Butterfly Ch. 06

Chapter 6: Sherry’s Diary: The Vecino Surprise

Dear Diary,

Nope, I’m not writing to Jen this time. Maybe I won’t need to pretend any more at all, because my wishes came true last night– sort of.

Me and Kyle have been role-playing and talking dirty while fooling around ever since last month when he brought up the notorious JRG. I was satisfied just biding my time, but honestly, the games were starting to get a little old.

Then Dave at work mentioned that he needed someone to check on his beach house on Vecino Island. He said he always secured it before the spring break crowd arrived (it sounded like he was getting ready for a hurricane), but this year he hadn’t had time. Being a kind and considerate team player, I volunteered to check on it all weekend. So last Friday, Kyle and I wrapped up our work responsibilities right after lunch and headed on out.

I guess Dave misjudged when spring break began. Convoys of road-tripping college students slowed our pace to a crawl about a mile before the Vecino Bridge. People in Ohio must really love Florida because there were OSU stickers and Ohio license plates all around us. The extra traffic only delayed us for about half an hour, tho, and we soon pulled up to Dave’s vacation house.

Actually, it’s more like a guest house. A smart real estate agent would call it “cozy.” But an open floorplan and a casual ocean-themed décor gives it a very comfortable feel. The fact that the screened porch out back opens directly on the sandy beach is another big plus. After we settled in, we lounged on the porch and enjoyed the seabreeze. I love the place.

The main road was still full of incoming spring breakers, so we walked to a nearby clam shack for dinner. The grouper sandwich was greasy and great. Kyle raised his eyebrows significantly at me when he ordered the oyster platter.

We made it back just in time for sunset and watched the orange and purple glow fade while sitting out on the sand. I guess the oyster effect kicks in after dark because Kyle was all over me as soon as the screen door closed behind us. We hadn’t turned on any lights in the house, so no one saw us strip off each other’s clothes outside on the porch. I laid back on the lounge chair while Kyle pumped energetically between my knees. We fucked to the faint but steady rhythm of loud music coming from the crowded clubs on the other side of the island. I noticed dim figures on the beach and wickedly wondered what they would think if they knew the only thing between them and a naked orgasmic woman was 100 yards and thin mosquito netting.

There are few things more relaxing than waking up only when you’re ready to wake up. That’s exactly what we did yesterday (Saturday) morning. We got up real late and leisurely ate our cereal and milk out on the porch while watching the long morning shadows shrink across the sparkling sand.

Kyle insisted that we wait an hour after eating before heading out for a swim (damn those old wives tales!). I paid him back by showing him the swimsuit I was going to put on – the teeny micro-g. He blanched at the sight, but I told him that I paid too much for the little thing to never wear it. I went into the old Scarlett O’Hara routine and asked him if he was scared “some young beau will sweep me away,” to which he replied Rhett-like that he was more afraid I’d “sweep some young lady off her feet and cause a terrific scandal.” We’re so funny.

Anyway, I pretended to compromise and agreed to wear the micro-top with board shorts instead of the g-string bottoms. I really hadn’t planned on wearing that butt floss on the beach but just wanted to see his reaction. I asked him whatever happened to his micro-g. He just frowned and pulled his old swim trunks from the traveling bag.

After all my bluster, though, one look in the mirror almost made me change my mind about my daring fashion selection. My breasts spilled out on both sides of the narrow triangular cups, giving me the impression of band-aids stuck on hot air balloons. I had to adjust myself and the cotton just right so that nothing (too) improper was showing – my C-cups never seemed so big. But I gathered the courage to exit the bathroom and ignored Kyle’s wanton stares as I nonchalantly applied sunscreen.

I didn’t feel as brave once I got outside, so I ran straight for the surf and hopped in. The weather has been so warm that it’s easy to forget it’s only March, but the cool Gulf water reminded me very quickly. We splashed around for a few minutes but couldn’t stay in for long. By this time I had gotten more used to my choice of clothing, so we walked up the beach to let the sun dry us off.

