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Subject: {ASSM} Tales of the Lorelei 01/10 {virgosun} (msolo mf 1st cons rom voy pett oral)
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<1st attachment, "01lorelei.txt" begin>
*TALES OF THE LORELEI*
by virgosun (c) March 2004
*****************************
Officially, it's known as Lorelei Point in honour of a
yacht that ran aground on the reefs just offshore, but I
like to call it Boggle-Eye Point after what I saw out
there a few weeks back.
See, my grandparents have a house right near the Point
at the end of a long sandy track, so I spend a lot of
time there. Pop's always warning me to be careful,
because I love nothing better than taking off alone and
exploring when we visit. It's either that or sit around
the house watching cricket or waddling with Nanny around
her ever-precious garden, which is such a drag. So I've
always run off and explored. Swimming is absolutely
forbidden, and any idiot could see why, because the
Point is all rocks and steep, rugged climbs. There's a
tempting rockshelf that emerges from the sea at low
tide, and tantalising little pockets of sand, but nobody
who knows the sea would be fool enough to try swimming
amidst the undertows and rips.
So I stay away from the waterline, mostly...I'm a
coastie kid, after all. Respect the sea, but take the
odd calculated risk. Like the rock fishermen, only a few
of them, but sometimes they venture there. "Feller died
there three years ago," Pop would delight in telling us.
"They found his remains two months later in a shark's
gut, caught two hundred miles north and twenty miles out
to sea. Identified him from dental records." Kieran
always mentions that incident too, when he comes into
the servo to top up his bike. The whole community has a
certain macabre fascination with that incident. Kieran's
a bit rough, and he always scared the hell out of me
when I was younger, even though he's not much older than
me. He still spooks me now a bit, truth be told.
But back to Boggle-Eye Point. It mightn't be accessible
from the sea, but you can reach the tidal flats at its
foot if you walk and climb from the beach, and you're
keen. And you can get down pretty close to it from
above, which is the part of the headland I know the
best.
I found this cave, you see. It's been mine for six years
or more, which means I first found it when I was ten.
The soil of the cape is loose and sandy, and in places
has been carved deeply by rainwater and eroded. This
cavemouth is well hidden by brush and the entry is
narrow - I confess, it's much harder for me to wriggle
in there these days! But once you get inside, it becomes
large enough for two or three adults to fit comfortably,
and it threads down to a tiny, narrow crevice of a
window that looks out over one of those gorgeous little
beachlets.
Of course, for many years, this was my private pirate
fortress, a castle rampart with its slit-window from
which to espy fat ships for plunder. More recently it's
just become a place to get away from the noise and fuss
of family get-togethers, to go somewhere to read
quietly. Over the past three years, there are times when
I've gone there just to think, and dream, about hunks
from the movies. Ooh help! I've been shipwrecked with
Hugh/Keanu/Viggo! With an imagination like mine, it was
enough to lay back in the cool sand; just to think of
such a thing was enough to make my whole body tingle,
and both sets of lips throb. In privacy, I could run my
hands across my body and imagine bare rippling chests
and gorgeous naked thighs. When it came to That Thing,
though, there was always a big blank spot in my
imagination. I'd never actually seen one for real. Okay,
I have two brothers, but the last time I saw them naked
we were all little kids. Which sure as hell ain't what
I'm interested in!
So there I was in my secret cave, accompanied by an
imaginary lover borrowing the face of a screen actor,
whose hands were rather smaller and daintier than a
man's should be, and with an invisible dong that felt
like two small thin fingers...every woman knows what I
mean. And absolutely no clue of what the Real Thing was
like, and a shy, sly fascination with what it would be.
And then, to absolutely ruin my morning, I heard
something scraping and shuffling along the rocks below
my peephole; easy to hear with the tide down low and the
ocean calm. Dream Guy vanished with a pop; my heart
rocketed up the scale, and I very quietly straightened
my clothing. Either it was one or both of my brothers
doing the macho-dare thing in venturing onto the
forbidden terrain; or some enterprising rock fisherman.
I was grumpy, to say the least, and went stealthily to
the window, which is easy to do on the sandy floor. If
it was my brothers, I was going to hurl a rock or two;
and when I saw who the offender was, he almost copped
that punishment too. It wasn't my brothers, but a boy
from school, Sean.
