"Tales of the Lorelei" by virgosun
(c) March 2004
Part 3
=================================
Nobody likes waiting, especially on a vague half-notion 
about a very serious prospect, perhaps even life-
changing. Renton had hurried home after leaving the 
fuelstop, and...waited. Waited. He had the house to 
himself. Had a bunch of videos he had borrowed. He 
should have had a cluster of mates over for the weekend, 
with beer and playstation games, and a heap of saucy 
.mpegs downloaded from Kieran's computer. But he didn't 
dare have the house trashed, and when there was a 
slender chance Lyn might call, having mates over was not 
an option.

When the phone rang he died a minor death; but it was 
only Mitch finding out precisely if a boys' weekend was 
on. No, he told him, his mum came back early - so that 
Mitch wouldn't come and crash the place anyway. Sean 
rang to see if he wanted to do a network game Sunday. 
That one he agreed to, for if his special visitor hadn't 
arrived by then, she wasn't going to arrive. Later, he 
phoned Kieran, feeling grumpy and needing to talk to 
someone, but reached the answering machine and the 
mobile was switched off. A light tapping at the door 
yielded only a pair of beatifically-smiling evangelists.

Lyn could have called a cab, caught a bus, cadged a lift 
or even ridden a bike. But she walked, from the mall, 
taking with her a little gift-box of chocolates that 
melted in the summer heat. And she sat on the pavement 
outside his place for a long time simply working up the 
courage to go in, sure at last that this was doomed to 
failure as "in the mood" seemed as far away as the Moon. 
He had started up a computer-game that was a good 
timewaster, and put headphones on, so he only barely 
heard her knock. She was on the point of turning to walk 
home again when he hurried out and found her.

"You _walked_, Lyn! Ohh, man!" He didn't try to kiss 
her, just put the chocolates straight in the freezer, 
and poured her a large tumbler of springwater. He threw 
one of the videos in the player, and they sat in the 
lounge and talked about nothing much in cool comfort, 
sometimes looking at the video but not paying it a lot 
of heed. Her smile returned, and he was simply glad of 
her company. Now that she was here, it didn't matter 
whether they actually _did_ anything or not.

Dusk settled comfortably over the bay. Renton's house 
was on the southern, older side of town, where the 
streets were steep and narrow. You could have seen 
Lorelei Point from his place if it hadn't been for the 
towers of resort apartments that overshadowed the little 
weatherboard cottage. They could have wandered the 
cliff-walks with the sunburnt touries, or walked his 
setter down to the beach. Instead, he ordered in a small 
pizza and tangy, icy gelati, and they dined in the 
privacy of the back yard beneath a trellis heavy with 
passionfruit vines. The sun set magnificently behind the 
ranges Kieran and I had ridden through a few hours 
earlier, lighting broken altocumulus cloud with spectral 
rose, lilac and gold. It was when Lyn stood and walked 
forward from the patio to watch that Renton followed 
her, and gently circled her with his arms. It was enough 
for her to lean against him with her arms around his 
waist, and to be held as the sun set over her old way of 
life.

For now, through the thin shirt, she could feel the taut 
slimness of his waist, and it felt nice. Which led to 
her thinking about his nipples again. She hadn't stopped 
wanting him all week.

They stacked away the dinner things. They could catch a 
cab and go see a movie, or go down to the Malt Shoppe, 
or slump in the lounge and watch another crappy sci-fi 
flick and eat frozen chocolate. Renton's mother rang, 
and he grinned wryly as he returned to the lounge after 
hanging up. Just checking, of course, listening for loud 
music or ruckus in the background. He resumed his place, 
arm along the back of the sofa, Lyn curled up on the 
cushions at his side.

Those buttons begged to be undone. Some thought Renton 
daggy because he wore button-up linen shirts rather than 
tees or tank-tops, but Lyn needed no convincing of the 
turn-on value of buttons. Suddenly fey, she leaned 
across his chest. Renton's pulse quickened, for he had 
barely dared hope for her attention to stray to his 
nipples. Instead, she did something every bit as sexy, 
and kissed his top button, before wiggling it about with 
her pointy, pink tongue.

"Whoa," he murmured with a crooked grin. Lyn smiled up 
at him, then parted the fabric between the buttons 
enough so that she could taste the skin of his chest. 
Then she kissed the next button...found the next gap, 
tongue darting for a single soft taste. Kissed the next 
button, and onward, down his midline. Her hands found 
his waist under the hem of his shirt, and roved across 
his taut stomach, feeling every ripple. "Don't bite," he 
cautioned, "or you might swallow one!"

Lyn giggled, lifting his shirt, in search of his navel. 
His belt-buckle thwarted her, so she wiggled her tongue 
as far down behind it as she could, coiling the soft 
hairs of his midline round and round.

"All right," he breathed, gazing down into her big, 
round eyes. Taking her shoulders, he lifted her back to 
her seat. "I think it's high time you got a bit of your 
own medicine." He lowered his mouth to that part of her 
blouse where the fabric was tightest over the curve of 
her breast. He used his lips to knead and massage 
through her clothing, while fingertips that trembled 
slightly touched her waist, pulling her top upward. He 
paused in his kissing, glancing at her face as he 
revealed her bra.

"It's hot," she smiled, raising her arms over her head. 
This did spectacular things to her breasts, which Renton 
watched speechlessly as he lifted her shirt off over her 
head. Lyn has pouty, cupid's bow lips, and it was these 
he kissed while his hands went to the wonder of her 
breasts, cupping them, moving them about, running his 
thumbs under the rim of her bra to find the soft areola 
and nipple, hoping he could encourage the underwear to 
spill her breasts out. She helped by wiggling her 
shoulders so that her straps fell down from her 
shoulders, while her tongue probed his mouth 
authoritatively, teaching him to kiss with fire and 
passion as well as with gentleness. Her hands undid his 
buttons and caressed his stomach and sides, and she 
pinched his nipples for good measure.

"Yeah, go on, do that, please!" he sighed, shouldering 
out of his shirt and laying back, inviting her to play; 
to nibble and nip, to lick and swirl her tongue about 
his nipples while he tugged at her bra and kneaded her 
breasts. With a laugh she put him out of his misery and 
unhitched the offending underwear. Catching them in his 
hands as gently as though he handled delicate china, he 
kissed her nipples with profound care, only once before 
sitting back to gaze earnestly into her eyes.

"Why did you stop?" she asked.

"I...didn't want to rough you up. You said Russ was a 
bit rough with you, and...I'm kind of big and I don't 
know my own strength sometimes...and, I wondered if I 
was doing it right, this is, like, the first time..." he 
mumbled, trailing away awkwardly as he blushed, fiery as 
his hair. Lyn's face lit with joy and love.

"Oh but it's been wonderful so far, wonderful! Russ 
would have yanked my panties off by now!" She brought 
her face very close to his so that she could feel the 
heat of his blush. "What do _you_ want to do now, 
Renton?" He opened his mouth to speak, but she kissed 
him to silence, and kept his lips closed with a 
fingertip. "Don't tell me. Show me."

Renton knelt, and caught her knee between his big hands. 
With one, he caressed the outer sweep of her thigh, 
running his hand over the cloth of her skirt, right up 
to her hip and the flare of her rump, then back down 
again, relishing the smooth curve. She was sitting part-
twisted toward him so that her thighs were together, 
knees tucked one behind the other. With his other hand, 
he made little circles with his thumb on the soft skin 
inside her knee, trailing it with little kisses. She 
responded by rotating her pelvis and squaring her 
posture, so that her legs came ever so slightly apart. 
Slowly, in wonder, he let his hand roam further up her 
inner thigh, beneath and around, fabric pushed up as his 
lips ventured after those questing fingers. His breath 
was a hot feather on the warm, sensitive silk of her 
skin. He lay his cheek upon the silken cushion of her 
thigh, and at last his fingertips touched the cotton 
veil at the end of their quest - a brief, fleeting 
touch.

She couldn't help but gasp, and he kissed her thigh and 
drew back. She was angry at herself for making that 
noise, for it had been one of excitement rather than 
fear, spurred by the jolt of need that had shocked her 
clitoris. But he had stopped. "I'm sorry, was that too 
much?" he whispered by her knee.

"No, no, it was nice! Do you want to do it again?" She 
parted her knees a little more. He rocked back, gazing 
at her lap.

"Stand up." She watched him curiously as she did so, 
wiggling her hips slowly as she did for the wonderful, 
womanly sensation of it. He put his hands up to the 
side-seams of her skirt. "See," he explained softly, 
eyes locked to her thighs in spite of her naked breasts 
above, "you have the most gorgeous legs, Lyn, and I wish 
sometimes you would wear your dresses higher...a bit 
higher..." He lifted the hemline an inch at a time, 
savouring the view. She moved her pelvis with every 
rise, posing, and held her dress up for him as more leg 
was exposed so that he could touch and kiss her. That 
hemline climbed, up to mini, and then beyond, revealing 
the demure crotch of her knickers.