The crowd thickened the closer we got to the big touristy hotels on the north end of the island and I began to feel more self-conscious about my top. Packs of college guys stared right at my boobs without even trying to pretend they weren’t. I didn’t get too offended because I couldn’t help staring back at them and at all the hot college chicas laying around soaking up the sun. Most of them seemed to be the shallow frat & sorority types I had always avoided back at UCF, but they were certainly very nice to look at. A lot of the girls wore some kind of thong bottoms, but I didn’t see any other tops as skimpy as mine.

For no apparent reason, I suddenly felt old among all the carefree college kids, which is silly since I’m only 4 years out of school myself. But I consoled myself by noting that my body is still alluring enough to attract plenty of lustful looks even though I’m an “old lady” of 25.

After quickly cooling off in the water again, we found a crowded tiki-bar and went in for a bite to eat. The service was slow and the food lousy, but I found ways to have fun anyway. There was a mirror on the wall behind Kyle at our booth. I had my back to the restaurant but kept a roving eye on the mirror to watch the bronzing beauties coming and going behind me. After a while, I saw in the reflection that my top had shifted and the left side of my left aureole was barely peeking out. Instead of fixing it, I casually bumped my left strap to let it out a little more.

Happily, Kyle was paying attention to me along with the college girls because he immediately let me know about it. I simply smiled and bit into another french fry.

I spent the whole meal with my top askew and was actually a little disappointed that no one else had noticed. So as we got up to leave, I yanked the strap a little harder. That seemed to get more people’s attention. Some poor guy actually did the classic spit take with his beer when he saw me coming. I pretended not to notice but casually looked down to see how much was showing. I would have spit out my drink myself if I had one because the little bud of my nipple was sticking out – and rock hard besides. The last few steps to the door seemed to take forever, but the looks I got along the way were priceless. I quickly readjusted myself before the cop checking IDs outside noticed anything amiss.

Once we were out of there, Kyle asked me if I was in “that mood” again. I just flashed him both nipples real quick and ran on ahead down the beach.

We jogged and laughed most of the way back to the house, my boobs jiggling enough to make the JRG blush. I told him I wanted to get back in the water and hushed him before he could quote the one-hour rule again. “Fuck the old wives!” I complained. “They’d probably like that!” he shot back. Did I mention we’re hilarious?

Before we hopped into the surf, we stopped by the beach house to apply more sunscreen and grab some towels. I took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom, slip out of my board shorts, and slip on the micro-g bottoms. They’re so small it took me a minute to figure out where to put my legs. Even when they were on right, I wasn’t quite sure. It looked liked someone had given me a wedgie from the back, but if I pulled the front panel higher, the between-the-legs strap sank obscenely into my slit. With a little adjustment (and some careful trimming), everything was as proper as it was going to get. Determined not to chicken out, I wrapped a towel around my waist and quickly headed out.

Kyle had been waiting on the porch. We both ran for the surf and dropped our towels just short of the water line. I was very surprised to see he had changed into his micro-g, too. “When in Rome…” he said.

With such easy access, we started grabbing at each other right away. A little nudge here and there and we were fucking underwater. The water would have come up to around my chest if I was standing straight, but I squatted slightly and floated into a sexual position that’s impossible in the air.

Having the salt water flow in and out along with Kyle’s cock was a very unique sensation. Feeling the sun on my face and watching people hanging out around a shell’s throw away while having sex was also pretty exhilarating. We were careful not to splash around too much and didn’t attract attention, but Kyle still seemed uptight and never got really hard. I came anyway, of course.

The chilly water finally cooled my engines, too. I forgot how little my bikini was until I emerged from the waves and a dirty old man on a folding chair gawked as rudely as any of the college boys. Everything seemed to be as covered as possible, so I smiled weakly at the old coot and wrapped myself in my towel.

When we got back to the house, Kyle wanted to take his usual afternoon vacation nap. I wasn’t tired, so he toddled off to bed while I went “shopping.” Actually, I wasn’t looking for clothes; I was looking for a sign I’d seen advertising the infamous “Brazilian Wax.”

I found the little spa in a shopping plaza a few blocks down the road. Turns out I was lucky. The place was booked all week, but the appointment they were expecting hadn’t shown up and they told me to come on back and strip from the waist down. The middle-aged Hispanic attendant gave me some options, and I asked for the completely bald treatment so I could wear my micro-g with confidence. She bent my legs back and examined my crotch with all the eroticism of a master chef examining a raw turkey, then got to work without much small talk.

