Dwight Snow was an only child, which seemed unfair considering two of his uncles had seven children between them. But then, as his mother pointed out, his other uncle had no children at all, so it was all swings and roundabouts.
Every year they all went away for two weeks to some delightful spot, where the kids could run riot and the parents could kick back and relax. This had been going on since before he was even born; his dad went along with it, like the wives of Uncle David and Uncle Joe did too. Uncle H had bad luck with women, he’d turned up on occasions with a wife, a girlfriend, a fiance, and alone. Nobody seemed to stick around too long, but there was no obvious reason. He was friendly without being too friendly, easy going, fun with the children. None of the parents ever had even the remotest concern about him, well, no more than normal concerning every adult. Except Monica, of course, she held suspicions about everybody, including the teachers, a policeman who pulled her over one time, and her own father. She was just that type to see what wasn’t there. Uncle H was okay.
David, Joe, and H deWarf. None of the children knew what Uncle H’s name was. In fact, neither did Monica. Linda did, but she had been sworn to eternal secrecy by Joe. He had used the simple expedient of refusing to bring her another orgasm until she promised never to tell (she had extracted the information from him whilst straddling his cock in the carefree days before children, diapers and Zippy took over his life). She had lasted a week before agreeing. They never used the ‘de’ part. Their family had fled from the Netherlands after the great 1867 Edam riots. The deWarfs were one of the families from Gouda who were expelled for bringing their foreign techniques to the great capital of red cannonball cheese manufacture. They found that their adopted country didn’t approve of people giving themselves airs with ‘de’ and ‘von’ and the like, so they still had it in their passports and on birth certificates, but mostly they just used plain Warf. Which was fine until a Star Trek alien called Warf appeared.
When Dwight was born, there were already three Warf girls. Myvanwy Warf, daughter of David and Monica; Megan also their daughter; and Aridna, daughter of Joe and Linda Warf. This last, named after some minor character in a soap her mother had been watching at the time. On the summer break, the four of them would run around the beach naked, even when Dwight was three, and Myvanwy, the eldest, was then seven. Other girls had arrived by then, Susan, Meris, Jo (Josephine), and Sarah. By the time Myvanwy was eleven, nudity wasn’t really okay anymore, she was developing, and so a swimsuit was called for. All the other girls immediately felt they needed swimsuits too, and Dwight was called upon to hide his eight year old penis too. The age of innocence was over, but they still played together, fought together, hated and hugged. At school he stuck with the myth that girls were boring and horrible, but his cousins were different. They all loved the outdoors and the freedom. They mostly learnt the facts of life early too. Passed down from girl to girl to boy to girl. “What that little thing? But it’s like a tiny sausage, and he wees from it.”
“It will get bigger, look at your dad if you get the chance.” They often did, in the freedom of the holiday, get a chance to see an adult naked or partially so. The physical descriptions being confirmed, the act of sex seemed more likely to be true too. It didn’t take long to check out the detail, then each new member of the club would be teased about how they were the result of their dad pushing his pee-machine into their mum and all naked and flabby and stuff, and then later being squeezed out of their mum’s poo hole – they didn’t get all the detail right at first, and even when they did it was fun to tease with incorrect info to start with.
There was a certain suspicion that the younger children might be the result of the holidays. It was an early tradition to let all the children sleep in one tent; kind of an adventure. The older girls helped with the younger, everyone enjoyed it. The children told each other stories, and the parents got some holiday quiet time, which frequently resulted in a new addition nine months later. Except for Dwight, his parents still got jiggy, and giggly as they rolled on the inflatable bed, but Dwight had been a one-off. The doctors had explained the problems and they accepted it was the way it was. Dwight’s mum, Arlene, had even suggested his dad, Daniel, could have a child with another woman and they could adopt or something. He laughed and hugged her and told her he would rather be childless with her than have a hundred children with someone else. She had said she would hate to have a hundred children anyway and they had made gentle love with their hands as she was still sore from Dwight’s birth.
So, Dwight was used to naked girls, and they were used to a naked boy. In their tent they had done a little show-and-tell, but mostly they knew the physical differences already. When Myvanwy reached puberty, she was persuaded to talk that through; and the following year, when she had something more impressive to show, she had shown them her small breasts. It was all innocent.
