Message-ID: <47002asstr$1078272606@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Mail-Format-Warning: No previous line for continuation: Wed Aug 14 16:30:23 2002Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <005e01c40040$1bb0e020$6501a8c0@penguin> From: "virgosun" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2615.200 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 2 Mar 2004 21:21:20 +1100 Subject: {ASSM} Tales of the Lorelei 03/10 {virgosun} (msolo mf 1st cons rom voy pett oral) Lines: 548 Date: Tue, 2 Mar 2004 19:10:06 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: hoisingr, dennyw <1st attachment, "03lorelei.txt" begin> Lorelei part 3 I was pleasantly surprised when Renton showed up to take me to the dance night. Okay, so he arrived by cab, but he scrubbed up nicely, at least if you're into long red hair. Because of his colouring he wears green well; pale yellow pants and a trendy long green-striped hipster shirt. He's also got a few sprigs of chest hair, which to my mind is a plus for any man. So my spirits were good when we got to the hall. There, as promised, Lyn hooked up with us. Russ wandered off with his mates amidst the seniors, and three wasn't a crowd. Renton wasn't the world's greatest dancer, but nor was he the worst, so the three of us took to the floor in a group and had fun that way. Since I wasn't out to impress, I was relaxed. The only hassle of the evening was a certain glower about Russ when he came to demand Lyn's company in dancing, as was his due; for a couple, they weren't spending much time together at all, and the reluctance was definitely on Lyn's side. Sean and Cathy were there too and joined us from time to time, but spent most of the night in each others' arms. I wondered where they were doing it, if not at BoggleEye Point. Sean lived with his elder brother in a shack toward the industrial area; Cathy lived with her parents. Probably at Sean's place while his brother was out. And then, late in the evening, Mitch appeared. From good, the evening soared to perfect. It was as if the crowd parted just as I looked up, and he was there, coming toward me with his hands upraised, intent on dancing with me. He wore an open white shirt and dark blazer that made him look older and more sophisticated than the rest. Renton grinned and shrugged--he had known from the start he was second-string, and beckoned Lyn away to the refreshments table. Mitch caught me in his arms, hands closing assertively over mine. Throughout my school years, I had loathed the way how, at dance practice, all the boys had seemed terrified of touching my hands lest they catch "girl germs" or something, cold wet fingers holding my hands in a pincer-grip as minimal as possible. They didn't want to dance. Mitch did. And although everybody else was jigging and disco-ing, he swept me around into a waltz. Thank heaven for my practice with Dad, and the light feet he had taught me. Mitch and I must have looked right, for soon I glimpsed Sean, Cathy, Lyn and Renton and the rest of the form clapping, clearing the floor for us. And all the while, Mitch was smiling into my eyes, and after a while I was content to lose myself in his. "We got back early," he murmured, mouth close to my ear so that I could hear. "I wanted to be here too. I wanted to have at least one dance with you. And I'm glad I did- -you're fantastic!" And when the mood shifted to something gentler, with a swaying, sensuous rhythm, Mitch put his hands firmly on my hips, and drew me close. I was already bedazzled, and my body was aflame, for nobody had ever held me like this before. It was natural to put my arms around his neck. He indicated how to move by the pressure of his hands, one after the other in rhythm and balance, while I revelled in the heat of his nearness, the feeling of his torso against mine. One of his thighs was between my legs so that I could almost have sat upon it, and with this too he steered me; my crotch was throbbing and sticky. How I wished he would kiss me! But the dance was a dance, and I had to keep my feet from tangling with his and bringing us undone, and he held me mesmerised with his eyes. And the night was over, the music at an end. "Are we still on for tomorrow?" he asked as we left the floor, his arm still firmly around my waist. "Say, three?" "Of course!" We moved away from the stream of revellers leaving the hall. He glanced at Renton's prominent red head towering above the crowd. "I'd better let you leave with your escort. But thank you, Jo--I had no idea you were such a great dancer." "Anyone