Messing About in Boats

Caroline's embarrassment deepened, but she couldn't help looking down at her blouse and appreciating, at least in a technical sense, that Sally was right. She had been blessed with an abundant bosom, and she knew that people noticed it. But she had never considered showing it off, and certainly never even conceived of the fact that it could be used as a weapon of womanly warfare.

"I'm sorry," Sally said, "I didn't mean to embarrass you, it's just that I thought a chick like you with tits like yours would be used to flashing them and getting your own way all the time."

Caroline could only shake her head and return to her coffee.

"Listen, a few of us girls have already sort of clubbed together, like, for mutual protection and to share ideas, and stuff, why don't you join us? We meet here for coffee all the time, and at my place lots of other times; why don't you come along, I know you'd love it".

Caroline had never had any girl-buddies, even in school. As an only child she had learned to be sufficient with her own company, and anything that she had needed dad had always been able to supply. Between her studies and her boats, she had always had more than enough things to occupy her mind, and her time. But at university, with its odd timings for lectures, tutorials and the like, and the need for group projects and collective study, there were things that were changing in her life.

"Sure, as long as it's okay with the other girls, I guess," Caroline reticently replied.

"Fabulous," Sally shot back. "Listen, I've got to run, nice to meet you, see you tonight." "Tonight?", Caroline ventured. "Yeah, tonight, my place, start studying, you know...." Sally replied. "Listen, here's a card with my address, my phone number and my email address; if you can't contact me one way or other, you don't want to!"

She stood up and cruised off in the direction of the library, her tiny skirt flipping in the wind, the waft of expensive perfume following her, and the best-laid studying schemes of the many men she passed totally, if temporarily, derailed.

Caroline shook her head as if to clear it. Life was sure fast and furious at university; 40 minutes ago she had been entering her first lecture, now, it seemed, she had at least one new friend, even if she was a very different girl to herself. She looked down at the card. The address was just a couple of streets away from the campus, and Sally had supplied both a home number and a mobile number. Most people who lived near the Uni rented group houses, and none had house phone numbers, relying on the ubiquitous mobile. Caroline was intrigued.

Sally had not given any time for the visit, so Caroline felt at ease as she rolled up the street towards the address she had given. Her intrigue turned to amazement as the house in question turned out to be, not a simple suburban house split up into flats, but a large, single home, two storied, and with a long, wide driveway leading up to three side-by-side garages. The small sign above the letter box proclaimed it to be the abode of the Armitages. Sally obviously lived at home, and what a home, she thought. An Audi TT and a Mazda MX-5 were parked in the driveway. Caroline eased her M3 BMW up the path and stopped behind the Mazda. At least my car won't look out of place here, she mused.

Sally must have been watching from a window because even before Caroline had switched off the ignition she burst out the front door and ran across the driveway to meet her. "I knew you'd come," she shouted. "Come in, meet the gang." Caroline smiled at the greeting, and followed in Sally's wake. And what a wake it was.

If Sally's attire had lectures had drawn attention Caroline could only have wondered what the reaction would have been if she had worn this outfit to class. She had on a tiny t-shirt, cut off just below her bust, and a pair of unbelievably tight shorts, more like panties. The waistband was impossibly below her waist-line, and the legs were cut off so that at least half of her (tanned, of course) arse was showing for all to see. And, of course, she was still wearing stilettos, this time a dark blue shade. Her hair was loose and streaming behind her as she almost ran towards the front door. Caroline hadn't changed since lectures, and was feeling a bit obvious in her slacks and blouse.

She followed Sally through the front door and into the front room. There were two other young ladies in the cavernous front room of house. And, apart from the colours of their garments, they were dressed identically to Sally! Sally's t-shirt and shorts had been amazing out in the driveway, at a little distance; here inside the house, three perfect bodies in identical tiny outfits was almost overpowering. Caroline subconsciously clutched at her chest.

"Caroline, let me introduce the girls," Sally piped up. "This is Samantha," gesturing towards the redhead, "and this," waving in the direction of yet another platinum blonde, "is Carla." "Girls, this is Caroline; we met in lecture one today, and I invited her to join us".

