Chapter 2
There I was, masturbating wildly, fantasising all sorts of new conclusions to that first night with Anna. I dreamed of walking up to her one day and demanding that she return the favour immediately, stripping her, and having her sit on my face right in the middle of the school canteen. I would devour her in front of everyone, and she would scream with pleasure. She would suckle my breasts and then eat me, occasionally pushing her tongue back to lick my butt.
It was then that another girl popped into my head. As my mind dwelled on Anna's moist folds and my tongue imagined her sweet taste, Natalie's joined our public orgy. Natalie was drop dead gorgeous: a long legged, big breasted, teasing smile, pouting lips Goddess gorgeous. Since we shared P.E. lessons, I had seen her semi-naked on a couple of occasions and there was a common, though bitter, consensus that she was one of the prettiest girls in our year.
I didn't know her all that well but there she was, hovered over me, sex wiggling in my face and forcing me to split my tongue between her pussy and Anna's. Her bum wiggled above me, and a tiny moan escaped my lips as my tongue brushed up her slit and into her crack, licking around her puckered hole and tasting whatever musty, forbidden tastes lurked there. That really got me going.
Orgasm was rushing upon me but I wasn't ready to cum yet. This new fantasy was exciting and I wanted to explore it further. Natalie squatted down upon my face, pinning me to the bed and forcing her juicy slit into my eager mouth. Anna had switched around and was now lapping at me vigorously. After Natalie came, explosively, she climbed off and I took her big, firm breasts in my mouth, lathing them with the attention they craved. Her nipples were long and she moaned when I tugged on them with my teeth. I was about to cum and, as the orgasm tore me apart, Owen popped into my mind.
As the orgasm peaked and began to wane, I continued to play with myself. Such was my arousal that the first orgasm had only satisfied the immediate craving. I was still hungry for more, particularly with this beautiful harem taking residence in my mind. Owen had been the male mainstay of my fantasy life for as long as I could remember. Having spent my teenage years at a girls' school, I had very little contact with boys, but the idea of a gorgeous man with a strong nose and slim powerful arms could occupy my mind for hours. I would imagine dropping to my knees in front of him, releasing his penis from a pair of jeans, and sucking him off like a good little whore. I dreamed of learning what it tasted like, how cum would feel as it smacked against my throat, what weird, masculine noises he would make as he came.
These ideas remained abstract. I found it difficult to imagine sex with people I didn't know. And I didn't know many boys. It was much more immediate to imbue my friends with the sexuality I desperately desired. I could then picture their faces in the throes of orgasm, and dream of one day making love to them as I did in my dreams.
The problem with boys was not much desire, as availability. However, I had been friends with Owen and his brother John since we were babies. When we were children we had played doctors and nurses and all sorts of other childhood games which verged on the sexual. I believe my brother and John used to play a game called Pulling Willies when they were toddlers. And when I was 4, Owen even wrote me a letter in which he proposed to "mare me." This episode had gone down in family folklore; it is even framed in one of our photograph albums. I assume it meant he wanted to marry me, but in recent years the bestial idea of being made a mare to his stallion had become an increasingly attractive idea too.
For the past decade or so, ever since I could remember, I had been walking around my everyday life cultivating a grand crush on Owen. And, as with Anna, my ludicrously hormone drenched body had been exposed to him in all its glory.
It had happened two months earlier. I was a horny girl trying to find an outlet for my latent sexuality. I was awkward around boys, had no idea what to say or do to make them notice me, how to be romantic around them, or make them fall in love with me. I had always had the belief that love and sex went hand in hand, and that total abandoned sex was only possible with people you loved. Because of this I had no interest in going out to a club or party like my friends did, of snogging the first boy who bought me a drink or giving myself away for the sake of horniness. I was a quiet girl, uncomfortable in social situations, never good at small talk with people I didn't know well. I was bookish in the very best way. And come the evening, there was nothing I liked more than to run myself a deep, hot bath, pour in some essential oils, lie back and get lost in a good book. I had always loved reading. I read
Geek Love
and spent weeks trying to imagine what it would be like to be a bald albino dwarf. I read
The Bloody Chamber
and whispered each and every sensual word to myself as if it contained a deep and dark secret, cloistered within impenetrable forests, which held important truths about the power of human sexuality. I read
Midnight's Children
and felt the amazing power of fantasy lives to gather everything together and pickle it into one glorious celebration of life.
Through books, I got to live vicariously and experience whatever I wished by proxy. Perhaps that is why I had such a florid fantasy life: there was nothing I enjoyed more than imagining something into existence. And I am still the same. For me, fantasising about sex was as rewarding as actually doing it.
I had no interest in disassociating sex and love, fantasy and reality. I fell in love with my friends all the time, and all I wanted was to get even closer to them, to tear down that final barrier between us and bring our bodies together. But I never did. And the problem with this was that these urges had very few outlets and as a result my horniness occasionally got the better of me and I would find myself doing something inappropriate in front of them.
It was early spring. Thin clouds covered the sky. The air felt warmer than it had been for months. I think it was Good Friday. Certainly it was around the Easter weekend as my brother and I had gone to stay in the country with John and Owen and their parents. For city kids like Ben and I, going to stay with them was like travelling to another planet. We went for walks on our own where there were no other people, where we could splash in pools and stroll though deserted forests. We could make bad murder mystery films in their creaking cottage and play long games of 50-50 in the garden. It was a completely different life to the one we were used to in the city.
John, like my brother Ben, was 18 months older than me, a natural born leader and even more competitive than Anna. He was tanned with Jewish looks, a bright, boyish smile, and eyes which, although usually serious, could, at any moment light up and bring his face alive. Owen was a couple months my senior, a surfer boy with blondish brown floppy hair and infuriatingly smooth skin. He had a bubbly personality, always up for anything, naturally trusting and open. Despite being the only girl with three boys I was never excluded or bullied by the others, we were equals at all times -- except that John was always the leader.
That morning we decided to go and investigate a rope swing somewhere a few miles from their house. The rope was thick and long, knotted at the bottom with earth dug away beneath. To get high enough to swing you had to climb a tree growing precariously from the edge of the hill, its trunk filled with burghs and knots on which to climb higher. It was exhilarating. Each time we jumped, we would climb a little higher, jumping off into nowhere with just the rope to protect us from hurtling to the hard earth below. The morning was warming up all the time; a pile of coats and hats formed at the foot of the tree. Owen proclaimed the benefits of jumping bare-footed, feeling the air rushing around his feet. After that we all had to try. And he was right, it was incredibly refreshing to feel the air brushing our toes, cool, almost too cold, but liberating after months spent wrapped in layers of clothing. I was filled with that feeling you get on the first day of spring, when the air suddenly smells lighter, the light feels brighter, and all of a sudden you feel fantastically, uncontrollably free.
Soon we were pushing it all further and I was getting a little excited by the increasingly tactile wind brushing my skin. First I removed my sweater and jumped in my tank top. Then Owen and Ben removed their tops and jumped bare chest, their vaguely defined pecks hairless and sweaty. There was something powerful and animal-like about them, rugged and unrestrained. Watching them swing, I had the notion that they could take me in their arms and do whatever they wanted with me, and there would be absolutely nothing I could do about it. I was breathless, couldn't wait to jump again. I needed to feel the rough rope between my legs...
