Chapter 10
The final beach party of the spring vacation at Fort Bixdale was filled with songs and sadness, songs that provoked memories of good times, sadness for those good times because they were over.
And the blazing bonfire, the songs, the sadness, the nearness of bare bodies, and the beach and ocean, moved everyone to their very special vacation conclusions.
Carla Torro, standing close to a boy, a near-stranger, felt a new awareness for his body and for her own close to his. She had reviewed in her mind the horror-scenes she had made with Adam. And, although memory was hazy, it had effected a change within her. She knew that she was capable of giving and receiving love with another, that her habit of self-love was as much of the past as was her childhood.
Carla tested the newness of herself.
During a song she sneaked her arm around the boy's waist. He responded in like manner, but after a moment his hand raised and he cupped Carla's breast, held it gently and lovingly.
Soon, they wandered away from the bonfire and the others who were gathered around it. Carla and the boy found a quiet place on the beach. They embraced, standing, pressuring their bodies against each other so that the boy could feel the push of Carla's thighs and breasts and she could feel the hard stretch of his manhood reaching out to her as if he beckoned. And indeed he did.
When they lowered to the sand, they embraced more desperately. Their mouths opened as their tongues darted and adjusted, played, rolled together, then parted to pat a rat-a-tat-tat with their tips, back and forth to each other. And their hands explored. Carla trailed her fingers from the boy's neck, to his shoulders and chest and finally to his waist, where she paused a moment. But only a moment. Then she sneaked her hand inside the waistband of the boy's swimming trunks.
His body stiffened. And so did Carla's when he reached inside her bra top and clutched the full roundness of her bare flesh, then released it to play with thumb and forefinger upon her nipples. They grew very large, very hot. And then the boy's hand left that delight and lowered, then duplicated her own action and moved inside the bottom of her bikini. For a while they wandered and played and continued their kisses. But then the encumbrance of clothing became too much. They separated long enough to disband their swimsuits. Then there was the new thrill of their bodies bare and wrapped together in the rolling togetherness of honeymoon-cake.
The boy grew bold. He raised from Carla's mouth, hunched to his knees, then devoured her with kisses at her cheeks, and ears, eyes, nose, mouth again, then lower to her neck and shoulders and to her breasts, where he mouthed her hard and furiously, where he played his lips upon her nipples, lolled them and loved them, then released them as he kissed onward and downward to her stomach. He engulfed her bareness here, devoured it with an assault by lips and tongue, by all of him that could give him to her.
And soon, Carla had to return the gift of his kisses. She rolled the boy to his back and kissed him hard and over all of his body, going from neck to waist in a hot, anxious giving that found her tongue thrashing like a whip, moving down, down, ever downward until at last the boy could stand no more and grabbed her, raised her mouth again to his as he rolled her to her back, braced himself within the cradle she made, then took her took her gently, lovingly, painstakingly endowed with love.
Carla, at his very first thrust, knew that she was cured of the childhood habit which had plagued her young adult life. She knew it by the thrill she received, by the thrill that she knew that she gave. And she knew it because she had not a thought for the muss and fuss and confusion of person that she knew love made. She welcomed it.
And at the very last she screamed her delight, yelped it as the boy pounded his hips back and forth in frantic lust, in final giving, in the quest for that great, great, spellbinding release.
They achieved it. Mightily, for him, thrice for Carla, and as she rolled to her side and gathered the boy's body to hers again for resting, she knew that she had found peace, that she would never again be tormented by guilt, that she would know only happiness, that this boy, and Fort Bixdale, had prepared her for an exciting, very eventful life. o o o
Margie and Pixie used the wind-up beach party as an excuse for further and deeper sexual experimentation. They had tried everything. They were adept at sex-uality's greatest offerings. But their curiosity and inventiveness prevailed, and they lusted for even more. And they found it in the person of three strangers they met at this final Fort Bixdale gathering.
