Bad Penny (2 page)

The place where he had been seen was called Val de Fret, an old French name typical of the islands. It was a rocky cove at the bottom of a couple of hundred feet of cliff, and if it was a pig of a place to get to, then that was presumably why he had chosen it. On that Saturday night, Kate and Carl went even further. They had gone out to the quarry as before, only this time, after she had sucked him hard, they had gone all the way. She had knelt for him in the back of the pick-up, topless and with her jeans and panties down. He had played with her tits while he rode her and came all over her bare bottom. The description made me jealous and also painfully turned on. It had been in the doggy position too, with her bum exposed to him, an idea which I found deliciously rude and incredibly sexy.

The next day was Sunday, and I managed to evade everybody after breakfast and made my way out along the cliff path. My route was rather aimless, but I knew exactly where I was going to end up. Sure enough, half-an-hour's walk found me on the cliff top that overlooked the Val de Fret. I was telling myself that I didn't want to find Ryan, but of course I did. He was there, too, sitting on a rock and just watching the waves. I was completely incapable of doing what I wanted, which was to find the way down and ask if he'd like –

Well, to be honest, I didn't really know. I wanted him to be the instigator, to make me do something really dirty, like strip and pose in rude positions for him to come over. I didn't want to have to ask, nor to get into the sort of half-embarrassed relationship that would lead to the clumsy gropes and fumbles that formed the extent of my experience of sex. Given that he knew the state of his reputation on the island, he was in fact highly unlikely to make an advance on me at all, as he would only know me as the best friend of the ever-popular Kate. I also felt more than a little ashamed of my own emotions.

As I stood at the top of the cliff, feeling frustrated and annoyed with myself for my lack of courage, I decided that the least I could do was to climb down. I eventually found a suitable-looking place and began my descent, only to be brought up short by a drop of around six feet where the vegetation ended and the bare rock began. It was vertical and, while there appeared to be toe-holds, I didn't trust myself to climb down. Feeling very pathetic, I sat down where I was sure he couldn't see me and tried to think what to do. I was feeling pretty silly, and almost started back, but decided to at least try and get a better view of him. A little way above me was one of the German bunkers with which the Channel Islands are dotted. It looked as if its observation port had been designed to overlook the Val de Fret. As the thing was solid concrete about three feet thick, with only a narrow observation slit, I knew that once inside I would be invisible, yet could watch to my heart's content.

It smelt faintly musty inside, and I had to traverse an almost completely dark room to get where I wanted. It was worth it though, because the observation slit gave me a view of the entire bay, including Ryan. He was walking around the bay, leaping from boulder to boulder and occasionally glancing out to sea. He seemed strangely furtive, considering he was fully dressed and had a perfect right to be there, and I began to wonder, and hope, that he might be thinking of playing with himself. I felt a little scared, but also thrilled by the knowledge that, while I could see him clearly, he couldn't see me at all.

He inspected the sea-cave at the very apex of the bay, but quickly came out. Again he glanced out to sea, and I became doubly sure that he was up to something. He continued to search, clearly looking for somewhere private but with no luck. Finally he disappeared from view, directly underneath me. I began to feel more nervous, wondering if he might choose my bunker as a good place to masturbate. Of course, it was exactly what I wanted, in my fantasies: but now that it stood a chance of becoming reality, I began to feel scared.

I had made up my mind to go when I heard the crunch of a boot on the gravel outside. It could only be him, and I was stuck, and faced with the embarrassment of being caught spying. I stayed still, thinking frantically of what to say. He didn't come into my room, though; and, after a couple more noises, there was silence. Finally I decided that he had gone and plucked up the courage to leave. I moved quietly across the darkened room, then into the lighter one, only to stop short.

A short stair led from one wall, up to what had presumably once been some sort of gun emplacement. Ryan was standing in it, his lower half visible and his shoulders and torso out of my view. He was also massaging his crotch.

I almost ran – but of course, from where he was, he could see all round. All round, that was, except for the interior of the bunker. Rooted to the spot, I watched as he stroked and squeezed at the bulge in his trousers. I knew my mouth was open and there was a lump in my throat the size of a football. Still I didn't run, because, when it came down to it, I needed to watch so badly.

