Exposure

Jamie arrived at the beach house at around ten in the morning, just as the heat was beginning to take hold. He parked his car in the front yard and lugged his stuff into the house, where he was greeted by the cool, musty smell that brought back so many childhood holidays. Everything was as it had been for years: a little ramshackle, the uneven wooden floor never entirely clean of sand, a couple of bean bags and a big wicker easy chair. It wasn't luxury, but in Jamie's mind it was just perfect. He'd just finished his exams and was looking forward to a week of surfing, playing his guitar, and possibly chasing some girls.

After he'd thrown his stuff in is room, he decided to take a shower. He'd been in such a hurry to get down there that morning he hadn't showered before he left. Standing under the hot water in the tiny bathroom, he felt the muscles he'd barely had a chance to use to use for the past six weeks. There was a longing in them for the surf, for the effort of climbing the dunes, the whole unified involvement of his body as he rode a wave into the beach. God, he'd hardly been alive for months! The reawakening of his body brought an unexpected flush of arousal to his groin. He savoured it, standing back a little to let the water beat down on his penis, which swelled up lazily.

He closed his eyes and briefly imagined that the sensations were caused by a girl's mouth — not that he really knew what that was like. He'd had one girlfriend at uni, but she was an unhappy, inhibited creature, and while he wasn't knocking the sex—what they'd had of it—it had hardly been adventurous. She wouldn't let him go down on her and she certainly wasn't putting her mouth anywhere near his "thing." She admitted to not liking penises all that much, the look of them anyway — she said they reminded her of a turkey.

He soaped his erection, enjoying it, but not masturbating. He was relishing the sexual energy in his body and, for the time, didn't want to release it. He let his hard-on subside, though by the time he got out of the shower his cock was still heavy, his balls full and aching. He looked down at it, emerging thick and flushed from the wet tangle of his pubic hair, and felt virile and hungry.

At that moment the door opened and a woman burst in, almost crashing into him before reeling back in surprise and dropping a small bag she was holding on the floor. Toothbrushes and bits and pieces spilled out. A moment later Jamie recognised her as Jacqueline, his older brother Pete's girlfriend. They'd met once before, briefly, about six months previously, but had only exchanged pleasantries.

She gave a little yelp of surprise and fright, then stood there frozen on the spot, her eyes very obviously on his cock. For a few strange moments they both just stood there immobilised, she seemingly unable to look away from his still half-erect penis and he just standing there, feeling her eyes on him. Then the spell broke. Flustered, Jamie got down on his haunches and started picking up the things on the floor, apologising profusely. It was only as he held them out to her that he realised he was holding condoms. She hesitated, then snatched them from him, a flush spreading upwards from her chest, turning her face crimson.

Jamie stood up, now recovered enough to cover himself properly. Then there was a male voice calling her name. Her eyes opened wide and she backed out of the room hastily, shutting the door behind her without a word.

He towelled and dressed hurriedly and came out of the bathroom to find his brother Pete unpacking his stuff in the living room, taking the place over in his usual oblivious fashion.

"Jamie!" he said, surprised but apparently not too fussed. "What the hell are you doing here mate?"

"I've booked the place with Mum and Dad for this week Pete. What are you doing here?"

"Felt like a break mate. Need to hit the surf, eh."

He kept rummaging in the bag with his great, ginger-haired arms, not looking at his brother, his sandy hair flopping over his eyes. Jamie didn't ask exactly what he needed a break from. Last thing he heard Pete had been unemployed, occasionally lugging bricks for a mate when the rare urge to work struck him.

Jacqueline appeared in the doorway, her arms full of bedclothes.

"Looks like we got company," Pete said to her. "Jamie, you've met Jac haven't you?"

"Er... yep, sure. How's it going?" He attempted a casual smile.

"Good thanks." She didn't meet his eye. "Where do I put this Pete?"

"Er, second door on the left babe."

She sidled past Jamie, excusing herself.

"Pete," said Jamie, "you should have booked with Mum. I was looking forward to—"

"Share and share alike." Pete straightened, squinting at Jamie with his pale blue eyes. He was a tall, muscular bloke who took his dominance for granted. A washed out Billabong t-shirt was stretched tight over his flat, hard torso. He reached out and slapped Jamie across the shoulder with a big freckled hand. "You don't mind do ya?"

Jamie shook his head. "Whatever. You're unbelievable."