"Would you like me to take my skirt off?" she invited. 
He could only give a nod for reply; then sat back again 
to watch the skirt drop and her step daintily from it. 
He circled her thigh with his hands and slowly stroked 
them up and down, the inner hand rising to graze her 
crotch every time, lingering a little longer.

"I think...I'm really wet now," she whispered, wishing 
he would venture beyond that barrier. He gazed up at her 
solemnly before backing away again.

He stood, gazing down at her feminine splendour. "Your 
turn," he said hoarsely. "Only do what you want to do."

Her eyes roved his torso for a moment; his groin, 
looking for something and not sure of what she saw. "I 
want your bellybutton," she said wickedly, and he gave a 
nervous laugh. She kissed his nipples again, tongueing 
them leisurely while her hands went to his belt. She 
didn't need any help managing thick leather, and she 
unfastened his top shorts button as well, but did not 
unzip him. She merely pushed his pants down his hips as 
low as they would ride, then knelt to run her tongue 
around and around his navel. With her palms she felt the 
way his muscles rippled, all sweeping down to that one 
secret destination still lurking beneath his shorts. 
Drawing away from his navel, she admired him; he was so 
lean that she could even see the veins that twined 
south. Everything vanished into the dense bush of russet 
coils just visible above his jocks.

Red hair, so Renton, so wonderful! There was only one 
place left to go. She loosened his zipper as she pressed 
her lips to his stomach just above his pubes, and it was 
his turn to gasp. When she looked up at him, his face 
had clouded with worry. But she wasn't afraid now, and 
she knew what she wanted. She knew to proceed with care 
getting the waistband past a stiffly-protruding 
knob...yet somehow, Renton didn't seem to be in the way. 
His shorts and jocks slid down easily. Then she saw why.

"Oh my god!"

Simply put, Renton was huge. So large and heavy when 
erect that he hung down, seemingly halfway to his knees. 
So thick she wondered how she would get her hand around 
him.

"I - I thought you said eight inches was a myth!"

He looked miserable now. "I really wish it was," he 
murmured.

"Oh, Renton!" She stood up and threw her arms around 
him, holding him close, her heart wanting to banish the 
misery from his face as her body revelled in the feeling 
of his skin against hers; the springy curls of his pubes 
against her belly, and that incredible...long...heat 
that dangled toward her wetness.

They stood like that for a long time, together, holding 
each other. "I hope I didn't, ah, frighten you or 
anything," he murmured into her hair at last. "There was 
no easy way to, er, tell you."

"I'm not frightened," she said, cupping his face in her 
hands. "I could never be afraid of you, Renton."

"But it still gave you a bit of a shock," he insisted 
soberly.

She couldn't deny that much. "Russ was like, little, and 
I couldn't deal with him, er..." _Where does all that 
go!_ had come to mind, she couldn't deny it.

"Lyn, listen to me," he murmured, kissing her brow and 
holding her close again, rocking her gently. His size 
against her had shrunken somewhat; she wanted to touch 
him, to compare him to what she knew, to check she 
wasn't imagining things. "I know you had troubles with 
Russ. We don't ever have to make love if you don't want 
to. We can just fool around, if that's what you want, 
Lyn - or if you want we can forget the whole thing."

"Shh, you silly thing," she whispered, pressing a finger 
to his lips. "I love you, and I _like_ fooling around 
with you. Can we do it some more?"

A big grin split his face, banishing the worry. "If you 
want...you mean it? Well, um...what do you want to do 
now?"

"I want to get really naked. It's a really, really hot 
night!"

They pushed off their shoes and socks, and Renton helped 
Lyn take off her knickers, kissing her navel and 
squeezing her buttocks on the way. Then he flung himself 
into the sofa again, laughing, euphoric with relief. She 
hadn't run off screaming. He'd been afraid she might. 
Instead, she was lounging beside him, gazing at his 
body, then into his eyes.

"You are beautiful, Lyn," he whispered, caressing her 
face and shoulder, the curve of her breast. Her nipple 
rose up to his touch, and he lowered his lips to it. She 
was trailing her fingers along his belly and hips, 
glancing from his face to that incredible crotch. 
Whether or not she could bring herself to have him, he 
loved the way she looked at him, and told her so.

"Do you?" she smiled, reaching down to stroke him, 
fascinated. Edgy as she was about the main event, how 
could she not touch and feel something so rare and 
awesome? He groaned in delight at her touch, and she 
felt his weight. He was heating up, the skin stretching 
over corded veins; smooth, slotted head emerging from 
beneath the foreskin.

"That's even better!" he sighed. She held him up; lay 
him to one side, the other; up toward his navel, amazed 
at his shape and reach. While she played, he touched her 
thighs and hips, her breasts, and kissed her body.

"How do I know when I'm wet enough?" she whispered 
plaintively.

"Oh, Lyn!" he whispered, gathering her close into a safe 
little ball, hugging her tightly. She trembled for a 
moment; then faced him bravely.

"There's a way we could try this," he suggested at 
length, gulping. "We could just rub against each other 
until we come. Would you want to try that?"

She glanced about the room, then swivelled around, 
putting her leg across his lap. Although the lounge was 
deep, there was enough length to him that his cockhead 
could bump against her labia, and he put his hand in his 
crotch for extra support. Tentatively at first, Lyn 
wiggled her hips, just touching him. He leaned forward 
so that his tongue could just catch her nipples, and she 
leaned into him too, allowing his mouth to close over 
the soft skin. As she rubbed along his tip her labia 
started to part, yielding a hot, slick path for him to 
glide upon.

Renton groaned. His body wanted to thrust; his back was 
unnaturally arched, body cramping. "Lyn, Lyn, hop up a 
minute," he whispered.

She stood up, doe-eyed, standing with her legs slightly 
parted. The gentle light of the corner lamp highlighted 
the pert upsweep of her breast, and the fuzzy halo of 
her pubes. He leaned up again to kiss her right there, 
and breathe her scent, then climbed out of the seat.

"We should be comfortable," he said, taking her hand and 
leading her toward the bedrooms.

Her heart hammered in her throat, anticipating what was 
to come. The fumbling, the shoving, the anticlimax...She 
had been to Renton's house before, had been in his room, 
and knew where his parents' room was. He led her along 
the hallway and she followed meekly, expecting the 
double bed, the sheets turned back, the candlelight. But 
he led her past that dark doorway, along to his own 
room, a comfortable jumble, single bed with doona thrown 
carelessly aside. They had sat here together and looked 
at comics and listened to CD's and played Trivial 
Pursuit. This was a place she liked being.

He clicked on a desk-lamp, then gathered her close and 
kissed her gently. Then he lay on the bed, pushing the 
doona aside. "Can we try that again?" he asked, taking 
his cock in one hand and stroking it up toward his 
navel.

Lyn watched that languid movement, fascinated. Whatever 
her fears, her clitoris was throbbing like never before. 
It couldn't harm to slip along that amazing ridge, to 
press and wriggle herself against him? Only masturbation 
had felt this good. Straddling him, she lowered herself 
to him, letting her weight sink upon him until her lips 
parted around his thickness. She found she could slide 
along him, every long inch of him, as smoothly as liquid 
glass.

In that way, she felt him, using a part of her body she 
had never thought of as a sensory organ. From the 
rougher coils of the pubes at his base, along the shaft 
right up to where the tip of the head flared, the 
rounded knob at the end; she wanted to hold that within 
her petals, to move and slide around him. "See, Lyn," he 
breathed, "you've got the controls, you can do as much 
as you want." He took her hand and guided it down to 
where their bodies rubbed, and she raised herself up. He 
put her hand around his shaft, which was slippery with 
her juices. "You can have as much or as little as you 
want."

Her eyes were locked with his in wonder, as she lifted 
his cock to rub it around her clit. She was trembling, 
her pelvis moving in little circles. She moved his 
fleshy head around and around, sliding between her clit 
and that hollow behind it, rolling it between her labia 
and pushing, feeling his solidity. While she played, he 
ran his fingertips in long, feathery strokes down her 
body and breasts. Her whole vagina clenched needfully, 
and she rocked involuntarily.

Suddenly, there came a wonderful, soft, popping 
sensation as her entry relaxed and his whole cockhead 
entered her. Each saw the other's surprise as they 
gasped. She didn't dare move, for fear of losing her 
hold on him.

