Educating Laura Ch. 01

The bottle was near empty when Alison said, "Best not have any more, with the van. Sorry, guys."

"Why are you apologising, girl? More for the rest of us!" Pete took it back off her.

She shrugged.

For once, Andy asked a question. "Has Jude sorted it out with you, or have you had enough of the pair of them yet?"

Alison rolled her eyes. "I'm well shot of the both of them."

"Good, good," Pete muttered, with Andy also making sounds of approval.

Alison wailed, "But I live with Jude!"

I winced. Pete and Andy exchanged glances.

Andy replied, in a warmer voice than I expected, "If you need to kip on me sofa, love, you only need to ask. You'd be welcome to move in, such as the place is."

Pete added, "I could host a couple nights, but storing boxes might be more useful. Either way, we've got a van for you."

"Thanks." She burst into tears, trying to hide it by washing her face in the water.

"Hey, everyone needs somewhere to live, right?" Pete looked at me and Richie for confirmation.

I shrugged. "What do you think I'm doing here? Tent of my own, meals provided..."

Andy was confused. "You're at a posh uni, though but? I thought you'd have nice rooms and that -- not assuming family, not prying..."

"Posh colleges rent out their rooms over the summer to conferences," Richie explained so I didn't have to.

"And to language schools, and anyone. The modern building we were in for first year, how we met, they take the desks away and add extra beds and presto! It's a two-star twin-roomed B&B. No way I could afford that for the summer! Even if the housekeeper would let me. It took enough effort to get her to agree I can return in early September -- a month before term starts." I managed to explain all that without sounding maudlin.

"Fair enough," Andy nodded.

"So, you a student with Laura, then?" Pete asked.

Richie confirmed he was. "We're on the same corridor in college."

"Opposite ends, so using different showers and kitchen."

"And different science courses. Just Chemistry we overlap in -- she's more materials engineering, I'm molecular biology."

"All Greek to me," Andy dismissed that. "What you doing over your summer, then?"

"Got a place in a lab for a month -- that just finished. More temp work, I guess. Lifeguarding again, if I can get it. That pays better than anything else local, but because I didn't want the whole summer, I got passed over. I'm hoping the lab will say I can come back in a few weeks, when people are away, so I can play with a few more things."

Or as he'd told me earlier, he'd been playing with programming and hoped to test some findings and even get a paper out of it. I told him to keep that bit quiet -- the very idea of a first-year having the gall to try to publish in science would have people taking the piss for evermore -- unless ('until', I'd said to him, but not having faith in my words) he was successful, of course, in which case mentioning it only to potential employers would be the way to go. Richie had rolled his eyes at my advice even as he took the point. "It's like most people don't even want to succeed."

"Lifeguard? So you've had your CRB check then? Suppose we don't need to watch you so carefully." We all laughed, knowing as well as Andy did that the new Criminal Record Bureau checks only hindered the tiny fraction of child molesters who'd ever been caught, but rules were rules: all our staff needed them. It had been a tedious piece of paperwork.

"Moon's getting high. Best be getting back, just in case," Pete warned.

The lads didn't bother putting their T-shirts on when they got changed. The night was still humid and hot. There might be a storm tomorrow, but in the meantime the heat was bearable, at least when outside. It was the kind of hot night when I was glad not to be living in a building, which would be stuffy as hell even with windows open. My tent had every flap open and the outer pegged high above the ground, letting air run through. If it weren't for the odd fox, and privacy for sleeping in just my briefs, I'd simply sleep outside.

The menfolk were walking some yards in front of me and Alison. Pete was early thirties, stocky build, a bit of fat and not much muscle; nothing to shout home about but not offensive to the eye. His fiancée Gurda liked him, which was the important thing. From the back, his physical work on site had kept him fit enough.

In contrast, Andy was all wiry muscle, as if he'd been underweight before starting to get strong from active work. He'd gone a dark reddish-brown in the sun, his hairy arms and large expanse of black chest hair giving him the appearance of a wolf. His quietness added to that impression, not to mention a generous growth of hair down his back, too. Black curls surrounded his face, which had a real animalistic charm, especially when he could be persuaded to use his rare smile.

I wished I could make him smile more. I'd had the odd daydream about how that might happen, but in reality he was clearly terrified of getting close to anyone, emotionally or sexually, though after a year working together he and Alison were friendly.

