Chapter 6

When Marcy had packed the bath salts, it had been little more than a pie in the sky hope that she would actually get to use them. In reality, she had expected to be so tied up with fun activities during this vacation that she probably wouldn’t be able to find a good hour or two to just lay back in a fragrant bath and relax.

But tonight, she decided she would make the time! Frankly, she needed it. She needed to make a peaceful space for herself where she could just unwind after the infuriating events that had occurred on the beach.

It took a long time, but she eventually managed to shed the majority of her frustration; almost as if she had expelled it through her pores into the soft, buoyant water around her.

She and Jeff were through. At some point, she expected she should feel a twinge of heartbreak over that sad truth. But, at the moment, she couldn’t help but feel content with the sheer simplicity of it. In fact, it felt surprisingly liberating to suddenly be single again. Of course, living under the same small roof as her now-ex boyfriend for the next couple of days would no doubt be awkward, but she would deal with those trials as they came.

She hadn’t exactly told Jeff it was over. But he was an idiot if he believed anything else. Wasted or not, there was no way she was going to stay with a guy who was prepared to pass her around to his friends, like a cheap sex toy.

Her mind wandered and she began to think about Bert, probably in a more objective light than he deserved.

It truly boggled her mind how he could be so crass as to make that suggestion.

It wasn’t just unacceptable, it was unthinkable! She literally couldn’t fathom how such a dreadful idea could just pop into someone’s head! That’s why she’d been so floored when he’d first said it; she just couldn’t anticipate the depths of Bert’s sleaze.

Part of her began to wonder if, in some way, she herself was to blame - being ... the way she was.

It wasn’t the first time today that these thoughts had troubled her. In the hours after she’d given Paul a blowjob, earlier that morning, she had reflected on her trouble with Bert the previous night and wondered if there was some correlation between the two events. Did being the kind of woman who would give head to a casual acquaintance, just because he looked like he needed a pick-me-up, somehow send a message to guys like Bert saying, “Here I am. Come and get me.”?

She thought about how mortified her old-fashioned mother and grandparents would be if they had any clue how active her sex life was. If they knew how she lived and then found out about the way Bert had forced himself upon her the previous night, she suspected they would tell her that she was merely “reaping what she had sown.” They weren’t without love. They would certainly get furious with Bert and protective of her. But ultimately, they would hold it over her as a teachable moment; the lesson being that a promiscuous lifestyle like hers invites perverts the way playing with matches invites disaster.

After all the trouble she has had in the past 24 hours, Marcy couldn’t help but wonder if there was more wisdom in those old attitudes than she cared to admit.

Even reflecting on her actions tonight, she began to regret her impulsiveness. Fucking Paul right in front of Bert had seemed like such a clever idea at the time. But in hindsight, it seemed much pettier.

She had managed to piss Bert off, there was no doubt about that. But now he was walking around with a very graphic memory of watching her having hot sex. She sighed in displeasure as it finally occurred to her that she’d just given him some top-shelf masturbation fuel. She didn’t want to think about how many times he was going to jerk himself off, picturing her naked body bucking to and fro in the light of a campfire.

Her plan had been to make Bert bitter; to sting him in such a way that he’d never try pulling his crap on her again. But now she began to worry that walking around with that erotic mental image of her in his head might in fact make him more determined to have her. In the long run, her behavior tonight might actually make her problems with Bert worse, not better.

Only time would tell. For now, she could only hope things would get easier.

As her introspection continued, Marcy recalled the look on Paul’s face as she hurled him on to the sand earlier that night; the panic in his eyes when her moist snatch finally spread itself over his naked cock.

“You don’t use condoms?” he’d rasped with concern.

At the time, she’d felt a little offended that his mind was off fixating on matters of common sense when she was sitting on top of him, about to rock his world. But in hindsight, she couldn’t blame the guy for being apprehensive about having unprotected sex with her. She has a reputation, and it was more accurate than not.

Of course, Paul didn’t have anything to worry about. Assuming Jeff hadn’t been fooling around on her, she could be confident of her health. He also didn’t have to worry about putting a bun in her oven, as she was on the pill.

Marcy may have been satisfied that the sex had been okay, but the worry she recalled seeing in Paul’s eyes gave her a poignant outside perspective on the choices she made. She had a smokin’ hot body and she had practically served it up to Paul on a silver platter. Yet his first impulse seemed to be, “Better not risk it.” She couldn’t help but feel like there was a message to take away from that, like maybe she was too cavalier with her sex life.

“Maybe it is time to tone it down, when guys start thinking of you more as a health hazard than a desirable woman,” she thought.

