The Awesome Summer

by Varkel

Winter, 2009-2010

Chapter 1: Orgy to Start

“Holy shit!  What’s that doing here?”

The incredulous baritone belonged to Creight, short for Creighton.  He had turned 13 in the spring and now in midsummer was beginning to grow into adult height and muscularity.  He wore his blond hair short above blue eyes that tried to notice everything.  A few straggly hairs appeared on his chin at the appropriate angle of light.  Wearing T-shirt, shorts and sneakers, he was the first of the threesome who rounded the curve in the half-overgrown macadam road and discovered a three-quarter ton truck parked athwart their intended path through the bushes.  It was painted dull gray, doors marked Property of U S Coast Guard, and well maintained.  A military vehicle, the open bed contained bench seats for personnel.

Creight had stopped dead and Dave, short for Davis, had bumped into him before stepping back and peering around the taller body.  Dave was 12, several months short of coveted teenage, half a head shorter than Creight.  His eyes were brown and his black hair was shoulder length.  Aside from knobby knees, his body was sleek with undefined muscles, covered in T-shirt, shorts and sneakers similar to Creight.  An aluminum ball bat sat on his shoulder, dangling a ball glove, and his other hand held the softball.

Julie, which she claimed was “better than Julia,” was a few steps behind the boys, far enough to halt before bumping them.  At a recent 13, she had an oval face already pretty, blue eyes and dark brown hair halfway down her back, blowing in the breeze.  When it covered her face, she snapped it away with a jerk of the head.  Her slim body, clothed in a tank-top with bare midriff, short-shorts and pink sneakers, was ripening swiftly into womanhood’s discernible breasts, unmistakable nipples and prominent buttocks.  She was an inch or two shorter than Dave and willing to guess with disdain, “Somebody’s using our ball field!”

The threesome stood atop the ridge that formed the backbone of Seaward Island, the tip of an underwater mountain 20 miles off the coast of Maine.  Above water it was three miles long north to south and one and a half west to east, divided by a middle ridge running north and south that reached a peak of 100 feet.  East of the ridge were only gnarled bushes, a few wind-deformed trees and no human construction.  A large clearing, to which Julie had referred, lay between the ridge and Seaward Point, a cliff face standing 80 feet above the ocean to the east.  West of the ridge, protected from the worst of the winds, the land was heavily wooded, sloping gradually down to the sea, forming a half-moon harbor.  A dock and several buildings stood around it: the Seaward Coast Guard Station.  Julie’s father, Lt. Arnold Partridge, was the commandant.

A road from station to ridge-top, now largely overgrown, had been paved during WWII to ease access for submarine spotters.  If the threesome should turn around, they could see over the low treetops to the circling white buildings, the dock and the blue sea beyond, laced with whitecaps to the horizon.  A strong on-shore breeze was blowing, ruffling even Creight’s short hair.  The sky was bright blue with a few puffy clouds here and there scudding northeastward despite the westerly wind at the surface.  The sun stood an hour past high noon.

“Let’s find out,” said Dave.

“But don’t let them see us,” added Julie.  All three had been ordered to keep west of the ridge for reasons of safety, a restraint ignored for years but still in force.

Creight led the way around the truck and onto the path winding east through tall shrubs.  They followed him single-file: Dave then Julie, bent low and walking silently between wind-twisted, head-high bushes.  As they approached the clearing, the wind carried voices and a peal of laughter.

Julie observed, “That sounds like a woman!”

Creight looked puzzled.  “Some kind of a lawn party?”

The girl’s curiosity intensified.  She shoved Creight gently.  “Lead on!”

Further along the path the shrubs shrank away to wire-grass where the clearing began, forming a 200-yard rough circle of grass partly stomped down from the threesome’s play.  Seagulls liked to nest there, presumably safe from wingless predators.  For several years the threesome had cleaned out the nests every spring.

They came to a halt and took concealment behind the last tall bush.  Halfway into the sunny clearing, perhaps 100 yards away, someone had spread blankets.  People sat upon them: a woman with a ponytail of long blonde hair, wearing shorts and halter, her knees drawn up facing the watchers, and five men in Coast Guard work uniforms, seated with their backs turned.  A picnic basket sat open to one side, surrounded by a litter of sandwich wrappers and beer bottles.