Margie suggested a strange tableau: "You know," she told Pixie, "just to see how it is."
They deemed indeed to see how it was.
At first, it was complicated, but then they found their rhythm, the freedom they needed, and they thrashed mightily and erotically. Margie was upon her hands and knees, her buttocks jutting upward, grasped by a boy's hands as he lurched and descended and withdrew and lurched again to her bounding hips. But Margie was not content to only receive. She had to give. And did, to another. She bobbed her head to the naked and stretched body of one of the stranger-boys, bobbed to him even as her hips continued to shake and bound high and low to the giving of the boy behind her. And, as if the course of sexuality's gift needed to be carried on in a steady line from one to the other, the boy to whom Margie bobbed, twisted his upper body so that he in turn could bob and nuzzle and consume at the thrusting, arching lower-body of Pixie. Pixie worked hard against him, receiving great thrill. And giving it, too. Giving to the third boy who was on his knees before her, touching and playing at her breasts as she moved her head upon him, as it bobbed, giving excitement even as she received it from another boy in another quarter, the end of the line of herself, the boys, and her friend, Margie, giving and receiving in like enthusiasm.
The five of them ground together, giving, receiving, and giving some more until at last there could be no more giving, not even any more receiving.
They strained, erupted, then collapsed in a pile upon the beach. For a moment, they all panted hard. But then Margie and Pixie started to laugh and the boys joined it. They laughed and laughed and laughed.
Laura, wearing dark glasses and a man's sweatshirt with tight, attractive slacks, was content at this last gathering of the Fort Bixdale college clan to stand by the fire, next to Reb, singing, thinking of the experiences she had had, of the fun, and to think also of home and the things of everyday life that awaited her there.
"You sing well," Reb said between songs.
"So do you."
He grinned. "You do something else mighty well, too."
"Flatterer," she said, pursing her mouth at him in a funny-face pose.
"Laura," Reb said seriously, then paused. "What, Reb?"
"I'll probably never see you again, will I?"
"Probably not," she said. "It would be nice to think otherwise, but it's not very realistic. We're going to be thousands of miles apart."
"Yes, thousands of miles," he repeated, saying it slowly.
"But I'll never forget you, Reb. Never, never, never."
"No kidding?" he asked, brightening.
"No kidding," she said. "You taught me a lot. I know how I should be that, well, teasing isn't always the way to . "
"Shhhh," he cautioned, interrupting. "I'm the one who has learned. About everything. If it wasn't for you, Laura, for the way you were when I attacked you if it wasn't that you still took me and accepted me and kind of loved me, well, hell I'd have gone right on thinking that the only way I could enjoy sex was through brutality through force and using all my hate for so many things against the girl I happened to be going for."
"You shhhhhh, too," she laughed. "There's no need to think about it now. No need at all."
"No, there isn't," he agreed.
A new song started. Reb and Laura joined it, raising their voices high, happily, strong and full. And as the song continued, as they joined with the others singing the songs that would be their farewell to vacation and Fort Bixdale, they both felt older, more mature, and very, very happy, much as if these few days they had known in a strange southern town had provided them with insight for the future, a future that they knew they could make good and happy and very, very productive.
The song ended. A new one started. Reb and Laura joined hands and raised their voices high once again, smiling from time to time at each other, conveying all that they felt, for each other, for everyone and everything.
The songs of parting that issued from the group around the bonfire offered Kay Faubus nothing but sadness, deep, never-ending sadness. She could not join in the songs with the others. She could not even stand near them. She was too much apart from them all, she decided. So she stood by a tree at the rear of the crowd and watched the others while she thought of, and missed, and felt sad for, the boy, York, whom she had found, then lost, and had been unable to find again.