"Gently, Lyn, gently," he coached her. Very slowly, she 
started to move. Down she went, feeling a wondrous 
stretching that made her vagina want to clench. With 
every contraction the fullness inside her felt 
extraordinary, and Renton groaned. Then she moved up and 
the feeling changed, a wonderful drawing, and she 
hesitated when she felt he was going to pop out again. 
Slid down, taking more of him. Her hand was in the way, 
so she let go and slid down harder. Gorgeous spasms were 
rocking her already, white heat building in the core of 
her being. It would only explode if she rode him...rode 
him, up and down, finding her rhythm. His eyes were like 
saucers as her body pounded upon his. More, more! 
Grabbing his pelvis, she drove herself down as hard as 
she could, and he thrust upward to meet her. He rammed 
up against something deep inside - and she cried out in 
wonder as pure ecstasy speared her and her eyes flooded 
with light, sobbing for breath as the aftershocks took 
her. He was still thrusting, shaking, fingers tight on 
her thighs as she collapsed from that peak, and felt him 
shake and gasp. Then their bodies melted together as one 
breathless, sweat-slicked glow.

She could still feel him inside her, head trapped by her 
hold. She squeezed him, and was disappointed as he 
slipped away. But he would come back. They both needed 
to rest.

A big hand cupped her head lovingly, fingers twining in 
her hair. "Did I hurt you?" he asked carefully.

"No, Renton," she whispered, "you wonderful man!"

"That was...my first," he said dazedly. "You...we..."

She kissed his lips fiercely, silencing him. "I love 
you!"

***

So there you went. Lyn discovered sex wasn't so bad 
after all, and I kind of wished she'd left out telling 
me how _big_ Renton was, it stirs up the wrong kind of 
curiosity entirely.

Back at school, and there were Sean and Cathy hanging 
together, Lyn and Renton being disgustingly cuddly. I 
was welcome to hang around with them, of course, but 
three really is a crowd when you're number Three. Renton 
tried to approach me on my own a couple of times, as 
though he wanted to apologise or something. "And for our 
runner-up, the consolation prize of one hammy apology!" 
I muttered. Mitch was still leering at me, and I even 
let him sit with me for appearances sake. Of course, if 
I just wanted to have sex, he would be an instant 
solution - if I survived the facial vacuuming first.

Of course, I thought of Kieran, but my feelings were 
uncomfortably ambivalent. Like tunnel vision, they 
always focused on Thursday night, and my mission; then 
the leaky canoe. So then I thought about the car. I'd 
recently gained my drivers' licence, and being a garage-
owner's daughter there would be no way I'd be without a 
car, even if I hadn't wanted one! Dad and my brothers 
would see to that. A likely first-car candidate had been 
found, and I had been persuaded to part with most of my 
savings on its account. Cathy was learning to drive her 
mother's car, but wasn't likely to own one for herself. 
Lyn wasn't interested in it at all. I was determined to 
steal a march on them automotively if not sexually.

Thursday night hung over the week like some pall of 
doom. Like the storm that had trapped Sean and Cathy at 
the Point. I weakly told myself I wouldn't go 
smutsurfing; then grabbed the regular block of rum 'n' 
raisin. Cathy's brother dropped us up there, and Sean 
showed us in; I thought I must have been going down with 
a cold for the buzzing and crackling in my ears.

We took our usual places, Sean in the lounge reading and 
watching telly, while Cathy and I dragged a couple of 
chairs in front of Kieran's computer and logged-on. The 
workshop was otherwise locked-up and silent, just like 
always, Kieran away doing whatever he did on Thursday 
evenings. Cathy found a few .mpegs that looked 
interesting and got them downloading, and we flicked 
through a few pictures. "Ohh, pass on the Well-Hung 
Studs, please," I moaned, and Cathy laughed.

"Wonder if Renton's amidst the red-headed ones?" she 
asked wickedly. Her voice sounded thin and faraway, as 
though my ears were full of water.

"Stop it or I'll barf!"

As ever, the sight of a few hunks with nice tumid 
penises could get me interested, and the lower half of 
my body warmed with appreciation to that low simmer 
which is acceptable for public locations and non-sexual 
company. But the urge to look around was an unbearable 
itch, for there was a cabinet behind me that contained 
something important, something I absolutely HAD to take 
care of...

"Are you all right?" Cathy asked. "You look a bit pale."

"Yeah, I'm okay, I got dumped at the beach and still got 
water in my ears, might be getting an infection. You go 
ahead there, I've just got to check the Lorelei files, 
then I might go over to the house and see if they've got 
some inhaler or something." That was my out, my excuse. 
I didn't feel sick at all, although my ears were 
roaring.

I got up, on legs like jelly. I walked to the filing 
cabinet, and pulled out the bottom drawer with sweaty 
hands. There it was! It had little bells on ribbons as 
decoration, and much as I loathed the idea of touching 
the actual skullbones, I made myself grab it that way to 
keep the bells silent, muffled by my skin. Grit my teeth 
to keep from gasping at the feel of it. Looked at Cathy, 
who had her back to me and was clicking the mouse, 
intent on the screen.

With exaggerated nonchalance, I kicked the drawer shut 
with my foot, then swaggered to the outside door, 
keeping my hand with the thing low and inconspicuous. 
Kieran would hate me forever for doing this. I would 
never go kayaking again. I eased the door open quietly, 
slipped outside, then eased it shut.

It was dark outside, really dark, inky. The fairy-lights 
were switched off, and all the regular outside lights. 
The kitchen window emitted just enough of a gleam for me 
to see the ancient tree and a pale arc of the tyre. All 
I had to do now was pitch the noisome thing in that 
direction, at the tyre and the creek, and it would be 
gone. Sliding one foot along the ground after another, I 
felt my way closer to the tree, so that I could be sure 
of my toss...

"Jesus-fuck!" someone yelled out, with Kieran's voice. A 
shadow loomed up from the garden blackness. I gasped and 
tossed the cat-skull underarm and poorly toward the 
creek, but instead of splashing it jingled; luckily, a 
sound that Scrote would make.

"Kieran! Um, hi, you're not supposed to be here!" I 
stammered.

"Jo? _You're_ supposed to be in the office, you scared 
the fucking crap out of me!"

"Speak for yourself!"

"What you doing sneaking around out here in the dark?"

"Um, nothing, nothing..." My lie sounded thin and weak 
beneath the thunder of my heart. There was a cat-skull 
laying not far away, and if the lights came on it would 
be in plain view, my betrayal obvious. I had to distract 
him somehow. "Um, you know, it er, gets a bit steamy 
when you watch those movies, I was just taking some air, 
cooling off a bit, you know what I mean," I babbled. 
"What were you doing hiding out here?"

"Keeping a date with Mrs Palmer, since I thought 
everyone else was busy," he said gruffly. I was too 
strung-out to catch his drift at first, seeing as there 
really is a Mrs Palmer who is the Infants Mistress at 
the primary school - a very stuffy fifty-plus and 
matronly type. So I actually _looked_ for company, and 
he realised what I was thinking. "No, no, not _her_, 
what do you take me for?" he growled, outraged. I burst 
out in slightly hysterical giggles, and he started 
laughing too.

"So," I said saucily as we sobered, "did I miss the 
show?" My hearing was too clotted to have heard the 
quiet sound a zip might make. "You know I like to 
watch." Had to get him away from the scene of my 
interrupted crime, had to!

"I thought you'd had enough watching." He was standing 
quite close by, the silhouette of his head nodding 
toward the office. I was thinking I could leap up and 
kiss him to distract him, but for once in my life, the 
right words entered my head.

"I sure have! It's about time I had some doing!" When I 
reached out I caught his arm, quickly slipped my hands 
down to his - and pressed it into my crotch.

The world froze for a breathless instant. We both stood 
stock-still. My hissing ears made a whine like feedback.

"Really?" he said, dryly, as the whistle faded away. 
Suddenly my ears had cleared and I could hear all the 
night noises; the soft trickle of water, cheeping of 
crickets, distant purr of traffic...his breathing. His 
fingers twisted minutely beneath mine, just enough that 
he could work them slightly further in, curling their 
tips to hook them around my pubic bone. I could feel the 
tendons moving in his hand where I held it, as he 
started making small back-and-forward movements with his 
middle finger. My clit, buried under flesh and fabric, 
began to buzz.

"Really," he purred again, waggling that probing finger 
from side to side. This rubbed my shorts seam against 
everything good, and parted my labia. His fingertip was 
a delightful hardness I could rub against - and best of 
all, it wasn't my own finger! Clutching his hand, I 
leaned against it.

The catskull didn't matter any more.

He twisted his finger so that it slipped around the 
crutch and hem of my shorts; the backs of his fingers 
went right up my inner thigh and burrowed under the 
elastic of my knickers. I rose up on my tiptoes and 
parted my legs, and ran my hands up and down his 
forearm, feeling the muscles shifting as he worked. His 
fingertips inched through the pubes of my outer labia, 
creeping until they found the liquid lake of my slot.

