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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Awesome Summer {Varkel} [5/8] (M-MF M-Mf-f mF bF mf bf mb)
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Date: Tue, 16 Mar 2010 14:10:01 -0400
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The Awesome Summer
by Varkel


Chapter 5: The Hurricane

Dave awoke to dim daylight seeping through the blinds in his bedroom.  
For a while he lay quietly, listening to the stormwinds moan in the 
eaves, now much eased from their screams of last night.  According to 
the glowing red numerals of his desk clock, the time was 6:05.  He 
nudged Creight, sleeping-over with his back to Dave.

"Wh-what?" mumbled the older boy.

Dave put his mouth close to Creight's ear.  "It's morning.  Let's go."

"M-morning?"  Creight stretched, arms and legs extended, turned to face
Dave and rose on an elbow.  He studied the blinds, listening to the 
storm.  "Has it quit raining?"

"Probably.  Wind's not nearly as loud."

"Go look out the window."

"Who cares if it's raining?"  Dave giggled.  "We're not made of sugar."

He got out of bed, ignoring his morning stiffy, and pulled on the fresh
clothing his mother had laid out at bedtime.

Creight watched him sourly.  "I'm still sleepy.  And you know this is a
waste of time."

"Don't act all grown-up on me.  You're not there yet, even if you do 
fuck Ms. Ruby now and then."  Dave flung the older's clothes at him.

Creight crawled from the double bed with obvious reluctance and 
concealed his nudity under shirt and shorts, grumbling the while.  Both
boys sat on the floor to lace up high-top boots, surer footing than bare
feet in wet woods.  Being well aware that early mornings on the island 
could be cold even in late summer, they pulled on long-sleeve wool 
overshirts, also laid out the night before, because they were warm even
when wet.  At last they slipped down the staircase, walking carefully on
the edges of steps to minimize creaks, and out the backdoor without 
disturbing the sleeping household.

This western side of the island was dim but the sky above was lit enough
to discern still racing clouds.  The roaring rain of last night had 
ceased but strong wind gusts tossed treetops back and forth.  Pausing at
the woods' edge to empty their bladders, the boys studied the lighted 
stationhouse.  As expected, they saw no sign of activity, although a 
room light flashed on in the adjacent Partridge house as they watched.

"Who's on patrol?" asked Creight.

"Lt. Klieger.  He took the cutter to help that ship in trouble."

"He did!  How'd you know?"

"That's all my folks talked about at supper.  You should've paid 
attention."

"Huh!  Then my old man went along."

"He didn't say anything?"

"Not that I heard.  I've been staying with you for two whole days!  So 
that light is Lt. Partridge getting up."

"Or Julie going to pee."

"Nah.  That's not her bathroom.  Shake it off and come on, though I tell
you this is a waste of time.  We won't find anything."

Dave thought, _Hell, it's fun just looking_, but didn't express it.  
Lately his good friend was changing before his eyes.

They pushed through the wet woods, soaking their shorts, to the paved 
road that led to the island crest.  The wind tossed groaning trees back
and forth all around them.  Several had cracked and fallen during the 
night.  Trunks and leafy branches cluttered the road.

Climbing over a fallen pine, Creight said, "Damn, this was a bad storm!"

"Hurricanes usually are."

"Hurricane?  I thought it was a nor'easter."

"That too.  Dad said it's Hurricane Jennifer.  As it passes, the wind'll
change to the north-west, which it did."

"Yeah, you're right.  Imagine that: a real hurricane!"

Dave giggled.  "What's the matter: weren't you scared enough?"

Creight frowned but pushed on.  At the crest they took the path to the 
ball field, a less cluttered avenue.  Few trees grew on the east side of
the island and in the past the many bushes had survived even stronger 
winds.  Little hindered the two boys on their passage to Seaward Point,
the island's most eastward projection that formed an 80-foot cliff above
the crashing sea.

They crouched on the rocky edge, hands spread wide to brace themselves,
and stared down at the heaving, foam-streaked water.  Though much higher
than normal, the wave tops failed to reach their pinnacle and the wind,
quartering on their backs, blew the spray away.  But the crashing 
mountains of water were strong enough still to make the very rock 
tremble, and the thudding and hissing would even drown shouts.

Creight saw it first.  His eyes widened and his mouth formed 
unintelligible words but Dave followed the stiffly pointing arm.  To 
their right, not more than 200 yards along the in-curving rocks, a 
vessel was jammed into a crevice.  The boys, having lived around boats 
for years, estimated its length as 70 feet.  They guessed it to be a 
power yacht of the kind that occasionally put into the island harbor for
fuel or emergency supplies despite the signs warning off pleasure craft.
It was perched high in the crevice, as if thrown there by one of the 
largest storm waves.  Its stern dangled into the churning water.  Now 
each large wave raised the after section, causing the boat to pitch at 
least ten degrees in the bow.

