A beautiful woman, draped only in a pink satin dressing gown, steps into a luxuriously spacious bathroom, her long, slender legs smooth and tanned. Almost too much a point is made of her leaving the door ajar; perhaps she is expecting to be disturbed. The mere scrap of material is allowed to slither down her back, exposing the skin of her well-defined shoulder blades and the near-perfect contours of her sculpted buttocks. She reaches to start the flow of water from the shower head and tests the temperature with her hand, judging it just right.
Until now, her naturally blonde hair had been tied up in a tight bun, but now she lets her long, soft curls fall sexily to the small of her back before she steps under the steady stream. Her eyes close as her body is warmed and she lets out a light moan as her hands cup her full, pert breasts. Sensually, liquid soap is squeezed onto her bosom. The lather she quickly forms is spread over her entire torso and it cannot help but be noticed how erect her nipples have become. While one hand continues to massage a breast, the other creeps down to her bald pubic region; a solitary finger extends to find the entrance to her...
The doorbell, audible only because of the conveniently open door, startles the young woman from her self-exploration. Eyes wide with faux surprise, the suds are hastily rinsed from her body, the shower shut off and what can only be described as a hand towel wrapped around her naked body, scarcely covering her most intimate areas. As she makes her way down a grand, carpeted staircase to the entrance hall, another impatient 'ding-dong' is heard. On the other side of the heavy, oaken door stands a moderately handsome man sporting the matching shirt and shorts of a UPS uniform and a five o'clock shadow, a small parcel in his hands.
Within moments, the beauty is standing before him, beads of moisture still visible on her largely unconcealed breasts. Upon encountering the gawping stranger, the stunning blonde leans against the doorframe and twirls her locks flirtatiously. After a few moments of sexually tense silence, the dark-haired delivery man says, with more than a hint of innuendo, "I have a package for you."
"Oh, c'mon! Really?" Ethan could hold in his frustration no longer. The unashamedly cheesy porn clip sent to him by his walking hormone of a friend, Scott, with its infuriatingly clichéd characters was almost painful to watch. Even as he looked on, the bimbo had invited the delivery man in from the "scorching" heat for a refreshing beverage and, without even a thought to putting on some clothes, led him to the kitchen while he ogled her taut upper thighs.
"Do you live here alone?" he asks, tearing his eyes away from the curvaceous bombshell to observe the incredibly ornate mansion into which he had been so graciously received.
"No, but my parents won't be home for hours," she tells him, flicking her luscious hair. As they entered the open-plan kitchen, a bar-stool is offered to him by his most obliging hostess. "I'll just get you that lemonade." She turns to retrieve a glass from the highest cupboard in the room; her towel rides up over her hips to reveal her firm ass and tantalising pussy lips to her guest. In a second, he is behind her, the towel is tossed aside and his hands are familiarising themselves with the perky tits of the wanton slut. His erection, so obvious beneath the brown shorts, presses against her desirous body as his lips suck lightly on her neck.
The nameless whore wastes no time in turning to the aroused man with lust in her eyes and dutifully falls to her knees. Light work is made of releasing his already throbbing cock from its constraints (and what a cock it was) and she wraps her fingers around it, a look of awe on her youthful face. Staring up into his eyes, with all the innocence she can muster, she says, "I've never seen a real life dick before; I'm still a virgin."
Ethan let out a burst of derisive laughter at this apparent twist in the 'plot' and rolled his eyes as the supposedly intact heroine expertly fellated the gratified delivery worker. The implausibility of the scene had prevented the visual aspect of it from having the intended physical effect on him. Nevertheless, having very little else to do with his afternoon, he decided to persevere with the less-than-enthralling pornography whilst he mentally composed a response to his horny friend, wanting to express how underwhelming he was finding the video which had reportedly caused him to "bust a nut". Deplorable language aside, it was unsurprising that Scott, who was liable to get an erection from a well-timed flash of ankle, would have such a reaction to this kind of smut. It took a bit more than a pretty, young thing slurping on the oversized phallus of some willing stranger, though, to get Ethan off.
A knock on the door was not met with the usual panic of a sixteen-year-old interrupted while viewing sexually explicit material online, often involving a swift trouser readjustment and the frantic scrabbling to find that little, red 'X' in the corner of the screen. The exaggerated screams of the virginal protagonist as her stubbly acquaintance introduced her to the delights of oral sex were undoubtedly audible to whoever now stood in the hallway outside his bedroom. His eyes did not stray from the uncensored act of cunnilingus displayed on his monitor when he coolly inquired, "Who is it?"