My breath was catching in my chest, and I heard him 
swallow. I rocked against his fingers, my body making 
slow, sensuous motions, while those fingertips slipped 
along and amidst the folds. My clit was afire, and I 
arched as high as I could, wanting to slide those 
fingers in deeper, deeper, to places I had never been 
able to reach by myself. But then, he started to pull 
his hand away, his other hand gently disengaging mine.

"Hold that thought," he murmured, and backed toward the 
house. A cold thought that he was going to turn on the 
lights chilled my fires with a moment's dread. Instead, 
he leaned into the kitchen door.

"Sean! Go down to Chessy's and get us a super bacon 
burger, will ya? And get a bucket of passionfruit 
gelato, and we could use some more cola while you're at 
it! And something for the girls, too!"

A muted protest rose from inside. Kieran tugged his keys 
from his tight jeans pocket. "Hey listen, you're gonna 
get yours later and I've got nothing, so the least you 
could do is get me a goddamn burger! I'll give you my 
keys, even, just don't get caught yeah?"

This produced the desired effect as footsteps thudded 
about indoors. I went to the back door as he went 
inside; there were some murmurs, then the front door 
squeaked and Sean was gone, so I went in. Kieran shut 
off the television, then turned and looked me over 
soberly. His eyes glittered with lust, focused on my 
crotch. "Come with me," he murmured.

I followed him to his room, a place I had never been 
before, watching his backside moving in those black 
jeans, wondering what I was about to see...to 
experience. He switched on the light, and aside from all 
the drawings tacked to the walls, his room was plain and 
bereft of the murals that adorned the rest of the house. 
His bed was before me, dark blue sea-patterned sheets.

Now I could see his face, and admire him, for he was 
indeed attractive. His eyes were intense and earnest, 
and he licked his lips. "Now," he said, "we can 
continue."

I had thought he would push me down to the bed. Instead, 
he knelt before me, and drew down my shorts and panties 
together, slowly, as if unveiling a work of art. He 
brought his lips to my belly, and started kissing me, 
softly, down into my bush. At the apex of my triangle, 
his pink tongue peeked out, and lightly probed the 
entrance to my slit.

Nothing I had ever done to myself prepared me for the 
soft, warm caress of a man's tongue. I parted my thighs, 
and he brought his hands to my hips as this time, his 
tongue snaked between my folds. My juices were already 
running thick and slippery, which was why he did as he 
did. When that soft warmth, feather-light yet powerful, 
folded around my clitoris, I stepped out of my shorts so 
that I could get my legs wide, and snagged my fingers in 
his hair. His whiskers were deliciously rough on my 
labia and inner thighs, and every flick and sweep of his 
tongue made me moan and writhe for the pure joy of it. I 
pulled him harder against me, and he responded by 
pushing his tongue in deeper, licking strongly the full 
length of my gash. Every time he reached my clit he just 
tipped it, teasing, each time bringing a flash of 
sensation so good it was painful. I couldn't stand. 
Every touch was agony and I wanted to pull away as much 
as I wanted to grind him inward.

I dropped to the bed and he followed me down, kneading 
my hips with his fingers, thrusting his tongue in as far 
as it would reach. My legs scissored the air; my body 
didn't know what it wanted as I writhed, sometimes 
clenching his head between my thighs, then arching and 
wriggling away, pulling my legs apart to let him 
breathe. The orgasm was simply indescribable. Just one 
touch of his tongue upon my aching clit was enough to 
almost shoot me off the bed. Where his tongue wouldn't 
reach, his finger did; while my body thrashed he pushed 
his finger deep, deep inside, magnifying every sensation 
threefold.

How I didn't break his finger or suffocate him, I don't 
know.

My cries subsided to mews and whimpers; the stabs of joy 
softened to aching, tingling coronae of pleasure. My 
body relaxed, the bedsheets rumpled and pulled awry 
beneath me. Now he lapped me gently, like a cat, as if 
to wash me clean; then kissed my thighs reverently. When 
he looked up, the sharpness of his earlier gaze had 
gone; his face was gentle, eyes soft with love and 
perhaps, amazement.

"Kieran," I whispered, caressing his hair, his face. He 
kissed my hip, my belly.

"Why should we play alone, when we can play together?" 
he breathed, putting his arms around my hips and lower 
back, nuzzling my groin. We lay there together for a 
while in silent accord, me stroking his hair while he 
hugged my pelvis. My virginity no longer mattered, and 
neither Lyn nor Cathy had anything on me. I had a lover, 
nestled between my legs, and he was all the man I could 
want.

"What about you?" I asked. He smiled, and pushed himself 
to his feet, feasting his eyes on me sprawled there. And 
I wanted him to enjoy me. I still felt wonderfully 
mellow, and didn't want to move.

"You'll get your chance," he promised, and turned toward 
the door. "Take your time." He closed the door partway 
as he left, heading toward the bathroom. I heard the 
back screen door slam.

_Shit! Cathy, and she's probably wondering where I got 
to!_

But the bedroom door was pulled-to, and I still didn't 
feel much like moving. That was when the ceiling drifted 
into view; I hadn't noticed it earlier. Although a pale, 
nondescript undercoat colour, a mural had been outlined 
there in blue ink, sketched ready for completion. It was 
her, the Lorelei rampant, glaring imperiously at me.

_Oh yeah?_ I smiled up at her, then moved my body into 
the same arrogant, legs-spread posture. And laughed.

I could hear water running in the bathroom, and Cathy 
walking into the loungeroom calling for Sean. I sat up 
then and yanked up my pants, taking a moment to check my 
appearance in a small dresser mirror. Not too hot and 
tousled? Check. I was sticky as hell downstairs, but who 
other than Kieran would know that? The bed was a mess, 
sheets rumpled and pulled as though we had...well.

And I was ready not a moment too soon. "In here," I 
answered when Cathy called my name. Casual, like. My 
eyes fell to the top of the dresser, where a sketchblock 
and charcoals lay askew. "I was just checking out some 
of Kieran's work."

Astonished, I realised I was looking at my own face. It 
was the same sketch he had made at the office that day, 
although he had put a lot more work into it since then. 
Properly shaded, there was no doubting it was me, a 
striking and flattering likeness. That he had completed 
it without me sitting for him only deepened my 
admiration for his talents.

"Oh, wow!" said Cathy as she joined me. "He said he 
wanted to draw you, but wasn't sure how to convince you 
to sit for him."

"I didn't sit for him. He's done this pretty much out of 
his head." A second head had been rough-sketched right 
beside mine, as if someone leaned close over my 
shoulder, almost cheek-to-cheek. There were no more than 
a few lines, a squarish shape with a few strokes at eye 
and mouth level.

"Who's that?" Cathy asked. I shook my head.

"I don't know!" We stared at each other. Then the 
bathroom door clattered; Cathy startled, and I quickly 
put the pad down face-down. Kieran appeared in the hall, 
scruffing his face and hair dry with a towel.

"What're you two doing in here?" he growled. "Git!"

We giggled as we scarpered. Before long we were back in 
the kitchen, chatting about not much, and then Sean 
returned from his errand. We all ate together, Cathy and 
Sean trading coy glances, and time was getting away. I 
asked after the Lorelei painting, and Kieran admitted 
he'd been busy with paying projects and had only barely 
started her. Then he offered me a lift home.

"You've got my number," he said as we drove off in his 
ute, eyes on the road. "Call me when you need me."

I drew an unsteady breath. I wanted him already. But if 
I was home any later, I'd get grief from Mum and 
Thursdays would be permanently cancelled. "Thanks," was 
all I could find to say.

The catskull was laying somewhere in his garden by the 
waterside. Perhaps he would find it out there, and 
wonder how it had gotten there. Or perhaps it was hidden 
in long grass. Whatever happened, I could deny any 
knowledge of the incident. Maybe the Lorelei stole it.

He didn't kiss me when we pulled up, but he did grip my 
hands firmly in his, and gazed intently into my eyes. 
"Call me," he said again.

I promised I would.

***

Friday at school, I didn't pay much attention. As 
lessons droned on around me, I gazed into the middle 
distance, thighs squeezed together beneath the table as 
I remembered the touch of his tongue, the rasp of his 
whiskers.

I wanted to phone him as soon as I got home, but Mum and 
seemingly a hundred noisome chores got in the way; then 
I had to admire my new car, as brought home by Dad, and 
be impressed by how reasonably they had bargained the 
price. All I could think was that it would allow me to 
drive up to Kieran's whenever I felt like it.

Then I remembered that Sean and Kieran usually went 
surfing Friday afternoons. So I volunteered to drive Dad 
back to the station, then drove by the surf beach, and 
managed to park right alongside Kieran's ute, at the far 
end of the parking lot. I could see them both, even from 
there, and recognised Cathy sitting on the sand watching 
them. So I stayed in the car; she didn't know it was 
mine. She would go to Sean when he came ashore, and they 
would take a long, romantic sunset walk together along 
the beach; Kieran usually went and bought some dinner, 
and picked them up at the other end. At last the boys 
came ashore; Sean and Cathy greeted with a hug and a 
kiss before walking off hand in hand, Kieran bringing 
both his and Sean's boards back toward the ute.