The boys studied the pitching action.  Faintly they could hear groaning
and creaking, alien sounds in the rumbling wind and smashing water.  
Dave caught Creight's head, pulled the ear next to his mouth and 
shouted, "She's hogging!"

Creight positioned Dave's ear before his own mouth.  "Yeah, her back is
broken.  Come on."

He led the younger boy away from the precipice.  Ten feet from the edge
the noise weakened so remarkably that he could almost speak normally.  
"I see how we can get down to her."

Dave's face twisted.  "Do _what_?  You dummy, she's liable to break up 
anytime."

"So it's a gamble.  That's a rich man's yacht, abandoned.  We'll never 
guess what might be aboard her."

Dave held back for a moment, finally saying thoughtfully, "She was put 
there by a wave a lot bigger than any of those, so maybe she's been 
there a good while."

"Yeah, half the night.  She may not break up at all."

"Not right away," Dave agreed.  "You think we can use Indian Perch?"

"I think she's jammed right beside it."

"Let's go see."

They hurried over the irregular boulders and past the occasional twisted
bush, fluttering in the wind.  Years ago they had discovered a tall 
crevice in the rocks whose north side was a spire, rising ten feet above
the surrounding jumble, with a peak broad enough for sitting and curious
indentations on the landward side, large enough to be hand and footholds
and spaced about right for climbing.  In fact it was Julie who had 
pointed out that suitability.  They had immediately named it Indian 
Perch, assuming long-vanished Indians had carved the hollows.

Overall the light was still dim but the sky to the east was bright 
enough to verify Creight's conjecture.  Indeed the yacht's prow was 
driven high and deep into the crevice beside Indian Perch.  The boys 
scampered up the rock face, ignoring the rainwater retained in some of 
their handholds.  At this close range the boat's groaning and creaking 
were loud as the water sounds.

From the crest they could see its entire length.  The foredeck was 
painted white and was a tangle of ropes.  The cabin roof and gunwales 
were light blue.  The bridge, above the fore cabin, was white.  Its 
windows gaped darkly, having been smashed.

The entire forward section pitched slightly when a wave lifted the 
stern, but the after section suffered by far the greatest movement.  
Most of the groaning seemed to derive from midships.  Indeed the boat 
was "hogging:" broken in the middle, although the two halves had not yet
separated.

"I guess we can jump down to the foredeck," said Dave, "but how'll we 
get off her?"

"I'll jump first," said Creight, "then throw the longest line up to you.
You tie it around this rock."

The slowly tilting deck lay about ten feet below them.  "That might 
work, if you can actually throw it up here."

"I'll tie it around one of my boots and swing it up.  Don't lose it."

Without waiting for agreement, Creight jumped down to the white deck.  
He landed with an easy thump and immediately began sorting the tangle of
ropes.  Having removed a boot, he wrapped the selected one several times
around it.  On the second try he swung the boot within reach of Dave, 
who caught it, untied it and dropped it back to the boy below before 
looping the line around the shoulder of the rock and securing it with a
deftly-tied bowline knot.

As a test, he walked backwards hand-over-hand down the rope to the 
queasily moving deck.  A glance into the forepeak revealed a hatch 
sagging open, from which dangled lines of various sizes, once obviously
the rope locker.  Beside him Creight sat on the deck to relace his 
redonned boot.

Dave looked around.  "I guess the cabin is where we ought to start."

"Yeah.  We need to find the captain's papers.  If she doesn't fall 
apart, we can claim salvage."

"Listen to that groaning!" Dave scoffed.  "Pulling her off this rock 
would bust her in half."

Creight rose to his feet.  "You're probably right.  Let's just see what
we can find."

The forward cabin door would not open, although the latch operated.

"Locked?" guessed Dave.  "We can break a porthole," he added, recalling
the row along the side of the cabin.

"Or jammed," suggested Creight, smashing his booted heel vainly into the
door latch.

"This ain't a house," sneered Dave.  "It opens _out_.  Come on."

At the cabin corner he jumped up on the broad rail, turned backwards and
kicked the center of the nearest porthole.  A second kick broke the 
glass, knocking the curtains aside.  After cleaning out the remaining 
shards, he dropped through the hole backwards, feet extended, and found
himself on a water-soaked, built-in bed in a small interior cabin.  
Creight followed and, being the tighter fit, scratched his arm on a 
glass splinter.

