Schoolies Week

School was out and a bunch of us were heading up to the Gold Coast for Schoolies Week. It was a time for us to let down our hair and relax before moving on to meaningful employment or university, whichever we thought appropriate.

We were free, white and twenty one, as the old saying goes, and the world was our oyster. Those old sayings really suck at times. Nowadays it's enough to be eighteen. Our parents are quite willing to point out that we're not free, we cost them a fortune. As for being white - don't say that, you racist, you.

All that aside, half a dozen of us, two boys and four girls, had pooled our resources, begged and pleaded until our parents contributed a little more, and wound up in this old micro-bus, heading north for sun, sand, sea and surf. There's another three letter 'S' word that can be added to that, but we didn't say it. Modesty forbids, and all that.

We left Melbourne, leaving the cold and the rain with no regrets, cutting straight across country to the Gold coast. It was a nice long run of slightly over a thousand miles, along good roads and, sharing the driving, we did it in an easy two days. We considered just doing it in one, driving constantly, but we'd have been bushed when we got there and would have probably lost a day recovering. Two days suited us fine.

While we all talk about Schoolies Week, we were going to be there for nearly two, having lucked into some accommodation via a friend of Marie's parents. They had a time-share residence, but what with one thing and another they couldn't get away this year and so had let us have it.

We had a ball. We met old friends from school and made new friends. We visited the beaches and the theme parks and generally ran riot (in a refined way, of course). There was one awkward incident that befell me after we'd been there a couple of days.

We'd gone to the beach at Surfer's (for the uninitiated, that's what we call Surfer's Paradise), and I'd wanted a drink. The shops are right there, next to the beach. Cross the road and you've all the tourist traps right at your fingertips. I'd trotted across the road and got a milk-shake. Maybe not a very sophisticated drink, but I was in the mood for something sweet and sticky and chocolatey.

So here am I, sucking on a straw, heading out of the shops and back to the beach. I was watching the kids darting in and out of the flat fountain. You know the type. They're built into the footpath and squirt water up, very embarrassing if they take you unawares. Now as I said, I was watching the kids playing with the fountain, while circling around it myself, and someone called my name.

I should have stopped and turned around to see who it was. What I did was to keep walking while turning half around to look. It was Marie, and I waved to her and yelled something, and walked smack into the back of some man who was just standing on the footpath, talking to someone.

Oh, boy, he was really something. He was at least six foot tall, lean and handsome, beautiful golden tan, dark hair and dark blue eyes, in his late twenties. I took one look at him and my heart started hammering away, doing triple time. What really got me excited was what he was wearing; a beautiful dark blue Armani suit, a silk shirt that went really well with the suit, and half a container of chocolate milk-shake.

Oh, he was also wearing a stunned, incredulous, expression.

He slowly looked me up and down while I tried to stammer an apology. I could feel his eyes on me, and my bikini, which had looked so good when I put it on, seemed to shrink to nothing, exposing everything. I kept on yammering away, saying how sorry I was, and offering to pay for the dry cleaning, until he held up a hand to shut me up.

"Don't say anything more," he said quietly, and he had a real dreamy voice. Pity he ruined my impression of him with his next choice of words. "Just go away."

Then he turned his back to me and continued with his discussion to the man he had been talking to, totally ignoring the milk-shake dripping off his clothes. I slunk away, my mood not improved by a laughing Marie catching up to me.

"My," she said. "He's a honey, isn't he? I must say you made a terrific first impression with him."

"It was totally your fault," I grumbled. "You distracted me."

We wandered on back to the beach. I didn't have the nerve to go back and replenish my milk-shake. I'd get one later, I decided.

I managed to forget him over the next couple of days, having fun, getting some exercise and some sun, and flirting with the boys, although not seriously. Then came the day of the mopeds.

On the Gold Coast you can hire mopeds by the day. For the low powered models you don't even need a licence, though they do prefer you to be at least eighteen. We decided we'd each hire a moped for the day and just go where the notion took us, not necessarily all to the same destination. The mopeds gave us total freedom.

I went for a drive down the coast. I thought I'd make it to the Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. Marie was tagging along with me. I can actually ride a motorbike, and riding a moped was child's play. We were tootling down the highway making good time.