I stepped out of the car, wondering at how much older it 
made me feel. He smiled as he climbed the steps to the 
park when he saw me waiting.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you first," I said huskily, 
admiring how the wetsuit emphasised his body.

"You didn't have to." He went around the far side of his 
ute and loaded the boards, then came around to where I 
waited.

"Your steamer's the wrong colour," I stated. It was 
patterned in green and blue, not black. He grinned 
fiercely, cupped my face in his hands, and drew me into 
a long, hungry kiss. I tangled my fingers in his wet 
hair and answered in kind, with all my lust and 
excitement, pressing myself against him. He tasted of 
salt water and something warmer, sweeter, his own musk. 
He really did want me. Last night had not been a dream, 
or a one-night-only.

"If you don't like it, I can take it off," he purred. 
Stepping back, he ripped the velcro shoulders open. I 
was suddenly keenly aware of our location in a public 
carpark at a popular surf beach.

"Hey, you can't!"

He opened the door of his ute, then looked at my car. 
"Yes I can. Don't you think I'm wearing anything under 
it? This your new car?"

Men! "No, it's my new old car," I said tartly. He 
reached past me and opened the back door, so that now we 
were surrounded by a makeshift dressing-shed of car 
doors.

"Looks orright," he nodded. "Gotta watch 'em for rust 
behind the parcel shelf, though, that model." But his 
eyes were on me as he peeled down the wetsuit, and the 
lustful way I watched his body revealed. Lean and fit, 
nipples sharp with cool air and more; dark hair down the 
midline, down past his waist to...racers, of course, a 
teasing grin on his face.

But then I realised his suit had tugged them low, and 
there, just off-centre, a grooved pink crescent of flesh 
peeped over the band.

"Oh, sorry, that happens," he smiled. He knew me well 
enough to know there was nothing I wanted to see more! 
But he bent down to unzip the legs of his suit and 
finish taking it off, and while he did I ran my hands 
across the smooth curves of his back. When he 
straightened up I pressed myself against him, wanting to 
feel his hardness against my belly. Our mouths and 
tongues met again, promising what we could do to each 
other as he cupped his hands beneath my rump, squeezing 
and lifting as he rocked his pelvis down. Yes! Nice as 
he felt against my stomach, I wanted to feel his rod 
against my crotch. Thighs parted around his, I went 
right up onto my toes.

I ran my hands down his back as we rocked and rubbed, 
feeling the way his butt rippled as he moved. He hadn't 
tightened the drawstring of his racers, so it was with 
ease I slipped my fingers beneath them and pushed them 
down. He chuckled deep in his chest, and cradled my face 
in his hands.

"No matter what the future brings, I will remember the 
hunger in your eyes for the rest of my life."

Swallowing, I sank to one knee as I took his costume 
down. Yes, I had seen many penises now, "live" and in 
"hard-core action". But this one was _real_, and was 
being given to me to touch and hold. It really is an act 
of trust, when given so gently and willingly rather than 
being thrust in your face.

He was gorgeous to behold, shaft rising to the pink, 
fleshy, smooth head, contrasting the plush dark nest of 
curls at his root. I touched him in wonder, feeling his 
heat, and the rigid strength of what lay beneath the 
velvety skin. He sighed with pleasure as I ran my 
fingertips down to the soft, rounded mass of his balls. 

I knew his shape, every pattern of skin, every ridge. I 
wanted to kiss him. Instead I cradled his balls in one 
hand, and slipped the fingers of my other around his 
shaft, feeling him all over. Looking up, I met his gaze 
wide-eyed.

"It was you," I said. The sketch he had given me, the 
one that had kept me company for many nights. 

His face reddened ever so slightly. "Well, who else's 
live wang was I going to sketch?"

"You're wonderful," I whispered, pressing my lips 
against the groove beneath his head, tasting the salt of 
sea and skin, probing with the tip of my tongue.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, one hand cupping my head, 
fingers in my hair. Last night I had thrust his head 
between my legs greedily and revelled in every second of 
what his tongue could do. Now I had to show him what I 
could do - and I wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. 
Lick, suck, pump, went the smut-surfing. But they were 
professionals and it was all in a day's work for them.

I let my tongue softly trace that groove, and parted my 
lips around his tip, squeezing gently and feeling his 
resilience, then slipping away to a kiss. Each time I 
did that, I took a little more of him in. My tongue-tip 
found the hole at his end and explored it, tasting 
something salty. My lips slipped over the rim so that 
his whole head was captive in my mouth. Lips closed but 
jaws open, no teeth allowed, gently! My tongue sliding 
back and forth, round and round, up to that salty notch 
and down, doing to him what he had done to me.

My cheeks were aching, and it seemed ridiculous - I 
didn't know you could get a stitch in your tongue. 
Drawing back one last time, I let him slip from between 
my lips and looked up. His fingers had made little 
spirals of my hair; his eyes were closed, face slack 
with rapture. His other hand was clenched about the 
windowframe of the car, and his knuckles were white.

"Was that right?" But even as I asked, it sounded like a 
stupid question.

He opened his eyes and grinned, then lifted me to my 
feet. "But you didn't come," I protested, a bit 
disappointed. After what he had done for me!

"Ohh, I will, don't worry," he murmured.

"God," I muttered, "my face hurts!"

He gave a fond laugh. "What you need, my dear, is plenty 
of aerobic training!" He tipped my chin up and kissed 
me, gathering me close and snug. "I think I'm only just 
getting over oxygen starvation from last night."

We laughed together. "What'll we do now?" I asked.

"We're not finished."

We got into his ute, where he put a towel in his lap and 
I wriggled my shorts down. There's no room in modern 
cars to do much more, and with occasional walkers on the 
beach we didn't want to be too obvious about what we 
were doing either. "I want to watch you," he said, 
pumping his shaft with negligent ease, his eyes on my 
muff. So I got my shorts down and my legs as far apart 
as was possible, and slid my fingers up and down; all 
the while watching his cock and imagining how it would 
feel. Very quickly I was gasping, shuddering with need, 
clitoris jangling like an alarm bell.

"This is so intense," I panted, reaching for his groin. 
With one hand he guided my hand on his pole, and with 
the other he worked my cunt, fingering me to a much-
needed explosion. Then I felt him twitch and jerk to his 
own orgasm, his head thrown back as he gasped, veins 
corded in his neck.

We got ourselves decent; he pulled on a pair of shorts 
and a teeshirt. And kissed a passionate farewell. "Are 
you home tomorrow?" I asked huskily, knowing Sean and 
Cathy were going out together for most of the day.

"I can be. I was going to get to work on a certain 
painting, but if I get distracted, too bad. How much 
work I get done on it is up to the customer."

***

It was the start of the weekend of my life, one that was 
pure magic.

The next morning, I discovered something wickedly 
pleasureable. I dressed in one of my longer skirts to go 
up to Kieran's, and Mum wanted me to run an errand in-
town, so I needed to feel safe and demure. But I left my 
knickers off! I was breathless with excitement and more 
than a tad scared at the newsagent, and all I can say is 
it must have been good for my complexion! And by the 
time I pulled up at the cottage, I was already red-hot.

His warehouse doors were shut, closed to general 
business this day. I went around the front path to the 
office, and found him in the doorway wiping his hands on 
a paint-cloth, wearing his overalls. He looked me up and 
down with a smile, one eyebrow cocked appreciatively.

"That a spraycan in your pocket or are you just glad to 
see me?" I said, then burst out laughing at how 
ridiculous it sounded. Laughing too, he gathered me in 
his arms for a bear-hug.

"Why don't you frisk me and find out?" he invited. Now, 
I know about overalls. Some designs have a hole that 
looks like a pocket but goes right through so that when 
a man wears them over his trousers he can still get 
access to his trouser pocket. But let's face it, it's 
too hot in this climate to wear much under one's 
overalls, really. I slipped around behind Kieran, 
hugging him from behind, and ran my hands into the right 
holes, finding the hot velvet of bare skin...that nest 
of springy hair and soft scrotum, and his stiff cock. At 
first it was enough to feel him, to slide his skin up 
and down; we purred and rocked together in our embrace. 
But then I wanted to see him too, so I went around to 
his front and undid his lowermost studs, bringing him 
out to be seen. And now that I could see him, I had to 
taste him.

So my day started with some "aerobic training". Then I 
sat down on the edge of his office chair with my legs 
wide, and he discovered the delicacy exposed beneath my 
maidenly skirts. While I sat with my knees hooked over 
his shoulders, he tugged himself to his own pleasure, 
which only helped me along. 

