This story is 24 000 words long. I’m publishing it here in two parts but the whole thing is available on Amazon - affiliate link here - and it will be free to read on Substack until I put up another story after a full analysis of the way it is structured and presented. So, about a month, and after that only paid subscribers get the full story. Originally published 7 July 2019.
First instalment here.
Come Saturday
Saturday morning was fresh and bright and clean. The bulk of Code Camp lay ahead, full of bright promise, everybody was still running on full charge, smiles predominated at breakfast, along with orange juice and muffins.
Erin felt all this, but with Aunty Flo still visiting, the shine was off the day. Maybe tonight. Maybe.
On that note, Clooney certainly was bubbling over with good cheer. He waved her down as she looked around for a place to eat.
“Good morning, Madam Captain!” he said. “Frank and I have a modest proposal for you.”
Well, good. Obviously whatever brainstorming influences the boys - pardon, men - had been imbibing last night had had some effect. Unless, and here her mind contemplated a scenario she was unlikely to support, their thoughts were not on coding at all.
“Hit me,” she said, taking a gulp of juice.
“Frank’s idea,” said Clooney, nodding to his friend.
“Everybody has a million different names nowadays,” Frank said. “You’ve got your real name, your Facebook name and ID, Twitter handle, and all the rest of them. Gets real confusing, especially when all the good names run short.”
“Tell me all about it,” said Erin, Eross, erin.ross.7501, and ErinTheCoder together.
“Well, why don’t we make an app that keeps track of all the names of your friends over various platforms? You have a main page with a list of your friends with their usual avatar pictures, and when you click on one, it lists all their screen names, with clickable links to Twitter and Instagram and WhatsApp and Pokemon Go and well, everything.”
“And,” said Clooney, “you could use it for yourself. How many times have you signed up for something but you get a message saying that email address is already in use. It’s something you joined already, but you’ve forgotten about.”
“And forgotten the password,” said Frank. “We could add in passwords.”
“Sounds promising,” Erin observed. “It uses a database and internet access, and is something that everyone could use.”
“And, the best part is that we could give it some smarts. Just enter one social media handle and it goes off, checks the friend list for that account, and hunts down all the names and handles for all of your friends on all the platforms.”
“Hmmm. That sounds a bit hackery,” Erin said.
“It would just be information that’s already public,” Frank said. “In fact I made a start last night while you two were busy.”
“We were?” Erin asked, looking at Clooney.
“I think Frank means that we were busy doing different things apart.”
“Ah, um,” Frank stammered. “I couldn’t find either of you last night, so I just assumed…”
“Erin was washing her hair,” Clooney said. “Without my help.”
“I was?” Erin asked. “Oh yeah. That’s right. I was.”
The team members looked at each other in mutual puzzlement. Time for some leadership.
“Let’s not worry about any of that,” Erin said. “I think we should code up Frank’s app, release it onto the market, and become high school internet millionaires. All in favour?”
* * *
Dinner was lasagna and chips and wildly popular. Just not with Chandra, Clooney decided, scanning the refectory for the tenth time.
Maybe she was worn out after a day of teaching. The group had listened to her presentations on Application Programming Interfaces, cryptography, image handling, and GPS data, and she had doubled up on some of those sessions with other groups. This evening’s class was about debugging techniques, something that would be extremely useful, judging by the surprising behaviours of the various team projects as they developed over the course of the day.
Clooney had come up with a working title for their app - “JustFriends” - and already they were talking about establishing a social media brand presence.
On that note, Erin was acting a lot friendlier this evening, which was a positive, but Chandra was high in Clooney’s thoughts. Where was she?
* * *
Eventually she looked in, spotted Clooney and his team, collected a dessert and came over. Frank was looking at her with barely concealed lust. Chandra filled out her red and white striped top nicely; well, more than nicely, and her plain beige skirt rode on her hips like a yacht on a rolling sea.
Erin looked at Frank, and then rolled her eyes at Clooney, who grinned back. “Man likes his computing, that’s all.”
“He likes the dark side a little too much, I think,” Erin said. “We’re going to have to be careful on privacy.”
“Mind if I join you?” Chandra asked, sitting down beside Erin. “This place is like a health farm for me; the food just strips the kilos away! What’s in the dessert?”
“Sugar and fat, mostly,” Erin said.
“Ah, that’s no good for me. Frank, Clooney?”
Frank reached out for the bowl, a moment ahead of Clooney. Who didn’t like cheesecake?
“When you finish, dear, do you think you could get me a coffee? Milk, no sugar.”
Frank was up in a moment, his dessert untouched.
“Oh, you have no idea how good it feels to have people look up to you. I’m low man on the totem pole at work, but here, people think I’m divine.”
“Frank sees you as his key to hacker stardom, I’m sure,” Clooney said. “He was all ears for your cryptography talk this arvo.”
“All eyes, I thought,” Erin observed.
Chandra winked. “What can I do? I am what I am.”
She turned to Clooney, pulling a clipboard out from under her arm. “They give me all the crap jobs here as well, you know. I have to check on the cars in the car park. For insurance purposes, I understand. You drove here, you said, so I’m guessing one of these is yours?”
The clipboard had a list of car registrations, most with a description and a name beside the number. Clooney scanned the list. “This one,” he pointed. “The Volvo. And it’s ‘Sahara Dust’ not ‘Gunge’.”
Chandra made a note on her sheet. “A lovely car. Vintage, is it?”
“It drives well,” Clooney said.
“Yes. I used to have one. Great car when it was out of the workshop. Might be best to keep your Auto Club membership up to date with that one. Erin, you may want to think twice about accepting a lift. It’s a long way back to Melbourne if you’re pushing a Swedish tank.”
“Um, that’s okay,” Erin said. “He hasn’t offered.”
“Really? A gentleman like Clooney?”
“Oh, yes, of course. I could drive you home on Monday, Erin. And Frank too,” Clooney said. “Ouch.”
Chandra pulled an envelope out from her clipboard. “Clooney, if you could review this, sign it, and drop it back to the office. It’s for insurance, so you won’t sue us if some ham-footed tutor backs into you. You get to sue the tutor instead.”
