It was a dark and stormy night. I’ve always wanted to start a story like that, but actually it really was. I’d arrived three days before in this campsite. I say ‘campsite’ but it would be more accurate to call it a wooded field with occasional flat areas. This was the rough camping area, the farm had three separate camping areas, caravan heaven – hard standing by the river, where people over 40 with no ambition in life could turn up with their caravan and put the kettle on and do damn all (okay, okay, I was 20 and not very tolerant of men who couldn’t see their waist band for the flab and women called Edie or something who would make you vomit by taking off their tops in their deckchairs. I’m more tolerant now – except about 20-somethings who are noisy, brash and dress stupidly); ‘luxury’ camping – flat field behind the caravans, toilet block and showers (50p a shower – who has that kind of money!) and rough camping half a mile up the hill in the wooded field – toilets were two wooden shacks which might stay standing long enough for you to have a shit, but don’t rely on it. They were the other end of the field too. Initially I went for a piss in the bushes instead, but then there came a good reason to walk across the field. We’ll get to that. If you want a shower then the shower block is available down the hill, or you could stand naked in the rain.
I was camping alone. I was meant to be camping with my girlfriend in the field below but two days ago she broke up with me. To be more accurate she traded up, dropped me and went to Ibiza with the boss’s son. I was mortified for at least 5 minutes, then I was furious and called her a “fucking, low-life slag”. I rang her next day and apologised. If she had laid into me I would have felt better, but she was nice as pie and said she understood. UNDERSTOOD! I didn’t want to be understood by the girl who had just dumped me because Jack had said “hey, fancy coming to Ibiza with me?” I hung up and thought “you, bitch, you really are what I said”. Actually I repeated what I’d said, and added some even more choice words in the privacy of my own room. I even wished I had had an STD so I would have given it to her and Jack would come back with his dick falling off. That’s how angry I was, I was willing to have syphilis just so she and he would have got it too!
I was at school with Jack, he was a sly, devious, underhand, pimping, fucking, mother ... but no, you’re right, I’m getting distracted. I’m not going to let him annoy me anymore. But if a girlfriend chops his cock off then I will definitely cheer, ‘nuf said.
I decided to go camping anyway, slight change of plan, no need to spend more than was necessary in having a pitch near the showers and washrooms and laundry just because Miss Pissypants wants it. No, the rough camping will do and I’ll wash my socks by hand if I need to (three pairs should be ample for two weeks surely?). So that’s what I did. I drove up in Gertrude – my car, hand me down from my mother who called it Gertrude after her aunt. The car was difficult, stubborn to start and a dull brown colour. So was the aunt apparently. I share my mother’s sense of humour. My Dad is mister serious. If life was meant to be fun it would be bright colours (‘but darling, it IS bright colours’. Not in his head apparently).
So I drove up, paid the lower camping fee and found a nearly flat slot for the four person frame tent – another demand from the woman who at that moment was probably getting her tits out for public view on the dance floor in Ibiza. As you can see, I don’t bear grudges. I had a mansion of a tent. I sat outside and started reading. I was determined to enjoy the holiday. It would be half walking across the fells looking for buzzard, red kite, hen harrier; and half reading Lord of The Rings (again), Silmarillion, Farmer Giles of Ham, The Hobbit, Smith of Wooton Major and War and Peace (the last one was always on the top so people thought I was intellectual).
The next day an old minibus arrived, crept cautiously just into the field and disgorged 14 girls. Two were maybe my age or slightly older, the rest were 14 up to 17 or so I guessed. “Oh my fucking God!” I said quietly “Now there’ll be singsongs until midnight. GingGangGoolyGooly or whatever it is.” I didn’t know that Girl Guides didn’t sing that, they would sing ‘Campfires burning’ in trilly, melodic voices in a round later that evening. Just as annoying when you want to sleep and get up early (to catch the early morning wildlife on the tops). I wasn’t feeling well disposed to pretty young women at that moment for reasons that you have read above. In an earlier world I would probably have become a monk, or at least a novice, at this point. Not sure the celibacy part would have taken hold in me though.