The mopeds, with their tiny engines, were very quiet, and Marie and I could talk (yell) to each other as we rode along. This proved to be a mistake. Marie yelled something that I didn't quite catch and I turned to look at her. When I glanced back at the road it was to find myself charging straight at a big black BMW that had stopped at a red light.

Marie had no problem. She jinked across to the inside lane where there was no traffic. I wasn't in a position to do that in time and had to lean on the brakes. I almost stopped in time. There was this small thud as I rear-ended the BMW. It was only a small bump and there was no damage, not to the BMW and not to the moped. (My damaged pride doesn't count.)

Now if you're in a car, especially an expensive car like that BMW, and someone bumps into you, obviously you're going to take a look. The driver's door opened and out stepped, you guessed it, Mr Tall, Golden, and Handsome. He looked at me and recognised me. I suppose you have cause to remember someone who pours a milk-shake all over your nice Armani suit.

"You know, I'm sure you're dying to meet me, but that expression isn't meant to be taken literally," he said, the sarcastic swine.

I started to apologise and explain that there was no damage but he held up his hand in that shushing motion again.

"No, don't say anything," he said. "I'm sure everything's fine. Just do me a favour and give me a five minute start, before you come chasing after me."

With that he got back in his car, ignoring me. The light changed and he drove off, with Marie and me following slowly behind. We finished up giving him his short start. Marie was laughing too hard to get her moped moving and, when I pointed out it was her fault, she just laughed harder. There's no justice in this world.

We continued on our way to Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. That place is fantastic. When we walked in we were handed a tin tray and one of the staff poured in some milky gunk. A dozen lorikeets promptly landed on the plate to taste the stuff. They don't just land on the plates, either. At one stage I had birds on both arms and later a couple landed on my head. Terrific if you're a bird lover but a bit nerve wracking if you're not.

After feeding the birds we took a tour of the place. When we were in the big aviary at the top of a hill Marie tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at a tree I was standing next to. I looked and I saw a tree.

"Look, you idiot," she said. "That branch isn't a branch."

Ye gods. I looked a bit harder and found that there was this owl sitting on the end of the branch, looking just like part of the branch. It was so close I could have reached out and touched it. I didn't though. Have you seen the size of the beaks on those things? Fancy having one of them bite you. Those beaks are not made for pecking.

All in all, a good day, and I was able to forget about running into Mr Tall and Sarcastic.

One of the delights of Surfer's is the cruise boats. The whole bunch of us went on a cruise a few days later. These weren't long cruises, varying from two to eight hours, depending on what you wanted. The one that we picked was a two part cruise. We'd sail from Surfer's in the morning and go out to the islands that were nearby. They'd land us on an island and we'd stay there for a few hours, the boat picking us up in the afternoon.

We were advised to make sure we took food and drink with us as there was none available on the island. What the island did have was an emergency radio that would put us in touch with the cruise people or emergency services if needed.

We headed on out, on a bright sunny day. (That describes every day in Queensland. While we were there, anyway.) We were cast ashore on the island, along with a few other passengers who'd picked the same cruise.

Once settled we went swimming and clowned around a little. After a while Marie hauled me off to one side.

"I'm going to find a nice spot to sunbathe," she told me, "and you're coming with me."

"Ah, and why do you need my help to sun-bathe?" I asked. It seemed the sort of thing that you could do unaided.

"To keep a lookout," I was informed. "I'm going to do a little nude sunbathing, see if I can get rid of the tan lines. I don't want to find the boys stumbling across me while I'm doing it."

"I am not sunbathing naked," I said flatly.

"You don't have to. I just need you there to intercept anyone who comes along while I get dressed again."

Fair enough, I guess. Marie and I wandered off, heading a little further around the island, finally settling on a nice place not too far from the main area. The others were vaguely in earshot and we had a reasonable view of the path anyone would have to take to reach us.

We settled down for some serious tanning. Marie stripped off but, call me a prude if you wish, I kept my bikini on. We just settled back, enjoying the sun and chatting about nothing in particular.