He's actually one of the nicer guys, the sensitive
musical type. He's kind and polite, a bit shy until he
picks up his guitar, maybe a bit goofy or geeky but not
the worst of the freak brigade. He has a great singing
voice, and is in good shape, quite good looking. Fair
hair but brown eyes, which sets him apart from the
regular himbo; a casual surfie-guy type who's probably
more at home outside the breakers than hanging with the
rest of the class. He's Kieran's brother, so the
outsider thing's no doubt rubbed off on him too.
Since I knew him, I almost called out to him. But my
cave was supposed to be my secret, so I held my tongue.
He had come around from the southside beach, the long
way over all the rocks, and was wearing cutoff denims
and sneakers. He had a bucket and fishing pole in hand,
and a small knapsack. I sighed grumpily, for it was
plain he intended to stay put for quite some time. While
he baited his line and cast out in what was clearly a
regular ritual, I maliciously considered throwing those
rocks. It was as well I didn't, for the show I was about
to get.
With the line set and wedged securely in place between
two rocks, Sean sat in the damp sand and leaned back
against sun-warmed stone. His chest rose and fell as he
sighed and relaxed, and his eyelids fluttered closed. A
lazy smile warmed his face. I was still thinking rocks,
or a handful of cold sand, when his left hand strayed to
his chest and started making slow, circular movements,
fingertips drifting lightly over the contours of
collarbone, chest, and bronze nipple. And his right hand
went from a place just inside his knee, slowly up his
inner thigh to the frayed hem of his pants, drawing the
fabric up as those fingertips strayed and played with
the sensitive skin in there. Then he ran that hand up
his crotch seam.
My heart lurched and I scarcely dared breathe, missiles
forgotten as I understood what he had come here to do.
Torn between leaning closer and staying anonymous, I bit
my lip against pins and needles and rock scraping my
knees. Was that...The Lump in his pants? How big was it
getting? I couldn't quite see...his hand kept getting in
the way as he rubbed up and down languidly, slightly to
one side of centre. His lips had parted slightly,
whatever soft murmuring he made drowned out by the sigh
of the sea. While he rubbed, with the other hand he
tweaked his nipple to a hard point, before running his
fingers south across his taut abs.
Was he going to...oh, yes! His hands met at the stud of
his jeans. I almost giggled aloud and my breathing had
become rather ragged, my own body leaping back to its
former state of interrupted arousal. But now I wouldn't
have to touch myself. All I'd have to do was watch.
For a moment, I did see the longish shape suggested
beneath the blue fabric, but before I could absorb that
image, he had unhitched his jeans. He eased the zipper
open with an agonising slowness, and, stiff as a spring,
the most amazing thing I had ever seen flipped out of
concealment.
It was long, at least it seemed so, the first one I had
ever seen. Long, and wide, faintly ribbed and veined,
with a lovely pink, rounded and fleshy head. It stood
straight and wonderful from a nest of dark gold curls, a
magnificent growth from between his thighs and demanding
attention. My own crotch seemed to open and dribble with
hunger, but I didn't dare announce my presence and tried
to squeeze my legs hard together to suppress the urging.
His stomach moved as he breathed deeply. To my surprise,
his penis twitched and moved. I didn't know guys could
do that. Then he spat in his hand, and wrapped that
gorgeous organ in his fingers and started stroking. Up
and down, up and down he went, while his free hand
slipped back up his chest to his nipples. His eyes were
closed, his face flushed, a study in pure pleasure as he
pumped rhythmically, skin glowing with a fine sheen of
sweat. His muscles tensed, emphasising the beauty of his
young body, muscles taut and both nipples rising to hard
points.
But the bulk of my attention was on his wondrous cock,
especially the way his fingertips slipped and kneaded
about the shining pink head. I was mesmerised by the
perfect bell-shape of it, the flanged edge he rubbed and
flicked with his thumb, and the dark slot at the very
tip. His body writhed as he gave himself up completely
to the pleasure, for he thought that he was alone--this
was no furtive jerk in the dark. He arched his back,
momentarily lifting his hips so that with his free hand
he could push at his jeans and lower them further.
I felt so hot I thought I was going to wet myself. And
as his excitement mounted, his stroking becoming more
fervid, his muscles bulging, I realised I was about to
discover that other great male mystery. What was cum
like? "Cum" was a naughty word that everybody giggled
about at school, and it was reputedly white and sticky.
But what was it really like?