"That was easy," said Dave.  "It might explain how the storm could break
the bridge windows -- cheap glass."

The water noise was much eased, but the groaning remained, transmitted 
through the boat's timbers.  The light was dimmer, barely enough to 
recognize a wall switch that Creight flipped to no effect.  He found a 
knob and readily opened a narrow door into an even darker passageway, 
running fore and aft.  The passage brightened significantly whenever the
deck pitched upward.  Near them it terminated in the outer door that 
wouldn't open while the after end exhibited the boat's structural 
disintegration: bulkheads and overhead gaped when the stern sagged, to 
close again when it rose.  Water frothed aft.

Creight's chin sagged.  "God, it's really going to break in half!"

"Anytime!" Dave agreed.  He slipped into the passage past his larger 
friend to reach the stubborn outer door.  It proved to be secured by two
dogs that the lad easily slid aside.  A stout kick swung the door out 
over the foredeck, admitting more reliable light.  "Locked, not jammed,"
he said over his shoulder.  "Wonder who locked it."

"Who cares?" scoffed Creight.

Four intact side doors remained, opening into cabins, two on either side
of the passageway.  The two closer to the crumpled wreckage were open 
wide, allowing debris to spill into the passage.  The door was closed 
opposite the one through which they had come.

Creight pressed the latch.  When it resisted, he snarled over his 
shoulder, "No luck!"

"Try kicking this one," Dave suggested.

Bracing his shoulders across the narrow passageway, the larger boy swung
a booted heel with all his strength.  To his wide-eyed surprise, the 
door flew open.

Dave pushed into the room beyond with Creight hard on his heels.  This 
cabin was much larger than the first one.  Morning light seeped through
curtained portholes.  It contained two double beds with water-soaked 
mattresses.  The bedding was strewn about the carpeted deck, partly 
covering a tangle of cushions and clothing draped wetly on the aft 
bulkhead, which had apparently served as a bar.  The remains of a broken
mirror perched over smashed bottles.  Glass crumbled under their boots.
In the opposite forward corner a canvas tarpaulin was crumpled.

Dave looked around carefully.  "'A rich man's yacht,' you said.  Huh!  
Not even any liquor left."

"Bound to be some drawers or compartments or something ..."

"Yeah, under that mess where the bar used to be?  You're welcome to 
look, but don't take too long."

"Shit!" declared Creight.

"And the companionway to the bridge must be back there where 
everything's busted."

"Shit!" Creight repeated.

Suddenly the canvas tarp heaved.  Part of it folded outward.  A shapely
bare arm and shoulder appeared, followed by a head of tangled black hair
and a smooth face whose best feature was a pair of striking blue eyes.

A feminine voice croaked, "P-people?  Am I dreaming?"

The boys froze, staring at the apparition, which stared back and said 
reasonably, "You _are_ real, aren't you?"

The pitching of the deck caused Dave to stagger.  The girl watched him 
doubtfully.  "If you fall down, does that prove it?"

"You're alive," cried Dave, "in the wreck!"

"Shit!" declared Creight.  "That means she owns it."

"It does?" asked the girl wonderingly.

The tarpaulin edge moved again.  Another human head appeared, sliding 
upon the shoulder of the black-haired girl, this one enclosed in a 
tangle of reddish-blonde hair.  The tarpaulin fell farther away, 
revealing that the girls had been lying in each other's arms and 
exposing two sets of conical tits, one pair with dark nipples, the other
with pudgy pink ones.  The strawberry-blonde said, "Flubbie, are we 
dead?"

"I don't think so," said the dark one, adding towards Dave, "Are you 
really there?"

"While the boat holds together," he answered, adding over his shoulder,
"Come on, Creight: let's give them a hand."

He and Creight together lifted the tarp clear of the girls.  Each took a
girl's hand and brought the owner to her feet, although neither girl 
would give up her arm lock on the other.  They were stark naked and 
youthfully pretty despite a few zits.  "Flubbie," the dark one, was the
same height as Dave but a few inches shorter than Creight.

Nevertheless she said positively, "You're only boys!"

"You're not much older," said Dave.  "You don't either one have any 
bottom hair."

"We shaved it!" she declared.  "How'd you get on this yacht?"

"From the rocks.  We can take you safe ashore."

"I'm th-thirsty," complained the blonde hoarsely.

"No fresh water left?" asked Dave.

Flubbie pointed aft.  "It was back there with the refrigerator.  Can you
really get us out of here?"

