Gail Culver was late for the weekend party, although through no fault of her own. One of her smaller tables of guests had been very late in arriving to the dinning room for their evening meal, arriving almost at the last minute, and she had been forced to remain behind while they settled into their chairs and ate their meals. Naturally, because they were late and she was in a hurry, they each had wanted all four courses, from soup to dessert, with extra cups of coffee, and they ate with an inexorable slowness that nearly drove her up a wall. She had no choice, really, but to wait patiently while they talked and ate, dropped their utensils, and asked her to explain some of the mysterious names Shangri-la's chef used to disguise some very commonplace food Throughout her grinding ordeal, Gail had smiled plastically at them, the corners of her lips almost tacked up in a perpetually pleasant grin, knowing full-well that it was terribly important to leave her guests with a good impression with them, especially this late into the weekend.
Tomorrow would be their last day at the Lodge, and she would be receiving a new batch of arriving guests to take their place. Sunday was the day when the departing guests would leave their tips to her for having served them their meals all week long. Past experience taught her a simple rule: the better her tables liked her, the bigger tip they would leave her. It was well worth the few extra moments of attention to insure that she did nothing to upset them. The cards on the tables left by the management suggested a tip of five dollars a day, per couple, and some of her tables had as many as four or five couples at them. For Gail, that could mean up to fifty dollars a table, just for the weekend, if she played her cards right. It was too late in the season, and she wasn't about to screw up now, not with the summer almost over, and her tuition money almost all secured.
While she waited for them to complete their meal, Gail busied herself in setting up her tables for the Sunday morning breakfast. She put out the glasses and the flatware, the plates and the linen, and made sure the plastic flowers on each table were arranged as tastefully as possible.
They finished finally, and she bid them good night, and hoped they would have a pleasant evening. They were hardly out of the dining room door, when she had dumped all their soiled dishes and utensils into a serving tray, hoisted it up on her shoulder with a steady technique she had perfected over the course of the summer, and was on her way into the kitchen where she would leave the mess for the kitchen help. She scurried back into the dining room, stripped the soiled linen from the tables, replaced it with fresh cloths, and completed her set-up for the following morning. Her time was her own now.
That pleased her, and she couldn't help but smile as she made her way toward her cottage. Freedom was a new experience to the eighteen year old girl, and she savored it like a connoisseur. The most important choice she had ever made in her young life had been the decision to go away to college rather than to stay home with her parents and go to a local school. Her second most important decision came when she decided to take this job as a waitress at Mount Shangri-la Lodge for the summer. She never knew what it was to be responsible for herself until she had gotten away. Now that she knew, she was filled with a confidence and a self-assurance she had never had before. She was handling her own life, all aspects of it, and that made her feel all right. It made her feel mature. It made her feel like an adult.
Well, damnit, she was grownup, she told herself. She lived alone with three other girls, had her own money, was paying her own tuition at college, and was free to do what she wanted, when she wanted, without any interference from anyone. Hell, some of her girl friends were even living with their boy friends. She, of course, hadn't gone that far, but there was a certain amount of security in knowing that she could have, if she'd wanted to. It's not that she was a prude or anything-Christ, she hadn't been a virgin for almost a year now! – and she did sleep around when she met a boy who attracted her, but it somehow made her feel virtuous not to live with a man, especially now, why she could have done so with no effort at all. There was something very mature in not giving in to that easy temptation. It was almost as if she looked down with distain at those who had given in, and she considered them something less than women. And Gail Culver, above everything else, considered herself a woman.
She rang the doorbell at her cottage, but didn't ex. pest a response. It was late, and the party was probably in full swing over at Peggy's place. When no one answered her ring, she inserted her key into the lock, opening the door.
Mary, one of her roommates, had left her a note and pinned it to her pillow. Gail picked up and read it carefully, shaking her head with patient exasperation. It was a love letter from Mary. For the past two months, Mary was into a Lesbian thing. The letter expressed her undying devotion to Gail, and that she ferverently prayed that Gail would one day reconsider her position, and take Mary again as her permanent lover.
