Jenna's Post Virginal Frustration Ch. 02

The couple of days spent with Cory had provided momentary relief from the sexual frustration that had overwhelmed my previously happily virginal life since my brother started nosily fucking his new oversexed girlfriend in the bedroom next to mine.

But I was beginning to realise that Karen -- the girlfriend in question -- wasn't the only oversexed woman in the house.

Whatever mental outlook it was that had that made her so randy, I seem to have caught. Hers at least was driven by -- what she saw as - my stud of a brother; which offered a solution to her needs. Mine stood alone.

Cory offered a temporary solution, but was not without its issues. I just felt that there was a limit to the sex that could be called for under a friends with benefits arrangement and it probably didn't extend to every second day -- at the least. And deep in my heart, I also felt I wanted some who, if I didn't passionately love, I at least really had the hots for. Cory was nice, understanding, not bad at sex and reasonably attractive. But something was missing that completed what otherwise would have been a convenient relationship.

The issue was strongly occupying my mind when a new boat turned up at our club the following Sunday as I rigged my 29er sailing skiff. It was another 29er like mine -- which gave us a nice fleet of four of them for the race -- and I watched as a girl and a guy got out of the van towing the trailer and started to untie it.

As I would have done with new arrivals even before Karen came along, I went over to say hello and introduce myself to them.

Liz seemed to be the owner and skipper of the boat; although she quickly admitted she wasn't particularly experienced at it. Dressed in a string shouldered, lacy, mini, sun dress -- very similar to my own sort of style -- she struck me as both attractive and attractively dressed.

James, the crew, admitted he'd only had a couple of goes in the boat and still had a lot to learn. Dressed in a pair of board shorts and a tight fitting T that highlighted some impressive chest and arm muscles, my first impression was that he was smokingly hot; maybe a bit shorter than I like, but hot enough that a shot of some sort of hormonal booster ran through my body as I shook his hands. Assuming they were boyfriend/ girlfriend, I found myself cursing Liz's attractiveness.

I helped them get their boat off the trailer, then left them to rig; unable to resist the temptation of keeping an eye on them as they did so.

Until this point, I was the only girl among the oversexed crews of the 29ers, so Liz attracted a fair bit of attention from the other guys as she rigged her boat. The fact she attracted attention wasn't that surprising; either given her attractiveness or the previously demonstrated teenage guy randiness of the guys.

Most of them had tried to hit on me at some stage; a couple just straight out asking for sex, a few trying the more conventional approach of at least chatting me up before making their carnal desires known and one was a notorious groper.

And all of them were more than willing to take visual advantage of any flesh display I offered them.

Even in my still only recently vacated virginal phase, I can't say I was particularly concerned about any of their approaches -- even the groper.

They were just being guys still finding their way with the opposite sex. It wasn't aggressive and my response was given and received politely. And I didn't really mind being perved at; I might even have encouraged it as I found my own approach to dealing with guys.

Now we were friends, even good friends with all the hugging that can entail in my age group. But, for a variety of reasons, none of them appealed to me as boyfriend material.

Now as I watched them helping Liz, there were times I wondered if she was doing any of the rigging herself at all. It wasn't surprising since every time she raised her arms to do anything or bent over the boat, there was a pretty impressive display of very cute bikini bottom and a lot of bum flesh. Plus it wasn't that hard to get a down skirt view of some pretty impressive cleavage which the guys barely bothered to hide their fascination with.

James, inexperienced even with rigging the boat, seemed to be a willing learner from all the attention Liz attracted and surprisingly unfazed by the attention the girl I assumed to be his girlfriend was getting.

Liz attracted even more attention when, to change into her sailing clothes, she slipped her bikini top on under her dress, then stripped her dress off, leaving her prancing around in a showy bikini for about five minutes before she actually got around to putting her sailing gear on.

Out on the water, their inexperience showed. They had multiple capsizes on a day that didn't really justify them.