"Yeah."  He glanced at his companion.  "You can pull, Creight, while I 
push.  Come on, let's go."

He still had the dark one's hand, but she held back.  "Before we go, you
got to promise us something."

"Don't be silly.  This boat could bust apart at any time."

"I don't care.  You've got to agree."

Dave took a breath.  "Agree to what?"

She looked into his eyes.  "Maybe it's lucky you're just boys.  We'll do
things you like -- or you _will_ like -- if you don't turn us in to the
authorities."

Creight's eyes narrowed.  Always the suspicious one, he said, "How'd 
_you_ two get on this boat?"

"Dumb asses worrying about that, both of you!" declared Dave.  He pulled
harder on the girl's hand.  "Let's get off her while we can."

One blast of the cold outside wind sent the girls shuddering back into 
the cabin.  Impatiently the boys transferred their overshirts to the 
girls' torsos, from which they draped the round hips and mostly 
concealed the furrowed pubes.  Creight, pushy as usual, fondled the 
blonde's puffy breasts.  She twisted her torso away.  "That makes me 
colder!"

"What were you doing naked anyway?" Dave demanded, stretching the itchy
wool over Flubbie's pointier tits.

"Everything -- all our clothes -- got wet when the water surged 
through."

"Must've been when she hit the rocks," mused Creight.

Now the girls came willingly onto the foredeck.  Creight looped the end
of a line around the blonde's plump waist and taking the other end, 
scampered up the dangling rope fixed to the rock above. 

"Push hard, Dave!" he called above the crashing waves and groaning boat.
Bracing himself, he pulled on the line to the blonde's waist.

Dave said to her, "Walk hand-over-hand up the rock, the way he did."

Clumsily, leaning back against Creight's hauling, she started up the 
rock.  Dave's hands lifted her butt cheeks.  Once she was off the deck,
he reversed them to push, getting his back under her.  Her flesh was 
soft and beaded with goosebumps.

Though soon out of Dave's reach, she came into range of Creight's.  He 
caught her wrists and tugging hard on her 130 pounds, pulled her the 
remaining distance atop the rock.

"Squat down and brace yourself against the wind," he told her, detaching
the waist rope and throwing the end of it down to the deck.

Flubbie, the brunette, tied it on her own waist, grabbed the secure rope
and started up the rock while Dave enjoyed comparing her wirier buttock
muscles to the feel of the blonde's.  Her progress was faster.  When she
was safe, Dave followed her with a monkey's grace.

It was crowded atop the spire.  Dave pointed out the hand and footholds
cut into its landward side and descended first as an example.  All four
youths were soon ashore.  Though still strong, wind and waves seemed 
somewhat milder.

"You boys are whizzies," admitted Flubbie, hugging them both.  "You 
saved us!"

"What's your name?" asked Creight.

"Call me Flubbie.  Everybody else does."  Her arm went around the 
blonde.  "This is Cissie.  We're both -- um -- seventeen.  What's your 
name?"

"I'm Creight and he's Dave."

Flubbie giggled.  "Crate like a bottle crate?"

"Short for Creighton."

"Oh."  She looked down at the wrecked yacht.  "While we're on names, 
that's the _Long Island Belvedere_."

He frowned.  "The _Long Island_ what?"

"_Belvedere_.  Don't ask me what it means.  We've been on it almost two
weeks.  We had three super studs with us but when we woke up last night
they were gone."

"Gone?  You mean they're in the stern?"

"Might be.  The crash woke us up.  Water came flooding in.  It was 
horrible -- and pitch dark.  Good thing Cissie and me were in the same 
bunk."

"I guess.  And your luck's holding.  What was that you said about doing
something we'll like?"

She said testily, "Can't we go somewhere out of this wind?"

"I'm thirsty," complained Cissie, the blonde.


* * *


Bent double and hurrying, the foursome skirted the "ball field," dodging
the wind-whipped bushes.  They paused at the devastation on the paved 
road.

"Wow!" exclaimed the girls.

"What a mess!" added Flubbie.

With boys' help they navigated the blown down trees, though not without
screamed complaints of scraped legs and cold toes.  Faced with 
surmounting a large pine that seemed to have been twisted out of the 
ground, Cissie asked plaintively, "Can't we just go back to the boat?"

"No, silly!" declared Flubbie.

Dave explained more kindly, "Your boat could break up any time."

"And if she doesn't," Creight said, "somebody'll try to pull her off the
rocks as soon as the waves calm down."

Dave hopped atop a smooth area of the pine trunk.  "Here, I'll give you
a hand."