"Put your knob away, bawbag, I'm coming in." These uninhibitedly crass words, spoken with such diction and eloquence, could only have come from the delightfully foul mouth of Ethan's oldest and dearest friend. A smile spread wide across his face as he swiveled round in his chair to greet the short, red-haired figure.
"Porn in the middle of the day? Shameful, Mr Blake." The sight of the barely legal 'hottie' currently having her cunt devoured by a middle-aged man elicited a raised eyebrow and a sly grin from the intruder.
"Aye, shite porn at that," he replied, shaking his head disappointedly. "Get a load of this crap Scott sent me." They both watched for a few seconds, Ethan explaining the circumstances under which the two characters had been brought together, as no time was wasted in bending the little tramp over the kitchen counter and divesting her of her virginity.
"It's a joke!" His exasperation was evident. "There's just no realism. You couldn't pay my dick to get hard at this rubbish."
"You have got to be the strangest teenage boy I've ever met, y'know that? She's tidy as fuck and he's pillaging her with an impressively huge cock. Who doesn't get even a wee bit turned on by that? Christ, I'm a wee bit turned on by that!" Gretchen stared intently over the shoulder of her best friend at the rampant sex scene before her, fixated. Truth be told, she was getting more than a 'wee bit' aroused - an of late familiar feeling bubbling between her thighs - but would never admit that, even to Ethan. With no answer to give, he gave a shrug and turned to face her once more.
"So, what's up? I thought you weren't coming over until five... Gretch?" He waved a hand in front of her to unglue her wide, blue-grey eyes from the debauchery. A dazed look quickly turned to one of embarrassment as he reached for the mouse, laughing whilst he said, "I'll just turn this off so maybe we can have a conversation." One last 'Oh, God!' and the room filled with silence. Ethan repeated his question, "Why so early?"
Not one for awkwardness, her blushes soon faded. She jumped onto his bed, crossing her legs, and bounced a few times before she spoke. "No reason. I was bored and Maggie was doing my tits in, so I came here. Aren't you happy to see me?" Another buoyant bounce accompanied the almost rhetorical question.
"You still good for tonight?" she went on without waiting for a response. His affirmative nod was preceded by a heavy sigh, prompting her to ask, "D'you not wanna go any more?"
It was the perfect weather for camping, and he relished any excuse to get drunk on cheap beer, but Ethan's summer apathy had peaked and the prospect of lugging his tent and sleeping bag two miles into the woods didn't enthuse him very much right now. "I do, I just can't be arsed. Do we know who's all going yet?" The last he heard, only three others had confirmed.
"Yeah, Luke phoned me earlier. It's: him and Michaela, Podge, Wee Dave, Scott and..." She counted them off on her fingers. "Oh aye, Michaela invited that French exchange lassie, Orally, or whatever her name is." Ethan's ears pricked at the mention of this last, unexpected addition to the party.
"Aurélie, you mean?" He had been admiring this continental beauty since she arrived at school four months ago.
"Ye ken what I mean. It's her last weekend before she's shipped off back to Frogland, apparently." This was not new information to Ethan; they had spoken (and flirted) a reasonable amount in their shared History class. Only recently, in fact, he had been lamenting her imminent departure, telling himself that he might have asked her out had they had more time together. There was no sense in trying to conceal his delight from Gretchen; she could always see right through him and she knew he had had his eye on her for a while.
After a few seconds of watching his eyes glaze over with impure thoughts, she interjected, "Last chance to give her your baguette."
The deadpan way she said it set him off into a fit of laughter; he was bent double in his seat. One of the reasons he loved Gretchen was her distinct lack of discretion and subtlety. Since they were kids, she was very outspoken and had always encouraged the naturally reserved Ethan to be more so. A similar comparison could be drawn between their mothers, through whom they had been introduced at the age of three. Margaret was a short-tempered, loud-mouthed 'soccer mom' type who was forever spear-heading controversial community initiatives and making memorable speeches to the Parent Council; Cecelia was a quiet, unassuming housewife who rarely had a bad word to say about anyone and avoided confrontation at all costs. Yet these two women, polar opposite in their demeanours, could be considered naught but the closest of friends. Their offspring counterparts did not have quite the extremes of personality that they did, but the likeness of the relationships was undeniable.
