I grew up near the ocean and learned to fish at a young age. By 16, I was working on a charter boat. By 20, I had my own captain’s license and spent my summers in a well-known resort town in the Hamptons. I mostly worked freelance, meaning any boat owner who needed a fishing guide for the day could hire me.
I was good at what I did, so work came easily, and I was booked almost every day, although I rarely booked work more than a day in advance, so I was always looking for the next job. That brought me to hang out in the ship’s store in the afternoons. Boat owners would come in and buy supplies for their next fishing trip, and I would strike up conversations, offer tips, and frequently get hired.
I would hang out by the front desk, where 4 cute college girls handled the registers and coordinated dockage reservations and check-in. Three of the four were single, and one, Camille, had a steady boyfriend. They were all attractive but all quite different in appearance. Camille was by far the best looking with mid-length brown hair with slight curls, gorgeous brown eyes, and a perfect, trim physique, 5’5”, 110 lbs., and perky C-cup breasts. Her skin was a creamy white with just a tint of tan to start the summer, but that gradually became a light golden tan. Her best friend, Rosalie, was a deeply tanned Italian girl with jet black straight hair past her shoulders, larger breasts, and a fuller-bodied look.
The girls were good at steering customers my way, and I did my best to entertain them while I hung out. They were used to guys constantly hitting on them, so I made it a point to refrain. Of course, occasional flirty remarks and suggestive teasing were enjoyed on both sides.
By mid-July, I had ended up dating Rosalie (an amusing story in itself) and by season’s end was in a deep, yet casual relationship with her. I know, that sounds contradictory, but when you’re 21, it’s not that unusual.
Camille’s parents owned a fairly large summer home nearby, and she basically lived there alone except for the occasional parents’ weekend. As such, the group of us often hung out there in the evenings after work. It was about two blocks from the ocean beach and just a little further to one of our favorite bars. We would “warm up” at her house and head to the bar.
One particular evening, Rosalie and I met her at the house, and while having our cocktails, a summer thunderstorm barreled down on the area. The thunder was right overhead and shook the windows with each boom. The lightning was so bright that even when the power went out, we could see as if it were daylight. We grabbed our drinks and a flashlight and sat at the base of the stairwell. Being the most interior portion of the house, we decided it was safest there, and we all three sat on the second step.
The storm went on much longer than usual, and we all finished our drinks. Rosalie wasn’t usually afraid of storms, but was especially jumpy with each clap. I slid up one step and put my hands on her shoulders, kneading and working the tension in her neck. I was known for my backrubs. In fact, “innocent” back rubs were what actually led to our dating. Camille was no stranger to my backrubs either, and she jealously looked on, leaning harder against my right leg as Rosalie sat leaning into my left.
One especially close boom had Camille jumping as well. This time, she moved even closer, resting her head on my thigh, with her left hand wrapped around my right calf. Rosalie had been very quietly moaning in appreciation of my massage before that boom, and I had been getting horny. Settling from the shock, she leaned her head back and ended up resting it on my left thigh. This blocked my right hand, so while my left continued working, I placed my right hand on Camille’s right shoulder, brushed her hair aside, and started massaging her as well.
They were both melting into the massage as my dick gradually rose to a good bit past half-staff. The girls’ heads were only inches apart, and both were only inches from my now engorging male part. My eyes were probably two sizes larger than normal because I was now envisioning something happening. Their shoulders were leaning against each other, and they didn’t seem to mind each other’s contact.
Suddenly, Camille started to moan a little, too. Her moans were a little louder, and the way her body was moving suggested there was something else happening as well. I could feel her head pressing firmer against me and inching upward. She was now close enough to my dick that she had to be able to feel the stretch of the shorts from it.
I hadn’t noticed the rain slowing down and the thunder beginning to move off because my mind was completely somewhere else. I briefly thought about sliding my hand in front of Camille’s shoulder to test the waters (I had already been occasionally brushing Rosalie’s breasts).
And just then the lights came back on. Rosalie sat upright, looked to her right, and said, “OK. I guess it’s safe to go now.”
Camille disagreed, “Ohhh, I say we turn the lights off and stay here. This feels waaay too good.”
But Rosalie shifted and stood up, almost annoyed. She grabbed my now free left hand and implored me to rise. Camille’s head pressed harder on my thigh to keep me in place, but I didn’t dare. I grunted as I rose, my balls aching. Camille was eye level with my erection, about one foot away from me, and a big smirk appeared on her lips, and she looked up at my eyes. Rosalie was noticing it too, so she dragged me to the side of the stairwell. “Let’s go, Loverboy.”
I didn’t exactly know what to make of her comment, other than it meant that by no means was anything more happening here tonight.