This year, they all realised that a single tent wouldn’t comfortably hold eight growing youngsters. Dwight was fourteen, and had been looking forward to the nights with the girls. The older girls thought it not really acceptable to be sleeping in a bunch with a boy anymore, but they also quite enjoyed it. The younger ones were finding that thinking of seeing ‘hunky’ Dwight was giving them interesting dreams. The very youngest weren’t sure what the fuss was about. Plas Neu had a lake, a camping ground, and, a sleeping room that held eight. Eight separate beds. It was booked and the parents began to look forward to uninterrupted sex at night, and Uncle H asked if he could bring a partner. Of course he could. Unfortunately, they split up before the holiday. Still, he didn’t seem to mind.
In fact, that was part of the problem. He liked female company, he was less worried about sex. Never had been. He could take it or leave, and the women often didn’t like to leave it. He wasn’t gay, just largely uninterested. He preferred women to men for conversation; having no interest in football or any other sport.
They had arrived and let the children find their sleeping room. It was more, and less, than expected. The room was clean, tidy, and nicely away from the tents. It had beds, but close together. It had its own washing area – open sinks in a row; and a corridor of toilet cubicles on one side and showers on the other, three of each. There had been an expectation of gender separated ablutions, but usually the room was booked by families or single sex groups. The parents explained that the camp site had separate male and female toilets if the children preferred that. The parents had been looking forward to their time alone too much to worry about the children having ‘issues’ with the combined toilet and shower room.
They all ate together, taking it in turns to cook. The children had the clearing up detail. In early years, this had been quite an imposition; now, with so many to help, it wasn’t so bad. They would wash, dry, stack and run off to play (even Mywanwy liked playing on the swings, who doesn’t?).
That first night, the younger kids were tired, and the older ones were happy enough to go to read – the holiday had always involved a no electronics rule. It was hot, the sleeping room had no insulation through the roof, it was boilingly hot. At first, they all went to bed in nightdresses and pyjamas. The sheets were pushed back, still they found it hard to sleep. Dwight took off his pyjama top. Then his pyjama bottoms, putting on some pants under the sheets. He drifted off to sleep, and wasn’t aware of one or two girls sitting up, looking at him and then unbuttoning their pyjama tops too. Mywanwy sighed quietly, sat up and pulled off her nightdress, settling down in just her pants. Later that night, Jo shouted out in a bad dream, Mywanwy got out and calmed her down; then she walked to the toilets and back. Vaguely aware that Dwight was not, now, asleep. She thought of covering herself, but thought that would draw attention to her embarrassment, so she simply walked past him and quietly said “Goodnight Dwight.”, Dwight replied with a “Sleep well.”
The adults sat in a circle and drank beer or wine, had a secret smoke (believing their children didn’t know they had the occasional crafty smoke – their children being much more careful about hiding their St Moritz (Mywanwy and Dwight), More (Megan and Susan) or Gauloise (Aridna). Uncle H produced a little pouch and cigarette papers.
“Oooh, is that? ... I haven’t had any for soo long.” said Monica. The others all waited their turn, Uncle H rolled a couple more, and a good time was had by all. Except that their neighbour was an ex-cop who recognised the smell and giggling. All of the adults found it hilarious when the police arrived. The Chief Constable of the area had a zero tolerance attitude to drugs and the seven adults were bundled away before they could even explain properly (through giggles) that there were children around. The police could see there were no children around. Later, as they came down, in the local prison, the cold hand of doom gripped a few hearts. But there was nothing to be done before morning.
