I think that this story is borderline to the kind I ought to be writing, but I am going to do it anyway. The background for writing this tale is that last weekend in Copenhagen, a 30-year-old girl was raped by a group of teenagers (two of them under 15). Indeed I should point out that I feel a lot of sympathy with the poor girl, and that this story in no way suggests that she provoked the situation. The reason for writing this is that I have been intrigued by what might cause a group of young boys to rape somebody twice their own age. The boys were of Pakistani origin, and even though some racists in Denmark have suggested that this is in their genes and that it is their Muslim religion that allows them to treat white Western girls like this, nobody to whom I have spoken can understand what made them do it.

Earlier this year we went to a confirmation party in Jutland where the daughter of a doctor friend of mine was being confirmed. Confirmation age in Denmark is at 14 to 15 years and because it was a joint party with some other girls, there were many teenagers present. The town is in an area that is rather troubled by second-generation immigrants, but as my friend is very liberal and tries to help young people in the community to integrate, there were quite a number of both boys and girls of different ethnic backgrounds. Despite these 'foreign' elements the party was a great success, but it was obvious that the ethnic boys particularly, felt estranged. I didn't get an opportunity to talk to any of them, but my friend told me that these boys had trouble dealing with the girls. The Danish girls didn't want to have anything to do with them, and girls of their own families were 'out of bounds' to them for social reasons. They saw the Danish girls dress and act provocatively and the Danish boys seemingly ignore the girls.

My friend says that his daughter and her friends stay away from the boys of other ethnic backgrounds because they don't want to get into ethnic feuds and because they feel frightened by the boys' aggressive behaviour. This is even though, as part of a normal school day, they have lots of interests in common and often would have liked to have a better friendship with them, especially as some of them are actually rather good-looking.

Most of the boys of 13 to 14 years that I know are hardly at the stage of masturbation yet. Are these boys of other ethnic backgrounds so much more developed than our boys, that not only do they have sexual desires, but desires so strong that they need to rape somebody?

I don't know what prompted me to think along the lines of this story. Actually it is a bit scary; Freud would probably have a field day, but here it is:

My husband Poul and I had arrived early at the hotel where the confirmation party was to be held. We had made sure we could have the rooms early so we could change from our casual travelling clothes to the suit and dress that we were to wear to the church. There weren't very many rooms in this hotel, which mostly survived because of the restaurant and ballroom which appealed to the older generation, and the two-floor disco which attracted youths all the way from the major cities more than 50 kilometres away.

I dressed conservatively for the church, reserving my two "daring" dresses for the evening. I had brought a ball gown for the early dancing, and a more daring outfit for later on in the evening when we intended to hit the disco. I was pleased with the conservative dress, as the congregation in this part of Jutland is very strict. Seeing the girls in their confirmation dresses reminded me of my own confirmation, now almost 20 years ago. Ouch! 20 years? Not much had changed since then; if anything the dresses had become longer and less revealing. I remember my father being shocked at the length of my dress and insisting I wore a bra, as he complained that everybody could see my nipples through the material. That might have been so, but I think I was the only one there with a bra, and I felt much more conspicuous like that. I was dreaming back to my own youth during the service and when finally it was over, I was afraid I had actually fallen asleep. Poul didn't think I had been obviously sleeping, so I must have only been daydreaming.

When we came back I was aroused and wanted to spend some time in bed with Poul, but our friend Torsten asked us to help with setting-up tables and decorating the room where we were to eat. There were going to be almost 80 adults and about as many teenagers, as there were two girls and a boy (cousins and a cousin once-removed) from the same family who were to be confirmed together. When finally we were back in our rooms we only had time for a quick nap to gather strength for the long night ahead.

I am going to skip quickly past the party and the ballroom dancing, except to say that during the meal I had already noticed some of Nathalie's (Torsten's daughter's) friends 'from other ethnic backgrounds' looking longingly at the provocatively dressed girls. The girls ignored them, which I found surprising at the time, because they were quite handsome and appeared to be much more mature than the other teenage boys who were just rowdy and horsing around without taking much notice of the girls.

