Chapter 5
"Hey, come back here, damn it," a tall, strongly built boy called after Carla Torro.
"I will in a few minutes," she called over her shoulder as she dashed out of the ocean and onto the beach.
Carla turned and waved to the boy who had frolicked with her in the ocean frolicked and expected stimulation's sexual rewards.
The boy waved back to Carla. So did the others; many strange people, both girls and boys, she had met only that same morning.
Carla waited until the boy she had been with turned, centered his attention upon a golden brown, nearly nude, blonde girl, and finally leaped over a roller and caught the girl to him as a new wave swept over them.
Then Carla turned and hurried away from the ocean. She was indifferent to her direction just so long as she found a place to be alone. Aloneness was necessary for what she intended.
As she ran, then slowed and finally walked in a quick, long pace over the smooth sand, Carla became even more conscious of the titillating feeling of her body. Clad in a wild, dipping bikini, she was more audaciously exposed than if she had been completely nude. Her bra top was sopping wet and hung low, covering only half of her breasts, leaving much flesh and her hard pointed nipples to wave in and out of view as she moved. And the bottom of the bikini looked as if it might depart her body at any time. It dipped sinfully low beneath her navel. Tied only at the sides by little bows, only a mere thread of material rested at her hips, hinting that a pluck of fingers would separate it from her body. And all of her body swayed and moved, wiggled a bit, shouting sensuality with every step she took.
When Carla had walked far enough on the beach that the figures of her companions were indistinguishable were merely bobbing heads and moving bodies in the water she moved up the beach to where a wooded section began. She paused and looked around, wondering for a moment about Pixie and Margie, about Laura and Kay, curious about what they were doing, with whom they cavorted. Then she turned again and moved within the concealment of the beach foliage.
Her feet dug deeply into the sand. She leaned forward and exerted harder, then headed up a small hill. At the top she paused and looked around again. There was complete solitude except for a rather run-down looking beach house at the bottom of the hill. It looked deserted. It bothered Carla Torro not at all. She descended the sand dune half way, then stopped, content that she had found a place where she could be alone alone with her thoughts, her desires, and the execution of those desires into realization.
Carla patted at her hair. It, like the rest of her, was sopping wet. She patted it into place, straightened her bikini bra a bit and adjusted the sides of the suit. Her motions were practiced and those of an efficient being, one who liked to be in place at all times.
Carla breathed deeply, then sat down. She braced her back against the sand wall of a dune. Then she let her body relax.
She closed her eyes, but when the hot sun insisted upon turning the black of nothingness into red spots, she opened them. She had not closed them for the purpose of sleep anyway, she told herself. Then she asked herself why she continued the fraud of pretending, asked herself, too, why she could not or would not admit that she had come to be alone, not for rest, but for a singular sexual experience. Then she remembered that it had always been this way for her. Since she was a little girl she had pretended that she was really not doing those things to herself that she did. Why not admit it? Carla thought. Why not? After all, she was not the only girl who satisfied her cravings by means of herself, she told herself. Yes. Admit it. That was much healthier than pretending.
For a few minutes Carla thought of her friends, the boys they had already met and their preoccupation with those boys. Then she thought of the boys she had met. There were many. They were all attractive. And all of them were enraptured with her and intent upon their pursuit to know her sexually. Yet, she had not allowed such a taking from any of them. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. And as she thought about it, she felt a certain regret. She wished sometimes that she was like the others. Then she remembered that Kay Faubus had once mentioned that she was different from the others. Kay different? Carla questioned. She smiled, thinking, if Kay only knew who it was that was different. If only Kay knew? She'd be shocked, Carla was sure, shocked to find that her friend, Carla, was different, so different that she allowed boys to pursue her up to a point, then rejected them. Yes, Kay, and Pixie and Laura all of them would be shocked to learn that Carla Torro, already nearly eighteen, had not yet sexually known a boy. They would be shocked to learn that her sexual satisfaction needed no partner none at all only herself.
Carla leaned her head back against the sand wall. Again she closed her eyes. She created an image of the boy with whom she had played in the ocean. She remembered his hot lips burying into her neck as one hand grasped at her breast. He had pinched that breast lovingly, she recalled. And she remembered how it had felt how she had grown a little dizzy when the boy had come up behind her, wrapped his arms around her body and thrust his hips forward. She remembered how the jab of him had felt, how it had seemed so hot and strong and so very, very ready ready for her, for love, for experience. And Carla remembered how she had been daring and bold, how she had reached behind her to grasp him, squeeze him hard, conveying, she was sure, that she shared his mood, that she awaited only the right time and place and would then provide him with the full gift of her body. But then it had happened, Carla recalled. The boy grew more serious. His hands became more intimate. And his touches and kisses had set her aflame, made her ripple with desire. But she had run out of the water and away from the boy, intent upon the satisfaction of her desire, but determined that it would be accomplished without the fuss and bother and mess of a partner.