"We'll see how it goes," was his suggestive response once the laughter subsided, immediately changing the subject. "Is your cousin still gettin' us beer?" Danny had been their source of all things alcoholic for the past year, as well as their obliging chauffeur; all he asked for in return was a couple of quid for petrol every now and again. This was an extremely convenient arrangement for two booze-thirsty, inordinately lazy sixteen-year-olds as well as their parents who were "sick of being a bloody taxi service" to them. Gretchen believed his generosity stemmed from a want of social interaction, being somewhat of a loner, and they were always happy to shoot the breeze with the slightly peculiar but essentially good-natured fellow.
Gretchen lay on the bed now, her black t-shirt riding up to expose a portion of her flat belly and its Batman symbol visible atop the small mounds of her breasts. "Aye, you owe him a fiver," she answered, propping herself up on her elbows. She had quite striking features, even at that age: piercing, smoky blue eyes; straight, pointed nose; thin, yet notably red lips. It was little wonder that nearly every guy at school had asked her out, but she rarely took much notice of any of them. Whenever Ethan queried this, she would always trot out the same line about not having the patience for immature, randy teenage boys and the topic would be quickly dismissed. Big Dave had been successful in securing a cinema date once but his conversation had been sufficiently inane to ensure there would be no sequel.
Many suspected that she and Ethan were something of an item, being so close and spending so much time together. While Ethan brushed off these rumours with good humour, Gretchen was always quick to go on the defensive whenever it was mentioned.
"That's preposterous," she would protest, "He's my best friend; we're practically brother and sister. How could you even think that? It's ridiculous!" No one dared argue with her once they saw her hands curl into fists at her side and Ethan knew better than to accuse her of overreacting.
Danny picked them up a couple of hours later in his rickety, old Peugeot 106. The edge of the woods they were camping in was about four miles from their town, along a winding, single-track road. They had made this trip once before and found the perfect clearing in which to pitch their tents - perfect but for the distance from the road. There was a rough path which led to the spot - easy enough to follow in the light of day but overgrown with nettles and with many unexpected ditches and puddles. Alas, there was nothing else for it.
With the additional burden of a 24-pack of Carling, the walk was fairly grueling and Ethan was effing and blinding when they arrived at the site, cursing Luke, whose idea the whole damn thing was. They were the first there and took the opportunity to pitch their tent (inducing yet more swearing) in the flattest and driest part of the opening. Just as the last peg had been hammered into the ground, Michaela and Aurélie appeared, seemingly in high spirits and not carrying a thing between them. Luke followed minutes later, laden like a packhorse and panting for breath. Nonetheless, the dutiful boyfriend did not utter a word of complaint and smiled throughout the whole sorry ordeal of setting up their own little tent. The last to arrive (and they were heard long before they were seen) were the three boys, bearing enough alcohol for at least ten people.
Ethan had been watching Aurélie since she stepped into the glade, her long, shapely legs stealing his attention for several long moments. The denim shorts and sleeveless top she wore was not a suitable outfit for camping at all, but it was damn sexy. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail which swung from side to side as she bounced gaily around the site. He knew that if he was going to make any kind of move on the pretty French girl, he would have to do it tonight. "May as well make an early start," he murmured under his breath as he stood to approach her.
"Hey Aurélie, wanna help me collect some wood for the fire?" Her enthusiastic acceptance of his invitation was a great sign of encouragement to the smitten boy and he couldn't help but feel hopeful as they wandered into the woods together.
The usual chit-chat ensued, with all the boring niceties of a friendly acquaintance. She seemed extraordinarily happy to have been invited on this little excursion to the woods and she gushed with gratitude towards Michaela and, indeed, all of them. Michaela had befriended her quickly upon her arrival and taken her under her wing, as it were, for the duration of her stay. Aurélie particularly appreciated not having to spend all her time with the other two exchange students, both male, who seemed less keen to integrate with the Scottish high-schoolers. Ethan's face was adorned with an involuntary smile as he listened to the sweet continental accent of his companion.
Seizing a lull in her speech, he decided to try his hand at flattery in an attempt to better gauge his chances. "You look really pretty today." As soon as it was out, he wanted to take the stupid, clichéd words back. Being smooth was not something Ethan Blake was known for.
Regardless, it seemed to have the desired effect, for she blushed and averted her eyes as she gave an almost inaudible, "Merci." A brief moment of awkward silence was interrupted by Aurélie tripping over a hidden root and falling comically to the ground. At first deeply concerned, Ethan quickly rushed to crouch by her to make sure she was okay but when she let out a chuckle of embarrassment, he started to laugh himself. He offered a chivalrous hand to the muddy damsel and pulled her to an upright position once more.