After the ballroom dancing Poul became caught up in a discussion with doctors. When that happens he becomes very boring. I decided it was time for my other dress and went to our room to change. I hoped that the sight of the dress would get Poul away from his friends, but no chance. If anything he was more drunk when I returned. I felt a little peeved, so I went up to the disco to see if there were any other adult guests to dance with. There weren't; there were only a very few adults. I presume the music wasn't their style. The music was hard techno, with laser beams, smoke and fluorescent lights. I happen to like techno; I think it has a good beat and it is easy to get caught up in the rhythm. I went to the bar and had a whisky, but I was no more than half way through it when one of the boys came over to ask me for a dance. I looked at him. I am not good at judging the ethnic origin of different people, but if I hadn't known that they had mainly Pakistani people in this town, I might have thought that he was Jamaican. He had dreadlocks and a small moustache making him look older than the 15 years he could be at most, if he was from the same class as Nathalie.

"Sure," I said and smiled at him. I guessed it must have been something of a challenge for him to ask, so I wasn't going to let him down.

I noticed a couple of the adults looking at me. They were mostly fathers dancing with their daughters, and they probably didn't approve of me dancing with one of 'those' boys. But he danced really well and seemed quite at ease.

"You are very pretty," he yelled over the music. He almost had to shout in my ear, and as he stood close to me I could detect an unusual odour about him. Not unpleasant, rather sensually exotic. I am not used to compliments from teenagers, so I just smiled at him. When he had moved in close he had put his hands on my hips, and now he kept them there. I put my hands on his shoulders and tried to follow his fast, almost break-dance kind of moves, but I soon ran out of air.

I leant over and yelled in his ear, "Slow down a bit, this is an old woman you are dancing with."

He just shook his head. "Not at all, you don't seem old at all."

He looked down my front and I was suddenly aware that he was staring at my breasts, which wobbled clearly under the thin top. I have never minded flattery, but it was a bit strange coming from one so young. He did, however, slow down.

I was now wearing a silk, silvery top and a skirt. The skirt was split up the front with rounded edges, so quite a bit of leg was showing when I stood, and even more when I sat, as there wasn't enough material to pull it closed. The top was made in the same way. The bottom part rounded under the breasts and cut up between them. The two pieces of material making up the front were crossed over my breasts with a narrow band of fabric over the shoulders crossing the back and reaching the front pieces again under my arms, leaving my back naked except for the two straps. The two pieces of material covering my breasts were loose and the silk clung to the shape of them making their movement very obvious. I suddenly felt almost naked under his gaze, but in a funny way it felt good.

As we danced I felt his hands move almost imperceptibly up my sides. It was only because I realised that his hands were now holding onto the bare part of my sides, between the top and the skirt, that I noticed. It felt strange with his hands so close to my breasts. I wondered if he was aware how close he was, but as I felt his thumbs sliding over my stomach and touching the lower part of my breasts I realised that he was perfectly well aware of what he was doing. For a second I felt confused. Should I stop him? I caught myself thinking that the feeling was pleasant, but then I decided I must have had too much to drink. We had moved apart a little as the music had dictated faster movements, but as the song came to an end he slowed down and pulled me towards him, again moving his thumbs teasingly along the lower curve of my breasts. I was upset with myself when I felt myself go weak at the knees. I knew my nipples had hardened and that I felt moist between my legs; arousal has no inhibitions.

The music stopped and it was possible to talk for a short while. I looked at him with what I believed was a nice but firm smile.

"You really shouldn't do that, you know," I said, and felt like a schoolteacher telling a child not to drop paper on the floor.