Eyes shut tight, Sean's mouth opened slightly as he
gasped. Suddenly he scrambled to his feet and stood
facing the sea on braced legs, pelvis thrust forward,
jeans falling down about his knees. His fair-skinned
rump dimpled as his butt worked, and his right shoulder
still pumped as he tugged himself. Although he was
facing away, I saw a glistening thread of pale fluid
shoot from his pelvic region to splatter in the wet sand
at his feet, followed by a few blobs more, making
splashmarks like heavy raindrops on the sand. Then, his
body relaxed, shoulders sagging and chest heaving. I
thought for a moment he might fall from the weakness in
his knees.
For a while he just stood, resting. Then he bent and
pulled up his shorts, hands working in front to fasten
them, and he scuffed the sand with his foot as if to
bury the evidence. The tide would soon wash it away.
The bursting in my crotch was matched by the tingling
pain in my cramped feet, which were begging to be
straightened out. With the show over for the time being,
I eased myself carefully and silently away from the
window, while Sean wandered over to check his fishing
line. Once in a more comfortable place in the shelter of
the rear of the cave, in the dimness, I sat down with my
legs apart to inspect myself. Yes, I was wearing shorts
made of that fabric that goes dark when it gets wet, and
yes, it was obvious I had enjoyed the show. After that
performance, we both needed a breather.
Something else I'd read was that guys didn't take long
to re-arm. I sat for a while, feeling too fidgety to
settle to much, waiting for the pain in my feet to pass,
wondering if the wet patch would be noticeable when I
walked home. After a while I crept to the window again.
He was sitting leaning against the rocks, head tipped
down onto his chest, eyes shut, seemingly asleep. But
one hand had crept under his waistband, and his hidden
fingers moved slightly, as if to keep the embers
stirred.
You might have wondered why I didn't take myself down
there, being so liquid-hot as I was. For one, the
window's just too narrow to pass through. And secondly,
well, I had my eye on somebody else. Although Sean was
undoubtedly good-looking, I'm not really into blondes. A
real man's got to have chest hair too, that's my thing;
I'm into the tall dark handsome idea. There was another
guy at school who was a lot more interesting to me than
Sean had been. And I knew somebody else who would be
very, very interested in Sean.
***
Cathy, Lyn and I have been great friends since primary
school. Trouble with Cathy is, she's the shyest of us,
desperately shy, and she thinks Sean is absolutely
gorgeous but she won't dare speak to him. And he's too
quiet to encourage her. Shy girl plus shy guy equals fat
chance department.
I nursed what I had seen like a splendid birthday
present and surprise. "You've got to come out to Lorelei
Point with me next weekend!" I told her, although I had
no assurance that Sean made this a regular thing. I was
bursting to share what I had seen, perhaps a little
unsure that my eyes hadn't deceived me. I knew Lyn
didn't think much of Sean, so I didn't include her in
the invitation.
It was Lyn, though, who had the sexy news of the day.
"Russ and I," she admitted coyly, "have decided. We're
going to, you know, try it."
"What, you mean do it?" Cathy whispered. Lyn nodded, big
blue eyes wide.
"We've been together so long now, that's the only thing
we haven't done, and we figured there's no point going
along together if we don't know if we're compatible
sexually." She gulped, more than a little apprehensive.
"When?" I asked.
"Next weekend. He's got his gran's flat to himself, it's
really nice there, with a...double bed." Cathy and I
glanced at each other. Doing it in your gran's bed? This
absurd image of steaming sex amidst old lace and
camphor, crochet cushions and family photos came to me,
but I made no comment. "We're going to a restaurant and
a movie first, then..." She smiled and shrugged.
"Wow," said Cathy, "that should be so romantic!"
Conversation shifted then to the upcoming seniors'
dance, still a month away. We were sitting at lunch,
speculating on who would be most likely to ask who to
the event. Cathy despaired there'd be any way Sean would
work up the courage to ask her, but blushed and refused
any notion of asking him herself. Russ and Lyn would go
as a couple, as always. I glanced up as Mitch skipped
lightly down the common-room stairs. Of all the guys, he
was poetry in motion to watch. Even if he was only
walking across the room, it was liquid; he moved with a
naturally feline grace that set him apart from the rest.
Mitch moved so well, and danced so well that was the
only drawback to the idea of going to a dance with him--
the risk that beside him I'd look like a folding
beachchair. I know nothing about dancing, but I'm light
on my feet, at least that's what Dad says. Maybe I could
wing it. Whatever way, it was Mitch I was determined
should ask me to the dance.