Carla sighed and opened her eyes. She remained very quiet, as if this alone would subdue the feelings that raged within her. But it did not. It could not.
Carla, very slowly, raised one hand to her breasts. The fingers pretended to adjust at her bra, but they strayed inside and touched at her flesh. Carla's body alerted from the touch alerted as much as if it had been a man who had caressed her. She sat straighter. She did not bring her hand down from her breasts. Then, after a moment, after breathing deeply again, she sneaked the fingers of her hand fully inside her bra top and gripped the full roundness of her flesh. She sighed delightedly and trembled a bit. She closed her hand hard upon herself, then trembled more violently. This was the way it always started, she thought. Always. Ever since she had been a little girl with hardly any breasts at all, ever since her hand had held the mere hint of fullness, had held her cherry sized breasts yet had thrilled at that touch, that slight touch that was to develop into practiced manipulations just as she developed from child to girl to woman.
The sun felt hotter to Carla than at any time she had ever known it. She felt beads of perspiration come to life on her body. And she felt the sudden thrust of her nipple between two fingers as it came to life and responded to the hold she made upon her breast. She sighed again, then pressured those two fingers around her nipple, pinching it lovingly, then gripping it hard and extending it out from her bra top, far out to hold it there a moment before allowing it to draw back to the shelter of her creamy mold. Then she extended her nipple again, further this time, more hurtfully away from her breast. This time she let it snap back. But she allowed it to rest for only a moment before she once more pulled it far out from her body. Now she paused in this position and began a light circling of her nipple, all the time pulling it further and further away from her body, so far away that she could see the picture she made a girl alone, caressing at her own body.
A long breath expelled from Carla, and she allowed the nipple to return once more. Then she became impatient with clothing, even the brief nothingness of her bikini. She dragged the bra top down and let it settle below both her breasts. Now she raised both hands, clutched each of her breasts, kneaded them both for a long time, then gave up that action and began again to spin her nipples, to move them around in a circle that increased in span as she stretched herself harder and harder, ever more elastically away from her body. And then, with a choked cry of passion issuing from her throat to the stillness around her, Carla gave up this action. She leaned back and breathed deeply. Then breathed harder and in shorter jerks that brought an undulation to her stomach. She looked down at the bareness of her stomach and watched the inward-outward movement of her muscles, the way they seemed to pant, much the same as they would, she guessed, if she were actually involved in a sex act with a man. The spasm her body made fascinated her, enthralled her, made her very hot feeling and very excited over this action that was such an individual thing such a singular pleasure.
And her excitement demanded more. Much more.
Carefully, as she watched her stomach move in and out, as she watched her breasts heave high, then fall, then rise again, Carla ran one hand down her body, over both breasts, to her ribs, then to her flat stomach, where it paused. Then it moved again. It traveled lower, then paused again when it reached the beginning of her bikini bottom. For a few moments, she let her hand lie there and rise and fall with her breathing. But this was only teasing, only preparation just a hint of feeling that could become immense, that could break her and sear her and split her beyond belief, beyond, perhaps, even the capacity for feeling for life, for anything except the next moment, the next movement of her fingers that would bring even greater thrill.
Carla tucked the fingers of one hand inside the bottom of her swimsuit. They caught some of the heat of her body and ached to move, but Carla restrained them another moment. Then she let them creep forward, downward, and finally inward and upward again.
She sighed passionately, then sighed again, heavier and more ecstatically as she brought movement to her fingers and to the place where they had rested. And then she moved faster and faster in a small circle that seemed to pinpoint all the sensations that raced through her body; brought them to a raised head of passion that gulped for greater attention. Carla gave it. She moved faster. And then faster still. And then she slowed and paused, allowed her passion to quiet for a moment a brief moment that would increase the new feeling she would bring to herself. Then she moved again. She nearly cried out, for her passions galloped, hurried toward an end she wished to still delay. And then she could no longer control the movements of her body, of her whirling hand, of her hips which thrust and receded, then thrust again, or of the high, tight arch she brought to her body with every thrust of her hips. Her emotions leaped. Her hand blurred. Her breasts trembled and hardened and jumped madly. Her thighs tensed. Heat swamped her. Her eyes narrowed, then began to bulge and ache as the strain of her action and the rising bubble within her neared its end its escape its great and everlasting burst that would bring her peace. She groaned and murmured secret enchantments, some vile, some wild, some beautiful, and all of them uttered as if they came from another world, one without sense, with feelings alone.