At seven, Dwight got for a pee, in the cubicle, he heard a girl enter the next one, and sit and pee. He had never heard that before. The cubicles reached the floor, but not the ceiling, the trickly noises reached him and he found he had an erection. Why? Why would hearing a girl pee excite him? He had no real idea, but he was aware that he couldn’t leave without a piss, and that piss was now impossible. He waited, she left, another arrived. This was too much. When she left, he hoped he might be able to clear out his bladder. Another girl arrived, sat, and he mentally groaned. Then she let out an enormous fart and a series of plops announced a satisfying early morning shit. The thought of a girl having a poo was enough to give him back his floppy penis. He wasn’t into ‘that’ kind of thing. He left quickly, before she did; moving across the corridor to have a shower. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to wash at the basins, stripped to the waist, with girls seeing him. Then he imagined Megan at the sink beside him, similarly stripped to the waist. His erection was back; even now he didn’t satisfy himself, finishing the warm shower with a switch to cold to stimulate his skin and cool his ardour.
An hour later, they had heard the news. Campers had been chatting about it the police raid. The ring of tents was deserted. The ex-policeman’s wife assured them that she was sure the parents would be back soon. Myvanwy and Megan made some tea and the children all got bowls of cereal; it was really very funny. At nine, Myvanwy (who had a full licence), Megan and Dwight drove to the police station.
It was all true, the parents were all in prison. The magistrate of the day would hear the application for bail. Mr Archibald Enright was to represent them. He didn’t turn up until he was half an hour late.
“Mr Enright? Do you know the time?” asked the magistrate, an irritated, tweedy, local; who had little patience anyway, disliked incomers like Enright, and was a stalwart of the Presbyterian church (and member of the Absteemers League).
“The TIME, the TIME!”
“It is eleven o clock, madam. Has your watch stopped?” Wrong answer, Archibald had sampled nine large whiskies the previous evening, he wasn’t on form.
“And we were meant to meet at?”
“Oooh, I see, I’m sorry to keep you waiting, madam.”
“And the clerks, police, staff; even your defendants. You are a disgrace. I have a good mind to hold you in contempt of court.”
“I have no contempt for the court, madam, I assure you.” Meaning he DID have contempt for her? She lost her temper.
“That’s it! Join your defendants for a day. No bail. We shall hear the case in seven days, perhaps you should try and attend?” She wasn’t usually quite this short tempered; but her bitch, a thoroughbred with the official name of ‘Lady Luck of Benfield’ and called Cuddles at home, had got out and was now pregnant by a mongrel. She wasn’t pleased – though Cuddles was.
So the children were to be left to look after themselves for seven days. The parents were concerned, Uncle H just said that they’d be fine, they were old enough now. He assured them all it would be fine. The alternative, to make a fuss, would result in some of the children being taken into care. A quick discussion resulted in each eldest child being entrusted with a bank card and pin number to get cash, and ‘trusted’ not to go crazy. The trusted was in quotes because not one parent was actually comfortable with this, all imagined their children buying alcohol and having riotous parties, which, considering they were in prison awaiting trial for drugs charges, was somewhat hypocritical.
“Tomorrow we were due to go to Pleingotta.” said the self appointed leader – Mywanwy. In fairness, she took the responsibility because she thought, as the oldest, she should; not because she was power crazy.
They discussed it and agreed that since it had been paid for in advance – with fifteen people to ferry to the island, it was easier to charter a boat than try and find one of the two ferries a day that had fifteen vacancies. But how to get to the port? Mywanwy (who had a licence) and Megan (who was only a learner) talked it over and agreed that they would risk it. They took two cars, and Megan followed carefully and calmly. The only excitement was meeting a tractor on one of the narrow, winding, lanes down to the harbour. Megan reversed easily and smoothly, Myvanwy had to make a couple of goes at the same manoeuvre; it was agreed by all not to tease her for this; she was doing her best. At the harbour they parked and found the harbour master, who pointed them to the boat they had chartered. Twenty minutes early, they all had ice cream and chattered excitedly. This would either be the best, most memorable holiday ever, or would become a disaster. They were finding it was the former, so far. All of them felt sorry for their parents and uncles and aunts, but they all quite looked forward to the days of absolute, self-indulgent, freedom.
At Pleingotta town (four houses, two pubs and a tourist shop), they walked up to the castle. Pleingotta is famous for three things: the castle, home of the evil Baron Pleingotta; the cliffs, home of the most magnificent sea bird colony on that coast; and the beaches.