"Hey, Jo," he smiled as he went by. His dark, velvety
brown eyes have that feline quality too, and his gaze
lingers. I wonder if he has X-ray vision, for it feels
like he can see through the dreadful school uniforms we
wear, to the sensuous skin beneath. Which always makes
me blush when he looks at me. I'd love him to kiss me,
or to run his hand along my arm, just imagining that
lightest of caresses makes me shiver. He talks to all of
us, but I fancy it's me he takes the most notice of.
There are times when I really wish my boobs were bigger
than their meagre A-cup, and wish I could swap them for
Cathy's!
***
The weekend was slow to come around, and later in the
week I had some misgivings. There was no way to know for
sure Sean would appear; and if he did, would she be
delighted, or shocked too much by what she would see?
Would she be so disgusted at the thought I'd been
perving at him, would it ruin our friendship forever? So
by Saturday I was really edgy, while Cathy politely went
around the garden with Nanny admiring her tiger lilies.
Cathy's a fantastic artist, and she can always see the
beauty in nature; even if Sean didn't appear, I knew
she'd probably enjoy the sea view from the bluff anyway.
How did I know what time he'd get there, other than at
low tide? To be sure, I packed a picnic lunch and as
soon as I could detach us from Nanny, we went into the
scrub.
"You still haven't told me what this is all about," said
Cathy.
"Dolphins," I said confidently, well aware of how much
Cathy loved dolphins. "I found this place on the point
that gives you a fantastic view, and best of all, they
can't see you so they don't startle or go away."
"Oh why didn't you tell me!" she cried. "I would have
brought my camera! Have you got one that I can borrow?"
"Err, I left mine at home, and Nanny's only got a little
snapshotter that won't take much of a picture." I hadn't
thought of that--I have an excellent SLR and telephoto
lens. Perhaps another time? "So this is why we have to
spend the day up here, I'm not sure if or when the
dolphins will arrive."
She'd brought along a sketchblock and charcoals, and
when we got to the little rabbithole-entry she gave me a
dubious look. "That's why I said dress untidy! It's much
bigger inside...c'mon, I'll go first." Her face lit up
once we got inside, and drawn by the siren-call of the
sea she went immediately to the window. I checked my
watch, waiting for low tide. "We have to be quiet or
they won't come," I said. "No giggling, no nothing!" It
wouldn't do to blow our cover.
So for a while, Cathy made sketches of the sea and rocks
from the window, while I snacked from a picnic bag that
doubled as something comfy to rest knees against rock
with. And at last..."Oh, there's someone coming!" she
said.
Immediately I raised a finger to my lips, and hurried to
he side silently. Yes, it was him! Putting my mouth
very close to her ear, I breathed "Shh! Don't call out!
Just wait, keep still, keep quiet, I don't want him to
know this cave's here!"
She was in the best position to see, kneeling at the
front of the crevice. I wanted to see too, but this time
I'd have to stand with my spine half-twisted to get half
a view, just enough to know whether he was obliging us.
He was wearing boardshorts this week, the same ones we
often saw him in when he was surfing at Bay Beach with
his brother. The ones he'd be wearing if he saw us in
the street and said "Hi." He set up his fishing rod. He
sat down.
When he started rubbing his hands over his body, Cathy
gave me a startled glance. I nodded, and she leaned
forward a little more. His shorts were elastic-waisted,
and this time he wriggled his hips, working them slowly
down. That thatch of amber curls appeared, more of a man
than Cathy had ever seen...and then...
Her mouth formed a great, silent O, and she did not look
at me again, unable to tear her eyes from what she
beheld. That gorgeous cock came out to be played with. I
was so close to Cathy that I could hear her breathing
thickening and feel the heat from her face near my
shoulder. Her lips moved silently as she watched, making
"oh my God" shapes. With one hand, she gripped my arm
with a hot, sweaty palm. I just know her lips were
throbbing as hard as mine.
With every stroke, his shaft seemed to get longer. This
time he kicked his shorts off altogether and I saw some
of his ballsack too, red and soft beneath his pumping
fist. He sprang up and fired his shot of sperm at the
sea, neat round backside pulsing, and when Cathy gave an
audible gasp I elbowed her to silence. He scuffed the
sand over, and this time turned toward us as he walked
back from the water's edge; we both instinctively
lurched backward, then peered carefully out again. He
wore nothing but sneakers, and now, even though he was
shrunken and soft, no portrait more beautiful of young
manhood existed. Michaelangelo's David, Cathy would
later point out, was just a lumpy rock by comparison.
