First Summer Getting Kate To Bed

The Sunday I unleashed my hormonal lust on Greg after nippers turned out to be quite an adventurous one.

As Greg, Kate and I had been packing up after Nippers a guy appeared and hovered around until Kate noticed him. She then introduced us to Henri – a guy on holiday she'd meet who she was planning to hang out with that day.

Physically he was a fine specimen. Square jawed and well built, he could have come straight from the front cover of a woman's 'bodice ripper' novel. He was Kate's typical male selection. But there was more to him than that.

In the nearly five years between when I'd turned 16 and I'd meet Greg I thought I'd developed a pretty good creep radar – identifying those guys whose interest in me was limited to the space between my legs. As I shook hands with Henri that radar was pinging like mad. Looking him in the eye as I momentarily held his hand, a mental picture formed of a bird of prey, its talons firmly pinning Kate's body to the ground in preparation for dissecting her, while already eyeing me off for the next meal. Superficially it might have been just a sinister edge I detected in his over friendliness and I might have set aside my judgement on that if his reaction to Greg when he was identified as my boyfriend hadn't been chillingly cool. But there was definitely also something in the way he looked at me.

We had a brief conversation talking about plans for the day, during which we revealed we usually had Sunday night dinners at one of the local pizza places.

We crossed paths with them a couple of times during the day. I couldn't help notice Kate had set out to impress this guy. While swimming at the beach she had changed from her lifesaver swimwear into her gorgeous sexy one piece and when we saw them in town later in the day she was wearing over that a flattering sheath mini-dress with a plunging neckline. She looked scalding hot. If I'd noticed one thing with Kate, how much effort she made to look good for a guy was a fairly good indicator of her intentions with him. Whatever might be my personal impression of Henri, unless he really blew it, I'd guessed this guy was in for a good night.

As it turned out, it was just as well we'd told Kate about our plans for the night. We were sitting at the pizza place at around 8 pm having just finished our meal when Kate staggered in looking for us; seriously drunk and highly agitated. Now Kate is not usually a heavy drinker. She does more than me, but I'd never before seen her anything like as she was then; drunk to the point of being on the edge of passing out. And that's the other thing. Her reaction to drink is normally just to get happy, relaxed and outgoing.

This was all different. She was volcanically angry – not with us but with something that had happened to her. Her voice was loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the place and she was talking about the guy trying to drug and rape her; using a few ripe swear words in the process.

There was no doubt she needed our urgent help, so Greg helped her back out of the Restaurant towards his car while I settled the bill. I caught up with them as Greg was trying to support her with one arm while ferreting about for his car keys with the hand of the other. We got the back door of the car open and settled her on to the back seat facing us with her feet still on the pavement as we started to ask her what had happened.

It was difficult to get a clear answer. As she faded in and out of consciousness she just kept repeating that he'd tried to drug and rape her. When I tried asking directly whether he'd actually hurt her or interfered with her, she just kept repeating the same thing. And she was clearly very angry about what had happened. For us the question was whether we take her home, to the police or to the hospital. I figured without a clear statement of what had happened, the police were unlikely to be of much help and if we took her to the hospital, we'd wait for hours in the emergency department just to be told to take her home and put her to bed.

In the end a couple of things made us decide to take her home. Firstly she didn't look as though she'd been interfered with. There was no sign of bruising or other physical injury and her clothes were not dishevelled. I could see she had her one piece swimsuit still on underneath her dress, so if she'd been sexually assaulted I figured it's likely the assailant would have tried removing all her clothing. From where I was kneeling next to the car door as I spoke to her I could also get a good look at the crutch of her swimmers. Even in the approaching dusk, the pattern of the dried salt on them showed no particular dampness. I guessed I could conclude at the very least that it was unlikely she'd been subject to any incident of unprotected sex and probably no actual sex at all.

