Cultural Exchange

Paul felt loose enough to start asking some risqué questions of his own. "Never have I ever had sex with two different people in the same day." All three of them took a swig. "Never have I ever had sex with two people at the same time." Zee, again. "Never have I ever had sex with someone else watching." Zee, yet again.

"Oh, that's bullshit for sure," she called over to Kat. "You've totally done it in public."

"Not on purpose, for an audience though - you slut!"

Zee blew her a kiss. It was her turn to call. "Never have I ever done illegal drugs." And all three of the others sipped, while Paul sat back smugly, munching on another cookie.

"Bull! Shit!" Zee said, pointing at him.

"But I haven't," he protested.

"Like fuck! You're doing it right now!"

Paul looked at the can of K. Well, he supposed technically he was underage over here, it just hadn't occurred to him. What an idiot he was; he started laughing at himself...

"Not the booze, you cretin. In the cookies!"

Paul sprayed crumbs everywhere. Oh fuck, he thought. That's why they taste so odd. That's why everything is so fucking funny. Hell, this is really funny... And he started giggling, and couldn't stop. "Well... Shit," he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"You know the penalty for being caught out. Down it."

This was a fairly new can. And it was still rather fizzy. This was not a good idea. But rules are rules, he thought, upended the can and just kept on gulping until it was all down. "Chug, chug, chug!" they shouted. Paul let out an enormous belch, relieving some of the pressure on his stomach. But it was still swirling. He burped again... But this time, it wasn't just gas that came up.

He swallowed quickly, but his stomach wanted the booze gone. "Oh shit," he said, stood, clamping his hand over his mouth as it filled, and ran. He made it about five steps into the hallway before the pressure got too much, and sprayed vomit all over the wall and floor. He fell to his knees, heaving and retching over and over.

"Shit, he sounds bad," Kat said. She threw Zee a bottle of water. "Go check he's not brought up a lung or something."

"While you do what?" Zee asked. Kat just wiggled her eyebrows, and knelt in front of JP, unzipping his tight trousers and fishing inside for his cock. She wrapped her lips round the tip of him, and slid down the full length, taking his dick deep into her throat.

As Kat leant forward, the skirt rose over her arse; Zee saw she had no underwear on. What a slag, Zee thought, and took the bottle out into the hallway. A girl after my own heart; she felt proud.

Paul was whimpering, tears on his face from the exertion. She helped him to his feet, walked him further into the wreck of the house, looking for somewhere to sit. She handed him the water; gratefully he swilled it round his mouth, spat out, then took a tentative sip.

"Shit, man; sorry we drove you to that," she said. JP had wanted this to be fun for him, after all - not have him chucking his guts up.

"I shouldn't have been drinking like that, I know I can't take it. I'm just too chicken to hold back."

Zee thought that was odd, given how much else he'd never done, that he couldn't hold back on the drinking. "That's a British thing, isn't it? Booze culture?"

Paul shrugged. "I guess."

"You've really never had sex?" she asked. The idea was mind-boggling to her. Everyone she knew had done it, had been at it since they knew what it was.

"I'm waiting for the right girl," he said.

"I'm a girl, and I'm right... here," she said.

"Wow, that's direct," he said. "But, no offense, I already know the girl." Although she'll never have me.

"She doesn't feel the same, eh?"

"I don't know."

Silence.

"Well," she said, "don't you want to impress her, that first time? You don't really think it'd be her first time too, do you?"

"Oh, I doubt that very much. But I couldn't, you know, with just anyone."

More silence. "Do you think I'm sexy?" She tossed her hair back, and her tits swung in the bikini. Paul ran his eyes down her, to the tight crotch of the shorts, cut high over her arse.

"Fuck, yes," he said. "You are so fucking hot. But I don't know you!"

"Let's change that," she said, and leant into him... Then snapped away. "Jesus, don't take this the wrong way, but you reek."

"I think I might have got it on my shirt," he said. There were damp splashes on the front.

"I can cope with a lot, but not that smell," she said. "Sorry, can we..." and she started unbuttoning the shirt, pushed it over his shoulders, then threw it back into the hallway. "Better," she said, and leant in again. But it was in his mouth, and no amount of rinsing seemed to shift it. "Sorry, God that stinks. I can't kiss that."

