The Indomitable Rory CallahanChapter 19
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The Indomitable Rory CallahanChapter 10 free porn video
I don’t care what people say. Sexual tension really is a physical presence in the air. It adds an edge to relationships that you feel. It changes the way you behave. It changes communication. Small looks are replete with unspoken words, exciting thoughts, promises. Sexual tension takes over your mind and words suddenly have a double entendre, risqué and suggestive.
It’s an exciting time in any relationship - on the cusp of something wonderful. I’d experienced it before with other women. It was flirting with an edge. But with Rory, two months past her fifteenth birthday, it was an entirely different experience; more intense, thrilling.
For a week, we did no more than flirt, hug, and occasionally kiss. Yet our conversations were laced with almost lewd suggestions, never blatant, just words delivered with a look, with eyes, and with sneaky smiles. Rory flourished. She was such an enchanting mix of youth and emerging maturity. She glowed and danced on her feet, and actively dressed to tease me. She found ways to flash her panties at me and, when I’d groan quietly in agony, she’d laugh and ask, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling ill?”
She seemed to love my attempts at grabbing her, laughing so damned brightly and dodging away. When I’d catch her unaware and grope her butt, she’d shriek with pretend outrage, shove my hand off her rear, and skip away exclaiming, “Ethan!” Her eyes gave away her pleasure.
But there was the other side to Rory that came out at night. She slept in bed with me every night. I slowly adjusted, my erections not as frequent, my sleep more rested. Rory was soft and sweet at night. She liked to cuddle and talk.
It might have been the darkness of night providing psychological protection, or maybe it was the simple comfort we had together, intimacy lowering inhibitions, but I felt Rory was being more honest at night.
There was no joking and ribbing - aside from gentle jabs at something dumb I’d done that day. She told me about the pressure at high school to fit in, to be fashionable, and how catty other girls could be. It astonished me how mean they were.
She talked about the pressure to have sex. Being called a virgin was a complex label. If you’re pretty, you’d be labeled frigid or too scared. If you were a virgin and not pretty - a measure assigned by other girls that included looks and clothes - you were harassed with snide, spiteful words.
It shocked me that I was so clueless about this subculture.
I was also shocked at the subjects girls talked about. They openly discussed their boyfriends, talked about kissing and fondling, and even sexual intimacy. These high school girls who appeared so sweet and innocent were not. Having lived through high school, I knew guys were nowhere close to being as open. We tended to brag, inflate our achievements, and lie frequently, not denigrate each other beyond calling some guys nerds or losers, geeks, idiots, wimps.
Rory talked about how feeling pretty was intricately linked to her looks and clothes and how the opposite sex responded, how unfair it was since guys didn’t have to worry about fashion and makeup.
The one saving grace was Rory, with the exception of her toes, liked her body. She liked her proportions and didn’t care that her breasts were smaller than her friends.
She giggled when I concurred, informing her I liked her body, too.
“You’re biased,” she countered.
“No. You have an amazing body, beauty spots, wonky toes, and all.”
“What beauty spots?”
“The one under your left breast and another just above your pubic hair. I haven’t studied your naked ass closely enough to know if there are others.”
“Maybe I’ll let you find out,” she said softly, playing with the sparse hair on my chest. She turned her eyes up to me. “Can we take the boat out tomorrow? Just us?”
“I’d love to. Why?”
“My period is almost over. I bought a new bikini. I want to wear it for you.”
Remembering her comment about fashion, I corrected her. “You mean, wear for your own pleasure.”
Rory smiled. “No. I want to wear it for you.”
Tomorrow. Saturday.
We kissed and cuddled and settled for sleep. I couldn’t remember feeling so happy. I adored Rory and having her in bed with me, sleeping with me, and waking up with her was such a joy. I was, I decided, blessed beyond belief.
As sleep drifted in, I wondered what my sister would think of this. Would she see Rory’s happiness? Would she see mine and understand? I hoped so.
“Watch where you’re going!” Rory yelled.
“What?” I yelled from the shaded cockpit.
She jabbed her finger forward. I looked and made a slight adjustment to avoid another boater we were bearing down on with astonishing speed. At three-quarters throttle, with the boat trimmed, we were skimming over the ocean, three outboard Mercurys singing with unrestrained glee.
Rory’s hair flew, whipping around. She had one hand trying to hold it down, her other arm stretched out on the back of the bench up in the bow. She sat casually, not disturbed by the occasional bounce of the boat as we hit waves at the wrong angle.
She’d informed me she’d bought the bikini with me in mind. She was telepathic! On the boat, as I’d set off, she’d pulled her T-shirt up and off and removed her shorts, and that was the last thing I consciously remember about the journey so far.
