer – he's stopping to talk to someone, a totally classy brunette in a beach jacket draped open to show off her slim body and outrageous bikini – Didi, you should see the way his head moves when he laughs! I – oh, I'm going to stop writing now, Didi, forgive me for deserting you, but I have to have him. I don't know how I'm going to manage it, but I know that I'm gonna make him notice me, make him want me – make him – goodbye for now!
That was the end of a page. Her handwriting just drifted away, as if she'd dragged the pen across the sheet, and I sat on the edge of my bed sweating cold and damp, afraid to turn and see what she'd tell me next. If I closed my eyes I could see the whole thing so clearly – the crowded patio-bar area at the exclusive resort hotel, the beautiful people fluttering around, Jill in the midst of those beautiful people, watching everything, telling me all about it – but stopping when sudden temptation arose and she found herself compelled to answer its call.
Ah. Jesus, the emotions that were rolling in me then! I hated Jill for the bitchiness with which she'd passed along that dirty bit of gossip about Greg and the hotel maid, for one thing. Didn't she know how much it would hurt me to hear a story like that?
And, now, for God's sake! I could envision her on the patio around the hotel pool, watching the beautiful people flutter about. She was probably out of them by now, sitting there in her string bikini, certainly drawing stares from the men. And I could easily picture how giddy she must be with a couple of drinks in her. Jill always got giggly on a bottle of beer, let alone a sneaked shot of the hard stuff. The booze must have really gotten to her, if she was seriously contemplating making a pass at an older man for no other reason than that she found him sexy.
My legs were spread wide apart in a sort of lotus position on the bed, and I found myself unconsciously rubbing the tight-stretched crotch of my cutoffs. I didn't know I was doing it until a smoldering glow began to fluctuate through my body, and then it was a little too late to stop. I looked down and saw where my hand was, and I blushed. Furiously. Here I'd been, a few days ago, thinking I was a big girl just because Jill had turned out to be, and the strumming of my fingers on my crotch were so much more satisfying than any heterosexual experience I'd enjoyed yet. Maybe I wasn't mature enough. Maybe Rocky had done it correctly and I was just too much of a girl still to respond.
Well, no matter of that. I could dig the hell out of doing it to myself, and as I thought about Jill and her sudden mad passion for the middle-aged yachtsman type, I slid, my fingers beneath one frayed leg of my cutoffs and beneath the elastic of my panties and I made contact with a snatch that was already beginning to seep with excited wetness.
Before I knew it, I had my whole hand jammed inside the cutoff denims under my panties, and I was squeezing the hell out of myself. I hadn't been quite so excited in days, and I congratulated me for that. Jill might be rapidly turning into a mature woman of the world, finding pleasure with male bodies and cocks, but she couldn't feel a Goddamned bit better than I felt right now, frigging my immature cunt.
The lips of my pussy swelled and dampened as I kneaded them with my fingertips, and I scratched and tickled the soft tingly labia until my breath grew tight and my nipples erected against my halter top. It was a delicious way to feet, and I used my other hand to squeeze my titties till they ached. If a love of masturbation is a sign of childishness, then I suppose I should've been wearing diapers and playing with rattles, but I loved what I was doing to myself and I wouldn't have exchanged it for a hundred nights like that evening with Rocky in the Presbyterian Church cemetery.
"Oooh, a little deeper, honey," I panted in a low voice. "A little deeper and sexier, if you can swing it," I giggled, finding it funny that I should be speaking to my hand as if it were someone else. But I didn't giggle when my fingers moved in reply to the invitation. They parted the lips of my cunt and moved inside, stroking delicately but assuredly, and the deeper they pressed, the more cunny juice flowed from my depths to meet them, to make further entrance easier and wetter.