I’d heard the all-over waxing job hurts like hell. It does, but only for a second. It’s actually less painful than that Epilady I tried once. After she riiiiped off the wax a few times and plucked out the stray hairs, I was a little sore but good to go.

Before going back to the house, I browsed through the rest of the shopping area. I bought some food to cook for dinner and a sexy new outfit to cook after dinner. My skin still tingled under my panties and I felt very clean and very dirty at the same time.

The aroma of homemade spaghetti sauce got Kyle out of bed. He liked dinner almost as much as he liked my new outfit: a real cute sleeveless bright floral sundress with thin shoulder straps. Well, it’s not exactly a sundress because the top half is stretchy and hugs every curve of my body. But the lower part is loose and flowing like your typical sundress from the hips down. It’s pretty short, ending a lot closer to my waist than to my knees.

As we spiffied up for the evening, the only articles of clothing I wore with my new dress were my micro-g string bottoms and a pair of sandals. Kyle wore a pair of casual shorts and an old tropical-print shirt that he left open to show off his tone and smooth chest & abs and customary perfect tan (freakin’ personal trainers! :)

We both wanted to hang out somewhere away from the huge college crowds, and that meant leaving the island. I hinted that I’d like to go back to Beach Bunnies and see if Maria was still working there, but my hopes were crushed as soon as we looked outside. The traffic on the main road was at a complete standstill in both directions. I guess the really big flock of spring-breakers had flown in during the day. So we decided “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” and walked north along the beach towards party central.

The seabreeze had kicked up and the salty air felt exhilarating blowing against my baaaare skin under my short skirt. I was getting moist already, but wandering into a few clubs turned me off a little.

The bars were all full of sloppy drunk students desperately pretending they were having the time of their lives. Most of the gals and guys were attractive, but superficially so, like they were trying way too hard to get laid. (It reminded me of the joke about the sorority sisters’ mating call: “I am soooo drunk.”) We went from club to club sipping a few overpriced watered-down beers and making rude remarks about the people around us.

I saw a sign for a wet t-shirt contest at a place called “Tooters” and pulled Kyle towards the door, telling him it was as close as I was going to get to seeing some female flesh that night. (But I was wrong!)

The inside of the bar had all the charm of a warehouse. A rowdy mob had already gathered in front of a raised stage near the back. Of course, most were guys. Their obnoxious behavior and bright red faces made it obvious that they’d tossed down more than a few Buds.

A few girls were there, too, mostly standing next to their boyfriends looking annoyed. Tooters’ employees circled around repeatedly asking them (and me) to sign up for the contest. I had no desire to entertain this bunch and refused, but a few others volunteered when they heard about the $300 first prize. The expressions of mixed excitement and horror on their dates’ faces were pretty funny.

We worked our way to the side of the room where the crowd was thinner but we still had a good view of the stage. I noticed a couple of college-aged girls standing beside us waiting patiently. One was a curvy blonde with flowing shoulder-length hair wearing a two-piece pink outfit right out of an Austin Powers movie. Her top was not much more than a bra tied in the middle of her chest with long sleeves ending in wide ruffles. Her bottoms were low-cut pink hotpants, and she completed the theme with a pair of white go-go boots. Her lower torso and most of her long legs were uncovered and tanned and very nice to look at.

Her companion seemed about as different as she could get. She was pale and petite with very short dark purple hair. She wore a men’s tank undershirt with black suspenders and long black slacks. Her nipples made little bumps on the thin white undershirt, but she didn’t really need a bra because her breasts were about the smallest A-cups I’ve seen on a grown woman. Something about her looked vaguely familiar.

I pointed her out to Kyle and asked if he recognized her, but he just made some smartass remark about being happy to meet Heather Graham. Before I could tell him I wasn’t talking about the blonde, the music cranked up, the crowd roared, and the show began.

The first contestant was an average-looking brunette who came out wearing jean shorts and a white Tooter’s t-shirt. She seemed very nervous when they poured pitchers of icy water over her chest, and she stiffly danced at the back of the stage with her shirt sticking weakly to her skin.

