*TALES OF THE LORELEI*

by virgosun (c) March 2004
Part 1
*****************************

Officially, it's known as Lorelei Point in honour of a 
yacht that ran aground on the reefs just offshore, but I 
like to call it Boggle-Eye Point after what I saw out 
there a few weeks back.

See, my grandparents have a house right near the Point 
at the end of a long sandy track, so I spend a lot of 
time there. Pop's always warning me to be careful, 
because I love nothing better than taking off alone and 
exploring when we visit.  It's either that or sit around 
the house watching cricket or waddling with Nanny around 
her ever-precious garden, which is such a drag. So I've 
always run off and explored.  Swimming is absolutely 
forbidden, and any idiot could see why, because the 
Point is all rocks and steep, rugged climbs.  There's a 
tempting rockshelf that emerges from the sea at low 
tide, and tantalising little pockets of sand, but nobody 
who knows the sea would be fool enough to try swimming 
amidst the undertows and rips.

So I stay away from the waterline, mostly...I'm a 
coastie kid, after all.  Respect the sea, but take the 
odd calculated risk. Like the rock fishermen, only a few 
of them, but sometimes they venture there. "Feller died 
there three years ago," Pop would delight in telling us.  
"They found his remains two months later in a shark's 
gut, caught two hundred miles north and twenty miles out 
to sea. Identified him from dental records." Kieran 
always mentions that incident too, when he comes into 
the servo to top up his bike. The whole community has a 
certain macabre fascination with that incident. Kieran's 
a bit rough, and he always scared the hell out of me 
when I was younger, even though he's not much older than 
me. He still spooks me now a bit, truth be told.

But back to Boggle-Eye Point. It mightn't be accessible 
from the sea, but you can reach the tidal flats at its 
foot if you walk and climb from the beach, and you're 
keen. And you can get down pretty close to it from 
above, which is the part of the headland I know the 
best.

I found this cave, you see. It's been mine for six years 
or more, which means I first found it when I was ten. 
The soil of the cape is loose and sandy, and in places 
has been carved deeply by rainwater and eroded. This 
cavemouth is well hidden by brush and the entry is 
narrow - I confess, it's much harder for me to wriggle 
in there these days! But once you get inside, it becomes 
large enough for two or three adults to fit comfortably, 
and it threads down to a tiny, narrow crevice of a 
window that looks out over one of those gorgeous little 
beachlets.

Of course, for many years, this was my private pirate 
fortress, a castle rampart with its slit-window from 
which to espy fat ships for plunder. More recently it's 
just become a place to get away from the noise and fuss 
of family get-togethers, to go somewhere to read 
quietly. Over the past three years, there are times when 
I've gone there just to think, and dream, about hunks 
from the movies. Ooh help! I've been shipwrecked with 
Hugh/Keanu/Viggo! With an imagination like mine, it was 
enough to lay back in the cool sand; just to think of 
such a thing was enough to make my whole body tingle, 
and both sets of lips throb. In privacy, I could run my 
hands across my body and imagine bare rippling chests 
and gorgeous naked thighs. When it came to That Thing, 
though, there was always a big blank spot in my 
imagination. I'd never actually seen one for real. Okay, 
I have two brothers, but the last time I saw them naked 
we were all little kids. Which sure as hell ain't what 
I'm interested in!

So there I was in my secret cave, accompanied by an 
imaginary lover borrowing the face of a screen actor, 
whose hands were rather smaller and daintier than a 
man's should be, and with an invisible dong that felt 
like two small thin fingers...every woman knows what I 
mean. And absolutely no clue of what the Real Thing was 
like, and a shy, sly fascination with what it would be. 
And then, to absolutely ruin my morning, I heard 
something scraping and shuffling along the rocks below 
my peephole; easy to hear with the tide down low and the 
ocean calm. Dream Guy vanished with a pop; my heart 
rocketed up the scale, and I very quietly straightened 
my clothing. Either it was one or both of my brothers 
doing the macho-dare thing in venturing onto the 
forbidden terrain; or some enterprising rock fisherman.

I was grumpy, to say the least, and went stealthily to 
the window, which is easy to do on the sandy floor.  If 
it was my brothers, I was going to hurl a rock or two; 
and when I saw who the offender was, he almost copped 
that punishment too. It wasn't my brothers, but a boy 
from school, Sean.

He's actually one of the nicer guys, the sensitive 
musical type. He's kind and polite, a bit shy until he 
picks up his guitar, maybe a bit goofy or geeky but not 
the worst of the freak brigade. He has a great singing 
voice, and is in good shape, quite good looking. Fair 
hair but brown eyes, which sets him apart from the 
regular himbo; a casual surfie-guy type who's probably 
more at home outside the breakers than hanging with the 
rest of the class. He's Kieran's brother, so the 
outsider thing's no doubt rubbed off on him too.

Since I knew him, I almost called out to him. But my 
cave was supposed to be my secret, so I held my tongue. 
He had come around from the southside beach, the long 
way over all the rocks, and was wearing cutoff denims 
and sneakers. He had a bucket and fishing pole in hand, 
and a small knapsack. I sighed grumpily, for it was 
plain he intended to stay put for quite some time. While 
he baited his line and cast out in what was clearly a 
regular ritual, I maliciously considered throwing those 
rocks. It was as well I didn't, for the show I was about 
to get.