But it was getting awkward. My hand was cramped from the access route it had chosen, and my fingers couldn't work with the free expression I needed. I took my hand out, undid and unzipped the cutoffs, and let them fail to the floor. Next went the panties, and I stretched out an the bed, bare from my halter to my toes. Mmm, it felt nice to rub my thighs and ass on the silky bedspread! I rolled and turned, not even touching myself actively, just drinking in that luxurious stimulation. This mightn't be what Jill was finding for herself on her vacation trip, but it would do me till something better came along.
I stretched one leg way out, and then bent the other one at the knee, pulling the heel toward me till it brushed my cunt. My foot was very soft, but the hard bone at the base of my leg rubbed with a provocative intensity which soon had me puffing in approval.
But as the novelty of that type of cunny-rubbing wore off I discovered that it alone couldn't keep my engine humming at the proper idling speed. So I let my foot fall away, though I kept my legs widely parted, and I reached down with both hands to grind my starter again.
I pinched my cunt between index fingers, squeezing till it hurt me with the most enjoyable kind of aching, and I used my thumbs to brush the pooched-up lips. A moisture was already beginning to mat the thicker hairs around my slit, and for a pleasant minute I squashed down upon my dampening cuntal mons with the heel of one hand. It made for a sweet pitching in my tummy and a warm glow that seemed to radiate in the marrow of my bones, and I smiled a very smug smile. Top this, Jill baby, I thought.
The slit of my sex ached with desire before I decided to quench those desires with the leisurely insertion of one finger. I moved it into me only a little way at first, squishing it round till the juice coming from inside had made the tip and nail slippery-slick. My, clitoris was up by then and I caressed it impatiently, sighing each time my finger pressed down upon it like a push button. Rocky hadn't bothered about my clit, I remembered.
Didn't he know that the way to a girl's heart was through her joy buzzer?
Maybe he didn't. Funny. I never neglected the little trigger of flesh when I was playing with myself, and I could testify to the effectiveness of that brand of consideration. Like right now. I was hot all over, and tingling all over, and my nipples were stiff as pencils inside my halter. My pussy was awash in sweet, musk-scented juices, and I discovered when I tried that I could suck a finger right up me with no trouble whatsoever. Hell, I felt so venturesome that I added two more fingers to the one already in me, and I made them move in and out like a fast-thrusting cock. The pussy lips was tight upon them, but it wasn't a strained kind of tightness. My cuntal sheath stretched and yielding precisely as my finger motions demanded, and the sensation was eminently satisfactory. Warm beads of sweat rolled from my hair across my forehead, into my eyes. I blinked at them as if they were team.
I made it four fingers, then, and when I realized that the digital bulk was not a bit smaller than the barrel of Rocky's dick, I found that real tears were beginning to ooze from my eyes. My breath was coming faster and faster, mounting as the thrusts of my stiff, bunched-up fingers mounted, and I knew then that the fault of that disastrous night hadn't been mine. Not all of it. Rocky had been a hell of a poor choice to be my seducer, from all indications. I was doing ten times better with my fingers. Did that mean that maybe I had a chance after all? Perhaps I wasn't an immature washout.
When the contractions of my pussy started rippling up and down my thrusting fingers in mad, eager waves, I let myself go. The bed shook under me, and my feet thumped on the headboard as if I were dancing on my back. My head twisted from side to side and my eyes were blurry and dripping tears of pride and joy.
Deeper and deeper sank my fingers as I fucked myself into one hot blinding come after another. My throat ached from the raspiness of my breathing, and my tits were so swollen with arousal that I thought they'd smother my face. Beaver fuzz, the insides of my thighs, my hand almost to the wrists – all were coated with the hot fluids that kept crashing put of my depths like the tides that had bathed Jill's first fuck with Kerry.