They carried the stuff along past me, and picked various flattish places for the ridge tents. They put up lines between trees. I should say, we were the only occupants of the rough camping field. One of the young leaders spoke to me “Hello, I hope we won’t disturb you too much”
Now, I may have, at that moment, hated the entire Monstrous Regiment of Women, but I was usually polite, and she was pretty and I was English and well... “No, no, I’m sure it will be fine. It’s a lovely view isn’t it?”
“Yes, we were going to camp at Dungerly but that campsite was washed away last week, it’s been a very wet summer”
“You should be alright here, if the water comes up this high we’ll need an Ark”
She laughed and I laughed and no longer hated women. I watched her walk away; I watched her slim hips swivel and the shorts rise and fall; she was shouting “No, Emily, not that way round. Put the tent the other way, no, no the other, other way” She was laughing and smiling. I suspected Emily was a challenge but this leader was good at what she did.
I went back to my book and started noticing the girls in shorts walking back and forth with equipment. Little breasts rose and fell, round buttocks swivelled, and lithe legs walked one way and happily ran the next. When the leader came back I spoke to her “Where are you from?” She named a town not known for its working class, deprived areas; as I had already surmised, these were middle class girls released from school and respectability.
“They always enjoy it. Some get a little home sick, but they don’t have to wash every day, they don’t feel the need to look their best” I nearly said ‘they look pretty good as they are’ and just stopped myself in time. It would be taken wrongly I knew – I had learnt enough about women from the bitch in Ibiza and my Mum that what men say and mean is not what women hear and understand. Mum didn’t speak to me for two days when she asked if the dress suited her and I said no. “I just hope the weather improves”
“It’s been okay today. Maybe we’ll get summer after all”
The next day (after bloody ‘campfires burning’, ‘row, row, row your boat’ and other delights until 11pm) was also good. I was up at 5am, drove to Point Tusk and set off for a 22 mile round hike across Tenny’s Top, Bass Bottom and round the reservoir. Then back along the old tramline they had built to ferry materials for the dam at the reservoir. I ticked off some birds, watched a pair of foxes play fighting for an hour and then watched them kill a rabbit and play with that. I was back at 5pm, very tired, and very pleased with the day.
The girls and two leaders were busy cooking and, I noticed, a line of clothes was hanging up. It included underclothes as well as top clothes. So it was curiosity as much as politeness that made me head across the field to the ablutions (actually they were just toilets, one sink in the gents for washing hands, that was it) instead of into the bushes for a wiz.
“Hello, how was your day?”
“Oh, hello, we went for a walk, only three of us fell into the water off the stepping stones, that’s quite good really” The girls and leaders were all laughing. So the clothes were from three of them. “I was one of them, that’s why they are laughing so much!” I had thought the bras were two sizes, two smaller, and one more full size. I had tried not to stare at the bras and panties hanging up.
“Oh, still it stayed dry ... out of the river I mean. I was up on the top bird watching.” I walked on and they went back to making their meal, and joyfully singing fuckin’ ‘Campfires burning’!. The toilets really weren’t that enticing, I heard a female voice from the other shed, “Hello? Anyone? There’s no toilet paper” On the way back I told the other leader (who was even less the archetype for Girl Guide leader – hourglass figure in shorts with legs I could dream about) that one of her charges needed some help. She smiled shyly, I had the impression she wasn’t entirely comfortable with a man knowing one of the girls needed to wipe her bum. But heh! We all do it.
The pub beckoned. Fish and chips and two pints of ‘Fingles Cave’ (a brewery with a range of classic beers – so they used classic music to name them. 1812 Stout, Perfect Day Brown Ale. Fingles Cave had a hint of the sea about it) later I walked back up the river valley and then up the track to the campsite. The clouds were starting back I noticed. I double pegged the tent. I was always careful when camping. It seemed to me that being careful meant you kept your tent, taking a chance could mean you lost it. I’d prefer to pull out extra pegs in daylight than run around in the wind at night in my pyjamas, especially since I don’t wear pyjamas. That’s just me though, feel free to live dangerously.
