Brunette on Blonde, Part 1 - The Brunette
This was the original story I had intended to be a standalone. An anonymous comment however made me think about a sequel. The subsequent new backstories led the timeline forwards and backwards.
The stories should be read in sequence to get the full effect. Later parts will not make full sense without knowledge of the earlier parts. The original story has been divided into two, more manageable chunks.
This first part is about delaying sex, so it takes its time to get to it. Move on if you prefer instant gratification.
All participants were over 18..
The First Day
It was the Seventies, just as cheap flights were opening up holidays for the more adventurous to exotic locations. Yet British holiday camps were still the place for ordinary peoples' vacations in Britain. This particular camp was unusual in being on an island off the French coast although decidedly British in nature. Its vibe was somewhere on the spectrum between
Dirty Dancing
and
Hi De Hi
. Based around a hotel on a clifftop above a picturesque bay, most campers were accommodated in chalets; some deluxe versions even had ensuite facilities. For the others it was communal toilet and shower blocks set away from the chalets.
The Kerslakes were booked into the hotel, which was not as grand as it may sound. Ben Kerslake was an insurance broker in the City. He affected the pretentious air of a City gent, but he was in reality little more than an over-paid clerk. Peggy was a stay-at-home mum, who did charity work and was a prominent figure in the local Women's Institute.
Heyday Holidays hotel was like a large, extended Edwardian house. It had two wings with odd-shaped bedrooms containing washbasins. Full facilities were to be found down the end of the corridor, but it was comfortable.
As a singleton, Alex had a twin-bedded room to himself, being too old to share with his parents. Having his own bedroom could have presented possibilities, had it not been for his incipient shyness with young women. Being 18, this would be his last holiday with his parents before university that Autumn; a milestone he intended to be the start of a new life
They had arrived on an early morning flight on Saturday, which was the traditional changeover day for holiday camps. Alex dumped his suitcase in the room and immediately set off exploring. The sea was the main draw and he headed off in that direction.
The holiday camp complex nestled (perhaps it is still there) on a high cliff with panoramic views over a picturesque horseshoe bay, two-thirds surrounded by the cliff. Little of the bay and none of the beach could be seen from the cliff top, which gave it an air of mystery to newcomers.
The hotel had been built several hundred yards from the cliff edge. The holiday camp had hedged its bets on potential cliff erosion by building the chalets around and behind the hotel, an appreciable distance from the cliff edge. The sacrificial intervening space was used as a sports and games green.
The bay was an impressive sight, being two-thirds enclosed by the high rocky cliffs . Facing south west, nature had carved it out into a spectacular horseshoe shape. The opening to the bay compressed tidal sea water entering and leaving the semi-enclosed arena, creating a tidal race at the mouth. That made swimming near the bay's entrance treacherous at times, though the water closer to the beach was safe and relaxing. The centuries of tides had created a magnificent, sloping, crescent-shaped sandy beach, piled highest against the cliff walls at the back of the bay. It was - maybe it still is - a perfect holiday location when the sun shines.
Access to the beach was by a shallowly sloping cliff path with occasional steps, cut into the craggy walls of the cliff. Next to the clifftop entrance to the path was a café-cum-gift shop, most of whose customers would be camp residents due to its isolated location. The shop's business plan looked smart: catch them on their way down to the beach to get them to buy inflatables, and buckets and spades; and be a focal point of their interest when the beach is inaccessible due to bad weather or at high tides. There was another, smaller kiosk down at the bottom of the cliff path in the bay at the rear of the beach, on a short raised jetty, but it only opened at those times in the day when tide allowed access to the beach.
Caution was advised since the relatively narrow opening to the bay could cause fast water flows on onrushing and outgoing tides.
At high tides, only the highest part of the beach would remain uncovered, well away from the foot of the cliff path. The rest of the beach would be submerged. That made the whole area inaccessible on foot at those times. Accordingly, a notice board at the clifftop entrance to the path warned of the risks of getting cut off on the beach. The board included a clock face with moveable hands which was adjusted twice daily to show the times of the high tides. Below the clock was a notice. "The cliffs and beach are subjected to occasional rock falls. All persons going down to the beach do so at their own risk and should take care at all times. Do not use the beach during high tides. Heyday Holidays accept no responsibility for your safety in this public area."
On that first day, Alex stood at the entrance to the cliff path, reading the notice board, his pulse racing with excited anticipation. But the clock was showing a mid-afternoon high tide. That explained why there was a largish group of older teens milling around and chatting outside the gift shop, instead of being on the beach. There were about a dozen of them, chatting, joshing and jostling each other playfully; the remnants of the previous week's intake. Most of them sported tans or areas of redness which suggested that they were second-weekers. Several turned to appraise him, as his pale skin instantly gave away his newbie status. It was daunting to run the gamut of their collective scrutiny, and he quickly retreated into the shop. A youth made some witty remark as he passed, which provoked loud mirth.
Alex assumed that it had to be something disparaging about him.
The shop was piled high on one side with tourist tat: souvenirs, straw hats, shorts, beach ware and buckets and spades. Tables were laid out in the larger, café side for partakers of teas, coffees, snacks, or light meals.
The interior was hot, stuffy, and busy with queueing customers. He grabbed some sunglasses at random and joined the typically orderly British line to pay for them at two souvenirs' tills. In front of him stood a very large mountain of a man in tee shirt and shorts. The man was sweating profusely, no doubt from carrying so much weight which provided unwanted insulation on a warm summer's day like that. A furnace-like blast of heat from his body forced Alex to retain some distance between them.
