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Subject: {ASSM} Tales of the Lorelei 03/10 {virgosun} (msolo mf 1st cons rom voy pett oral)
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<1st attachment, "03lorelei.txt" begin>
Lorelei part 3
I was pleasantly surprised when Renton showed up to take
me to the dance night. Okay, so he arrived by cab, but
he scrubbed up nicely, at least if you're into long red
hair. Because of his colouring he wears green well; pale
yellow pants and a trendy long green-striped hipster
shirt. He's also got a few sprigs of chest hair, which
to my mind is a plus for any man.
So my spirits were good when we got to the hall. There,
as promised, Lyn hooked up with us. Russ wandered off
with his mates amidst the seniors, and three wasn't a
crowd. Renton wasn't the world's greatest dancer, but
nor was he the worst, so the three of us took to the
floor in a group and had fun that way. Since I wasn't
out to impress, I was relaxed. The only hassle of the
evening was a certain glower about Russ when he came to
demand Lyn's company in dancing, as was his due; for a
couple, they weren't spending much time together at all,
and the reluctance was definitely on Lyn's side. Sean
and Cathy were there too and joined us from time to
time, but spent most of the night in each others' arms.
I wondered where they were doing it, if not at BoggleEye
Point. Sean lived with his elder brother in a shack
toward the industrial area; Cathy lived with her
parents. Probably at Sean's place while his brother was
out.
And then, late in the evening, Mitch appeared.
From good, the evening soared to perfect. It was as if
the crowd parted just as I looked up, and he was there,
coming toward me with his hands upraised, intent on
dancing with me. He wore an open white shirt and dark
blazer that made him look older and more sophisticated
than the rest. Renton grinned and shrugged--he had known
from the start he was second-string, and beckoned Lyn
away to the refreshments table.
Mitch caught me in his arms, hands closing assertively
over mine. Throughout my school years, I had loathed the
way how, at dance practice, all the boys had seemed
terrified of touching my hands lest they catch "girl
germs" or something, cold wet fingers holding my hands
in a pincer-grip as minimal as possible. They didn't
want to dance.
Mitch did. And although everybody else was jigging and
disco-ing, he swept me around into a waltz. Thank heaven
for my practice with Dad, and the light feet he had
taught me. Mitch and I must have looked right, for soon
I glimpsed Sean, Cathy, Lyn and Renton and the rest of
the form clapping, clearing the floor for us. And all
the while, Mitch was smiling into my eyes, and after a
while I was content to lose myself in his.
"We got back early," he murmured, mouth close to my ear
so that I could hear. "I wanted to be here too. I wanted
to have at least one dance with you. And I'm glad I did-
-you're fantastic!"
And when the mood shifted to something gentler, with a
swaying, sensuous rhythm, Mitch put his hands firmly on
my hips, and drew me close. I was already bedazzled, and
my body was aflame, for nobody had ever held me like
this before. It was natural to put my arms around his
neck. He indicated how to move by the pressure of his
hands, one after the other in rhythm and balance, while
I revelled in the heat of his nearness, the feeling of
his torso against mine. One of his thighs was between my
legs so that I could almost have sat upon it, and with
this too he steered me; my crotch was throbbing and
sticky. How I wished he would kiss me! But the dance was
a dance, and I had to keep my feet from tangling with
his and bringing us undone, and he held me mesmerised
with his eyes.
And the night was over, the music at an end.
"Are we still on for tomorrow?" he asked as we left the
floor, his arm still firmly around my waist. "Say,
three?"
"Of course!"
We moved away from the stream of revellers leaving the
hall. He glanced at Renton's prominent red head towering
above the crowd. "I'd better let you leave with your
escort. But thank you, Jo--I had no idea you were such a
great dancer."
"Anyone would dance well with you, you're so good."
"That's years of suffering dance lessons your parents
made you take," he smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow." And
he cupped my cheek in his hand, and lowered his lips to
mine.
My heart almost burst. This was the first time anyone
had kissed me properly. For a wonderful moment, the
warm, moist pressure of his mouth was upon mine, and
there was just a moment in which to respond before he
was gone. And my clit sparked like a joy buzzer. I
wondered if he was as turned-on as me.