Baron Pleingotta achieved an unlikely and unexpected footnote to the English Civil War. Taking advantage of the chaos of war, he kidnapped fifteen (some stories say it was as many as a hundred, others as few as two. Fifteen is a reasonably accepted number) virgins – young nuns, daughters of gentry and a couple of serving girls and fled to his island fortress where he and his wife proceeded to perform unspeakable acts on them. Unspeakable, because the bowdlerised version on the information boards simply referred to them being ravished (or, in one place, ‘repeatedly ravished’). Since the baroness was equally condemned, the enquiring mind might want to know how she managed that. In fact they were far worse. She sewed up the girls vaginas so her husband could cause more pain on entry, she pierced their nipples with hot needles. Her husband and she proceeded to cut, whip and burn their captives in ways and in places to cause maximum pain. The footnote to history occurs when the opposing Parliamentarian and Royalist forces each dispatched a regiment to deal with these monsters. The two regiments met on the shore and concluded that working together made more sense than each trying their hand separately. The ensuing combined operation was achieved with notable success, perhaps each side wanted to prove they were the best fighters. The defenders of the castle had been allowed access to the misused ex-virgins, and knew that they, too, would be punished, so they fought well; but they were wiped out in facing the overwhelming numbers. Five girls were rescued relatively unscathed – so the board suggested. Since they had already been raped, sometimes by more than one person at the same time, they were either made of sterner stuff than now, or they had much to recover from. The Baron and his wife were flung from the cliffs to the rocks below. It was said that they both survived the fall but were too injured to escape the incoming tide and the attacks of angry seagulls. It was a fitting end. The two forces then departed, rejoined their armies and continued to try and kill each other.
The eight young people toured the castle, imagining the relatively erotic ravishing of the girls (or themselves, or by themselves – depending upon gender), blissfully unaware of the more horrendous notes of the story.
Then they walked across the island to the cliffs and admired the birds. Puffins, kittiwakes, herring gulls, guillemots, razorbills, gannets. It was a bird watchers dream as they swooped and dove on the fish attracted by the rich pickings around the island. Since none of the band were bird watchers, they didn’t stay too long. Then it was on to the beaches.
Had their parents been there, they would have been steered the right way. Had Uncle H been there, he would have jokingly suggested the other route (knowing it wouldn’t happen).
There are two beaches, one faces to land ward, the other out to sea. Since the 1920s, the sea ward facing beach has been the preference of more adventurous people. Even before that, it had been the scene for mixed bathing when that was regarded as immoral. Ladies had been known to remove their upper clothing from the 1950s on. Topless or nude bathing was forbidden by a county by-law, but a blind eye was turned to this particular quiet beach because it could only offend those determined to be offended. In 1976 a Mrs Erma Smith had chartered a boat to round the island with the determination to be offended and bring such lewdness to a halt. She demanded the police enforce the law. When the Sunday People published the famous picture of ‘Miss Samantha Smith – daughter of Mrs Erma Smith - being lead away in handcuffs, displaying her upper body with no opportunity to hide from the public’, Mrs Smith found herself the object of laughter and ridicule and retired to write outraged letters to the BBC instead. The beach continued; it was accepted that, as long as it was kept to that single beach and no extreme actions happened (orgies for example), it would be allowed. In keeping with this understated approach, the beaches were signposted ‘To The Beach’ and ‘To The Beach (N)’. Those in the know, knew; our band did not.
They first realised something was unusual when they walked down the long cliff path to the beach and watched as two rotund people of middle age walked in front of them along the beach – totally naked. They were shaped in such a way that they might have been models for Botticelli’s cherubs, or the fat people of a cartoon film. Nothing betrayed any semblance of a bone in their chubby bodies. Neither gave so much as a glance at the new arrivals.
Mywanwy looked across the beach and realised all the women were topless, some were bottom less too. Should they turn and walk back up that steep path? It was hot, they were tired, they wanted a swim. She laughed, “Well, you’ve seen them already.” and reached under her teeshirt, took off her bra (somehow it seemed more risque to show off a bra) and then peeled off her top. The other girls looked at her, then at Dwight, who took off his shirt too. Then they all did the same. Some had buttoned shirts to undo. Sarah, who was only twelve, opted simply to undo her shirt and leave it open, rather than take it off. Some had no bra on, so it was easy to pull off their shirts. They walked on and found a space and lay out in the sun.