With the line set and wedged securely in place between 
two rocks, Sean sat in the damp sand and leaned back 
against sun-warmed stone. His chest rose and fell as he 
sighed and relaxed, and his eyelids fluttered closed. A 
lazy smile warmed his face. I was still thinking rocks, 
or a handful of cold sand, when his left hand strayed to 
his chest and started making slow, circular movements, 
fingertips drifting lightly over the contours of 
collarbone, chest, and bronze nipple. And his right hand 
went from a place just inside his knee, slowly up his 
inner thigh to the frayed hem of his pants, drawing the 
fabric up as those fingertips strayed and played with 
the sensitive skin in there. Then he ran that hand up 
his crotch seam.

My heart lurched and I scarcely dared breathe, missiles 
forgotten as I understood what he had come here to do. 
Torn between leaning closer and staying anonymous, I bit 
my lip against pins and needles and rock scraping my 
knees. Was that...The Lump in his pants? How big was it 
getting? I couldn't quite see...his hand kept getting in 
the way as he rubbed up and down languidly, slightly to 
one side of centre. His lips had parted slightly, 
whatever soft murmuring he made drowned out by the sigh 
of the sea. While he rubbed, with the other hand he 
tweaked his nipple to a hard point, before running his 
fingers south across his taut abs.

Was he going to...oh, yes! His hands met at the stud of 
his jeans. I almost giggled aloud and my breathing had 
become rather ragged, my own body leaping back to its 
former state of interrupted arousal. But now I wouldn't 
have to touch myself. All I'd have to do was watch.

For a moment, I did see the longish shape suggested 
beneath the blue fabric, but before I could absorb that 
image, he had unhitched his jeans. He eased the zipper 
open with an agonising slowness, and, stiff as a spring, 
the most amazing thing I had ever seen flipped out of 
concealment.

It was long, at least it seemed so, the first one I had 
ever seen. Long, and wide, faintly ribbed and veined, 
with a lovely pink, rounded and fleshy head.  It stood 
straight and wonderful from a nest of dark gold curls, a 
magnificent growth from between his thighs and demanding 
attention. My own crotch seemed to open and dribble with 
hunger, but I didn't dare announce my presence and tried 
to squeeze my legs hard together to suppress the urging.

His stomach moved as he breathed deeply. To my surprise, 
his penis twitched and moved. I didn't know guys could 
do that. Then he spat in his hand, and wrapped that 
gorgeous organ in his fingers and started stroking. Up 
and down, up and down he went, while his free hand 
slipped back up his chest to his nipples. His eyes were 
closed, his face flushed, a study in pure pleasure as he 
pumped rhythmically, skin glowing with a fine sheen of 
sweat. His muscles tensed, emphasising the beauty of his 
young body, muscles taut and both nipples rising to hard 
points.

But the bulk of my attention was on his wondrous cock, 
especially the way his fingertips slipped and kneaded 
about the shining pink head. I was mesmerised by the 
perfect bell-shape of it, the flanged edge he rubbed and 
flicked with his thumb, and the dark slot at the very 
tip. His body writhed as he gave himself up completely 
to the pleasure, for he thought that he was alone--this 
was no furtive jerk in the dark. He arched his back, 
momentarily lifting his hips so that with his free hand 
he could push at his jeans and lower them further.

I felt so hot I thought I was going to wet myself. And 
as his excitement mounted, his stroking becoming more 
fervid, his muscles bulging, I realised I was about to 
discover that other great male mystery. What was cum 
like? "Cum" was a naughty word that everybody giggled 
about at school, and it was reputedly white and sticky. 
But what was it really like?

Eyes shut tight, Sean's mouth opened slightly as he 
gasped. Suddenly he scrambled to his feet and stood 
facing the sea on braced legs, pelvis thrust forward, 
jeans falling down about his knees. His fair-skinned 
rump dimpled as his butt worked, and his right shoulder 
still pumped as he tugged himself. Although he was 
facing away, I saw a glistening thread of pale fluid 
shoot from his pelvic region to splatter in the wet sand 
at his feet, followed by a few blobs more, making 
splashmarks like heavy raindrops on the sand. Then, his 
body relaxed, shoulders sagging and chest heaving. I 
thought for a moment he might fall from the weakness in 
his knees.

For a while he just stood, resting. Then he bent and 
pulled up his shorts, hands working in front to fasten 
them, and he scuffed the sand with his foot as if to 
bury the evidence. The tide would soon wash it away.

The bursting in my crotch was matched by the tingling 
pain in my cramped feet, which were begging to be 
straightened out. With the show over for the time being, 
I eased myself carefully and silently away from the 
window, while Sean wandered over to check his fishing 
line. Once in a more comfortable place in the shelter of 
the rear of the cave, in the dimness, I sat down with my 
legs apart to inspect myself. Yes, I was wearing shorts 
made of that fabric that goes dark when it gets wet, and 
yes, it was obvious I had enjoyed the show. After that 
performance, we both needed a breather.

Something else I'd read was that guys didn't take long 
to re-arm. I sat for a while, feeling too fidgety to 
settle to much, waiting for the pain in my feet to pass, 
wondering if the wet patch would be noticeable when I 
walked home. After a while I crept to the window again. 
He was sitting leaning against the rocks, head tipped 
down onto his chest, eyes shut, seemingly asleep. But 
one hand had crept under his waistband, and his hidden 
fingers moved slightly, as if to keep the embers 
stirred.

You might have wondered why I didn't take myself down 
there, being so liquid-hot as I was. For one, the 
window's just too narrow to pass through. And secondly, 
well, I had my eye on somebody else. Although Sean was 
undoubtedly good-looking, I'm not really into blondes. A 
real man's got to have chest hair too, that's my thing; 
I'm into the tall dark handsome idea. There was another 
guy at school who was a lot more interesting to me than 
Sean had been. And I knew somebody else who would be 
very, very interested in Sean.