"You're a sweetie," Cissie said.  Helped over the tree and standing 
beside him again on the pavement, she bent slightly and kissed his 
cheek.  Thereafter she stayed close on his heels.

Flubbie of the black hair was unconvinced.  "How'll they know it's 
there?"

"Coast Guard checks the east shore after every storm," said Dave.

"Then some grown-ups -- I mean, the Coast Guard would've rescued us."

Creight grinned sardonically.  "Yeah: authorities."

Dave added, "Unless your boat washes out of the rocks.  Didn't you feel
her rocking?"

"Yeah, but it was rocking for hours.  Why do you two keep talking about
it like it was a girl?"

Dave grinned.  "Boats _are_ girls.  You're lucky we got there before she
broke up."

"I guess so!"  She shuddered and changed the subject.  "What state are 
we in anyway?"

"State?"  Creight sniffed.  "The shipwrecked state."

"I mean like New York or Connecticut."

"You're in Maine," said Dave, "only this is an island."

"An island?"

"Yeah.  Seaward Island, 20 miles off the coast.  When we crossed the 
ridge back there, you could've seen that, if it wasn't so stormy."

"An island!" Flubbie repeated, as if trying to imagine the consequences.

Helping Cissie over another fallen tree, Dave asked her, "What port did
you sail from?"

"Sail?" said the blonde.

"From Port Jeff--" Flubbie began, hesitated then continued, "From a 
yacht basin on Long Island Sound."

"Were you going to England?"

"No.  Just ... just cruising with some guys."  She giggled insincerely.
"We were having so much fun the storm took us by surprise."

Dave asked incredulously, "You mean you didn't even monitor NDS?"

She blinked at him.  "I guess not.  What is it?"

"National Distress System.  The law makes you at least listen on Channel
16.  Who was crewing your boat?"

"The three guys?  I don't know what you mean."

"Jesus!"  He shook his head and sighed.  "You girls don't know how lucky
you are!"

Cissie smiled at him.  "We're glad you came along.  Can we get something
to drink now?"

"Yeah, another 500 yards and we'll be ...  Where _are_ we taking them, 
Creight?"

After a moment the larger boy suggested, "To my house?  The old man's 
out on patrol right now."

"That'll work till we figure something out."

"I hope it's soon," said Cissie.

Suddenly Dave froze.  She bumped into him.  "What's wrong?  Oh.  Who is
it?"

They heard masculine voices around a curve in the road.  Dave murmured,
"Sounds like my pop.  Get in the bushes, quick!"

The boys shoved the girls off the road, but penetrating the bushes was 
easier said than done.  At this point wicked briars were thick in the 
vegetable wall.

"Here," ordered Dave, "hide behind this big bush.  Sit down, bend over,
pull the wool shirts over your legs and keep your heads down.  Cissie, 
you turn with your blonde hair the other way."  He said to Creight, "We
got to meet them.  Let me do the talking."

"You will anyway."

The boys crossed the roadway into the woods on the other side, turned 
and reappeared on the pavement just as the men came into view around the
curve.  They were seven, all in dark blue work uniforms adorned with 
backpacks, belted canteens, bloused boots and loops of rope in some 
cases.  One of them, marching somewhat apart, wore Chief Warrant Officer
Insignia and a pistol holstered on his belt.  As he approached, he 
shouted, "Dave, dammit, what are you doing out here?"

"Hi, Dad."  Dave shuffled forward.  "Just looking around after the 
storm."

"Hold up a second," the man called to his detail.  "You boys been to the
point?"

"We ... we were sort of heading that way.  What're you guys doing out 
here?"

The man sniffed.  "And wearing short-sleeved shirts.  I thought you were
smarter than that.  Don't you know it's always cold after a storm?"

"It'll warm up."

"Later rather than sooner.  You boys get along home.  Tell your Mom I 
said make you some hot cocoa."

"Can't we ... go with you?  What're you scouting for?"

"You can't go with us.  This is official business."  He considered a 
moment.  "Don't see why you shouldn't take a look."

The man pulled a printout from his shirt pocket.  The boys examined it 
with interest.  Viewed from directly above, it showed a rocky shoreline,
foaming surf and a slim boat jammed into the rocks.

"Wow!" cried Dave.  "Is that at the point?"

"Just below it."

"Aircraft photo?"

"No, a lucky shot from one of the milsats, during a break in the cloud 
cover."

Dave nodded glumly.  "Yeah, official business."  He returned the 
printout.

"Go on home, Dave."

"We're heading that way."

Raising his head, the man shouted, "Detail, let's go!  Route-step 
march!"