“That’s Ruby Klieger,” Julie said positively.

Creight said indignantly, “But she’s an officer’s wife!”

Dave squinted.  “I don’t see Lt. Klieger.”

“He’s not here!” Julie declared disdainfully.  “He left in the chopper before lunch.  You know what she’s doing, don’t you?”

“Having a picnic?”

“And breaking the non-fraternization rule.”

“Oh, wow!  That’s a big no-no.”

“Hush!” ordered Creight.  “Let’s hear what they’re saying.”

The steady wind rustled the leaves of their bush and garbled the distant voices but delivered them still comprehensible to young ears.

The woman pointed to one of the men.  “You’re the new recruit.”  She grinned.  “Are you even 18?  What’s your name?”

With his back turned his reply was indistinct.

She continued, “Pleased to meet you, Honiker.  And I’ll make sure you’re pleased to meet me.  Your cock’s gonna be first.”  She grinned around at the others.  “Fresh meat!”

Two or three men shouted, “Go, Honiker!”  The woman’s giggle mixed with their laughter.

Then her expression turned serious.  “Honiker, you know you can’t talk about this.  You’ll get a court-martial if you do.”

When he apparently responded satisfactorily, she commanded, “Take off your clothes.”  Her arms reached behind her and the halter fell open.

Julie asked in wonder, “What’d she say was fir—”  The question turned into a gasp when the woman snatched her halter away and two bounteous breasts tumbled forth, crowned with large pink nipples, glaring white skin emphasized between the well tanned chest and rounded belly.  The men raised an inarticulate cheer.

“What’s she doing?” asked Dave in awe.

“Airing her tits,” suggested Creight.  “God, what a rack!”

“But … but …” Julie stammered, eyes wide.  “She’s with men!”

The woman rolled up onto her knees then fell back while slipping her shorts down over her bare feet.  She threw the clothing aside and opened her legs, baring a hairless female complexity, labia gaping, more pink than white between tanned belly and thighs.

“And her pussy,” added Creight.

“Wow!” repeated Dave.  “B-but … don’t women have hair there?”

With evident disgust Julie declared, “Yes, they do: lots of it.  My aunt says only sluts shave it bare.”

“What’re sluts?” asked Dave.

Honiker had removed the uniform but paused in his underwear to lay it neatly in the grass.  When he turned back, stepping out of his shorts, the woman rose on her knees in front of him.  Her arms encircled his buttocks, which trembled noticeably.  Again the men cheered.

Dave craned his neck.  “What’s she doing?”

He started to slip around the bush but Julie caught him and pulled him back.  “Don’t you dare let them see us!”

The lad submitted reluctantly but repeated, “So what’s she doing?”

“I’m … not sure,” said the girl.

Creight murmured, “The guys at school talk about …  She might be jerking him off.”

Julie regarded him strangely.  “What do you mean?”

“No, her arms are around his butt.  She must be sucking his cock.”

“Sucking?” Julie repeated.  “You mean in her mouth?”

Creight chuckled.  “What else can you suck with?”

“Yuck!”

A louder cheer sounded.  Honiker stumbled away, allowing a brief glimpse of his erect manhood.  The woman’s wet mouth was revealed.  She licked her lips and grinned proudly.  “Finish undressing, Smitty, and come on.”

Julie’s mouth fell open.  “She did suck him!”

Creight’s tone was similarly astonished but contained a deeper note.  “Sucked the come right out of him!”

Julie blinked.  “The what?”

“You remember in sex ed.  They called it semen.”

“Oh.  You mean …  Semen is supposed to be white.”

Creight chuckled.  “I bet she swallowed most of that.”

The girl gagged audibly.  “That’s worth three yucks.  Maybe ten.”

Following none of the exchange, Dave repeated, “What’re sluts?”

Smitty had approached the woman more from the side.  She took the entirety of his half-erection into her mouth but after a few head bobs much of the shaft was re-exposed.  At each bob a hollow formed in her cheek.

“She really is …” breathed Julie.

