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Subject: {ASSM} Sorry, Anais Nin (Mf, Teen First) By Katzmarek
Date: Mon, 10 Feb 2003 01:10:06 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Sorry.doc" begin>
Sorry, Anais Nin.
By Katzmarek.
Author's Note:
This is loosely based on my real life experiences. For those who
need to search for the character of the author in the story,
perhaps I can offer a clue. I am male. For those who are still in
the dark, I've ridden motorbikes for about 30 years. Should any
further clues be necessary I would suggest applying for a job as
Bush's senior Middle East advisor.
Naturally things have been chopped and changed and made-up, to
protect the guilty and to make a good story.
I don't think the bike was around when the events took place,
around 1973. It probably was a Yamaha TX650, for those who care
about such things....... The Katz.
My family came to the same Motor Camp every summer holidays.
Every year since I can remember. We had a caravan that we kept
there for a small yearly rental.
The camp adjoined the beach. It was set under palm trees that
gave the campers some shelter from the hot summer sun.
The beach was set in a small bay that was a popular recreational
fishing spot. There was also wind surfing, boating, water skiing,
all available from the beach concessionaires. A real family
holiday spot.
I had just turned 17 that summer, my sister an annoying 13. My
dad ran the family business, a wholesalers, taking over from my
grandfather.
I guess you could say I had a silver spoon in my mouth, but I
never thought of myself as rich. We lived in a good suburb and my
sister and I both went to private girl's schools. All my friends
went to the same school so I guess I never really met anyone that
wasn't well off.
I was going to do my final year, next year, then it was on to
University. I wanted to do Math's but dad wanted me to do
Accounting or Law.
Anyway, we were in the camp store one-day, buying some stuff for
dinner, when this rumbling sound comes down the drive. I look out
the door and I see this big motorcycle arrive. It was piled up so
high with camping equipment that the rider had difficulty
dragging it onto the center stand.
The rider was tall and kind of skinny and, as he took off his
helmet, had long straggly blond hair. His face was decorated with
a moustache and goatee and he was dressed, head to toe, in black
leather that was dusty and flecked with squashed flyinginsects.
The girl behind the counter looked apprehensive as he strode
through the door. A cigarette dangled unlit from the biker's
lips.
"I'm sorry, you can't smoke in here," the girl said nervously.
"It's not lit," the guy replies, matter of factly.
"Well, um, what can I do for you"? The girl asked, going through
the practiced routine.
"Find me my tent site," he suggested, smiling. It was quite a
cute smile I thought at the time but maybe I'm looking back with
rose-tinted specs. It wasn't nasty, I mean.
"We can't... I mean... there's no vacancies," the girl said. Now
I knew that was crap, They hadn't even started using the
backfield yet.
"But I've booked, prepaid," he said, "look here's the form you
sent me," he took out a piece of paper.
"Dad!" the girl called towards the back.
Mr. Winter, the camp owner came out from the back of the store.
"Sorry mister, no vacancies," he said straight away.
"Dad!" his daughter said, "he has a reservation, he's
pre-booked... and paid"
Mr. Winter scrutinized the paper and scratched his head.
"We don't usually have motorbikes at the camp," he said, "you'll
have to leave it outside."
"Where does it say that on the contract?"
"It doesn't... but."
So they argued back and forth and eventually Mr. Winter agreed he
could stay but that he would have to push the bike to the tent
site.
"If you'd give me a hand," the biker said, "It's soft sand all
the way and the bike probably weighs about 400 Kg's or more."
Mr. Winter gave in and the biker was allowed to ride it to the
campsite. He stood outside, just daring him to rev it up or
something.
Later my dad said there would be trouble because this was a
family camp and they shouldn't let in those people.
I was getting fed-up with my dad's attitude and sarcastically
asked him,
"What people do you mean, dad, Jews, Arabs or poor people"? Dad
stormed off in a huff.
The next day I accidentally (really) found myself walking past
where the tenters camped. The biker was sitting under a tree in
T-shirt and trunks, reading.
"What are you reading"? I found my-self asking.
"Anais Nin," he replied.
"Who"?
I must have sat there by the tree with him for hours just
listening to him describing various books and authors. But I
don't remember much of what he said. I remember the way his eyes
sparkled when he described something, and the way his whole face
lit up when he smiled at something funny.