The coastguardsmen resumed their ascent of the island.  Creight and Dave
proceeded slowly along the descending road, watching over their 
shoulders in case anyone looked back and spied the girls.  When the men
had rounded the curve out of sight, the boys reversed themselves 
quickly.  They found the girls, heads tucked between their legs, wool 
shirts pulled down around their hips.

Dave chuckled.  "Well, you were serious about hiding from the 
authorities."

"You know it!" Flubbie acknowledged, looking up and blinking.

He caught Cissie's arm and helped her to her feet.  "Come on.  The coast
is clear but we ought to hurry."

"I'm still thirsty."

Flubbie said, "They're going to the boat, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Dave admitted.

Several yards further along she said, "They'll find our stuff."

"So what?"

"Will they think we're dead?"

Dave shook his head with a wry chuckle.  "Who knew you were ever 
passengers?"

"Nobody.  Just the guys.  But our backpacks have our names on them."

"Worry about that if they're found."

"You'll hear about it, won't you?"

"Sure.  My dad will have the whole story."

"Okay."  She perked up visibly and smiled at Creight.  "You got any food
at your place?"

"I'm _thirsty_," declared Cissie.

"And drink?"

"Cokes.  Sure."

"God, I'd do anything for a cold, sweet coke," said Cissie with a sigh.

"We'll see if you mean that," Creight promised, leading them off the 
pavement onto a path through the woods.

The wood line encroached into Creight's backyard.  Dave felt that anyone
seeing the girls from the windows of his own or Ms. Ruby's home was a 
minimal risk, so urged them quickly to the unlocked back door and inside
the house.

They were in a kitchen that showed little use.  Creight pointed to the 
refrigerator.  "Help yourselves to the drinks."  He flopped into one of
the four chairs tucked under the kitchen table.  "Get Dave and me a coke
too."

"Such a gracious host!" Flubbie commented.  She opened the refrigerator
and studied its contents before transferring four bottles of soda to the
table top.  "Got any bread?"

He pointed to a breadbox on the counter, where the girl found half a 
loaf.  While Cissie swilled her cola in swallows punctuated by 
unapologetic burps, Flubbie found silverware, condiments and packaged 
meat and proceeded to make two thick sandwiches.  The girls joined the 
boys at the table and devoured the food enthusiastically.

When she had swallowed the last morsel, Flubbie sighed heavily and 
leaned back in her chair.  "God, that feels better!"  She grinned 
puckishly.  "It's nice to be saved."

Dave smiled at Cissie.  "Want another coke?"

"Only one left," warned Flubbie.

"See that carton?" said Creight, pointing to the floor beside the 
refrigerator.  "Put some more in."

Flubbie nodded as if reaching a conclusion.  "You didn't expect company,
did you?"  Kneeling, she transferred the carton's bottles into the 
machine.  Creight pushed his chair back, the better to see into the 
exposed crack of her buttocks.

As if feeling his gaze, the girl stood up and regarded him wryly.  "You
got something else for us to wear?"

"Where's your bathroom?" asked Cissie.

"Upstairs," said Creight.  He stood up and turned away.  "Come on."

At the top of the staircase he pointed into the bath.  Cissie pushed 
past him and plopped onto the toilet.  A blissful smile spread on her 
face as water hissed into the bowl.

Creight nodded.  "She had to _go_!  Give that shirt to Dave and follow 
us to the bedroom."

Cissie flung off the wool shirt without disturbing her flow.  Dave 
caught it and leaned against the doorjamb with raised eyebrows while the
other two continued down the hall.  He wanted to ask Cissie if she 
minded him watching her piss nude, but obviously she didn't.  A better 
question was _why_ didn't she mind, but he withheld it.  Long blonde 
hair draped half her back beyond interference with his frontal view.  
Shortly he was lost in the contemplation of bountiful rosy flesh and 
full breasts on swollen bases from which protruded puffy pink nipples.

Watching him watch her, she spread her legs wider and arched her back, 
thrusting out her breasts.  She noted curiously, "I didn't think boys 
your age liked girls."

"I don't know about the rest of them," said Dave with feeling, "but I 
sure do like you!"  He took a breath.  "You're beautiful!"

She smiled invitingly while tearing off toilet paper.  "Can you do 
anything?"

"You mean like sex?"

"Maybe I can pay you back by sucking your dick."

He grinned slightly.  "I wouldn't mind, but I can do a lot more than 
that."

"Who sucks your dick -- your friend, Creight?"

"Who?  He might've --  That's a stupid idea!  I only let girls do that."

She chuckled condescendingly.  "You do, huh?  You ever fuck a girl?"