"I know," he replied, but not really looking as if he felt he had done anything wrong. "It's just that... you see, it is so hard. Look at the girls over there, all wearing small, tight tops. Some are even pierced in the bellybutton. They like to look provocative, but they would never let you touch them. They always wear bras and they are really so shy if you try anything with them. But you look so different. I have never danced with anybody who didn't wear a bra, and where you could see the outline of her breasts so clearly. It's just so nice and..."

I don't know what he had intended to say for the music had started again. I thought about what he had said as we danced a bit apart. I could see what he meant about the girls, but I really hadn't dressed like this for his benefit, but mostly because Poul likes it, and I like it when it makes him excited. The thought that this boy, about 20 years younger than me, should become excited from watching me was daunting, and, I had to admit, quite arousing.

I knew instinctively that the next time he moved in close he was going to try again and I was prepared to stop him. But as I felt his hands on my bare sides, a shiver went through me and I just didn't feel like stopping him any more. I put my hands on his shoulders knowing that would give him free access to continue. I don't know if he took it as the invitation it was, but it wasn't long before I again felt his hands, this time not just the thumbs, stroking the underside of my breasts. I bit my lip, telling myself to stop him. But as I was battling with myself his hands moved higher and as they brushed my hardened nipples, I gasped, bit my lip and half closed my eyes. I knew very well what signals that would send, but I suddenly felt like telling him it was okay. I pulled him closer, partly to shield the action from the view of the other dancers and partly because I needed him closer. He looked intensely at me, and I looked back. He had soft big eyes. As his hands closed around my full breasts, squeezing them lightly and finally softly caressing the nipples, I shook as if a small orgasm had hit me. It was a long time since I had felt like this just from being touched on the breasts.

As far as I was concerned the dance didn't last long enough. I felt faint when the music stopped and the DJ announced he was putting on a tape for the next 20 minutes. I thought that was a great opportunity to get away from this before it went too far.

"I am going to get back to the others and see what my husband is up to," I told him, trying to sound natural, but I was quivering all over.

"Come along and say hi to my friends first. I want them to meet you," he said as he dragged me along.

We found them at a table, each with a large glass of beer. (This was a closed party, so the bar was permitted to serve alcohol). He waved to them as they looked up.

"This is... " he started, but broke off when he realised he didn't know my name.

"Jenny. Hi guys," I said with a wave.

"Yes, right. This is Jenny. And this, Jenny, is Ib. He is really Ibrahim, but that's too long and foreign sounding so Ib is much better. And that," he pointed to a rather dark and sullen looking guy, "is Mush. I am sure his real name is Mustafa, but he won't respond to that, so we all call him Mush. And finally, my name is Ahmet, and I don't have any problems with that."

They were staring almost open mouthed at me. What was this lady doing with Ahmet holding his hand? Good question. I looked at Ahmet. He was definitely the most handsome of the lot. Ib appeared a bit younger and much shyer than Ahmet. Mush was more of a mystery. He looked too old to be in this group and where Ib was trying to hide that he was staring at me, Mush looked me over as though he was undressing me right there on the spot. It was chilling.

"Nice meeting you guys, I really have to go now," I said and waved goodbye. Ahmet followed me to the door of the disco.

"Won't you please come back?" he pleaded.

"Let me first see what my husband is doing. If there is nothing else to do down there, I might come back," I promised, and slipped away from him. I was aware of him at the top of the stairs following me with his eyes. But as soon as I was down and out of his sight, I stopped and leaned against the handle of the door to the ballroom. I shook my head, disbelievingly. It wasn't just that this had happened; it was the fact that I found myself wanting to go back to him.

I found Poul a good bit more drunk and still in the middle of the discussion. He asked me over and pulled me down on his lap. I sat quietly listening for a while, but the discussion might have been interesting from a professional point of view, but was certainly not high on entertainment value.

"Poul, why don't you come along up to the disco, it is much more exciting than this," I said, not really knowing if I wanted him to come. But I didn't have to worry.

"Jenny, you know I hate techno music. We can hear it all the way down here. You go up there and dance with some of the other people who like that kind of music, I am quite enjoying myself here," he said, very determinedly.

