Chapter 14

The party was a blast. It took hardly any time for us to get naked, and then one of the boys had a bright idea: mass eating-out. Show me the girl who would say no! All dozen of us were soon draped on the couches, chairs and rug, and the boys had their faces buried between our legs.

Rick once asked me why did most girls get this goofy grin on their faces when guys took their tongues down there? I wasn't aware that he was looking at my face. And as for the grin, well, it's kind of hard to explain. Let's just say it feels really really good, and leave it at that.

Of course after the boys were done, it was our turn to return the favor. I sucked off Jessie's boyfriend, and completed him on my boobs. Guys seem to like that almost as much as coming in a girl's mouth or on her face. I don't know why the latter excites them, but it does.

By now I'd grown from a B to a C, which made it a little easier to take boys there. I rather liked my new shape. I wasn't as big as some girls, but my boobs certainly stood out. And by staying in shape they really did stand out, almost straight out.

One of the un-looked for things about getting your boobs is the necessity of wearing a bra. Guys joke about it, but you can't run more than a few steps without them bouncing all over the place, and if you aren't wearing a bra, that can hurt. There's a feeling of confidence when your boobs are 'locked' into place. You're projecting the image you want, and that can have a powerful effect on a girl's psyche.

The downside, what I'd seen a couple of times already and most girls have to get used to, is that guys have conversations with your boobs. They don't see you, they see a pair of boobs that a girl is attached to. One of the things I liked about swinging is that the guys paid attention to the rest of me. Oh, my boobs came in for more than their share of attention, but a guy knew there was more to the girl than a couple of sacks of fat on the front of her chest.

So that let me take Jessie's boyfriend there, and I massaged it into my skin. Rumor had it that come was good for your skin and made your boobs grow larger. I wasn't sure I wanted them any bigger, but it did feel kind of good as I massaged them."

"It's good for something else," Rosemary said. "A girl named Sherrill in my high school discovered what else come is good for."

"Does she know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"A girl." She sighed. "I think she was using the rhythm method. Either that, or she was just being stupid."

"What was that saying? There's a word for women who use the rhythm method: mothers. You'd think, with all of the information available, that she would taken precautions."

"Maybe she couldn't because her mother wouldn't let her. Some mothers don't want to let their girls use birth control because that means their little girl is growing up."

"That's stupid." I hadn't had that problem. Mom had carefully explained how she wasn't ready to be a grandmother yet, why motherhood was a really bad idea at my age, and got me started. It was too bad other mothers didn't have the same attitude. And of course without birth control none of our fun and games would be possible.

When you get right down to it, we're darned fertile creatures.

I did miss doing it outside. There's something about being one with nature as every sense is engorged. That's not all that's being engorged, and that was the whole point. I happened to mention it, and quick as a flash, we were all in the yard.

Rosemary's folks' cabin was set up with a lot of privacy. There were woods nearby. We gathered up blankets and our clothes and trooped off there. Then we settled down, each with someone of course, and proceeded to have a really good time. Rosemary's boyfriend stuffed my girl parts, and showed me what he was giving her. Lucky girl. He certainly knew what he was doing with a girl's body.

There are a few practical considerations when you do it in the woods, and we had to spend a few minutes getting rid of rocks, sticks, and so on. We were all messes by the time the evening wound down. Come and dirt make mud, and it took a while to wash it off my bottom and knees. Eric helped me get clean, and that included making sure my breasts were practically sparking. He also did a little probing up my channel when we were done—I thought he was too tired—and we had to take another shower to clean up. But that was fun, too.

The next morning, in school, we were all grinning at each other. I hadn't had a chance to have Eric all to myself for a couple of weeks, and the time after the party was special. It was just the two of us on a hill overlooking the state road. I'm sure people called in some sort of wild animal, at least from the noises I was making. We did see some lights come on, and more than one flashlight as people checked around their yards. By then we were done, though, and we lay wrapped in blankets watching what was going on.

We had to sneak back in at home, though my folks were still up. The next day we did a lot of touching and holding of hands. My body was in tune with his, and I was feeling marvelous.

I got a call from Rosemary that Mississippi CPS had shown up at her parents cabin about the time we left, but only found her and a couple of other girls. Girls having a sleepover is not against the law, though they didn't have to know that Rosemary liked doing it with girls, and that it was very possible that shortly after the CPS people left they were naked and getting it on. I didn't ask, and she didn't say.

I was in gym, washing my hair, when I had one of those thoughts. I'd squeezed some conditioner into my hand, and I'd done it a bit too hard. It spattered across my boobs, just like at least one boy the night before. I had to suppress a giggle. My boobs were getting used to having white creamy fluids on them. Maybe the stories were right; maybe it did make them bigger. Certainly I was bigger than Mom and Krys. Grandma? Um, the one in Shreveport was about the same size. I wondered if boob size was an inheritable gene. I was pretty sure it was, look at Rosemary for example.

I couldn't say what I found so funny, not with other girls around, I just chalked it up to feeling particularly good that day. I'm not like some girls, beset by aches and pains all of the time, but I think that's how they get attention.

"You know what would be a gas to do," I told Rosemary on the phone the morning after. "Let's get together again tonight. We haven't done that in a while."

She thought about that for a few seconds. "I'll spread the word."

And we did. Some of the guys were a bit hesitant at first, but the idea of free sex got to them. It started raining, and so we stayed inside. People were sweating up a storm, there were a lot of excited moans and shrieks, and soon the air smelled of wood smoke, spilled come, and aroused girls. By the time we called it a night I was spent. I was hot and sweaty, my hair was a mess, and I had bits of come all over me from where a couple of guys got carried away. Sex, good sex, was messy.

One of the best parts of messy sex is cleaning up after it's over. It's even more fun with a friend, or a group of friends. Rosemary's folks had a group shower, originally designed for just sluicing you off when you'd been in the lake. We could get eight people in that shower, and all of us took every opportunity to feel, be felt, and clean up. If I was tired at the end of the party, I was exhausted by the time I finished cleaning up. Part of that was the last climax I had; it was with several hands caressing and fondling me, some lips, male and female, working over my boobs, and a righteously hard dick doing its best to fill my throat from the wrong end.