Would it soon be our turn on Boggle-Eye Point? Just the
memory of his thigh between mine, our bodies rocking and
swaying together, the scent of his cologne and his hands
upon my hips was enough to keep me awake the rest of the
night.
I left in a taxi with Renton and Lyn, who had refused to
go with Russ to another night of passion he had planned.
She and Renton chattered all the way. I gazed at
moonlight on the bay, and yearned for tomorrow
afternoon.
***
Every coastie boy owns a tinny at some time; a little
flimsy shell of a boat with a putt-putt outboard. If
he's a serious mariner, he graduates eventually to
something more like a proper boat. I'd seen Sean and
Cathy zooming across the estuary in his tinny, the wind
in their hair, like a couple of carefree kids as I
walked down to the jetty. They threw me a cheerful wave.
By comparison, Mitch's fibreglass twenty-footer was a
real boat, fit to go out to the open ocean, with a sixty
horsepower outboard and a steering wheel. He was very
pleased with himself, to put it mildly, the sunniest
smile I had ever seen from him on his face. When he saw
me he leapt up to the pier, and kissed my cheek in
greeting. I was excited, a bit buzzy, and sleep-deprived
after laying awake dreaming of this all night. I'm of
slim build, and had dressed in sleek bike shorts with a
long, billowy top that's cool, comfortable, and just a
shade transparent, my laciest bra beneath. He wore a
striped polo shirt and white shorts, going for that
ultra-maritime look. He helped me down into his boat--
not that I needed any help, I've lived around boats all
my life, but this afternoon it was fun to pretend as he
did the gentlemanly thing.
Then we set off, me taking the seat beside him as he
drove us quite sedately along the estuary. They were
bucket seats so we weren't sitting close, but he was
cruising and talked endlessly of how he had chosen this
boat, the number of places he'd been and how he'd saved
and scrimped for this, the range she had and how he
planned to install a radio...Somehow, I'd envisioned
taking her out to sea and somehow sitting closer to him
so that he could put his arm around me as we cruised,
and I could lean against his shoulder romantically
listening to his voice.
"Are you going to take us outside?" I asked of him
eventually, interrupting his spiel.
"We'll go along the break," he said, scowling at the
sky, "but I don't think it's looking too good for
outside. There's a huge swell running, and I don't like
the look of that." He nodded to the south, where the
horizon hazed to a murky and unpleasant shade of violet.
High white cloudcaps soared above an anvil-sweep, and I
knew he wasn't being a wuss. Live on the coast long
enough and you can spot dangerous weather brewing.
He did take us out along the channel by the harbour
breakwater, and that was exciting enough as his boat
whacked hard into the heaving swell. Further out, the
open sea was covered with whitecaps, and the wind
whipped about us. Exhilarating, yes; romantic, no.
Eventually we turned back. Mitch's boat was fully
equipped with fishing gear, so we ended up motoring back
along the harbour, looking for somewhere to anchor and
drop a line. I suggested around the back of Sandpiper
Island, which would be nice and secluded; but he rightly
pointed out the channel faced the prevailing wind--it
would be choppy and very gusty with the weather
freshening.
My romantic enthusiasm had mellowed somewhat. Of course
I had been expecting far too much too soon, and the
weather wasn't the best. But it hadn't been bad either;
while Mitch drove, he looked at me frequently, and I
could tell by his eyes he was looking at my breasts as
well as my face. The wind was blowing the sheer cloth of
my blouse against them, the lace of my underwear
certainly visible. I was fascinated by the opening of
his shirt, and the shape of his chest, and could see the
points of his nipples, for that breeze had a nip in it.
I hoped he would hug me, and I would get to feel those
pecs.
But as well as looking at me, he was looking for
somewhere to fish, and we ended up setting anchor not a
long way from town and the shoreside promenade. We were
too far away to make out people's faces, and there was
some shelter from the wind. We set some lines, then
settled on the wide seat in the stern, side by side. Now
that we were close, his eyes took on a sly smile, and he
slipped his arm around me.