would dance well with you, you're so good." "That's years of suffering dance lessons your parents made you take," he smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow." And he cupped my cheek in his hand, and lowered his lips to mine. My heart almost burst. This was the first time anyone had kissed me properly. For a wonderful moment, the warm, moist pressure of his mouth was upon mine, and there was just a moment in which to respond before he was gone. And my clit sparked like a joy buzzer. I wondered if he was as turned-on as me. Would it soon be our turn on Boggle-Eye Point? Just the memory of his thigh between mine, our bodies rocking and swaying together, the scent of his cologne and his hands upon my hips was enough to keep me awake the rest of the night. I left in a taxi with Renton and Lyn, who had refused to go with Russ to another night of passion he had planned. She and Renton chattered all the way. I gazed at moonlight on the bay, and yearned for tomorrow afternoon. *** Every coastie boy owns a tinny at some time; a little flimsy shell of a boat with a putt-putt outboard. If he's a serious mariner, he graduates eventually to something more like a proper boat. I'd seen Sean and Cathy zooming across the estuary in his tinny, the wind in their hair, like a couple of carefree kids as I walked down to the jetty. They threw me a cheerful wave. By comparison, Mitch's fibreglass twenty-footer was a real boat, fit to go out to the open ocean, with a sixty horsepower outboard and a steering wheel. He was very pleased with himself, to put it mildly, the sunniest smile I had ever seen from him on his face. When he saw me he leapt up to the pier, and kissed my cheek in greeting. I was excited, a bit buzzy, and sleep-deprived after laying awake dreaming of this all night. I'm of slim build, and had dressed in sleek bike shorts with a long, billowy top that's cool, comfortable, and just a shade transparent, my laciest bra beneath. He wore a striped polo shirt and white shorts, going for that ultra-maritime look. He helped me down into his boat-- not that I needed any help, I've lived around boats all my life, but this afternoon it was fun to pretend as he did the gentlemanly thing. Then we set off, me taking the seat beside him as he drove us quite sedately along the estuary. They were bucket seats so we weren't sitting close, but he was cruising and talked endlessly of how he had chosen this boat, the number of places he'd been and how he'd saved and scrimped for this, the range she had and how he planned to install a radio...Somehow, I'd envisioned taking her out to sea and somehow sitting closer to him so that he could put his arm around me as we cruised, and I could lean against his shoulder romantically listening to his voice. "Are you going to take us outside?" I asked of him eventually, interrupting his spiel. "We'll go along the break," he said, scowling at the sky, "but I don't think it's looking too good for outside. There's a huge swell running, and I don't like the look of that." He nodded to the south, where the horizon hazed to a murky and unpleasant shade of violet. High white cloudcaps soared above an anvil-sweep, and I knew he wasn't being a wuss. Live on the coast long enough and you can spot dangerous weather brewing. He did take us out along the channel by the harbour breakwater, and that was exciting enough as his boat whacked hard into the heaving swell. Further out, the open sea was covered with whitecaps, and the wind whipped about us. Exhilarating, yes; romantic, no. Eventually we turned back. Mitch's boat was fully equipped with fishing gear, so we ended up motoring back along the harbour, looking for somewhere to anchor and drop a line. I suggested around the back of Sandpiper Island, which would be nice and secluded; but he rightly pointed out the channel faced the prevailing wind--it would be choppy and very gusty with the weather freshening. My romantic enthusiasm had mellowed somewhat. Of course I had been expecting far too much too soon, and the weather wasn't the best. But it hadn't been bad either; while Mitch drove, he looked at me frequently, and I could tell by his eyes he was looking at my breasts as well as my face. The wind was blowing the sheer cloth of my blouse against them, the lace of my underwear certainly visible. I was fascinated by the opening of his shirt, and the shape of his chest, and could see the points of his nipples, for that breeze had a nip in it. I hoped he would hug me, and I would get to feel those pecs. But as well as looking at me, he was looking