“Sucking his cock,” Creight finished for her.  “I told you.”

“But … why is she doing it?  Why does he let her?”

Creight shook his head.  “I don’t know her why, but I can guess his.  It’s making me feel funny, like … when …”  His hand slid beneath his waistband into his shorts.

“Me too!” Dave declared stoutly.

“Feel funny?” repeated Julie, looking askance at Creight’s gently rippling shorts.  “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.”  Creight turned aside from her but his elbow continued to twitch.

In the clearing Smitty seemed to strain, having thrust his hips forward, with most of his cock buried in the woman’s face.  “Oh god!” he cried loudly and jerked himself clear of her.  A final white squirt struck her forehead.  Around him the men cheered loudly.

The woman’s long neck pulsed as she swallowed.  She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand then licked the back clean.  “Damn it, Smitty,” she complained, mediating the sting with a smile, “don’t you know how to jack off?  That load nearly strangled me.”

“I saved it for you,” said the man, who had sagged to a sitting position, returning her smile.  “You know you love to taste it.”

“Well, thank you, I guess.  You’re right about that: I do.”  She rose lithely to her feet, heavy breasts swaying, the personification of voluptuous pulchritude, and regarded the standing men, who aside from their shoes were now naked as she.

Julie said wonderingly, “She loves to taste it!”  Her eyes flashed at Creight.  “What’s it taste like?”

He flushed and looked away.

“Okay,” said the woman in business-like tones.  “While the quick poppers are resting, how about you guys?  Looks like you’re about ready.  What do you say, Joey?”

“Miss Ruby, I’m ready to slip right up your sweet ass,” said Joey with a pronounced southern accent.  This was the largest of the five men, well built and muscular.  He stretched out backwards on the blankets with his long cock standing straight up, his feet toward the watchers.

The woman rummaged in her bag and produced a small pot.  She knelt and with two fingers gouged out a greasy paste, applying it liberally to Joey’s stiff-stander.  She transferred another gouge to her own anus.

Julie murmured, “Tell me she’s not going to …”

“Stick him up her asshole?” said Creight.  “Sure looks like it.”

“Was nothing about this in sex ed!”

“What’ll the other two do?” asked Dave.

Creight shrugged.  “Guess they take turns, like with the cock sucking.”

The woman crouched over the man, facing forward, and settled gingerly upon his organ.  After a moment she leaned back on extended arms, grinned at her circle of admirers and opened her legs.  The cockhead had vanished beneath her pussy.  A few hip bounces settled it deeper.

“Good god!” murmured Julie.  “I can’t believe my eyes.”

“Okay, Krowzovich,” ordered the woman, “you’re in the middle.”

The fourth man knelt between two sets of spread legs and sagged forward.  The watching threesome clearly saw his vaginal penetration, guided by the woman’s white hand.  His body settled to the left, while the woman’s torso twisted to the right, still supported by one arm, revealing a man’s large hand, probably Joey’s, clutching one of the full breasts.

“Come on, Meyer, fill the last hole.  And guys, I want some real action.”

The fifth man straddled the three bodies beneath him and presented himself to the woman.  Her free arm encircled his buttocks.  The foursome soon developed a rhythm, the man in her vagina being most vigorous.  The first two men lay nearby, watching intently on raised elbows, cocks in hands.  The woman hummed nasally, growing gradually louder.

“Three men!” murmured Julie in disbelief.

“At once!” added Creight.  “The guys at school … I think they call that a sandwich.”

“And she’s the meat?” Dave guessed.

“What about the one she’s sucking?” asked Julie.

Creight giggled.  “The cherry on top?  It looks something like that, you know.  Well, a plum anyway.”

“No, I don’t know.  What does?”

“A dickhead.”

“Really?  What are you doing to yours?”

Dave sniffed.  “He’s jerking off.”

“Shut up!” ordered Creight, withdrawing his hand.  His face was red.

“What’s wrong?” asked Julie with real concern.  This was her third summer as the tomboy in this threesome.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Creight pronounced, turning completely away from her but careful not to lose sight of the distant action, which continued as before.

“What’d’you mean, Dave?” said Julie.

“You know: jerking off.”