His gentle massaging was making his cock grow, and I could see its outline inside his jeans. After a while he put his hand to his fly and drew the zip down, then undid the button and let his jeans drop. He had boxer shorts on underneath; his half-erect cock was even more conspicuous inside them. I felt myself start to shake as he took hold of his boxers and pushed them slowly down, revealing a brush of ginger pubic hair. Then his cock flopped over the top and I nearly gave myself away, just managing to stifle my gasp at the exposure of a man's penis just feet away from me. He pushed the shorts down a bit further, exposing balls every bit as large and hairy as Carl had described.

He started to masturbate, stroking his cock until it was standing upright and the head was completely out of the foreskin. It seemed much bigger than the only other erection I had seen, paler, fleshier and somehow more vital. Now that it was stiff he began to pull up and down, holding it around the shaft and tugging. I was entranced, scared and disgusted, imagining the thing being pushed into my vagina as I lay on my back with my legs open or knelt with every rude detail of my sex on display for him.

I did register that something had changed, but only too late did I realise what it was, and what that meant. Even as I realised that I could hear the sound of a boat's engine, he was ducking down into the emplacement and then he was staring me straight in the face.

Our eyes met and then I turned mine down, aware that I was blushing furiously and completely lost for anything to say. Then I panicked and ran, only to stop at the entrance, realising that if I came out of the bunker, then whoever was in the boat would see me, and in all probability see me with Ryan.

I heard him swear behind me and then ask me to stop, which I did, drawn by the tone of his voice, which was not aggressive at all, but tired and pleading. I turned back into the bunker, finding him in the act of pulling his jeans and boxers up.

‘Penny, isn't it?' he said, then continued when I nodded. ‘Look, Penny, I know you think I'm a jerk and everything, but –'

‘That's not true,' I interrupted. ‘I . . . oh, I don't know, but I don't think you're a jerk.'

‘No?' he queried. ‘Even . . . I mean . . .'

He broke off, no more sure of what to say than I was. I wanted to do something, say something, but I could feel the moment slipping away and knew that, if I didn't act then, there would be no second opportunity. For all my mixed feelings, I just had to do it.

‘I . . . Could I watch?' I stammered, hardly able to believe what I was saying.

‘Do you really want to?' he asked, his voice full of doubt.

I nodded.

‘You're taking the piss,' he said, suddenly aggressive. ‘If . . .'

‘No, no, I mean it,' I answered. ‘Please?'

He looked at me very steadily. I could feel my lower lip trembling and possibly that's what decided him, because his expression changed from annoyance to a pleased yet rather crafty look.

‘OK,' he said evenly.

I bit my lip as his hand went to his trousers once more. He was still looking at me, ready for any sign that my interest wasn't genuine. I swallowed as his cock came on view again, now limp. He sat back on the lowest of the emplacement steps, the light from the door giving me a good view of his cock and balls as he opened his legs. He took his cock in his hand and began to stroke, using the other to cup his balls and massage them gently. I could feel the dampness between my legs as his cock stiffened, the head emerging from the foreskin as he rolled it down. He opened his legs further, giving me a full view of his cock and balls, a sight that had me blushing.

‘You are pretty, Penny,' he said as he began to pull at his now hard shaft.

‘Thanks,' I murmured, sensing the rising excitement in his voice.

I was getting really turned on, my qualms forgotten in the heat of the moment. He really began to show off, stroking the shaft of his cock, putting his fingers around the base to show me how long it was, holding it out towards me. I was mesmerised, really excited and yet needing to be led if we were to go any further.

‘The amount of times I've wanked over you, Penny,' he sighed, ‘and you're here, watching me do it.'

‘Really?' I asked. ‘Over me?'

‘Yeah,' he said. ‘I've watched you walk on the beach, with that lovely round bum spilling out of that blue bikini you wear.'