Clooney took the envelope, and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. As an insurance waiver, it was short and sweet, being four words long: “Same time, same place?”
He folded it back up. “Sure, that’s fine. No worries.”
“Good. Ah, here’s my coffee. I’m going to need it tonight. Thank you, Frank, I was able to defend your cheesecake from the hungry masses.”
Date night
Again, Clooney paused at the crest of the low rise separating camp from sports centre. He let his thoughts linger on the sensations and pleasures of the previous night and wondered what the coming night would bring.
Below, in the carpark, a pair of headlights flicked on and instantly off. Clooney realised that his silhouette must be visible and set off downwards. No need to keep his teacher waiting!
Chandra’s little red Mazda was at the foot of the hill, engine purring. As he approached, he could see her lean over to push the passenger door open.
He bent down to squeeze into the low seat, and heard her chuckle.
“Tall boy, is there room for you?”
His knees had nowhere to go, and the top of his head was touching the roof, but he nodded. She leaned over and he thought for a moment…
But no. She reached down between his knees and fiddled with something, His seat moved back a few centimetres.
“That’s as far as it goes, I’m afraid,” she said, her face about a breath away from his, and the weight of her breasts brushing his thighs.
He kissed her; what else was he supposed to do? Her lips were warm and soft, and she murmured with pleasure before pulling back.
“Let’s get away from here,” she said. “Who knows what time the security guy will make his visit?”
* * *
She pulled out of the carpark, the gravel crunching under the tyres. “Your job is to watch out for kangaroos, Clooney,” Chandra advised. “If one of them wants to jump through the windscreen into the front seat with us, that will ruin our date entirely.”
They drove over the river and through the small town. The headlights lit up the darkness of the road on the far side.
“Too many long noses and bright eyes here,” Chandra said. She reached over to take his hand. “It’s about fifteen minutes to the next town. Time for a story. A bedtime story, yeah?”
Clooney nodded.
“Once upon a time, there was a schoolgirl,” Chandra began. “She wore a long white dress, and she rode the bus to the girls’ high school every day. She carried her books with her, and she would study on the way to and from school. Sometimes she would look out the window and daydream about her life to be. A job, a handsome husband, a home, a family. Maybe they would travel to faraway lands; the sort of wonderful places one saw in the movies.
“There was a schoolboy who rode the same bus. He went to a different school, and although he sat at the back of the bus with the other boys, this schoolgirl would look at him as he walked past when he got on and off the bus. He was tall. And he was narrow, and he had a lovely smile, which this schoolgirl would see sometimes if one of her schoolbooks just happened to accidentally fall off her seat when he was approaching. He would pick it up, as any gentleman would do, and hand it back to her with a kind word, which would make this schoolgirl’s heart beat a little faster.”
Clooney took his eyes off the road ahead long enough to admire Chandra’s profile, the reflected headlights sparkling in her eyes.
“Eyes on the road, you,” she said. “This is just a story. Of course, there could never be anything between them - that’s not how things work in India - but after a while it turned out that this tall boy no longer sat at the back of the bus, and he found someone else to sit beside. A schoolgirl in a long white dress, for example, and sometimes if nobody was looking, his hand might be by his side, and it might find the hand of a schoolgirl whose heart was beating fast, and their hands would be together out of sight under a school bag or a scarf or something.”
Chandra’s fingers were exploring Clooney’s, stroking, linking, squeezing.
“One day these two innocent children were seen sitting quietly together, and after that there was no more bus. There was a fat uncle in an old black car, and although he was kind, and he told funny stories to help cheer up this schoolgirl, he was not tall and handsome and smiling. And later on, there was a husband, who was not young or tall or narrow, and there was a job and a house in a far land full of kangaroos, but there was no family for this schoolgirl who grew up; just dreams.”
“Speaking of kangaroos,” Clooney began, his voice full of increasing urgent.
Chandra slowed the car and they watched a troop of kangaroos bound across the road. Big males in front, the females and their gangly children behind, a few young males at the rear, turning to look at the car, as if they might hop back into the road.
Chandra gave the horn a beep and they hastily changed their minds, following the others into the darkness. She put the car in gear and accelerated along the ribbon of highway.
A few minutes on, and she pulled into the driveway for a roadside motel. She passed the office and parked in a patch of darkness behind the rooms, out of sight from the road. She reached into her handbag, extracting a key with a gaudy plastic fob.
“Organised this earlier, you know. Nobody sees, nobody talks, nobody loses their job.”
“This must have cost a bit,” Clooney said.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it up to me,” Chandra replied, smiling. “A little comfort and warmth and privacy, a bottle of something nice in the fridge. I’m not complaining; are you?”
They got out, and she led him to one of the rooms. Closing the door behind them, she drew him in for an embrace. “Kiss me, Clooney. It’s been a long day.”
Somewhere around the ninety second mark he felt hands working on his belt and jeans. Uh-oh. Did this mean that he was required to start undressing Chandra? Belts and jeans were one thing, but how did skirts and bras work?
He could feel his own jeans coming loose and sliding down. He fumbled around behind Chandra. This was going to be tricky.
She chuckled softly. “Sorry, Clooney. This is probably all new to you. Here.”
She reached for the light switch and stood before him. “My top is just a shirt, except the buttons are on the other side.”
Clooney could deal with that. Bra was another matter. “It hooks behind. Bring the straps at the back towards each each other.” She turned around to make it easy. He peered at the unfamiliar mechanism, but worked it out.
“Uh, not too hard,” Chandra protested, “these girls are tender today.”
But there she was, topless, her “girls” loose and happy. He gave them each a gentle kiss as Chandra’s busy hands freed him from his underwear. She lingeringly returned the compliment there, before pulling his polo shirt up over his head. Clooney admired the effect of Chandra stretching up high.
“Skirt is like your trousers,” Chandra said, indicating a button at the front. Clooney undid that and slid the skirt down. Oh, my!
“And I think you can work this one out.”
Clooney had never seen thong underwear in real life, but yes, he felt he could work it out.
