Such Stuff as Dreams are Made Ch. 02

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...

When it came to my turn, I couldn't resist taking things further. Acting nonchalant, I pulled off my jeans and tossed them onto the floor. My French knickers hugged my form tightly, not too sheer but showing just a hint of skin underneath. My top was long, hanging down over them. The cool air felt amazing against my thighs. The frayed edge of the rope rubbed aggressively against my thighs. When I got off I was flushed and exposed. I pulled down my tank top to try and cover the damp patch I thought might be forming in my knickers.

"Well, come on guys, you should try taking off those jeans, it feels amazing."

I wanted them to take this game further, much further, into territory my mind raced to imagine. I wanted them to acquiesce, but only if I took off my top, or offer to jump fully naked if I would reciprocate. I wanted to see their cocks bouncing in the wind, or cramped against the rope. I wanted to run the rough contours of the rope over my clit and know that they had been there only minutes before.

Ben walked up the hill and whipped off his trousers to reveal a pair of loose blue boxers. He had always had the most defined body of us all, and his broad back and strong, muscular shoulders seemed at odds with his bland underwear. He had the beginnings of a six pack and there was a path of hair leading down inexorably from his navel.

Without saying anything, he hopped on and swung, the rope slacking before it straightened and pulled tight against his weight. He flew back and forth a few times to loud guffaws and wolf whistles from the rest of us, casually, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. By the time he stopped we were all laughing and joking around and Owen already had his cargo trousers around his ankles, stumbling as he tried to step out of them while taking the rope from Ben.

Owen wore a pair of y-fronts. You could see the outline of his package hidden in there but I was disappointed by how ugly they were. (It's unfair, girls have many more opportunities in the field of hosiery than men. We can chose from thongs and g-strings, French knickers, suspenders, stockings, figure forming underwear that accentuates your butt and sucks in your stomach. And that's not to mention bras. It's a veritable goldmine of titillation. Yet what is there for men? A nice pair of tight boxers looks hot, but y-fronts, thongs, banana hammocks and the like all look ridiculous.)

Owen's body cut through the air with the greatest of ease, and when he landed, I noticed he was smiling, and that the outline in his pants was a little more pronounced than before. I tried hard not to stare. Next was John. Just before he jumped, while he was perched on the tree, rope in one hand, other hand in the air saluting gravity, he turned to me and said: "What are you going to do next, Amelia? Topless?"

It was as if he had anticipated exactly what I wanted to hear, and sent it out to me as a challenge which I couldn't refuse. I was already frustrated that my breasts meant I couldn't jump topless, I longed to feel them bouncing with gravity, nipples exposed and growing hard in the fresh spring air.

"Okay," I offered, as innocently as possible. "And then if you jump naked, I will too."

But just as he tried to respond he lost his balance and, as if in slow motion, toppled backwards, clutching the rope for his life. For a second it looked like he would fall. But at the last minute, he grabbed the rope, steadying himself against the tree. Laughter broke out among us. He looked sheepish and unsure, yet I could see his eyes fixed on me, imagining me naked. I hoped he was trying to decide what my breasts looked like, whether my pussy was shaved, how long my nipples were. I was desperate to see his cock.

Then the look was gone and he was sheepish and uncertain again. When he finally got his body settled on the rope and came back safely to the tree he looked a little shaky on his feet. He got down gingerly, and sat on the ground. His eyes were swimming.

I felt sorry for him. And I was horny as hell. I was sure that if there wasn't already a big wet patch on my knickers there would be soon and I wanted to get sight of a cock before anyone realised how raunchy this was all getting and backed off. I wanted to get John and anyone else naked as soon as possible. I had still not seen a cock in the flesh, and I was eager to find out whether they looked anything like they did in pictures.

"Thanks John. I like your style. You sit there and get your breath back. If you promise to jump naked next, then I'll go first."

It was only then that I realised the significance of where I was and what I was saying. My stomach lurched. Was I really preparing to get naked in front of three boys? I was terrified. Terrified by the potential of it all, by the unknown, by how much I wanted to be naked before them all. I was terrified that my brazen exhibitionism had got me into a situation I could no longer control. What would they do when they saw me naked? Would they try and rape me? And why was the idea of that so damn exciting?

I stood still not knowing what to do. No one said anything.

"So John, what do you say?"

"Maybe, but only if Owen and Ben will as well."

I turned to face the other boys.

"If Amelia's going to get her kit off for us then I don't mind doing so as well."

"I'm game if you are," Owen concluded, with a wink.