***

Cathy, Lyn and I have been great friends since primary 
school. Trouble with Cathy is, she's the shyest of us, 
desperately shy, and she thinks Sean is absolutely 
gorgeous but she won't dare speak to him. And he's too 
quiet to encourage her. Shy girl plus shy guy equals fat 
chance department.

I nursed what I had seen like a splendid birthday 
present and surprise. "You've got to come out to Lorelei 
Point with me next weekend!" I told her, although I had 
no assurance that Sean made this a regular thing. I was 
bursting to share what I had seen, perhaps a little 
unsure that my eyes hadn't deceived me. I knew Lyn 
didn't think much of Sean, so I didn't include her in 
the invitation.

It was Lyn, though, who had the sexy news of the day. 
"Russ and I," she admitted coyly, "have decided. We're 
going to, you know, try it."

"What, you mean do it?" Cathy whispered. Lyn nodded, big 
blue eyes wide.

"We've been together so long now, that's the only thing 
we haven't done, and we figured there's no point going 
along together if we don't know if we're compatible 
sexually." She gulped, more than a little apprehensive. 

"When?" I asked.

"Next weekend. He's got his gran's flat to himself, it's 
really nice there, with a...double bed." Cathy and I 
glanced at each other. Doing it in your gran's bed? This 
absurd image of steaming sex amidst old lace and 
camphor, crochet cushions and family photos came to me, 
but I made no comment. "We're going to a restaurant and 
a movie first, then..." She smiled and shrugged.

"Wow," said Cathy, "that should be so romantic!"

Conversation shifted then to the upcoming seniors' 
dance, still a month away. We were sitting at lunch, 
speculating on who would be most likely to ask who to 
the event. Cathy despaired there'd be any way Sean would 
work up the courage to ask her, but blushed and refused 
any notion of asking him herself. Russ and Lyn would go 
as a couple, as always. I glanced up as Mitch skipped 
lightly down the common-room stairs. Of all the guys, he 
was poetry in motion to watch. Even if he was only 
walking across the room, it was liquid; he moved with a 
naturally feline grace that set him apart from the rest. 
Mitch moved so well, and danced so well that was the 
only drawback to the idea of going to a dance with him--
the risk that beside him I'd look like a folding 
beachchair. I know nothing about dancing, but I'm light 
on my feet, at least that's what Dad says. Maybe I could 
wing it. Whatever way, it was Mitch I was determined 
should ask me to the dance.

"Hey, Jo," he smiled as he went by. His dark, velvety 
brown eyes have that feline quality too, and his gaze 
lingers. I wonder if he has X-ray vision, for it feels 
like he can see through the dreadful school uniforms we 
wear, to the sensuous skin beneath. Which always makes 
me blush when he looks at me. I'd love him to kiss me, 
or to run his hand along my arm, just imagining that 
lightest of caresses makes me shiver. He talks to all of 
us, but I fancy it's me he takes the most notice of. 
There are times when I really wish my boobs were bigger 
than their meagre A-cup, and wish I could swap them for 
Cathy's!

***

The weekend was slow to come around, and later in the 
week I had some misgivings. There was no way to know for 
sure Sean would appear; and if he did, would she be 
delighted, or shocked too much by what she would see? 
Would she be so disgusted at the thought I'd been 
perving at him, would it ruin our friendship forever? So 
by Saturday I was really edgy, while Cathy politely went 
around the garden with Nanny admiring her tiger lilies. 
Cathy's a fantastic artist, and she can always see the 
beauty in nature; even if Sean didn't appear, I knew 
she'd probably enjoy the sea view from the bluff anyway. 
How did I know what time he'd get there, other than at 
low tide? To be sure, I packed a picnic lunch and as 
soon as I could detach us from Nanny, we went into the 
scrub.

"You still haven't told me what this is all about," said 
Cathy.

"Dolphins," I said confidently, well aware of how much 
Cathy loved dolphins. "I found this place on the point 
that gives you a fantastic view, and best of all, they 
can't see you so they don't startle or go away."

"Oh why didn't you tell me!" she cried.  "I would have 
brought my camera! Have you got one that I can borrow?"

"Err, I left mine at home, and Nanny's only got a little 
snapshotter that won't take much of a picture." I hadn't 
thought of that--I have an excellent SLR and telephoto 
lens. Perhaps another time? "So this is why we have to 
spend the day up here, I'm not sure if or when the 
dolphins will arrive."

She'd brought along a sketchblock and charcoals, and 
when we got to the little rabbithole-entry she gave me a 
dubious look. "That's why I said dress untidy! It's much 
bigger inside...c'mon, I'll go first." Her face lit up 
once we got inside, and drawn by the siren-call of the 
sea she went immediately to the window. I checked my 
watch, waiting for low tide. "We have to be quiet or 
they won't come," I said. "No giggling, no nothing!" It 
wouldn't do to blow our cover.

So for a while, Cathy made sketches of the sea and rocks 
from the window, while I snacked from a picnic bag that 
doubled as something comfy to rest knees against rock 
with. And at last..."Oh, there's someone coming!" she 
said.

Immediately I raised a finger to my lips, and hurried to 
he side silently.  Yes, it was him! Putting my mouth 
very close to her ear, I breathed "Shh! Don't call out! 
Just wait, keep still, keep quiet, I don't want him to 
know this cave's here!"