Secondly, her words were always that 'he tried'. Nothing she said indicated anything beyond trying to drug her had actually happened. That was not to say that he hadn't committed any number of potentially criminal acts, but absent physical evidence or even a witness able to give a lucid description of what happened, I guessed the police would cause more stress to Kate than they would to him.

So we decided to take her home; hoping her mother would be there to assist with any further decisions or action. Greg got a towel to put across her lap while I sat in the back seat with her as Greg drove the short distance. Once we'd settled her in to the car and got moving she fell almost instantly asleep.

We got her out of the car by supporting her one on either side; rousing her just enough that she was able to support her own weight on her legs. We'd only gone a few steps when that support disappeared – her legs collapsing under her. That caught us off guard and we were only able to slow the rate of decent as she went down inelegantly to the ground on her bum; her knees up and legs spread untidily apart.

Life got more complex when with an "I've got to pee" we heard the unmistakable hiss of a woman urinating accompanied by a relieving sigh from her. Almost instantly she then threw up down the front of her dress; it spilling all the way down from her upper chest to the top of her thighs. As we were caught off guard by this she fell over on her side as a second vomit spread under her face and through her hair. Greg immediately went in to first aid mode, checking her breathing and, since she was now in any case lying on her side, moving her arm and leg to hold her there while we worked out what to do.

Greg hated the thought of her lying in her own vomit, so his first action was to check out a nearby bit of grass for bindies and ask me to help move her over there where he repositioned her in the recovery position. It was at this stage I really hoped Kate's mother was home. She was soiled with her own urine and vomit and, while I was happy to help get things right, some decisions were going to have to be made and things were going to get personal in a way I wasn't entirely comfortable with. Still, there were no lights showing in the house, so as I went and knocked on the door I wasn't optimistic.

No answer. We were on our own.

She had swimmers on and it was a warm night, so getting her soiled dress off her seemed to be a no brainer. A lot of the vomit had run off while she was on her side, but it was still pretty disgusting. Greg held her in a sitting position while I lifted the dress over her head; trying to make sure nothing rubbed in her face and as little as possible dropped back over her as it came off.

After that the decisions got more complex. In the back of my mind I was still worried we might be mucking up any evidence if she did want to have the police go after the guy. I took the only approach I could think of and ask myself what would I want? On the limited evidence I had it was likely nothing actually happened beyond him getting her drunk and maybe drugged while on the other hand her physical state sort of demanded early action. I think I would want to be cleaned up.

Influencing that was the fact that, with the active sex life Greg and I had being enjoying, I'd always been a little paranoid about UTI's; taking whatever precautions I could to avoid them. I was no expert, but had I been Kate in her current state that would have been top of my list of concerns at this point.

At a second level there was the question of modesty; especially as I was sure I would require Greg's help with a lot of things. Again, if it was me, I would be mortified that I was in the state I was, but knowing afterwards that a good friend had seen me wholly or partially naked would be the least of my worries. And in that area I think Kate had a lesser sense of modesty than I had.

Finally I didn't want Kate's mum coming home half way through and misunderstanding the situation.

The vomit had gone down her cleavage, so there was still a considerable mess captured within her one piece. That would need to come off and she would really need a shower of some sort. While Greg watched over her I fiddled in her bag and found her house keys. At this stage I was uncertain as to whether to hose her off in the yard or use the bathroom. An outdoor hosing completely lacked dignity – especially as we had to strip her - and was a matter of last resort, but there are many bathrooms I wouldn't want to deal with a semi-conscious person in, so I needed to check hers out.

It was OK. The shower recess was spacious and easily accessed and the screen was made of solid looking shatter-proof glass. With Greg's help I thought we could keep her safe while using it, so that was the better option.

I've always had an issue with other people's vomit – I doubt I'm alone in that - so didn't savour what we needed to do. I could see that, even just moving her, things were going to get messy. Since I was still wearing a bikini underneath some reasonably good going out clothes, I stripped down to that – leaving my clothes on the living room lounge – and suggested Greg do the same to protect his good clothes.

