Chapter 1
Barbi Wallace walked slowly along rustic Oak Street, her dark hair blowing in the wind that filtered through the trees that lined the street with the glorious greens of spring.
She was a strikingly beautiful woman. Dark and with startling green eyes that told of a trace of Irish far back in her time. She was of medium height with a well-shaped head and a full curving figure that filled out her top and tweed sweater beautifully. Her face was beautiful with the fine regularity that showed good care, and the poise and expression that comes with the peace of hidden age.
Her lips were full and, perhaps just a trifle too sensual to quite fit the calm and large, wide green eyes above them. Her lips were the only feature of her lovely face that didn't tell the same story as the rest of her features. Here one might have seen hints of smoldering passion and unbridled lust that needed but the right match to set into a blazing riot of uncontrolled sexuality and disregard for the life she had made for herself with her husband.
But the match had never been fit to her life. She had done all the normal, expected things-all the things a middle-class woman usually does. She had been educated at a good college, achieved just about as much academically as had been expected of her by her family. She had been a noticed, but not outlandishly so, popular girl and when she was eighteen almost had an affair. In the best tradition of the upper-class family she had grieved for her loss when he married someone else precisely the correct length of time and got back into the business of living neither with more or less passion than before.
Her' father, retiring more and more into himself after the death of his wife, had let his beautiful daughter do as she pleased. And it had not been a difficult decision to make, for Barbi was a good girl, one who could be trusted to do the right thing at the right time, and in general, behave as a well-educated, well-behaved and virginal daughter should.
She had run through the usual gamut of adolescent emotion. At fourteen, she had a crush on a female schoolteacher and as this had been entirely unreciprocated, it had died a-quick death. Everyone who knew about it believed it. Her friends were very worried for her. That it wasn't true is for the moment neither here nor there, but it was believed that she might be a lesbian by Barbi herself. That it wasn't true was the point of her life. After leaving her school and going to college and making her debut in the social world she fell violently in love with an exciting rock star that she had met at a concert. Here she was again unfortunate. He turned out to be a homosexual and when his chance for her seduction was willfully given him by the adoring girl, he took his passion out on a hotel bellboy and his prick was lost forever! Almost destroyed by this non-affair for the better part of a month, she rallied, however, to fall in love with a man of almost fifty, a supposed friend of her father who was not gay or, a real friend of her father's.
In fairness to him it was the girl who pursued him with sexiness and cunning and worked to seduce him in ways that many a great man of moral character might have fallen to with less resistance.
He finally gave in, and with great heat one fine evening in June, in the garden at her father's house, beneath an apple tree, he left Barbi with very bloody thighs, torn underwear, a torn hymen and a feeling of vague disappointment.
Having been deflowered, she was thereafter a little more careful in her dealings with men. She had been eighteen when she had first felt herself being humped by a man and she was nearly twenty before another man pulled her panties down her thighs and pushed his grimly, searching fingers deep into the softness of her warm cunt. She had tolerated this attention before with patience, always insisting on calling a halt when an attempt was made to actually prick her. She was, in effect, a prick-teaser without knowing it, but on this occasion she met her match. Perhaps she let him play just a few seconds too long with her quivering clitoris. Perhaps she let him slip his deft fingers just a little too deep into her straining cunt. Whatever, when she felt the burning touch of his prick against her cool thighs and felt his knob nuzzle inside the crisp curls that shielded the entrance to her hole, she pushed at his hips. It was only make believe a relic of her upbringing a gesture of dying innocence a flourish of fading girlhood. For as his throbbing penis dipped into the soft moistness of her writhing love nest she grabbed his straining ass with both feverish hands and pushed him deep in her.
This was the first time that a man had come inside her and while he she couldn't remember his name had gone to get her a calming drink, she put the back of her hand hard against her cunt and let his hot spunk fill her palm while she thought of the strange but great differences between men and women.
On hearing him return she had wiped her burning pussy with her white panties and stored them in her purse for future examination and pleasant memories. Again this sexual interlude had been brought about under the clean skies and on the soft grass of home.
Her lover of that night had tried to make a full-fledged love affair of the occasion, but she had resisted him, not so much with skill as with a cold shoulder, because of his gossip as a queer.
Her next affair had been less romantic in setting but much more exciting in pleasure.
Her father had been out of town. She had called a man to repair the television set. They had talked and he had offered to look at her bedside radio, which he had done, but not before he had looked at her lovely tits and kissed them when, after the briefest of struggles, he had managed to pull them from her dress.
Before she had really known quite what was happening he had thrown her across the bed, removed her panties with his teeth as his hands were busy holding her and casually raped her. She had thought of screaming until she actually felt his hard prick plunging deep into her ravenous cunt and compromised by yelling for him to go faster.
This had been her most interesting sexual experience to date. The coarseness of her friendly rapist had interested her quite as much as his technique and she allowed him to repeat his performance some six times. But he in the end quit on her, although the truth was that she probably quit on him. They parted company when she refused him access to her anus and, when he had accepted this restriction, to her mouth as well. She simply would not suck.
