Sex in the Woods

She stood at the bus stop and I stood at the bus stop. I looked across the fields. She looked up the road. The bus was late. She managed to find lots to look at in one direction and I managed to find lots to look at in the other direction. When the bus came I gave her plenty of time to get on.

If she was first at the bus stop I would have the agony of walking down our road which faced the bus stop, while trying to find all sorts of interesting things to look at; anything not to look straight where she was.

She just stood there, a voluptuous column of pure girlness, one leg slightly bent, her white fingers twirling a flower or a piece of grass. Her head was bent over, and her eyes were beautifully dark and wonderful, just visible below the hairline.

This standoff lasted all week until one morning the bus was so full that we had to sit next to each other right opposite Dimbo, who immediately started talking to her. Even I could join in a conversation already going. And after that we could actually speak to each other. Not that I ever knew what to say. "Hello", was pretty easy. It was the next line that always stumped me.

Next door were two girls, Helen and Christina. They were always riding horses, and I had never ridden a horse before, so they intimidated me. The horses were kept in the field right by where we lived, so I used to watch the girls catch and saddle them.

The first meeting with them was eventually quite simple, Christina knocked on the door. "Are you coming out?" I put on my shoes and came out. I hadn't bargained for one irrational word landing me in the midst of seven girls.

There weren't enough ponies to go round so we walked. Christina knew of two old disused houses along some track, and we were going to haunt them.

We walked for miles across wheat fields (straight thru the middle, with Christina barging a pathway, and the rest of us following), through grazing cattle, past an old quarry, and up this forever track.

Suddenly, about five yards in front of me Christina announced that she needed to go to the loo. We all stopped, while she pulled down her trousers and her knickers, and squatted on the grass. I looked vaguely over the top of her into the middle distance.

Then I noticed that all the girls were huddled into a group talking secretively. The 'males not wanted' sign had been put up, so I tried to climb thru the hedge, but there was too much barbed wire in the middle, and I gave up. I turned back to the girls. Four of them had hitched up their skirts and were examining each other's knickers. It was obviously meant to be a provocation. I wanted to be bored, but there was such a profusion of colors on display that I just stared at them.

They stood there for about two minutes admiring each other amid the giggles and the loud sarcastic remarks aimed at me. Then there was a mad rush to take them off and squat down in the grass.

Helen stood apart, then walked off down the cart-track. "Some of us can wait until we get home," she said in her aloof voice. And that was that.

Of course, all of us could wait until we got home, but that wasn't the point. The girls were trying to shock me, and shocked themselves into the bargain.

The next weekend only Caroline came over, and we were back on the horses. At the bottom of the road was this little boy aged six. He lived at the other end of the village and his family were rather snooty, so he was game for some invective.

We sat there on our ponies towering above Julian, while Chrissy made a few smart remarks. Isobel sat there looking perfectly regal. Poor little Julian stood there and poked his nose, not quite sure what to do.

We rode over to Broxbourne woods. The girls took their knickers off again, and stood about admiring them, and then put them back on.

That evening, just as it was getting dark, Christina came down to see me, and suggested we go exploring. I bowed to her command, and off we went in the direction of Julian's house. We crossed the hedge, over the field, and thru the garden.

It was pitch dark by now. There was no moon, so we couldn't see a thing. Chrissy broke into a run-and-prance routine all over the lawn. I followed suit, only I made the terrible mistake of watching the girl in front and not the ground, and waltzed painfully into the rose garden.

There were lights on in virtually all the rooms. It was a bungalow so we could see into them all. We peered into the drawing room, but it was empty. There was someone in the kitchen, but the venetian blinds were down so we couldn't see in, no matter how much we craned our necks.

Next to the kitchen were two bathrooms, and both had clear glass windows, but rather high up. Chrissy was beginning to get quite excited. We were obviously just in time to see Julian have his bath. She tore round the side of the house, grabbed an old box and placed it right underneath the first window. She climbed up to take a peak, and then, squealing with enthusiasm, she demanded that I go and get a box to stand on as well.

I automatically did as I was told, and, perching on my new-found box, peered over the window sill, and there, immersed in clouds of steam was a small Julian, kicking about in his bath.

Chrissy was pouring scorn on him. "Hello Julian," she wheedled in a high-pitched voice. "You still play with your little boat then? Why don't you play with the other one?"

"What other one?" said Julian, surprised.

I was quiet alarmed. I was very concerned that someone would hear us and chase us away. In any case, it was rather undignified standing on a couple of boxes staring at some silly little boy having a bath, but it was part of the twelve year old excitement package life had dumped on Chrissy, and she wasn't missing any of it.