“What do you mean? You said Dwight had seen them before?” asked Megan.
“I was ... I had to ... Jo had a nightmare and I got up.”
“So, you didn’t flash him when you were younger?”
“Megan! I’ll drown you!” The two girls ran in shorts to the water, Jo ran hand in hand with Sarah, who was finally persuaded to remove her shirt and shorts to show off her bikini bottom. Susan and Meris crept up to Dwight and tried to pull his swimming trunks down, laughing. Dwight responded by grabbing his shorts, then spinning and grabbing Meris. He showed surprising strength they hadn’t expected – he really was quite a strong boy despite being thin. He wasn’t really hunky at all, but he was fit, he swung her onto his shoulder and jogged to the sea. Her left breast slid past his face as he ran, back and forth. He knew he was getting an erection as he ran; he liked having her naked breast so close to his face. For the first time since he was eighteen months, he fancied taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking.
“Oh! Don’t you dare!” shouted Meris, delightedly. “Don’t you dare AhhhhH!” as she was dumped into the water. Susan ran in behind and pushed Dwight over. Together, Dwight and Meris grabbed her and pulled her down with a delighted scream.
Later, over sandwiches, they all contemplated that this would never have happened with parents watching, Topless? No thanks, not with father watching.
“But, some of these people are ancient!” said Sarah.
“Even old people can enjoy being naked. They don’t have to look like models, like Myvanwy here.” she coloured up, but liked the compliment.
“I know, but look, those tits are scraping her knees!”
“Oh, Sarah, you can be so coarse.” Dwight laughed “So young and so rude. Have you heard about the two nuns sitting in deck chairs?” The girls took the bait and shook their heads. “One says ‘nice out isn’t it?’ ‘yes, said the other, but put it away now, there’s someone coming.’”
The girls laughed uproariously, something else their parents didn’t share. They all jumped on him and started burying him in sand. This required girls to lean over him with their hanging, naked breasts. He got an erection which poked out of the sand. “You pervert!” said Myvwanwy and pushed more sand on his groin.
“I’m not the one pushing their tits in my face.” laughed Dwight. The girls looked at him, and realised, suddenly, that he was genuinely aroused by their sexuality. Some liked that thought, some weren’t sure, some weren’t sure if they had anything to arouse him. He took a chance, lifted his hand out of the sand, grabbed Sarah arm and pulled her down for a kiss. She pulled back, with a smile. The others realised that he was doing it to include her, she had no bust, no hips, and had only just had a period; it was nice of him. If they thought he might prefer young, pre-pubescent girls, they pushed that thought away. He was clearly enjoying the view on the beach.
Many of the women were young and attractive, the men had flat stomachs; some had pony tails, which amused the little group. Some of them were naked. The girls tried not to watch the men, and tried not to compare themselves with the girls. Dwight enjoyed the view. He was seeing girls pubic bushes! Not many had shaved; unlike the porn videos. Suddenly it dawned on him that even Myvanwy and Megan may not shave. He knew his mother didn’t; he’d once seen her, to their mutual shock and horror. Neither had ever mentioned it.
The girls all put sun tan lotion on their newly exposed white breasts. Each girl turned away to do it, and Dwight made a point of not looking. As a reward, he was allowed to rub lotion on several girls backs, which brought his hand very close to the same breasts from behind. Meris and Susan joined forces to lather his back and chest with lotion; both smirked as his costume tented. Tempting as it was, neither slid a hand to his thighs to tease him. They lay and cooked, swam, built sand castles, ate sandwiches (emphasis on ‘sand’) and gave not a thought of their parents locked up on remand in HMP Pentilo and HMP Havergill for Women.
There was a feeling, each had it, from the youngest to the oldest. Something was happening, this was an opportunity, a chance to explore boundaries. Their parents were locked away. But would they reappear. Would the judge – Judge Jefferies, they had named her, the hanging judge – relent and let them home? But should that influence what they did? Should they rush? And if they should, what should they rush to? It was confusing, concerning. As they packed up, they discussed tea. They would have pizza, a trip to Sainsbury was called for.
