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.