Paul was somewhat relieved. He really wasn't sure how he would have stopped her. His dick was cheerleading from the side-lines, wanting her to force him into it. But his conscience wanted to save him for Samantha.

"Guess we'll just have to skip ahead a bit," and she reached across to start unbuttoning his shorts. Paul rocked back so hard he nearly fell over.

"Look man, I respect the shit out of you wanting to keep yourself for your beau. But weed makes me horny as fuck; I don't care if you're trying to save me from something, cos right now I'm gonna get more pissed off if you don't take advantage of me. So, what's it gonna be? You want to ride this, or am I gonna go back and join Kat and JP?"

"I'm just not used to girls throwing themselves at me." He watched her hands unzipping his fly, but felt oddly powerless to do anything about it. He watched her reach inside, grab hold of his hardening cock, pull it out, lick her lips. She knelt in front of him.

"How about we start slow, then." Slowly she started to stroke his cock back and forth. "Surely you've been wanked off before, at least."

Yes, Paul thought. A couple of nights ago, in the shower. If that counts. Otherwise nobody has seen my dick, except for Mum, and he was sure that didn't count. "Uh-huh," he said.

She took his hand, brought it to her chest. "And you must have groped a few tits." She felt his hand tremble as she pressed it to the bikini.

"A couple," he agreed. In that same shower, pressing against my back. And at the karaoke, where he got slapped for his efforts. Oh god, how does breathing work again? He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Her hand felt so good wrapped round his dick, and she had the perfect touch, gentle but insistent. "Oh, fuck," he whispered. It didn't feel this good when he did it to himself. The small part of his brain, the part telling him this was wrong, was now so far away. And technically they'd not done anything new, yet; nothing he hadn't already done, so he hadn't broken his promise to himself.

Zee watched his face, saw the lust driving away the uncertainty in his eyes. She'd not done a virgin before. Just the thought of it had made her wet, and now watching the pleasure wash across his face she was positively dripping. She undid her own shorts, slid her hand inside to feel just how slick she'd become. Two fingers disappeared into her warm depths without her even trying. How she wished it was his cock inside her. But somehow she knew he'd come before she could even mount him. She'd have to take her time with him, but that was no reason why she shouldn't bring herself on the way.

She pushed the jacket off her shoulders. "Don't want this to get messy," she said. Then she pulled at the string tied behind her neck, and the other behind her back, and the bikini fell away. Paul was left holding a scrap of fabric, staring at her full, bare tits. She looked up at him and smiled, but he couldn't take his eyes away. She gave a little shimmy, and watched his eyeballs track her swinging boobs.

Her eyes fell back to his cock. As expected, it was now rather sticky with pre-cum; the smell of him was calling to her. She leant forwards.

"What are you doing?" he asked, breathlessly. In answer, she licked over the tip of him, drawing a strand of sticky-sweetness away on her tongue.

"So, this is new for you, yes?" she asked, kissing along his shaft. She could feel the pulse in his cock, racing a hundred miles an hour. She didn't need an answer. She sucked more syrup from his head.

"Oh god, I'm gonna..." he said.

"No, not yet," she said, pinching him hard at the base.

"Jesus! Ow!"

She just smiled, holding him tight for a moment, then went back to stroking him again. He'd given her more to lick off, so she took the tip of him back in her mouth. But this time she didn't come back off; she stayed there, lips clamped round his head, jerking him slowly into her mouth. She started to hum, running her tongue over the sensitive spot under the helmet. Then she started to bob, rocking towards him, sliding her lips down his shaft, all the time staring into his eyes.

Her spare hand was working furiously on her clit. She could feel the heat rising from him, could smell the cider sweat from his pores. She relaxed the pressure of her lips while she edged herself closer... closer... closer to the climax that had been building since she'd been rubbing herself while playing the drinking game. When she could feel that it was gonna take her no matter what she did, she slid her mouth all the way down to the base of him, and held herself there, his head clogging her throat.

Paul had no words for how he felt. Pleasure like he'd never known, like he'd never known existed. Her mouth, so wet, so warm, so insistent. Watching her play with herself, her soft tit in his hand, while she deep-throated him. He could feel her airway constrict around him as she moaned, her body shaking... Was she coming? Oh god, I'm going to...