"That one there." Chrissy was leaning on the window ledge with both elbows, and pointing down into the steam.

"But there's only one boat," replied poor Julian, lifting it high out of the water. At that age he found nothing remarkable in two lunatics staring in thru his bathroom window.

"No, silly, the one between your legs," laughed Chrissy.

Julian looked down, searched the water, and caught hole of his penis. "There's only my winkle," he said, and Christina burst into tirades of laughter. I laughed too. The word Ôwinkle' sounded so silly.

"My winkle isn't a ship!" shouted Julian at the top of his voice.

"Julian, behave yourself!"

We both looked at each other. It was his father talking, and the voice had come from the next room, which was the second bathroom. Obviously father was taking a bath as well. I cringed. Surely he could hear us all gabbing away and laughing. There would be hell to pay in the morning. But Chrissy was not to be deterred so easily. She quietened her voice, but kept jibing at Julian for another couple of minutes. Then we climbed down from our boxes and walked away across the lawn.

The next weekend Chrissy's brother was home from school, but he was off to visit friends for the weekend, and was busy fussing about the creases in his suit. He condescended to come down and talk with us scruffs for five minutes, and Isobel plagued him with questions about all the rude words she thought she knew. There was one in particular that eluded her, and so that word was all the vogue. She asked Chrissy's brother to explain what it meant, but he refused to tell her, so she came and asked me. Heartily glad she had had the sense to ask someone older than myself first I felt secure in the knowledge that I could play big brother as well, and serenely refused to tell anyone what the word meant, wishing all the time that I knew myself.

Eventually his mother came down and started the car, and off he went to the station to a tirade of ruderies. All the girls stood in the drive spitting as the old Citroen chugged away to the station. That meant no-one was in the house to supervise us, so the fun really began.

We were in the yard at the back of the house, between the nursery and the stable block. One of the girls picked up a hosepipe, and turned on the tap, and started squirting water over the rest of us. Helen turned off the tap, and pulled the hosepipe right off.

One of the girls said "Go on, show him your water hole."

"Why should I? You do it."

"Why don't you do it Isobel, he likes you best."

Isobel shivered violently and looked the other way. Helen realised what was coming and said in a loud pompous voice. "I'm going to feed the rabbits. None of you lot ever looks after them, and they're supposed to be your rabbits Christina."

"Oh pooh to you," was the typical Christina reply. She turned on me.

"Let's have a look at your water hole then."

"He hasn't got one, silly." That piece of information came as a relief to me. At least I couldn't show it to them, get it spat at, stolen or otherwise spoilt.

Christina looked at me with scorn. "I bet he doesn't even know what it is."

"I bet he's never seen one," said Isobel.

"Do you know what a water hole is?" Chrissy came right up to me and stared with cruel eyes right into my face.

Girls can be really rotten. "You show me," I said, evading the question.

"He doesn't know!" they chorused in derision.

Christina sat down on the patio. She took off her boots and her jodhpurs.

"I don't know why you bother to dress in the morning, you spend the rest of the day taking off your clothes."

"Shurrup peasant." And she took off her knickers and walked over to the outside tap.

She stood against the wall, and then went up on her toes, straining to reach something. Then she turned round and went to get a couple of bricks from the yard. She came back, put the bricks against the wall, and stood on them pushing herself right against the tap.

My brow furrowed, and everybody moved up to watch. She was bending her knees outwards, and trying to get her vagina fitted on to the end of the tap.

"Go on, turn it on then," the girls hissed.

"Shut up, I'm not ready yet." And she wiggled herself about a bit until there was a good layer of flabby skin all round the tap, then she turned it on, and you could hear the shushing sound of water on the move. Little trickles ran down Chrissie's legs, and then one of the other girls wrenched the tap full on, and water gushed everywhere, spraying all of us, and soaking poor Christina.

Chris went indoors to get dried and changed, and the rest of us walked into the barn. There was a large expanse of clear space, and on one side was a stack of hay bales; fodder for the ponies. The general decision was that we should build a house of hay, so we brought down all the bales and made a long tunnel with a small room at the end.

Once we'd built the camp no-one was at all keen on using it. Instead the girls decided they were going to have a weeing contest, and I had to sit on the bales and judge the best performance.

The girls started preparing. They all sat down on the stone floor taking off socks and shoes, then took off trousers skirts and knickers, and began twitching up and down and giggling in obvious excitement. There was an odd assortment of highly colored knickers daubed over the bales, and the girls stood huddled together, rather like some besieged martyrs before the lions, their hands tightly clasping what clothes reached down to their legs.

Christina, the exhibitionist, had to go first. She stood with her legs wide apart, and swayed her body in a vague attempt at rotation, and pissed in a wide circle, round and round until she dried up.