The man's looming presence only made the already oppressive interior of the shop more overwhelming. After some puffing and tutting and shifting impatiently from one foot to the other, the impatient man gave up waiting and stepped out of the queue. It left a large gap that his monstrous form had commanded. Miraculously, the atmosphere was transformed by his departure.
The air seemed to cool - and at the furthest reach of that newly created space stood a divine, long-haired young blonde creature in a yellow stringy bikini. She had her back to Alex, and what a stunning sight it was. Hipster bikinis were all the rage in the Seventies, though they might appear dated today when high-waisted bottoms accentuate buttock cheeks and shorten exposed backs. Hipster bottoms teased more for what they implied but didn't reveal. They also showcased slim and elegant backs and small waists. This particular blonde sported a light golden tan on her mostly exposed skin. Alex admired her slim waist, and her curved hips, head-lined by the low-slung panties. Her shape from the rear looked sensational, making his impressionable stomach perform somersaults at so much gorgeous, exposed flesh.
An irritated cough from behind reminded him of another British trait: an aversion to even minimal gaps in a queue. He felt the overwhelming pressure of a legion of craning heads behind him, willing him to move forward to occupy the unused space - as if making the line shorter somehow speeded up the service. He coloured and shuffled forwards. That brought him closer to the young vision in the skimpy bikini. His eyes fixed on the hint of bottom cleavage peeping out from above her skimpy panties. She exuded a subtle but heady odour of fragrant body and perfume. She was the type of inaccessible female that he would instinctively shrink away from in any situation. But now he was within inches of her: an absolute dream of a young woman who should be on a pedestal and not in the prosaic environment of a holiday camp shop.
Alex was not accustomed to being close to such exposed female flesh. His body instantly reacted embarrassingly to its teasing proximity. He was literally trembling with the experience of what he was witnessing. All the slack in his shorts was quickly commandeered by his swelling manhood. He guessed that she was about his age, but far more stunning than any girl he had ever seen before, perhaps would ever see again. Even from behind, he was convinced that she must be impossibly beautiful. He steeled himself, though because, from past experience, her front might well be a disappointment. Nobody could be that all-round gorgeous. Some sixth sense caused her to turn her head, perhaps to look back at whatever had happened to the heavily breathing, sweaty monster who had lately stood so close behind her. Her eyes locked onto his, then swept down and up his body. He shrank mentally from her spellbinding gaze.
Yet he had been wrong, her face was strikingly beautiful, in an understated, naturally perfectly proportioned way. She was simply exquisite from any and every angle. Her half-turned shoulder also revealed a sideways view of a captivating cleavage between two firm and perfectly rounded breasts, probably 'C' cups. The bikini top clearly had no reinforcing, which those outstanding breasts simply did not need.
Alex wanted to retreat into a protective ball under her prolonged, piercing gaze. To be found wanting as a physical specimen by such a vision of unparalleled beauty felt a cruel confirmation of his inadequacy.
But she smiled, or was it a smirk? She turned to face front, and he could breathe again.
The memory of that first sight of her did not diminish across the decades, but he many times particularly recalled her light golden brown tan, and the finely, minute golden down on her lower back, which was picked up by the sunlight streaming in through an open skylight. Her body was a temptation too far to touch, yet was like a magnet to his itching fingers, to caress and explore.
Fortunately, they were both served at that point at the adjacent tills. He sneaked a quick glance at her from the side. She was insanely beautiful. She had a straight nose, large eyelashes, and generous lips, to add to the sexy side profile of her body he had previously enjoyed. She must have sensed him looking for she turned her head to glance at him again. Her full-on face She was impossibly beautiful. She seemed quite out of place in such a commonplace environment as a holiday camp. She was more suited to the glamour of the Cote d'Azur, on the deck of a yacht of some millionaire. Her hazel eyes perfectly complemented her tanned skin and blonde hair. Those eyes enticed with their natural, come-on suggestiveness. This was a young woman accustomed to being admired, and polite enough to acknowledge it with good grace.
He followed her out of the shop at a discreet distance. The group of youths seemed to swarm around her and swallow her up in their midst. Their collective mass began to drift off as if sharing a collective mind, with her at its epicentre. She was screened closely by three young men in a curious triangular formation who thereby isolated her from the other girls; and more importantly, other men. From the looks of them he decided that they were the alpha males who would repulse any lesser interlopers. But which of them had the greatest chance of landing that prize? He assumed that this assorted collection of young adults had been together for a week, but had not paired off. Perhaps there had been no prize?
It was now apparent that they had been waiting outside the shop for her. Alex watched with fascination as young people chatted in twos or threes, but always kept within range of the blonde in their midst. They strolled back casually across the green towards the chalets. She struck Alex in one respect as seeming like a feminine pied piper. But in another way, she looked like a prisoner of her alpha guards. He wondered what it felt like to have such drawing power.
His swimming trunks felt tight and uncomfortable under his shorts so he returned to his room in the hotel to change. Try as he might he could not rid himself of the vision of that beautiful blonde.
Dinner in the dining hall was an absurdly pretentious affair. Holidaymakers dressed up to the nines despite the stuffy heat, as if to impress the other campers with their refinement. Then afterwards, most would decant to the clubhouse ballroom for an evening of low-class entertainments starting with bingo, followed by a motley variety of visiting entertainments from comedians, singers, dancing showgirls (costumes designed for family entertainment), speciality acts, and dancing to the 'resident band'. Every night had a different bill of itinerant entertainers.