* * *
But he didn’t whip it straight off. The white lace against Chandra’s dark curls looked stunning. For the first time in his adolescent life the idea that someone could look sexier with clothes on - if one could call a scrap of lace “clothes” - than completely nude passed through his mind.
“Chandra, turn around,” he said.
She stepped back and slowly, artfully displayed herself. Clooney took in the whole picture; from top to bottom she was a work of fine art: smiling face and twinkling eyes conscious of her beauty, those incredible breasts, their nipples tightening up as he watched, perfect waist and slightly rounded belly leading down through some sweet curves to the flare of her waist and that delightfully-framed triangle of curls concealing her sex.
From the back, she was curved and rounded and compact. Clooney admired the way in which the thong’s strap vanished between those sweet half-moons.
She stopped when she had turned full circle and pointed to him, twirling a finger in command. “My turn now!”
How ridiculous. Clooney was well aware of his gangling body. Nobody could ever call him beautiful. But he turned before Chandra’s eyes. Fair’s fair.
She came up behind him halfway through, put her arms around him and pressed her body into his, kissing his back, one hand reaching up to stroke his cheek, one reaching down…
“Oh, you beautiful, lovely man,” she said, her fingers gently stroking, discovering, arousing the whole of him.
Her grip changed then, and she pulled him full circle, then stretched up - those soft contours against his own hard chest! - to give him a deep kiss.
“Make love to me, Clooney,” she ordered, pulling him back onto the bed, his thin body collapsing on top of her generous curves. They held each other close, arms and legs twining, before Clooney pulled back and began kissing his way along her body.
She stretched her arms over her head, her eyes closed in delight as Clooney’s lips passed over the tender skin of her throat and continued down over shoulders - each one for balance - an exploratory taste of her inner arms and flanks, before resuming a steady southerly progress into the highlands of her chest.
“I can take a lot of that,” Clooney remembered her saying, and was happy to comply, giving each breast a carpet of kisses, each one culminating in a final deep kiss of a nubbled nipple. She sighed happily under him, her own hands stroking, caressing, enjoying what parts of his body fell to her reach.
Clooney moved relentlessly downwards, down over her belly button, a side trip to each hip, a steady progress over her tummy, a triumphant arrival at the final defences.
His tongue explored the sides, his nose pressed into that white lace triangle, inhaling her womanly scent. He moaned in spite of himself and gently took the thong in his hands, moving it down to reveal the curly triangle of forest below.
Chandra moved her hips to help, and Clooney eased the scrap of fabric and lace all the way down.
He pushed her thighs apart, resuming his march of kisses through the tangled curls, into the first valleys, and the all the way along.
Her scent, her taste flooded his senses, and when his tongue penetrated her opening he tasted the tangy, salty, richness of the source. He explored inside, finding that ridged area and paying it close attention.
He could feel her moving now, pressing and withdrawing herself, her breathing in harmony with her movements, words whispered in each breath. “More, press harder, more, more.”
Clooney put a finger into play, stroking along her spread lips, gathering up the slick juices, moving back up to tease and delight that sweet pink bean. He could see it now, just before his eyes, and he touched it gently, rubbing it softly.
Chandra reacted immediately, arching her back and moaning, “Oh yes, that’s it! More, more!”
Clooney was happy to comply. “Mmmmm,” he purred, taking his tongue out to touch and taste her clitoris, and replacing it with a finger, two fingers, spreading her wider, exploring her wet interior.
Chandra reached down, a small foil package entering his view. He took it with his free hand, and paused his work for a moment.
“Hurry, Clooney,” he heard, but this had to be done right. He opened it, pulled out the rubber, turned it and placed it on, making sure it rolled all the way down.
Then he reversed his order of kissing, moving up, over her flanks, quickly scaling each breast, planting a kiss on each summit, over her chest, throat and finally her lips. She drew him to her with a free hand, inhaling and tasting herself, the other reaching down to guide him inside.
“Fuck me, Clooney,” she breathed. “Fuck me hard.”
No problem at all, he thought, finding his hardness embraced and gripped by her inner muscles. He pressed harder, retreated, pressed further, and found that his thrusts were matched by Chandra’s hips advancing and withdrawing.
Her pubic bone was grinding into his wth each thrust, and he bore down on her as best he could, his own breath becoming quicker and deeper as the excitement rose in him.
He couldn’t last much longer, he was sure of that, but whatever power he had over that was being taken from him, as Chandra’s own movements increased, and her breath shortened and quickened.
“Harder, harder, more, press hard,” she was telling him, but he had no control at all. His body was moving by itself, pressing down and deep with each stroke, and each thrust was being met with a delightful grip from inside.
Chandra’s breaths lost all form and coherence. She gasped, her hips bucked, her back arched, and Clooney, with his last reserves, felt the contractions, amazingly strong, as she climaxed under him.
He gave way as well, his surges increasing, the pure pleasure gripping him in waves of intensity, his penis a pulsing wand of ecstasy as they both moaned and sobbed together.
Chandra spoke first. When they had words.
“Stay for a while, sweet. I’m getting tingles.”
Clooney held his weight on his elbows, looking down at her glowing face, smiling beneath him. After a while she sighed, drew him down for a lingering kiss, and rolled over.
Clooney slipped limply out. He looked down.
“There’s a bin in the bathroom,” Chandra said. “Go, start a shower.”
* * *
The shower took some time to run hot, but eventually Clooney stepped inside and began washing himself. He had thought, hoped rather, that Chandra would join him, but he had to clean himself. What a letdown!
He was rinsing shampoo out of his hair when he realised that he was no longer solo. Chandra had entered the bathroom, taken a seat, and was watching him shower. She lifted a wineglass in salute, and he smiled back. Showering for an audience was a new experience, but what secrets did he have from her?
Clooney did his best to put on a show, but what entertainment could there be in watching a skinny teenager taking a shower? Eventually he stepped out, and Chandra rose with a fluffy towel to dry him down, perhaps taking a little too much time over certain bits, and maybe with a few more kisses than strictly necessary.
She offered him the glass, and indicated a bottle with foreign print. “Cava from Spain,” she said. “Just as good as champagne, and a third the price. My turn now.”