I do remember that he was studying for his Ph.D. at V.U.W. That
he'd written a book of poetry a couple of years ago and that he
earned a bit of money doing a column in an Aussie Motorcycling
magazine. And I remember his beautiful baritone singing of Irish
folk songs,
'I wish that we were geese'
'So we all could live in peace'
'Oh the taties they are small, over here'
And.
'O' bean a ti cen muirt sin ort'
And.
'Nil sen la'.
Hmm, maybe I remember more than I thought.
Later, we ended up sitting on the beach watching the sun go down.
The surfcasters were out and a few groups were barbecuing
sausages and steaks. The briny scent of the ocean was mixed with
the smells of burning charcoal and burning meat. I knew I had to
go back to the caravan, I was late for dinner and my parents
would be out looking but I didn't want to go.
It was such a magical moment in time, the cooling sea breeze
fanned my thin top, but I never felt cold. I can't remember him
draping the jacket around my shoulders, only the smell of the
leather and the faint whiff of old tobacco smoke. The cold zipper
lay across my chest, right on my nipple in fact, making it
tingle.
I felt his arm around me, nestling me against his shoulder. My
hair mingled with his, now freshly combed. He laid his cheek on
my head, his hand stroked the side of my face.
I didn't feel nervous at all, funny that, only contentment. He
was so good to be with, so relaxed, charming and funny.
Just then I heard my father calling. I quickly shed the jacket
and ran off towards the voice.
"Where the hell have you been, Sharon, we've been looking for you
everywhere," he said angrily as I made some excuse and dumbly
followed him back to the caravan.
After a cold dinner we watched the TV for a while. I was bored
and restless. I could hear my destiny calling like some Ban Shee
from the hills. Drawing me by its unseen thread.
"I'm going for a walk along the beach," I announced.
"What! At this time," said dad.
"I just want to be alone for a while," I told him.
"Are you alright..." he started to say but mum shushed him.
"She's growing up dear," she said knowingly. Bless you mum.
I made my way straight for the tents. His Tilly shone through the
tent's fabric so I knew he was still awake. I called softly and
was answered by a shuffling movement inside.
Eventually the tent fly was unzipped and he poked his head
outside. He pulled the flap aside to make room and I crawled
inside.
By the light of the Tilly I saw that he was dressed only in his
underpants. His sleeping bag was thrown aside and he crawled back
into it. Wordlessly he extended his arm and motioned me to slip
in next to him. There was not much room on the stretcher for two,
but I'm only small and with a bit of shuffling about we got
reasonably comfortable.
I was dressed in shorts and T-shirt. I laid my head on his chest
and, to keep from falling off the stretcher, I draped my leg over
his. His hair tickled the inside of my leg from calf to thigh and
felt funny, at first.
We lay there for a while not doing anything. I was just listening
to his breathing and feeling his chest rise and fall. His hand
was running through my hair, his fingertips stroking the side of
my face.
My little breasts were all squashed against his torso, his hip-
bone pushed in against my crotch. Every little movement his body
made caused a little jolt of excitement. Slowly, achingly slowly
he bent his head and brushed my lips with his mouth. I smiled up
at him and moved my face for some more. Very soon we were kissing
for real.
He reached up and turned down the valve on the Tilly. I was
alarmed as the light dimmed to a faint glow, but he said,
"We don't want to give the camp a show, do we."
Then I realized that anyone could see us in shadow through the
tent fabric. It would have been like watching a screen puppet
show. I was suddenly very embarrassed but he said it was all
right, no one can see in anymore. We giggled at the thought of
all these people sitting around watching couples in their tents,
making out.
When we settled down again I was lying more on my back and he was
on his side. His left arm was under my shoulders and his right
was brushing away my hair in preparation for another kiss. This
time his leg was across mine, his crotch pushing against myhip.
As he kissed me his leg moved up and down the front of my thighs.
His free hand roamed around my T-shirt and came to rest alongside
my left breast. A finger began to caress the side of my breast as
our kissing got more passionate.
His tongue explored my mouth. It tasted my lips and teeth and the
tip of my tongue. He tasted and teased and tempted me, all at
once. His tongue asked me how far I wanted to go with this man.