She was in the best position to see, kneeling at the 
front of the crevice. I wanted to see too, but this time 
I'd have to stand with my spine half-twisted to get half 
a view, just enough to know whether he was obliging us. 
He was wearing boardshorts this week, the same ones we 
often saw him in when he was surfing at Bay Beach with 
his brother. The ones he'd be wearing if he saw us in 
the street and said "Hi." He set up his fishing rod. He 
sat down.

When he started rubbing his hands over his body, Cathy 
gave me a startled glance. I nodded, and she leaned 
forward a little more. His shorts were elastic-waisted, 
and this time he wriggled his hips, working them slowly 
down. That thatch of amber curls appeared, more of a man 
than Cathy had ever seen...and then...

Her mouth formed a great, silent O, and she did not look 
at me again, unable to tear her eyes from what she 
beheld. That gorgeous cock came out to be played with. I 
was so close to Cathy that I could hear her breathing 
thickening and feel the heat from her face near my 
shoulder. Her lips moved silently as she watched, making 
"oh my God" shapes. With one hand, she gripped my arm 
with a hot, sweaty palm. I just know her lips were 
throbbing as hard as mine.

With every stroke, his shaft seemed to get longer. This 
time he kicked his shorts off altogether and I saw some 
of his ballsack too, red and soft beneath his pumping 
fist. He sprang up and fired his shot of sperm at the 
sea, neat round backside pulsing, and when Cathy gave an 
audible gasp I elbowed her to silence. He scuffed the 
sand over, and this time turned toward us as he walked 
back from the water's edge; we both instinctively 
lurched backward, then peered carefully out again. He 
wore nothing but sneakers, and now, even though he was 
shrunken and soft, no portrait more beautiful of young 
manhood existed. Michaelangelo's David, Cathy would 
later point out, was just a lumpy rock by comparison.

Cathy looked up and me then, and very slowly ran her 
tongue around her lips. I was hard-pressed not to giggle 
at such a saucy look coming from my shy, quiet friend. 
No, we're not kissing sisterhood; I learned later that 
some girls help each other out, but that's not my scene-
-nothing other than a good hot male pole would suit 
either of us. We didn't need to jolly each other anyhow.

Sean entertained us three times that afternoon. After he 
had left we also retreated, hot and buzzy. Cathy asked 
me all the way back how to get down to that cove, and 
agreed BoggleEye Point had to be the right name for the 
place. "Well," I said to her, "looks like it's a regular 
fixture out here. So long as you keep the cave a secret, 
hell, come out here any time you like, and next time you 
can have the place to yourself. I just wish Mitch would 
go out there and do that!"

I would so love to see him naked!

***

Cathy and I were still virgins, if rather heated and 
horny ones. But our little friend Lyn--if the weekend at 
Grandma's had gone to plan, she would now be a woman. 
But when we got back to school she was in no talking 
mood, being glum and listless until late in the week. 
Cathy and I exchanged glances, and I drew my finger 
across my neck in a cut-throat gesture behind Lyn's 
back. I also had reason to be grumpy midweek, when Mum 
announced we absolutely had to visit an old aunt who 
lived a couple of hours south next weekend; Cathy looked 
disappointed too, for there went her lift up to 
BoggleEye Point. So we'd become quite a sombre bunch.

Sitting at the Plaza Cafe Thursday afternoon, a near-
teary Lyn finally cracked and shared her misery with us. 
Her Saturday night had unfolded splendidly; even the 
movie had been romantic. Back at Grandma's, Russ, who 
was already eighteen, had chilled champagne ready to 
celebrate, and the bed freshly made and turned back, 
sprinkled with rose petals. They had lain down together 
and kissed, and it went downhill rapidly from there. He 
had torn so quickly at her clothes he had burst all the 
buttons from her best blouse, and didn't so much nibble 
her nipple as bit it quite hard. She had squealed and he 
paused to apologise. Then they resumed.

"When I undid his pants...I thought it'd be bigger than 
it looked, but that was okay, I didn't know what to 
expect." Cathy and I couldn't help but trade looks. Sean 
certainly looked nicely large enough. "We had a bit of 
trouble getting the condom on, like, there's a right way 
and a wrong way to unroll it, and he got it wrong to 
start with. And every time a car went past he thought it 
might be his family back early. So..." She sighed. 
"Maybe we should have given up there and then. But we'd 
both planned this for a while and we really wanted to do 
it. So, well..." We all leaned closer together, then Lyn 
just battered her palms on top of her head despondently. 
"I don't think sex is all it's cracked up to be, to be 
honest. He got up on top of me, and we, at first I 
didn't think he could find the right place, and then he 
nearly went into my bum which was like my God, no! And 
then he did sort of have the right place, and he pushed 
down really hard and I nearly shot off the bed because 
it _hurt_, it really really hurt!"

"Oh my God, did you bleed?" Cathy asked.

"Maybe your hymen was really thick or something," I said 
sagely, like as if I knew anything! Lyn just shook her 
head woefully.

"I bled so bad it made a mess on the sheet, it was like 
a period, which really freaked him out later when he saw 
it. He raced off and stuck it straight into the washing 
machine."

"But what about the actual sex, what was that like?" I 
pressed, wanting to hear things had gotten better.