The wind began to get up, and then the rain came down. I got up out of bed to see. It was very impressive, the wind was blowing along the valley and the rain was nearly horizontal. There was no lightning, just a wind that seemed to be getting more and more annoyed as time went on. It screamed angrily at the pusillanimous little humans who had the temerity to put fabric up and hide under it.
My tent flapped alarmingly, but it was set amongst the trees and I had double pegged it. As long as the trees stayed up I was probably okay. I went out in a lull in the rain and added extra guys, hoping that the guy loops on the tent would hold, these I tied to trees. Then I saw the flashing lights along the field. The wind was blowing from them towards me, if I shouted they would hear nothing, but I thought I heard urgent calls from that direction. I sighed, if only I’d stayed in the tent and slept! Ah well, I couldn’t leave them now if I thought they needed help.
I put on some warmer clothes and a waterproof and made my way over. The scene was one of chaos and destruction. Some of the tents seemed to have disappeared, others were flapping wildly as the girls struggled to peg them down. I began helping but realised it was a hopeless cause, even if they got them pegged out, they would not be waterproof after so much flailing around. I started finding rocks and weighing down the tents that remained. I found one of the leaders and shouted to her that the girls could shelter in my tent. Some had apparently been sent over to shelter in the toilets but they were proving less that weatherproof in this gale. Only my tent was holding up.
There was the minibus of course, as a last resort, but that would be a poor refuge. She thanked me and asked if I would get the three youngest ones from the toilets and take them over whilst the rest of them weighted down the tents. “Bring the cups if you can, I’ll make some soup when I get back” I shouted.
The girls had naturally gone into the Ladies toilets. In the morning we found the Gents had stood up to the weather better, but they weren’t to know that. I found the three sitting on the floor shivering with cold. They looked shocked when I walked in, I wasn’t sure if it was because someone had arrived or because I was a man in the Ladies toilets. It seemed unimportant at that moment. “Come on you three, Rachel has sent me to get you over to my tent. It’s dry and warmer than here I think” Their stranger danger training kicked in. Really? In the middle of a gale that is destroying the campsite and you three think I’m going to abduct you? Well, yes, I suppose that would be an excellent time if I was an evil rapist. We agreed to go via the Guide tents to get assurance. Then we moved on to my tent and the first three were safe. I tipped out my bag of clothes: jumpers, shirts, jeans and suggested they took off their wet things and put some dry ones on. I had to pointedly turn away so they felt safe undressing. Oh, yes, definitely middle class girlies here; the storm rages outside and they are in the first stage of hypothermia but they are concerned I might see a teeny tit or bum.
I couldn’t light the cooker until everybody was in. It was unsafe anyway, but doing it when people were unzipping the front could have been suicidal. So we waited and others drifted in. Some of the older girls were far less reticent about stripping off I noticed. Perhaps when you’ve just started growing proper boobs and pubic hair you are more shy and then when you have something to be proud of you don’t mind quite so much. Or perhaps they were just frozen to the bone.
I didn’t stare, don’t get me wrong, but I did notice some pretty 17 year old cleavage in sensible bras as girls put on the last of my dry shirts ... When the two leaders arrived I had nothing left to offer. That was a shame because they were soaked through.
I boiled the saucepan, it took a while as the flame whisked around, but the tent stayed solid and the cooker with its back guard was pretty good. It was all safe ... ish. 15 cup-a-soups later the girls were a little warmer. Did I say this was a four person frame tent? It had two sleeping comparments, and, by general consent the 12 girls all crowded into one. They huddled together for warmth and, being all very, very close together they did get warm. After their traumatic experiences, despite the noise of the wailing banshees outside, they fell asleep! Someone arriving now might have taken it for a lesbian orgy, there were arms and legs wrapped round and sticking out. It was amazing that they all fitted in there, I worried someone might suffocate but Rachel and Sarah checked them and said it all seemed okay.