He wanted to apologise to Jacqueline for the shock he'd given her, the whole embarrassing scene, but an appropriate moment just didn't seem to present itself. Pete was in and out, dragging in his surfboard, or filling the fridge with beers, and Jacqueline was busy with making up the bed or putting food on the shelves and Jamie could feel the moment for apology slipping past. Really he just wanted to clear up the awkwardness, but she seemed determined to pretend it had never happened.

That night he heard them having sex. Every noise was transmitted through the sagging old house, the movement of the bed causing a symphony of creaking in the loose beams and walls. He tried not to think about Pete's great rough body on top of her, crashing into her. His mind wandered to the scene in the bathroom, the way her eyes had taken in his torpid, heavy penis. They'd both acted strangely. She'd kept staring at his cock and he'd not even really tried to cover himself. There was no getting away from the fact that he had enjoyed her looking at him, and she ... who knew what she thought, but she had certainly kept staring. And then she'd acted so guiltily, it was as if they'd both been caught out in some illicit act.

His cock hardened thinking about it. He re-imagined the scene, picturing himself pushing her up against the wall, lifting her denim skirt. At the same time, the creaking from the other room reached its violent crescendo and he heard her cry out. To his shame it aroused him even more. He was fantasising about his brother's girlfriend — while Pete was fucking her. It was all messed up.

When he came in in the morning, Jacqueline was stretched out on the beanbag, soaking in sun like a cherry in brandy. Her t-shirt was pulled up to just under her breasts, exposing a dune of hot skin glowing in the sun. She sat up a little as he came in but didn't pull down the shirt.

"Hi Jamie."

"Hi."

Pete was devouring a massive plate of bacon and eggs at the table, trowelling the food into the wide slot of his mouth.

"Eh bro!" he said, spitting wet crumbs of toast onto the table. "You gonna come surfing today? We'll do Bells — heard it's goin' off down there today. Whaddya say?"

"Sure thing." He glanced at Jacqueline. "Do you surf?"

"Don't be stupid," said Pete. "Jacqueline's a total wuss. Aren't ya Jac?"

"I'm not as chicken as you think."

"Oh yeah?" Pete roared. "Name one gutsy thing you've done, babe. Just name one!"

She was silent for a bit. Then she said, "I've done brave stuff, just not bungy-jumping or anything that would count to you."

Pete looked at Jamie. "See? Total sook."

Jamie shrugged. "Well if it helps, I wouldn't bungy jump either," he said to Jacqueline.

Pete wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, you're both as bad as one another. Come on, let's get going."

They drove down in Pete's old FJ Holden, Jacqueline and Jamie sitting in the back and not looking at one another while Pete drove at his usual reckless speed, one freckled, hairy elbow resting on the open window while he steered casually with his left hand.

It was true that the waves were big at Bells. Great ranks of clean, glassy breakers just begging to be ridden. While they paddled into the waves, Jacqueline lay on the beach reading and sunbathing and occasionally running down to the water to cool off in the sparkling shallow-water surf. Jamie wasn't surfing well. Apart from the fitness he was lacking after months at a study desk, he was distracted. His mind wasn't on what he was doing; it was on Jacqueline's distant body, stretched out on the beach towel up under the lee of the cliff. After one nasty wipe-out, he decided he had an excuse to take a break and he dragged his board up the sand to where she was lying. She propped herself up on her elbows and smiled up at him from under her sunnies.

"How is it?"

"Gnarly. Yeah, bloody gnarly actually. Take a look..." He showed her his forearm, grazed bloody from the wipe-out.

"Oh ouch!" She sat up. "Let me see..."

He crouched down and held out his arm. "It's no big deal. Comes with the territory."

She took his arm gently, fussing unnecessarily over the trivial injury, while he let his eyes linger on the shape of her: her breasts, her belly, the gentle mound where her bikini tucked between her legs. The touch of her fingers made his groin flare with heat and begin to stir. He withdrew his arm and laid out a towel, and they both sat silently gazing out to sea, where in the distance Pete was a small black shape rising and falling against the blue.

"You two have a fight yesterday?" Jamie asked her.

Her face closed. "Nothing important."

He picked up a handful of sand and let it pour softly down his shin, watching the grains cling to the fine hairs. "Sorry. None of my business."

"It's OK."

"Look, what happened yesterday..."

She looked down, blushing.