Chandra in the shower was every bit the performer that Clooney wasn’t. He wasn’t sure how a nude woman could do a strip tease, but there it was. She soaped herself up, shampooed her hair, rinsed off and did it again with conditioner, all the while managing to display only the smallest amount of the more interesting bits of female skin.
As the show progressed, there was more and more on display, and when she accidentally-on-purpose dropped the soap and bent to pick it up, Clooney found that he was hard and throbbing.
A final rinse and she emerged for Clooney to towel down, which he did, taking care here and here, and under there…
“Come snuggle a bit, darling,” she said, when there was nothing but dry skin left. The lights in the main room had been turned off, four candles gave a warm glow, and the bedspread was turned down. She snagged the bottle and snapped the bathroom light off
Together they sat in bed, propped against the pillows, holding hands and taking turns with the wine. “There’s another glass, if you’re worried about girl germs…” she offered, but Clooney snorted. They had shared saliva - and just about everything else - so what was the point?
He idly traced a finger over her skin, nothing carnal, just enjoying the feel. He leant over to kiss her.
“Mmmmm, that’s nice,” she said, when she had the use of her mouth again. “This is the best part for me. Well, second best, but it goes on a bit longer.”
“Only one more night, Chandra,” Clooney sighed.
“Not even that, dear,” she said. “I’m going to be lifeguard for the swimming pool tomorrow, and then I’ll have to help tidy all the equipment away, and there’s an admin meeting after that; a few drinks for the tutors, mainly, but we rarely finish before midnight. And I’ll be needing some sleep. This is it, I’m afraid.”
Clooney looked stricken. “And nothing until next Easter? How will I survive?”
“Unless you can find a girlfriend, your survival is in your own hands. So to speak. I imagine that you’ve got some good memories to draw on; I know that I have.”
Clooney looked at her with interest.
“Remember that I told you that women like sex just as much as men do? If we can find someone who can take their time and do a good job?”
Clooney nodded. “Might be hard to find someone like that, yeah?”
“Easiest thing in the world!” Chandra snorted. “We just have to look in the mirror to find them. And finding the time is never hard for someone who lives alone. Just takes a bit longer, that’s all.”
Clooney looked puzzled.
“You have a lot to learn about women, darling. You’ve only seen me when I’ve been fired up, thinking about you all day, or turned on from the things we’ve been doing. From a cold start, it takes fifteen minutes. Minimum. That’s you, me, anyone. We’re not like men, where you just grab ahold of yourself and two minutes later you’re finished.
“The most common sex is a man and and a woman getting it on, and he finishes long before she does. He pulls out, rolls over, goes to sleep. Not a recipe for a happy marriage, let me tell you!”
Clooney handed Chandra the glass. She shook her head. “I’ve got to drive us back. It’s going to take half an hour before I’m properly safe. You finish the bottle off.”
She slid down the bed, propped her head on a pillow and looked at him.
Clooney looked back. “Fifteen minutes, eh?”
“Clooney, I’m not prone to argue.”
Who's been sleeping?
It was pushing midnight by the time they returned to camp. Chandra parked at the sports centre and they spent at least five minutes on a goodnight kiss. Eventually she pushed him out. “Go. There’s no room in this little car. Sleep tight.”
Clooney walked up the hill, feeling contented yet somehow empty. It had been an amazing two nights, and yes, he certainly had enough images running through his mind for a year’s worth of self-pleasure, but it was going to be hard to feel the emptiness beside him, under him, when he thought of her. So hard…
There was a rustle in the bushes and a wombat crossed the path ahead of him. Round and solid, like a small boulder on stubby legs, it gave him a glance and then vanished into a patch of dark.
He could hear other creatures under the stars as he walked back through the huts. A possum coughing, warning intruders on its territory. A flash of white wings as an owl stooped on something small beside the kitchen. And a small rustle under the steps as he climbed up to the verandah of Hut 14.
His room was unlocked and he cast his mind back. He was sure he’d locked it with his keycard and tugged at the handle before leaving. He flicked on the light. All his things seemed to be in place. IPad beside the bed, a neat stack of papers on the table.
But the sheets on his bed were turned back, disheveled. Someone had been lying there. He bent to the pillow and sniffed. Erin!
Oh no. Somehow he’d missed some vital signal. Maybe his mind had been on other things.
He clicked the light off and headed back out. There were still a few lights on, and of course the group rooms had a scattering of students hunched over laptops. The Indigo room had four students, busily cutting code and having a picnic on junk food. None of them Erin.
One looked up, Frank. “Oh, Clooney. Where on earth have you been? Erin was in here looking for you a while back.”
Drat. He’d just missed her. “How long ago?” Clooney asked. Maybe she’d gone for a cup of coffee.
“Oh, half an hour or so. She said not to worry, it wasn’t important.”
Like hell.
Midnight Express
Someone was rocking the boat. Under the storm the waves were pounding and spray was coming in, soaking the passengers. Dripping wet, Erin was baling out furiously, but the water was rising and some fool was shaking the rudder from side to side, threatening disaster.
“Erin, wake up!”
Shelley, the girl in the bunk below hers. Erin opened her eyes and tried to make sense of the world. Were they sinking?
“It’s Clooney, says he needs to talk to you about your app. I’ve told him that he should go away and play on the highway, but he insists.”
Clooney!
“Um, I’d better see what he wants. Thanks, Shelley.”
“He was pounding on the door, Erin! It’s way after midnight. He’s a maniac.”
“I know. It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
Clooney was waiting outside. He seized her as soon as the door was closed, burying his face in her hair, holding her tight, intimately tight, she realised.
“Um, let’s just go round the side here, away from the window,” she said.
Erin took his hand and led him away into a darker place. “Clooney, you’re an idiot!”
“I know. Hey, aren’t you cold?”
He was looking at her. T-shirt and shortie pyjama pants. And, visible evidence of the chill night highlighting the thin t-shirt.
“I was in a nice warm bed.”
“Yes, mine.”
“How could you tell?”
Clooney smiled. “You left your perfume all over my pillow.”
“Where were you?”