"Well, it wasn't much. Aside from the sore part around 
the, you know, the entry, I couldn't feel much at all, 
it didn't feel like anything really. He was having a 
great time sort of bopping around, but I wasn't getting 
anything, and then he sort of shivered and it was all 
over, he just slipped out and laid really heavily on me 
so I could hardly breathe. I pushed him off and he just 
lay there. So after a while I got up and got dressed 
again. Girls, believe me, it's overrated, it really is!" 
she declared with a strange kind of matronly authority. 
Suddenly she seemed to have gained five years on us.

We had all been excited by the prospect of sex. For Lyn 
at least, the dream of ecstasy had been replaced by 
crashing disappointment. Hers was a cautionary tale so 
far as I was concerned. Rule One--find a man who knew 
what he was doing! Rule Two--never at Grandma's.

"The worst part is, he later said he had a great time 
and hopes we can do it more often." Lyn gazed miserably 
across the bay, chin in her hands.

"Maybe you just need practice," Cathy suggested. But we 
could see from her face that she would rather have root 
canal work than another root with Russ.

***

"What a drag," Cathy sighed in sympathy, as I growled 
again about the prospective weekend with my old auntie. 
But my luck changed dramatically for the better when 
things were cancelled Friday afternoon. I phoned Cathy 
to let her know Saturday was on if she wanted to go to 
the Point, but couldn't get through to her early in the 
evening, and later on it just slipped my mind, there was 
still a good deal of family uproar as Mum got all 
dramatic about the episode and ran about phoning this 
family member and that. And then I took a perfectly 
selfish decision. Cathy could watch Sean next weekend by 
herself. I'd check him out on my own tomorrow. He might 
not have been my first choice for a peepshow, but his 
was the only show in town!

I admit right now, thanks to Sean I thought I was the 
racy one, a bit of a pimp, an authority on erections and 
masturbation and cumming. Lyn was the tragic, I was the 
sexpert voyeur, and Cathy was the innocent blushing 
sweetheart. Well, they say pride comes before falling, 
so to speak, but it was going to be an entertaining 
humbling. BoggleEye Point was set to truly boggle me.

My cave was becoming quite comfortably appointed now, 
with a old travel blanket folded up for comfy kneeling 
at the peephole and a slightly larger entry portal for 
easier, quieter entries and exits. I'd considered 
bringing the camera, but it does have a very noisy 
shutter; I was also bothered by the idea of having a 
film developed and somebody at the photolab noticing 
saucy photos. Way too messy, explaining my way out of 
that one!

I settled half-kneeling, half-laying, blissing out 
listening to the distant moan of the sea while I waited 
for Sean to make his appearance. And peered cautiously 
when I heard footsteps scraping over the stone 
below...but coming from the north side, not the south 
from which Sean generally made his appearance. Somebody 
else had arrived on the scene.

It was Cathy.

I groaned quietly. What was she doing down there? If 
Sean saw her, there'd be no way he'd perform, and worse 
still, he'd know his hideout was discovered and he'd 
never come back. I grabbed a handful of pebbles, but 
then thought twice. She didn't know I was here; she 
thought I'd be away for the weekend.

Just what the hell was she playing at, then? As I 
watched, she stripped off her shorts and tee, revealing 
her electric-blue bikini, and stuffed the clothing in 
her bag. She threw down a large blanket on the sand 
above the tideline, then pulled up her sketchblock. 
Taking only a few minutes, she made the rough outlines 
of the rocky outcrops to the south, then propped the 
sketchbook and charcoals on a nearby rock, casually 
askew as though she had left them there carelessly. She 
checked a watch hidden in her bag, then pulled out a 
bottle of tanning oil and rubbed on a second coating 
that made her body glisten. Then she whipped off her 
bikini top and tossed it over her bag, and rubbed extra 
oil into her nicely-shaped breasts, not too large, but 
big enough to give her some cleavage. Then she lay on 
her front, concealing her natural armament, and lay 
still and quiet.

I know how her mind works. "Oh, I came out here to 
sketch/look for dolphins, and it was so nice and private 
I thought I'd work on my tan...and then you showed up, 
Sean! How embarrassing!" Having a gentle laugh to 
myself, I wished her luck. Sean would turn and flee for 
fright, I was sure. The white stripe across her back was 
proof of how often Cathy went topless sunbathing.

From my elevation, I saw him arrive first; glimpsed him 
before he scuttled crabwise and low to flatten himself 
against the rocks, then peer at who had invaded his 
secret place. He didn't flee. He was peeking just like 
me. Were his eyes devouring the rounded arcs of the 
edges of her breasts, where they pressed into the towel 
just beneath her armpits? If I'd been a true friend to 
Cathy, we'd have set this up between us, and I would 
have brought him to the cave to watch her..._Roll over!_ 
I thought at her. _He's looking! Show him what you've 
got!_

Then, he started softly whistling, and stood up to walk 
along the rocks, feigning nonchalance. Decision taken. 
Cathy sat up with her arms folded coyly across her 
front, and giggled. This only emphasised her cleavage. 
Both of them were blushing.

"Er, hi Sean, I didn't expect to see you here! You going 
fishing?"

"Um, yeah. You been sketching?" He hurried to her 
sketchbook, making himself tear his eyes from her. He 
was wearing the denims, and I'm sure I glimpsed the 
sidewise bump of an ill-hidden hardon. "Um, you can put 
your top on if you want, I won't look," he promised 
gallantly, making a show of turning his back to her.

"Ohh, hey," she laughed rather nervously, dropping her 
arms and letting her breasts swing free, emboldened by 
the fact he wasn't looking. "It's okay. I don't mind. 
It's not fair that guys can get around without shirts 
on, and girls can't. It's so much more comfortable."