"I'm really sorry," he said.

"That's OK. Wasn't your fault. I'm the one who burst in without knocking."

"Yeah well that's true."

They both laughed, and somehow the rush of relief at finally addressing the incident made the heat pour into Jamie's groin again.

"You did give me a fright though," she said. "I'm sorry how I acted. It's just Pete you know?"

"Pete?"

"He's a jealous guy, your brother."

"But—"

"Yeah I know. It was just an accident. But it's not a rational thing with him. He can really ... overreact about stuff like that." She went silent. Jamie sensed there was more there that she wasn't saying but he let it go.

She rolled onto her side to look at him. "You have a girlfriend, Jamie?"

He was about to answer, but she said, "Oh, here's Pete." And sure enough, there he was, trudging up the sand towards them. He came up dripping, a giant figure in black rubber, his shadow falling over Jacqueline's body.

" Little brother keepin' you amused?"

"We were just watching you surf, hon." Her lips smiled up at him, eyes hidden behind the two suns shining in her dark glasses.

Later, back at the house, they had another argument. Jamie heard their angry, hissed whispers and went to sit in the back garden out of their way. The argument got louder.

"You don't even care do you?" came Jacqueline's voice.

"No, you know what? Right now I don't give a flyin' fuck. So fuck you! I'm goin' down the pub."

"Yeah, that's your answer for everything isn't it Pete?"

"Fuck you! Go cry on Jamie's shoulder then if you think he's so fuckin' nice."

The door slammed and he heard Pete's car choke into life and rev hard down the drive.

The house was silent for a long time, and then at last the back door swung open and Jacqueline came out in bare feet with a six pack of beer and a gin and tonic. She passed him the beers.

"Sorry about that. That wasn't nice. This is not much fun for you is it?"

"Nah it's sweet," he muttered. "Don't worry about it."

Jamie cracked open a beer and she went and sat in the wicker chair opposite him, pretty in her short denim skirt and a tank top that exposed her tanned belly. They chatted amiably for a while. The twilight deepened, clouds of midges eddied over the grass, the blue of the sky sank towards indigo. He drank the beer until his mind felt pleasantly tight. The chat petered out, replaced by a certain tension. She sat there tinkling the ice in her G and T and avoiding his eye. Then with a deliberate casualness she drew up her legs so that her soles rested on the edge of the seat. In the shadow up her dress he could see lacy, see-through panties. He could clearly make out the shadow of soft hair beneath the pattern of the lace. She sighed a little theatrically and swigged her drink.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked at him archly. "You didn't get to answer my question earlier."

Jamie's smile was frozen on his face. It felt a little ghastly and false but he couldn't seem to change it. With the alcohol stiffening his face, his words came out blurry.

"Question?" All he could see was her open legs, that gauzy strip of cotton, erotically plump. His stomach knotted with desire.

"Don't you remember?" Jacqueline twirled her finger in the ice and sucked the water from it. "If you have a girlfriend?" she prompted.

He swallowed drily. "No, I, no I, not really."

She gave a musical, lightly mocking laugh. "No I no I not really?"

"No I don't."

"Why not?"

"Umm I, I'm not sure. I had one, but ... she was ... I didn't ... we broke up."

"You broke up? Why did you break up?" She opened her legs a little wider. He could see how her flesh swelled and, just above the gusset, parted into lips. Did she know what she was doing, how much he could see? It was as if they were replaying the bathroom scene, only in reverse. He tried to tear his eyes away but failed. She kept looking at him expectantly, but he couldn't think straight, even remember the question.

He shook his head. "I ... umm ... do you want another drink? I think I could do with another drink."

"Sure. G and T for me."

He got up, trying to cover his hard-on with his empty beer bottle and limped back into the house. In the kitchen as he poured the drinks, he realised how drunk he was. His head buzzed, nothing seemed real. He went back out and gave her the drink. He was partly relieved, partly disappointed to see that she'd put her feet back on the ground.

He fell back into his seat.

"So?" she said.

"So what?"

"You didn't answer me. Why did you break up?"

"I'm not really sure. I guess we weren't totally suited." He twisted the cap off the beer and drank a few cold mouthfuls. It wasn't tasting so good any more. He should stop, he realised, but he could feel himself going over a certain threshold of not caring. His desire for her scared him. He should really leave, go back home. The whole situation was fucked up. Though he was not, he had to admit to himself, up to driving.