Cathy looked up and me then, and very slowly ran her
tongue around her lips. I was hard-pressed not to giggle
at such a saucy look coming from my shy, quiet friend.
No, we're not kissing sisterhood; I learned later that
some girls help each other out, but that's not my scene-
-nothing other than a good hot male pole would suit
either of us. We didn't need to jolly each other anyhow.
Sean entertained us three times that afternoon. After he
had left we also retreated, hot and buzzy. Cathy asked
me all the way back how to get down to that cove, and
agreed BoggleEye Point had to be the right name for the
place. "Well," I said to her, "looks like it's a regular
fixture out here. So long as you keep the cave a secret,
hell, come out here any time you like, and next time you
can have the place to yourself. I just wish Mitch would
go out there and do that!"
I would so love to see him naked!
***
Cathy and I were still virgins, if rather heated and
horny ones. But our little friend Lyn--if the weekend at
Grandma's had gone to plan, she would now be a woman.
But when we got back to school she was in no talking
mood, being glum and listless until late in the week.
Cathy and I exchanged glances, and I drew my finger
across my neck in a cut-throat gesture behind Lyn's
back. I also had reason to be grumpy midweek, when Mum
announced we absolutely had to visit an old aunt who
lived a couple of hours south next weekend; Cathy looked
disappointed too, for there went her lift up to
BoggleEye Point. So we'd become quite a sombre bunch.
Sitting at the Plaza Cafe Thursday afternoon, a near-
teary Lyn finally cracked and shared her misery with us.
Her Saturday night had unfolded splendidly; even the
movie had been romantic. Back at Grandma's, Russ, who
was already eighteen, had chilled champagne ready to
celebrate, and the bed freshly made and turned back,
sprinkled with rose petals. They had lain down together
and kissed, and it went downhill rapidly from there. He
had torn so quickly at her clothes he had burst all the
buttons from her best blouse, and didn't so much nibble
her nipple as bit it quite hard. She had squealed and he
paused to apologise. Then they resumed.
"When I undid his pants...I thought it'd be bigger than
it looked, but that was okay, I didn't know what to
expect." Cathy and I couldn't help but trade looks. Sean
certainly looked nicely large enough. "We had a bit of
trouble getting the condom on, like, there's a right way
and a wrong way to unroll it, and he got it wrong to
start with. And every time a car went past he thought it
might be his family back early. So..." She sighed.
"Maybe we should have given up there and then. But we'd
both planned this for a while and we really wanted to do
it. So, well..." We all leaned closer together, then Lyn
just battered her palms on top of her head despondently.
"I don't think sex is all it's cracked up to be, to be
honest. He got up on top of me, and we, at first I
didn't think he could find the right place, and then he
nearly went into my bum which was like my God, no! And
then he did sort of have the right place, and he pushed
down really hard and I nearly shot off the bed because
it _hurt_, it really really hurt!"
"Oh my God, did you bleed?" Cathy asked.
"Maybe your hymen was really thick or something," I said
sagely, like as if I knew anything! Lyn just shook her
head woefully.
"I bled so bad it made a mess on the sheet, it was like
a period, which really freaked him out later when he saw
it. He raced off and stuck it straight into the washing
machine."
"But what about the actual sex, what was that like?" I
pressed, wanting to hear things had gotten better.
"Well, it wasn't much. Aside from the sore part around
the, you know, the entry, I couldn't feel much at all,
it didn't feel like anything really. He was having a
great time sort of bopping around, but I wasn't getting
anything, and then he sort of shivered and it was all
over, he just slipped out and laid really heavily on me
so I could hardly breathe. I pushed him off and he just
lay there. So after a while I got up and got dressed
again. Girls, believe me, it's overrated, it really is!"
she declared with a strange kind of matronly authority.
Suddenly she seemed to have gained five years on us.
We had all been excited by the prospect of sex. For Lyn
at least, the dream of ecstasy had been replaced by
crashing disappointment. Hers was a cautionary tale so
far as I was concerned. Rule One--find a man who knew
what he was doing! Rule Two--never at Grandma's.
"The worst part is, he later said he had a great time
and hopes we can do it more often." Lyn gazed miserably
across the bay, chin in her hands.
"Maybe you just need practice," Cathy suggested. But we
could see from her face that she would rather have root
canal work than another root with Russ.
***
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