Roberta Taylor - Nasty Sharon

Sharon kept glancing at the employees' lounge exit. Bud usually changed to swim trunks there.

At last he appeared, wearing white trunks. His hairy chest looked a yard wide. Sharon saw him greet some guests. He patted a man's shoulder, shook hands with another. He moved toward the diving board by a circuitous course. Like a host at a cocktail party he touched flesh constantly and dropped a joke in every ear.

He was a bullshit artist, Sharon thought, but he knew how to handle people. Oh, she was learning things from Bud, even while gazing fixedly at the monstrous bulge in his white trunks. Just looking at the genital package brought a throb to her cunt. She dropped a hand between her legs and knuckled her pussy.

What hell it was, having the hots for a guy, knowing that in bed with him she could start her career rolling, but couldn't get at him.

Bud climbed the aluminum ladder to the high board, still grinning and chatting with people below. On top he paused, feet together, chest swelled out, his gaze measuring the board. He took three long steps, landing heavily on the last one.

The board snapped him up into a neat, stiff jackknife. He sprang out to an arrow shape that cut the water cleanly but, because of his bulk, there was a loud sound, and the splash shot high. He surfaced and swam slowly toward Sharon.

She remembered an old boy friend saying that nothing turned him on like the sight of a fringe of cunt hair that had escaped the crotch of a girl's bathing suit. She fingered down to a leg hole and pulled the stretchy nylon aside, exposing a tuft of auburn hair.

Legs spread, she waited for him.

When Bud neared her he glanced about to see if anyone were within hearing distance. Then his eyes twinkled and he said, "You look familiar, honey. Haven't I met you in some whorehouse?"

She smiled broadly. "Maybe. But I never remember men's faces. Just their jocks. I can't see yours."

He laughed. "My, but you're a sassy old gal this morning!"

His gaze paused on her crotch. He had spied her display of twat hair. But he made no comment on it.

He asked, "Did everything work out last night? That drunken party?"

She nodded. "We took care of it."

"I don't deserve the faithful employees I've got. You people keep things running so smooth I'll get as lazy as an old hound dog without fleas."

She smiled, still hoping he would remark on her pussy, but he turned away, saying, "I have to go make friends and influence people." Then he swam back toward the diving board ladder.

Zero, Sharon thought, sighing deeply. She was getting nowhere with Bud Connoly.

Just as he climbed out of the pool, his wife, Lita, emerged from the lobby exit.

He ran toward her, his arms outspread as though to crush his wet body against her. Lita wore a crisp blue dress. Shrieking with mock fright, she danced away. Bud grinned and trotted off to the employees' lounge.

The horseplay annoyed Sharon. It was yet another display of the affection that welded the two together so tightly that she could not pry Bud loose.

She eyed Lita, a tiny, nicely curved blonde of about twenty-five. She wore a huge straw sun hat. The crown was wrapped in wide pink ribbon. Sharon recognized the hat as one from the Boutique. Lita often modeled her own wares. Sharon guessed that today she would stroll around the pool and talk to people, trying to arouse interest in the sun hat.

Still seething from her failure with Bud, Sharon impulsively climbed to her feet, resolved to learn the truth about Lita. As she walked along the pool edge toward Lita, she saw the girl's gaze, sweeping about the pool, fix on her.

Sharon raised her arms to finger-comb her hair, thus lifting her breasts almost out of the bikini top. The heavy orbs quivered and wobbled. The bra material hung loosely on her nipples.

She watched Lita's reaction.

The girl's smile faded for a split second. There was a darkness in her eyes, like a hunger. A pink tonguetip stole out and wetted her lips.

Sharon was still rearranging her hair when she reached Lita and stopped, smiling at her.

Lita said, "Darling, you look simply delicious this morning! Every man present is staring at you."

Every man and at least one woman, Sharon thought.

She made an attempt to tug up her bra. "Am I showing too much?"

Lita chuckled. "You probably are. Especially some pussy hair that has escaped your suit crotch. Here, let me fix it."

She stepped close to shield Sharon's body from the gaze of others. She fingered the bikini crotch, stretching it out, then tucked the errant hair back under the yellow material. Her feather-light touch seemed to burn Sharon's groin.

Lita took her time at it too, at last patting the material in place, saying, "There! Done. But I must say, you're still not quite presentable. I can see a dark line of moisture in your crotch. Have you been having sexy thoughts?"

Lita was smiling, her manner casual. But her touch had been a caress. Sharon felt tongue-tied. She studied the other's heart-shaped face. Grayish eyes were shadowed by the hat brim, which made them seem sultry despite her casual air. Her dress front clung to breasts that seemed very large for her diminutive torso, and her short skirt exposed beautifully turned legs.

Sharon was on the point of saying that the cunt juice that had wetted through her swimsuit crotch was Lita's doing. But she decided on caution. She really was not sure about Lita's sexual leanings.

She said, "I was thinking about a little white convertible I want to buy. Do you think that could have moistened my pussy?"

Lita laughed. "You mean, you're queer for a car? What a fun kink! You must tell me about it." Her hand closed caressingly on Sharon's arm. "Darling, this whole bathing suit thing is absurd. Wouldn't you rather swim nude?"

Sharon shrugged. "There's no place around here…"

"But there's the pool at my house. Would you like to swim there? Private? Just the two of us?"

"Yes."

Sharon had spoken hurriedly. Now a flush burned her throat as she realized the implications.

Lita's hand still stroked her arm. "Then, Sharon, I'll meet you at my place in an hour. I still have a little work to do at the Boutique."

Sharon nodded agreement and hurried off to the lounge.

There she found that her legs were trembling violently. She had to sit down to gather her wits. Could she swim naked with a lesbian? Well, she had an hour. Maybe driving the little white bomb would take her mind off it and ease her nerves.

She changed into a halter and shorts and hurried out of the motel and headed downtown toward Harris Motors. She walked rapidly, as though fleeing something, and was still trembling when she entered the showroom.

Tom Thornton came out of the office. He smiled in his smooth, professional salesman's way.

"Ready to go for a drive?"

She nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. Tom offered her a set of car keys.

She said, "I feel kind of shaky. I'd better not drive."

He frowned. "Has something upset you? You look pale."

"It's been a long night's work. Problems."

"What you need is a shot of whiskey." He took her arm and steered her into the office. There he opened a file cabinet drawer that contained a quart bottle. He unscrewed the cap, poured a shot in it and handed it to Sharon.

She had never drunk whiskey straight. She swallowed it and the stuff burned her throat. She gagged, her eyes streaming.

He chuckled. "It's a strong dose, but you'll feel better now." He replaced the bottle and led her out a back door to the used car lot. They paused beside a replica of Sharon's beloved bomb. However, it was blue and somewhat dented. Its appearance impoverished her dream. Still, climbing in on the passenger's side, inserting herself in the narrow space, she felt a certain thrill. And when Tom started the motor, the howl of it made her smile broadly.