“No, I don’t.”

Dave studied her narrowly.  Suddenly he stripped his shorts down to his knees, took hold of the flaccid little cock and jiggled it in his fist.  “Like this,” he said definitively: “jerking off.”

She stared at his smug expression and his pumping hand.  This was not her first view of that article.  The previous year they had played “doctor,” which had inevitably led to mutual exhibition.  She had been secretly fascinated at the difference in skin over the two cocks and after studying anatomy on the web at school, learned that Creight’s organ had been “circumcised” while Dave’s had not.  Neither lad knew a reason for the difference.

“What’s the ‘off?’” she asked.  “You don’t really rip …”

“Rip it off?”  The lad giggled.  “It almost feels like it sometimes.  But no, the ‘off’ is when it comes.”

“Makes semen?  You can do it this way?”

“Creight can.  I guess I’m still too young.”

“I told you to shut up,” Creight whispered fiercely, shoving Dave to one side.  Julie again caught the stumbling lad before he could fall beyond their bush.

“Cut that out, you dummy!” she ordered in a low voice.  “They’ll see us.”

“Huh!” Creight sneered.  “They’re not looking this way.  Pull your pants up.”

Dave grinned proudly.  “Julie likes to see my dick.  Look, it’s getting hard.”

“No, I don’t!” she declared automatically, but the lad was right: his organ was definitely enlarged.  “Oh, I remember that.  You’re getting … uh, an erection.”

“A hard-on,” said the boy complacently.

“What causes it?”

“Jerking on it.”

Creight added, “And watching people fuck.”

Julie straightened.  “That’s a bad word.  You better pull your pants up in case we have to run.”

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” pronounced Creight defiantly.  “So what?”

Dave drew up his shorts.

Someone in the clearing yelled, “I gotta let go!”

The threesome watched in fascination, but nothing happened immediately.  At last Krowzovich, the man in the middle, withdrew and flopped to the side on his back, chest rising and falling.  He raised his head toward Honiker, obviously the youngest of the six.  “Your turn if you want it.”

Honiker rose slowly to his feet and shuffled forward to stand between the spread legs.

“Go ahead: shove it in.”

Honiker said something that caused Krowzovich to laugh.  “Yeah,” he said scornfully, “full at both ends.  So what?  It’s just like grease.”

Again Honiker demurred.

Krowzovich sniffed.  “She ain’t got no disease or the whole station ’ould have it.  Smitty, I think our new boy is chicken.”

Honiker straightened and said something else.  Apparently in response Meyer, the last to submit to Miss Ruby, backed away.  “Nevermind,” he said over his shoulder.  “She’s already bit me twice.”  He grinned.  “No teeth in a pussy.”

He sagged upon the woman.  Again her hand guided him quickly.  Now her glittering eyes and open mouth were exposed.  Face and shoulders were flushed and gleaming with perspiration.  She explained, “That’s because I already had two big ones.  Now I can concentrate.  Oh god, that feels so good!  Come on, Meyer, bang it hard!”

She sagged backwards onto the bottom man’s chest.  Her sweaty legs rose to encircle Meyer’s plunging buttocks.  In the bright sunlight pink flesh worked around the two alternating cocks.

The threesome studied the new configuration.  Dave murmured, “God, I wonder how that feels.”

Creight sniffed, “You’ll never know.”

“Julie might.”

The girl licked her lips but noticed both boys studying her speculatively.  She felt a flicker of alarm and stepped back.  “No, I won’t either.  What …”  She thought of a question.  “Why did Honiker stop?”

Creight shook his head.  “Maybe ’cause he’s already come.”

“You mean … a guy has to wait?”

“Not have to.  But it’s not as much fun if you don’t.”

In the clearing the woman’s voice rose sharply.  “Oh god, oh god!  Fuck me, you sweet dicked bastards, fuck me hard!”  A drawn-out scream followed the last word.

“She really is a slut,” Julie pronounced.

“She’s coming,” said Creight in awe, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

“She likes it,” agreed Dave.

Now the woman had fallen silent.  Smitty was grinning at Krowzovich.  His voice drifted to the watchers.  “That’s why it’s better up here.  When she starts carrying on, she attracts the whole station.”