Gail crumpled the note and tossed it with a overhead hook-shot into the wastepaper basket that separated Mary's bed from hers. She felt very cool and sophisticated about the way she had handled Mary. Gail had no guilt about her brief dabbling into Lesbianism with Mary. Rather, she was proud of it in a strange way, and would find herself boasting about it to anyone who might be interested in listening. She had considered it a normal part of maturing, and had gone into the affair with her eyes wide open. She was, after all, a woman, and how could one be a complete woman if she knew nothing at all about the mystical kinship which all women shared. Many of her women friends who worked with her at the Lodge had, in fact, experimented similarly, and after ward they had gotten together for weekly women's rap-sessions in which they had long, beautiful, philosophical discussions concerning the university or their experiences.
Very few of the women, really, were actually into Lesbianism as a way of life; probably not even Mary was an out-and-out dyke. But it was good to know that if she wanted to, Gail Culver could have an affair with any woman she knew, and not have to suffer any of the guilt or the social stigma which a malechauvanist society normally attaches to it. And that, in her opinion, was a very healthy way to live her life.
Besides, Gail thought kittenishly, stripping off her uniform and dropping it on her bed, she liked cocks too much for her to ever become a Lesbian on a fulltime basis. She just loved the way that cocks made her feel. She loved to feel them in her cunt, between her breasts, and in her hands. And God, did she ever love to give head! No, no, Gail Culver was definitely heterosexual.
Thinking about cocks was beginning to make her wet, and that made her angry. For a moment she vented her frustration in a breathless string of silent curses directed at that inconsiderate table that had made her late for the party at Peggy's. Being late for the weekend party meant that everyone had probably been paired off by now, and that she would have to take potluck with whomever was left. Which meant she would be stuck with either Gary or Robert, or maybe even Mary if she hadn't convinced some other chick to be her weekend lover. Certainly George would be gone by this time.
The thought of George and his enormous cock made Gail want to grab her pussy and start playing. Only the awareness of what would follow later in the evening prevented her from actually doing so. Even Gary or Robert's small, measly cocks would be better than her fingers.
But George, damnit! she continued to think. Christ, he makes her hot. He had the biggest goddamn cock she or any of her women friends had ever seen. And he knew what to do with it; he was a regular fucking machine! In mock tribute to his massive size and spectacular technique, the girls had even proposed a mythical epitaph for his tombstone:
"Here Lies George Joseph Franklin. He Was Good In Bed."
Fondly, Gail recalled the night she made it with George. It bad been one of her first weekends at the lodge, and George had taken a liking to her. She had been assured by her new friends that this was quite an honor for a new member of the group to make it with him. Timidly, she had gone off with him and had gotten the fucking of her life. He put his thing in her, and she was coming all over him not thirty seconds later. And she kept on coming and coming and coming, not matter where his put his cock. He fucked her like a berserk pile-driver, ramming his cock in and out of her pussy so furiously, she walked bowlegged for the following two days. He was so long and so wide, she could barely get half of him into her mouth. She had to suck the top half of his cock, and jerk off the bottom half. Christ!
She pulled her hands out of her panties again, shaking her head, trying to dislodge her wicked thoughts.
I'd better get going, she told herself, realizing that she was wasting precious fucking time. Hell, if she was very late, she might not be left with anyone. And then what would she do?
Gail continued to undress, standing before the full length mirror on the inside door of her closet. She was a medium-sized girl, with firm youthful breasts that were remarkably large for her age. She pulled her bra down and unhooked it, hefting her boobs in both hands, fondling the supple firmness between her fingers. Her nipples were long and thin and brown, and she tweaked them sensually between her fingers. She licked her thumb and index finger, and spread the moisture across her breast tips. When that wasn't erotic enough of a sensation, she pulled the tit up, and, watching herself in the mirror, licked the nipple with her flittering pink tongue.
She had short-cropped brown hair, large innocent brown eyes, and a scattering of freckles across her nose that a tan hadn't hidden, only accentuated. Her waist was flat and lean, and, if she held her breath, she could just about get her fingers around it. She liked having a small waist because of the way it looked, but mostly because it made her tits seem bigger than they really were, which was large to begin with. She was wearing, a pair of light green panties, and she could just about see the dark triangle of her pubis through the material if she flattened her hands below the elastic. She peeled them down slowly across her wide, flaring hips, watching with growing excitement as her cunt was exposed.
Her legs were long and strong, and when she was out of her panties, Gail practiced posing naked in front of the mirror. She had a firm, well-shaped ass, and was quite hairy between her thighs. Not quite so hairy as jenny Bauer, and certainly not shaved naked like Mayella, but enough hair to give her a good looking, sexy cunt.