Did I want to give up my virginity? Did I want to seal a
spiritual bond with the physical act of union?
I didn't know where he was coming from, what he was feeling. Was
I to be conquered and notched up as 'un victoire'? To be a
footnote in the next article in 'Oz Bike' about how he had this
great ride on the Yamaha XV1100, oh and then there was this
'chick'. I wasn't going to be bragged about at the next club
meeting.
As he bends to kiss me again I gently push his chin away. His
eyes ask me 'what's the matter'.
"Where is this going"? I managed to respond to his unspoken
query.
"Does the explorer know what his destination is"? I thought that
was corny.
"I can't do this," I told him, "I have to go." I thought he would
plead for me to stay but he didn't. Instead he just shrugged his
shoulders and looked sadly at me.
"I'm sorry," he said, "will you be alright? You're so
beautiful..."
I nearly melted then, but I felt that I was right. It was too
rushed, too soon.
"I'm sorry too," I said and scampered.
Back at the caravan I made an excuse and went to bed. I slept
under the awning with my sister while my parents took the double
bed inside. They liked their 'privacy'. As I lay in my sleeping
bag, listening to my sister's shallow sleep breathing, I
remembered all the feelings and sensations inside that tent.
I remembered his body draped around me, his soft murmuring, and
his sweet kissing. I remembered the sensations he left behind,
every time his body moved. I also remembered the warm pipe of his
penis, pressed against my hip and the moistening between my legs.
My nipples wanted to be touched and sucked by him, but I wouldn't
let him. I wondered if he had been quicker, more urgent, would I
have given myself over to the moment and let him take me?
I ran the scenario over in my head again, but this time he was
more demanding.
'He pulls up my T-shirt and fastens his mouth to my bra-less
nipples. His mouth works them so they are stiff and aching. He
pulls out his cock and pushes my hand onto it, forcing me to move
it up and down.'
'His hand massages the front of my shorts before undoing them and
moving inside, under my panties. I help him pull them off and
then his fingers are working in and out of my vagina. My hips are
bucking against his fingers, willing them to go deeper, willing
him to rub my clitoris.'
''But he wants to fuck me properly and then he's between my legs
and his penis is laying on top of my slit, sliding towards my
opening'
But it didn't get there because I came too soon, bucking and
moaning and hoping my sister didn't wake up. The dream snapped
off before I went 'all the way'. My fingers had worked too
efficiently for me to conclude the scenario.
It took many agonizing and internal debates before I made the
decision to go back. I slipped on my shorts and carefully snuck
out of the awning. The light was off when I reached his tent and
I called softly. After a while I heard a sleepy voice from inside
ask,
"Who's there"?
"Me," I answered.
He pulled back the flap and I squeezed in. With the Tilly off,
the moonlight made a strange blue glow inside the tent.
Everything was in monochrome, like those old televisions.
He had this quizzical smile on his face. He knew what I was there
for. He lay back in his sleeping bag with his back resting on his
bike pack. His chest was bare. He had his hands behind his head.
Smug bastard!
As if to seal the deal I pulled up my T-shirt, wrestling it over
my head in the confined space of the tent. He reached out and
touched my arms then traced my body up over my shoulders and down
my chest.
I shivered at the touch, and continued to shiver as his
fingertips found my hardening nipples. They ached. I sucked in
my breath at the sensation and at the same time released a flood
of desire from deep within my womb.
My shorts were hardly off before I fell into his waiting arms.
This time the kissing was full of ardor and urgency that left
both of us gasping for breath. When he pulled aside the sleeping
bag I saw that he was completely naked, his penis already hard
and erect.
"Wait."
'What for,' I thought, 'what's wrong'.
But all he does is reach into his wallet for a condom,
"Got to be careful," He said.
"Oh... yeah," I said, stupidly. Protection had never occurred to
me, now that was scary!
His fingers slipped into my panties, over my bottom. They
explored over my cheeks and along the cleft of my ass. We
squirmed together as if for our very survival and all the time
there was that hard prong. It jabbed me in the belly, thighs and
between my legs, now moist with lubrication.
'It's going to happen,' I thought as he gently eased me over onto
my back and nestled himself between my legs. 'It's finally going
to happen'.
<1st attachment end>
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