We rested with a light lunch, then took a ride in the 
afternoon. If you think driving a car in a skirt with no 
panties on is sexy, you should try riding a motorbike! I 
had my pussy pressed as close to Kieran's rump as I 
could get it. He took me into the coastal ranges, to a 
favourite bushwalk of his, and beckoned me to a secluded 
spot. We had to crawl and scramble somewhat, and walk 
along a rough creekbed; but then, screened by dense 
thickets of heather on the side of a chuckling creek, he 
dined upon me again beneath the wide blue sky. Too much 
simply wasn't enough. I trained again, reading from his 
bulging muscles and the hardness of his nipples how 
close he was to the edge. He shot his load into the 
stream, his milk swirling and eddying out of sight, 
perhaps feeding the fish downstream.

That night, we did something rather different to hanging 
around the mall or the broadwalk, the beach or the local 
snogging lookout like all the other local couples. We 
didn't do the movies or pizza.

We'd spent a lot of time over dinner just talking. Yes, 
talking, about all kinds of stuff from the sublime to 
the ridiculous. And later on, we went for a drive in my 
nondescript little car, up to the darkened and deserted 
loom of the high school. The buildings were all locked 
up, of course. But we hadn't come here to make strife.

The art rooms were of those tacky prefabricated, 
demountable design, cheap boxes that were hot and 
uncomfortable, as stifling to creativity as the demands 
of teachers and the strictures of school uniform. They 
were set on brick piers up against a plushly-grassed 
embankment below the sportsfield. It was here the tough 
kids came to smoke; here that a boy called Kieran had 
crouched in the hope of seeing up the hockey-team's 
dresses. On the field above, Cathy and Lyn and I had 
raced about brandishing hockey sticks, three good 
friends, without boyfriends getting in the way. In the 
room behind us, the Art Mistress had called Kieran all 
kinds of sexist filth for daring suggest the teenaged 
human body was a thing of beauty and worth celebrating.

That night, we celebrated. We laughed with wicked glee. 
Writhing for joy on my back in the grass, I gasped and 
cried out in orgasm, Kieran's tongue the softest of 
brushes tracing Nature's finest work of art. With my 
tongue to help, he paid homage to Jackson Pollock too.

It wasn't late, but after all that I headed home. I'd 
been out all day, and as any kid knows you have to look 
after your privileges; tomorrow I would visit him again. 
Both Lyn and Cathy had called while I was out. That just 
put the icing on the cake.

***

It seemed like years had passed since I first peered 
furtively through my cave window and beheld a naked 
youth doing what came naturally. For Kieran, the Lorelei 
must have seemed even further away; when I asked he 
agreed.

He met me at his front door of the cottage the next 
morning, and we kissed hungrily. "How," he chided, 
stroking my cheek with a fingertip, "am I ever supposed 
to finish this flamin' picture of yours?"

"Slowly?"

He drew me into the loungeroom. "How about we dispense 
with the preliminaries first?" His pants were hard and 
tight beneath my hand, and he was lifting my dress up, 
up and over my head while I unzipped his trousers and 
pushed them down. Time for training, and this was one 
workout I loved.

Although I had seen him naked, he had only yet seen me 
naked below the waist. Today, as if he had been saving 
himself a special treat, after kissing and tonguing my 
labia, he took off my bra and worshipped my breasts. I 
had been secretly worried about them, thinking of them 
as my sexual Achilles' Heel because they were small 
compared to my friends' examples, and even the world's 
best wonderbra achieved little toward giving me a 
cleavage. But when Kieran's lips and hands roved over 
them without hesitation, his face as soft with love as 
his whiskers were rough with passion, all my fears were 
laid to rest. Standing, he caressed my nipples with his 
cockhead, drawing little circles around my areolae while 
I kissed his stomach and stroked his thighs. Quite 
suddenly he came, so that his cream made soft warm 
streaks on my breasts with smooth and silken droplets.

He gasped in delight, and we kissed tenderly. "I love 
you, Kieran," I whispered.

"Beautiful Joanna," he breathed. "Come with me and pose 
for me, just like this, naked and lovely! I could never 
have dared ask you this before." His voice strengthened. 
"There's this picture I've been commissioned for, you 
see, of a Lorelei or some such."

He grabbed a plain bedsheet from the linen cupboard and 
draped it over the lounge for a background, then fiddled 
with the window drapes and placed a lamp to obtain the 
best lighting possible. And then he positioned me, 
seated, legs parted, half-turned, breasts upthrust, 
checking and re-checking what he saw. His cum glistened 
upon my skin, his fragrance rich, sweet, intoxicating. I 
could believe I was her, the fantastic Lorelei, 
glistening with water and utterly sexual. I could glare 
at him archly, and demand what I liked.

It was fun! I sat for him, and he sketched, and I 
enjoyed watching him as much as he seemed to be enjoying 
me. We were both naked, and even soft I loved to look at 
him; wanted to play with him, touch him. He sketched, a 
professional scowl on his brow, pencil scratching across 
textured paper; he was using that same large sketchblock 
he'd caught Cathy and I looking in the night before 
last. And he didn't stay soft for long. Just watching 
his eyes intent upon my body, his cock growing larger, 
starting to rise from its resting place stirred my 
simmering embers.

"Who would you want more, her or me?" I asked.

"Don't ask that question," he murmured gruffly, keeping 
his eyes on his work.

"I don't care, because she's gone now, but I'm here." I 
unfolded my legs and stood up, watching his erection.

"Siddown," he growled. "I'm not finished yet." Ignoring 
him, I walked over to where he sat, and put my hands on 
his head.

"Yes you are." I pulled his face into my watering snatch 
as he set down his work, then wrapped his arms around my 
thighs. His tongue snaked out to taste me, and I sighed. 
But there was more on my mind, and after a while I eased 
away from him. "Know why I don't care?" I asked, bending 
my knees, lowering myself to sit straddling his thighs.

"I care," he said, very softly.

"You can love her all you like," I continued stoutly. 
His cock was pointing straight at my open vagina. "But I 
want you to be my Lorelei, Kieran."

He held my gaze for a very long time. Then, his hands on 
my hips, he lifted me to my feet, rising too. "Let's go 
outside," he said. "It's nice out there."

I wanted to protest, frustrated. But of course, the 
Lorelei had worked her magic outdoors, by the water, in 
the sunshine.

From the linen cupboard he handed me a big, soft 
blanket; then he went into Sean's room before taking me 
by the hand and leading me outside. Beyond the verandah 
where we had all had dinner that night (was it so long 
ago?), sunlight pierced the tree canopy with golden 
spars of light. It was tranquil, and private.

We spread the blanket; there was just enough lawn to 
hold it, and lay down side by side gazing into each 
others' eyes. I was struck again by how attractive I 
found him, never mind what he could do between my 
thighs. Something rustled, a plastic sound. "What's that 
you've got there?"

He sat up with a smirk. "Is there ever a sexy way to 
introduce these things?" he muttered, opening a small 
packet.

"My Lorelei is well prepared!"

"Are you kidding?" he grinned. "Had to borrow one of 
Sean's."

We both sobered, though, as I watched him roll the 
rubber over himself. My time, at last, was here. His 
eyes were upon mine all the while as he knelt between my 
knees, asking, would I change my mind? Would I hesitate? 
For all the sexy fun we had made over the past day and a 
half, this was still different.

"Kieran," I whispered, raising my arms, drawing him 
down. Something rubbed my slit, slowly, along its 
length, making my clitoris pulse and burn. It was as hot 
as his tongue but much larger; hard as his finger, but 
more resilient, and larger. His eyes were still locked 
to mine, asking. I could feel his hand curled in my 
groin, guiding. By way of answer, I lifted my hips.

There was a wonderful, spreading sensation, that just 
kept going, and going; a sense of something large coming 
into me, that wasn't my fingers, or his; something so 
much better, a hardness that began moving to and fro in 
a wonderful way.

Kieran.

I ran my hands across his pulsing shoulders as he drove 
within me, loving every thrust, his weight and power 
matched by the tenderness in his eyes. I touched his 
face in wonder, then gave myself up to the waves of 
sensation and need building deep within my body. To 
clench around him, to feel his length, all combined to 
raise my need higher, higher, the waves that come before 
the mighty surge of the swell.

As that ultimate wave loomed, I took a deep breath. And 
then my body was shaking, twisting and writhing, my own 
strength pushing back against his in the extremity of 
joy. I clung to his body, wanting to pull all of him 
inside me, to a place where we could be lost in 
pleasure.

He kept thrusting as I glided down the back of that 
mighty wave, and it still felt glorious. His pace had 
lost its langour and he thrust in hard, rapid bursts 
before gasping; I felt the jerk of his release, and 
clutched him to me, whispering his name in his ear, 
kissing his hair.