Then Richie, paler than the others from working inside for the last month, but getting golden-brown. Taller than Andy, broader too, but still slim. Almost elegant muscles on his spare frame, wet bedraggled ponytail dripping down his back. Quite attractive, now I thought about it. Not that I was going there, either. I just wanted a friend's company.

I lagged behind the men, stepping carefully in the dark. Alison walked beside me.

As we navigated up to the track where Alison had abandoned the minibus, I let myself consider the decorative men and allowed my mind to wander, as my eyes scanned down their bare backs to three firm arses and three sets of muscular thighs.

Alison ended up in front of me, extracting the keys. She was pretty gorgeous too, in cut-offs which showed off more of the curves of her thighs, making up for a vest top hiding the charms above.

I mustn't mention that I would be up for any or all of them in any combination. It was probably the rum. Not Pete, actually; I wasn't a home-wrecker. But that still left three out of four to enjoy thinking of.

The rum, but mainly my sexual drought. Giving me silly ideas, considering the three of them. At least I knew Alison went for women -- I had no idea about Andy's sexuality and wasn't sure about Richie, though I'd heard rumours of a girl in halls who'd proclaimed he was 'better than she'd expected'.

In my tipsy effort to avoid doing anything ridiculously stupid, like inviting them all for an orgy in the back of the bus, I ended up calling out, "Like what you see, Alison?"

I indicated. She giggled, and slowed her steps so I caught up.

"There are perks to the job," she told me.

"Sometimes, at least. You like men too, then?"

"Mm." The sound of a bisexual who's faced disapproval before and is admitting as little as possible. I knew it well. "Let's face it, I've been somewhat put off women recently..."

"That bad, was it?"

She checked the others were out of earshot, and lowered her voice. "Just because I got persuaded into a threesome once, doesn't mean I wanted a relationship that way! Especially with someone who doesn't even like me."

"Sam not trusting bisexuals, you mean?"

"Oh, you heard that too? What brought that on? Are you?" She was curious.

"I hadn't even done anything! I mean yes, but she's not my type in any way, and..." I paused, blushing at my own admission. "She was ranting, just after you and her had had another big row."

"Sounds about right. She didn't like it when I didn't want a relationship including her. Blamed it on me not being 'really' queer..."

"I've met those. I mean, in my case they might be sort of right -- never had much of a relationship with a woman -- but even so."

"Sucks, don't it." She gestured at Andy and Richie, ahead. "Proper lush, those two, aren't they?"

I elbowed her and we both giggled. "Alison!"

"Call me Ali, for fuck's sake. All my friends do." My look at her implied, 'so was Jude not a friend, just a lover?' She continued, "I swear, Jude is a fine and worthy person, but she mostly thought of me as an employee she got to both mentor and shag -- what was I thinking..."

"Bloody hell. What were you?"

Ali ignored that. "So, you and Richie? Didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"I don't! He's not! He's just a friend, I think? No! I mean, he was just a neighbour all last year, but I wouldn't have even said we were friendly, not until we got chatting a few weekends ago, when he was staying at a friend's house..."

"Uh-huh. And he's come all the way to the arse-end of Wales just because he's a friend?" Ali had discovered sarcasm. "Camping, even."

"He likes camping! Besides, this is a long way from the arse-end of Wales! Have you ever been to Swansea? Or Milford Haven? This here may be rural but it's all lovely."

"Get you, avoiding the question!"

"Oh, Rich. Oh, man... Bless him, I don't think he's even capable of a relationship with anyone!"

"What's that?" the man himself called out.

"Ali asked if I was going out with you!" Pretty diplomatic of me, I thought.

I prayed he wouldn't blush and prove that was in fact his intent, like so many men might have been trying in this situation.

"Me? God, no!" He tried to back-pedal the insult. "I don't mean it like that. Laura's great, I'm sure -- do go for it, any of you, if she's interested -- it'd be a crying shame if she had to go the whole summer without -- but me? Nah. I'm a workaholic bastard what doesn't do relationships. Just having a relaxed countryside weekend with a mate." He re-tied his wet hair, not looking at any of us.

