Rex Taylor - Mother lover

Cathy stood on the deserted beach. It had taken her half an hour to gather the pile of rocks and stones at her feet. She looked up and down the strand to see if anyone was nearby and, seeing no one, she bent over and picked up a stone. She drew back her arm and flung the rock with all her might onto the incoming waves. "FUCK!" she screamed.

Again and again she repeated the process, the heap of rocks disappearing much faster than it had been accumulated, and each time Cathy let fly she wailed the obscenity once again, wailed it despairingly, as though it were the last pitiful utterance of a broken heart.

Perhaps it was. Perhaps at this very moment Cathy was experiencing the most downcast and disconsolate emotions of her life. Eighteen-year-old girls tend to be extreme in their feelings and reactions at the best of times and, if anyone had been there to ask her, Cathy would undoubtedly have replied that she felt just like dying.

She stooped to seize the last rock, a big gray chunk of stone, which she had saved for last precisely because it was bigger than any of the others she'd found. Her fingers wrapped around it and she brought her arm back for the toss. Cathy closed her eyes and she saw her mother's face, and

it made her smile to imagine Gwen standing in the stone's imminent pathway, for wasn't it all Gwen's fault?

"FUCK!" she shrieked and the rock flew out of her hand to slap and splash upon the frothing wave rolling towards the shore. Her arm dropped and she stood a moment, panting heavily with the force of her emotions, her young tits heaving as frantically.

"Are you throwing rocks at the devil?" someone asked, and Cathy whirled around, her sandaled feet whipping on the warm sand. A young man, sun-browned and wearing only a pair of skimpy black swim trunks, stood at the crest of the bluff overlooking the beach, his longish hair blowing in the sea breeze.

"Huh?" Cathy called in reply. He was coming to join her, a smile growing bigger on his face as he got nearer. Jesus, she thought, he's cute! And he must think I'm crazy or something.

"I said, are you throwing rocks at the devil?" He cocked his head to one side and stared at her engagingly. "It's kind of a joke, but I guess it isn't funny if you don't know the language. I have this friend, see, who went to a church-run boarding school when he was younger, and the supervisor used to tell the boys that getting horny was a symptom of the devil trying to take over their bodies. So, until they found out it was caused by something else altogether, whenever one of them started feeling any urges, he'd run outside and start pitching rocks until the devil gave up and went back to Hell where he belonged."

"Oh," Cathy said, lips curling into a little smile.

"I guess you had to be there to appreciate it," the boy added, and Cathy couldn't keep a straight face any longer. She began to laugh softly and his face brightened.

"My name's Cathy," she said. "What's yours?"

"I'm Chris," he said. "Chris Robinson. I don't remember seeing you anywhere. Have you been on the island all summer?"

"It seems like it," Cathy sighed. "But we've only been here a couple of days. My mom and I," she explained quickly. He really was cute, and she didn't want him to think he had no chance with her.

"My dad and I have been here a week," Chris said. "Don't you care for it?"

She shook her head. "It was all my mom's idea. Take a good old-fashioned mother-daughter vacation, get to know each other-all that shit. So, every time I try to get to know her, she says, "Cathy, honey, I have to get some work done on this article-why don't you go out and soak up some sun, and we'll talk later." The only person on this island I've said more than three words to is a really dipshit girl named Jennifer whose family is renting the place down the road from us. Until you came along, though. God, my throat is sore already from all this talking."

"Hey, don't tire yourself out. I'm not worth it."

Bet you are, Cathy told herself. Bet you are.

"Where do you go to school? You are still in school, aren't you?"

Cathy nodded. "I'll be a junior this fall. I was going to Miss Proctor's, in Darien. Do you know it?"

"No," he mused, "I don't think so. Darien, Connecticut? We don't get out here much, though. We live in Illinois. But Dad had some business on the East Coast this summer and he decided to bring me along."

"What's your sign?"

"Cancer. Born June twenty-ninth."

"Jesus," Cathy whistled. "So was I! We ought to be friends."

"Yeah," he smiled. "We'd only have to buy one horoscope." Chris stretched out his hand. "How would you like a guided tour of the south coast? I think I rank as an expert."

"You're on," Cathy giggled, and, hand in hand, away they went down the strip of deserted beachfront.

They talked as they walked, and in the space of only a few minutes it was as though they had been friends for years. There seemed to be a special bond between them. As Cathy noted, how often indeed do you find someone who was born exactly the same day you were? And the same year, it turned out, too.

Chris liked what he saw walking beside him, and he wondered if their matching astrology did indeed have any significance. Like, did it mean he was going to be able to get into her pants? Cathy's pants were well worth getting into, he was certain. She was a beautiful, willowy girl, nearly as tall as he was, with long, lissome legs whose rippling muscles moved so gracefully as to justify the whole, long process of human evolution. Her hair was a windswept mane of golden brown, a few shades blonder than his own light-colored locks, her face was clean and oval-shaped and finely chiseled, and the demure skimpiness of her bikini showed off a body put of a wet dream. Cathy's tits were high and round, not too big and certainly not too small, with freckles showing daintily on her breastbone and in her cleavage. She had a smooth, flat tummy with a navel that would just accommodate the tip of his middle finger, and her ass was young, high-set, and springy-just made to be bounced on a bed. Sometimes when she moved her legs just so, a tiny tendril of pussy hair would slip through the leg opening of her bikini bottom. The curl was dark, much darker than the hair on her head, and Chris was willing to bet a month's allowance that her cunt fur was silky to the touch. The beach narrowed, the bluffs behind creeping down almost to the surf's edge, and Chris guided the girl to a path that led up the sandy rise. They stood on the top, looking down into a wooded vale on the inland side, a little forest whose green leaves spread like a natural umbrella.

"This is virgin timber," Chris informed her, "about the last on the island of any size. Most of the woods were cleared away to make this place a vacation paradise." He tugged on her hand. "Want to go exploring?"

The only thing I'd like to explore, Cathy thought smirkily, is the bulge in the crotch of your trunks. His shorts fit him tightly, fashionably, molding the fabric around his cock and balls with a frankness the girl found totally praiseworthy. But on the other hand, she found everything about him praiseworthy. He was good-looking, had a nice, free and easy manner, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thoughts which dominated her mind at that moment.

Throwing rocks at the devil, Cathy thought. Weird, but he'd hit it almost on the nose. She had been frustrated, she had been angry, but above all else, she had been horny-the kind of horniness peculiar to young girls who have just discovered their cunts are useful for other things besides urination and masturbation. Indeed, that was why Cathy had been so pissed off when her mother had sprung the big news upon her.