Now I knew. The waiting had been hard to take...but in 
this man, and this moment, was worth every lonely, 
grumpy moment. I did not want us to part, not even 
physically; nor, to my delight, was Kieran in any hurry 
to leave. But at last, he slipped from inside me. We 
gathered each other close, nestling in the warmth of 
each others' skin.

"Is it really you, the one I've been waiting for?" he 
murmured, kissing my face and temple.

"I hope so, Kieran, I really hope so!"

***

For a while I was content to drowse, and listen to his 
breathing; to toy with his nipple and chest hair, to 
nibble his warm skin and bask in contentment. I didn't 
mind him sleeping, the better for him to recharge; and 
when he slept, his face lost the harsher lines, the 
scowl that served as his modern cat-skull.

I sat up suddenly, a thick buzz filling my ears.

Where was it? In the yard somewhere, and if he found it 
or, worse still, discovered I was trying to get rid of 
it, the wonderful moment I had just lived would be 
ripped apart by betrayal, anger and hate. I had to find 
it, to put it back where it belonged, back in the 
cabinet...

No, I had to throw it in the creek! It wouldn't let me 
alone until I got rid of it!

I stood up, heart in my mouth, no longer passionate and 
sexy, but apprehensive. Kieran was sprawled on his back, 
chest rising and falling in sleep, face gentle, a 
picture of trust. Further away, beyond the blanket, the 
garden was a tangle of long grass and overgrown old 
shrubbery, of geranium and passionfruit vine. There was 
the rotting old pier, the willow that sheltered us, the 
tyre swing.

And there, laying cupped inside the tyre, was the 
catskull.

I didn't stop to wonder why. Couldn't imagine how it had 
gotten there. My legs on automatic carried me toward the 
crumbling timber, my eyes welded to that bleached bone. 
It was horrible, yet somehow beautiful; as fascinating 
as life, death and birth, the whole mystery of life. 
Fear and thrill. Love and risk. Death and rebirth.

On the edge of the bank, I gazed at the skull, wondering 
why my ears roared as if full of the sea, the tumult of 
its waves. The tyre was so close to me now that I could 
see every curl of lichen, the pits and wear of the 
rubber, the glitter of metal fibres, the white splatter 
of guano from birds that had perched overhead. I put my 
hand out toward it, and blinked several times, for my 
eyes were stinging and playing tricks. Seen through the 
ring of the tyre, the stagnant creek beyond glowed with 
crystalline blue light instead of rusty amber and oily 
green. The pungent tang of brine filled my nostrils, the 
fresh scent of ocean, as though I breathed the very sea. 
A cool breeze caressed the length of my naked body and I 
leaned forward, into its resistance, letting it catch me 
up and bear my weight as surely as the surge at the 
beach, washing me clean of sweat and dust...

I couldn't see the skull anymore; instead, light 
rippling amidst pale shell and rock with hollows like 
orbits, where sea-snails cruised and seagrass waved. 
Spears of sunlight were turned silver and blue as they 
pierced the liquid mirror above. 

With legs together I kicked, and veered and swirled from 
coiling my spine, slipping through the cool velvet 
draught that carried me. I knew where I was. Clasped the 
water in the cups of my hands, rolled and twirled and 
dived, kept pace with the torpedoes of schooling fish. 
Knew what I was, and where I was headed. Knew no fear at 
what had happened, nor any amazement, for there was 
something natural and implacable in all this. Tides turn 
with every passing day, and rocks are ground into sand. 
Nature is a vast, living consciousness extending far 
beyond the obvious tools of wind and wave. Far beyond 
the evidence of five scanty human senses. And Nature has 
a rich sense of humour.

For a while I was content to ride the tide and glory in 
living beneath the sea as one of its creatures; to race 
the shoals of fingerlings, and rush up beneath the 
cruising pelicans and tug their pink feet and startle 
them to raucous takeoff. I scooted through the blue as 
fast as the pointed hull of a tinny, its engine cutting 
a spiral of bubbles as it droned overhead. I could have 
startled the owner by leaping like a dolphin from the 
waves, but kept my mystery beneath the blue where it 
belonged. Instead, I found slower moving boats, and 
mischievously tweaked the fish-lines trolling behind 
them, laughing when the lines were hastily wound in.

I was dismayed when I found plastic bags nodding amidst 
the wrack, and whenever I found one I took it to the 
nearest fishing line and hooked it securely, tugging the 
line hard to make sure it was reeled in. I did this for 
quite a while, but it made me angry and sad, and I 
understood I could spend a lot of my underwater play 
time doing this. After a time, I abandoned my mission in 
favour of simply diving and dancing on the current, 
feeling the joy that only cavorting seals and dolphins 
know. 

Working my way into deeper water, I sought out colder, 
more challenging depths. I explored the sunken crags and 
tumbled battlements of the coastline's defeat over the 
ages. I met a cruising shark, but knew no fear. We eyed 
each other coldly as we went about our business, obeying 
our primal instincts.

For I, too, had become hungry. In the bluewater off 
Lorelei Point, I briefly raised my head above the sea's 
surface. There was the lighthouse, from an angle I had 
never seen before. It stood phallic upon a rampart of 
stone carved deeply with crevices, some very dark and 
deep; hiding a cave still virginal. This was where I 
would feed.

Rolling into a languid, sensual dive, I plunged to the 
very sea floor, and slithered through strands of kelp 
that brushed my silken skin. The seabed climbed quickly, 
rising up to a narrow tongue of silver sand between 
rolls of black stone. Three powerful kicks of my body 
gave me speed as I surged from the deep and burst into 
sunshine.

His heart had beat, drumming against the bedrock of the 
cape, for many weeks now. At last, I answered its lonely 
call.

He was standing on the rocks, staring at me, of course. 
A dark-haired youth in jeans and a death-metal teeshirt, 
veneered with attitude, but terror in his eyes. I knew 
every contour of his body intimately, and knew what he 
would like. He would feed me his innocence, and I would 
feed him his maturity.

Had he not been ready, he would have turned and ran. But 
I saw his eyes linger upon my breasts, then track lower, 
to the place in me that was blood-hot and starting to 
tingle. The time had come, to show him what he needed to 
know. From the sea, he could learn to give pleasure, and 
would then receive in his turn.

I strolled with womanly grace from the water and knelt 
at the sea's edge, parting my thighs wide, allowing the 
scarlet petals of my sex to open fully. The endless sea 
washed in, licking me with foam, and in that moment I 
felt as though I could make love to Nature in its 
entirety. But this wasn't about me, rather the lad on 
the rocks.

One halting step after another, he came toward me, 
stumbling down into the shallows, until he knelt between 
my knees. Entranced, he lifted a hand that trembled ever 
so slightly, and brushed it across my shoulder, feeling 
the exotic texture of my skin. Was I real? The evidence 
of his senses told him it was so. I cradled his face in 
my hands. That chiselled nose and deepset eyes, the 
unkempt dark hair were all Kieran. His chin was dimpled, 
but he had only a few wispy whiskers, and I caressed 
that boyish smoothness - how it would change! I wanted 
to whisper his name in sweetness and love; instead, I 
kept silent by touching his lips with mine.

At first he was hesitant, unsure of what his mouth could 
do. But it didn't take him long to get the taste for it. 
His hands moved with something more like the assurance I 
knew so well, and I melted against him as he drew my 
body close, feeling my body as I explored his mouth, his 
familiar taste, and showed him how it should be done. 
The maiden in me just wanted to surrender to him. The 
woman I had become resolved to complete his education.

When I guided him to my breasts, his whole body shivered 
with delight. This morning he had caressed them with his 
rod, and gasped with delight as he had come. This 
morning I had worried that they were too small. But they 
were sensitive, and as his tongue curled around my 
nipples, I knew this was something he was going to have 
to do more often. With a soft cry, I let him know how my 
desire was building. His muscles were tight, and he 
moaned. Just the knowing that he had come thrilled me, 
and I held him close, rocking him, loving him until his 
body stirred, and he began to suck at my breasts again.

His initiation was by no means complete. I lay back upon 
the sand, pressing him lower, allowing him no argument 
as to where next he should go. Nor did he offer any 
hesitation. He started with a kiss, the best place for 
any beginner to commence, letting his tongue venture 
further to touch and explore every fold. Very soon, he 
was driving me wild. The past few days collapsed one 
inside the other as his tongue took me to the heights of 
need and ecstasy. It was as though he had known all his 
life what to do, but never had the means to practice 
before. I was on his bed, again, in his room that first 
night; kicking and gouging not at the sheets, but the 
sand, forgetting everything of who and where I was and 
crying out my need.

When he stopped, I remembered. The man would have 
wrestled me through it, taken me to the end. The boy had 
pulled back, but there was something sharper than before 
in his eyes as he smiled down at me. Something less of 
awe, something more of knowing; something more of the 
man who would teach me.