“Ah,” Clooney hesitated. “Don’t tell, but we were down at the sports centre with one of the tutors.”
Hmmm.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Ssssh,” he whispered. “Not so loud!”
“Oh, you idiot! Half the camp is probably awake and watching us now.”
But she snuggled close, and drew him in for a kiss. He tasted of minty toothpaste, not beer.
“I waited hours for you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you wanted to. You’ve been all hot and cold.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Erin let her hands drift a little lower. “But I’m good now.”
“Ah, I’m kind of half wasted out now,” he said with a gasp as her hands found what she was looking for. “Tomorrow?”
“You better, buster. And make sure your little friend here is awake. I’ve got plans for him.”
The smile on the face of the cougar
There were easter eggs at breakfast, one per student. And some haggard faces in the senior groups, peering over coffee mugs at the world. The smokers clustered outside, adding to the misty country air.
Midway point in the camp. It was all downhill from here. Friday was easy, Saturday was classes and practice, but Sunday was hard work to get everything done. The teams that hadn’t planned their strategy were under the gun, and those who were doing well wanted to be better than the competition.
This was serious business for some. Anyone who was any good might well be offered an intern position or a scholarship. And, as noted on Day One, some of the apps that had come out of past camps had gone on to be successful in the real world.
Team Puff was quietly confident they had a winner with JustFriends. They just needed more time, like about a week. The app already worked perfectly in its simplest form, as a recording service for screen names, so long as the user entered the data manually. This was not child’s play; getting an app to a state where it could even display information was a big step, let alone show correctly on different-sized displays.
The hard part was interfacing with social media sites to download images, friend lists and so on. Every platform had a different way of opening up their data. Even if you had full password access it was a chore, let alone trying to jump through some of the security hurdles.
Frank wanted a brute force approach; charge through the night, get the thing done, walk off with the trophy and spend the next week catching up on sleep before maybe going public the following Monday.
Erin wasn’t in favour. For one thing, she was quite certain that she had better things to do that night than stare at a computer screen.
And second, they had to make sure that their swimming app was going to be working tonight when it would be put to the test. One thing to use an app that you knew backwards, another to hand it to someone coming in cold and hope that they didn’t try something you hadn’t planned for.
“Before we get tied down in the group room,” she said, “how about we work on a strategy for the day?”
“I’m not keen on working all night, either, even if you are, Frank,” Clooney said. “And I’m not sure that you can work alone all night and come up with something that the rest of the team can understand, let alone debug when something goes wrong.”
“Or be 100% legal,” Erin added, contemplating the prospect of disqualification for developing a hacker’s fantasy. “How about this. We have until lunchtime to get the sports night app to a final release. It’s good to go right now, I think, but Clooney can do a check, test, debug cycle until say, morning break and if he’s happy, we unlock it for open download. While he’s doing that, Frank and I modify JustFriends so that it has a dummy module for each social media platform we support. It will look like it uses the Application Programming Interface and returns real data, but it won’t, just a bunch of canned names and images.
“And then we spend the rest of the day developing as many different modules as we can that actually go and get live data, and slot them in when they work. We only need one to be working to fill the app criteria of using the internet, and I think we have Instagram working right now, so that can be our first module.”
Erin could see the wheels turning in Frank’s head. “So we can have a working app by about lunchtime, and then we work on specific modules for Facebook and Twitter and all the rest, and plug them in when we have them tested and debugged.”
“Yes,” she said. “That way, if we run into problems with any of the APIs, we won’t contaminate the whole app. We just won’t use that particular module until it works properly. If you really want to work all night long, Frank, you can write and test as many modules as you want, and then we can slot them in in the morning. Team presentations start at ten o’clock. We might not have the best app, but we won’t have one that crashes or just doesn’t work.”
“And that happens a lot,” Clooney put in. “All these great ideas, and when it comes to the crunch on the presentation, the thing falls over and that’s an automatic fail.”
“Sounds like a plan, Chief!” Frank said, and they all bumped fists.
* * *
Erin looked at the madness in the sports pavilion that evening. People everywhere. Getting changed, yelling, splashing, chasing each other. And that was just the tutors. The kitchen staff had come down from the camp building and were assembling pizzas. Bins full of ice held juice and water and soft drinks.
After a long day spent pushing pieces of code around, it was a relief to do nothing much but crack open a cola and watch everyone else having a good time.
For now, the action was centred around the swimming pool, and Ms Parvati had enlisted two of the beefier male tutors to control the events.
“They have the loud voices, you see,” she said to Erin. “Nobody can hear me unless it’s dead quiet. Besides, I’m in charge of safety, and I have to be focused.”
Erin stood beside her with an iPad in a waterproof case. A wireless network had been set up, and the results were coming in. So far Team Puff was performing flawlessly, at least in computing. They had been so-so in the swimming events.
“Just quietly, Erin, but I don’t think your man has much chance in the dive-bomb event. Free Willy over there is the man to beat, I’d say.”
Erin followed Ms Parvati’s gaze. A chunky student in black and white board shorts, easily twice Clooney’s weight, was standing in the line for the diving board.
“Free willy, right. We’ll see how he goes. Clooney says he has a secret weapon.”
They regarded Clooney with critical eyes as he waited for his turn.
“Not visible from this angle,” Mrs Parvati said.
The next contestant dived off the board. He tumbled once, went a little too far, and entered the water with his feet, rather than his bottom. Not a massive splash, but the two judges awarded a five and six respectively, and Erin made her own assessment of the crowd applause. Four points for a not unrespectable total of fifteen. She filled in the score boxes on the iPad screen and swiped to the next contestant, Clooney.
Clooney was on the diving board, putting on a show for the crowd. Pretending he was about to dive, then pulling back and peering over the edge, as if the end of the board was much higher than a metre above the water surface. He was a skinny dive-bomber in baggy board shorts with something interesting bobbling inside.
“You’re a lucky woman,” said Ms Parvati. “He’s a sweet boy.”
“Me?” squeaked Erin, looking at Ms Parvati, whose nipples were poking the fabric of her swimsuit.
“I’ve got eyes,” she said, not taking her own off Clooney. “Here he goes!”