for somewhere to fish, and we ended up setting anchor not a long way from town and the shoreside promenade. We were too far away to make out people's faces, and there was some shelter from the wind. We set some lines, then settled on the wide seat in the stern, side by side. Now that we were close, his eyes took on a sly smile, and he slipped his arm around me. "So," he smiled, "do you like my boat?" "Almost as much as I like you," I said coyly, bringing my hand up to rub that chest. He brought his hand up to my jawline and pressed his lips to mine, hard. At first I tried to match him, to keep up. His lips were like writhing octopus tentacles, strong and very wet and very slippery, and his tongue barged its way into my mouth so that very quickly, instead of feeling passionate, I felt as though I was drowning. The hand I had put on his chest to caress was used instead to push him back as my need for oxygen became dire. "Whoa, Jo," he smiled, "you kiss as well as you dance! Is something wrong?" "No, no," I gasped, affecting a giggle as I resisted the urge to wipe my face with my sleeve. "I just need to catch my breath, Mitch...phew! You're, like, hot, really hot!" And slimy, and I'm not sure I like how you taste... We kissed some more, and things didn't improve. Was there something I wasn't doing right? He seemed to know what he was on for, and it was full-on. He brought one of his hands up my ribs and under my arm, onto my breast. I would have enjoyed it more had I not been fighting for breath again. Then he pulled back, gazing at me steamily. I felt as if I had snail slime all over my face. "You're the hot one, Jo," he murmured. "So you like the boat? I'll bet I can show you something else that will impress you even more." I really, _really_ wanted to wipe my face, and was relieved when he moved away that there would be a respite from the tongue triathlon. He backed away, that smouldering smile taking on a smug edge. "I need to get more comfortable," he said. And he unzipped his shorts, and dropped them. "Do you like?" he asked expectantly. He was slim, and his thighs were dusted with coils of black hair. And, rearing proudly from its black nest was his erect cobra, peering out from beneath the hem of his shirt. Now here was proof that all men are not created equal, for he seemed longer and thinner than Sean, and had a definite bend in it. His balls seemed really large, taut and red. I silently gave thanks for Sean and BoggleEye Point, for I don't know how I would have dealt with the situation without some prior idea of what a naked guy was like. As for Mitch, yes, he did look good and certainly intriguing--but so had Sean. So would any naked guy. Where was the romance? He was showing me his dick on the first date? Something was so not right about all this. So I nodded, thinking my way out of this one very carefully. "Yes, yes," I said slowly, taking as long a look as he plainly wanted me to. "That is, er, right up there with the boat. I'm impressed." "Sure you wouldn't like to get more comfortable? Or is that too much too soon?" he asked considerately. "Actually..." I stood up and kicked off my sneakers. Enough was enough. "I feel the need for mango ripple ice-cream right now. See you!" Then I dived overboard and struck out for the boardwalk, feeling extremely silly, disappointed, and just plain disgusted. "You can always change your mind!" he called out cheerfully behind me. I just put my head down and kept swimming. There was a good stretch of water to cross and it was chilly, but shallow, with a significant risk of stinging jellyfish, rays and even the possibility of sharks. I just kept ploughing through the water, determined to put as much distance between myself and the day's events as possible. Eventually an engine roared, and the sound receded. Mitch had obviously pulled up the anchor and hopefully his shorts too, and gone. I swam like an automaton. At last the boardwalk and promenade reared above me. I really was ready for a goddamn ice-cream, even if the contents of my bum-bag and purse were soaked. "Jo!" someone called, and I looked up. Renton had climbed down some seawall stairs, and Lyn was at the handrail on the footpath overhead. This time, I was really glad to see him, both of them. "What the hell are you doing?" It was shallow enough to walk now. I trudged over and accepted his hand up. "I went for ice-cream," I said, batting a hand at the harbour. "Mitch obviously couldn't be bothered waiting around." "Jesus, what happened?" I must have been a sight, soaked to the skin. My bra was decent and I