Marcy began to feel guilty, began to feel like she was her own worst enemy. She began to feel like she was all alone. It was not unlike that time in pre-school when she’d been sent to sit in the time-out corner, separated from her happy playmates and made to linger in her own sorrow, for reasons she didn’t understand and could no longer remember. Once again, it seemed she’d been a bad girl.

She couldn’t help it. Her dynamic sexuality was just who she was, it wasn’t something she could switch off. She knew herself well enough to know that she would go crazy living a more buttoned-down life. She needed the thrills she got from flaunting what God gave her, without inhibitions. She needed the power trips she got from seducing guys. She needed that simmer of anticipation that came from sensually courting a partner. And boy oh boy did she need to get laid.

Sex wasn’t just some guilty pleasure for Marcy; it was her passion. She just loved it so much; loved the things it did to her, loved the way it steamrolled over all the petty bothers in her life and left her chilled and satisfied. She wouldn’t be able to bear starving herself of it. It was just too damn good.

Take tonight for instance. Impulsively, she’d decided to seduce some random acquaintance, strip them both down to their skin and then shamelessly fuck his brains out in the open theater of the beach. All because some silly drunken dare had given her the idea. From start to finish it was exciting, primal, and extremely satisfying: everything a good screw should be. It was the ‘shameful’ aspects that had given it such spice: the spontaneity, the exhibitionism, the fact that she needed to be so forward to get the ball rolling, the casual nature of her friendship with Paul and just the plain simple fact that it was such an outrageous thing to do.

Okay, letting Bert watch her was pretty stupid. But even taking that in to account, she had thoroughly enjoyed fucking Paul tonight. She had no regrets whatsoever. Had she carried herself more conservatively, she would have missed out on something great.

Marcy soon realized that idea held true for her entire sex life. Being such a sexually active young woman definitely had its complications. But she couldn’t let herself forget how wonderfully rewarding it was, too. She couldn’t even begin to count the amount of toe-curling fantastic experiences she has had being the sex kitten she was. She would be a fool to turn her back on all that.

Yes, okay, the arrogant assholes like Bert would always see ‘the girl who needs it’ as the prime target for their obnoxious advances. But that was their problem, not hers. Being horny wasn’t a crime, it didn’t rob her of her right to say “no,” to a guy she wasn’t interested in, nor her right to be respected.

Marcy lamented that there was no actual remedy to be found in that simple truth. Knowing that she deserved to be treated with respect didn’t mean she would get it. Macho idiots would always be there to push her too hard.

But at least now she had put those nagging doubts about herself to rest.

She felt a lot better having sorted through those worries. But she still had troubles weighing on her mind. The wounds from Bert and Jeff’s behavior down on the beach were still raw for her.

It got to the point where Marcy realized the bath wasn’t going to do her any further good. The water was practically tepid by that point anyway, so she reluctantly decided to get out. She had no idea how long she’d been in there. It felt like more than an hour, perhaps two.

She was in no hurry as she dried herself. Even the risk of one of the others barging in on her while she was standing around buck naked couldn’t make her work faster. Her heart was too heavy.

She wrapped the towel around herself while she brushed her teeth, then took it off and slipped in to her nightgown, which was really little more than a saucy purple satin negligee. Marcy had packed all her nightwear anticipating an erotic week with Jeff. Poor planning on her part.

The cabin was practically a ghost town when she eventually opened the bathroom door. There was plenty of light, but no sound whatsoever. She stepped out into the hall and closed the door softly behind her.

Only now did it dawn on her that she had a tricky decision to make. Where the hell was she going?

She had no bed of her own. Up till now, she had been sharing a double with Jeff. But they weren’t a couple anymore, so where would she go?

Her hand was still clenched upon the bathroom door knob, her face was practically pressed against its gray, uneven planks as she weighed her options.

To the left was her old room. Jeff’s room. Even though she’d broken up with him, they could, in theory still share a bed for the next couple of days as a matter of necessity. But Marcy hated that idea. It would completely undermine her decision to break up with him. She could just see Jeff putting all his smooth moves on her like he had that morning, trying to charm her into forgiving him and remaining his girlfriend. Worse yet, she could see herself actually succumbing to his advances. That was something she couldn’t abide. She needed to be serious about this break up.

To the right was Karen’s room: a spacious double bed with only one occupant. Crashing with her bestie in a situation like this seemed like the obvious choice. But things were a bit more complicated than that at the moment.