No tumbles for Clooney. He bounced along the board, leapt high at the end for maximum bounce, soared like an arrow into the air, and at the top of his arc, poised above the pool, clutched one leg to his chest with both arms, the other extending out, and headed for the water with his bum leading.
“Classic can-opener,” said Ms Parvati. “A splendid entry.”
Clooney made a superb splash, one stream of water jetting into the watchers, another reaching high into the air as the water closed over his head.
Seven, eight points from the judges, and going on the shrieks from the soaked audience, nine for effect. Twenty-four points total, recorded by Erin with no personal bias at all.
Clooney hauled himself out of the pool, wet shorts clinging to the contours of his body. The two women murmured in appreciation, and then glanced at each other.
“Don’t mind me,” Ms Parvati said. “I’m an old woman living on memories. Don’t let him get away, dear.”
* * *
They looked on as Clooney paused for a moment to acknowledge the roar of the crowd, such as it was, and then came over to the lifeguard station. His eyes were roaming over the two women: Mrs Parvati, her feminine curves barely concealed by a red bikini, stoutly engineered up top, and Erin, bright blue one-piece a few molecules thick. She was self-conscious of her nipples against the thin fabric and lifted the iPad in defence. That left her lower body open, and his eyes dropped for a moment.
“Well done, Clooney!” Ms Parvati called. “A bold effort against stiff competition. That’s not your first time, I’ll bet.”
“Thanks, Ms P! Too many summers spent annoying the neighbours pays off. How’d I score?”
“Scoring well,” Erin said, hiding her display from him.
“Aww, c’mon. I wrote that app.”
“You helped to write the code. You don’t have any rights to the data.”
“Erin’s right. You’ll have to wait. Now sit still and don’t distract those who are working.”
“Fair enough. I’ll just sit here and admire the view.”
Erin did her best to ignore his presence. Her body refused to go along and the thought of him checking out her nipples just made them stick out more. Mrs Parvati looked at him.
“Clooney, take one of those towels from the pile. You must be freezing.”
He got up in an awkward fashion, hobbled over to the towels, draped one over his shoulders and sat down again, but not before Erin had gotten a good look at what was hampering his movements. Wow.
“Right. Here he comes. Free Willy.”
They all watched as the tubby student - “He comes for the computers, stays for the food,” Erin said - climbed onto the board.
“It’s not about size,” Clooney said, “It’s about how you use it.”
“Yes, true,” Mrs Parvati said, “but all else being equal, the bigger they come the more splash they make.”
The student was all business. He lumbered to the edge of the board, stepped off, pulled his legs into the cannonball position, and hit the water a moment later. His splash was powerful but concentrated into a cone.
“Seven, seven, and um six, I’d say.” Erin recorded the scores.
“Wasted his advantages,” Ms Parvati said. “He should have bounced a few times to leverage his weight, gone for height and turned into a watermelon.”
“What??” Erin asked.
“A watermelon is a reverse cannonball. You turn in the air, tuck everything in, and land on your shoulders and back instead of your bum,” Clooney explained. “It stings a bit, but you make this zone focused spray effect. The last thing you want is a graceful entry.”
“Oh. So why didn’t you choose that?”
“Because you need some weight behind you. I have to go for surface area and speed. Trust me, I’ve tried everything.”
“Last contestant coming up. Frank.”
Frank jumped up onto the board, bounced once, extended his legs into a seated position, and hit the water like a right angle.
“Five, six, and five,” noted Erin. “I think that makes you the winner, Clooney.”
She hit the button to provide the contestant list, sorted by point score. “Uh, no, this has Frank on top. He apparently got a score of 31 out of 30.”
“Let me see that,” said Mrs Parvati. “Hmmmm. Wasn’t he one of the first contestants?”
“Oooh, he must have had two goes, and the app just adds the score into the data row for that contestant.”
“Disqualified,” Ms Parvati declared. “Can your app handle disqualifications?”
Erin looked at Clooney, who shrugged.
“Okay, who’s next on the ranking?”
Clooney stood up and gave a victory salute to the cheering crowd as Ms Parvati blew her whistle, announced the winner, and made the call to dinner.
Clooney looked at Erin, as the audience headed for the pizza piled up at the refreshment counter. “Hey, you want to skip dinner?”
Erin nodded, and they slipped away through the gate. Chandra watched them walk away up the path, Clooney reaching out to take Erin’s hand.
Four candles
Erin followed Clooney inside his room. He closed the door and it was instantly totally black. Wow.
“Just wait there a moment. Don’t move,” Clooney said.
Erin didn’t move a muscle but her ears. She could hear Clooney’s footsteps, the sound of a drawer opening - oh my god, what was he pulling out? - and then a lighter flared. Clooney was reaching for a candle beside the bed, and then another on the windowsill - the window covered by a blanket, Erin noticed; no wonder the room had been so dark - and he came back to the door, grinned at her, and found two more candles.
The room was now warmly lit.
“Brilliant!” Erin said. “This time we can see what we’re doing.”
She moved to Clooney and took him in her arms. “And most of all, I want to see you.”
“And me, you too,” Clooney replied. Poor guy was getting flustered, Erin thought. Needed a firm hand.
She pushed him away. “Just lie down on the bed there, darling. I need to examine you.”
Bed. There had been two single beds in here last night, she was quite certain of that. Now they had been pushed together. Good thinking, Clooney!
He followed her orders. Erin’s gaze slid down his tall body and stopped at his swimmers, which were sporting an interesting bulge.
She poked at it, traced its outline. “I’ve noticed this swelling all evening. Is it painful?”
Clooney nodded.
“Well, let’s take a look at it. See if we can fix the problem.”
She tugged at his board shorts. They were caught on something.
“Ouch!” Clooney said. “There’s a drawstring. Just untie that, and they should slide right off. Ah, would you like me to do that for you?”
“No, you just relax and leave this to me. I need to get the full picture.”
Erin leaned over. Yes, she had missed the drawstring. She tugged at one end of the bow. Nothing happened. She tugged harder. Clooney groaned.
“The cord is swollen too,” Erin observed. “I might have to cut these off.”
