Magic Wanda

The following story is about the feelings of a young virgin, his desires, hopes and the weekend when he finally fulfilled his wishes. If you’re looking for a quick sexual fix, check out one of my other stories. The fairly lengthy plot and character development here is necessary in order to build the story and character relationships into a satisfactory sexual conclusion. Remember to vote after reading and any feedback would be appreciated.

I was nineteen when it happened. It seemed like a miracle at the time. Looking back, I figure there was some magic somewhere that helped me to this destiny, which was my Aunt Wanda.

I’d never had a girlfriend and like most guys my age with endless fantasies and a constant hard-on, I had to make do with my over-worked imagination and masturbation. Finding a girlfriend and losing my virginity were always at the forefront of my thoughts.

My regular fantasy was losing my virginity to an older woman, someone with experience who would seduce me and teach me how to please them. I lived in a total dream world.

The reality was, I had no confidence, no experience and no girlfriend or older female tutor to help me change any of that. It drove me crazy.

Not all my mates were quite as unlucky, at least I didn’t think so at the time. There was my best mate, Dave, for starters. A few months younger than me, Dave was good looking, never had a bad word to say about anyone and was a funny guy. Girls liked Dave. He was confident, but not cocky, and had had his fair share of girlfriends through school and college. Unlike me, he quit studying and got himself a job in sales. In fact, he’d only just started work when he told us he was getting married.

What a shock. He’d only been seeing Nina nine months. She was a stunner, there was no doubt about it, but there was something about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Something I definitely didn’t like. I thought he was making a mistake. Our other closest friend, Ringo, thought the same, but being the good friends that we were, we patted him on the back, congratulated him and asked him when the stag do was.

We were like the three musketeers. All for one and one for whatever pretty girl we could ogle at.

We’d met Ringo at college, he was just three days younger than me and we had a lot in common. He was pretty shy, had never dated a girl, but was witty and knew how to have fun when we were out and about. His real name was Steve but ever since we’d given him the name Ringo (don’t ask, I don’t think the story even makes sense to us anymore), it had stuck. He seemed to like it and it suited him.

The happy couple decided to get married on Dave’s nineteenth birthday in August, a double celebration. We arranged the stag do three weeks in advance of the wedding and booked a sizeable party of us in at a sea-front hotel in Blackpool. A proper weekend send-off for the condemned man we joked. The joke turned a little sour.

One month before the wedding, one week before our mad weekend in Blackpool, Dave found a message on Nina’s phone.

‘You were incredible last night baby. Can’t wait until we’re alone again next Friday. CU 2moro at work. Ram’

Dave was hoping it had been sent to Nina’s phone by mistake, but some simple detective work led to the discovery that ‘Ram’ was Paul Ramage from Nina’s office and that the bastard had been shafting Nina regularly over the last month or so. It was over and Dave was devastated.

I’d never seen anyone as cut up as that. I tried to imagine his hurt but I had nothing to compare it to. We called the stag weekend off and didn’t see Dave for about five days. We couldn’t get him out for a pint, he wouldn’t come to the phone, to the door or even look at the funny faces we pulled through his window. We were worried.

On day six, we’d all but given up. Then, out of the blue, later that same day, he called me.

“Rick?” he said sounding his normal self.

“Dave?” I replied, surprised to hear him sounding so chipper.

“Yeah, sorry about the last few days. Let’s go to Blackpool and let rip.”

“You’re on!” I said, not hesitating. If that’s what Dave wanted, that’s what we were going to do.

I was quickly on to the phone to Ringo and we decided it was probably best if it was just the three of us. We didn’t think he’d cope too well with constant questions, insensitive comments and piss-taking.

The three musketeers boarded the 11.25 to Blackpool on Friday the 27th of July. It was a beautiful, hot, English summer’s day.

Ringo and I had decided not to mention Nina at all. If Dave wanted to speak about it, that was different, but until he did, we were going to keep the conversations on music, football, the delights of Blackpool, basically whatever would keep his mind off the cheating bitch.

We needn’t have worried, Dave brought it up as the train pulled away from the platform.

“I know I’ve been a little out of it these last few days. Just my way of dealing with it, that’s all.”

“How are you feeling now?” I asked.

