Kitabı oxu: «Holiday Affairs: An Erotica Collection»

Pass Me Around
Giselle Renarde

I’d never done anything so dangerous.

I blame the four-hour car trip with my cousin and her giggling gaggle of girlfriends. They annoyed the hell out of me, playing music by some stupid pop music idol I’d never heard of – same song on repeat, played seventeen times over. Yes, I was counting. Anything was better than listening to their inane conversations about makeup and fad diets and celebrity pets.

By the time we got to our campsite, I was so full of irritation I took off for a jog while the other girls pitched our tent. They weren’t too happy with me but, after so long in the car, my muscles were desperate for motion. That, and the girls’ squeaky baby-doll voices were driving me nuts.

We were lucky to get a site in what the park called ‘The Pines’, the section with the most secluded camping spots. In other areas of the campground, you could see your neighbours the minute you stepped out of your tent. My family used to come here on vacation when I was a kid, so I knew it well. In ‘The Pines’, you had to go a fair stretch to pitch your tent or park your trailer. It was nice to have all that privacy.

On my reluctant way back to my cousin and the girls, I heard voices from the campsite next to ours. Guys’ voices. Lots of them. They were laughing, joking around, having a good time. As soon as I heard the jocular tone of those men’s voices, a tingle ran through me. More than a tingle, actually – my entire belly lit up! I don’t know if I’d been spending too much time around other women or if it had just been way too long since I’d gone home with a guy, but I burned for what they had. I wanted it.

I should have checked in with my cousin and her little friends. They’d surely be wondering where I’d gone, right? Well, maybe not. My cousin and I had been penpal BFFs since we were little, but her gal pals didn’t seem to like me very much. When you’re from The Big Smoke, the rest of the country is predisposed to hating you. It’s almost like they’re jealous that you live in an economic and cultural centre, while they spend their date nights making out in their boyfriends’ trucks. Whatever the reason, I’d learned that if you lived in a big city, you would naturally become the target of widespread malice.

Maybe that’s why I lied to those guys about where I was from, once I’d worked up the courage to approach their campsite. I’m not a liar by nature, but when I walked up that long stretch of pine needles and caught sight of those six guys drinking Moosehead around the fire, I knew I had to have them.

All of them.

‘Hey,’ was all I could think to say. Stupid, but I needed to show them I wasn’t lost. I meant to be there. I knew what I was getting myself into, and I wasn’t as innocent as I appeared.