“No, not you Megan, we’ve taken a risk already. We’ll go home and then four of us will go shopping. Mum and Dad will go spare when they hear you drove to the harbour.” Myvanwy was smiling at the thought. Served them right. It didn’t even occur to them that she was driving Uncle Joe’s car; so even if she’d passed her test, she wouldn’t have been insured. But she hadn’t passed, so it was all irrelevant, she still wasn’t insured. It was an automatic Volvo, so they assumed she’d find it a little easier.
In Sainsbury’s, Sarah, Jo, Dwight and Myvanwy picked six pizzas, cooked to order, maybe too much, but they didn’t want too little either. Then, while they were being cooked, they picked a bottle of wine, Myvanwy had id, why not? But she wasn’t actually old enough, the required age being eighteen. The shop forgot to challenge her, since she had six pizzas and Sarah called her ‘Mum’, out loud. Behind them, two older women tutted about young, unmarried mothers. No, make it two bottles of South African white. Nothing fancy, but it would be nice to have wine without an adult making some stupid comment about young people getting drunk. After all, it wasn’t THEM who got arrested.
They cooked, washed, cleaned and retired. This time they needed showers, and as Dwight stood in the warm water, letting it wash over him, he began to imagine the girl, whoever it was, having her shower. He tried not to think of her, it was Susan, as it happened, soaping up her body; but he failed, his erection returned and, as quietly as he could, he rubbed himself. Being quiet meant holding back from the vigorous rubbing he was desperate to do, it took much longer. Unbeknownst to him, Susan was thinking of him, gently soaping her growing patch of hair between her legs, telling herself it needed a good wash. Eventually she was cupping her groin and rubbing hard and, when she came, her legs gave way with the passion. “Ooohh Ahh!” as she fell to the floor of the shower.
“You okay?” asked Dwight, genuinely concerned. It sounded like a girl had just collapsed. “Shall I come in?”
“No! No, no, I’m fine, honest, I just slipped.”
“Ohkkaauhh!” replied Dwight, as he finally sprayed into his hand.
“Are YOU okay? You sound in pain.”
“No, I’m fine, I’m just...”
Outside the two showers, Megan quietly laughed, she guessed what both were doing; she slipped into the third shower before they appeared. She let herself imagine Susan and Dwight, both equally excited her. She was old enough to know that soapy fingers should not penetrate her snatch, she washed her left hand off and let the middle finger delve inside. Almost unconsciously she let her soapy right hand stroke her bottom. She was imagining her cousin kneeling at her front, with her pretty mouth enveloping her lips; behind, she found Dwight beginning to fondle her bottom and knew what was to come, sure enough he started to push into her. His cock, in reality, one of her soapy fingers, pushed its way into her. She groaned as quietly as possible, pretending she was unwilling, but turned on hugely by being invaded that way. She had had the offer from a boy at school, when she had said no to sex, no to oral sex, and no to him giving her oral. She had turned him down on that too, but had imagined him later turning her round, calling her a prick-tease and pulling down her panties. She liked calling them panties in her head, it had a naughty feel to it; like a Carry On film. Her left hand brought her to orgasm and she hoped the yelp she gave was quiet enough not to be heard. The showers were all in use now, so she was right, Jo was singing loudly in the shower, loudly and not entirely tunefully. She didn’t care, she liked singing in the shower. Her sisters had given up laughing at her for that, it made no difference to her, she still sang.
“Dwight, fancy a walk?” asked one of his same age-cousins, Meris in the morning. They walked out of the room and on into the woods. But wherever they went, people were walking too. Couples of all ages, families, single people walking their dogs. Dwight was unaware of his cousin’s increasing frustration. She, like her seven cousins, had had odd dreams that were both erotic, peculiar and occasionally inexplicable. They had all woken, refreshed, but decidedly randy. Meris had taken the initiative to walk with Dwight and, perhaps, find a way of satisfying at least part of her needs. She was hot, damp and getting desperate. This was not a good recipe for a moderate approach if the opportunity arose. Originally she had thought some deep tongue kissing would be good. Then she found that she’d need his tongue inside her mouth and his hand inside her shorts. Now she was thinking in terms of removing the shorts and going all the way to satisfy her lust. Dwight had been at that stage most of the night, but never dreamt that it could happen. He just fantacised, as boys always do, about each girl her knew. He even fell asleep thinking of his Aunty Monica. He then went on to dream of her sucking him off, and woke with a wet groin. He was shocked that it was his aunt who had brought his wet dream to the fore, rather than the lusciously titted cousin who he had slyly watched on the beach. What was wrong with him?