Once he was sure she was securely on her feet, he tried to release her hand from his but found himself unable. Her grasp was tight and she looked at him with adoring, brown eyes. Yep, he thought, my chances are good.
When they returned with bundles of firewood in their arms, all the guys were standing around a pile of broken branches, squabbling about the best way to start a fire. Already knowing what the resolution would be, Ethan dumped his contribution and drew Aurélie away to sit in the door of his tent. They sat for a few moments, enjoying the commotion, before Gretchen barged through the group of bewildered boys with a can of deodorant in one hand, a lighter in the other, and set the twigs alight with her makeshift flamethrower. All but Ethan, who simply laughed, now sported looks of wonderment and surprise. Although she wasn't 'outdoorsy', as such, Gretchen was extremely resourceful and did not suffer fools lightly. It was from Danny that she had learnt that little trick, in fact, hence Ethan's lack of astonishment. A fresh argument about the best way to maintain the fire soon ignited amongst the emasculated foursome, to the entertainment of the onlookers.
Without warning, Ethan rolled back into the tent and emerged seconds later with two beers, offering one to the brunette. "Oh, no thank you," was her coy reply, "I don't drink." Ordinarily, he would have respected this and said no more on the matter, but his ulterior motive spurred him to be an uncharacteristically bad influence on the innocent-looking foreigner.
"Go on, what's one beer?" He felt wicked for pressuring the poor girl but didn't stop. "We can think of this as your 'Bon Voyage' party." Her resolve was weakened greatly by this suggestion and she smiled meekly at him. Hesitantly, she took the can from his hand and stared down at it. He pulled back the ring-pull on his own and took a long swig, then watched her expectantly. Peer pressure had triumphed once more in dragging another underage soul from the depressing pits of sobriety. It was commonplace in this part of the world for youths to imbibe huge volumes of low-quality alcohol and Ethan justified his unlawful encouragements as a proper introduction to the Scottish drinking culture.
Just as she lifted the beverage to her plump, pink lips, a yell came from the other side of the campsite: "That's coming out of your half, Ethan!" Gretchen's face was all seriousness as she stood with hands on hips, her stare fixed on the beer in the startled girl's hand. Aurélie hesitated, looking at him for reassurance, and his affirmative smile was returned with affection.
"Don't mind her," he said, then raised his voice to go on, "She's kidding herself on if she thinks she can drink twelve anyway." The redhead glowered at him for his remark but, knowing what truth was in it, proffered no comeback.
"Well, what do you think?" He saw that Aurélie had just taken her first mouthful and was struggling to decide whether or not she liked it. He observed the smooth skin of her expressive face and the way her cute nose crinkled slightly as she pondered the taste of the lager.
Had she kept him in suspense much longer, he might have leant over to kiss her and the idea was just occurring to him when she finally gave her verdict. "It is not as nice as wine, but I will drink it for you, Ethan." At the sound of her saying his name, he became very glad of being sat down for, had he been standing, his knees almost surely would have given way. The urge to kiss her grew stronger and he took a long drink from his black and white can to suppress it; such an advance so early in the night ran too great a risk and could not be blamed on his inebriation if a rejection was encountered. No, biding one's time was definitely the preferred strategy in the given circumstances. Still, it was hard to resist the lure of her soft features and musical voice and the call for them to join the rest of the group, now gathered round the moderate fire, was a most welcome one. Gretchen had authoritatively taken charge of stoking the flames and the boys, weary of arguing with the indefatigable girl, busied themselves with the act of getting very drunk.
Aurélie's insistence on sitting next to him for the duration of the evening was a wonderful excuse for Ethan not to have to admit wanting the selfsame thing. How close she chose to sit next to him, with no visible gap between them, left none present, however, in any doubt of their mutual infatuation. Not even Luke and Michaela looked as intimate as them once he plucked up the courage to place a forcefully steadied hand over her small, delicate one. The laughing and joking came naturally to the circle of school friends. Aurélie was pleased to be included in their joviality as she politely sipped at her beer. Michaela, the epitome of a 'girly girl', offered Bacardi Breezers to the other females, explaining to her French protégé how much nicer they were than the 'disgusting' beer she was drinking. She squeezed Ethan's hand as she politely declined then stifled a giggle at Gretchen who scoffed, saying, "Away ye go wi' yer poof juice!" before downing the rest of her drink.