She slid back off his cock. "Oh no you don't..." she said, reaching back for him - but it was too late. Hot semen erupted from the end of his cock, flying over her face then down her chest, several ropes splashing across her tits. Fine, she thought, let's go with it. "Yeah, come for me, come on my tits." She held them up, offering them to him, as he pasted his load across her flesh. Gently she wrapped her hand around him, and milked the last drops into her cleavage. She dragged her thumb over the end of him, then sucked his spunk off her hand. "Nice load," she said, looking down at her chest.

Paul stared, dumbfounded, at her cleavage. At what he'd done. He felt ashamed and proud in equal measure. I did that. She wanted me to come over her, took her clothes off first so they'd not get messed up. I shouldn't feel guilty about giving her what she wanted. But he did so anyway, and reached into his shorts for a handkerchief. "Let me clean you up."

"Don't you fucking dare waste it," she said, scooping some up onto her finger and raising it to her mouth. "I should've let you finish in my mouth. As it is, you're just gonna have to feed it to me."

Which is how JP and Kat found him a few moments later - wiping his cum from Zee's tits, and letting her wrap her lips round his fingers and suck the juicy spunk from them.

"You dirty bastard," said Kat, somewhat impressed.

"Well I guess that's a few never-have-I-evers crossed off for all of us, then," said JP.

///

The 'dress rehearsal' concert, held in front of the college pupils in preparation for the main even later in the week, did not go well for Paul.

Everything was okay, up until Crown Imperial. He got his improvised score out, and played okay through the first section, despite Immy glaring at him the whole time. Then came the long meandering middle section. Twenty-odd bars of rest. I'm predicted an A* in Maths, I can count to twenty, he thought.

Somewhere about eight, he realised he was staring at Samantha, again. Watching her fingers on the violin, imagining how they'd feel on him. And he realised, in horror, that he'd lost count. Again.

"Where are we?" he whispered to Immy.

"Fuck off!" she whispered back.

Panic set in. Screwing this piece up in rehearsal was bad enough, but this was an actual performance. He strained, listening to the piece, trying to find something familiar. He realised he never really listened to it normally, he just counted and hit the cymbal. The music rose and fell. He could feel the beat, that wasn't the issue. But where was he supposed to come in?

Please, Mr Martin, look over at me, bring me in. A nod, anything... But no clues were forthcoming. The music started to swell; Paul thought this sounded familiar. Surely it was at the end of this run? He rode the rhythm, and crashed the cymbal right at the peak of the crescendo.

Mr Martin gave him such a glare. If looks could kill... Clearly, that was the wrong place. Paul wanted the stage to fall through and drop him out of sight. But no, he had to stand there. Not just for this piece, but for the other pieces still to come.

The final piece of music they were to play was from some opera, Paul wasn't sure what, but the climactic moment of the piece was some guy being led to the guillotine and having his head chopped off - signified by a massively loud cymbal crash that had to be immediately silenced. Paul had played this many times over, knew it very well indeed. He wasn't going to get lost in this piece. The moment came; he raised the stick high over his head, and whipped it down towards the cymbal with tremendous force.

And missed.

The climactic moment of the piece passed in silence.

Paul just boggled. How could he miss? The cymbal was about two foot wide, right in front of him.

He recovered himself in time to play out the end of the piece, with more cymbal crashes. They all went fine. But he was in a daze.

After the show, Mr Martin caught him. He was still furious. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but you need to sort it out before the final performance," he said. "Your slack attitude is unacceptable."

He felt sick, ashamed. He never wanted to be a part of this anyway. He didn't see why he should take the full blame, surely Mr Martin was at least partly responsible, having put him here in the first place? Just let me sing something. That I can manage. The thought of demonstrating his incompetence in front of everyone at the main event filled him with terror. Trapped, thousands of miles from home. A room full of his classmates, but he'd never felt more alone.

///

CN TOWER TRIP

Paul craned his neck back. It was so tall!

The CN Tower, the tallest free-standing structure in the world. He boggled, and couldn't wait to get up there and look out over the city and Lake Ontario. He'd heard you could see all the way to the hotels at Niagara Falls, on a clear day with the right binoculars. He didn't have any, but maybe someone would lend him some, or maybe there would be some mounted tourist ones up there that he could put some precious coins into.

