Ann Griffin - Skin summer

He decided that a place to start might very well be with the cabin that needed a fuse. He got the proper size fuse from the maintenance shed and set out for the cabin number on the maintenance order form. When he found it, he stood among the trees, observing it for a while. It was set against a cliff, sheltered by the overhang and by a number of tall, cool pines. It was completely in shade and one of the most pleasant of the cabins he had seen. The nearest other shack was about a hundred yards away, almost totally concealed by an even thicker stand of trees. At last, when he felt in control of himself, he walked across to the door and checked the names. There were two girls, as always, living here. The names on the bell were Cindy Harter Dean, and Leah Mason.

He rang the bell, standing close to the entrance so that his physical presence would be a bit overwhelming the moment the door was opened. But when it was opened, he stepped back. One of the ugliest broads he had ever had the displeasure of seeing stood on the other side. Her hair was mousy and scattered as if windblown. Her eyes were close-set, her nose too large. She had an ugly swath of pimples on her chin and another on her forehead.

"I came to change the fuse," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Come in," she said. "I'm Cindy Dean."

He nodded and made his way to the fuse box in the kitchen. Another shock awaited him here. The second girl, Leah Mason, was – if anything – more of a dog than her roommate. She sat at the kitchen table in a robe, drinking coffee. He nodded to her, changed the fuse, and beat it out of there as fast as possible. It was just as easy for an ugly girl to fall for him as a pretty girl. And these two seemed to be showing interest.

He was almost away into the trees when he saw the other girl entering the nearby cabin. From where he stood, she looked a knockout in body as well as face. He had remembered seeing her in the dining hall. She had given him the look he expected from a woman. He cursed under his breath and damned all the Gods he could name for not making the fuse blow out in her cabin instead of back there where the witches lived.

But then, why couldn't he go change the fuse in this other cabin, tell the new girl it was routine. He stood, thinking about it, and there were genuine possibilities to the scheme. The fuse he now had in his hand was no good – but how would a little rich bitch know that? He could fumble around, screw the old fuse out and screw it back in. She'd never be the wiser for it.

He walked over the carpet of needles, up the steps to the small stoop before the screen-door of the cabin. He was about to knock when he decided against it. He opened the door quietly, pushed open the inner door, and stepped into the main room of the small cabin, closed the doors behind. The girl he had seen was not here. He walked cautiously into the kitchen and found she was not there either. For a moment, he stood there dumbly, trying to find some excuse for checking the bedroom and bath. But the fuse box was in the kitchen, and there was no believable story he could hand her for bursting into the other rooms.

He cursed again, then fumbled at the fuse-box, making enough noise to draw her into the kitchen. A moment later, he heard the bathroom door open, heard the slap of bare feet. He turned as she came into the kitchen, smiled. She was wearing a pair of white panties, but no bra. Her breasts were each large enough to fill a cup, no bigger, but perfectly formed.

"Well," she said, making no attempt to cover herself, "I thought you were my roomie."

"No," he said, "I'm the handyman for the summer. I came to change the fuse."

She smiled. "I can see that." She walked past him to the stove where a pot of water was boiling. "Would you like any coffee?" she asked.

He was impressed with her cool. The little bitch wanted to prove she was a swinger, and she wasn't about to act angry because he had caught her with half her underwear missing. "Yes," he said.

"Instant," she warned.

"That's fine."

She fixed the cups and handed him his. "The couch is more comfortable," she said, smiling. He nodded and followed her into the room.

She sat on the couch, tucked one leg under her, and sipped the coffee. He sat next to her, only not so close that she would become afraid or angry, sucked at his own drink.

"I saw you at supper yesterday," she said. "You're name's Sam Walker. Some of the kids think you have a thing with Miss Mock."

"Friends," he said, "But how did you find out my name?"

"Asking around," she said. When she shrugged her shoulders, her breasts jiggled. He could see that the little brown nipples were hard, and he knew that he had found his first target.

"I can't see why you'd ask around about me. Pm only the handyman, and you're a rich little girl."

She drank, watching him over the rim of the cup with her blue eyes. She was a very attractive girl, in her middle teens. She had long, blonde hair in the current hip style. It framed a face that was sensual. Perfect complexion, blue eyes like patches of the sky, a pert nose, very full lips. Her body was not lush, but it stirred him anyway. Her breasts would each fit into a hand, unlike Linda Mock's, but they were so deliciously upturned and well-formed that he hardly cared about the size. Her belly was flat and smooth, her legs long and delightful.

"Well," she said in answer to his question, "you aren't just a handyman after all. You're a senior in college this fall. And you look like the type with the drive to go places."

"Perhaps," was all he said, still letting his eyes linger over her breasts, which she seemed to take every opportunity to jiggle.

"And there aren't many men around here," she continued. "The place is a total drag. You're the only thing worth looking at."

"Gee, thanks," he said cynically, though with a touch of humor. "You've just said I'm the best man around, then qualified the statement by saying I'm also the only man around. You really know how to flatter a guy."

She shifted on the couch. Consciously, or unconsciously, this new position strained the fabric of her panties against the mound of her bush and gave him a delightful look at the outline of her hill of pleasure. "Well," she said, "you are very attractive anyway – whether or not you have competition."

"You compete well yourself," he said, setting the coffee down on the table in front of the couch.

"Another thing I like is your composure – and your lack of hang-ups." Her breasts jiggled again. "Most guys are so hung up they would have blushed like crazy or run right out of here when they saw my bare boobies."

"I find your bare boobies highly pleasing to look at," Sam said, his crotch now tight with his erection. "Unless you're a ball breaker of a girl, there's no reason to run."

"You really like my boobs?" she asked.

He nodded. "Emphatically."

She looked down, took one and cupped it in her left hand. "I thought they were too small."

"Not at all."

"Really?" She looked at him in that special way, and it was a request for action.

"Really," he assured her, moving next to her, pushing her hands away, and taking her breasts into his hands, squeezing them. "Anything beyond a handful just goes to waste."

"Maybe," she said.

When he dropped his hands, she sighed and said, "How can you stand this place? It's such an utter, utter Goddamned bore!"

He looked her in the eyes, then dropped his head and took her right nipple into his mouth while his hands slid over the silkiness of her young body. Her nipple came even more erect as his tongue teased it, and he moved onto the other breast, sucking and licking it. She held his head in her hands and urged him on as his kisses went down her flat belly. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, then looked up at her. "Your roommate?"