Krowzovich nodded.  “It’s amazing to me that Mr. Klieger never figured out what she is.”

Honiker, now squatting nearby, said, “What’s that?”

“They used to call ’em ‘nymphos:’ a bimbo that just can’t get enough.  Lucky for us.”  His eyes narrowed.  “Kid, when your number comes up again, you better crawl back on her or else you’re gonna have trouble in the barracks.”

“Trouble?”

“Yeah.  Everybody’s gonna worry you might rat.”

Honiker’s bare chest heaved in a sigh.  “All right, I will.”

“Well, pull on that pud.  You can’t do any good if it ain’t hard.”

The woman began to moan, contralto tones emitted to the rhythm of Meyer’s hips.

Behind the bush Dave asked, “Can she come again so soon?”

Creight glanced around.  “What about it, Julie?”

“I don’t know!  How does a woman come?”

“You don’t jerk off?  The guys at school —”

“You mean you don’t remember?” she demanded.

“What?”

“I don’t have a dick!”

“You got a clit, don’t you?  The guys say that’s how a girl jerks off.”

“A clit?” Dave repeated.

Both boys were staring at her.  Suddenly it was too much.  “This whole thing sucks,” she declared, stepping back.  “I’m going home.”  She turned and marched resolutely away.

Dave caught up with her.  “What’s wrong, Julie?”

“I don’t like being made to feel different.”

“But you are!  You’re a girl.”

“Everybody says that shouldn’t make any difference.”

Dave paused, watching her stalk away up the path, realizing that it never had before, no more than a few appropriate comments on the one delicious occasion last summer when they had inspected each other’s privates.  He perceived dimly that the scene just witnessed could have an unfathomable effect upon their long friendship, especially if it embarrassed Julie for some reason.

Hey, that scene was ongoing!  He whirled around, rejoined his friend behind the last large bush and grinned to see that the older boy, having dropped his shorts, was gently and openly pumping his cock.

Dave found a peephole between leaves.  In the clearing Meyer’s hips were pounding away and the woman was ululating between intelligible cries of “Fuck me, fuck me!”

Dave dropped his own shorts.  Soon his smaller cock was hard as Creight’s.

* * *

Charles Cramer, known to his friends as “Pongo,” pulled a large, wheeled suitcase along the paved road toward his uncle’s house.  The small ferry that had deposited him on the Seaward Island dock was already returning to the mainland.  The Coast Guard cutter in which Uncle Arnie had taken him to sea last summer was not present.  This was not surprising; the boat was usually out on patrol.  As he walked a military helicopter lifted from the heliport in front of the stationhouse.  Other than the flying machine he saw no other activity.

The twenty-one year old junior from Ohio State had arrived for a few days of fishing, an annual event since he had turned sixteen.  He had never sought to stay as long as a week, because, except for the fishing, the small island was utterly boring.  From this island he would go to another relative’s home in Boston, thus the large suitcase.

When he neared uncle’s house, a young girl in tank top, shorts and sneakers jumped from the porch and raced toward him.

“Pongo!” she cried and leapt into his arms, her bare legs encircling his waist.  Her lips struck his own in a glancing, artless kiss.

“Julie!” he exclaimed, staggering then catching her hips and slipping her down to stand on her feet.  “You’ve gained weight.”

“Twenty pounds since last year!  How do I look?”

Pongo admired her as she posed for him.  She was no longer the scrawny girl that he remembered; she had filled out beautifully.  Her limbs were now shapely and smooth.  Small breasts swelled under the bra-less tank top, nipples sharply evident.  If she owned a bra he supposed it would be an “A” cup.

She was growing up, he realized, and was becoming sexy, yet her face was the same as before.  Over the preceding year it had resisted the body’s maturation.  It was still childish, oval and cute as an eleven year old, not synchronized to the body’s teen-age beauty.

“Dad’s on patrol,” she said as she latched onto his suitcase handle.  “He’ll be back in a few days.”

“That chopper wasn’t for your dad?”

“No.  It brought Lt. Klieger back from a meeting.  Too bad it didn’t get here sooner.”

