27
It was dark. It was raining. We were running. The sky had opened up, a practical tsunami coming fast and hard down through the leaves of the forest trees, and we were desperately trying to race to shelter back at camp.
My hand was around her wrist--I didn't want to lose her. We hustled and moved, over twigs and weeds, until we saw the faint light of the smoldering campfire. It was well past lights out, and the rest of our number had long since gone to bed. All but us. We laughed.
The rain was so loud, pounding on the leaves and the nylon roofs of the tents, we were desperate for shelter. As we broke through the trees, we beelined it for the first tent in view--my tent.
I laughed and swore as I fumbled with the zipper, her laughter joining mine in an intoxicating chorus as the rain pelted us. Freeing the door we quickly ushered ourselves in, closed the flap, and collapsed in a wet pile of laughter and exhausted breath.
My eyes fell onto her, this beautiful creature, and then onto her body. Her wet clothes clung tightly to her curves. Her hard nipples poked out prominently through the fabric. I wanted to taste them.
Our laughter died down, but the tension was rising. We looked at each other. We knew. The rain was loud; camouflaging. No one would know.
A crack of thunder in the distance followed a flash of lightning.
We kissed.
She took my hand and placed it on her breast.
***
"I hate camping," I thought as we neared hour two of the long drive to the campground, "I don't know why I thought this was a good idea."
This of course was a lie. I was on my way to the church youth group camping trip, my final excursion with the group before aging out and heading off to college. It's usually a pretty good time, and was always fun to spend some time away and hang out with the other kids, including the pastor's daughter, my friend Christine. This year I thought it had the potential to be great, however, because this year I had been in the midst of a torrid, clandestine, sexual affair with Christine. Christine was a girl who cared about her piety, but still had natural, carnal needs, and so Christine and I had been seeing each other the past couple months so we could indulge those needs.
It had been electric.
We had rules though. There had been no penetration, and I was forbidden to touch her anywhere below the neck. Draconian, I know, but it hadn't stopped us from getting creative and enjoying each other. I had been surprised to learn that the preacher's daughter not only loved giving head, but seemed to have an honest to goodness cum fetish.
My mind drifted, remembering the feel of her wet, tender mouth sliding around the length of my hard cock; her tongue teasing my tip; her gorgeous brown eyes looking up at me as she sucked; the way her body shook in orgasm when she touched herself; the satisfied pleasure on her face when I finally gave her all my sperm. I shifted in my seat, turning away from the person next to me as I felt my pants begin to grow tight.
Those visuals lived rent free in my memory, but right now all I could see was the back of her head and her flowing brown hair. While I would have loved to be sitting up next to her, sneaking touches and feels secretly on the long journey, I was two seats behind her in the big van, thanks to our last encounter.
She had just returned from a trip with her parents, I had just spent the night committing adultery with my friend's girlfriend Kerri, and when our bodies collided in the front seat of my car, something was off. She was much too eager, I was much too hesitant. Our arrangement had been just that--an arrangement--one that was purely physical. Up until that moment we had both been happy enough as it was, or so I thought, but now something had changed in both of us. There was something more happening between us than just mutually assured orgasm, and I don't think either of us knew how to handle it.
I also didn't think either of us really wanted to talk about it, but as the sexy plans for the weekend went out the window, I didn't think we'd have much of a choice.
But as my eyes caught the second church van coming up beside us on the highway, my mind turned to the other wrench thrown into my expectations for the weekend: Rachel.
Rachel split time between our church and her parents' church, so it's true her presence wasn't that odd, but in the entire time I had known her, she had never come to the annual camping trip. She had even, on occasion, been known to talk about how camping was one of her least favorite activities, so obviously my suspicions were piqued.
Why now? Why this trip? Was it because it was the last event before we left for college? Or could it have something to do with the last time she was in a tent, the night of her senior prom where I fingered her to orgasm and she jerked me off until I exploded all over her hands and streaked her naked tits with my cum?
Oh, those tits. The biggest I had seen in my young life. I shifted again, remembering the way they jiggled and shook as both her hands stroked me; how my cock came so tantalizingly close to slipping between them. And when she finally made me explode, the sight of those tits lashed by a whip of my cum made my orgasm even stronger. It was an already unforgettable experience made even more so by the sharp come down of what came next.
Passions fading, Rachel had taken stock of the fluids that covered her, my fluids, and responded the way any young, sexually naive person would hope their partner would express their acceptance of what they just shared--by exclaiming "Ew, gross!"
It was only two words, but they were two words that honestly hurt. We had just shared something extremely private with each other--I had shared with her my body, out of control, at its most vulnerable, and her reaction was to recoil in disgust. Maybe not the end of the world in the grand scheme of things, but for someone having their first sexual experience, it set an odd tenor.