"So," he smiled, "do you like my boat?"
"Almost as much as I like you," I said coyly, bringing
my hand up to rub that chest. He brought his hand up to
my jawline and pressed his lips to mine, hard.
At first I tried to match him, to keep up. His lips were
like writhing octopus tentacles, strong and very wet and
very slippery, and his tongue barged its way into my
mouth so that very quickly, instead of feeling
passionate, I felt as though I was drowning. The hand I
had put on his chest to caress was used instead to push
him back as my need for oxygen became dire.
"Whoa, Jo," he smiled, "you kiss as well as you dance!
Is something wrong?"
"No, no," I gasped, affecting a giggle as I resisted the
urge to wipe my face with my sleeve. "I just need to
catch my breath, Mitch...phew! You're, like, hot, really
hot!" And slimy, and I'm not sure I like how you
taste...
We kissed some more, and things didn't improve. Was
there something I wasn't doing right? He seemed to know
what he was on for, and it was full-on. He brought one
of his hands up my ribs and under my arm, onto my
breast. I would have enjoyed it more had I not been
fighting for breath again.
Then he pulled back, gazing at me steamily. I felt as if
I had snail slime all over my face. "You're the hot one,
Jo," he murmured. "So you like the boat? I'll bet I can
show you something else that will impress you even
more."
I really, _really_ wanted to wipe my face, and was
relieved when he moved away that there would be a
respite from the tongue triathlon. He backed away, that
smouldering smile taking on a smug edge. "I need to get
more comfortable," he said. And he unzipped his shorts,
and dropped them.
"Do you like?" he asked expectantly.
He was slim, and his thighs were dusted with coils of
black hair. And, rearing proudly from its black nest was
his erect cobra, peering out from beneath the hem of his
shirt. Now here was proof that all men are not created
equal, for he seemed longer and thinner than Sean, and
had a definite bend in it. His balls seemed really
large, taut and red.
I silently gave thanks for Sean and BoggleEye Point, for
I don't know how I would have dealt with the situation
without some prior idea of what a naked guy was like. As
for Mitch, yes, he did look good and certainly
intriguing--but so had Sean. So would any naked guy.
Where was the romance? He was showing me his dick on the
first date? Something was so not right about all this.
So I nodded, thinking my way out of this one very
carefully. "Yes, yes," I said slowly, taking as long a
look as he plainly wanted me to. "That is, er, right up
there with the boat. I'm impressed."
"Sure you wouldn't like to get more comfortable? Or is
that too much too soon?" he asked considerately.
"Actually..." I stood up and kicked off my sneakers.
Enough was enough. "I feel the need for mango ripple
ice-cream right now. See you!" Then I dived overboard
and struck out for the boardwalk, feeling extremely
silly, disappointed, and just plain disgusted.
"You can always change your mind!" he called out
cheerfully behind me. I just put my head down and kept
swimming. There was a good stretch of water to cross and
it was chilly, but shallow, with a significant risk of
stinging jellyfish, rays and even the possibility of
sharks. I just kept ploughing through the water,
determined to put as much distance between myself and
the day's events as possible. Eventually an engine
roared, and the sound receded. Mitch had obviously
pulled up the anchor and hopefully his shorts too, and
gone.
I swam like an automaton. At last the boardwalk and
promenade reared above me. I really was ready for a
goddamn ice-cream, even if the contents of my bum-bag
and purse were soaked.
"Jo!" someone called, and I looked up. Renton had
climbed down some seawall stairs, and Lyn was at the
handrail on the footpath overhead. This time, I was
really glad to see him, both of them. "What the hell are
you doing?"
It was shallow enough to walk now. I trudged over and
accepted his hand up. "I went for ice-cream," I said,
batting a hand at the harbour. "Mitch obviously couldn't
be bothered waiting around."
"Jesus, what happened?" I must have been a sight, soaked
to the skin. My bra was decent and I didn't care any
more--I took off my blouse there on the boardwalk and
tried to wring it out, while Lyn emptied water out of
the bum-bag I'd taken off.
"It was a fucking joke," I gasped angrily.