Tempted by her naked body, Gail pulled a straight-back chair over to the mirror, and sat in it, looking at her naked reflection. She sat studying herself, parting her thighs, and slumping down in the chair. She was fascinated by her cuntlips and -her clitoris. She enjoyed watching the lips pulling wetly open when she spread her legs all the way out. She tried different positions, like putting her legs up and the edge of the chair, and squatting forward, opening the lips with her fingers. The slash between her furry lips was a deep wet-looking red, and the entrance hole of her cunt was pinkish, reminding her of a tiny mouth, opening and closing, drooling wetness.
When she began testing how tight and wet she was inside by pushing her middle finger in and out of the bole of her cunt while she was watching it in the mirror, Gail Culver knew it was time for her shower. If she didn't stop, it would have been too easy not to, and she would be coming like a nympho. So she pulled her finger out, sniffed at her wetness, and turned on her shower.
While the water was running, Gail decided she wanted to smoke a joint. Leaving the bathroom, she went into the bedroom and took a joint, a book of matches and a roach clip from their collective stash in the top drawer of their dresser. That was another benefit of living by yourself, without the adult world.
The three girls, Mary, Gail and Janis shared their grass equally. They bought it together, they took turns in rolling it and there were no regulations about using it. Whenever they wanted, as Gail wanted now, they would go over to the stash, take what they want, and no questions would be asked. Moderation was expected, but it wasn't insisted upon. The arrangement, Gail felt, was a very sophisticated, democratic one, and she, personally, was quite proud to be a part of such a civilized relationship.
Switching on the stereo, relaxing for a moment, Gail lit the joint, smoking it deeply and slowly, savoring the pleasure it gave her. Next to sex, Gail liked grass best. In her opinion, it was a stupid fucking middle class society that made something so good, illegal. She had faith, however, in her generation, and knew secretly that some progressive-thinking legislator would sooner or later get around to legalizing pot, and then the rest of America could know the happy-stone of a grass high.
She smoked the joint down until she couldn't hold it any longer, and then she held in with the roach clip. She took long, deep drags, filling her lungs with the harsh, bitter smoke, until the joint was nothing more than a powdery white ash, and she was pleasantly stoned.
With the music blaring loudly, marching to her own internal music, Gail made her way back into the bathroom, and into, her shower. The water was luxuriously hot, and she really got into soaping herself up and standing under the spray to wash it off again. She did this several times, halting finally, when her skin began to ache from so much rubbing, and from the hot sting of the near-scalding water.
Drying herself was dangerous because, being zonked, she began to get carried away with cleaning her pussy. She rubbed the soft terry towel over the furry mound of her cunt, between her lips, cleaning out the inside of her cunthole by inserting a finger with the edge of the towel. The sensation was so pleasurable that Gail completely forgot about drying herself, and stood there, swaying gently back and forth, drilling a finger from each hand in and out of her box. Several times she brought herself to the threshold of orgasm, but fortunately she had enough foresight not to cross it. By the time she decided to stop with her playing, the inside of her thighs were coated with her sticky discharge, and she had to wash her cunt and hands all over again.
By the time she was getting dressed, her high had mellowed out, and she was coming down pleasantly. The edges of her awareness were blurred nicely, and the world seemed to be a very nice place to live in indeed. Gail donned her usual weekend uniform: a pair of faded jeans, a loose-fitting sweater without a bra, and her latest pair of outrageous platform heels. Satisfied with her reflection in the mirror, Gail took a handful of joints from the stash, and headed finally for Peggy's place.
The party was going full blast when she arrived. Gail had to lean on the bell and pound at the door with her fist to get their attention inside. The music was loud and screechy, and she heard it three cottages away. When the door did part, admitting her, there was enough marijuana smoke in the air. to give her a contact-high so intense it would have taken a week to come down from it. So, naturally, the first thing she did was light another joint, pour herself a glass of wine, and search through the rooms for some action.
"Hey, Gail!" Mayella called to her from the other end of a crowded room. She wove her way toward her, her blonde-haired head bobbing. uncertainly through the dancing cluster of young people. "Where ya been?"
Gail shrugged. "I just got here. I had a late table, and it fucked everything up for me tonight. Jeez, I hate a late table on a weekend night."
"Yeah," Mayella commiserated, "I know how you feel. That happened to me once; it's a real drag."