As they unrigged, Liz took off her wet gear and unrigged in her bikini; once again attracting all the help she could possibly need -- and then more -- from the randy guys who were my sailing friends. James just took off his wet t shirt, leaving me at least something worth perving at; a favour I reciprocated by stripping down to my bikini too.

It was only as we sat around in the warming sun on the upper floor deck of the club, overlooking the river, that I actually got a chance to sit down and talk to James; a job made easier by the way the guys circled and squawked around Liz like seagulls around a box of hot chips (fries to non Australians).

That let me quickly find out, he wasn't her boyfriend, rather her twin brother.

They'd just moved to the area from Sydney; their move being timed by their family to coincide with them finishing their Higher School Certificate. So, like me and my beach friends, they were on an extended holiday before starting Uni. James was targeting law at Sydney Uni, the same Uni I was planning to go to. Still only just turned 18, James was relatively young for his class and nearly a year younger than me.

Liz had started her sailing back in Sydney, but James hadn't really sailed much until he was called to be his sister's crew now she'd moved up here and didn't have one.

With the preliminaries of our histories out of the way, we had a really nice conversation; spending nearly an hour talking to each other as Liz drew off the rest of pack. He seemed a really nice guy. Certainly not cocky, and someone who showed a genuine interest in finding out more about me and my family. And if I started out thinking he was hot, as I sat there talking to him, that transmogrified to steaming, arousal inducing hot.

When he asked me if I'd be willing to let him take me to dinner that night, the answer was an easy yes.

He turned up at my place, on time, dressed in a well pressed par of chinos and a collared short sleeve shirt, unbuttoned enough to show a bit of chest. I was impressed.

I'd chosen one of my favourite mini sheath dresses, split at the sides, with a plunging sweetheart neckline that showed as much cleavage as my modest breast size was able to display.

Since the restaurant was only a short walk from my place, that's how we decided to get there; walking hand in hand the two blocks distance.

The dinner was magical. A night of beautiful conversation as we seemed to just stare into each other's eyes. We were so busy talking, our main courses got cold before we finished them. I knew my nipples were showing on high beam and I could sense my panties getting damper and damper.

What could easily have been less than an hour dinner, turned into one where we were the last to leave the restaurant as James insisted on paying the bill.

As we walked home holding hands, for the first time, I got to subtly get a look at the front of his pants. There was no doubt he was aroused; almost fully I would have guessed from the height to which the bulge in his pants extended.

We stopped as we reached the gate to my house; turning to look at each other, our bodies millimetres apart. James spoke first...

"Thank you for a wonderful night."

"No, thank you. I really loved it."

We stood there awkwardly and nervously looking at each other. Our desires were obvious but each of us were nervous about being the first to make a move. In the end I couldn't hold back. I threw myself at him, wrapped my arms around him and French kissed him. Fortunately he reciprocated.

They say that human kissing is a way of testing biological compatibility. I'm no expert. All I do know is that from the moment of that first kiss, my genes wanted him. My womb wanted him. My whole body wanted him. I squirmed against him, my stomach grinding against the erection I could feel in his pants and my breasts and their hard nipples brushing against his chest as our tongues wrestled with each other.

For five, maybe ten minutes we put on, to what would have seemed to any passer-by, a gross public display of affection.

I wanted to start undressing him and I could feel his hands starting to lift the back of my dress.

If only my family wasn't home!

But they were and clearly visible in the lit up lounge room that fronted the street.

He pulled his torso away from me, separating where my stomach ground against his erection. I suspected I was starting to risk him dropping a load in his pants. Reluctantly our faces separated and I blurted out the only plan B I could think of...

"How would you like to go sailing tomorrow? I can give you some lessons."

As he agreed and we set a time in the morning, we reluctantly separated altogether. Another peck on the lips and he was in his van and heading for his own family, leaving me to a very sexually frustrated night.

When we met up in the morning, he was back in his sailing boardies and his figure hugging t shirt. I was in my yoga leggings; the blue ones with a cut and stretch material that moulds the pants to conform with every contour of my body; even those parts that shouldn't be moulded to.