Carla made one more attempt to slow her action. She closed her eyes and tried to restrain her spinning hand. But she could not not of her own will hot until she opened her eyes, ready to give herself to the impending explosion of her emotions and saw the figure of the boy standing to one side and looking down upon her.
Fear, shock, shame, all gripped her at the same time. Her hand sprang out of her swimsuit bottom and away from her body. Her other hand leaped to the lowered bra and jammed it upward and over her breasts. And Carla fought to bring calm to her tortured breathing, to the beginning spasm of her body that had bolted ahead and now had to wait. She pushed higher against the sand dune like one condemned and awaiting the ax. And then, as she raised her eyes and saw the figure more clearly, saw it grow from unfamiliarity to one of recognition, Carla did calm a bit.
She started to speak, then could not because of the clogging knot that stuck in her throat. Then she knew a pause, did not have to utter words, for the tall, well-built colored boy took a step forward, and she knew that her eyes had not deceived her that her intruder was the boy, Reb, of an earlier encounter.
"Don't be frightened, Carla," he said. He paused at her feet and looked down.
Carla looked into his eyes first, then at his strong, nearly nude body. Her eyes investigated the spread of his legs and the way his bikini trunks clung to his body, the way they pressured outward, that sign made, she was sure, by the sight of herself in an act of self-love.
"How how long have you , " Carla started to say.
"Long enough, Carla," Reb said quietly. "But don't worry, little girl, I'm well, I'm hardly a prude."
Carla felt a flush creep over all of her body and finally reach her face and inflame it. But she felt calmer; her breathing evened, the tremble left her body. Yet, there was a vacuum, too, within her, one that was made up of denial that denial that had been imposed by Reb's sudden appearance.
Reb smiled and moved to Carla's side. He squatted on his haunches and looked at her. Then he lowered to the sand and sat cross-legged opposite her, very close to her, so close that Carla could feel his breathing and catch a tiny bit of his scent the man-scent that told of violence and love and great, great movement.
Carla tugged at her bra once more, bringing it another inch higher-over her breasts. Then she said, "Have you seen Laura, Reb?"
"No. Not since I've been in Fort Bixdale. Why?"
"She's been looking for you looking everywhere."
"Oh."
"She's been wild to find you, Reb. Really wild. Why don't you call her?"
"Maybe I will eventually," he said. "But well, this cat can't take that kind of girl right now. Maybe never never again."
Carla marveled at the wide expanse of his shoulders, and she imagined him on a football field, running, dashing, leaping, fighting through a mass of opponents and finally achieving a goal and victory for his school.
"Do you come up here often?" Reb asked.
"No. And I don't don't." She let it die.
"Don't explain," he said. "It doesn't matter whether you do this often or not."
He twisted to face her a bit more directly, and Carla, glancing again over his body, saw the bulge at his trunks and felt that beginning rustle of excitement take hold of her again.
Reb's eyes looked over all of Carla's body, touching at all of her. She felt a quiver of desire tear through her, and it was different from the desire she had known for other boys. She knew that it was made up of many things: her own disinclination to take a partner for sex, the interruption of her act of self-love, and the strange attraction she felt for the big Negro boy.
"Did you follow me up here?" Carla asked.
"No. How could I?"
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe you saw me on the beach and followed me up here to to watch me."
Reb chuckled softly, then said, "That's kind of silly, Carla."
"Yes, I guess it is," she said, starting to smile.
"You know," Reb said. "Guilt does all sorts of things to people. Believe me, I know. So you see, I can kind of understand how you feel my coming upon you at the time that I did and everything."
"I hope you can understand," she said. "I hardly understand it myself."
Reb looked away for a few moments. When his eyes returned to Carla they looked thoughtful and concentrated, and he said, "How is Laura making out in Bixdale? Having a ball, I suppose."
"Quite a ball," Carla exclaimed. She glanced away a moment and without looking at him said, "But we all know that she's got an awful thing for you, Reb."
"That's too bad."
"Why? It could be very good."
"Come on now, Carla. I don't want to get into any talk about that girl. I I can't stand talk about a girl like her, so let's stop it. Okay?"
"Okay," she said.
Carla leaned her head back against the sand wall. The movement caused her to breathe deeply again, making her bra dip low once more and expose a very noticeable portion of her breasts, even show a tiny peek of her nipple. Then she curled her legs beneath her hips, and it had the effect of thrusting her forward toward Reb in a kind of presentation of herself.
Reb's eyes glowed hot. His breathing quickened. He leaned forward a bit and said, "You're a very lovely girl, Carla, but I guess you know that."
"Not really," she said.
"But you shouldn't pose the way you're doing," he said.
She shifted slightly, then asked,, "Why."
"Because it drives me crazy, Carla."
"Crazy?"