While the others sang their farewell to Fort Bixdale, Kay's mind flitted. She thought of her plight, that which she had come to Bixdale to achieve, that which she had not yet found. She was still without a true sexual experience with a boy of her own age. She was without normal sex, had known only the deviate and strange sex of which she was already all too familiar. Then she thought of her uncle. She would be returning to him. She would, she knew, have to resume her incestuous life with him. She had nothing else, no one else, not even the precedent of a relationship with a boy that which she so longed for, and had, when she met York, felt hope for. But he was gone and hope had gone with him.
When a new song started, Kay thought of York, how he had looked, his few words, his expression of concern and worry for her. And she thought of his boldness, of the way he had rescued her, taken her from Adam. She thought how much it was like the young rescuing the young from the old. Then she drew a mental parallel with that and how she needed to be saved from her uncle. And she knew that only York, an experience with him, could effect that for her.
One song ended; another began. She listened to it and felt a deeper sadness invade her body, her being, every part of her. And then a new song started and it was gayer, but Kay felt none of its happiness. She was plagued by unhappiness. She was doomed. She was lost.
As this new, happy song ended, Kay turned from it and from those happy ones about the bonfire. She could stand no more of the sadness of others' happiness. She would flee the others to be completely alone, to get used to that aloneness as the only quality she would ever in her life know.
Kay gave her head a slight shake, swinging her long, black hair from where it had rested at her waist to around her shoulder and trailing down her back to her hips. At one time, she would have known what a fetching sight she made, her long hair flowing, her body, large and well molded, revealed vividly in a sparse swimsuit that was even more daring than the bikinis she had once worn. She knew how she might look to others. But she did not care. There was only one for whom she wished to strike any pose. Or, to give any of herself.
She waited a moment; then when the song ended and the pause was sprinkled with light laughter, she turned abruptly around and started to walk away from the happy scene.
Kay had taken less than a dozen paces when the dark form appeared from behind a tree and stood erect and directly in her path.
She froze in her tracks. Her body trembled with fright, then trembled more violently as the figure took a step toward her, then another and still another. And then the figure paused.
Kay's heart leaped over the moon. She felt a rage of joy course through her body as if she were on a roller-coaster. She wanted to shout and laugh and cry, all at once. But she did none of these mundane things. Instead, she leaped forward, hurried to the dark form who was really York.
She stopped in front of him. She could hardly restrain her arms from leaping up and circling his neck.
But she held them tight to her side. Very tight. So tight that she could hardly breathe. "Kay," was all York said.
"Yes, York," she answered. Her voice was low and throaty.
"Kay, I just had to see you I had to but I didn't want to. So I've been standing here watching hoping well . "
She wanted to shout words of love at him. But she did not. She could not. His words had so quickly given her happiness that she could not speak.
"But I guess you can't hold much lot with the-likes of me," York said sadly. "I'm kind of a ass or at least I have been for the last year. But I think maybe I'm going to change stop this beachcombing bit and go back to college. I would if if well, if I could if . "
"If what, York?" Kay finally said, finding her voice at the very time when she most needed it.
"If well, if I could maybe see you sometimes you know, well, what I was thinking, well, I've been asking around about you and and I thought I might go to Whitfield this next term. I can I don't have any family I can go anywhere, so I might as well go to Whitfield, that is, if I could if . "
Kay screeched with happiness, then leaped forward and caught her arms around York's neck. For a moment he was startled, but only for a moment. Then he wound his arms around her and brought his mouth down hard upon hers, pressuring gently at first, then more firmly until she parted her lips and took his plunging tongue. She drew upon him as if he were the nutrient of life itself. And York clutched her tightly to him. Kay felt the rise and thrust of his passion at her thighs. She welcomed it, adored it. She cuddled to it. And she nibbled furiously upon his tongue until he withdrew it in order to take her own. She gave it. He received it with a groan of pleasure as he clamped her even tighter against him. Then, one hand left Kay's back; it came down, then upward and between them until York grasped one large breast. He kneaded it. Fondled it. Loved it. Pinched at the nipple, twirled it, pinched at the fullness again, then crumpled all of it in his strong fingers.