"Well, if you are sure... This seems sooo boring. I don't know how you can be bothered."

"It is really a question of what is less bad. This might not be good, but at least we can hear each other," he said with a laugh.

I gave him a kiss and slipped off again. I went to the bar and downed a double whisky before going upstairs to the disco. I had no idea what I was expecting when I got back up there, I just knew I had felt 20 years younger, and that was certainly a feeling worth going for again.

I found myself feeling disappointed when I made it over to their table and didn't find Ahmet. I looked around confused, but couldn't see him. Ib watched me, and as I was just about to leave he jumped up and grabbed my arm, holding me back.

"Ahmet had to go and dance with his sister," he shouted nervously in my ear. "She said nobody else would dance with her. He said that if you came we should make sure you stayed.".

"OK, I'll wait for him them," I said, relieved and thankful that Ib had stopped me from going away.

I stood uncertainly and considered what I should do with myself until he came back. I couldn't see him on the dance floor, which was quite dark where the flashing spots didn't reach. But then I felt Ib's hand on my arm. He said something I couldn't hear, but he took hold of my arm and led me out onto the floor. Well, why not? At least that beat standing there waiting.

Ib was about an inch shorter than me; slim, not unattractive, with a pair of small round spectacles, making him look like a Jewish scholar. He was also a good dancer, flowing with the music when it was slow and dancing very animatedly when it was fast. I tried to keep up with him, but again had to slow down not being able to keep up to speed. He saw me slow down and moved closer placing his hands on my sides.

"We don't have to dance so fast if you are not in shape for it," he said, looking down my front. I wondered how much Ahmet had told them about me and what I had let him do to me.

I didn't answer him, and when his body moved all the way up in contact with me, brushing lightly against me, we slowly followed the rhythm at half speed, I felt his hands slide all the way up my back. His touch was light and feathery, barely noticeable, but it still gave me goose pimples. As we danced his hands moved from my bare back to my bare sides, but never any further towards the front. It was as though he was too shy to try and copy Ahmet. As he kept looking at my front I became more and more sure that they had talked about me, but that Ib didn't dare to try going for my breasts. I found it more amusing than arousing; it was kind of nice to have that effect on these young boys.

When the dance ended I looked around for Ahmet and finally noticed him with a very pretty girl, looking very much like him, obviously his sister. He hadn't seen me, and it appeared that his sister wanted him to dance the next one with him as well, and as Ib didn't make any move to go back to his table, we just continued with the next dance.

I led Ib slowly towards one of the darker edges of the dance floor, as far away from Ahmet as I could get. I looked around, and satisfied that we were fairly unnoticed, I put my hands on Ib's shoulders repeating the invitation, which Ahmet had accepted immediately. Why not let Ib have a go as well? But he did not take the bait. He kept running his hands up and down my bare back, never daring to make the move.

This was rather frustrating. I moved my hands down his arms holding on to his elbows, pushing them away from me. His hands left my back and were now loosely touching my bare stomach. I squeezed my arms together, feeling his hands on the outside curve of my breasts. I looked at him. Finally I let my hands run from his elbows to his hands guiding them up under my top, making sure he was keeping them there before I again put my hands on his shoulders. He must have been in doubt as to whether he was really reading the signs correctly, but once I put his hands on my bare breasts, he could be in no doubt any longer.