I wanted Kate's mum to get a sense of the situation if she did come home, so suggested to Greg he put her dress – with the soiling prominently displayed - on the front porch. At the same time I suggested he get our towels from the car and put them in the bathroom as I suspected we'd be needing them.

Kate was now partially responsive; able to obey some commands and grunt an assent to courses of action explained to her. It meant that she could support some of her own weight and shuffle her feet as we lifted her up, one under each arm, and part guided, part dragged her through to the bathroom, trying not to leave any trail as we did.

Greg was inclined to put her under the shower still in her swimmers. I had two problems with that. Superficially there was stuff that had gone down the front of them, so it didn't really clean her up properly. I suppose we could have managed to clean that out and even rinse them well enough the urine ceased to be a problem. But we'd need to take them off to dry her and put her to bed, so it didn't achieve anything modesty wise. More importantly, if any evidence was going to be retained, it might be in the swimmers, so I wanted to defer a decision on getting them wet or otherwise more contaminated than they were. I thought her urine might even reveal whether she'd been drugged; although frankly I really knew nothing about the issue and even at the time thought I'd been watching too many CSI type programmes.

Mind you even that decision wasn't a no brainer. The swimmers were one of her favourites and ones she was very proud off – if only because they were a very expensive brand. Deep-veed at the front – where they plunged to about half the distance between the bottom of her breasts and her navel; at the back they were cut very low – showing little more than a low cut bikini bottom. That meant the sides also dropped almost vertically to where they met the line of the bottom section on her hips. The top part was supported by two thin cross over strings which also came down to the hips on the opposite side.

The result was very sexy; maybe even more sexy than most bikinis. I dare say she'd intentionally chosen them to wear when she thought she'd be spending the day at the beach with someone special. It showed plenty of cleavage and underboob, while still looking like something you could be seen in public in. In short, it was well designed and had a stunning pattern on the front.

I'd been keeping an eye out for something similar for myself. It shows their impact that when I'd asked Greg if he'd like me in a suit like that he replied, in typical Greg fashion, that I'd look "cock burstingly sexy" in them. That was probably as much a comment as to how they looked on Kate as to how he thought they'd look on me, but I was willing to take it as encouragement anyway. But I knew from my search that they weren't easily replaced.

I was concerned the acids in her body fluids might damage them if they were left unrinsed until the morning. Here again, if I'd been in Kate's position I might have preferred them to be rinsed; but it was still a decision I could defer or maybe even lay off to her mum if she came home.

If Kate had been traumatised by some inappropriate behaviour of the guy I didn't want to make things worse, so I explained to her that we needed to take her swimmers off to wash her and asked her if that was OK. She seemed to understand and nodded her assent. It was fortunate that she'd seemed to have lost some of the anger and agitation; leaving her just very drowsy.

We rolled the strings off each shoulder and Greg supported her while I pulled the swimmers down her legs. I'm going to plead guilty to the fact I had a good perve at her well waxed fanny while I was down there. Ever since I'd had my first wax job I'd been aware I didn't exactly have what you might call a designer vagina. The girl doing my wax job had always reassured me it was perfectly normal and of course there was no way I was going to have any silly operation to make it more perfect. But I'd never really seen anyone else's, so had nothing to compare mine against. At least now I could console myself with the fact that – as much as she might have a perfect body – her fanny was no less untidy than mine; and probably more so. If I got some satisfaction from a momentary thought that at least gave me one advantage over Kate it really is just an admission of how insecure her body otherwise could make me feel; so more an indictment of me than her.

Fortunately Kate was responsive enough that I could get her to raise her feet alternatively so I could get her swimmers out from under her. Then I placed them safely on the bathroom vanity unit.

Greg and I briefly discussed how to shower her. Greg was in favour of propping her in a sitting position in the corner and leaving me to the job. His judgement was obviously strongly influenced by both his embarrassment and arousal at having to deal with Kate in this naked state.