“Pretty good,” he said. “I’ve had a lucky escape and I’ve got the rest of my life and a world of possibilities to look forward to. Now let’s forget about what’s happened, have some fun and get bladdered.” With that, he pulled a six-pack of Tennants ‘Force 10’ lager from his bag and handed them round. “A couple of these down us and we’ll be well on our way,” he added.

He wasn’t wrong. At ten percent alcohol content per can, they soon started to have an effect. By the time we’d reached our destination a couple of hours later, our laughter was loud, the world was a little fuzzy and we entered Blackpool a collective mass of buzzing testosterone.

“Come on, last one in the boozer’s a pussy!” shouted Dave looking over his shoulder, already five yards in front of us.

Being the slowest runner and the most sensible, I tried to protest. “Let’s drop our bags off first, get changed and stuff.”

“Pussy!” they both shouted in unison sprinting away from me. I slung my bag for all I was worth at Ringo in the hope of knocking him off his feet, but the bag landed a couple of feet behind him. He heard it and jumped out of the way as it skidded along the pavement and carried on into the road. Splat! An open-topped Blackpool bus was the first to run over it, closely followed by a white Ford Transit van. Dave and Ringo were bent double laughing at me, yards from the pub entrance.

“Now then pussy boy!” screamed Ringo, snorting like a pig with laughter. “At least you won’t need to do any ironing tonight!” They fell into each other before reaching the pub door, still chuckling away along with a few bemused passers by.

“Very bloody funny,” I said retrieving my flattened belongings from the middle of the road. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be my weekend. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We went a bit crazy that afternoon. We didn’t check in to our bed and breakfast until about six o’clock, which totalled over six hours drinking since opening those first cans on the train. We were a little inebriated and loud to say the least as we approached ‘Jaycee’s Bed & Breakfast’ and I was a bit worried we’d be turned away.

We somehow held it together as we paid our money and scrawled down our details for the smiling Chinese lady. It wasn’t exactly the most salubrious of places. The hall was dark and dowdy, the middle of the stair carpet was virtually worn out and there was awful sixties style wallpaper hanging off the walls. Still, at fourteen quid a night each, we weren’t complaining.

We zigzagged up two flights of stairs to our room and it took me a few seconds to fiddle the key into the Yale lock before a small click told us I’d cracked it. That was the signal for Ringo to surge forward from the back. The three of us burst through the door and our momentum catapulted us forward until we ended up in a big pile on the floor.

“Bloody hell, get off me you fat biffers!” I screamed, unsuccessfully trying to wriggle out from under their giggling frames. “Come on, come on, I’m having trouble breathing here.”

“Ace!” said Ringo still sprawled on top. He reluctantly got to his feet and I pushed Dave from on top of me, glad to at last get some air to my lungs.

Ringo was still all cock-a-hoop and full of energy. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back out there and get some skirt!”

“Get some skirt?” said Dave sarcastically. “You wouldn’t be able to get any skirt if it came up to you and flashed you its panties! You’re both bloody useless with women.”

I wasn’t standing for that slur. I could have gone for the cheap shot and mentioned Nina, but I thought better of it and did the next most stupid thing.

“Okay lover boy,” I started. “Put your bloody money where your mouth is. If you’re so confident, me and Ringo versus you.”

“Yeah,” supported Ringo. “Twenty a man. You win Dave, and we’ll give you forty quid. We beat you, and it’s twenty a piece for me and Ricky boy.”

“Easy money,” replied Dave smiling to himself. “How do we decide who wins? We need some sort of scoring system.”

“Let’s keep it simple,” I suggested. “Fifteen points if you spend the night with a girl, ten if you get a snog and five bonus points for any phone numbers handed over willingly. Highest points total wins.”

“Lads, are you sure you want to throw your money away like this. Going on track records, you may as well pay me already,” said Dave smugly.

“We’ll see big mouth,” scoffed Ringo.

“Are we all agreed then?” I asked.

“Yep,” said Dave.

“Partner?” I asked nodding at Ringo.

“Too right,” he replied.

“In that case,” I said, “let battle commence.”

“Right, forty minutes to get ready then?” said Ringo.

“Forty minutes? Forty minutes?” repeated Dave. “You two could spend ‘til Christmas putting your make-up and perfume on and you’d still look as appealing as a Baboon’s back-side!”