He flipped the pages of her sketchpad industriously; 
half-turned, paused. "You...don't mind if a guy looks at 
your, er?"

"I trust you, Sean, you're a nice guy. Anyway, you've 
seen topless bathing before, or do you go to the beach 
with your eyes shut?"

Turning slowly, ears red with embarrassment, his eyes 
darted between her face and her breasts. She was 
blushing almost all the way down to her nipples, which 
were sticking out sharp and proud. "It's just that, um, 
it's...different when it's someone you, well, sort of 
know."

"Why? Don't I look good?"

His eyes went more overtly to her gleaming breasts. "No, 
no, you look fantastic, I mean...I better not interrupt, 
I'll go find somewhere else to fish."

"Oh, no, don't go, I'll cover up if it's bothering you. 
Why don't you hop up on the rocks over there and fish, 
and I'll sketch you? I need an interesting foreground 
object for that picture you've got there."

He obliged. His need to see her was outweighing his 
frustration and embarrassment. Perhaps, for all her own 
forced blase attitude, Cathy was going to do all right 
out of this encounter. He stood on the rocks with his 
back to her and cast his line, and she, remaining 
topless to do so, sketched him. She omitted his shorts, 
drawing shapely thighs and rounded buttocks with a 
skilled hand; and undoubtedly the assistance of memory.

"I'm sorry if I was being a bit dumb," he said at last, 
glancing back. "I just...never saw a nude girl up close 
before, like, you sort of look without looking when you 
see topless sunbathers, you don't stare, so I was a bit, 
er."

"I'm not nude," said Cathy saucily, tweaking her bikini 
bottom. "Want to see? My sketch, I mean; it's finished."

"Oh, yeah, sure." He put down his line and rejoined her 
on the beach, then did a doubletake.

"Don't you like it?"

"Where's my shorts?"

"Call it artistic license. I thought the picture would 
look better like that."

"Jeez." He knew as well as I do that artists have a 
natural X-ray vision. His brother's an automotive 
spraypainter by trade, and he's singlehandedly 
responsible for every voluptuous barbarian maiden hotrod 
bonnet and sin-bin mural on this stretch of the 
coastline. "If you were standing up there and I drew you 
in the nude, how would you feel?"

"Flattered," she grinned, leaning close enough to 
tantalise with that lethal cleavage. Now that I knew 
what to look for, he definitely had a hardon, and he 
must have been getting fit to burst. She sobered. "If 
you'd have been facing me, I couldn't have done that 
though, drawn you nude. I've never seen a naked man, so 
I can only ever draw a kind of bump."

"Er...would you want to, um, draw one of those?" His 
face was redder than a nav beacon, his grin lopsided and 
goofy; but there was a sobriety in his deep, dark eyes. 
He wasn't looking at her boobs any more, but gazing 
earnestly into her eyes, asking with them the things he 
hadn't the nerve to speak...yet.

She swallowed, nodded. "I'm curious, yeah. I don't know 
any guys who'd want to show me, though."

"What if I..?" he dared ask. She nodded, tongue flicking 
over her lips.  He drew a deep breath of mixed relief 
and anticipation. "Only thing is...you got to return the 
favour. If I lose my pants, so do you, so we're both 
naked, deal?"

"Fair's fair." And she bent down and slipped off her 
bikini, then glanced up at him coyly. He gazed at her, 
mouth open in surprise and awe, now seeing not only the 
ripe beauty of her breasts, but also that neat wedge of 
dark bronze pubic hair, guardian of her deepest secret. 
Then she lifted her chin. She'd kept her half of the 
bargain.

"I, er...I might, um, I might..." he stammered, putting 
his hands to his waistband.

"Go off?" she asked, a silken quality creeping into her 
voice that I had never heard from her before. He nodded 
jerkily, and she smiled, lids lowered.  "I'd like to see 
that."

She had seen him already. She had the advantage. He was 
the one going into unknown territory, but he kept his 
word. He unzipped his pants, and that least-shy part of 
him, that upright shaft emerged at last. He dropped his 
shorts to the sand and stepped out of them, and the 
world seemed to stand still as they gazed at each other, 
wordlessly, eyes roving up and down, relishing what they 
saw.

"Can I...look closer?" she asked quietly, sinking to her 
knees.

"If you touch me I'll explode," he said tightly. But the 
thought alone had been enough, for he gasped and twisted 
just slightly away from her.  Since he faced me this 
time I saw the shot of white come from his head. He 
clutched at his shaft while the pleasure possessed him, 
and Cathy watched with parted lips from her front-row 
seat. "Sorry," he gasped.

"Woww," she said slowly, getting to her feet, eyes 
locked with his. The flush on their faces was no longer 
from embarrassment. Her heart must have been thundering, 
her head spinning, her clitoris on fire...because I was 
feeling all that, and I was floating somewhere just 
above them.

"Could I...look at you? Up close?" he asked gently.  
"I've never seen...been...up close."

She nodded, and shifted to stand with her legs wider 
apart. Smiling, he went by her and sat on the blanket; 
she giggled, unsure of what position he had in mind and 
sat beside him, knees folded up. He pivoted on a hip and 
carefully placed a hand on her knee, with the lightest 
of pressure showing she should sit with her legs apart.

Now, below her dark bush, the moist pink of her slot was 
evident. He shuffled around on his elbows so that his 
face was within a handspan of that sacred pleasure zone, 
his expression unreadable as his eyes scanned her. 
Watching him, she placed her hands down there, and with 
her fingertips pulled back the petals of her outer 
labia. His lips moved as he murmured something; then he 
brought a fingertip up to touch the rosy flesh.  She let 
her lids fall shut, her body twitching with the thrill 
of his touch.