Mindlessly, by experience alone, I piloted us out and headed south deeper into the Keys, planning to circle around to the Gulf side, the calmer side.
My attention was on Rory and she knew it. She had a small, pleased smile even when she wasn’t looking at me. But, dear God!
This young goddess, with a flawless body evenly tanned bronze and rich dark, glossy hair, had bought the simplest bikini.
Pure white, it was strings and small pieces of cloth. Her breasts were chastely covered by triangles joined by string. Just a hint of creamy skin was exposed, that part where her breasts start to swell from her chest. Her bikini bottom was equally small, with strings tied into bows at her sides. It wasn’t a micro bikini. It covered all the important bits. But, in its simplicity it was unbelievably sexy. Interesting folds formed to the delta of her pussy, reinforcing its lushness and drawing attention to her vulva coddled by pure white and filling the gap at the top of slender legs.
Rory was all skin in the bikini, wonderful, glowing skin. The shape of her body was exquisite; youthfully slim, narrow-hipped, yet full of sensual female curves. I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to make love to her, to have that body under me, feel her moving against me, those legs around me, and finding sweet heaven.
“Watch out!” she yelled again, pointing.
I pulled back the throttles as we neared a channel separating two islands and swore at myself.
Thirty-five minutes later, we were cruising around in calm, shallower water on the Gulf side. It seemed weekend boaters were out in force, some fishing, others partying. There was no secluded spot. Resigning myself to no skinny dipping, I found a spot and anchored.
The silence was broken by laughter and music floating across the water from fellow boaters and an occasional motor passing. Heat beat down despite it being before ten in the morning.
This time, I dropped a towel on the vinyl bench before sitting next to Rory.
She smiled at me. “That was an interesting ride. I’ve never seen you come so close to an accident.”
“Your bikini’s fault,” I observed.
Rory grinned. “You like it?”
I nodded, smiling. “I think women are far sexier in lingerie or bikinis than when they’re bare-assed naked. Certainly more erotic.”
Rory contemplated me for a moment. She smiled. “So, I’m a woman?”
I nodded. “You have all the requisite parts.”
She laughed and glanced around at the other boats, all a fair distance from us. “It’s not very private here. Well, no matter. We can still have fun. Want to swim?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Standing on the bench, she dove overboard in a graceful dive. I tugged my T-shirt off and followed her in.
We swam, played, dunked each other, and laughed. Eventually, tired, we came together, Rory smiling with mischief. I checked the other boats. We were still very visible.
She moved into me and grabbed my wrist, her eyes twinkling tarnished gold flecks. “This way,” she instructed, tugging me.
We drifted eight feet to the side of the boat. She held onto it for support and said, “Good. Now kiss me. You haven’t kissed me today.”
I did. Yet again, I was transported by a simple kiss, so illicit and exciting, Rory’s lips so soft and warm. Her eyes twinkled and closed. Then she murmured pleasure and my body responded, arousal stealing in. It surged when Rory’s hand brushed the front of my swimming suit. With a gasp, I ended the kiss and backed away.
Rory smiled slyly. “What’s the matter?”
Shaking my head, I muttered, “I swear, Rory. You’re...”
“I’m what? And you never swear,” she observed.
“We’re in the open. Someone could see us.”
“Uh-huh. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“No ... Actually, yes. But I value my freedom.”
She floated close again, her fingers playing with the waist of my bathing suit. “No one can see under the water.” Her hand brushed lower, teasing my partial erection. Pure impishness danced in her beautiful eyes. She smiled. “You can touch me, too.”
Rory fondled me into a full, aching erection. Then, when she eased her hand inside my suit, reached down, and gripped my cock, horniness took control. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching down and cupping her pussy. Rory smiled and parted her legs, giving my erection a squeeze.
Without sight, the shape of her pussy seemed ever more lush, a soft, sensual pad narrowing to her full vulva. It struck me this was the first time I was touching her pussy even if it was over her bikini, and that realization almost took me over the edge and into rashness. Fondling a fifteen-year-old’s crotch was far, far more erotic than a mature woman. It was so forbidden it had my blood racing.
At the sound of a boat nearing at full bore, I removed my hand. Rory jerked her hand out of my suit, and we watched a retired couple pass. They waved at us. We waved back. I think I might have blushed! My face felt abnormally warm.
Rory hauled herself up and over the side into the boat. I didn’t. I waited, hoping my erection would flag. It didn’t. Once again, I found myself knocking my forehead against fiberglass in the hope sanity would be restored. It wasn’t.
Rory peeked over, grinned, and asked, “What’s the matter?”
Trish
- 10.07.2021
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