Caroline didn't know whether to wave, shake hands or just say hello, but before she had a chance to do anything, both Carla and Samantha stepped across the space between them, thrust their arms round her waist and planted a warm kiss on each of her cheeks. Caroline tried to return the greeting, but only managed to brush her hand across Carla's breasts as she moved away, and stopped mid-kiss as Samantha stepped back. The two dolls giggled, and Caroline smiled and relaxed, just a bit.

"Welcome to the club, Caroline, you are gorgeous, you'll fit right in with our sort of fun," Carla volunteered.

Caroline followed the three dolls into the next room where among the subtly-expensive furnishings and appointments she saw a table with a bottle of cold water and four glasses on it. Sally poured them each a drink, and raised a toast; "To fun, however and wherever it may be found". In principle Caroline agreed and joined the toast, despite wondering quite what 'fun' meant when the three girls together had on less material than her simple outfit. Chapter four

Caroline tried to shake off her dream as she hurried around the house, making herself some breakfast, packing her briefcase, fixing her makeup and feeding the cat, all at the same time, it seemed, but all, she noted to her satisfaction, perfectly done. After all, it was only a dream. Things like that don't happen in real life, especially not in her real life.

All the same, she selected the most conservative outfit she could find for work today; a plain white blouse, tailored slacks, her favourite black leather coat and a pair of heels that could barely be called heels.

Soon the traffic and the demands of the short drive between home and work occupied her consciousness, and life resumed its normal pace.

She swung her car into its allocated spot in the car park, grabbed her brief-case from the back seat and headed for her office. The day turned out to be much the same as any other day. The major cruiser project for the 'certain Middle-Eastern gentleman', as the mystery client was known around the yard, was on track, and specialist galley fittings, for which they had been waiting for two weeks, had arrived, avoiding any unseemly delays. The Sydney-Hobart yacht was on the slips, and heading for its projected launch and fitting out. Caroline had only presided over the design stages of that project; Michael was the yacht specialist, and the project was in his capable hands. She had watched in spare moments from her office window as workers scurried around it like ants round some precious seed, and smiled as signs of progress appeared.

Thoughts of the yacht, and Michael, re-awakened the dream, but now, with the day in full swing Caroline's mind was fully occupied with the myriad details of her real life. Still, as she noticed him down by the yacht, clad, unfortunately, in denim shorts and nothing else, a pang of something like excitement, mixed with puzzlement, struck momentarily at her heart. She had never seen him, under any circumstances, as anything other than the best yacht-builder her firm could afford, and a valued employee; quite why he had appeared so intimately in her very graphic dream she was at a loss to understand or explain. Just then Kirsten, her PA, popped her head round the corner of her office, and said, "Your 2:00pm meeting is here, boss". The business part of Caroline's brain, the part that had been nurtured so long and so carefully by her father, switched in; she grabbed her papers and with a 'Thanks, Kirsten", swept out of her office and walked briskly two doors down to the boardroom.

It was very different running the company, to the carefree though busy days of working in the construction bays, she thought.

At the end of her first year out of university, and the first year working for her father as not just a go-getter, but a trained and valuable member of the executive of the company, Ernie Dunster had gone off on his yearly adventure, as part of the crew on one of his own yachts, in the Sydney-Hobart race. Off Eden on the South Coast, on a bright, clear day with following winds and not a hint of danger, the yacht stuck a partially-submerged shipping container that had fallen from a freighter. The hull had been seriously damaged, but worse, in the impact he had fallen and struck his head on a winch. The crew had done all their considerable first-aid and medical training permitted them to do, but as the helicopter was arriving to remove him from the vessel and transfer him to shore and hospital, he had passed away.

Caroline's mother and she were devastated. He was the centre of their world, and neither of the women could come to terms with the loss. Within a few months of his will being finalised and his affairs being dealt with, Caroline's mother announced that she was selling the house and leaving Australia to live with some friends in Paris. As much as Caroline tried to convince her to stay and help her run the company, for his sake, her mind was made up.