“Get him!” shouted Ringo at the top of his voice. He quickly grabbed a pillow off the nearest bed and swung it at Dave’s head. It connected beautifully.

There wasn’t much contest in the fight that ensued as we beat Dave to surrender with our relentless bombardment. The real competition was about to begin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That night proved to be a disappointing wash out. We started out with a pizza to line our stomachs for the alcoholic onslaught to come, but the food only seemed to dampen our spirits, and sober us up just enough so that we were beginning to develop headaches from our earlier session. By the time I’d got the drinks in at the second pub of the night, Dave was almost falling asleep. To be honest, I wasn’t far behind him. We called it a night after that. Points total, zero, for both teams. For all our bravado earlier, we were tucked up in bed, like three babies, before ten o’clock.

We all woke feeling pretty good the next day but we decided to stay off the beer until after our evening meal. The sun shone continuously, we did the whole seaside thing and had a great day.

We started with football on the beach and then went to the famous pleasure beach and rode the hair-raising ‘Big One’ roller-coaster. After a fish and chips lunch we played several fairground games, almost killed one another on the dodgems and finished the day off by winning a little Casio keyboard playing bingo. Predictably, we plink-plonked our way back to Jaycee’s, singing nonsense words to truly awful ‘music’.

With our spirits raised once again, Dave had seemingly forgotten all about the events of a week or so ago. I had thought his little speech on the train was a bit of a front, but he genuinely seemed to be having a good time, and carrying on as normal. It was good to see. He was my best mate and it had been horrible to see how deflated he had been.

That Saturday night, we hit our first bar at about nine o’clock. The place was packed full and it took us a good fifteen minutes to get served. We got two rounds in at once and because it was so hot in there, the six bottles of Budweiser were gone in under twenty minutes.

Next, we walked down a side street to find somewhere a bit quieter. We plumped for ‘The Golden Fleece’ but it was like one of those places you see in old western movies when strangers walk in and everyone stops talking and turns round to stare at you. Once served, we knocked back our drinks and moved on, keeping our heads down, not daring to look at anyone. Trust us to find a real local’s bar in a buzzing seaside town full of holiday makers.

We headed back to the main drag and the relative safety of ‘The Tower Lounge’. It was another heaving, happening place. We spotted a balcony running around the lounge perimeter, looking down onto the dance floor, and we headed there hoping to find a bar. We were in luck and had more Budweiser in our grasps within minutes.

At first, we wondered why it was so much emptier on the balcony but we had the answer five minutes later as the stifling heat started to get to us. Again, we quickly finished our drinks and moved on.

We just decided to go next door from there. The place was called ‘Brannigans’ and a sign on the door promised ‘dancing, eating, drinking and cavorting’.

It was Ringo’s turn to get the drinks in and he immediately honed in on a busty barmaid with ‘Prickteaser’ emblazoned across her T-shirt. She was a bit of a looker to say the least. I saw Ringo exchange a few words with her and they both seemed to be laughing in tandem. By the time I’d pushed through the crowd to help him with the drinks, he was waving a little piece of paper at me.

“That’s five bonus points in the bag Ricky boy!” he said excitedly grabbing at my shoulder. “No messing about. Did you see her? She’s bloody gorgeous.”

“Who?” I asked, knowing the answer but not believing it. “Prickteaser?”

“Yup, that’s her,” he said grinning like a clown. He looked up and caught her eye again and raised his bottle to her, giving her a little nod and wink at the same time. She reciprocated the wink and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Dave came back from the toilet to witness them holding each other’s gaze.

“Whey-hey!” I shouted in Dave’s ear. “Look at this. Ringo’s only gone and got us the first five points on the board hasn’t he!” I waved the piece of paper in his face.

“Whose?” demanded Dave. “Not Prickteaser behind the bar?”

“The one and only,” interjected Ringo still looking like the cat that got the cream.

“What’s her name?” asked Dave.

“I dunno man,” answered Ringo. “Let’s just stick to Prickteaser. I like that.”

“Maybe she wrote it next to her number,” I suggested.

“Well, let’s check it out then,” said Dave grabbing the piece of paper from me.

We all moved in close together as Dave unravelled it, eyes wide with anticipation as if the secrets of the world were about to be revealed to us. In big bold letters, were written the words ‘Fuck-off loser’.