Under them I had the pants of a new bikini I'd bought to go with them that I hadn't tried in public yet. A matching blue -- to match the boat -- they were, if not quite a g string, nearly one -- with just a narrow strip of material running through the bum and a bit of a whale's tail where they met the waistband. The waistband itself was a narrow strip of material that arched over my hips and plunged down to merge with a small, narrow triangle piece at the front. The whole thing was tautly fitting and finished with a slide triangle string top with triangles as small as I dared wear.

I'm more inclined to call the style an ultra-Brazilian, thinking a true G string has nothing more than an elastic string through the back of it and with that comes an unpleasant risk of butt hole exposure. At least a couple of inches of material reduces that risk

Wearing it had been a big thing, even if only under my yoga leggings.

When I look at women on the beach, at least two thirds of the ones I see in a g string or ultra-Brazilian I think really shouldn't. It's not something I'd say out loud, but the guys sitting around me often do between themselves and, on the whole, I'd agree with what they say.

First of all, you've got to have the right shaped butt. A butt crack that's long enough and butt cheeks that are full enough to make it look seductive, without being so long and full the overall effect looks gross (looking at you certain, so called, influencers). With hips to match; not too much, not too little. Somewhat tall and somewhat slender. Definitely no orange peel. And flawless skin that has at least a little bit of olive colour to it, rather than be pasty white.

Secondly, the bikini itself must have something of the right shape. The fully string g's have never looked right to me.

But even the ultra-Brazilians need to have just the right height to the waistband and have a waistband that arches up over the hips, rather than sits flat around the waist.

Many times I've tried it on and turned my back to a mirror to look at it to see if it and I make the grade. I've even photographed it so I can study it more thoroughly; all to give me the confidence to actually wear it.

I've convinced myself I make the grade; not out of any lack of modesty but more because I think I can objectively tick all the boxes, even if my judgmental men friends were making the calls.

At this stage, and for the rigging, I only had the tiny bikini top on the upper half of me. To say I wanted to make a good first impression was an understatement.

I kept an eye on him as we rigged and the bulge in his pants certainly suggested some sort of impression was being made.

The wind for this day was a bit stronger and cooler than the race on Sunday. I knew with an inexperienced crew that was likely to mean capsizes. Lots of them; especially as I tried to teach him new techniques.

As we set up and did the final dressing for the actual sail, I put on a cotton, deep V front, short sleeve t shirt; something I'd normally avoid, but there was method in my apparent madness, especially when he had a cotton t shirt too.

The sail was everything I expected it to be. A lot of fun as we dealt with all the challenges with good humour, a lot of capsizes and having to right the boat and, because of that, a lot of interbody contact as we floundered around in the water.

The water itself was warm, so while we were sailing and capsizing a lot, we didn't really feel the cold too much. But as we started to master the boat and spent longer period out of the water, the cold that comes from wearing a wet cotton t shirt on a windy day started to set in. I decided it was time to go in.

As we got ashore and started dropping the sails, I was really feeling the cold, to the point of visibly shivering. And while at first James seemed to defy the cold, it wasn't long before visible evidence of his cold feeling became obvious too.

With the sails down and secured and so the boat temporarily safe, I made my move.

"I think we're getting a bit cold. This is the stage we usually strip off under a hot shower and get dry before we finish putting the boat away. Let's go."

I didn't wait for a reply. I'd learnt from Cory that nothing is more effective than setting out your intention and taking them by the hand to lead them to it. But just the feel of his hand told me that he was in need of warming up just as much as I was.

He willingly followed me, at least as far as the entrance to the ladies room. I could feel an uncertainty in him as I didn't let him go to find his own way to the mens'. But that wasn't the same as resistance. It took nothing more than a...

"You can use these showers too." to lead him over the threshold.

As I'd done with Cory, I kept holding his hand as I ran the hot water through under a single showerhead. When I got the right temperature, I pushed him under following him in.