Rachel and Sarah were the two leaders. We’d kind of introduced ourselves at some point in the night, I forget when. Now though I was concerned for them as they were still in wet clothes. They were shivering and I was beginning to as well. The only dry option was to strip off to underclothes and climb into my two person sleeping bag. A two person sleeping bag that my horrible, ugly, ex-girlfriend wasn’t sharing with me. Okay, she wasn’t ugly, that’s why Jack had whisked her and her milky white 36DDs to Ibiza.
“We’ll need to get in and huddle together for warmth as well. We’ll have to take these wet things off soon anyway else we three will get hypothermia.” Rachel’s teeth were chattering, she wasn’t thinking too clearly either as she looked blankly at me. Sarah took control and, misunderstanding me slightly, stripped herself and Rachel and slid into the sleeping bag. I genuinely had meant they should keep bra and pants on of course! I had no bad intentions towards them at that moment; hell I doubted if I could have got it up if they’d begged me. I looked at her and she said “Come on, you’ll get sick if you don’t get warm soon”
And so I pulled off my clothes as well and slipped naked into a sleeping bag with two nubile, attractive, shapely, women ... and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep. The first time for a three in a bed for me, and all I wanted was sleep. The two girls were the same.
In the morning we woke early to hear scrabbling at the tent door. The rain had blown itself out but the wind was strong still, though it had lessened. The scrabbling was the girls, finding that they could wait no longer, they were heading out and round behind the tent for a desperate pee. A tent is not a soundproof box so we heard the plashy flow of girls having a pee, and the occasional fart; which latter caused the girls and us to start giggling. Of course hearing a load of girls peeing had the expected effect on us and we three needed to go as well. No-one wanted to be first. We waited as the girls settled down again. We waited wondering how to deal with this. A man can hold on just a bit longer if he squeezes his penis, but that might seem like I was jacking off I thought. Eventually Rachel said “you go out left and we’ll go out right. No peeking” and with that there was a mad scramble of the three of us to the door. Now of course I didn’t peek whilst they peed, I was too busy letting rip with a long stream of urine myself. I heard a giggle from inside the tent, so they weren’t all asleep. Ah well, the sleeping compartment flap had stayed shut so I hadn’t corrupted young minds with a view of a hairy arse vacating the tent. Actually I wasn’t that hairy. Anyway, like I said, I didn’t peek at the two women having a piss; I could hardly avoid seeing breasts of a delightfully full and rounded shape and bottoms of perfect white disappearing round to the right of the tent.
And hearing them too of course, that provoked more giggling from inside the tent. I’m sure a couple of girls were chanting “we know what you’re doing...”
I was first back in, and only just settling in when the two leaders came back in “It’s freezing out there!” Now I knew that, my cock, having done its business, had shrunk to nothing in the cold; I was glad I was hidden under the cover of the sleeping bag. But if I hadn’t known, the very prominent nipples that arrived might have given me an indication. I didn’t intend to look, but the voice – think it was Sarah – naturally drew you to look at the speaker and there were two full frontal nudes with breasts and nipples that would have had me standing upright immediately in normal circumstances. Micro seconds later I took in the two full bushes surrounding nearly hidden, but just visible slits. Of course they had nothing to wipe themselves with; as they slid down inside the bag I felt the drops of moisture sliding off. Rachel looked at me, knowing what I’d seen and was clearly aware of what I’d just felt. She was probably red but the dull light hid it well. All this was too much and I got a massive erection which it was impossible to hide.
None of us could say anything, any girls still awake would hear. So we pretended I couldn’t feel their breasts on my skin and their naked bottoms pushing against me from either side. We pretended they didn’t feel the massive boner that would slide past them when they or I moved. It was hell, the inevitable happened. We fell asleep again!
What, I wondered when I woke to birds chirruping, what was wrong with me? I was sandwiched between two totally naked beauties, right beside a cornucopia of generally semi-exposed teenage flesh and I’d fallen asleep twice. I remembered my grandfather, who fell asleep during an orgy scene in a film we were watching when I was 12. I shouldn’t have been watching it, it was late; but I was staying with him for a few days and he’d not realised what kind of film it was. I did, I thought I might see a tit or a bum before being packed off to bed; but as the first bare breast appeared on the screen he slid into sleep and I ended watching an orgy with graphic and extended sex scenes that made me quite an expert at school. I was proud to relate at school that in one shot I had counted 43 tits, 18 female rear bums and 3 front ones. I didn’t bother counting the males nude parts visible. Now here I was acting like a geriatric too.