Nothing could spoil this, he thought. Not Simon and his mates, joking about the "massive erection". Not Izzy and the girls, sniggering behind his back. Not Mr Martin, still being unnecessarily abrupt with him. No. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and there was no limit to the shit he'd put up with for the memories he was about to get.

It was an hour waiting in line before they got into the elevator, which made everyone grouchy. Everyone except Paul, who was bubbling with excitement. He looked out through the window as they shot skywards, saw the ground fall away as he soared like a bird over the tops of the skyscrapers. They all rushed to the windows, peered out, looked down. They were so high it was unreal; the city laid out below them like a toy set; tiny cars, and dots for people. A plane flew past - below them! - to land at the small airport on the edge of the lake. Lake? More like a sea! The great curved roof of the Skydome sat beneath them, so large from the ground, but no bigger than a notepad from up above. Paul wasn't looking forward to that part of the evening, later. Watching a baseball game could be his very definition of hell.

Sadly, it was too hazy to catch the far side of the lake, but a kind tourist guide assured him that, in the dark and on a clear night, it was possible to see the lights of the taller hotels on the far side. Paul held his camera - his Mum's camera - tightly in his hands and took a few precious shots. He was sure they'd never do justice to such an incredible view. But he wanted to share this with his Mum. She'd had to suffer along with him to save the money for this trip, but of course she couldn't come. How he wished she could have experienced this!

They wandered around the observation deck; popped down to the open gallery that quite literally took your breath away, it was so incredibly windy. Then up, to take a look at the revolving restaurant, where for a trivial hundred dollars or so per head, you too could watch the city slowly scroll past as you dined. A hundred dollars would have fed him and his Mum for a week or more.

Head stuffed with wonders, sadly the time came for them to go back to ground level. But there was still the Shuttle Experience for them to enjoy.

They climbed into a capsule - a box held up on hydraulic rams - for the show to begin. Paul headed for the back corner, trying to keep out everyone's way; his classmates avoided him as best they could. But the capsule filled quickly; someone would have to sit next to him eventually. And of course, the fates ensured that it would be Izzy and her gang. After a brief playfight, Samantha huffed and moved along the row first, sitting beside Paul; Izzy sat next to her, then Immy and Emma. Simon and his cronies sat in the row opposite, but as the darkness fell, Paul thought he saw Jez creep across to take the seat next to Emma; within moments they were lip-locked and groping each other.

Paul ignored them and watched the screen. The conceit of the adventure was that they were going on a space trip, and that the shuttle would fly up through the tower which was so tall they'd be launched into space. It was clearly bollocks, but a lot of work had been put into the graphics and sound; and the capsule rocked and tilted along with the visuals. The effect was really quite striking.

Then they hit some "space turbulence", and one of the engines was damaged; they were going to have to perform an emergency landing. The capsule shook quite violently; and Paul's hand accidentally slid off the armrest and fell into Samantha's lap. Horrified, he quickly whipped it back away again, muttering apologies. Samantha smiled - don't worry about it.

But Izzy had seen, and as soon as the ride was over, she started making a huge fuss about how Paul had taken advantage of the darkness and started feeling Samantha up. Paul strongly protested his innocence; resenting being accused of something he would never do. The raised voices and commotion drew Mr Martin over to them.

"What's all this about then?"

"Him," Izzy said, pointing at Paul. "He put his hand up Samantha's skirt during the show, the dirty pervert!"

"I did not!"

"Be quiet, Paul, I'll get to you in a minute." Mr Martin said. "Samantha, is this true?"

Samantha looked shifty. She didn't want to directly contradict her friend, not in front of a teacher. "His had was in my lap, yes." Izzy looked vindicated. "But it wasn't like that..."

"No need to make excuses for him." Mr Martin turned to Paul. "And there really is no excuse for that kind of behaviour, Paul. I am really disappointed in you. Just because we are away from home does not give you license for this sort of thing!"

"I..."

"No, Paul, be quiet. It is highly inappropriate for you to grope other members of the class. Surely you know better than to touch other people without their permission?"

"Of course, sir, but..."?

"No buts. I'm going to have to report this to the headmaster when we get back to England. Until then, you are to keep away from the girls, do you understand? And that will have to mean missing the concert. I can't trust you any further. Immy will take your parts."