My heart fluttered. I had agreement. Within a few short minutes I was going to expose myself to three young men, and then sit back and watch as they followed suit. Anticipation took my breath away. The only problem was, I had no idea how to begin. I had no experience in this sort of thing. I felt I should do it sexily perhaps, but that was not possible here. Plus we were friends, I was one of them, an honorary bloke in the group, and I didn't want to jeopardise that. I could still back out and laugh it off. But I didn't want to. This was exactly what I wanted to do. There was nothing left for it, no prevaricating, I had to bare myself to them.

I had to find the confidence to do it.

I took a deep breath and stood up straight. I grabbed the back of my top and pulled it over my head and then held it over my breasts. I couldn't look at them. With another deep breathe, I let go and stood topless in front of my friends.

I couldn't help but look up then. Their eyes were firmly fixed on my breasts. Even my brother stared obscenely. My skin pricked. I had the urge to cover myself, to run and hide and seek safety. But I didn't. Suddenly I was the predator rather than the prey. I was in control of this situation. I wanted to be naked.

"Okay, okay boys," I said, finding confidence in my new mindset. "You can close your mouths now." Sheepishly, they did.

But I wasn't even finished yet. Not by a long shot. I was far too breathless and light headed to stop now.

Without a pause, I turned around, reached down and grabbed the waste band of my knickers. I squatted as I pulled them down, maintaining a semblance of ladylike decorum. I didn't want them to flash them a sight of the tight contours of my pussy stretched before them. Not yet anyway.

Most of all I didn't want to show them my pubic hair, I knew if they saw that, I would want to bend over and open my pussy for them. But it was a losing battle, and I didn't want to be refrained at all. I stood up, my pert little bottom poking out seductively at them, and turned around to see their eyes once again ravishing me.

As I clambered onto the rope, I was sure to lift up my leg high, to give them all a quick glimpse of my naked slit. I stood up on the tree, arm stretched over my head, holding the rope so that my breasts would be tugged tightest, and turned around to face my friends.

"Hello, boys," I called in my best Wonderbra impression. Then I jumped. The ground moved beneath me, and the wind invaded every part of me. When the rope slowed down, I let it spin me slowly around, giving the boys every opportunity to ogle my body. My chest was heaving. My clit and nipples were so hard they ached. It was as though the wind had combined with the desire of the boys to strip a layer away from me, to leave me more naked and vulnerable than I had ever been. I didn't want to get down from the rope and face their looks. Up here, up here I was an idol, a vision of art to be gazed at and enjoyed. But when I climbed off, I would have to walk back to them, and face up to whatever was to follow.

Scrap that, I couldn't wait to get down there.

I hopped off the rope and prowled towards them. Ben's boxers contained a barely concealed hard-on, the tip of which was poking above the waistband. He adjusted himself. Owen and John's erections were less obvious, but through the white material, I could see the outlines of their cocks, straight and firm and pointing at their stomachs.

"Who's going first?" I challenged. "It feels amazing!"

No one moved.

I looked at Owen, but he shrugged and averted his glance.

"Come on guys, what are you, chicken?"

"You must be joking," John said. "I'm not exposing myself like that!"

I smiled. "Right then, I'm getting dressed. If you all jump naked, I will stand here naked for the rest of the time, but if not, then why should I share my body with you immature jerks?"

I still had no idea they were serious. I was too busy savouring the attention my body was receiving, the results it was inducing. We stood, facing each other for a few seconds. My eyes tearing into theirs, their eyes averting mine wherever possible.

"Sorry sis, it's a bit cold for naked swinging don't you think?"

Ben's vision was directed somewhat lower than my face, Owen's more or less the same place. John wasn't even looking at me anymore. I turned around, worried that someone must be staring at me from behind. But there was no one there. It was then that it dawned on me that this was happening, and that no matter what I said or did, no matter what inducements I offered, they were not going to remove their underwear and swing naked from the tree. I felt hollow. And then my sense of shame came on: I had overstepped the mark, pushed things further than they should have gone.

I was too shocked to turn around, covering myself as best I could with my hands. I was hit with an overpowering sense that there had to be something seriously wrong with me to have led me to place myself in this situation. I felt tears begin to prick at my eyes. But I refused to cry.

I had the strongest sense that I would be alone forever, that there was no one out there who would understand how much I wanted to be sexual. And sexual in a loving, caring way.

It was all so confusing. Weren't men meant to be the sex addicts? That's what So every piece of folklore, culture, and wisdom had informed me. Yet here were three young men who stood before a naked woman, too scared to take their clothes off. This didn't auger well for the future. It didn't matter that I knew, or thought I knew, deep down, that this was pack behaviour, that they were too scared to show themselves in front of their friends. For all their big talk and bravado, they were embarrassed to have an erection, to show themselves to each other like that. Hell, they probably thought that three boys getting an erection while staring at a naked girl was tantamount to being gay!