The Dare (Mg12) Part 1

I attend a southern California university. I'm not from here, however, I'm from a midwest city where my parents own a small dinner restaurant. It's a family place and we're not rich, so my brother and I have worked every possible job there at one time or another.

The folks help with college and I have a small scholarship but I still need to work summers to my car, gas and insurance. That's how I came to work as a waiter at a very expensive restaurant in Santa Monica. The tips were great but the hours were terrible -- I worked weekends, lunch and dinner. My social life was zilch even though I'm a good-looking guy, I keep myself in shape and I can carry a conversation about almost anything. 

I was making more money than I could at home, so I decided to stay in Los Angeles during the summer. Besides, business was much heavier in summer, when it was warm enough that the restaurant could open the patio. My tips were enormous but I had no one to spend them on. I was either working, in class or studying all but the six hours a day that I slept.

I found myself spending a lot of time on the beach working on my tan, alone, on my days off -- Tuesdays and Wednesdays.  Folks my own age had summer jobs, too, so they were here only on weekends as far as I know. I was never sure, since I was never there on a weekend.

The other beachgoers fell into two main groups: families on vacation and school kids. The families usually spent just one day on the beach, stayed too long and burned themselves to a crisp. They must have spent the rest of their days here nursing first and second degree burns.

The local kids had grown up on the beach and knew to start slowly, maybe an hour at most in the beginning, increasing the time until they had good base tans. My roommate at school during my freshman year was a local who wanted to live on campus. My beach knowledge came from him. He was the one who clued me in to Santa Monica, with it's wide beaches and nice restaurants. Even with my increased summer income, I still wouldn't be able to afford an apartment near the beach year-round, but I found a nice clean and quiet place in the mid-Wilshire area. Actually, it was on Olympic Blvd, near Western, a heavily Korean neighborhood.

The Los Angeles area beaches have weather of their own. It can be sunny and warm in Pasadena -- or mid-Wilshire -- but overcast and gray in Santa Monica. May and June are famous for that. It was on one of those days on a Tuesday in May that I left my apartment in the sun and found myself under cloudy skies at the beach. What the hell! I decided to stay for an hour or so, even though the beach was all but deserted and it wasn't all that warm. I had about a hundred pages left in a  book I was reading, so I decided set up my beach towel and the little folding backrest I carry and stay long enough to finish the book.

I saw a group of young girls -- four of them -- sitting directly in front of a lifeguard tower, maybe 50 feet away. I set my stuff down off to one side, close enough to the girls that they would suspect I was interested in them but far enough that they couldn't be sure. The girls seemed to having a good time, laughing and giggling. Every time I glanced over at them the giggling would suddenly stop and they would be somberly looking at the sand, the sky or the water, seemingly oblivious of me. But it would start as soon as they felt I was no longer looking their way.

There's a dress code the locals follow at the beach. They wear dark bathing suits on those first real beach days days in April and May when the weather and water begin to warm and they still have their winter pallor. Depending on how often they come, they have their good summer tans by the end of June, a few weeks after school has ended and they can log some serious beach time. That's when the light colors come out -- the whites and yellows and pale blues and greens that show off their bronzed skin. The girls were in their dark pale-skin plumage that day, as was I.

I read my book for a while before venturing into the water. The girls seemed to gravitate towrd me, unintentionally, of course. They would periodically tand and shake the sand from their beach towels, still laughing and giggling and punching one another now and then as payback for something rude or insulting, I suppose. But they were checking me out and each time they spread their towels out they were a foot or two closer to me. 

They were also very young -- under 15, I would guess. Three were cute as could be; one was a little on the plump side but with a pretty face and a litle more filling in her bikini top than the other girls. Two were petite blondes; the fourth was a tall, slim brunette with a ponytail and long, gangly legs that seemed to go on forever. They frolicked at the edge of the water until after I had returned to my book.

after something more than an hour, I was worried about burning under those cloudy skies and prepared to leave. My swim suit was wet and had sand in it, so I decided to change before driving home. There was a public restroom not far away. I took my stuff and headed there to change. The girls were still wild with laughter and squeals. 

The restroom has an open changing area with shower and benches, in addition to the toilet stalls. As I rinsed the salt and sand off my body I heard giggling and shouting just outside the door and then, suddenly, a little brunette -- one of the group I had sat near -- staggered through the door, obviously pushed by one of her friends. I froze, standing under the shower facing her head on. She froze, mouth open, staring at me, her eyes fixed on a spot midway between my ankles and my shoulders where my manhood lay exposed.

"Hey!" I yelled. "What's the deal?"

She continued to stare.

"What's the deal here?"

She stood still but at least her eyes travelled upwards to my face. "Umm...I'm supposed to come back with your trunks. It's a dare."