"One."

"One time?"

"Lots of times.  She says my cock has got thicker."

"The girl next door, eh?"

"But not a little kid.  She's younger than you but old enough to have 
periods."

Cissie stood up, flushing the toilet.  She was slightly shorter than his
five-foot four but much heavier.  "I think you're about twelve.  How old
do you think I am?"

"Seventeen.  That's what you said."

"That's what Flubbie said."  She giggled.  "But we're not."

"Not what?"

"Not seventeen."

He waited but she gestured at the doorway.  "Aren't we supposed to 
follow the others?"

He reached around her and lowered the top toilet seat.  "Sit down 
again."

She grinned saucily.  "You got something in mind?"

"It's the way you smell."

"My piss?"

He toed off his boots and shoved down both sets of shorts.  A small but
fiercely erect penis became visible.  "Lean back."

Her eyes were on his equipment.  "That's big enough!" she declared.

His hands parted her legs.  He knelt between them and bent forward with
extruded tongue.

"Oh, heaven!" gasped Cissie, sliding her butt forward and spreading her
legs until they creaked.  "I love a good licking on a full belly."

He chuckled nasally and redoubled his efforts.  She began to moan.  Her
feet, stained with grass and mud from her morning walk, descended onto 
his back.  Cool, soft thighs tightened on his ears.  Her cries increased
in pitch and volume.  Painfully she grabbed a handful of his hair.  She
shuddered as his tongue ravaged her clit.  Neither participant had 
attention to spare for the shadows that fell in the doorway.

Creight sneered.  "You call that trouble?"

Flubbie said defensively, "I didn't know!  She makes the same noise when
somebody beats on her.  Who taught a kid like that to lick a pussy so 
good?"

"You think he's good?  I'm even better."

"Oh, yeah?"  She sneered back.  "All you do is rag."

"'Rag?'  What's that?"

She turned back up the hall, adding over her shoulder, "Don't you speak
Street?  Where're those clothes you mentioned."

He rushed after her, slipped an arm around her bare breasts and halted 
her.  "I'll show you who's better."

"At squeezing boobs?"

He rotated her slightly, thrust the other arm under her buttocks, lifted
her feet clear of the floor and marched back into the bedroom, where he
dumped her, bouncing, on his unmade bed.  Raised on her elbows, she 
watched with interest as he speedily undressed.  Her eyes rose from his
half-erection when he stopped beside the bed, fists clenched.

"You going to let me?"

She didn't laugh, though her eyes twinkled.  "I've heard that."

"Huh?  Heard what?"

"That a gentleman asks.  Guess I never met many gentlemen."

She parted her legs.  He dropped between them and applied the treatment
Ms. Ruby had painstakingly taught him.  Unlike Cissie, Flubbie was not 
audibly demonstrative, but she shuddered and shivered and eventually 
caught his hair and forced his head back.

"Oh, god.  That gets _too_ good!"  She sat up, hitched her buttocks away
and grinned.

He also sat up.  "Wasn't it better?"

"I can sure tell you've done this before!  It's your turn.  Lie back."

Her warm mouth eased his painfully hard cock.  He had enjoyed Ms. Ruby 
briefly two days ago, before the hurricane's arrival.  Now he emptied 
overfull reservoirs.  The girl's hand tugged him out of her mouth, which
remained open to catch the continuing spurts.  Her eyebrows rose and she
giggled, smiling at him.  When he finally concluded, she smacked her 
lips and said, "Bejesus, that was a butt load!"

He watched in fascination as she rolled semen over her bottom lip.  The
excess streaked her chin before she swallowed and showed a clean tongue.

"It was a lot?" he asked.

"You know it.  Good stuff!"  She took a deep breath and regarded him 
expectantly.  "A good head man like you knows what I want now."

Her acknowledgment pleased him.  "I can guess."

Smiling, he rolled forward as she lay back.  They were soon fucking 
energetically.

After awhile he said, "Hey, Flubbie, is this what you mainly did on the
boat?"

"Three guys and two gals, what do you think?"

"For two weeks?  Wow!"

She laughed.  "We had to rest a lot, silly.  Three guys aren't enough to
keep it going all the time."

"You _wanted_ to keep going?"

"Sure.  Once you get used to it ...  Beats the hell out of card games."

"Well, you've come to the right place.  If we can keep it quiet."

"You don't mean you and Dave!"

"I mean just about the whole Coast Guard station."

"Oh, goddamn!"

"You don't like the idea?"

"Don't I?  It gave me a little-O."

"A what?"