Clooney reached down and untied the knot.
“Ah, good.” She began sliding them down. “Just lift your bum up a little? That’s right.”
Clooney’s cock popped into view as the shorts slid down over his thighs. “There, doesn’t that feel better?” And then, “My God, it’s growing!”
And it was. Erin looked on, fascinated, as it rose higher into the air. A fold of skin curled back and the head appeared, red in the candlelight. She touched it experimentally.
“It’s wet. Does this mean you’ve already come?”
“Not yet. It’s just something that happens. Like getting an erection. I can’t really help it. If there’s a beautiful woman without many clothes on, up she comes!”
Erin looked at it some more. It had stopped growing, but it was still an impressive size. In her limited experience, of course. “How far are you off coming? Is it going to pop any moment?”
“Not without help. In fact, if nothing else happens, it will go down by itself. If you tugged hard on it, maybe two or three minutes. Depends on how much stimulation I get, how I’m being touched, what I’m looking at, how long it’s been since the last time.”
“You mean, as you have more of them you get quicker?”
Clooney laughed. “No, other way around!”
“What sort of numbers are we talking about here? If, say, I pulled really hard on this,” Erin curled her fingers around him, “how long would it be before you could come again? And if, just for argument’s sake, it had been a year since you last had sex, would it be super quick?”
“What’s all this about?” Clooney asked, his own hands beginning to explore the tight fabric of her swimsuit.
Erin felt her body respond, nipples firming up.
“Mmmm, maybe you should take off some of your clothes,” Clooney said. “We could get some actual data.”
“Later, mister.” Erin pushed his hands down firmly. Mind, that had felt good. “I need to take a full history. You haven’t answered my question.”
“Well,” Clooney said, appearing to consider his answer, “If I came right now, it would probably take about half an hour of fairly serious work before the next one.”
“Hmmm,” said Erin, taking her hand from where it had been moving back and forth. “And if it had been a year? Would you just go off at a touch?”
Clooney chuckled. “You need to learn more about men. Leave it alone for a week and we get a wet dream.”
Erin touched Clooney’s tip again. A little shiny bead had appeared. She collected it on her finger and brought it up for closer examination.
“What’s that like, darling? I mean, Mister.”
“Wonderful. You get the most realistic erotic dreams and then suddenly they turn into an orgasm and you have to clean up the mess.”
“I think I had one last year. Without the mess, of course. Do you dream about me?”
“I did. But, um, mostly I think about you. More control.”
“Oooh, this gets better and better! What do you think about?”
Clooney reached up again. “I think of what we might do together. I think of what you might look like without anything on, in the light. That’s why I got candles. Finished with your examination?”
“Not quite,” Erin said, though she didn’t bat his hands away this time. She drew her finger down Clooney’s shaft and gently stroked what lay at the bottom.
“What about these? Aren’t they extra-sensitive? Will you go off any quicker if I touch them?”
“I’ll go off all right, but not in a good way. No, don’t stop, that’s nice, but if you were to squeeze them or bite them, it’s incredibly painful.”
Erin looked at him with interest. “Bite them? Do many people bite your balls?”
Clooney closed his legs. “No. And if they did, they would very soon wish they hadn’t.”
“Point taken. No chewing on the nuts. Now move over, dear. It’s time for your dreams to come true.”
And mine, she thought.
Erin reached behind her and undid her ponytail tie. She shook her hair out, then lay down on the bed beside Clooney. He rolled over to kiss her, running his fingers through her newly liberated hair, pressing his lips against hers. She felt his tongue moving against her and smiled. She parted her lips and admitted him.
After a while, he reclaimed his tongue. She opened her eyes to see him reaching down, taking his board shorts off entirely. He knelt beside her, fingers tracing her jutting nipples through the swimsuit. Then he bent and kissed each one in turn, before sliding her swimsuit straps carefully off her shoulders.
With the straps loose, the top rolled down easily. Erin wriggled her arms free, Clooney observing the effect with a long sigh.
“Erin, you are beautiful. Perfect. Look.”
He lightly touched her aureoles, where the skin had puckered and crinkled. Oh, so good. “Kiss me, Clooney,” she sighed.
He bent and kissed her, lingering over each one, the tip of his tongue taking a circle around each firm nipple, and then lips closing right over to suck.
Erin felt an electric tingle running through her body. Somehow Clooney managed to capitalise on this by stroking her breasts lightly with his fingertips.
“You must have been taking lessons,” she sighed. “I get a buzz each time you do that.”
“Me too,” he whispered. He rose up and regarded her breasts.
“What happened here?” he asked, touching a spot.
“Um, birthmark,” Erin said. It was why she never wore a low cut top.
“It’s not sensitive or anything?”
“No, it’s just pigment.”
“Then you won’t mind if I kiss it,” Clooney said, bending down again. He looked up at her, eyes smiling. “A little bit of pink. It’s beautiful. Every woman should have one.”
He rolled her swimsuit further down, inspecting her ribs, tracing each one with his palm. “Any others I should know about?”
Erin nodded. “One more, but you’ll have to find it yourself.”
Clooney went a little further, exposing her navel. “This?”
“No, silly!”
“Then you won’t mind if I kiss it.”
And he did.
Stop teasing me, Erin thought.
Clooney left her swimsuit as it was, and went lower, tracing the outline of her mound with his fingers. He found the contour of her central cleft and ran his finger along it.
Just like I did to him, Erin realised. He must have been wanting to do that all evening.
“This looks swollen,” Clooney said, cupping his hand around her sex. “Mind if I take a closer look?”
Erin raised her hips as Clooney pulled her bathing suit all the way off. Here it comes she thought.
“Oh, wow,” Clooney exclaimed. “Did you do that for me?”
“You like it?” Erin asked.
“I love it.” He touched the smooth skin, stroked it, ran his finger down her hairless lips. “Hey.”
Now he was coming back up. He kissed each nipple again in passing - oh they were so hard, like acorns! - and then kissed her firmly on the mouth. Nice, but Erin was conscious of him pressing against her thigh. That was thrilling, distracting, and worrying her.