"I see." She was really cute up close; cuter than I had thought earlier. "How old are you?"

"Twelve."

I made no attempt to cover myself. The water continued to cascade down over my head and shoulders. "Do you do this often?"

"No," she said, staring at my cock again. I felt it twitch.

Damn, she was cute -- but TWELVE! Jesus Christ! Fucking jailbait! My cock twitched again. "So, what are we gonna do about that?"

"Can I have your trunks?" she asked, looking down at where they were crumpled at my feet. I could feel my cock beginning to come to life as we looked at each other. Damn, she was cute. She looked older than 12, with nice little A-cup titties in a tiny black bikini. Nice hips and long slim legs, too; she must have been five feet six or so. 

"I'm just supposed to give you my trunks?"

"Umm...yeah."

"Tell you what. Let's make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"Well, you're standing there looking at me naked as a jaybird, right?"

"Yeah."

"So the deal is, you let me see you naked and you can have the trunks."

"No waaayyyyy," she gasped.

"I guess that answers the question, then. What's your name?"

"Monica."

"What grade are you in?"

"Seventh."

"And the other girls?"

"One's in eighth. The rest of us are in 7th grade."

"And you're playing Truth or Dare?" She nodded. "So, why did you choose a dare?"

"I dunno. I thought it would be something easy."

We were still standing as we were when she, Monica, came in. I could hear buzzing and whispering outside but no one peeked through the entry way. Monica was still nervously looking at me and I was quite content, for some reason, even though she was off-limits for a 20 year-old guy, to let her have an eyeful. My cock was slowly stiffening as we talked, a point not lost on this pretty little girl.

Maybe "little girl" is perjorative. Girl-woman is closer, since she was halfway there already. Mostly, what she lacked was experience and it occured to me that she was probably terrified of doing something really lame -- or something that I might consider really lame. But she hadn't turned and run, either, so she was interested in something.

"This is easy," I told her. "You see me, I see you and you get my swim suit."

"Umm...would you just look and not do anything?"

"Yep. I won't do anything to you that you don't do to me. Besides, you have your three friends right outside the door. I can hear them."

Monica thought or a while. "Just look?" She wanted confirmation. 

"Right. Just look."

"Can I just show my boobs?"

"If you wish."

"They aren't very big yet."

"That's fine. I prefer small boobs, anyway."

"Really?" Her face brightened. "Guys like big ones."

"Which guys?"

"All the guys at school."

"Guys your age."

"Yeah."

"They're idiots. Older guys, guys who've seen a lot of girls, usually like small ones. I guess you've never been with a guy who has some experience." She looked at the floor and slowly shook her head. "So, are you gonna show me?"

"I guess." She raised one hand slowly to her back the other in front of her little titties. A brief tug at the tie loosened her top but her hand in front held it from dropping. She looked up, her eyes pleading. I stood stone still, waiting. Finally, in slow motion, she brought her hand and the top down.

I saw pale triangles surrounding two of the prettiest little titties ever. They were a perfect mouthful, symmetrical cones with pink circles and little nipples at center. She stood quietly, her eyes fixed on mine, until she noticed my member as it twitched involuntarily. Her eyes widened and she went back into her defensive posture, hands covering her luscious little titties. Damn! So nice but too short a time!

"Ok. sweetie. Here's what you came for." I bent down and picked up the wet swim suit at my feet, holding it out to her. She refastened her top, grabbed the soggy suit and darted out the door to the accompaniment of girlish screams and gales of laughter.

I dried off, dressed and went home with images of Monica standing mostly naked there in the changing room. I fantasized that night in bed as I stroked myself to a quick orgasm with her image still in front of me: long brown hair in a ponytail, a clear complexion, little dimples when she smiled, those two light triangles where her bikini top held out the light and, nicely framed by thse triangles, her perfect breasts -- soft cones, like ice cream sundaes topped with cherries. I imagined the feel of those nipples against the palms of my hands as I rubbed them ever so lightly; their taste as I drew each, one by one, into my open mouth. 
AAAaaaaagggggghhhhh. Cum was everywhere and I came back to reality. I was too lazy right then to go clean myself up so I just wiped myself with the top sheet and slept on the other side of the bed. I would wash the sheets the next morning before going to the beach. I had to see her again -- and retrieve my swim suit.

                  ----  To be continued -----

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I write, usually about a young girl and an older man, for my own pleasure. My stories usually have a kernel of an actual event in them but they are sheer fantasy. I will sometimes see a young girl at the market or riding a bicycle or waiting in line with friends for a movie and my body will literally twitch with excitement. Not just ANY girl; some girls. There is no way I would ever approach one of these girls but I do fix an image in my mind of their faces, figures, clothes and body language. I then dream, like a perverted Walter Mitty, about what might have happened had we actually met. 

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