He followed her into the house, not really curious about the helicopter’s timing: some Coast Guard business, he presumed.

He unpacked part of his suitcase in an upstairs bedroom.  When he returned downstairs, he found Julie in the kitchen.  Making sandwiches at the sink, she was faced away from his silent approach.  He admired the budding girl from behind and felt a pleasurable twinge in his cock head.

“I must resist this,” he said to himself.  “Not having been laid in two months is no excuse.”

“So, you’re the mistress of the house,” he said aloud, placing a hand on her right shoulder.

Julie turned her head and grinned up at him.  “Daddy takes every other patrol.  Somebody has to keep house.”

“But that’s not the usual work of a tomboy.  Do your friends know?”

“We don’t talk about that, Pongo, and besides I’m not a tomboy any more.  I’m a teenager now.”

“Yes, I can see that.  You’re well on your way.”

She blushed but smiled at him.

“This island is so small, Julie.  Do you have many friends?”

“I hang out with a couple of guys my age.  There aren’t any older boys, like fifteen or sixteen, and no other girls since Tanya left.”

“I bet you wish there were — more boys, at least!”

Julie shrugged then grinned.  “There’s a new sailor at the base.  He’s seventeen and really cute.”

“Do you think he’ll become your first boyfriend?”

“Ha!  Daddy would shoot him or any other sailor who came on to me, and they know it.”

“Well, of course, you’ve just turned thirteen, Julie.”

“But I am thirteen, Pongo!  I’m a teenager now!”

He wanted to ask her how with no mother’s advice she managed her menstrual periods, but restrained his curiosity somewhat.  “You’ve taken sex-ed, right?”

“Oh, yeah, our school starts it the year you turn thirteen.”

“They have a school here?”

“No, we take the ferry to school on the mainland.  You want any pickle on this sandwich?”

* * *

After supper he strolled into the den, turned on the television news and sat down on the short couch known as a “love seat.”  Shortly Julie plopped down beside him.  Her bare thighs splayed sexily against the cushion.

She leaned against him with a grin.  “Am I too big to kiss this year?”  Her lips were puckered.

Slipping an arm around her slender shoulders, he responded with a real kiss that included touching tongues.  Though she trembled, her tongue pushed in return.  His free hand cupped a small breast.  Evidently that was too much.  She drew back, eyes wide.  “P-Pongo …”

He should not have done that, he realized at once, grinning sheepishly.  “Would you believe I forgot we were cousins?”

“Oh, Pongo!” she breathed, blushing and smiling.  Her hands fluttered and she seemed to be looking inward.  “Oh, wow!”

Although she knew something about sex, he decided, this girl was completely ignorant of men.  She did not understand the extent and possible consequences of male arousal, especially when she was the unwitting cause of it.  But his cock was painfully hard.

She jumped to her feet.  “I just remembered: Creight and Dave are waiting for me.  I’ve got to go!”  Her outthrust chest emphasized the budding breasts.  Unconsciously she posed for a moment.  The tank-top, outgrown, clung tightly to her flesh.  Between it and the top of her shorts a line of soft belly was exposed, including the navel.

He spread his hands, concealing his disappointment.  “Well, if you got to go …”

“Oh, I do.”  She turned away towards the front door, saying over her shoulder, “There’s soda in the fridge.  I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

“Huh!  I need something stronger than that!”

The door slammed behind her.  A few seconds listening to the television convinced him of his total lack of interest in the president’s health plan.  He stood up with an idea and turned off the TV.  Where did Julie sleep?  The master bedroom was on the ground floor.  Probably hers was upstairs adjacent to the guest room.

He ascended and found two other bedrooms, one decorated in a clearly girlish manner.  Its bathroom held a clothes hamper.  In it he found a pair of nylon panties.  Soon he lay naked atop the guest-room bed, hand on his cock, panties draped over his face.

The house was quiet.  With dusk falling even the wind was still.  He masturbated slowly, fantasizing about the coltish girl, imagining her to be lying naked beside him.  He came too soon, groaning and squirting on his flat, hairless belly.  As the thrill subsided, a wave of disgust and remorse overwhelmed him for having used little Julie as his imaginary sex toy.  But his mind’s eye clearly imaged the maturing vagina that had emitted this strong female scent.  Thirty minutes later he whacked off again while breathing the aroma deeply.