Caroline had coped as well as could be expected with the loss of both her parents in such short order. Her uncle, Ernie's brother, was a tower of strength in those dark days. He knew every detail of how the company ran, and although he professed to lack the skills to direct its complex affairs as well as his brother, he schooled and drilled and cajoled Caroline as she gained in confidence and assumed the same sort of control and business sense customers had come to expect from her father. Thankfully customers stayed loyal, and so did staff. Even the several hard-bitten builders who she would, under other circumstances, have called 'male chauvinistic pigs' 'adopted' her and afforded her the same loyalty and vigour in work that they had her father, even though she was 'just a girl'. As well, the years of 'coal-face' work she had enjoyed now paid off as she was able to see the whole of the company, from a business, design and construction point of view, and speak with authority on these matters, both internally and in the increasing opportunities she had to lecture at her old design school and in the corporate world. From the depths of disaster, Caroline Dunster had climbed to the top of the tree in her specialist world. Life was good. Chapter five

Caroline surveyed her wardrobe as she prepared to dress for university. Meeting the glamorous Sally, and then the unexpected appearance of the other two girls at Sally's house had caused her to think more about clothing, and appearances, than she had ever done before. And, as she observed in the following days, lots of girls really did dress up, some right up, to go to lectures and tutorials. Young pretty commerce students flocked around in various areas, dressed in startlingly similar mini-skirt suits, with white blouses and even, most of the time, stockings and heels, just as if they were already working in some high-powered office. Physical Education teacher-trainees were, predictably, she concluded, always in tiny tight shorts and abbreviated tops. And their female equivalents were dressed the same, only the shorts were even smaller, and the tops more revealing, with more to reveal. Engineering students tended to sober and sensible, but, she noted, the other girls got more attention. In just a couple of days since her meeting with the girls, however, Caroline was thinking about how much fun than she these less-inhibited classmates seemed to be having. There was no shortage of young men, many of them terribly attractive, following them around all day, and competing to sit near them in lectures. Caroline wondered what that sort of attention must feel like.

All that looked back at her from her sober, sensible wardrobe was expensive conservativeness. Beige, camel and white dominated, and her shoes were nearly all black, with none matching the heels of even the most timid Commerce chick. Flashes of colours confined themselves to the odd blouse , but they were few and far between.

She picked out a white cotton blouse, her favourite skirt and her best heels. Trying not to compare herself to Sally, she surveyed herself in the mirror. By most measures, she looked great. She was tall, slender but not skinny, and her generous bust, small waist and full hips gave her a classic hour-glass profile. Her skirt was not short, but however much of her legs it showed it was worth showing off. Caroline was satisfied, but somehow less than she would have been had she not met the girls days earlier. Somehow, she thought, whatever she wore would be eclipsed by what they wore. Still, she rationalised, it wasn't a competition or a fashion parade; she was at uni to learn engineering so she could work with her father building boats. There may be a time for dressing up sometime in the future, but now was the time to concentrate on important matters. She grabbed a quick piece of toast, slotted a coffee into the cup-holder on the console of the car and backed out of the driveway.

It was a mid-afternoon tutorial before she met up with Sally. Caroline had arrived on time, Sally arrived fashionably late. Caroline had not deliberately kept a seat free next to her, but since the entrance to the room was at the side, Sally had noted the spare seat straight away and rustled her way to Caroline's side. Sally leaned over and quickly pecked Caroline on the cheek. Caroline averted her head, embarrassed at the show of affection, and hoping that not too many people had noticed. A quick glance around confirmed that no-one seemed to have noticed. She allowed herself the luxury of a shy smile back at her companion. Sally beamed in encouragement as she surveyed Caroline's outfit. She looked her up and down and gave a 'thumbs-up' sign, before reaching into her pack and noisily extracting her books.

Caroline thought a 'thumbs-up' was warranted for Sally's outfit too. Although less outrageous, by her standards, than the skirt and top of their first meeting, it was nonetheless striking. She was wearing a long shirt-maker dress, with sheer black tights under it, and black high heels. The top couple of buttons of the dress were undone, but such was the lightness of the material, this was scarcely necessary if the aim was to show off the tiny lace brassiere underneath. Her makeup, hair and overall grooming was as immaculate as it had been a few days earlier, and Caroline began to think that this girl would wear a hessian bag and look a million dollars.

