Ron Taylor - High school hot pants

It wasn't my fault, and I suppose it wasn't his either. Perhaps we were meant only to share a few days of passionate love, then doomed to part forever. I know I'll never see him again, and when we said goodbye, it was with bitterness that gnaws like a worm at my heartstrings, now when I remember it. Dear God, how can a relationship be so perfect and yet collapse so completely?

You're the only one who knows, Didi, the only one I'll ever tell. Mother and Daddy sense that something is wrong with me, but they can't begin to guess the real reason for my malaise. Greg hasn't spoken more than a hundred words to me since our arrival here – he spends all his time with same dynamically handsome beach studs, and I imagine they're screwing their way through the plethora of talent on hand. Only this morning I had to go to his room to borrow some tanning oil, and he came out of the bathroom wearing only his shorts. You'd have been delighted to be there, Didi, as thrilled as I was embarrassed. His prick was very noticeable, seemed erect in his underwear, and he flushed when he saw me. I did too, but it wasn't entirely all innocent blush on my part. Greg is a very handsome young man, and he really is well-endowed. I don't doubt that he's bigger cocked than Kerry was, and that's saying something. At any rate, I heard a noise in the bathroom, and even before I could ask him for the tanning lotion, the door opened again, and who should come strolling out but the floor maid!!! She's a prime piece, about nineteen I suppose, with vivid red hair and a million freckles and limpid green eyes. And she was buttoning her dress!! When she saw me she said "Awwpp!" and turned on her heel, disappearing into the bathroom again. Greg just cocked his head to one side and smiled roguishly, and I smiled back. He seems to sense that I'm not the same girl who came to the beach a couple of weeks ago, though he's never said anything to me about it. Well, I grabbed the lotion and left them to their games, but I wish to God I had someone to gamble with! The worst thing about being laid, Didi, is that it becomes so essential a part of everyday life. I thought I'd never have to masturbate again, but now I'm doing it six and seven times a day, whenever I can get a moment by myself. And it doesn't satisfy the needs that Kerry helped to instill.

Right now I'm at the pool. Yes, the hotel has a pool as well as a beach. I suppose there are those who'd rather swim in fresh than in salt water. Greg is gone, as usual, and Mom and Daddy took off yesterday. Mom wanted to do some shopping in Charleston, and Daddy has an old army buddy from Germany that he wanted to look up. So I'm at loose ends at the moment. They won't be back till day after tomorrow, and I don't know what to do. I suppose I could stroll down the beach and look for a guy, but I'm too afraid of being hurt again. Maybe you can tell that I'm just a little tight right now – well, not as tight as I was before Kerry took me in hand and started reaming me out – that started to be a joke, but it doesn't sound as funny as it did before Kerry sneaked into it.

I have to do something. I can't keep masturbating this way, because I'm getting calluses on my fingers. Oh, there's an itching between my legs right now. Maybe I'll cross them and saw on my pussy like – this – mmm, see how relaxed my handwriting has become – it's working, sort of – I need a man. You can't know the feeling, can you, Didi? I only wish I could communicate the desire to you in all its terrible, beautiful intensity. My pussy screams to be filled by throbbing muscle, to have its fires drowned by floods of male peckermilk.

Oh – I just saw him! A man. He's only just come onto the pool area, and something about him draws me like a magnet. Didi, he's not a boy. He must be – oh, God, forty, at least. His hair is paying at the temples, and his face is weather kissed, as if he's spent a lot of time in the sun. Perhaps on the steering deck of his sloop? He looks the sailor type. A trim, elegant body, long and lean and oozing with proud, confident masculinity. Try to imagine Cary Grant, only more outdoorsy. That's him exactly. Mature, seasoned, desirable. I-I – Didi, it's driving me crazy to sit here and just watch him. Oh, he's coming in this, direction! I know he doesn't even see me, but he's coming closer – he's stopping to talk to someone, a totally classy brunette in a beach jacket draped open to show off her slim body and outrageous bikini – Didi, you should see the way his head moves when he laughs! I – oh, I'm going to stop writing now, Didi, forgive me for deserting you, but I have to have him. I don't know how I'm going to manage it, but I know that I'm gonna make him notice me, make him want me – make him – goodbye for now!

That was the end of a page. Her handwriting just drifted away, as if she'd dragged the pen across the sheet, and I sat on the edge of my bed sweating cold and damp, afraid to turn and see what she'd tell me next. If I closed my eyes I could see the whole thing so clearly – the crowded patio-bar area at the exclusive resort hotel, the beautiful people fluttering around, Jill in the midst of those beautiful people, watching everything, telling me all about it – but stopping when sudden temptation arose and she found herself compelled to answer its call.

Ah. Jesus, the emotions that were rolling in me then! I hated Jill for the bitchiness with which she'd passed along that dirty bit of gossip about Greg and the hotel maid, for one thing. Didn't she know how much it would hurt me to hear a story like that?

And, now, for God's sake! I could envision her on the patio around the hotel pool, watching the beautiful people flutter about. She was probably out of them by now, sitting there in her string bikini, certainly drawing stares from the men. And I could easily picture how giddy she must be with a couple of drinks in her. Jill always got giggly on a bottle of beer, let alone a sneaked shot of the hard stuff. The booze must have really gotten to her, if she was seriously contemplating making a pass at an older man for no other reason than that she found him sexy.

My legs were spread wide apart in a sort of lotus position on the bed, and I found myself unconsciously rubbing the tight-stretched crotch of my cutoffs. I didn't know I was doing it until a smoldering glow began to fluctuate through my body, and then it was a little too late to stop. I looked down and saw where my hand was, and I blushed. Furiously. Here I'd been, a few days ago, thinking I was a big girl just because Jill had turned out to be, and the strumming of my fingers on my crotch were so much more satisfying than any heterosexual experience I'd enjoyed yet. Maybe I wasn't mature enough. Maybe Rocky had done it correctly and I was just too much of a girl still to respond.

Well, no matter of that. I could dig the hell out of doing it to myself, and as I thought about Jill and her sudden mad passion for the middle-aged yachtsman type, I slid, my fingers beneath one frayed leg of my cutoffs and beneath the elastic of my panties and I made contact with a snatch that was already beginning to seep with excited wetness.

Before I knew it, I had my whole hand jammed inside the cutoff denims under my panties, and I was squeezing the hell out of myself. I hadn't been quite so excited in days, and I congratulated me for that. Jill might be rapidly turning into a mature woman of the world, finding pleasure with male bodies and cocks, but she couldn't feel a Goddamned bit better than I felt right now, frigging my immature cunt.

The lips of my pussy swelled and dampened as I kneaded them with my fingertips, and I scratched and tickled the soft tingly labia until my breath grew tight and my nipples erected against my halter top. It was a delicious way to feet, and I used my other hand to squeeze my titties till they ached. If a love of masturbation is a sign of childishness, then I suppose I should've been wearing diapers and playing with rattles, but I loved what I was doing to myself and I wouldn't have exchanged it for a hundred nights like that evening with Rocky in the Presbyterian Church cemetery.