"Oh," I said, "oh, ohhhhh!" and I felt as if passion and pleasure were about to choke me where I lay tossing and writhing in orgasmic explosion. It was a fantastic come, the best I'd ever known, and that, rather than the mechanical cherry-popping I'd gotten from Rocky, was truly my initiation to womanhood. Masturbation seemed too mundane award for what I'd done to myself. I preferred to think of it as unlocking the door of my sensuality. As, the glow of release clung to me, radiated from me, as my weary fingers slid from the gash they had abused so delightfully, I began to think that there was nothing I couldn't do if I put my mind to it. I'd lost my hymen days ago to a boy, but it took me and mine to turn me into a woman.
Later I picked up Jill's letter and started in where I'd left off. But I wasn't jealous now – merely interested. Once I even found myself yawning as I read her fine-lettered hand. That was a very good sign.
She was full of detail – the episode covered six sheets of paper, front and back, and the time span was nearly twenty-four hours. I should have been slavering with envy, but that was the old Didi, not the smug, proud creature who sprawled on her bed, pussy still moist and Jill and I were equals once more, and not what we'd been in my mind the last several days.
She described in vivid detail how she met her quarry. A casual bumping, a drink spilled from her hand onto the patio, his courteous offer to buy her a replacement. Yes, I thought, a relatively good play. It suckered him in without advertising the fact. Though if he were as sophisticated as she said, he should have guessed that he was being picked up. Or maybe older men found it so pleasant to be noticed by prime pieces that he didn't mind a bit of manipulation.
His name was Edmund, though he'd become Ned by the second sentence recounting their poolside chatter, and he was in his middle forties, quite wealthy and a yachtsman of note. Her initial guesses had been pretty accurate, she was delighted to advise, and apparently he found her as attractive as she found him, for by the next page he'd taken her out to his sloop for an afternoon's sailing.
With her newfound savoir-faire Jill managed to slip off her bikini as soon as they were at sea, and Ned was so impressed by the handsome charms sht revealed to him that he immediately dropped anchor and fucked her buns off on the deck of his boat. He had a marvelous body, a tool nearly twelve inches long, and tremendous staying power. I read with admiration her paragraphs describing how she'd sucked him to orgasm after orgasm, her mouth dripping with his copious floods of hot cum. But that wasn't all. He'd flipped her onto her belly, wedged her legs open with his knees, and descended from behind to see his semen-sticky pecker up her twat in one shuddering insertion that seemed dangerously close to ripping her womb asunder. She actually felt the tip of his rod fucking into her uterus. Words alone were inadequate to express her intensity of feeling, and she used nineteen underscores and nearly a hundred exclamation points through the narrative. Except that it was happening to a friend, a very dear, very close friend, it reminded me just a little of the passages of some of the porno novels we used to read aloud to one another.
She came in torrents, moaning and whining and beating her fists on the polished deck of the sloop. I stroked myself as I read, knowing how she felt when the orgasmic explosion rocked her body, for hadn't I just experienced the same thing myself? Well, almost the same thing, and I was sure that it was close enough.
Ned was obviously very impressed by her sexual responses, for that night he took her to dinner, then to his private cabana on the hotel grounds. Jill's parents were still away and she accepted his invitation to stay the night. A night of apparent ecstasy. She described it in bursts of fiery prose, every stream of consciousness, drifting from fuck to suck to – good Lord! She even let him stick it up her ass? I shivered as I read that paragraph over twice, strumming myself furiously even as I doubted my own ability to perform that particular act. My finger slid into the crack of my butt and stroked tentatively at the super-tight back hole. I dug curiously, but I didn't even try to stick myself there. Unh-uh, I thought. Not for me. No matter how much Jill grooved on being buggered.
There was more, but she'd finished the hot parts and I put the letter down. Hmmmm, I pondered. Maybe she had a point. Didn't it stand to reason that a mature male would know a lot more about sex than some boy wet behind the ears? God, Rocky was in my class at school.
But nothing serious. I wasn't damaged, just deflowered. So what was next? Well, Jill was charting a pretty good course for me. I'd be foolish to ignore it. We'd have some far-out things to talk about in the future, especially once I'd gone out and tried a man on for size just like she'd done. And why not tomorrow?