Funny isn't it? Every Sunday for years he's interacted with her – sometimes in a very tactile way, and in the course of working together on rescues and other lifesaver work, sometimes even in a very intimate way – while she was wearing nothing more than a patch of ultra-thin swimwear. Like every other male on the beach he'd also probably got innumerable close-up of her tits as she repeatedly had blow-outs from her always insecure swimwear tops in the surf. All this caused not the slightest reaction from him. Now I get his help to take off her swimmers because they are covered in vomit and urine and he grows an enormous boner! I even had a giggle to myself as I noticed him have to adjust it so that it pointed upwards rather than be captured by his swimmers and be held pointing outwards.

Still, I had concerns with Greg's approach to washing her, so he wasn't getting off that easily. I thought she could still slump over on her side and hit her head on the tiles if I was trying to wash and support her at the same time Plus, since the shower was in a fixed high position and the only adjustment I had was the angle at which it pointed, it would be much harder to wash her; especially as it would be nearly impossible for me not to get in the path of the water flow.

I asked Greg if he'd help me prop her standing against the wall while I washed her front. It made it easy to make sure she didn't slump to the front or sides; the only real risk being that her legs gave out and she went straight down. So while pinning her shoulder to the wall with one hand, I jammed my knee against the wall between her legs to make sure even that would result in a controlled drop and with the remaining hand went about directing the shower stream over her face and chest; soaping it up and rinsing it off; although getting me completely wet in the process.

Needless to say, this was intimate contact. No wonder Greg had become aroused. It's impossible when you're this intimate with someone not to notice their body – more so when it's Kate. Not for the first time I admired her figure. For their size her breasts had always seemed unnaturally perky – defying gravity. Now she was completely naked before me nothing detracted from that impression. Her nipples were perfectly proportioned to her breasts and rose quickly to the touch of my palm as I soaped them to wash away the smell of the vomit still lingering on her body. Finally, even in her slumped state, her stomach was as flat as a tack and simply drew attention down to her hairless crutch.

There was one other act of intimacy I felt needed to be done. Because of a concern about UTI's I steeled myself to wash the front of her crutch in the same way I would if it was my own body. I wasn't very comfortable about doing it and once again asked Kate if it was OK. Again she agreed, although things took a different turn when she slurred out in a drunken sultry voice as I was finishing the job –

"That was nice, do it again."

It reduced Greg and me to a fit of giggles which Kate then joined in with and totally broke the tension of the whole exercise.

Maybe revived a bit by the shower, Kate was starting to return more to the Kate we knew and loved. A very drunken, and as events were to show, uninhibited form of her and one that was still at imminent risk of passing out; but her good humour and easy nature – which in normal circumstances was simply reinforced by a bit of drink - was starting to reassert itself.

I told her I needed to turn her around to wash her back and her hair. She slurred out –

"That's OK, Greg can hold me."

Before either of us could react very much she'd turned towards him, put her arms around his shoulders, and slumped the length of her body against him. As he put supporting arms around her back, Greg gave me a quizzical look; seeking permission not to react too strongly to the intensely personal circumstance he found himself in. I just grinned and rolled my eyes telling him - while at the same time directing them both with my hands – that I thought it would be safer if he stood with his back resting on the wall space previously occupied by Kate.

That left me with two hands to attend to washing Kate's back and hair; even if I was dealing with an attractive naked woman in full frontal contact with my only partially dressed and by now very physically aroused boyfriend. Kate didn't make things any easier for Greg when she pulled her head away from his shoulders a bit, separated their bodies, looked down the length of the gap between them and blurted out –

"You are big aren't you? You must be pleased to see me."

She then slumped back in to full frontal contact and circled her crutch against his.

Greg was looking helplessly at me, blushing like you wouldn't believe; not wanting to do anything to upset her again but clearly not wanting to upset me either. I could only burst out laughing at her interesting use of the cliché and Greg's discomfort; which at least gave him some reassurance I wasn't going to kill him afterwards. Searching for some way to control her which retained the now good humour of the situation, he only got Kate to stop for a moment when he told her –