That solved that one, though I wasn't sure I wanted to be set up with anyone, either. Not having to hear Ali raging or crying -- like she'd been doing alternately during much of the first fortnight -- was certainly my priority for the rest of the summer!

Ali spoke in an undertone. "Guess you're still not getting any, then, Laura! Neither of us. Don't that just suck?"

Less said to that, the better. Too scared to respond to what might have been a veiled invitation, I gave a wry laugh and shrugged. "Ali, take us home!"

Ali grinned, while driving at 5 mph back to the camp.

"We'll check on the rota for the weekend drives," Pete said as we alighted. "You and Rich might as well go to bed."

There were advantages in not being able to drive the minibuses -- mainly, rarely having to give up my weekend to endure four hours of youths yelling obscenities, each way.

Richie and I stepped carefully back to our field, then over the flattened grass to my tent. Richie switched off his phone's torch function as I unzipped the entry and crawled in. He followed. We managed to sit next to each other, undoing our shoelaces, his Converse, mine battered trainers, brand details lost to the mud and wet. Shoes and socks cast out under the fly-sheet, lumpy items removed from pockets, we wriggled into our sleeping bags.

"Thanks for inviting me," Richie said.

"It's really nice having you, actually. You're good company. I wasn't sure how you'd be, in this environment."

"I try."

"You're fitting in fine."

"Thanks."

I switched off my head torch, which I always hung over the roof bar of the tent, functioning as an overhead light. "'Night."

"'Night, Laures."

Silence reigned for a minute. An owl greeted her mate. I started to doze off, as usual.

Then there was an intake of breath from Richie, as if he were hesitating over something.

Eventually he spoke.

"Just so you know. You know how you said, you were still really missing sex and all? I'd be happy to help. If you wanted help with that."

It took me a minute to comprehend. I turned on the light again. "Seriously?"

He turned confused eyes upon me. "Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"As in, that's why you bothered coming here?"

"No!" He was clearly indignant. "You think someone would come just for that? Oh. You're probably right, some guys would. Ugh."

As if attempting an explanation, he continued, "I rate you. You're not stupid, you're not a... silly superficial person neither..." He pulled an arm out of his sleeping bag and dismissed 99% of the population with a wave of his hand. "So, like I said, if you did want help some time, just let me know."

He turned away and started to wriggle back into his sleeping bag, clearly not expecting any immediate answer.

Well.

It's not every day you get an offer like that.

And as he'd said, he clearly was totally serious about it. The guy had many faults -- less tact than the average brick, for example -- but somehow I felt his 100% brutal honesty counted for a lot.

No strings. Straightforward sex?

A good-looking decent guy offering himself on a platter, while I actually had some rare time and privacy?

I didn't like to think about what my mum might call me, let alone the court of sixth-form public opinion or student gossip. Freed from all of their critical oversights, it took less than a second for me to decide I wasn't even going to try to resist.

"Rich?"

"Mm?"

"That would actually be really nice."

Richie slowly rotated himself back to facing me. "You reckon?"

"I do. Oh, shut up!"

I pushed my own sleeping bag down to my waist, reached a tentative hand to him as he extracted his own arms, then ran my hand round his smooth hair on the back of his head, pulling his head towards mine.

Suddenly uncertain, surprised by how readily he let me manipulate him, I told him, "You don't have to, you know."

Richie retorted, "I don't say things I don't mean."

Which seemed true enough.

"In that case... Prove it. Get up and get your kit off." I switched on the light.

He sat up, nodded. "Whatever you like."

That set my mind racing, as I watched him remove the fleece and T-shirt he'd put on outside the minibus, arms raised to the roof of the tent, taut skin showing some ribs as he stretched. My head torch, hanging from the roof apex bar, illuminated half of his chest, the rest of his torso remaining in shadow.

Maybe I was just sexually frustrated, but I decided he really was quite beautiful in the patch of light, his pale smooth skin interrupted only by two small pink nipples and a dusting of fair hair under his arms.

I smiled as I extracted myself from my own sleeping bag. I sat up, reaching out to touch this lovely young male body, suddenly and unexpectedly so close to me.

Warm, firm, smooth. I applied my second hand, running palms up and down his back.

That faint smile of his appeared again.

"That's nice," he said.

"You are," I agreed. "I guess you knew that."

He shrugged. "If people manage to look past the hair and the piercings and the personality, they've never complained yet." A pause. His voice got shyer. "What would you like to do?"