Then, very slowly, with that fingertip he teased the 
folds apart, running it around and around her entrance; 
lingering over her clitoris, wiggling back and forth, 
exploring that tantalising nubbin as it peeped from its 
hood. He traced and played, face alight with wonder; 
would dip his finger into the moisture of her well, then 
run that lubricated finger around and amidst her labia, 
exploring every millimetre of her.  She watched him 
examining her, breasts rising and falling with the depth 
of her breathing, nipples standing out as her arousal 
built and built. Letting go of her labia, with her hands 
she pulled her legs as far apart as they would go, 
wriggling her pelvis and raising herself up toward him 
to give him the best possible view and access. Then her 
eyes slid across to his crotch. His penis had not stayed 
soft for long. When she reached for him, he hoisted his 
hips closer, and her fingers folded over that swelling 
one-by-one. She stroked him steadily, feeling the spongy 
tissue harden as he grew longer.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she gave a gasp, pausing in 
her stroking. Sean watched, and when her eyes opened 
next he gazed intently at her, sliding his finger deeper 
into her well, slowly deeper, deeper, watching her 
breath and body shiver and shudder.

"Put it in me," she said, laying back on the blanket. 
"Let's do it." He withdrew his finger.

"Are you sure?"

"Please. Please, Sean."

The look on his face was one of profound tenderness as 
he brought his body over hers. He kept one hand on his 
cock to guide him, and rubbed his tip over her swollen, 
wet, needful slit so that she moaned and writhed and 
reached for his shaft too.

"Please, now, please!"

Together, they guided his head to her opening. She 
slipped her hand out from between them, grasping his 
hips, and he leaned into her. Her legs wrapped around 
his, her hands on his rump clutching at him hungrily as 
his buttocks thrust, moving him up and down, in and out, 
slowly at first then faster, faster. His shoulders 
flexed, muscles bulging has he held himself above her so 
that he could bury his face between her breasts, while 
hers contorted in an agonising ecstasy. They gasped in 
unison, doing it, bodies locked together.

I threw myself back from the peephole into soft sand and 
jammed my hand inside my pants, and released the fire-
button of my own throbbing clit. It was all I could do 
to stay silent, and I clutched handfuls of sand with my 
free hand.  Cathy's soft, high mews of pleasure spoke 
for me. I was hot, ecstatic, horny, jealous and 
delighted all at once.

When finally I ventured back to the window, they were 
laying cuddled together in each others' arms, bodies 
pressed together full-length. They stroked each others' 
faces in wonder and joy, now kissing tenderly, their 
eyes full of love. There was nothing in the world that 
could keep them apart now.

Creeping out of my burrow, I left them to their peace.

***

I stomped down the stone steps to the surf beach 
grumpily. It was just two days to the school dance; 
Mitch hadn't asked me to be his date yet, and I was as 
horny as hell besides. Lyn might have scored out, but 
Cathy had scored bigtime, and I was getting desperate. 
Of course Sean had asked her to the dance. They sure as 
hell weren't shy with each other anymore and were the 
hottest new item about, and Lyn and I were on our own at 
lunchtimes. I was glad true love had found its way with 
them; now I wished it would hurry up and find me.

_The next guy I see_, I vowed as I stamped onto the 
beach that day. The next eligible guy I saw, I'd ask to 
the dance; then at least I could say I was going with 
somebody.

And wouldn't you know it, the beach seemed deserted. How 
strange was that! Oh yes, a bunch of pre-pubescent kids 
playing up to the northside, and a bunch of fat old 
beach fishermen to the south. I wandered down to the 
waterline and let the waves rush around my feet, 
imagining and hoping Mitch might by some miracle appear 
from nowhere, and move with feline grace toward me. 
"Hey, Jo...hasn't anyone asked you to the dance yet?" 
He'd be wearing black Speedos, torso rippling as he 
moved...

Suddenly the shallows not far in front of me boiled, and 
something impossibly long and gangling erupted from the 
sea. He was six-four and shapeless, long hair plastered 
down over a frogman's mask, and as I goggled in 
disbelief he started an awkward, paddle-footed run out 
of the water, lifting his flippered feet high in order 
to move at all.

The universe has a very sick sense of humour. "Oh God, 
no, please..." I prayed softly, futilely. But my date 
had arrived. He was in my year, he was unattached, and I 
doubted he had a date yet. So much for Mitch emerging 
from my dreams. I had bad-lucked onto Renton.

There's nothing wrong with Renton, I suppose. He has the 
personality of a doorknob and the sex appeal of your 
average clothes-hoist. He's nice enough, but always 
seemed a bit snobbish to me. He duck-walked out of the 
water and pulled off his mask, wincing as it caught his 
hair. "Hi, Jo," he said in a low voice, as if he were 
disappointed it was me.

"Hey," I said, little more enthusiastic myself. "You 
bodysurfing?" 

"Practising. I'm not real good."

"I won't tell anyone I saw you."

"What you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you'd be 
hanging with Lyn or Cathy."

"Tell you the truth, I was hoping to find Mitch," I 
muttered. Was there any other alternative on this beach? 
"I wanted to ask him if he's going to the dance."

"Oh, yeah, the dance. I'm not really interested in that, 
it's kind of childish. I don't think Mitch's able to 
make it that night, that's why he hasn't asked anyone 
yet," he added helpfully. "Family birthday or something. 
I think he wanted to ask you."