didn't care any more--I took off my blouse there on the boardwalk and tried to wring it out, while Lyn emptied water out of the bum-bag I'd taken off. "It was a fucking joke," I gasped angrily. The three of us retreated to an outdoor table at the Plaza Cafe. They'd noticed a swimmer, but hadn't realised it was me, or that I had come from Mitch's boat; not until I got close enough to shore to recognise. I didn't elaborate too much on the details, not in front of Renton, except to say he kissed like a swimming-pool pump and had come on way too strong. Lyn covered her mouth with her hand and was blessedly sympathetic, and Renton surprised me with his empathy. "You did the right thing in getting out of there, then," he said. The frown he wore said he agreed that was no way to behave on a first date. "Mitch's an all-or- nothing kind of bloke," he offered in his friend's defence. "But, really, no guy should make a girl feel like she has to jump overboard!" We bought another round of sodas, and Renton went to order them. "So much for men and getting laid," I grizzled to Lyn while he was gone. And told her the rest of it. She goggled. "Evil weather coming in," said Renton as he rejoined us. We stayed there and watched the storm building, while the wind hammered at the awnings and parasols, and tethered boats on the broadwater nodded and strained at their moorings. The sun had gone. I was still thirsty, moody and weary after my swim. Lyn and Renton chatted, and I had never heard him say so much or speak so easily. He'd always been too uptight and snooty to deign to speak to me, but with Lyn he had relaxed and wasn't at all unpleasant to listen to. He kept looking at me and asking was I all right, and bought me another soda, which struck me as quite sweet of him. "Come on," he said eventually. "We should get moving before the storm breaks, or we'll all get soaked...not that it would bother Jo," he teased gently, with a crooked grin. "Yeah, as if my day could get any worse." The three of us set off, toward the service station, Lyn insistent on seeing me back to somewhere I could find dry clothes. It was pavement all the way, so it didn't matter that I was barefoot. None of us talked much as we walked, as the high winds whipped leaves and sand up into our faces. That was when a motorbike cut across traffic with a roar to pull up beside us. Renton glared protectively, then smiled as he recognised the leather- clad rider. Kieran flipped up his silvered visor, hawkish black brows gathered in a scowl. "You kids might know," he growled without preamble over the racket of the engine. "Seen Sean about?" Lyn and Renton shook their heads. "I saw him with Cathy a few hours ago heading across the bay," I said helpfully. Kieran curled his lip, eyes darting about as if to spot his brother hiding in the background. He was clearly agitated. "Yeah, he was taking her somewhere fishing, but he's supposed to be back by now. You lot absolutely sure you don't know where they are?" Something tweaked in my mind. Where would they go on a Sunday afternoon? From across the bay they would have been walking distance from Surf Beach, and then... "Oh my God!" I cried suddenly. "They might be up at Bog, er, Lorelei Point!" Kieran's face blanched as he cursed. "Fuck shit! They'll never get back from there in this weather! Are you sure?" "Well I don't know, but they have been going there before, so maybe that's where they are!" He swung his head from side to side, muttering more curses into his helmet. With the storm-tide crashing onto the rocks, they would be trapped. "I hope you're wrong!" "I know a place we can check to see if they're there, a lookout on the Point!" He shot me a sharp look, then tossed his head at the back of the bike. "Get on, then, show me!" We were almost to the fuelstop. "I'll get a helmet!" Then I ran the rest of the way, Kieran rolling along the kerbside against the traffic in tow, Lyn and Renton bringing up the rear. I grabbed Dad's go-kart helmet from the workshop, then ran out and clambered aboard the bike. "Take the dirt road out to the lighthouse reserve!" I'd never doubled on a bike before and had no idea where to hang on; clutched nervously at Kieran's waist as he opened the throttle and roared out of the station, cutting arrogantly across traffic again. I was still damp, but his jacket would protect him from that and the oncoming weather. Even though we were at speed, big cold drops were hitting my back. What did it matter? If my friends were where I thought they might be, they were in danger and we'd need a helicopter to