Dave burst out laughing as Ringo and I looked at each other in astonishment and disappointment. Ringo turned back round to the bar. Prickteaser, cool as you like, raised her glass to him, nodded and winked.

“Bitch,” said Ringo.

Dave finally stopped laughing and started chanting, “Minus five, minus five, you guys have got minus five!” over and over.

“Bollox,” said Ringo. “Shut your big mouth else I’ll do it for you.”

“Whoooo,” said Dave in a high-pitched sarcastic tone. “Put your handbag down love. I was only joking.”

I had a feeling that Ringo wasn’t going to recover from that little episode. The contest would be between Dave and me.

Dave scored first, making it ten points to nil when he drunkenly smooched with some young, under-dressed, over-made up young girl on the dance floor of The Palace nightclub.

Despite Ringo’s encouragement, I couldn’t muster the bottle to chat to any girls myself. I got the impression that Dave would have snogged his mother that night if it had meant him scoring points against us. I used the excuse that I was only interested in quality, but by the end of the night, I was regretting opening my mouth and dreaming up the stupid contest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, we were all suffering from our excesses of the night before. We stayed in bed until about twelve o’clock. Once up, we headed out for a fried breakfast at a nearby cafe. It certainly helped the recovery, but we were subdued for the rest of the day.

It didn’t help that the glorious sunshine of the previous two days had disappeared to be replaced by a strong coastal wind and heavy showers. We had a couple of games of ten-pin bowling and then went to the pub to watch some live football. It was a case of lemonade’s all round.

We were fully recovered from our hangovers by the evening and got ready to hit the night spots for one last time.

Again, talk was rife about the competition and Dave was full of himself. He really was enjoying winding us up.

“Got your twenty pound notes with you lads? Ready to see the master in action again? Got any phone numbers lately Ringo?” It went on and on.

“I’ve had enough of all that chat,” I whispered to Ringo. “I don’t care if I get blown out tonight. I’ll show him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“How about some bird telling you to fuck off?” reasoned Ringo.

“Aw come on, that was just one girl. She even warned you on her T-shirt what she was like. I’m not going to let that bother me.”

“Good for you mate. It bothers me though. You’re on your own tonight.”

I had my first opportunity back in The Tower Lounge, our second bar of the night. The target was a pretty brunette stood about ten feet away from us with two of her friends. I kept talking to myself in order to build courage and finally, when one of her mates wandered off, I made my approach.

I could feel the sweat trickle down from under my arms as I approached her, my cheeks reddening by the second. My mouth started to go dry and as I got to within two feet, I started to panic. She saw me coming and looked away. Not a good sign. There and then, in that split second, I lost the tiny bit of confidence I’d just talked into myself and muttered, “Excuse me, do you know where the toilets are?”

“Just over there love,” she said. “Right behind where you were stood.”

I didn’t say anything. I just shuffled away feeling about three feet small. I didn’t stop to talk to smirking Dave or head shaking Ringo. I went straight to the men’s room and wetted my face in front of the mirror to cool down. I figured the competition was lost. I wasn’t going to try anything so stupid again in a rush.

As I went back out and took my drink off Dave, I handed him a twenty pound note.

“Congratulations stud,” I said. “I give in. I just haven’t got the bottle for it.”

“Give over,” he said, surprisingly dignified. “Get a few more beers down you and you’ll be well away.”

“No, really, that’s it. Ringo’s already given up and that’s me calling it quits. Let’s just forget about it. The only way we’re going to win is if some bird tries to pull us. Let’s face it, that just ain’t gonna happen.”

“He’s right,” chipped in Ringo, getting his own twenty quid out of his trouser pocket. “Well done mate. You’ve still got it. Now let’s find you a better woman than that ugly mutt you were swapping saliva with last night.”

“Cheers lads,” said Dave. “Drinks on me, what’s everyone having.”

“Cheeky git,” I said. “It’s your bloody round anyway! Make mine a double vodka on the rocks.”

It didn’t take long for Dave to home in on a suitable girl. This time, the standard was pretty high. We stayed in The Tower Lounge until they kicked us out at about twelve thirty. Dave had enjoyed the last few slow dances with the new girl and we saw her write her number down for him and give him a final peck before they departed to their opposite sides of the dance floor.