It was as if he went wild. He was grabbing, squeezing, massaging my breasts and rolling my nipples, which had become hard again, telling me that it wasn't just amusing any more but also arousing. My arousal was increased by the fact that he had no consideration for the fact that I had wanted to hide the movements of his hands. But he obviously wanted to look at what he was doing, probably never having seen a 'live' pair of breasts so close before. The result of this was that he had my top split open, baring my breasts while he openly caressed them. I was very conscious of this, but I was also afraid of scarring him off, now that he had finally found the nerve. So I just tried to position ourselves so we were not in the main spotlight, hoping that nobody would notice. Ib seemed completely lost; he just rested his forehead on my shoulder, looking down my front. As the song came to and end I pulled him close, lifted his head and gave him a quick but wet and soft kiss. He kissed right back, squeezing me tightly. I had to use force to break free, as I didn't think it appropriate that we should stand on the dance floor kissing after the music had stopped. It was only after he had moved away a little that I realised how big and hard his dick had felt against me. I looked down - couldn't help it. He had on big loose Adidas skater sweat pants (a big deal these days, especially amongst the foreign-looking boys). I doubted that he wore anything under them. There certainly was nothing to restrain his erection, which stood out like a tent. He looked embarrassed.

"You don't know how much of a compliment that is," I said, truthfully.

I wanted rip the trousers off him and see what that thing really looked like.

He put a hand deep into his pocket trying to keep it down while he led me back to the table. Ahmet was there, now talking to Mush. He looked up when he saw me.

"Oh, you came back! I am so pleased. Then I don't have to dance with my sister any more." He practically pulled me up. "Please, let's go and dance again."

The next song had already started. Had I wanted to object, he wouldn't have heard. But I didn't. The encounter with Ib had got me really aroused, and very frustrated. I couldn't wait to feel Ahmet's hands on me again.

I didn't need to direct him to a dark corner; he was already headed there. This time there was no hesitation. As soon as we were dancing against each other, his hands crept up under my top and grabbed my breasts. I felt faint. I took his head in my hands and kissed him. I had intended it to be only a light kiss to let him know I liked his touch. But as soon as I felt his tongue against mine, I realised that he was no novice when it came to kissing. He let go of one breast and used the hand to grab my bum and pull me tightly against him. He also had on loose trousers and before long his erection was even larger than Ib's. I moved my hands from his head and down his sides. I slid myself sideways so I could get a hand to his trousers, feeling the hard dick through the material. So young, so hard. I looked down myself and saw he had my top parted all the way up the front; he was staring at my naked breasts. Oh God, let him watch. I really wanted him to see what a pair of 'real' breasts looked like. Not like the pointed cones of a teenage girl, but soft, rounded, full breasts with pointed, hard nipples. He was breathing heavily, not least because of my hand movements against his dick. I really wanted to dig my hand down his trousers, but I thought we had already gone far enough here on the dance floor. I suddenly thought of what would happen if Poul should come along and see this spectacle, or if any of our friends should happen to brave the techno music and come up here.

When the music stopped I pulled away from him. The top fell back down covering my breasts. Ahmet looked at me like a child who had just lost his favourite toy.

"Ahmet, please, we can't do that here. It is too obvious. I like it very much, I really do... but let's stop now."

"I don't want to stop. I never want this evening to stop," he replied. "Please don't go. Come and sit with us for a while. I'll get you a drink."

When we were back at the table, I sat while he went for another double whisky for me.

"I thought Muslims weren't supposed to drink," I said to Ib, who was clutching his glass of beer.

"There are different kinds of Muslims," he replied.

"Also, our parents have been here for a long time, added Mush. "We don't actually stick to very many of the Muslim rules any more, but people don't see that. They keep thinking of us as the kind of Muslims they hear about from Iran." He had a deep voice, and seemed bitter, tired of being an outsider, rejected because of people's prejudices.

Fortunately Ahmet returned with my drinks, because I wasn't sure it was a good idea to start a religious discussion at this point.

"Cheers to beautiful Jenny," Ahmet toasted. "Don't you think she is nice?" He sounded as if he owned me and was showing off his new car.

He leant over against me and whispered in my ear. "They are just so envious that they haven't seen your breasts. I told them about our conversation about the other Danish girls, and they all agreed that it was useless to try anything with them."

He turned around and looked at the dance floor. It was almost full. Lots of the girls danced with each other because the guys were either getting too drunk or they were too shy. Theoretically they should have been happy to dance with these boys, but they never would, I could see that now.