It was shortly after this that she had met Tom Wallace and it had been on his side, love at first sight. He was a lawyer with a rising practice and with a father who had been a judge an attractive love at first sight with a girl like her. They had gone into enough of her background for any man to know. It had not been too long before he had even kissed her and it had made no sense to her when one night, after he had managed to take one of her tits out of her dress while they parked in his car, he returned it quickly, kissed her forehead and drove her straight home, as if she were a child. She later learned that this resolve not to take advantage of her was because of the respect for her calm and beauty and his belief that she was a virgin!
That was her first serious disappointment in men!
On the hundredth time of his asking her to marry him she had accepted and instead of kissing her had leaped up and telephoned his father the news. It looked like they would never fuck.
The wedding had been a lavish affair. Their honeymoon was spent in the mountains, where the bridegroom had business interests. Even on their honeymoon, it was business first!
But with marriage there had not come the match to ignite her passion either. It wasn't that she was unhappy: far from it. They liked the same things in life. They agreed on where to live: the suburbs. They agreed on the shows they wanted to see and the concerts. They agreed on the type of house to live in. Jn fact, they agreed on everything. Except they didn't agree on the frequency with which to indulge in sex. Once a week, usually on Saturday, was enough for him.
As she walked down the street, now and again brushing her hair from her eyes, her new shoes striking sharply on the pebbled surface of the narrow street, Barbi was reflecting on the news that she had received from Tom that morning.
He was going to Washington to defend a man on a fraud charge and would be away six weeks. He had not told her the night before because it had been a Saturday and well, it might have spoiled things. She smiled to herself as she recalled his opening remark.
"It'll be terrible being separated for six weeks, the first time in the two years we've been married."
This was the first she had heard of the impending separation and her smile was because he had looked rather sweet and eager and really unhappy at the thought of their being apart. But she was not smiling now. Her beautiful face was set in thought as she wondered what his absence would really mean to her. Would she really care as such as he obviously did? She forced herself to try and be objective. What was it that was missing from their relationship? He was an adequate lover. He was kind. He was wait a minute what had she thought of him? An adequate lover? She stopped stock-still as an overwhelming wash of memory and wonder flushed her mind. Tom was a wonderful lover. Tender. Careful. Everything. Not very frequent, not very expert, not very detailed in his attentions, not a man who could set a woman on fire. Anything but, not that. What was it that was wrong? She shook her head in confusion and walked on. What was wrong with her? Why didn't she care that he was going away, thousands of miles, for six weeks. She stopped again. Face it! Why was she even glad that he was going?
Her answer came without her ever really realizing it.
"Excuse me, is this right for Marks Avenue?"
"Marks?" she said. "Marks. Oh, yes." She turned and looked at her questioner. He sat there astride a bike, backpack on back and wide, engaging smile on his freckled face. He was a boy of perhaps fifteen years of age, and handsome in a childish way with rather large, protruding ears and thickish wide lips that hinted at a developing sensuality. But he was just a young boy! Strange, she thought that she should feel some vague feeling of disappointment about this. It was almost-she shrugged the feeling away. It was too sickening to face!
"Yes, Marks is about a mile down the road. Take the first cross street and it's about a quarter of a mile in from there."
"Thank you," the boy said. "We're going camping there, at the park."
"We?" Barbie asked, looking around.
"Well, I'm sort of a lookout scout. I'm down here a little early to get things started out. You know, where we get water. Where we can get oil for the stove. Well, I guess you know what camping is."
"I live in town," Barbie replied. "What part of the park you camping in?"
"It's called Tall Pines. We've never been there before. It was suggested to us by a troop leader, I think."
"The man you're talking about was my husband! she laughed. "Is my husband, I mean."
"Then you must be Mrs. Wallace," the boy joined in laughter.
"That's right," she said.
"Well, what a coincidence. This is really lucky for me. I mean, to meet you like this."
"I should have realized or at least remembered what my husband told me a week or so ago," Barbi said. "He mentioned that he'd given some club permission to camp in Tall Pines. I can't for the life of me remember the name of the club."
The boy grinned. "The club is the County Boys' Club. I'm the secretary of it. My name is Gerry Reese. Gerald to my Mom."
They both laughed.
"That's it," Barbie laughed. "Tom, that's my husband, was telling me. Isn't it some kind of athletic club?"
"Well, not exactly," he replied. "Most of us are very interested in sports but we do other things."
Barbie had to really struggle to resist the absurd temptation to ask, but she lost. "Such as."
"I don't understand."
Instead, she said, "It isn't really an athletic club, then?"
"Well, some people don't call what we like spo ts," he replied. "My father, for instance. We're mostly wrestling freaks."
Barbi smiled.
"I see," she said.
Helplessly she let her eyes wander over the boy.
He was a well-muscled, clean-limbed, white-skinned specimen. He wore khaki shorts and a striped T-shirt. A very ordinary, clean-cut All-American boy. And he was a wrestling freak. Ah, well!