The three of us retreated to an outdoor table at the
Plaza Cafe. They'd noticed a swimmer, but hadn't
realised it was me, or that I had come from Mitch's
boat; not until I got close enough to shore to
recognise. I didn't elaborate too much on the details,
not in front of Renton, except to say he kissed like a
swimming-pool pump and had come on way too strong. Lyn
covered her mouth with her hand and was blessedly
sympathetic, and Renton surprised me with his empathy.
"You did the right thing in getting out of there, then,"
he said. The frown he wore said he agreed that was no
way to behave on a first date. "Mitch's an all-or-
nothing kind of bloke," he offered in his friend's
defence. "But, really, no guy should make a girl feel
like she has to jump overboard!"
We bought another round of sodas, and Renton went to
order them. "So much for men and getting laid," I
grizzled to Lyn while he was gone. And told her the rest
of it. She goggled.
"Evil weather coming in," said Renton as he rejoined us.
We stayed there and watched the storm building, while the
wind hammered at the awnings and parasols, and tethered
boats on the broadwater nodded and strained at their
moorings. The sun had gone. I was still thirsty, moody
and weary after my swim. Lyn and Renton chatted, and I
had never heard him say so much or speak so easily. He'd
always been too uptight and snooty to deign to speak to
me, but with Lyn he had relaxed and wasn't at all
unpleasant to listen to. He kept looking at me and
asking was I all right, and bought me another soda,
which struck me as quite sweet of him.
"Come on," he said eventually. "We should get moving
before the storm breaks, or we'll all get soaked...not
that it would bother Jo," he teased gently, with a
crooked grin.
"Yeah, as if my day could get any worse."
The three of us set off, toward the service station, Lyn
insistent on seeing me back to somewhere I could find
dry clothes. It was pavement all the way, so it didn't
matter that I was barefoot. None of us talked much as we
walked, as the high winds whipped leaves and sand up
into our faces. That was when a motorbike cut across
traffic with a roar to pull up beside us. Renton glared
protectively, then smiled as he recognised the leather-
clad rider.
Kieran flipped up his silvered visor, hawkish black
brows gathered in a scowl. "You kids might know," he
growled without preamble over the racket of the engine.
"Seen Sean about?"
Lyn and Renton shook their heads. "I saw him with Cathy
a few hours ago heading across the bay," I said
helpfully. Kieran curled his lip, eyes darting about as
if to spot his brother hiding in the background. He was
clearly agitated.
"Yeah, he was taking her somewhere fishing, but he's
supposed to be back by now. You lot absolutely sure you
don't know where they are?"
Something tweaked in my mind. Where would they go on a
Sunday afternoon? From across the bay they would have
been walking distance from Surf Beach, and then...
"Oh my God!" I cried suddenly. "They might be up at Bog,
er, Lorelei Point!"
Kieran's face blanched as he cursed. "Fuck shit! They'll
never get back from there in this weather! Are you
sure?"
"Well I don't know, but they have been going there
before, so maybe that's where they are!"
He swung his head from side to side, muttering more
curses into his helmet. With the storm-tide crashing
onto the rocks, they would be trapped. "I hope you're
wrong!"
"I know a place we can check to see if they're there, a
lookout on the Point!"
He shot me a sharp look, then tossed his head at the
back of the bike. "Get on, then, show me!"
We were almost to the fuelstop. "I'll get a helmet!"
Then I ran the rest of the way, Kieran rolling along the
kerbside against the traffic in tow, Lyn and Renton
bringing up the rear. I grabbed Dad's go-kart helmet
from the workshop, then ran out and clambered aboard the
bike. "Take the dirt road out to the lighthouse
reserve!"
I'd never doubled on a bike before and had no idea where
to hang on; clutched nervously at Kieran's waist as he
opened the throttle and roared out of the station,
cutting arrogantly across traffic again. I was still
damp, but his jacket would protect him from that and the
oncoming weather. Even though we were at speed, big cold
drops were hitting my back. What did it matter? If my
friends were where I thought they might be, they were in
danger and we'd need a helicopter to get them out of
there. Perhaps they had let their passion get the better
of them, or fallen asleep and lost track of the rising
tide and souring weather. I hoped fervently we'd get
there and find nothing; that Sean and Cathy were coming
back across the inlet in his tinny as we raced out of
town at breakneck pace.