Pongo wiped semen from his belly with a towel.  Examining the panties more closely, he found a smear of dried blood in the crotch and a couple of short hairs.  The girl was ripe, he thought, despite her young age and the preadolescent cast of her face.

He played with the softening cock, trying to masturbate one more time, squeezing himself through Julie’s panties.  Sated, finally acknowledging the futility, he got up from the bed to shower.

As he soaped his body he resolved to get drunk that night and forget the girl.  He would go to the enlisted men’s club that also served as a recreation center.  He recalled a few friends among the sailors, men he had met on earlier trips to the island.  He would bring along a DVD, an especially fine porn video that he himself had recorded at a frat party.  It featured two stunning blondes, one male the other female.  The uninhibited actors were eighteen year-old freshmen at his college.

Though last out of the house, he deliberately left it unlocked.  Nobody locked up on Seaward Island.

* * *

The boys were creatures of habit.  As she expected, Julie found them at Dave’s place playing Blazing Angels on the private LAN belonging to CWO Pelcher, Dave’s father.  She watched the game until Creight shot down Dave’s simulated aircraft, the usual conclusion.  She proposed, “Let’s take a walk.”

“Yeah!” agreed Dave, springing up without turning off his Playstation.

“One more game,” Creight countered.  “She just wants to chew us out anyway.”

“I do not!” Julie protested.

“I don’t care,” said Dave; “I’m leaving.”

He and the girl departed, letting the screen door bang behind them.  They turned up the street.  Shortly the door banged again.

The laggard ran to catch up.  Drawing abreast, he said, “Where we going?”

Dave retorted, “Anywhere I don’t have to dodge your tracers.”

Creight giggled.

Dusk was falling but the high latitude sky was still alight.  By habit they left the street on the path to the creek.  The woods were dark but the threesome knew them intimately.

Julie demanded, “Chew you out about what?”

Creight sniffed.  “Here lately you don’t have any trouble finding reasons.”

“I do not!  What happened at the ball field after I left?”

Creight snickered.  “They told us to come out and play roller bat.”

“Wh-what!”

“He’s lying,” sneered Dave.  “It was more of the same.  She made a sandwich, as she put it, with all of them, two at the time.”

“Oh, wow!  Did they give her money?”

“Money?”  Dave blinked.  “What for?”

“Well, why’d she let them do her that way?”

“For love,” guessed Creight cynically.

“Love?”

Dave said, “Me and Creight talked about that.  She really loves it.  We think she was coming just about the whole time, moaning and screaming.  Can yummy mummies do that?”

“‘Yummy mummies!’” Julie repeated contemptuously.  “Where’d you hear that?”

“They call ’em that at school: foxy MILFs.”

Julie’s grunt became a laugh.  “Mothers you’d love to flub?”  Her humor vanished.  “I don’t think Ms. Ruby is a mother.”

“Well, she’s old enough!  But can they?”

“What?”

“Just keep on coming?”

“How the heck should I know?”

She felt their stares but when they failed to pursue the question, she asked, “Do you think Lt. Klieger saw them?”

“Naw,” said Dave.  “They left the ball field long before the chopper landed.”

“They knew his schedule.”

“Why not?” said Creight.  “Everybody else did.”

“Why doesn’t anyone tell him about her?”

“That’s easy.  She’s screwing them all.”

Julie remembered she had some news.  “My cousin Pongo came in on the evening ferry to stay a few days.  He’ll probably take us fishing.”

“Hey, hey!” declared Creight, enthusiasm recovered.

“Think Bakersfield will let us use his boat again?” said Dave.

“Maybe if Julie asks him.”

In the gathering dusk the threesome sat on the boulders lining the creek’s dribble and planned a glorious fishing expedition.  Julie was pleased to have regained her relationship as one of the boys.

*  * * 

Pongo was well received at the enlisted club and beer flowed freely.  In four hours he got thoroughly drunk, although he remained conscious enough to navigate back to his uncle’s house by moonless starlight.