For just a little while I led him in the dance of alternative turns at the main flow of the water out of the shower, letting us both thoroughly wet our bodies, clothes and hair under the warming stream.

There was a fair bit of intended body contact, caressing and handling in all that. Then I stripped off my t shirt and tossed it into the far corner of the shower recess.

Without asking I stripped James of his t shirt too.

A little more water dancing and I pulled down my leggings. They had always been a risky proposition. A pair of board shorts could have been taken off way more easily and kept up the momentum of my plan. But there was something I knew was sexually compelling about the leggings that made them more suited to the day. Besides which, the struggle to get them off under the shower offered its own opportunities and I had to turn away from him to bend over and peel them down my legs initially offering him a visual delight of my now revealed bikini pants and then compounding that as I backed up against him -- for support of course - wedging the erection bulge in his pants in my butt crack.

So at this stage, clothing wise at least, there was nothing too immodest in my display, unless you call both parts of a tiny bikini immodest.

The next step was the riskiest and the one I'd put the most thought into. I knew his board shorts only had a Velcro closing. While I was still bent down, squatting from taking my tight leggings off over my ankles, I simply turned around and quickly ripped open the closure and dropped his pants to the floor with a single pull. The action was accompanied by a sort of narrative...

"We can get rid of these too...Opps, sorry I thought you had undies on underneath...Doesn't matter."

Now I wasn't being entirely frank with him. I actually had a pretty good idea that nothing but nakedness lay underneath. I'd seen Cory aroused in board shorts both with heavy undies and lighter speedos and eventually with nothing underneath. The difference in visual appearance of an erection under each of those options is markedly different.

But I also found, right in my face, an erection considerably longer and thicker than Cory's. I'm no expert at the male appendage. As far as I knew they were all about the same. There was nothing about Cory's that struck me as being any different from my brother Greg's; who I've had more than enough accidental exposure to since Karen came along and kept him in a near perpetual state of arousal.

But in no way was this the same.

I quickly recovered my composure and stood up. My plan to this point was simply to make it look like my intention was to do nothing more than strip us down to a bare minimum of decency protecting clothing and have a pash under the shower. After that I simply hoped things would develop naturally.

So I wrapped my arms around him and started kissing him. As he responded, I pulled him more tightly against me, bringing his naked erection against my stomach; moving about in my passion enough to be rubbing my still bikini covered nipples on his chest as I rubbed his erection against the bare flesh of my stomach.

I got the impression the bikini pants had not gone unnoticed. His hands seemed quite fascinated with them; sliding along the material from high on my hips to even follow the edge of it along the edge of my butt crack and provocatively between my legs.

That was good, especially as he reached between my legs. Somewhere along the line I was hoping he'd start to finger me, or at least play with my nipples in a way that escalated our engagement without me taking the lead.

Instead, after a few minutes he suddenly froze and grunted and I felt some sort of surge in his cock. I looked down to see rope after rope of cum squirting out the top, all over my stomach before being slowly washed across the front of my bikini pants and down my leg.

He pulled away a bit, looking mortified as he blurted out in an uncertain voice...

"I'm sorry. I couldn't stop it. I've never been this intimate with a girl before."

I looked at him, drew him in against me again and replied...

"That's nothing to be ashamed about. I was a virgin until a few weeks ago. Do you think you might know how to finger a girl?"

"I've read about how to do it, but I've never tried it."

"Well, why don't you rest my back against the wall and try it now. By the way, my nipples like being gently played with too."

I back myself up against the wall, holding him close, but not so close he couldn't get his hand down my pants. He ran a finger through my crease, loitering where he felt he was following the 'front and centre' instruction female comedians all too often cite as the instruction men don't seem to be able to follow. He picked the right spot, apparently able to identify the little swollen bud that was my engorged clit.

As he gently slid his hand against it, I gave him a little moan of pleasure; not entirely put on just for his benefit.

That encouraged him. As he sped up a little too much for my liking, I guided him...