As they walked to the cafeteria after class, Sally said, "I love your blouse, do you mind if I ask where you got it and how much it cost?" Caroline told her. She gasped; "That's more than I paid for this whole outfit!" Caroline smiled. "Can I ask you a personal sort of question?" "Sure, we're friends, ask away,", she replied. "Do you always dress like that, I mean, here and at home?" "Fuck yes," she answered. Caroline blushed. Sally blushed. She laid a soft hand on her companion's forearm; "I'm sorry, Caroline, I shouldn't have said that." "That's ok." "No, really, I didn't realise that that word might offend you, I shouldn't have presumed that you are like most of the other people here."

Caroline wanted to explain, to allay Sally's embarrassment, but the words wouldn't come. It wasn't as if she didn't know words like that, or that she didn't realise that it was part of many people's normal conversation; she had worked all her life from teenage years in the ship-yard and although her dad had been very careful to protect his little girl from the big bad world, and had instructed the men who worked around her to respect her tender ears, and years, she had inevitably been exposed to the classic Australian work-place culture. She smiled as she thought of the many times her work-mates had unconsciously slipped into the vernacular of the shop floor, albeit always apologising as soon as their error was realised. So between girlie calendars on the lunchroom wall and the robust conversation of working men, she was no shrinking violet. But she prided herself on not using those words herself, and in observing a gentle disapproval of others doing so. She didn't know why, but as Sally had said the word "fuck" it had seemed to be out of character with a young lady.

"Seriously, please don't apologise", Caroline said. She rushed on, anxious to cover the moment. "So, you dress, how should I say, sexy, all the time?" "Yes, sure, and so do the girls, and lots of my friends, we always have. The girls think you're really lovely, but they were a bit amused as how conservatively you dress; Samantha thought we might have been a bit confronting at my place the other day", she laughed. "Thank you, I guess, and that's a bit of an understatement; I've never been in a room with three women wearing so little; I felt positively frumpy".

"So, do you dress like you are now all the time, if you don't mind me returning the question", Sally asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong, that's a skirt's skirt, and a blouse's blouse, but it is very conservative, if you know what I mean." Caroline laughed, "Yep, this is pretty much Caroline-style. I wear daggy stuff at the ship-yard, you know, singlet and shorts, but that's for comfort, not looks".

"Have you ever thought of wearing the sort of stuff I wear, and the girls?" "Caroline drew a deep breath. "Fuck no". The two girls laughed together, loudly.

"Why not, you have great tits, great hips, and you're tall and graceful. Sure you make a $300 blouse and a $500 business skirt look great, but why don't you try and see what you'd look like in a tiny top and a mini-skirt?", Sally urged.

"I don't think I could look like you girls did the other day, no matter how hard I tried". "That's rubbish", Sally shot back. "Gotta get to next class, see you tomorrow". She jumped to her feet and scooted off before Caroline could even form a reply, leaving her to ponder the challenge she had just heard. No-one had ever before discussed with her clothing or her thoughts on it. Her mother had urged her to resist the flashy and the trashy, but in the business circles in which the Dunster family moved, young ladies were expected to do just that, and to dress accordingly.

As she ate her dinner and pored over the contents of the day's lectures, Caroline's mind wandered fitfully over Sally's words. She tried to imagine herself in a tiny, shoe-string top and a short plaid mini, and heels, but the picture just wouldn't come. She could only visualise Sally in that, as she had first seen her, and she found herself strangely enchanted by the remembrance of that first meeting. Sally had 'stopped the clock', but Caroline could no more imagine herself doing even something similar than flying. She made herself a hot chocolate and padded to her bedroom.

As she stepped out of the shower, she saw her reflection in the full length mirror. For the first time that she could ever remember, she looked at herself. She remembered Sally's words. Without any doubt, she was tall and graceful, and she did have great hips. And for the first time she appreciated that she did, indeed, have great tits. As she held the towel in her left hand, she ran her right hand down from her face to her neck and then down over her left breast. She circled her finger around it, and then brushed her thumb over her nipple. She watched, fascinated, as it quickly became hard and erect. Her hand continued down over stomach to her side, grazing her hip and sliding round to her arse. She turned as the hand disappeared and watched as she brushed her fingers across her skin and back to her side. She traced the contour of the mound of flesh above her vagina. Gripping her hands above her head and swivelling on her right toes, she smiled at the sight of her generous breasts standing to attention.