I lay there, between the two women, enjoying the feeling of illicit contact with female flesh. I hadn’t felt like this since I was a young teenager, when you might brush against a friend from school at the swimming baths with her in a bikini. Or you got to have a smoochy Christmas kiss with a slightly tipsy girl and your hands pulled her close and she didn’t object. The innocence of youth. Later of course it all becomes a competition so see how far she will let you go and she puts herself in a way to avoid going too far. Looking back that all seems a bit tawdry. Now I was naked between two women (two naked women!) and of course the massive boner was there; nothing would or could happen, any sexual movement would likely be discouraged and even if it wasn’t there was the multi-limbed Girl Guide monster just beyond the cotton separating curtain. I idly wondered why we hadn’t rolled it up to make one big room last night, tiredness I suppose; anyway I was pleased we hadn’t. I wouldn’t have enjoyed the vicarious pleasure of the naked nymphets if a load of half-clothed teenagers had been in the same room. No, there was no way I would have made the beast with two backs with either girl – ‘beast with three backs?’ I wondered – if it was likely to corrupt the innocent. That probably disappoints some readers, but not all men are rapists, despite what Irma Kirtz said, or was it Dworkin? Who cares? I wasn’t so out of control.
I enjoyed the moment, the moments. Rachel woke and looked at me, then Sarah. From beyond the curtain there were stirrings too. Time to get up before too many difficult questions had to be answered. I took the initiative, gentleman (stupid!) that I am, and slid out of the sleeping bag. I didn’t even look to see if they were looking, I just pulled on my wet pants – five minutes later I wondered why I hadn’t thought and got a clean dry pair from my bag, but I didn’t. Maybe I was just a little intimidated by the rampant oestrogen in the tent. If even one girl had made a wry look at my cock, intimating that it was unimpressive I would have been crushed. Men are actually quite insecure a lot of the time. I pulled over the wet jumper and damp jeans and ickily went outside; leaving the harem to get themselves presentable.
The scene before me was like a film set. The world was devastated. Branches lay everywhere. Near the entrance a large tree had fallen, blocking the way out. A branch had landed on the minibus, denting the roof. My car was fine as far as I could see, but I was pretty sure it would object to being left out in rain like that and wouldn’t start, I didn’t try (actually it surprised me and started easily when I got round to testing it, days later at home it reverted to being the Gertrude I knew and disliked).
Scanning round the field I could see hedges with sleeping bags, clothes hooked on the hawthorn; further round the toilet ‘blocks’ was now toilet block and firewood. The Ladies had collapsed at some point in the night. Then up to where the girls’ tents had been. Most were still there, flattened and held down by stones, I counted and reckoned maybe one or two had gone “Could be worse” I said out loud and a voice beside me said
“How?” Rachel looked distraught, I put an arm round her shoulder, her damp woolly clad shoulder, to comfort her.
“Well, we all came through okay. Most of the tents still exist” ‘Gold star for me’ I thought, flattening them had kept them safe “And there is still a lot of equipment around” I bent down to pick up a scrap of white material, held it up to see what it was and a girl snatched her ‘sexy’ pants out of my hand. “Not the most practical ones for camping?” I laughed. She scowled at me, but Rachel laughed, gave a kind of mental and physical shake and shouted
“Come on you lot, there is a lot of clearing up to do.” She looked at me “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to cook in your tent, could you make tea? I was delegated as chief cook by the rescue team apparently. Before that I made my way over to the Gents, as I stood having a slash, a head stuck itself round the door.
“Oops, sorry. Umm I was wondering if the girls could share the facilities here?” Sarah was talking with her back to me as I hastily pulled the wet zip up the wet jeans; making a mental note to always use the cubicles from now on.