The bitumen runs out at my grandparents' place, but the
dirt weaves on a hundred metres more before stopping at
the lighthouse gates. Kieran wobbled the bike along the
rough track, then stopped and tore his helmet off.
"Where now?"
I was already in motion, plunging through the saltbush
and seagrass, hopping a little daintily on bare feet
while he lumbered behind. By the tanglebush and gnarled
old protea, where the ground began to rumple. The sea
was the colour of lead and streaked with white, and even
from here I could hear and feel the boom of the swells
hitting the bluff.
"In here!" I slipped down the entryway and Kieran swore,
scuffing dirt as he scrambled into the hole. Through the
window I could see bursting white spray and foam, a
turgid sea, the idyllic sand where Cathy and Sean had
lost their innocence only appearing when the storm-surge
streamed out.
I didn't see them at first. Kieran threw himself to the
window, then bellowed, "Sean!"
They were huddled on a ledge, as high and close to the
window as they could climb. At his brother's call Sean
looked up, and I heard Cathy's thin cry. "Thank God!"
Kieran leaned as far through the hole as he could get
his shoulders, an arm extended, as Sean bent and boosted
Cathy further up the rockface. By Kieran's side I
reached for Cathy's hands too, and together we pulled
her almost into the crevice.
"I can't...can't get in!" she gasped through gritted
teeth.
"Twist round!" Kieran yelled, dragging hard at her
wrists. She had her head through the window, but her
ribcage wouldn't come through, her pale face creasing
with terror and pain.
"I can't!" Then she slipped back, down into Sean's arms.
If she couldn't make it, there was no way Sean would fit
through either. Kieran swore and looked around
desperately, then grabbed a bough of sturdy driftwood I
had used as a seat, gouging at the dirt and sand between
the boulders that made the window.
"Dig!" he yelled to the pair outside.
"I'm going to get help!" I called, and barked my shins
shimmying back out of the hole and running to Nanny and
Pop's. There I gasped out my tale, and while Nanny rang
the emergency number, Pop and I went to the garden shed,
where he armed us with a sturdy spade and a solid, heavy
iron crowbar, and me with gumboots. He was slow along
the track to the cave, so I went ahead with the bar.
"Brilliant!" Kieran cried with a fierce grin before
seizing the steel and hurling it into the beachrock with
all the force he could muster. The soft rock was
crumbling quickly under the assault. And then he gave a
shout, scrambling backward and yelling a warning to the
pair below. After years of pounding from outside, quite
suddenly the floor beneath the window began to subside
and collapse. Rubble and sand poured away, leaving a
crawlspace. The slit-window had been opened.
Cathy and Sean were through in an instant, scrambling to
safety.
***
Lyn and Renton listened pop-eyed to our tale, the rest
of the form clustering around. Sean and Cathy's hands
and legs were covered in cuts, scratches and grazes from
where they had tried to get back around to the beach,
and then when they had climbed up toward the window. "It
was the only place left that we could go," she said,
looking at me. "I knew you weren't there, we saw you in
the morning and we knew you were going out with Mitch,
but when it got desperate I don't know, I guess I just
wished and hoped you would be there, and that maybe we
could get in."
Sean reckoned the abrasions were nothing compared to the
tonguelashing Kieran had given him.
Of course, we were the talk of the school, and the
principal gave a stern address on the dangers of
rockhopping to a full school assembly.
"I knew there had to be a good reason for you to break
our date," Mitch grinned. Last week, I would have
swooned. Today it looked like a leer. He held up a
plastic bag and handed it to me. My shoes. "So, can we
take it up again next Sunday?"
"Thanks, but I'm kind of busy, maybe the weekend after?"
He shrugged, and with a smouldering smile wandered off.
Next Sunday sounded like a good day to help Dad out at
the fuelstop and earn a little cash, given the
alternative Mitch offered.
***
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