"I once tried to touch one of those girl's breasts, and she kicked me in the groin," he said. "They're not like you. It is obvious that you like it as much as I do. And you are so much more beautiful than they are."

He looked down my front. The top had parted a little, making the lower part of one breast visible. I just looked at it. I knew that when he said I was beautiful it was my breasts he was referring to. I don't think he was thinking about my face, which was obviously so much older than the other girls'. But I was proud of my breasts; so proud that when he reached over and pulled the material further aside baring the whole breast I did nothing to stop him. The way he was sitting, he was shielding me from the sight of the dancers on the floor. He leant over as if to whisper something, but gave me a quick kiss on the cheek instead. I moved my face, turning my mouth to his, and soon we were continuing the kiss we had started on the dance floor. I felt the material being pushed away from my other breast as well. Nobody was touching them; I knew they were just staring. I sank a bit further down in the seat trying to hide behind Ahmet. He stopped kissing me and put a finger lightly on a nipple, playing with it. I was hit by another small contraction.

I knew I was becoming very wet and very, very aroused, but I was now drunk enough not to care. I dug a hand into Ahmet's trousers. He gasped, clearly audible to me over the sound of the music as I gripped his hot, hard and moist dick. I looked at Ib who was staring at me. Without taking his eyes from mine, he put a hand on my other breast and mimicked Ahmet's movement. I guess he wanted me to put a hand down his trousers too. I was about to do that when Mush leaned over Ib's legs and in one quick movement, ran a hand up my leg, right up to my small thin and very wet panties. I was about to jump up but realised I was too exposed to make too much of a reaction, or I wouldn't be shielded by Ahmet's back. Before that thought had finished, he had moved aside the material of my panties and had a finger inside me. I bucked involuntarily. With both Ahmet and Ib's hands on my breasts, I was held back long enough for Mush's fingers to have found my clit. This was more than I had bargained for. It had been fun to play with these boys, but I didn't really want things to go this far, but it was so pleasant. Ahmet kissed me again, his fingers never leaving my breasts, and Mush had definitely tried this before. It was a good thing that these boys were so unpopular that nobody wanted to sit with us, because now I was just writhing about on the seat knowing that if this continued much longer, I was going to come in the arms of three teenagers, to the beat of heavy techno and flashing laser lights; not a sight for innocent young teenagers at a confirmation party.

"No!" I managed to yell as I felt the onset of an orgasm. I sat up, broke free of their hands and pushed my legs together, while pushing Mush's hand away.

"I know I led you into this," I said firmly, "I am sorry, but we can't do that here, it's got to stop here and now."

I hurriedly pulled the top back down and looked around. But it was dark where we sat, and nobody showed the least interest.

"I know you wanted it," Mush said in a hurt voice. "I could feel how wet you were. I could feel your vibrations; don't tell me you didn't want it,"

I looked at them. What had I done to these boys? Leading them this far and seeing they had themselves admitted how frustrated they were.

"I can't deny that Mush, but this is wrong. We can't be doing this," I said, just as much trying to convince myself as them.

"What do you expect from us, Lady?" Mush demanded. "You come here and say you understand us. You let Ahmet and Ib play with you. You happily let us sit here and get fired-up from watching your naked breasts, and you act as if you enjoy it. Let me call your bluff Lady. You said we can't do that here. Does that mean we can do it somewhere else?"

I looked at him. Did it? How far would I let them go if we had been alone? As excited as I was before, probably the whole way. I know that sounds terrible.

"I honestly don't know," was all I could say at this point.

"Well, look over there. Can you see that door?" He pointed to an opening in a sliding wall at the end of the dance floor closest to where we sat.

I nodded. Yes I could see it, so what?

"In behind there is the other half of this disco. They don't use it for smaller parties like this. But in there nobody would be able to see us. If you really meant that it was only because we couldn't do it here, then we can do it in there. Or, maybe you were just stringing us along, just like a teenager, trying to see how far they can go, and then suddenly kicking us in the crotch."