She giggled.  "You never heard of little- and big-O?  This really is an
island! ...  With how many men on it?"

"I never counted.  60 or 70, maybe."

"Oh, wow, Creight.  Let's fuck!"

"I thought we were."  Nevertheless his hips increased the pace to match
hers.

A man or boy's second climax can be a long time arriving.  Though she 
barely moaned, Flubbie dissolved often in shudders and shivers, ceasing
to rotate her hips though soon recovering, taking full advantage of his
endurance.

"Move over," ordered Dave, standing beside the squeaking bed with Cissie
just behind him.

Creight caught Flubbie's hips and hitched their bodies closer to the 
wall.  "Where've you been?"

"Fucking on a toilet is uncomfortable."  Dave guided the plump blonde to
a reclining position and promptly crawled upon her.  Now the bed 
squeaked at a faster rate.


* * *


When both boys finally expressed -- in curious synchrony -- their second
pleasure of the morning, Flubbie slithered out from under Creight and 
crawled over the panting Dave to stand on the floor, where she tugged on
the blonde's arm.

"Come on, Cissie.  We need showers."

First the blonde stretched to full length.  Then she grinned, reached 
up, cupped Dave's facial cheeks in her hands and arched up to kiss him 
soundly on the lips before saying, "I told you it was big enough.  Now 
let me out."

He rolled off her and helped untangle their legs.  The boys watched as 
the girls departed the room.

Creight sniffed, "I never fucked anybody with such dirty feet.  They got
mud on my sheet."

"When did you notice?"

"Not beforehand."

Dave laughed.  "Not when it made a difference.  What a morning, eh?  
Have you thought how they're like wives?  What'll we give 'em to wear?"

"You mean, what'll _I_ give 'em to wear!  I'm not sure my jeans'll fit 
Cissie."

"Steal a pair from your Dad."

"That might work.  And I've got a shirt that's too big.  Say, you 
getting hungry?"

"Why not?  It's about lunch time.  You got enough here to feed us?"

"I don't know."

Dave stood up, looked around and recalled that his clothes were in the 
bathroom.  "Get dressed," he said, "and go liberate some sandwiches from
the mess."

Creight brightened.  "Okay.  I know Bailey'll give 'em to me."

Dave smirked.  "And we know why, don't we?"

Creight looked away.  "Who told you?"

"Told me?  You mean you let him suck you?"

The older boy took a deep breath.  "He likes blonds."  Creight's eyes 
flashed.  "But I didn't do him back!"

Dave grinned.  "You sure?  Wouldn't the contrast be interesting?"

"Contrast?"

"Between his and mine?"

"Damn, you're a skank!  Besides, his dick's about like mine, just 
hairier."

Dave's grin became a knowing laugh.  Suddenly his eyes widened.  "Damn,
the girls are walking on my clothes with their dirty feet!"

He left the room in a flash.  Creight crawled out of bed and gathered 
his carelessly castoff garments.

In the bathroom Dave rescued his shoes, shorts and shirt, set them 
outside on the hall floor and returned to the shower stall, where he 
pulled the curtain back enough to peek at the steamy contents.  The 
girls, eyes clenched shut, were rubbing each others' bodies with soapy 
hands.  He realized they had not found washrags or towels.  Of course 
not -- at Creight's house the linen closet was in the other bathroom.  
Upon his return he passed washcloths through the curtain but decided 
reluctantly that Creight's tiny shower stall was too small for three 
bodies to fit.  Besides, he had enough sex for the present hour anyway.

When the girls emerged, he handed them towels and helped them dry off 
with special attention to tits and ass.

Flubbie grasped his small cock's crinkly shaft.  "You need a shower 
too."

"I'll get one after Creight comes back."

Cissie leaned in and kissed his cheek before announcing, "I'm hungry 
again."

"Where'd Creight go?" asked Flubbie sharply.

"To get lunch."

"Awesome!" said Cissie.

"From McDonalds?"

"Huh?  From the mess hall."  Dave chuckled.  "Seaward's too small for 
restaurants."

Cissie said, "Oh, I'd love a Big Mac."

"Didn't you hear him?" said Flubbie.  "No McD's."

"Oh, bof!"

"Don't be so upset," said Dave.  "You didn't have Big Macs on the boat."

"Yeah, and I missed 'em."

"Fast food's tasty," he admitted thoughtfully, "but so are Bailey's 
sandwiches.  Let's go down to the kitchen and wait for Creight."

"What about clothes?"

"They'll have to wait for Creight too."

As the girls followed him to the stairs, Flubbie said, "Tell us more 
about life on the island."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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