We were keeping an eye on the track to the main beach, ready to take appropriate action if someone approached. We were confident that there would be no surprises. Which is why it came as a nasty shock when someone spoke to us. Well, I guess you could say if came as a nasty shock to Marie, lying there in all her glory. Safely clad in my bikini it was only an amused shock to me.

While we had been busy watching the trail that led to the main beach these two men had come sauntering along from the other direction. We hadn't known that there were other people on the island apart from our group.

"My, my, my," said a silken voice that I knew. "If it isn't Miss Clumsy and Miss Show-all."

I jumped to my feet while Marie jerked into a sitting position, hastily crossing her arms across her ample charms. Standing there, looking down at us and smiling, was Mr Arrogant and some poor deluded soul who was probably his friend, assuming such an arrogant beast had friends.

I described Mr Arrogant earlier. His friend was something else entirely. He was just as tall but looked twice as wide. I mean, the man was huge, a jovial, smiling, giant. He was also fascinated with Marie, and she was staring back at him just as hard.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"Just taking a break. All work and no play, you know. Even though we've met, we haven't been introduced. I'm Roger. This is Martin. Martin, stop staring and say hullo to the girls."

"Um, I'm Brenda," I told them. "My friend is Marie."

"Well met, Marie," said Roger. "Catching some sun, are we?"

Marie nodded, blushing, her eyes flicking briefly from Martin to Roger and back again. What on earth did she find so fascinating about the man?

Totally ignoring me, Martin smiled at Marie.

"Very nice to meet you," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "Tell me, are you going to protest and whine, enthusiastically cooperate, or fight."

I had no idea what he was talking about but Marie seemed to be on the same wavelength. She giggled.

"I'm not the type to protest and whine," she told him. "We've only just met, so you can't expect me to enthusiastically cooperate. I guess I'll have to fight."

"You won't win," said Martin.

"That's OK," Marie told him. "There's no shame in losing a fair fight."

I was thinking what the hell, and then saw Martin was undoing his shorts. That's when it hit me. He was going to jump Marie and she, the tart, was welcoming the idea. Fight, hell. It would be a child versus a gorilla. He could do what he liked and she wouldn't be able to stop him and she knew it. From the look on her face she was anticipating it.

I was about to lodge a furious protest on Marie's behalf when Roger got into the act. He took my arm and turned me away from the developing scenario.

"Why don't we take a little walk while the two of them finish their discussion," he said, strolling back in the direction from which they'd come, towing me along with him.

"Wait," I cried, tugging to get my arm free. "I can't just leave her there with him."

"Of course you can. We'll still be within earshot. You'll hear her if she screams for help. Come along, now."

I sort of suspected that Marie wasn't going to be doing much calling for help. I reluctantly walked along with Roger. Well, maybe not that reluctantly. He was hot, especially when he wasn't being sarcastic and snubbing me.

He halted after we'd gone a hundred yards or so, out of sight but still within earshot if anyone started screaming. He just turned me to face him, muttered something about me owing him this, and then he kissed me. Man, oh, man. That guy could give lessons in kissing. He captivated me right from the moment his lips touched mine, absolutely ravaging my mouth.

I know how to kiss, and I answered him just as enthusiastically. He kept on kissing me, running his hands up and down my back while he did so. He was, unfortunately, a gentleman. He didn't go the grope, his hands just stroking my back, holding me close.

Mind you, he did do a bit of teasing. I felt his hands idly plucking at the sides of my bikini, threatening to pull the bottom half down, but while he tugged a little at the sides he didn't attempt to draw them down. Apart from that teasing tug his hands drifted up and down my back, finally coming to rest clasping my bottom, holding me against him. I was very much aware of what he had in his shorts, I'll tell you that.

There was this little nagging thought going through my mind, saying something was wrong. I just couldn't seem to grasp what it was. OK, Roger was effectively a stranger and he was kissing me, but what the hell. There has to be a first kiss in any relationship. The only other thing he was doing was clasping my bottom, stroking my bottom, really.

Slowly a thought filtered through the haze he had me in. His hands shouldn't be on my bottom. They should be on my bikini. Why couldn't I feel any bikini between my bottom and his hands?