"Yeah, crazy for wanting you wanting you right now this very second." His body tensed and he placed his hands to his side into the sand like a sprinter readying for the starter's gun.
"Don't talk like that, Reb." Her words cautioned, but her tone was sensual and beckoning.
"But don't worry," he said quickly. "I'm not going to make love to you. I can't take the chance."
She did not answer. But suddenly she felt deep pains of disappointment. And the woman of her made her shift her body a tiny bit, just enough to present a more fetching pose of her body, a more audacious presentation of shoulders and breasts and limbs and thighs.
"Oh, my God," Reb exclaimed, his voice trembling, expressing control released, gone wild.
Carla turned toward him just as he lurched forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. She felt the jar her body made against his, loved the way her large breasts first crushed, then burrowed, into his hard black chest. And then she thrilled at the softness of his lips. She had expected them to be hard and angry. And for some reason she had expected his lips and tongue to be bitter tasting as if they were touched by the jungle. But they were not. They tasted sweet and loving and very hot.
His tongue scalded as it ripped between her lips. She took it and clung to it, then nibbled wildly. And Reb's arms held her tightly against him until he brought one arm down, then tore it between them to jerk her bra down, free her breasts so that he could know them fully.
Carla's head spun. She had been embraced, kissed, even touched before, but never had she experienced such a reaction. She guessed that it was because she had reached such a high peak by her own touches only to have them stop at that very moment when she should have known utter relief. She guessed this, but did not really care, did not even think of anything except the closeness of the big black male, his strength and power and his mouth working crazily upon hers.
Reb kneaded her breast. Then he grew impatient and ripped the bra from her body and threw it far to the side. Then his long fingers caught both her breasts and jammed them together in a terrifying squeeze.
"Ohhhhhh, don't," Carla moaned into his mouth.
"Why not, why not, why not?" he whispered back at her, plucking the words to her mouth from his while their lips remained glued together.
She answered him with a touch, first at his chest, then lower at his waist and finally at his lap upon the largeness of him that sprouted upward from his brief shorts.
"Oh, Crissakes Jeeeeeeez, I can't stand it," he moaned, panted, and hissed.
Carla gripped him tighter, then, as his own grip upon her breast pinched harder, she raised her hand and sneaked it inside his trunks. Then they blubbered sounds of passion together as she gripped him again.
Reb's entire body grew rigid, made Carla's rigid, too, as he held her to him. But then with a mad cry he tore his mouth from hers and forced her flat on the sand. His big black hand darted to the top of her swimsuit bottom, then he jerked and pulled it from her, making her arch this new nudity up at him. And then he tore at his own trunks and freed them from his body. Then he pressured her close again as they stretched long and tight together upon the sand.
When their new kiss blazed hotter than the one before it, Carla brought her mouth away and whispered, "I can't I can't, Reb as much as I want to, I can't."
"I know," he mumbled. "And I can't either not yet if I did if I started if I started to really know you then maybe I could never stop."
As if these words were enough to light a path toward substitute love, both of their hands moved and touched at the other, Reb's at her thighs, Carla's upon the immense, steaming strength of him. And then in a rhythm attuned to each other's crying needs, their hands moved, slowly and curiously at first, then faster and faster, then very deftly in a way that brought pauses and starts, speed and slowness, and speed again, in a way that made their bodies tense, then relax, then tense again, in a way that also made them cry out, mumble endearments, not for each other, but for the sensations that romped through their bodies.
Suddenly, when both of their nude bodies were tight and arched in a bend that offered more of themselves, their pace and movement changed. And their strokes upon each other changed, too. Carla's elongated upon Reb, stretching and wringing and twisting; and his upon her turned more delicate, went higher and circled in a small area that sent her to crying and stammering words of encouragement for his touch. And she felt the bloat within herself as if she were zooming to the sky to achieve her bursting there. And as she felt it she knew that Reb felt it too, for he growled and gurgled and fought the full length of himself against her giving.
"Oh, make it happen, make it happen, Reb," Carla chanted.
He circled faster and harder.
"Ahhhh, yes," she pleaded. "Yes, yes, yes. YES!"
He raised his point of action as she whipped and whirled her hand frantically.
"MMmmmmmm, I'm there, Reb, I'm there there there I'M THERE!" she choked.
And suddenly she was.
Carla wheezed a cry of joy at the very same moment that Reb shouted the call of his own ending. Their mixed cries were fierce and searing, split through the area like hot pellets.
Their hands ceased their manipulations. They rolled away from each other. Both breathed heavily, but it was Reb who turned and faced the sand and thumped his fists into it, tensing and crying the sad sounds of his frustration.
And Carla, watching him, sensed his posture as that of one who was doomed, one who in the near future would know the tormenting horror of a lust that he could not much longer hold in check.