"Was it the sex?" she asked casually, slapping at a mosquito on her arm.

He was sick of being pinned down by her now. "Well I wasn't the one who broke up with her," he said with sudden directness, "but to tell the truth I would have if she hadn't beat me to it, and partly because of the sex, yes. She wouldn't ..."—he swallowed—"... go down ... or ... anything."

Perhaps she was taken aback at the bluntness of his response because she didn't say anything for a while. Then she said, "That's weird. I can't imagine not wanting to do that. Did you talk to her about it?"

"Jesus!" He sprang to his feet. She looked up at him, an expression of fright on her face as if she thought he might hit her. But he went and sat on the back step in the light of the porch. It was really getting dark now, moths and mosquitoes whirling and battering around the globe. He swigged on the beer again. "Let's talk about something else," he muttered.

"I'm getting eaten alive here," she said, slapping at her thigh. "Shall we go inside?"

As they both went into the house, she swayed on her feet and fell against him in the doorway, laughing. He put an arm around her to support her and felt the softness of her waist, the seduction of her body resting against his. Despite himself he let his hand linger on her warm skin. "I think I'm drunk," she said.

"Well don't lean on me. I'm no better."

They retreated to the dark of the front room, now lit only by the cold shine of the streetlights, and fell down into the bean bags.

"Pete might come back soon," Jamie said.

"Fuck him."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a prick. I hate him. I wish I'd met you earlier. You're so sweet."

"Well you've met me now."

"You know what I mean. I wish I'd met you first."

She got up and came to him, knelt on the floor and put her hand on his arm. His cock hardened involuntarily even while his belly filled with a confused mix of dread and excitement. "Don't Jackie," he whispered unconvincingly. "You know we can't. And anyway Pete's bound to come home soon. He'd kill us..."

"What happened in the bathroom..." She leaned forward, the swell of her breasts tantalisingly revealed . "Don't you think about it?"

He stared at her. "Yes," he whispered at last.

"I can't stop it. I have all these thoughts about it..."

She leaned over him more, put a hand on his leg.

"But—"

"I don't care about Pete! Fuck him."

She kissed his cheek with soft, slightly parted lips. "You turn me on," she said. Her weight was on him, soft and warm, and his cock strained against his jeans, against her belly.

She put her mouth on his and began to kiss him, first with the lightest caresses of her lips, then her tongue dipping sweetly into his mouth. She straddled him so his hard-on was pressed against her pubis, moved against it, insistently, maddeningly. He put his hand behind her, under her skirt, felt the soft cotton slide over the skin of her buttock.

"Do you know what my fantasy was about what happened yesterday?" she said. "I imagined instead of running away, I got down on the floor and took your cock in my mouth." She ground her pussy against him. "I imagined sucking it until you came in my mouth..." He groaned. "Your poor dumb girlfriend wouldn't do that would she? But I can't think of anything I'd like more than to taste your cock. Would that be nice?"

He pushed his hand down between her buttocks, in behind them to the swell of her pussy. Her panties were soaked.

"Put your fingers in," she whispered.

He worked his fingers under the hem and found her flesh slippery and open. He pushed his fingers in and she bit his neck and groaned. She moved her hand to the rock hard bulge in his jeans, squeezing his shaft through the denim.

She broke off to lift her tank top over her head, unclip her bra. Her breasts were free, big and pale, the nipples dark circles. They glistened with sweat in the light from the street. She pulled his face into them and thrust a nipple into his mouth. As he sucked, she was popping open the buttons of his jeans.

"Your cock! I want to see your cock!"

She was urgent now, pushing him back in the bean bag and scooping his penis out his underpants, wrestling his jeans down his legs. He kicked everything off his legs. His cock projected up in her hand, hard and fat, intolerably swollen.

"Oh yes..." She pulled it into her cleavage like a big joystick, slapped it against the weight of her breasts, squeezed and plied it, teased the plum with her jutting nipple. Then she took it into her mouth, a groan in the back of her throat as she worked it back over tongue. The sight of it stretching wide her lips, the first time he'd seen his cock in a girl's mouth, was unbearably arousing.

"Oh fuck, no..." he exclaimed and her mouth released him the instant before he was about to come. Still, his balls contracted, and thick pearly come welled up and overflowed freely, coating his glans, spilling down his shaft.