We hadn't really talked much after the awkward end to that night, but there was something in the air the few times we had interacted since, something that told me the night was memorable for her, despite her ultimate reaction. The way her chest flushed when we made eye contact across the room at church, certain cues I picked up on in those times we saw each other at the cafe, her willingness to follow up a bawdy joke with me online--it all made me wonder if her appearance here had anything to do with me. With us. But I was probably just overthinking it. Besides, she had brought another guy with her; I couldn't imagine she had any designs on me. But still...it all seemed suspicious.
This guy she brought, I learned, was named Devon, and was that same handsome African American guy I had seen her with a couple times at the cafe. He seemed very friendly, and I'd learn later on that he also went to Rachel's other church. I didn't know the guy, and he seemed nice enough, but as soon as I saw him, I felt that cold pang of jealousy spread through my stomach. I couldn't explain it-- I wasn't interested in Rachel at that moment, my mind was fully set on handling the Christine situation, but that's the funny thing about the young, male, hormonal mind, isn't it? Jealousy born of nothing but proximity and speculation.
Maybe it was because here was a guy she seemed to have chosen to spend time with, instead of awkwardly rejecting. Maybe it was because there was a chance he was regularly getting to play with Rachel's massive, spectacular tits. Maybe it was because there was a chance she didn't think his cum was gross.
After what felt like an endless ride, we finally made it to our destination. The campsite was remote, but had easy access to a big, beautiful lake. Our group occupied two sections of a fairly sparsely-populated camping area. Down the path past the office and the general store, around a couple turns past the public bathrooms, we stopped and unloaded. Our youth pastor gave us a run down of the amenities we could expect, and seemed to derive a certain amount of glee from how short the list was. Her husband just laughed and assured us it wasn't going to be nearly as bad as we thought.
Our youth pastor Ginny and her husband Todd always came alive when we did outdoorsy stuff. There was always a certain extra pep in their step, as though there was a certain amount of freedom in getting so far away from society for a few days. Normally they were polite and proper as could be, but I couldn't help but notice that once we hit the woods their extremely chaste exterior cracked ever so slightly with an increase of winks, pinches, and the occasional clandestine butt smack.
They were an attractive couple, and it was difficult not to notice that for Ginny especially, her change in attire, from conservative blouses and floor-length skirts to partially unbuttoned over shirts and leg-baring short shorts, seemed to signal some relief; an exhale of expression. Normally completely hidden from view, I could tell she was hiding nice breasts under her usual attire, and her legs were long and smooth.
Watching her give her husband a smile and a swat on the behind as she passed by, I couldn't help but wonder what it looked like when they fucked. Ginny had been one of my early crushes, and I had always been extremely jealous of her husband. But now, I had learned multiple times over that a demure, church-going exterior was very possibly just a cover for a voracious sexual appetite, and I was dying to know if the same was true for Ginny. What her favorite position was. How nasty they got behind closed doors. What she sounded like when she orgasmed. Did she like sucking his dick? Did they roleplay? Did he like to cum on her face?
Christine and I passed each other a few times while we unloaded the vans and began setting up the site, but few words were said. I found a shady spot at the edge of the treeline to stake my tent, and I couldn't help but notice that Christine chose hers about as far to the other side of the site as you could get. She was sharing the tent with a younger girl, which meant that even under the best of circumstances there'd be no hanky panky at her place.
I, on the other hand, had a tent all to myself. The younger kid I was supposed to share with backed out at the last minute, and so, with an even number of tents for an odd number of people, I lucked out.
"Hey, Tim," I heard a voice call from behind me, and turned to see Rachel walking over with Devon. She smiled and waved, and approached with no hesitation. We used to converse fairly regularly, especially online, but ever since prom night we hadn't said much to each other. "How's it going?" Her casual tone seemed to be trying to ignore any awkwardness we might have had between us.
"Hey Rachel," I said as cordially as possible. I couldn't quite muster excitement, but produced enough forced enthusiasm as to not be rude. "It's good to see you!"
It honestly wasn't a lie. Before the awkwardness I really did enjoy talking and hanging out with Rachel, and I had been crazy for those massive breasts of hers as soon as my burgeoning libido developed.
And boy did she look good today. A totally different body type than Christine, she was generously thick in all the right places. Places that were testing the limits of what her clothing could handle. She wore straight-cut jeans that didn't accent features, but hung off her curvy hips in a way that was impossible to hide what was inside them. A thin button down blouse hung open off her shoulders, tied up beneath her bust, showing some stomach, and giving me a great look at the shirt she wore underneath--a shirt that stopped me in my tracks when I clocked it.
Tightly hugging her midsection, and wrapped like a second skin around those glorious globes of hers was a green, spaghetti-strapped tank top--the same tank top she wore, hard-nippled and braless, in the pictures she sent the night she asked me to the prom. This couldn't be a coincidence, could it?
"This is Devon," she said. He put his hand out and I shook it, and we made pleasant small talk, but I couldn't hope to tell you what either of us said, as my mind was totally on that green shirt doing its best to contain Rachel's tits.