Karen was open to the idea of being in a relationship with Paul. She liked him. Just how much she liked him, Marcy couldn’t say; Karen could be hard to read like that sometimes. But over the course of the vacation Marcy had gotten the impression that Karen had half expected to leave these woods as Paul’s lover.

By now, word would almost certainly have gotten back to Karen about what Marcy and Paul had gotten up to on the beach earlier. Marcy had no clue how Karen would’ve taken that news. If she had any real interest in Paul at all, she might be resenting Marcy right now for ‘stealing’ him from her. If that was the case, barging in to Karen’s bedroom and playing off her sympathies to get her to put Marcy up for the night would only strain their friendship further. It would add a whole new bucket of tension to a night that was already rife with it.

Marcy was emotionally exhausted and it was late. She wasn’t in the mood for more drama. She just wanted to go to bed now and leave all the unresolved crap for tomorrow.

Thinking outside the box, the only other place she would really be able to sleep would be the living room, either in one of the armchairs or on the floor. However, that was not an option as Bert was crashing on the couch in there. Even if they weren’t sharing the same piece of furniture, there was no way in hell Marcy was going to sleep alone in the same room as Bert - especially not wearing a provocative negligee.

It seemed like she had no choice but to take her chances with Karen.

There was of course a fourth option, off to the right, beyond Karen’s door. But it was a bad idea. So bad, in fact, that the mere thought of it made Marcy’s sullen heart beat a little quicker. If not for that physiological response, it would have been nothing more than a passing, absurd thought. But instead, it lingered in her mind and the longer it did so, the faster her heart beat.

What a rush it was, too! There it was yet again: that giddy tingle she got from being risqué; from being a naughty girl. There soon came a point where her mind began to wander away from the question of where she was going to sleep and on to other bedroom activities.

“No,” she chided herself. “Don’t even think about that! Things around here are fucked up enough as they are. Don’t go doing anything stupid now. It’s been a long day with enough messed-up shit and enough is enough already. Let’s just go to bed.”

But common sense had already lost the battle. That tingle of excitement was just too seductive. It made her forget all about her weariness. She wasn’t thinking about retiring any more, she was only thinking about blowing off some steam. She ‘needed’ to blow off some steam and there was only one proper way to do that.

Finally, she released the door knob, turned right and began walking, as she committed to her radical choice.

“Damnit, Marcy!” she silently snapped at her own incorrigibility. A moment later, she was smirking about it.

She came to where the hall opened into the living room and her mischievous smile withered away. Bert was in there, standing around near the fireplace, or perhaps he was wandering somewhere? Marcy didn’t look long enough to tell which.

Their eyes met for a second. There was still caustic scorn burning in his gaze. It delighted Marcy that her mind fuck with him had made such a lasting impression. She’d half expected that his tiny, alcohol-soaked brain would’ve forgotten all about it by now.

She wondered for a moment whether he would feel any remorse for how he’d insulted her tonight, once he’d sobered up. She reflected on the humility he’d shown over breakfast that morning, and wondered what kind of ultra-polite overtures he might attempt tomorrow, as a poor excuse for an apology.

As Bert watched her drifting through the cabin in her revealing negligee, Marcy heard that same, tiresome insult being barked at her through his judging eyes.

“Slut!”

She didn’t respond this time, not even with her own gaze. She simply ignored him and continued on her way in silence.

The delicious irony was that there was no need for her to bite back at him! The mere fact that he’d seen where she was going was punishment enough. What better way to hammer home the point that, when she’s looking for alternative company, he doesn’t make the cut? She’d gone to great lengths tonight to make Bert feel as pathetic as he was, and this happy coincidence was the icing on the cake.

One of the things Marcy loved about this negligee was its high hem line. Often when the breeze caught it, it would show her ass. She dearly hoped that would happen as she turned around. She wanted to put the screws to Bert by giving him one last peek at the prize he so desperately craved, but would never possess.

As she came to the door she wanted, she casually opened it and stepped inside, just as surely as if it were her own bedroom.

Paul was laying atop the covers upon his single bed, casually dressed in a dark shirt and fresh, blue shorts. Headphones were straddling his head, connected to a CD player clutched in his hand and resting upon his belly. His grasp, Marcy noticed, seemed unusually tense; almost as if he were a secret service agent and the player contained some information vital to national security. His eyes were locked on some point upon the ceiling, staring up at it with an eerie, vulnerable intensity.

Marcy suspected that her face had probably looked much the same as Paul’s when she was in the bath earlier. He, too, clearly had a lot on his mind right now. No wonder, either; he’d just lost his virginity. That takes some serious time to come to terms with. At least it does for girls, Marcy just assumed it did for boys, too.