They returned for breakfast and the inevitable discussion on what to do. It was agreed that a single car load should visit the parents – since the prisons were twenty miles away, in opposite directions, this would take most of the morning. The others could get the bus to the town and find some amusement in the museum, shops, park. They would all meet at the CineMega to see ‘Defenders of the Galaxy’ (“yuck” - Sarah) or ‘Kiss Me Love’ (“Gross!” - Dwight) or something. They couldn’t agree on the film, so they postponed the decision – an approach David Warf – a management consultant – would be proud of.
Dwight sat in the back (he wasn’t a pushy male chauvinist, insisting on the front seat) with Sarah and Jo. Myvanwy and Aridna were in the front. Aridna figured she’d missed a trick to get a boy to slide his hand between her pulsating thighs. She had recently read her mother’s book ‘Seven Ways’ (an ‘erotic’ novel that talked a lot about pulsating thighs, flesh, passions and lips; it wasn’t very good, to be honest).
They drove to the women’s prison, showed their ids, signed in, walked in, greeted the three women, who seemed surprisingly content. “We get to watch Loose Women, Poldark and NO FOOTBALL! The women here are all very nice, two have got babies with them and they are soooo adorable. Oh, and we are allowed to attend sewing sessions, book clubs, and childcare.” This last had found Monica and Linda helping out with the teaching and advice. They were all getting on very well, and having all their meals supplied. What could be better?
At the men’s prison, the men seemed to be equally happy, which was disconcerting. “Yeah, we watched the game last night, even though Springwatch was on. It was great. We all agreed that Joey Black was rubbish in left back, he should be midfield. The food isn’t too great, but it’s filling, which is what matters. We had suet pudding last night; haven’t had suet pudding for years. The tea comes in mugs, not little cups. And a fry for every breakfast! See him?” he pointed at a bald headed, tattooed, thug talking to a platinum, busty, blonde with three children under three and another on the way. “He went to my school! What are the odds? Left at fifteen, of course, to join the family business. Burglary.” he laughed. “We had a good chat about some of the old teachers. He actually targeted Mr Scrimple; broke in and took nothing, just to scare him. Gotta laugh eh? He’s made it clear we are safe. We’re thinking of having a school reunion.”
They left feeling that they weren’t really needed. The adults were enjoying their enforced break. None of them had told the advocate to try for bail again. Oh, and the trial had been put back a week. So, for the whole two weeks, the children would have to cope alone. And none of the adults seemed that fussed anymore. At first the five of them were disappointed, let down, then the realisation began to dawn that they really were let off the hook. They could get drunk, crash the car, rob a post office, and it would the parents’ fault. Or they could ... They all arrived at the cinema with similar thoughts. The two options on the table were discarded by a majority vote for a film only suitable for 15 years and older. Sarah was told to stand amongst them so she wasn’t more obviously under age. The film had plenty of female nudity, which Dwight enjoyed, and some full frontal (non-erect) males, which the girls enjoyed. Myvanwy and Megan briefly looked across at their youngest cousin during a particularly raunchy part, she was sitting, transfixed. Megan whispered to Myvanwy that it was too late to worry now. Later, when the film got darker (dark rooms and crazy lady with a carving fork, stabbing people in the eyes, and the balls if they were male), Sarah, who had engineered to be beside Dwight, found her hand being held. He claimed later he was comforting her, but it was his hand that was slightly sweaty, she was egging on the ‘murdering bitch’ as she was called. They all deserved it for leaving her out of the party. By the time they came out, they were all over the parental lack of concern, and all into thinking about what they could do with each other – not the fork thing, obviously.