It didn’t help that a bunch of drunks right in front began chanting “Show us your tits!” She lifted her shirt really quickly to their delight, but the cheers turned to boos when they realized she wouldn’t do it again. She left to a chorus of yelled insults.

Though the idea of watching girls expose themselves had sounded good, the actual event wasn’t much fun, and I began to get the same uncomfortable feeling I’d felt among the testosterone-crazed mob at Beach Bunnies.

Looking around, I noticed that the purple-haired girl was looking at me as if she was thinking about something. A light seemed to go off in her head and she came over with a wry smile. Leaning into my ear so I could hear over the noise, she asked me if I was having fun and wondered why I wasn’t in the show because “I know you like to give one.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. When she said something about a “baked potato”, though, I instantly remembered where I’d seen her before. She was the girl from Wendy’s whom I had flashed in the car with Kyle’s cum dripping off my chin. She looked older out of her fast food uniform and her dyed hair had thrown me off, but that impish grin and those piercing green eyes were unmistakable.

I stared unseeingly at the next contestant on stage as my mind reeled. When I did what I did that night, I certainly never thought I’d see that girl again. But here she was, possibly flirting, and at a wet t-shirt contest, no less.

Kyle said something in my ear (probably asking about the girl who had come over) but I couldn’t hear him over the loud hollering that had erupted from the crowd. A new girl onstage had taken off her t-shirt and now spun it over her head. The MC warned her she was breaking the rules while other Tooters’ employees alternately tried to cover her up and push her off stage.

The mob didn’t appreciate losing their view of her fine titties and began to get really ugly. “This is lame,” shouted the purple-haired girl. She said something to her companion and left, leaving her blonde friend still watching the show.

I had to go after her. I asked Kyle if we could leave and he agreed (what a nice guy!). As I’d hoped, the girl was waiting outside. Before I could say a word, she mentioned a “killer underground club” around the corner and started leading the way. As we followed, Kyle asked me if I knew her. I just said “Wendy’s baked potato” and let him figure it out for himself.

She led us down a side street to an old building with no sign on the door. Loud house music thumped inside, rattling the painted-over windows. Kyle was behind us and got stuck with three cover charges.

The nameless place was a little creepy. It was lit almost entirely with black lights and neon and the patrons were mostly goths. I bumped into a couple in the dimness – they were hard to see dressed all in black. But the Wendy’s chick held on to my hand and guided me to a slightly brighter side room in which a few alternative types lounged around on ratty old furniture smoking odd-smelling cigarettes.

While I was still looking around and getting me bearings, she suddenly turned, told me she’d been “dreaming of doing this for a long time”, and kissed me right on the mouth. It wasn’t a little peck, either; she really went at it. I stood in shock for only a second before returning the unexpected affection. I put my arms around her as I opened my mouth and our tongues danced. She reached under my dress and, apparently encouraged by my barely-there undies, fondled my ass cheeks lovingly. Her body was so warm and delicate and her taste so sweet that I thought I would die (it would have been a great way to go out!).

When she nibbled on my upper lip, I got dizzy and we fell onto a ratty sofa nearby giggling like schoolgirls. It was an absolutely amazing first kiss, but we cuddled close together and tried to do even better.

As we continued to make out, I stretched out my leg beside her on the sofa. She gently brushed just the very tips of her fingers on my knee, then slooowly inched them up the outside of my thigh. I hoped she wouldn’t stop at my hemline and she didn’t disappoint. Once she’d wormed under my dress all the way up to my hip, she tickled her way along the front waistband of my little panties. I urged her on with some heated tongue sucking and she moved her hand maddeningly slowly down the inside of my thigh towards my crotch. I’d never been as hot and bothered as I was when she slowly but firmly tugged at the front panel of my g-string until it stretched thin and dug into my slit.

With one sudden motion, she flicked my little panties out of the way and shoved two fingers into my burning cunny, immediately hitting a sensitive spot deep inside I never knew I had. I quivered with pleasure, but she held on tight and continued to rub me in just the right way. Her fingers were smaller than Kyle’s or mine but strong and agile, and she obviously knew what she was doing.