“Yes, of course, I should have thought” As we left we could see into the valley. The river was up, the best sites at the river bank were under water, and many caravans were clearly awash. A couple of campervans appear to have been able to move but they were trapped in the field by the river. The camping field was not much better off as the track to it went down through the caravan field exit. In addition a winterbourne had erupted to life as the ground water rose and it was gushing down across the access track. The track had a massive gash through it, probably too deep for cars to negotiate. One car had obviously tried to drive round that and was up to its axles in mud.
When we got back to the tent – I was starting to feel proud of my tent as it seemed unscathed; Rachel came over “I turned on the radio in the van. The engine turns over by the way, but it won’t start. The news says Loyer Brill is completely flooded and they are evacuating the river side in Mapple.” Mapple was a town of 20,000 or so. Loyer Brill was a smaller village about 6 miles down the valley; the river had burst its banks there and washed the bridge away, three people were still unaccounted for and one 90 year old had died of shock. “The emergency services won’t be that interested in us for a while I’m afraid”
“I’ll make that tea” was my reply The scavengers were collecting all the detritus from the field, some was recoverable, some not. They quickly found six sleeping bags in total and hung them in the trees to dry in the wind. That was a silver lining, the wind was still up but the rain had gone. It was a brilliant blue sky and this lightened the mood a little. Another couple were found later, damaged but usable once dry.
I made the tea and, perhaps foolishly, used all the bread I had to make toast. I figured we needed to raise blood sugar levels and breakfast might just do that. No-where to sit of course, so girls and adults would come in, collect a mug of tea (with a slight hint of tomato soup flavour from the dregs in the mug) and take a slice of toast. There was even marmalade, peanut butter and marmite. The girls looked horrified as I put all three on my slice.
“What? Have you never had a ‘peanut butter and anything’ sandwich?” I noticed a couple of girls took a slice and put marmalade and peanut butter on it. Some of the ‘mummy’s girls’ were slightly more independent than others. Some just waited to be told what to do, they didn’t have an original thought in their carefully monitored, delicately nurtured, heads. I wondered to Rachel how they had been allowed to come camping.
“Well, I think the parents didn’t realise how basic it would be; and, obviously, they didn’t realise it would turn out like this” A girl walked past wearing one of my shirts, she had no shorts on and the shirt buttons were not all done up. “Umm, Sandy? Perhaps a few more buttons on the shirt? It won’t flap so much. Have you no dry shorts? No? Oh well, never mind” Rachel looked at me looking at the shapely little bottom in dark blue panties that the flapping shirt kept revealing “I suppose we can trust you?”
“You’d know by now if you couldn’t.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve been a great help, sorry”
“Don’t be, you’ve a huge responsibility with these girls. I don’t envy you”
“Don’t remind me, still, as you say, we are all fine”
After the breakfast the group was broken up, some to continue collecting the wind-blown stuff, some started to see what could be salvaged from the tents. I suggested that each person put their mug in a specific place, we wouldn’t worry about washing for a while. Two girls were sent over to use the one sink in the Gents to rinse the found muddy knickers back to vague shades of original colours – off-white, dull grey, streaky shades of muddy brown – then they could be hung up to dry for later. I noticed that Rachel and Sarah had both opted not to bother putting on a cold, damp, bra; their jumpers moved a little more as they walked. Considering what I’d seen and felt I was surprised that their bra-less but hidden breasts could excite me. Once again it seemed that what was hidden could be as erotic as what was seen. I wondered if the jeans were similarly touching bare skin all over.
We got four tents back up, and that, with some crowding, would be enough for the 12 Girl Guides. “We can sleep in the van tonight” said Sarah. I pointed out that there were only just enough sleeping bags for the girls if most of them doubled up. It would be a crush but there would be enough space in the tents for 3 girls and a couple of bags each. There would not be enough for the two leaders.
“I suppose we could share a sleeping bag?” suggested Sarah “But perhaps we should let the girls sort themselves out with what we have?” A voice in the dim reaches of my brain said ‘woopee!’ Earlier we had wondered about just packing up and going home but, for the Guides, two things mitigated against that.