He didn't dare feel cocky. With my natural weapon, I 
could remind him of humility. He wasn't so much as naked 
yet, and that was how I wanted him. His face whitened 
when, with one decisive slash, I cut his silly, boy-
tough shirt away. His chest was truly naked now, smooth, 
with only a hint of sprouting hair; but it was the chest 
and stomach I knew so well. Kneeling, I nuzzled and 
kissed him.

"Uh, how about I get this?"

His jeans, tight anyway, were tighter still with water 
and sand. I helped him get them down, hungry for what I 
knew was beneath. Perhaps he was five years younger, but 
his equipment was as I knew it; his splendid penis, 
semi-erect, nested in black curls. Massaging his thighs, 
I gently sucked his cockhead into my mouth, while 
stroking from inside his knee right up to his balls. 
Patting his scrotum was a pleasure all mine these days.

Admittedly, I'd only had a day's practice myself, but it 
had been an intensive course. While he wasn't quite 
ready, I could take all of him into my mouth, and run my 
tongue up and down his shaft as if to massage it to 
tautness. Feeling him harden beneath my lips and tongue 
was bliss; feeling his legs tremble and the tightness of 
his rump was pushing me to white heat. I rolled my 
tongue around the flange of his swollen head, tasting 
the salty syrup at his tip, riding him to the moment - 
before letting him slip out and backing away.

Now was the time. I wanted him again; this time on that 
beach of wonder and lost innocence, that brief and 
sheltered place of secrets and initiation. Laying back 
on the sand, I called him into me. He did not look down 
to see what he was doing, gazing only into my eyes as 
our hands together guided him home. Again, I arched my 
back to the delight of him sliding inside me, clenching 
on his firm resilience; everything spiced by our needful 
gasps. I wanted him, now and forever, and his eyes were 
full of tenderness as we rode upward, climbing each new 
wave, then hitting the swell united, fused in ecstasy.

In my mind's eye, I saw him asleep in dappled sunlight 
on a blanket...as if from overhead and far, far away. 
The sounds of the sea dwindled to a whisper, and I 
called his name, suddenly afraid that I had lost him 
somehow. Then the feeling passed; he was clasped in my 
arms, slipping from within, spent, his eyelids 
fluttering closed and body heavy.

For a long time we curled together. I held him in my 
arms while the tide ran out, way below the tangle of our 
legs, the loose curl of my tail still holding his leg 
captive. I felt his soft hair and kissed his warm skin, 
and murmured that the future was full of life and 
promise. He would paint the beautiful pictures that 
filled his mind, and that would be his living, in spite 
of the anger of people who feared their sensuality. He 
would make his home a place of sanctuary, colour and 
light, and his younger brother would be a fine musician 
and his greatest friend. Love would come and find them 
both when the time was right. Some women would come and 
go, but once he passed twenty his destiny would become 
clear. And after that, he would need his cat-skull charm 
no longer.

At last, I let him go, and stood up. Perhaps this 
weekend, a young girl would peer from the slit-window 
above, looking for vagabonds or mermaids. I splashed 
into the sea and swam swiftly out from the coast, 
seeking the prized dining fish that dwelled beyond the 
reach of most coastal fishermen. With sharp cat's claws 
extended, I snagged my prey, careful not to bruise the 
flesh, then took it back to the point. There he 
slumbered still, while I left my final gift. I knelt by 
his side and kissed his forehead tenderly, and whispered 
my promise to return...

...saw him sprawled on the blanket where I had left him, 
murmuring and rolling, stirring, and the fear bared 
feline fangs...for what if I should lose him?

The tide would wake him as it rolled in, and give him 
time to get off the rocks safely. I turned away and ran 
into the sea, lifting my arms to dive, and hurled myself 
into the blue as he called my name...

_Joanne!_

The sea hit my face, tepid, brackish, warm as fresh 
urine and almost as pungent. My limbs thrashed with a 
bursting crash of water and flailed, taking me nowhere, 
and liquid fire rushed down my nose and throat. Whatever 
the spell, it was broken.

"Jo! Jesus, Jo!"

My hands and knees connected painfully with slimy rocks 
and splintered wood and I coughed, gagged, fighting for 
oxygen. Strong hands grabbed me roughly, lifting, 
hauling me to the light and air. Somehow, I managed to 
breathe, racked with coughs.

"What the fuck were you doing out there? Oh...oh...my 
God!"

Kieran hugged me fiercely, and I answered his clasp as 
best I could through my coughing. Behind us, the creek 
was churned with mud, and bristling with broken branches 
and timber. Then he gathered me in his arms and lifted 
me, carrying me back to the blanket, and carefully set 
me down. It was only then that I saw what had stunned 
him to silence.

When he saw I was strong enough to sit unaided, he 
rocked slowly back on his heels, holding his arms out 
toward me, palms upturned. They were covered in fine 
black flakes, the specks glistening with rainbow colours 
where caught by sunshine. His eyes burned upon me, his 
expression that of five years gone, as though I had 
risen from the water for the very first time.

I looked down. My skin was streaked with mud, and my 
hands and knees were scratched and raw. But I, too, was 
dusted with tiny black flecks of prismatic light. They 
were stuck to my skin the same way fish scales stick to 
your hands when you've been scaling your catch. I 
brushed the back of my arm, which was drying rapidly, 
with one hand, which sent a fine sprinkling of scales 
fluttering away.

"Don't!" Kieran cried. "Do it over the blanket! Save as 
much of it as you can! Wait there, I'll get a towel!" He 
ran to the house, while I stared at the devastation. Not 
only had the pier collapsed - the entire willow tree had 
toppled, cracking and breaking through ancient, diseased 
roots, tearing up the black silt of the bank as well. 
Kieran would later describe waking to a deep, creaking 
groan, and the surreal sight of half the back yard 
sliding into the creek, taking me with it.

"Here." He knelt with me on the blanket, very carefully 
brushing my skin with a towel. Black opal dust gathered 
beneath me. "Do you realise what this is?" he whispered.

"Do you?" I answered softly, caressing his face. His 
eyes were bright, brimming with tears; suddenly I wanted 
to cry too, and hugged him to my breast, kissing and 
stroking his hair. "I love you, Kieran, I love you..."

***

When my skin was smooth and dry, we stepped carefully 
from the blanket, then poured its contents into a clean 
glass jar. Then, wrapped in blanket and towel, we stood 
and gazed wordlessly at the fallen tree, holding each 
other.

Even when an engine drew up somewhere out the front and 
car doors slammed, and we heard Sean's voice call a 
thankyou to Cathy's brother for the lift, we still stood 
motionless together. Footsteps echoed through the house, 
with murmurs and giggles.

Then the back door exploded open. "What the fu..." Sean 
cried as he ran out, followed by Cathy, aghast. On 
sighting us they stopped and turned, doing a king-sized 
doubletake. Sean looked us up and down.

"What...are you two doing?"

Kieran's sardonic half-grin spread across his face, eyes 
bright with humour. "Well, the back yard was a bit of a 
mess," he drawled, "so we thought we'd get rid of it."

Sean blushed. "That's not what I meant, uh..." Cathy 
gave him a one-armed squeeze around the ribs, for in her 
other hand she had the sketchblock Kieran had left in 
the loungeroom.

"See, I told you!" It was my turn to blush as she 
flipped through the pages, but she didn't stop at any of 
the sketches Kieran had made this morning. The picture 
she held up was the portrait he had made of my face last 
week, now with the second face in the picture complete. 
It was him, close by, with gentle eyes.

***

Four years later, Kieran and I are still together, and 
we're talking of marriage, if only to formalise the 
connection we feel. Lyn and Renton both went on to 
university, and Sean won a musical scholarship while 
Cathy went on to a fine arts degree. We all still get 
together from time to time, Sean and Cathy regularly.

In a bottom drawer of our wardrobe (which has a map of 
Middle Earth painted on it), there is a jar of delicate, 
iridescent black flakes, wrapped in a death-metal 
teeshirt that has been sliced up the middle. We both 
searched for the catskull, even looking in the creek 
after the wreckage had been pulled out of there, but it 
never showed up again. Its handle, Kieran told me, was 
not made of dowel or broomstick, but a piece of that 
same tree - it was the tree he believes was magic, not 
the bones.

We seldom get the jar out with the real scales. But 
every year, when our anniversary comes around, we make 
love in the back yard by the willow sapling we planted. 
The day before, we go to the local craft shop and buy a 
packet of black sequins, so that when we lie naked 
together, we can trickle them over our bodies in 
celebration.

As for Lorelei Point, well, nobody's ever reported 
seeing a mermaid out there. Sean, however, maintains the 
fishing's very, very good.
........
The End



  
lorelei c