"Well, if there's any way I can help, please let me know," she said. "My husband goes away tomorrow so I'm afraid he can't be of help to you, but if you want anything just come up to the house and let me know. You're all welcome up here. By the way, how long are you staying and how many of you are there?"
"We stay two weeks and there are fifteen of us."
"Fifteen of you!" she gasped. "Why, that's almost a boy scout jamboree."
"I'm afraid it is."
"Fifteen boys in Tall Pines, oh, my."
"Eleven girls," Jerry corrected. "Eleven girls? Then, you mean that there are eleven girls camping with you?" she gasped. "That's about it."
"All about your age?"
"Most of them are a bit older than me. In fact, I'm next to youngest in the group."
"But you're the secretary?"
He grinned attractively. "I don't mind the writing jobs!"
"How old are you?" she asked.
"Fifteen. Almost fifteen."
"Fourteen!"
"More or less," he shrugged.
"And your parents, yours and the girls' parents they don't mind you all camping like this?"'
He stared. "No, why should they."
"Oh, no reason at all. No reason at all," Barbie replied, hastily. Gerry grinned again.
"Between you and me," he confided, "I don't think they care much as long as they don't see us for three weeks."
"It was different in my day," Barbie told him. "I can't even imagine my mother and father dreaming of letting me go camping with boys. In fact, I think they'd have had a fit at the very idea, but times change."
"And you adults change with them," he concluded. "Yes, well, in your day it was different."
"In what way?" she asked, pretending to be angry.
"Oh, nothing," Gerry evaded, stirring uneasily on his bike as if the conversation had taken a turn not quite to his liking. As he shifted, Barbi, with the clearest conscience in the world and with a mind quite free of any consciousness of his boyishness, couldn't help momentarily noticing the slight bulge of his cock as it bulged his shorts as he shifted his thighs that were astride the crossbar of the cycle.
Her eyes flickered back to his face. She felt a most peculiar feeling, that the conversation could never be quite the same now. She felt free, unencumbered by the thought that, difference in ages made no difference. He was male and she was female. The thought was strange and frightening at the same time.
She said, "So it was different in my day?"
"I didn't mean that. I didn't really mean that."
"What did you mean?"
"I, well, young people can take care of themselves better these days," he replied.
You mean they're smarter?" she asked, and really thought that was what he had meant.
"No, no, I didn't mean that. Oh, I guess it's just a matter of science."
For a long moment, Barbie regarded Gerry while the meaning of his remark sank in. Then, despite herself, she felt an unusual glow sweep into her cheeks. He did mean that! The conclusion was inescapable. The child was teasing her with the advances made by science in the development of contraceptives since her youth! That was what he clearly meant and she decided to drop the subject before she got out of her depth. She was starting to get hot and didn't know what to do about it.
When she again looked at him, his face was quite clear of any teasing expression and for a moment she doubted her interruption.
His next words dispelled any doubts she might have had, though.
"I've read about how mothers used to worry about their daughters in your day," he said, his voice tinged with wonder at such silly maternalism.
'They don't worry now?" Barbi asked him.
"Heavens, no!" the boy chuckled. "Oh, it'd be a bad scene if a girl, well, you know, these days. It would be really dumb."
She looked him in the eye. "Is the word you wanted knocked up?"
"We always say knocked up. A stupid term for a stupid mistake."
"Fourteen-year-old girls knocked up?" she said, incredulously.
"Yes!" he nodded.
"Well," she replied, slowly, "I must admit that what you have told me has shocked me. I'm quite sure that my husband would never have given permission for your club to camp on the ground if he had the faintest idea of-"
She broke off, suddenly aware that she was, after all, talking to a boy of supposed innocence.
Gerry threw his leg across the bike's crossbar in alarm.
"Mrs. Wallace," he gasped, "please don't make things bad for us. After all, it was you who started talking like this. I mean, about it being a mixed camp."
Barbi stared and then nodded bitterly.
"I supposed it was," she said. "Mind you, I didn't dream of what I was going to learn."
'This sort of thing doesn't go on all the time," he protested.
"I should hope not."
"In fact, it's usually that the boys ... "
"Masturbate," she filled in for him.
"Yes."
"I'm glad to hear that. Well, as you seem to think that I wormed my way into your confidence, I won't say anything to my husband. But I warn you, part of my reason for not telling him is also that I don't want to shock him. I don't want to destroy his faith in the younger generation. Well, I really must be going. Goodbye, Gerry."
"Goodbye, Mrs. Wallace. Listen, there's nothing really wrong with us teenagers. It's just that we grow up to be men quicker, that's all."
He leaped astride his bike and drove fiercely at the top speed. She watched him streak off down the street, his khaki shorts biting into the cleft between his buttocks and tan legs.
Barbi Wallace bit her lips and for a reason that was to take her long to explain, averted her eyes and deliberately didn't watch him cycle out of sight.
Her pussy by then was damp and itching, and it scared the shit out of her. What the hell was happening?