I giggled, delighted by his arousal. He was now pulling up and down fast, his qualms forgotten as he got more excited. What he was saying was so dirty, so improper, so unlike the way anybody had spoken to me before.

‘And your sweet tits,' he continued. ‘Come on, Penny, show me them, give me something to wank over.'

I hesitated, and could feel myself blushing. The others were right – he was a dirty bastard – but I still found myself wanting to do it.

‘Come on, Penny,' he repeated, ‘show me those pretty tits.'

My hands went to my top. He watched me as I shrugged it off, his eyes locked on my body and his hand jerking frantically up and down his penis. I took hold of my bra, hesitated again and then pulled it sharply up over my breasts, leaving it like that.

‘Now your jeans, Penny,' he demanded. ‘Come on, strip for me.'

I undid my fly button, my fingers shaking violently. I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it, yet he was getting frantic.

‘I'm coming, Penny, turn round and ease them down over your bum. Come on, darling, do it,' he said hoarsely.

‘You're really dirty,' I said, but I turned to show my rear.

‘Stick it out,' he gasped, ‘and pull your knickers down too – please, Penny, please.'

I let my jeans drop and stuck my bottom out but didn't pull my pants down, feeling shy and at once attracted and repelled by the dirtiness of what he was saying.

‘Show me your cunt. Show me your arsehole,' he gasped.

I hesitated only an instant and then tugged the back of my panties down, calling him a dirty bastard as I pulled open my bum-cheeks. I was genuinely cross with what he was making me do, but too turned on to refuse him.

‘You filthy, dirty . . .' I said, but it was really to excuse my own behaviour.

I was looking over my shoulder, watching the ecstasy on his face as his eyes locked on my pussy and bottom-hole. Then he was getting to his feet, his hand jerking frantically at his erection.

I squealed in protest, but too late, as a jet of sperm erupted from his cock and splashed across my naked bum.

‘Dirty bastard!' I squeaked, jumping up in alarm.

I could feel it on my pussy-lips and between my bum-cheeks, and knew my panties and jeans would be soiled. My feelings of repulsion were genuine, yet deeper down I was in ecstasy over what he had done, and what I had done, pulling my pants down for a boy, showing him my rudest and most intimate parts and letting him come over them. I was grimacing as I felt the sperm squelch between my bottom-cheeks, feeling utterly ashamed of what I'd done, feeling I ought to be punished. I knew, though, that if he'd just taken it a bit slower, if he'd been more commanding than demanding, treated me as I liked to be treated in my fantasies, then he could easily have had his cock in my mouth, even taken my virginity.

I didn't regret what I had done with Ryan, but nor did it progress to anything more. Afterwards both of us dressed in silence and parted company with only a rather formal goodbye. Neither of us spoke about it to anyone either and life went on much as before. True, I had possibly made the mistake of romanticising him just because he was a loner, when in truth he was both naturally antisocial and a bit of a bastard. That made no difference to my feelings about what we'd done, though, and if I felt rather guilty and ashamed, then that would have been true with anyone, not just Ryan.

What did disturb me was the way that the experience did nothing to resolve my confusion about my sexuality. In fact, it made it worse. One of my feelings after the incident with Ryan had been the need to be punished for it. I knew how, as well: over someone's knee with my panties pulled down and my bum bouncing to hard slaps from a powerful hand. It would be punishment, and I'd feel genuinely sorry afterwards, yet the idea was immensely sexy. I used to fantasise about it being done in public, with a note pinned up detailing my disgusting sin. More confusing and shameful still was the knowledge that of all the people who I wanted to do it, one was an undoubted favourite: my closest friend, another girl and my cousin – Kate.

2

Pretty in Pink

My cousin Kate got married on a glorious summer's day. The ceremony was held at a beautiful old church in rural Berkshire and the reception at their house nearby. I was chief bridesmaid, and decked out in a gown of coral-pink silk which everybody complimented me on but which made me feel like a little girl. This was partly because the other bridesmaid was Kate's little sister, Susan, a gawky, rebellious eleven-year-old. Mainly it was because Kate was getting married and I was still a virgin, and an innocent one at that.