By a vote of 10 to 2 the girls said they’d rather stay. I was impressed that even the ones who clearly had no idea what the hell to do in a crisis (and a crisis could be ‘I haven’t got a spoon for my Rice Krispies’ right up to ‘the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal has just eaten my sister’) were mostly up for staying and seeing it out. They must have very boring lives if a windy, muddy, field is preferable to being at home.
The other problem was the tree currently blocking the exit.
The wind, sadly in some ways, was very good at drying out things and the girls began to take on more respectable dress, bottoms got covered, open shirts were be-jumpered. I did notice that the two leaders did not feel it necessary to tame the puppies under their clothing. Actually, I realised that I had not seen their bras hanging up to dry with the rest of the underwear, perhaps this was a deliberate option to keep free and airy breasts.
A campsite manager finally came up to see how we were all getting on. He explained that they had been overwhelmed with retired biddies who had lost their every comfort. “Last night was a nightmare” he said. I wanted to say ‘tell me about it! We had quite a time!’ but he went to on to explain that the over-sixty brigade (and this probably included a good few who were chronologically younger but had lost the will to live) had mostly somehow blamed him and that, not content with having a warm dry house to shelter in, they had been very demanding guests. It would be a few days before the river went down and he could free his farm machinery enough to remove the tree. The option of hand sawing the trunk into segments didn’t seem too attractive. Sarah went down with him to the farmhouse to use the telephone which, mercifully, was still working. She had the same conversation 13 times (two of the girls were sisters, but then she had to ring her own and Rachel’s parents too):
“Yes, we are fine. We all survived unhurt and have put the campsite back together.
No, we have food; we are fine.
No, we can’t get out because of the fallen tree, like I said. But we are fine.
No, there is no point in coming up. I don’t think you’d get here with the flooding further down the valley.
And, honestly, we are all fine. The girls want to stay” mostly “we are fine, we are nearly dry now too”
She never mentioned the loss of tents. No point in putting any negatives in.
“We can’t let you do all the cooking. I’ll be very careful.” We had looked at alternatives, putting the cooker in the minibus for example. Or in the Gents “uewwww! No!” Finally we agreed to leave it where it was and the three ‘adults’ would do the cooking. A couple of the seventeen year olds clearly bridled at being labelled children, but they could see the risks of burning down the tent I think. Now that there were other tents to retire to, there was less to-ing and fro-ing which made life easier. We designated the minibus and my car as sitting space. We even played some CDs, but kept it to a minimum and kept the internal lights off as the batteries would need to be good to get us both started.
Tinned mince, tinned potatoes, tinned carrots. Two girls were vegetarian and would normally have had something else. They didn’t complain at all. The meal was delicious. Now it was true that I had noticed that Rachel bending over the cooker was a pretty sight (one of the seventeen year olds saw me looking at Rachel’s tight jean encased bottom and winked at me. I actually reddened!) but that just added to the atmosphere, the food really was lovely. The outdoors gives one an appetite, and this wild and wasted outdoors meant we all would eat whatever arrived.
At 7pm the wind was getting up again, at 8pm the rain was back in force – all the dried clothes were rescued in time – and at 9pm everybody agreed we should call it a night. We had used extra pegs and extra guys on the ridge tents, I had redoubled my efforts on my own tent. 14 girls and women seemed to think it essential to hug everybody else (except me, obviously) before going to bed. Men just say ‘see ya’, women have a whole rigmarole to go through. It took ages. Trips to the toilets were done in groups, running gleefully through the rain, I waited until all the females had been. I had noticed that, whenever I was in the remaining toilet block, any trickling girly noises in the cubicles stopped or didn’t start until I left. Once, just to test this theory I crept in and the noise of girls peeing and shitting was quite plain, then I started singing to myself and it all went quiet until I left again. So I let them pee, poo and clean teeth and then went myself. When I got back to the frame tent, Rachel and Sarah were still dressed.
“You want the other compartment? It’s no trouble, I can clear my clothes out” The girls had left the place looking like a tip, as girls often seem to.