I looked up suddenly, no longer quite so irritated with 
Renton. He gazed back from greenish-hazel eyes soberly. 
He wasn't malicious by nature, so I could believe him. 
"Damn," I muttered.

"Yeah, rotten luck."

"You weren't interested in going, then?" I commented. He 
shrugged jerkily.

"Couldn't care less," he said, bending to prise off his 
flippers.

"You wouldn't want to go along with me if I asked you, 
then," I concluded.

It was his turn to shoot me a guarded look. "Nobody's 
ever wanted to go to a dance with me."

"I'll be frank. Mitch was my first choice, but he's nix. 
How about you?" I was careful not to seem too insulting-
-I could have added "Who else is left?", but that would 
have been cruel. All the same, he seemed to read me loud 
and clear.

"All right," he said, "so long as I don't get any better 
offers. See you." And he walked off just like that.

***

Of course I was ropable, insulted to boot. When I found 
Cathy and Lyn at our regular caf they listened patiently 
while I sounded off. I'd gotten myself stuck with 
someone I didn't really want, but I'm cussed enough to 
take the punishment. I'd set myself up for this, so I'd 
see it through for good or ill--ill the most likely 
outcome.

"Better offers!" I huffed. "As if he's going to get a 
better offer! He really knows how to impress...better 
offers, hah! I'm gonna be a laughing-stock anyway."

Lyn and Cathy looked up, at each other, at me, up again. 
"Hi, Mitch," Cathy smiled.

My heart stopped on a dime. _Where the hell were you 
half an hour ago!_ He slipped into the seat beside me, 
almond shaped eyes smiling. "Jo," he said, "could we 
have a word?"

"Ah, sure!" I stammered, spellbound. Then I lifted off 
and floated after Mitch between the tables to a 
sheltered corner of the mall. Did Cathy and Lyn titter 
and nudge each other behind my back? Did I care?

He was gorgeous, with his smooth oval face and the 
dimple in his chin. His very self-possession made him 
stand out from the crowd. And right now I had his 
undivided attention. "Look," he said, brushing a hand 
through his silken black hair, "I owe you an apology, 
Jo. With the dance coming up and all, see...I can't make 
it, the family's going to be out of town that week. I 
was going to ask you to be my date, but, I didn't want 
to disappoint you by having to pull out and, well, to be 
honest," he shrugged, "I wasn't sure you'd want to go, 
you seem far too mature for such things."

"Oh, that's okay," I fumbled. "I'm sorry you'll miss it, 
the dance. Thanks for thinking of me."

"I hear Renton's the lucky man," he said with a rueful 
smile.

"Only because he said you couldn't make it, he wasn't my 
first choice," I covered hastily, and he laughed. "I 
don't think he's very impressed by the prospect."

"Who, Renton? He's on cloud nine, he's thrilled to 
bits."

"What!" I was gobsmacked, and Mitch laughed gently 
again.

"Be kind to him, Jo. He thinks he's a hopeless case, and 
you've made him a happy man. He's a good mate of mine, 
so don't hurt him eh?"

"Um, sure, but there's nothing going on between him and 
I, Mitch, you can be sure of that!"

He put up his hands in a placatory gesture. "That's 
cool, I know! Anyway, I'll cut to the chase. Since I 
can't take you to the dance, can I make you an 
alternative offer?"

Could he? My God! "Sure," I said, batting my eyelids; I 
couldn't help it. He grinned.

"I'm going to be taking possession of a new runabout 
next week, and wondered if you'd like to come on a 
round-the-harbour picnic cruise, just the two of us? I'm 
sure we could find plenty to talk about."

"That'd be fantastic, yeah! I'd love to, Mitch, thank 
you!"

"All right, we'll call that a date, then."

***

"We-ell?" my friends chorused when I returned to the 
table. My mood had switched 180 degrees from earlier. 
Putting up with Renton for an evening would be easy with 
the prospect of a much hotter date beyond the school 
dance.

"But Mitch said Renton was pretty excited about the idea 
of going to the dance with me. That wasn't the 
impression I got," I puzzled.

"Renton's just shy," said Lyn, "and probably too proud 
to admit it. Don't freak out about the dance too much, 
Jo; I'll be there with Russ, but I'll stick with you if 
you need help."

"You would?" She nodded, and I remembered--things 
weren't going too well between her and Russ. "You're a 
true friend, Lyn, thank you."

We finished our drinks and prepared to go. Sean was 
picking Cathy up, and when we went to the washroom she 
asked me a question I had been waiting for. "Umm, Jo, 
you know BoggleEye Point?"

"I wasn't planning on heading up there anymore," I said 
honestly. "I've seen all that I needed to see--but if 
you want to go, well, you know where it is. I got Mitch 
to think of; I don't want to perve on Sean. And if I 
have to go around Nanny's garden once more, I'm gonna 
scream!" 

"Really? Thanks, Jo, thank you," she said sincerely. "It 
was wonderful of you to show me that. I hope things work 
out well for Mitch and you."

Outside, Sean was waiting, chatting to Lyn. He greeted 
Cathy with a lingering kiss, and their casual arm-in-arm 
stance spoke volumes. "Wow," said Lyn a mite enviously 
as they walked away, lost in each others' eyes. "Do you 
reckon they've..?"

"If they haven't already," I sighed knowingly, "it won't 
be long before they do. Half their luck!"

***

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.



  
lorelei a