"How're things going here?" Gail inquired. "Are you 'with anybody?"
"Yeah. I kind of hooked up with Alan Berman."
Gail looked around. "That's not bad. Alan's a nice guy. Where is he, by the way?"
"Oh, he had to go and meet a friend of his. He'll be back in a little while." She held up a smoldering joint between her fingers. "So, in the meantime, while I'm waiting, I'm kind of getting in the mood."
"I hope his friend is not a chick," Gail kidded, "or that's all you're going to wind up with tonight. It looks kind of crowded."
"No, it's no chick," Mayella assured her. "A friend of his from college, coming up for the weekend. I amp;Ink he said his name was Pete."
"Pete with the peter, I hope," Gail joked. "You've got to introduce me when he gets here. Doesn't look like there's too many free men around."
"There ain't. But I thought you were into chicks?"
Gail sucked hard on her joint. "Who told you that?"
"Mary."
"That's bullshit. I mean, I made it with Mary a couple of times, and now she's coming on strong. I'm going to have to set her head straight before this gets out of hand."
"I know what you mean," Mayella said, nodding.
"Hey, what about George? Who's he with?"
"Ha, lots of luck. He's long gone. With Louise again."
"Again?" Gail looked disgusted. "What the hell does he see in her? She's a bitch."
"I think he's in love with her," Gail was told. "Either that or he's fucking her up the ass."
"Uhhh, with a cock like his, that must be painful. Better her than me. I could barely get him into my cunt, he's so fucking huge."
Mayella made a sound as if she were clearing her throat. "Well, at least some of us have known that pleasure, while others of us-namely me-haven't been all that fortunate."
Gail felt a sudden throb of pride, and she used it to beat against her friend's ego. "Oh, yeah," she said, pretending surprise, "you've never made it with George, have you? Thai's a shame. You don't know what you're missing. You've got to try him before the summer is over, or you're going to kick yourself for the rest of your life. There's just-not that many cocks like his available in this world."
"Don't I know it!" Mayella groaned. "Christ, I'd like nothing better than to fuck myself all over his cock. I just can't get him to say yes." She took a deep drag on her joint, a thoughtful look coming over her pretty face. "Why do you think he feels that way about me?"
"Maybe he don't like shaved pussies," Gail suggested cattily. She laughed and turned it into a joke, but there was more than a little barb in her intent. "Why don't you let your cunt hair grow out?"
"Ha, ha. Very funny. Bitch."
"No, really, May. Why do you shave your pussy? Something to do with hygiene or something?"
Mayella looked around for eavesdroppers. She beckoned Gail in closer to her. "If I tell you, will you promise never to tell anyone?"
"Of course," Gail lied, desperate to learn her secret. "You should know better than to even have to ask me such a question. It's almost insulting."
"Do you promise?"
Gail exhaled tightly. "Jesus Christ. I promise."
"I shave my cunt," Mayella whispered, "because I find it a turn on. I'm basically a voyeur, and nothing turns me on as much as watching myself getting fucked. With all that hair it's hard to see. So I shaved it off, and I've got a clear, unhindered view of my cunt. Christ, I can watch those cocks going in and out of me all day long… the lips going up and down around the sides of a joint… getting it all wet -?'
"Jesus," Gail said with a sudden shudder. "Stop it. You're turning me on already. You've almost got me convinced to shave my own snatch."
Mayella shrugged philosophically. "Try it," she suggested. "You'll like it!"
Gail put her hand up to silence her friend. "Hey, listen for a second. Was that the bell?"
Mayella screwed her face down in concentration. "Yeah, I think it was."
"Well, let's go sister. That might be Alan with his friend. We'd better hurry before some other lonely chick gets there before us, and we're both out a man."
It was Alan at the door, and Mayella greeted him with a wet, slobbery kiss. Standing behind him, in the shadow of the door, looking confused and uncomfortable, stood his friend, Peter. He was tall and slender, beardless, wearing faded jeans, a work shirt, and a stained leather vest.
"Hi," Gail said, greeting him. "You must be Peter."
He smiled tentatively. "Yes, I am. I… ah -"
"Well, my name is Gail, and before the night is over I'm going. to suck your cock!"
Peter's brown eyes widened in stunned surprise. But that was nothing compared to the surprise he felt a little later on when she actually did it to him.