She got in first when she had a chance.
“Clooney, I just want to make sure about something…”
“Same here, but you go first. It might be the same thing.” He was looking into her eyes, damn him.
“Before we go too far, I got a pack of condoms…”
“You got condoms? Awesome!”
“Don’t interrupt. Please. Yes, and it’s important you wear one this time. I’d like to put it on you. I’ve been practising on a banana.”
A banana, yes, but thinking of Clooney.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ve got some too. Look, there on the table. Hey, what happened to the banana?”
“Never you mind.” Her heart was racing now. She could feel him harden against her. This was it. “And you?”
“Ah, I just want to ask if it’s okay to kiss you, um down there.”
Erin put both of her hands on his head and pushed him down.
* * *
But he didn’t kiss her. Not at first. She could see him, head bowed above her, drinking her in. Sniffing.
“What’s wrong? Do I smell?”
“Yes. Wonderful!”
Then he kissed her, right at the top of her cleft. The touch of his lips on her bare skin there was electrifying. She sighed at the thrill of it and shivered as he spread her thighs.
He was kissing her again, a little lower, and she moaned with delight when his teasing tongue travelled along the length of her clit. He was tracing her inner lips with his fingers, and softly slipped one inside her. She was so wet; she could feel him exploring her, twisting his finger, gently stroking.
And now his tongue was taking big ice cream licks of her. He was moaning gently, and she heard him murmur, “Oh, heaven!”
Well, it certainly felt divine from her side. When his tongue began exploring her inner lips and found her button, she couldn’t help but gasp.
He stopped. “No, no, keep going,” she whispered urgently. “More of that!”
He kept going, teasing at first, and then harder. She began rocking her hips in time, maximising the sensations flooding in. It wouldn’t be long now.
He reached his free hand up, and stroked her breast, searching for the nipple. Her own hands were busy there, and she wrapped her fingers around his.
“Clooney,” she murmured. “Time to get dressed.”
He gave her a final lick all round. “Sure?”
“Oh yes. Just lie down and hold still, darling.”
Clooney stretched up and lay beside her, facing her, licking his lips.
“Yum,” he said. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed that.”
“Not half as much as me.”
She rummaged on the bedside table. Nothing there.
“Uh, it’s the other one. On my side.”
She stretched out over him, reaching for the pack. Her breasts brushed against his face. “Sorry.”
He didn’t answer, just nuzzled into them. His lips found a nipple and he sucked greedily.
Erin let him for a few seconds, and then sat up. “Be still, you,” she ordered.
She opened the package and turned to him. He was full and hard, and her fingers caressed the length of his shaft. She bent her face over him, her hair falling like a curtain as she reached her tongue out and tasted him. Not bad. She bent lower and took him in her mouth, exploring the ridged head with her tongue and wrapping her lips around him.
“Careful, now,” he said. “Not too much of that or I’ll be no use to you.”
She lifted her head and looked at him, engorged and red. “I hope it fits,” she said, checking the condom.
It fitted, and she rolled it on. Better than any banana.
Clooney cleared his throat. “Um, Erin?”
“Yes?”
“I know what we did last year, but I was wondering just now, um…” His voice trailed off.
“Yes, technically speaking, I’m still a virgin. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it right this time. Just hold that position for a minute.”
She looked at him. Funny, dorky Clooney. She bent down and kissed his lips. Oh my, he tasted of her.
She straddled him, took him in one hand, spreading herself with the other, and guided him into the right spot. She lowered herself experimentally. Yes, it was tight, but it would work.
Clooney sucked his breath in. “Oh, my god,” he sighed out, “that’s fabulous.”
She could feel him, filling her opening as she lined him up. Now or never. One, two, three…
She let her weight drop onto him. There was a tightness, a momentary tug of something, and then he was inside, filling her completely. It felt so good, so complete. All the worry and tension had been for nothing. She rose up, letting him slide down, and then dropped again, slowly this time, and he moaned with delight.
Hmmmm, not too much of that, then. Erin rocked herself forward, feeling for something to push against. There. Perfect.
She ground against him, her legs spread wide, her body rubbing on him, softness against hard. Clooney reached up to stroke her breasts, and her nipples tingled.
Clooney moved his hips with hers, taking the rhythm, moving steadily. She felt him rising and moving within her. A minute of increasing pace, their breaths quickening and then there was the first spark of her release. She felt for it, held it, let it build and glow for another stroke or two, and then she was crying out with the pulses rushing over her, sobbing as each one formed and crested, her body heaving and arching in delight.
She held herself against Clooney as the waves of pleasure rolled through her body and subsided, but there inside she could feel her internal muscles squeezing him, drawing him close as he moved within her.
“Oh, oh, ohhhhh,” he gasped, his breath quickening with his own growing orgasm. Erin hugged him inside as she felt him throb and rise, bucking against her. She was still feeling the last warm tingles herself, and the shared joy was there between them, a golden moment that gently faded as their bodies fell still.
Erin let her breasts fall against his chest. She kissed him, hard.
“Wow.”
Clooney opened his eyes and looked at her, the golden candlelight dancing on her smiling face.
“Wow,” he said again. “We should do this more often.”
“How about in half an hour?” asked Erin. “I think I could go again, if you’re up for it.”
“Wow,” he said once more. “Good. I couldn’t stand waiting another year. And I never did find that other birthmark.”
Erin raised herself. The pressure inside had gone, and he slipped out easily and gently.
“You didn’t look hard enough. But let’s cuddle for a bit, first,” she said.
Cleaning up
Later, Erin discovered the pros and cons of showering with a friend. For one thing, there wasn’t a real lot of room left over in the cubicle, and once the hot water was flowing and the soap got dropped a few times, it all got pretty steamy. On the con side, the hot water ran out after about half an hour.
Erin towelled Clooney dry while he attempted to return the favour. “No, stop that right now,” she instructed. “Otherwise we’ll need another shower, and there’s no hot water left.”
“Look who’s talking! Hey, you need to tell your father not to come pick you up. I’m driving you home.”
“Already told him, two days back.”
Analysis to come in a day or so. Link to be provided