"Oh, York, York," Kay whispered, pulling her mouth from his and placing it at his ear. "I've waited so long so, so long for you."
"And I've waited for a girl like you all of my life I've waited," he mumbled.
They kissed again. It lasted a long time. A very long time. It lasted until both of their bodies trembled with a desire that they could not very much longer contain.
York broke their embrace. Then he stooped and quickly lifted Kay off her feet, catching her under her knees and at her back as she put her arms around his neck and her long, black hair trailed behind.
York carried her down the path toward the beach. And when he reached it, he turned toward the moon and strode strongly forward until he reached a secluded spot surrounded by medium-sized sand dunes.
He lowered her in the middle of the small clearing. They embraced again. And again, after their tongues and lips had latched and twirled, York brought his mouth away from Kay's. It was a happy parting because it caused the pause that would offer greater closeness.
At the same instant, York raised his hands to Kay's bra top as she began to tug at the waistband of his shorts. They laughed at the togetherness of their thoughts and actions. Then they brought their hands to their own attire and disbanded it. And then, nude and steaming for each other, they embraced again. Within a few seconds, they lowered to the sand. Then they stretched long as they continued their embraces, lengthened it so that their feet could meet and mix, then so their thighs would slap together and their breast and chest would meet in a squashing contact, one that was pressured even tighter as their arms fought about each other's back.
Soon, they rolled apart for a second, a bare second, a glorious second that offered time for York to raise, to move to Kay's feet as she braced them, to come between the part she made of her thighs, then to pause and look lovingly into her moonlit face.
"It's crazy," he said. "I know it is real crazy but I well, I love you, Kay."
"And I love you, York," she replied in a loving whisper. "Love you, love you, love you with all my heart, and it is crazy crazy and wonderful and and maybe even forever. I have to change too, but I can!"
"Forever," he repeated. "Yes, we can have a 'forever,' can't we?"
"We can. We will. We will, York."
Then they stopped talking. Gently, York shifted his body forward, came over her so he could look into her face at the same moment that he brought his hips carefully forward, then move dynamically forward and with a twist that make Kay cry a short call of heavenly pleasure. And then they were joined. They paused, as if they meant to give this first moment of contact its fullest so that they might always remember it, recall it up to memory from time to time as they wanted it during the years ahead. And then they moved again, slowly apart, then together, then apart, then together in a faster speed. And their passion mounted with their speed. They fought their bodies to each other, smacked together, held, then parted, then came together with a new, more thrilling contact because of the slight parting they had known, the parting, like all the others, that enhanced their love, brought it steaming to a head, in a gallop, a leap, a scream and a cry as they set their course and dashed upon it toward the finale that would tie their love, make it lasting and forever thrilling.
"York!" Kay suddenly exclaimed. "York. I LOVE YOU. You, you, youuuuuuuuuu. EEEEEEEE. Ohhhh, York, darlinggggggg."
"Yes, Kay. Kay, Kay, Kayyyyyyy," he chanted.
Their words died as they could go no farther, as they could make no farther reach into the sky to grasp the stars, the planets, while they orbited, then thudded heavily to earth, to the reality of each other's body, tired, soft, wet with perspiration, but together in the final haven they made for each other with their comforting arms.
When her breathing quieted, when her heart had returned to a pace of normalcy, disturbed only by the fullness she felt within it, Kay raised her head a bit and cuddled it deeper into York's bare chest.
In the distance she could hear the final song of the beach party, the one that marked the end of vacation at Fort Bixdale. It was a sad song, a happy-sad song that told of farewells and parting, of relationships made and now ended. And as the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" drifted to her, Kay cuddled closer to York and thought not of farewells and sadness, but of the tomorrows that she would have, the tomorrows that she knew would bring her away from the incest-insanity of her uncle, a tomorrow that would provide her with York and love and happiness.