“No, but there is only one sleeping bag. Last night we were all tired.”
“And you are wondering if I can be trusted tonight? I assure you I won’t do anything. You can trust me totally. Okay?”
Rachel replied “just the opposite actually, can we share the same way as last night?”
I was slow on the uptake “You mean all in the one bag, but you have dried pyjamas so that would ... Oh, I see.
That would be, well, fine, yes”
Sarah was already undressed from the waist up, she was pulling down her jeans, which had dried stiffly on her. I knelt and helped pull them down. She sat down and I pulled her trousers off entirely, leaving white flowery panties, sensible, camping size ones (but, given the situation, still very sexy) as the only thing hiding her from my view. “Off or on?” she said
“O ... O ... Off please” I croaked, I could barely get the words out. I looked up to see Rachel also now pulling her jumper off her unencumbered breasts. I wanted to grab them and suck them and tweak them; but I wasn’t sure, even now, if I was being offered carte blanche or just the view. She looked at me.
“Are you not planning on coming to bed? I think we all need some R&R after today” I felt two hands behind me as an entirely naked Sarah pulled at my shirt, and then Rachel unzipped my jeans. As the jeans headed South, my cock freed itself and pointed triumphantly North. “See Sarah? I told you he wasn’t gay” Once in the sleeping bag they explained that Sarah had thought that because of my helpfulness and lack of trying to take advantage I must be gay. What a sad situation that heterosexual males are assumed to be after sex in any and every situation I thought. But then my cock had been up last night it was true, or early this morning anyway.
Rachel’s hand slid over my chest and she kissed. I kissed her back and found her right breast to stroke. Then I was pulled to face the other way as Sarah did the same. Rachel slid her hand down to my cleft and I jumped a little as she pushed her fingers down along it. She slipped down a little and let her hand carry on round to stroke my balls. My erection meant that my penis was out of reach from behind, it was stiff and upright and twitched when Sarah held it. I took all this to mean their bodies were open for exploration too and pushed my left hand underneath my side and back to feel Rachel again whilst my right hand moved down between Sarah’s legs. Her turn to jump. I was stroking her lips already and she murmured something which – in meaning at least – was ‘I like it’. My fingers moved deeper and she moved them back “just stroke me for now, that’s nice”
Now Rachel reached round. The two of them took it in turns to rub the shaft or the head, I couldn’t stand that pressure for long so I shifted again and found Sarah’s slit wet and willing. “Is it alright now?” she nodded and I slid in. That was lovely, oddly I could control it better now. I was in control of the depth and frequency of thrust. Their four hands though, that was an entirely different matter, four hands kept reaching, stroking, poking (my behind) and I knew I would cum. A finger invaded my anus to the knuckle, that was it for me and I pumped into Sarah. She seemed pleased I had picked her, though to be honest it was pure chance.
These girls knew men, I slid silently into a doze and they let me. I was only dimly aware of the two of them now rubbing each other. I was aware of the climaxes though. They were urgent, loud (did the others hear?) and clearly very enjoyable.
With all the moving positions, I found myself on the outside, spooning round Rachel in the middle. She was facing Sarah. We dozed for a while and then I came up for a second go I found her slit from the front, slid my prick through her legs and pushed in halfway before she was even aware of me, she had been half-asleep. Sarah woke then and moved my hand and started to rub Rachel, I rapidly realised she was also rubbing herself. I came, Rachel came, Sarah came. Like a very slow machine gun.
“Yes, oh Yes!...” “Umm, yesm, YES...” “Ah! Oow Nearl ... ahhhhh”. That’s when I needed to get up. I slipped outside and Rachel came too. It was much lighter tonight than last night and perhaps we should have moved further away from each other, but we didn’t. And I wasn’t a gentleman either. As my bladder shrank back to normal size, I watched her bend and a thin stream of liquid arc to the ground. “You like watching?” she said.
“Girls peeing is really quite erotic”
She moved to kiss me ... and wiped her wet hand, the hand that had held her lips open for the pee, on my chest. I didn’t mind; that was pretty erotic too.