"Beat that, then," she sneered at the others, and stood unashamedly scratching the inside of her thigh.

"Huh, that was pretty weak," said Priscilla, and walked over to the other side of the barn, turned, and started walking towards us, her legs stretched as far apart as possible, and trying hard to sway from side to side. The others followed suit like hosepipes, until the whole barn floor was soaked from end to end.

After the contest we all went home for lunch. But in the afternoon the hunting grounds had shifted to the wood.

There was a large copse at the end of the garden, and in the middle of this copse was a large black shed. Nobody used it as a summer house so we requisitioned it. The first time Chrissie and I had used the place was one evening a few weeks earlier when we'd decided to light a fire inside and cook our supper country style. We collected vast piles of kindling wood of all shapes and sizes, plus logs to finish off with. There were horrible looking plates of proto-food to be cooked in the resultant ashes, mashed-up gunge to be cooked on top, and potatoes and chestnuts and things to be plunged in the bottom.

The whole thing started off well enough, but then the smoke became rather obnoxious as there was no vent for it to escape thru. We duly opened the doors which were at the other end of the building, but the draught was nil, and so a screen built up and coagulated in a thick pall above us and sank gradually lower and lower until visibility was wiped out. We couldn't see thru the stinging air to rake out the hot potatoes, and in our haste to get out of the way of fresh fumes several plates of gunge were either trodden in or turned out, and the whole fiasco ended only when I went for a bucket of water and drenched the fire, which gave out great hissing sounds, and much more smoke; great white billows of the stuff. After that we had all our fires in the wood where conditions were too wet for us to do any damage whatsoever.

That afternoon the summer house was being used as the secret headquarters of a very high-level gang of crooks, and I, being the only male, was billed as the real baddy, meaning I was the boring good guy. And I was sent into the jungle. I had to upset the plans of the crooks. How I was supposed to do that, I didn't know. Anyway, it was seven to one, which didn't seem to be much in the way of helpful odds.

I vaguely thought of trying to waylay Isobel. I didn't know what I wanted to do with her, but I didn't let that bother me. All the girls seemed to be having a whale of a time in the summer house, and then suddenly they all disappeared. I was bored, and sat down to consider whether to go home again, or try and work up some enthusiasm for the apparently non-existent game. And then suddenly there was a sudden and tremendous crashing of branches and billowing of bushes as if a herd of rutting elephants were on the rampage, and seven females sprang out like leopards from the trees. They knocked me over, and bound me up with string, and then took me to a tree in the middle of a dense thicket and tied me up to it.

I was too bored to complain, and anyway, weren't they females? I couldn't hit them in the face. If I bit them they would bite me back fifteen times as hard, and they would never flinch from kicking me in the shins, a pain that held me in terror.

First on the list of demands was that I tell them all the secrets I had discovered. That foxed me because I hadn't invented any, so I didn't reply. That suited their purposes wonderfully. There was me refusing to cooperate. That meant I would have to be tortured. They debated among themselves what form the torture should take. Then bossy Christina came out and demanded the release of my trousers. My heart sank. I stoutly refused to lose my trousers, so they undid the top buttons and pulled down the zip. I struggled to get my hands free and in the struggle the trousers started slipping. I tried to hitch them up, but couldn't reach properly. I stood there in a ridiculous position, with my trousers at a silly angle until there was a sudden rush of hands to pull them right down.

Christina pulled my penis out of the hole in my pants, and that gave them the biggest laugh of the day. Then they pulled my pants down as well and started playing with me. Christina tried to get herself onto me, but she was too short, and ended up standing on a log, and wobbling about. The other girls tried to hold her steady while she tried to get herself hitched to me, but with her wobbling, and me looking somewhat ashen, they were in hysterics and dropped her from sheer exuberance of laughter.

Two of the other girls also tried to get onto me, but none of it worked properly. We were in a silly position, and I was scared stiff, and stiff was about exactly what my cock was not.

On sunday I was glad to go out with mother visiting some friends in London. On arrival I found that my friend, a boy about two years older than I was had gone out for the day, and I had to play with his two sisters, one my age, the other a year younger.

I quite fancied the younger one, Debbie. She was totally different from the aggressive, sophisticated blighters back home. She was small, had long black curly hair, smiled lots of secret smiles, and jumped around like a kitten playing with a ball of string. For once I was not under stress. I was not being attacked, ridiculed, or threatened in some way. And I was not outnumbered. This meant I could have some genuine feelings about the girl, and I had trouble standing up, and had to walk about with my back to people and one hand in my pocket.

It was all new, and amazing, and wonderfully exciting. This was the life!