get them out of there. Perhaps they had let their passion get the better of them, or fallen asleep and lost track of the rising tide and souring weather. I hoped fervently we'd get there and find nothing; that Sean and Cathy were coming back across the inlet in his tinny as we raced out of town at breakneck pace. The bitumen runs out at my grandparents' place, but the dirt weaves on a hundred metres more before stopping at the lighthouse gates. Kieran wobbled the bike along the rough track, then stopped and tore his helmet off. "Where now?" I was already in motion, plunging through the saltbush and seagrass, hopping a little daintily on bare feet while he lumbered behind. By the tanglebush and gnarled old protea, where the ground began to rumple. The sea was the colour of lead and streaked with white, and even from here I could hear and feel the boom of the swells hitting the bluff. "In here!" I slipped down the entryway and Kieran swore, scuffing dirt as he scrambled into the hole. Through the window I could see bursting white spray and foam, a turgid sea, the idyllic sand where Cathy and Sean had lost their innocence only appearing when the storm-surge streamed out. I didn't see them at first. Kieran threw himself to the window, then bellowed, "Sean!" They were huddled on a ledge, as high and close to the window as they could climb. At his brother's call Sean looked up, and I heard Cathy's thin cry. "Thank God!" Kieran leaned as far through the hole as he could get his shoulders, an arm extended, as Sean bent and boosted Cathy further up the rockface. By Kieran's side I reached for Cathy's hands too, and together we pulled her almost into the crevice. "I can't...can't get in!" she gasped through gritted teeth. "Twist round!" Kieran yelled, dragging hard at her wrists. She had her head through the window, but her ribcage wouldn't come through, her pale face creasing with terror and pain. "I can't!" Then she slipped back, down into Sean's arms. If she couldn't make it, there was no way Sean would fit through either. Kieran swore and looked around desperately, then grabbed a bough of sturdy driftwood I had used as a seat, gouging at the dirt and sand between the boulders that made the window. "Dig!" he yelled to the pair outside. "I'm going to get help!" I called, and barked my shins shimmying back out of the hole and running to Nanny and Pop's. There I gasped out my tale, and while Nanny rang the emergency number, Pop and I went to the garden shed, where he armed us with a sturdy spade and a solid, heavy iron crowbar, and me with gumboots. He was slow along the track to the cave, so I went ahead with the bar. "Brilliant!" Kieran cried with a fierce grin before seizing the steel and hurling it into the beachrock with all the force he could muster. The soft rock was crumbling quickly under the assault. And then he gave a shout, scrambling backward and yelling a warning to the pair below. After years of pounding from outside, quite suddenly the floor beneath the window began to subside and collapse. Rubble and sand poured away, leaving a crawlspace. The slit-window had been opened. Cathy and Sean were through in an instant, scrambling to safety. *** Lyn and Renton listened pop-eyed to our tale, the rest of the form clustering around. Sean and Cathy's hands and legs were covered in cuts, scratches and grazes from where they had tried to get back around to the beach, and then when they had climbed up toward the window. "It was the only place left that we could go," she said, looking at me. "I knew you weren't there, we saw you in the morning and we knew you were going out with Mitch, but when it got desperate I don't know, I guess I just wished and hoped you would be there, and that maybe we could get in." Sean reckoned the abrasions were nothing compared to the tonguelashing Kieran had given him. Of course, we were the talk of the school, and the principal gave a stern address on the dangers of rockhopping to a full school assembly. "I knew there had to be a good reason for you to break our date," Mitch grinned. Last week, I would have swooned. Today it looked like a leer. He held up a plastic bag and handed it to me. My shoes. "So, can we take it up again next Sunday?" "Thanks, but I'm kind of busy, maybe the weekend after?" He shrugged, and with a smouldering smile wandered off. Next Sunday sounded like a good day to help Dad out at the fuelstop and earn a little cash, given the alternative Mitch offered. *** <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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