He clattered onto the porch, banged through the front door and fell over a side table in the parlor.  After picking himself up he heard TV voices and noticed light in the den, but sleep was what he needed.  He managed to pull himself upstairs to his room, stripped naked and collapsed onto the bed, which immediately began to rotate.  God, he was wasted!

“Pongo?” Julie called softly from the doorway.  “Are you alright?”

The young man uttered a gurgling groan.

Julie entered cautiously.  The hall light lit the guest room dimly.  A thin, sleeveless nightie draped her torso almost to her knees.  She bent over him to study his face, realized his nakedness, gasped and straightened up.

Her presence seemed to steady the bed.  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her on top of him.  She wriggled away to lie beside him.  He half turned to her and ran a hand from her near knee up under the nightie.

“What are you doing, Pongo?” she demanded.  His breath touched her face.  “You stink, Pongo!  You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

He giggled.  “What do you know about drunks, little girl?”

She well remembered Uncle Joe and Aunt Agnes in the den last year — and Daddy’s remarks after they left.  “I know they don’t act responsibly.”

He sneered.  “Don’t act responsib — sibly!”

The hand under her nightie pressed her groin.  Something round, probably the ball of the thumb, found her clit.  She shivered, amazed at the dart of pleasure.

“P-pongo!  What are you doing to me?”  But she knew.

He rose on an elbow, slipped that arm around her neck under the low-cut nightie and cupped a growing breast.

“Please, Pongo!” she cried.  “Not like this!”

He froze then fell back, removing the hands from groin and breast.  A sense of loss replaced the pleasure that had been spreading in her belly.

“Pongo!  Please!” she cried in desperation.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered gruffly.  “I won’t hurt you.”

Her eyes had adapted to the dark.  She could see his cock, standing between his legs with a slight upward bend, the knob glowing damply in circumcised freedom.  A vision of Miss Ruby taking three of them at once filled her head.  How much could one hurt?

She knew it was wrong, but Pongo would never do it to her otherwise.  “Like this” was indeed how it must happen.

She whispered, “Maybe …”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe I do want you to hurt me.”  She sat up, hitched her nightie out from under her buttocks, threw it off over her head and lay back down, spreading her legs.

Again he was up on his elbow, studying her.  Now his beer breath added to her excitement.

“God, Julie, you’re lovely!  You don’t know how much I want you.”

She raised her arms over her head and gave him her best come-hither look.  “Well, here I am.”

He rolled over her and with a knee parted her soft, slender legs.  His cock explored her pussy in search of the guarded opening.  She twitched as it struck her clit.  But it would not enter; something was in the way.  He reached down to discover a string stuck to a moist pussy lip.  He pulled upon it and drew forth a tampon, which he threw aside.

“I’ll bleed all over!” she wailed.

He pushed forward and easily broke into her vagina.  As he fucked her deeply, she whimpered.  It stung faintly but with a hint of pleasure.

Whether he was drunk or not, this was the same Julie who had fired his lust after supper.  He soon spewed into the little girl, while straining to full penetration.  She felt the increased moisture as additional pleasure.  Then he sagged atop her.  Still whimpering, she rolled the man off and lay beside him.

“Pongo?” she inquired, but he had passed out.

“Something was missing!” she said aggrievedly, more annoyed than hurt.  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  I wanted to wait until next summer.  You didn’t even kiss me!”

When he failed to respond, she reached over and grasped the penis that had violated her.  Sex-ed had acquainted her with men’s erections, so she was not surprised to find this one far larger than Creight’s, which she had handled briefly last summer.  Now she had one of her own, in a manner of speaking, one that had been deep inside her.  She stroked it, satisfying her curiosity, working the oddly loose skin and marveling as the upstanding shaft shrank to flaccid insignificance.

At last she rose with a sigh, found her nightie and went to her own room.

* * *

The sun was well into the sky when Pongo awoke the next morning.  He had a crushing hangover and fuzzy memories of a horrible dream in which he had raped young Julie.

“Oh, my god!” he cried, when he spotted dried blood and traces of caked semen on the sheet next to him.  It had not been a dream at all!