I managed to break the kiss and push a little bit away from him. Doing this enabled me to detect certain facts. Like the fact that he hadn't been just teasing me when he tugged at the sides of my bikini. He'd been undoing the knots. No knots and the bikini bottom just fell off and I was concentrating on his hands and mouth and hadn't really noticed. Another fact was that he'd undone the neck tie of my top, and when I pushed a little away the top of my bikini dropped down, leaving my breasts on display.

Roger was quick to take advantage of this fact, his head dipping to capture a breast, kissing and suckling, rolling my nipple around with his tongue, rasping his teeth against it. I protested, naturally, thinking he was going just a little too far. My protests were ignored, Roger simply switching his attention to my other breast.

As well as playing with my breasts his hands were back on my bottom, pulling me hard against his crotch while stroking me. I could feel his hands wandering around my bottom in a most familiar way, and each time they moved downwards they came closer to slipping between my legs, seeking what was hidden there. My whole mound was tingling in expectation of his touch, a touch that threatened, but didn't actually eventuate.

It was playing havoc with my nerves. His whole attitude seemed to be a case of guess what's coming, and not following through. It was, to put it mildly, frustrating. Not that I wanted him to touch me down there. I mean, I barely knew the man.

He kept up the kissing, playing with my breasts, stroking my bottom (and threatening to touch other places), until I was just a mass of nervous arousal. That's when he let me go and took a step back. That is also when I should have picked up my bikini and bolted, which I failed to do. I just stood there looking at him, feeling slightly stunned. Not so stunned that I didn't notice him dropping his shorts. He had some quite impressive equipment there, and it seemed to be ready for action.

Before I could protest he pulled me back against him, mouth on mine, hands on my bottom, holding me firmly against his erection. It is a little disconcerting to have a man's erection pressing against you. You tend to be very much aware of it and what it can do, notably, what it can do to you. Its presence tends to distract you from other more mundane realities.

That distracting awareness is what tricked me. I was so aware of his erection and so concentrated on where it shouldn't go that I overlooked what else was happening. Roger had lifted me off my feet slightly while holding me to him, but that didn't worry me. It wasn't as though he was lifting me high enough to sit me down where I didn't want to sit. I ignored the fact that he was effectively carrying me.

So it was that I found myself being settled down onto the sand. He was very smooth with it, removing that distracting erection at just the right moment and suddenly I found myself kneeling in the sand. Assuming that being on all fours can be considered kneeling.

"Hey, what are you doing," I demanded, confused.

I found out damn fast as Roger settled onto the sand behind me and started stroking my pussy with his erection.

"Hey, hey, hey, none of that," I said quickly. "I'm not having sex with you. Kissing is one thing. Sex is something else entirely."

"It is," he agreed. "It is indeed."

With that he gave his cock a little push and whether I agreed or not his cock was coming in.

"You can't do that," I said in a half wailing little voice.

"Sure I can," he said calmly, gave another little push, and I felt him sliding in deeper, resistance from me the equivalent of zero.

"I mean you shouldn't do that," I explained, although he knew perfectly well what I meant. "I said no."

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding exquisitely polite and sincere, "but I can't hear you properly. I'm a trifle deaf right now. I probably have some salt water in my ears."

He kept right on pushing, his cock happily making its way down my passage.

He was lying. I just knew he was lying. He could hear me perfectly well and I told him so.

"No, no," he assured me. "I'm just good at lip reading. That's how I knew what you were saying earlier. Unfortunately, being behind you, I couldn't read your lips if you were telling me no."

With that he gave one last hard push and I could feel his groin slapping up against me. I wanted to tell him to take it out but he wouldn't hear me, would he, although he certainly seemed to hear me calling him a liar. A very selective deafness it seemed.

I was a case of "oh, wow," and "my, oh, my". He didn't muck about, setting to with a will, establishing a hard fast rhythm right from the word go. Not that I gave him the word, he simply assumed that it applied. He pulled back and then drove hard into me and from sheer self-defence I lifted my bottom and pushed back to meet him, feeling him sink deep into me. Then my bottom was bobbing up and down at a great rate, trying to keep up, with him.