The answer, initially, was nothing. They got chips, went home, and went to bed. Dwight dreamt of being tied to the bed and being forced to satisfy each girl’s desires. He slept on when they woke, he slept on after they had washed and dressed, and he slept through breakfast. Then Aridna went to wake him. “Come on sleepy head, time to get up!”
She leant in and kissed him. His arms enveloped her and pulled her down. “Mmmmm, you’re lovely.” Dwight said, then realised he was awake, not in his dream anymore. “Oh, sorry. I thought I was dreaming. I ... what are you doing?” He was fairly clear what she was doing, actually. She had a short bob of hair, a mole on her cheek, a set of perfect teeth, deep brown eyes and a turned up nose. And a look on her face that had lust written all over it. As she went to the door, he looked at her bottom, he liked what he saw; rounded and tight, shapely and gently gyrating back and forth as she moved. She didn’t have wide hips, but they were female enough to ensure that her arse attracted male attention as she walked. He’d noticed that before; and she knew he’d watched her. Even if she hadn’t seen him look, she knew all boys – even gay ones – admired a swaying pair of hips.
“Making sure we aren’t disturbed.” She wedged a chair under the door handle, and returned to his bed, lifted the covers and slid in. “Oh, wait.” He was wondering if he was, in fact, still dreaming. She took off her dressing gown, pyjama top and bottom and slid back in. No, that warm, smooth, flesh was no dream. But...
“I ... I mean we’re cousins.”
“Even cousins can make out; oh, you thought I was going to let you? Sorry to disappoint. Yes, that’s nice.” He had his hand inside her pants and was stroking her bottom as she lay on top of him and kissed him. Teasingly, she rubbed her body up and down on his. His erection was already hard, now it was uncomfortably in need of release. Would she? He took her hand and pushed it between them, into his pyjama slit, onto his hard rod. She just started rubbing. No hesitation. She moaned as he did, groaned as he did, and laughed when he let rip into her hand. He rubbed her hard, now, and she moaned that he was rough. “Don’t stop, make me come, ohh, shit, yes, oohh, yesss.” He had just let a finger slide into her, she was so nearly there. “Two.” was all she could say, he pushed in a second finger. Oh, yes, that was it, his palm pressed on her clitoris, his fingers dragged the delicate skin and she erupted. “AAHHHHHHH.”
When she had calmed, Dwight said “Well, if no-one guessed up to then, they would after that.”
“I’ve never let a boy touch me there, before. It was ... ummmm” Dwight had kissed her, he didn’t want her saying it was good, he could tell she liked it. The question was, would the others be jealous, or irritated, or queuing up? Okay, a few questions there. He would happily just focus on her, but if his other cousins were interested, well, who was he to argue?
“We should unblock the door.” Unknown to them. Sarah had come to get dressed, found the door jammed, and, before she went back to the tents, she had heard the noises from inside. She might only be twelve, but she was quick enough to identify the regular sounds coupled with animal grunts as sexual in origin. She found she could edge the door open just wide enough to look in, and confirmed her suspicions. Still she did not run to tell the older girls; only now, after they had finished, did she go to tell. When they opened the door, there was a reception committee.
Myvanwy looked at him, saying nothing. Her face was the ultimate poker face. She looked at him from face to groin, he was uncomfortably aware of the crinkly stain on his pyjamas. Whatever it was saying, her look appeared all to be aimed at him. Finally she said “We need to talk. The rest of you, go away.” They did. Dwight found his mouth was dry.
Actually, he had it easy compared to Aridna, who was interrogated by the others. What had she done? How far had she gone? Was that true? What had he done? Had he tried to force her? Had he instigated it? Was she happy? This last was easy to answer, she had a wide grin. A very wide smile. She liked a boy doing it for her, instead of doing it herself. She wasn’t willing to admit that she masturbated, especially not with little Sarah listening, wide-eyed. They avoided some questions, until Sarah piped up “I’ve done that, it’s nice. Is it better if a boy rubs you? Did you pee when you came?” They all looked round, open mouthed, at her. She was way further on that they had been at her age.
“Dwight, what have you done?”