He seemed happy for me to take the lead. I could cope with that.

I brought his mouth over mine and began to kiss him thoroughly.

He copied my actions, the stubble on his chin scrubbing against my cheek. Then he grabbed a handful of my hair to hold me close to him, leading me to gasp and him to ramp up the enthusiasm, but he was kissing the rest of my face, not inside my mouth.

We both managed to sit up for a bit, holding our bodies together.

He lifted up my T-shirt; I obliged him by raising my arms to the roof of the tent, then letting my arms fall out of the fabric. Once he pulled my head free, I unbuckled the head torch from where it functioned as an overhead light, and put it round a toggle only a foot from the ground. More subtle lighting, with no risk of being silhouetted for the other staff to see, sticking my tits out. That would be an unmistakable shape, even in shadow!

Richie nuzzled the side of my neck while he efficiently unfastened my bra. He'd definitely done that before! Which answered another question I'd been wondering about, as to his motives.

"What do you like? Or should I just improvise?" he asked.

"No tickling. Yes, why don't you improvise? I'm intrigued," I told him.

"Already? I've hardly started." That, I realised, was Richie making a joke, his humour so dry it parched people. "Lie down, then. Yes, on the sleeping bag..."

He could reach all of me now. Richie straddled my hips, his head pressed sideways against the nylon tent fabric to avoid the apex bar. He clasped my head gently on both sides, smoothing down my hair, soothing my scalp like stroking a cat, then a slid a thumb across my cheek.

More gentle than I'd expected, though I should have guessed he'd take a thoughtful, scientific approach.

Richie lay his hand flat over my cheek, warm and firm, then cupped it round my jaw, holding my head still. It was surprisingly intimate. When he held my chin in the same way, between fingers and thumb, the delicate hold had me gasping in pleasure. I'd never felt such precise tenderness on my head. I hadn't known how sensitive the skin on my face was to being touched, either.

I liked being held that way, I decided. I closed my eyes and arched my body slightly up to him.

'Huh,' Richie said.

When he ran his large male hands round the sides of my face, pressing all round my ears, I purred. I could get used to this kind of controlling touch. Wanted to get used to it, even.

"Interesting," was all Richie murmured.

He brought his fingers down the sides of my neck and over my clavicles, as if he were admiring my décolletage -- not that it counted as such if I was topless, I supposed. Déshabillée, if we're getting all French about everything.

Speaking of French, I tried to pull him back down for some more kissing.

To my surprise, he removed his hands from where they'd reached the base of my breasts, took both of my wrists, and placed them firmly down my my sides.

"Keep them there," he told me sternly.

If he wanted that, I could go along with it, taking it easy. It had been a physically-exhausting day, as every day on duty was, after all. I could obey a man's command if it got me off, surely?

Only later did I revisit that evening in my mind, to end up switching cause and effect; getting off by obeying a man's command. Neither of us were conscious of that potential subtext, then.

"OK," I agreed.

A faint smile crept onto his face as he curled both hands -- strong, powerful hands, I saw now -- over my breasts, palpating them increasingly firmly. He tried twisting and rotating them, but stopped when my face showed I was unimpressed. It was something all lads tried, and always made me feel like I was attacked by a machine. When he switched to possessive squeezing, however...

I spontaneously opened my legs in response, failing to get mine outside his, so my knees bashed his denim-clad inner thighs, unable to rut against his thigh like I suddenly desperately wanted to.

His smile broadened when he noticed my frustration. I knew he was a right bastard.

It looked like I might be a girl who liked bastards.

Especially when he put my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pressed as gently as with any biological experiment, and rapidly accelerated to full-on pinching.

I managed to silence my delighted moan. It was an achievement.

Richie re-tied his ponytail, getting rid of the hair that had started falling in his face. In the interim, I remained obediently still, waiting, hands under my hips.

He looked as happy as I'd ever seen him. Presumably that meant I rated as a similar achievement to the scholarship he'd won for his first-year exam results.

Hair restrained again, he returned his hands to my sensitised breasts, then stroked over my stomach, steering well clear of my ticklish sides. And then he reached to tug down my shorts.

I hadn't put my knickers back on after our wallow in the river -- they were sticking out of one pocket.