Brian Thorston was whittling, when the kids rode by. He was sitting in his camp chair, pushing the blade of his jackknife forward, stripping the bark from a narrow piece of oak, when his solitude was interrupted by the children's caterwauling.

He might have been annoyed by the rude interruption; after all, a campground is supposed to be a peaceful place, and he was mostly here for some quiet contemplation--reflecting on his life, trying to put the pieces back together and envision exactly what the future might look like, now that his wife of a dozen years had left him for some other man. But Brian was not the sort to get annoyed by kids. He loved children, even though he hadn't managed to produce a brood of his own, and now that Anita had left, he knew there wasn't much chance that he was going to be starting a family anytime soon. And he was getting old.

But, anyway, he loved children. He loved the sound of children playing, having fun, and he especially loved kids who like to camp. And so, it was with a pleased expression that he sat quietly in his chair, whittling his stout piece of oak, and watching as a group of kids rode by on their bicycles on the dirt path at the end of the parking stall of his campsite.

First among the group were two little ones, a boy and a girl, not more than four or five years old. They were peddling like Tasmanian devils, all concentration, their legs pumping fast to make the little twelve inch wheels on their bikes spin quick enough to keep ahead of the other kids. Behind them was a trio of older kids, maybe eight or nine, two boys--identical twins, it seemed--riding dirt bikes and daredeviling around a girl in a pretty yellow dress on a classic old-school throwback banana seat bike, her glittering pink-and-gold handlebar tassels weaving and waving as she tried to avoid the boys. Lastly, taking up the rear, was a girl who was older still, a young teen. This one was clearly playing "mother hen" to the rest, chiding the boys to quiet down and start behaving. "Mom and Dad told us not to bother the other campers!" she hollered at them.

One of the boys turned to look at the oldest girl as she scolded him, and the timing of his turn was unfortunate, because at just that moment he was cutting in front of the girl on the banana seat bike. She plowed right into him; boy and bike went sprawling into the dusty dirt road.

The boy instantly began wailing. Brian put down his whittling, grabbed his first-aid kit from his tent, and jogged down his campsite driveway to the scene of the calamity.

"You hit me!" the boy bawled, sitting up and looking down at his knee. He was covered in dirt, and Brian could see the nasty red of a painful "road rash" wound.

"I did not!" the girl answered his accusation, standing with her feet on either side of her bike, the front of her yellow dress hanging down but the backside held up by the banana seat between her legs, such that Brian caught a glimpse of her blue-and-white striped panties before he quickly looked away. "It's your fault! You are such a brat! It's his fault, isn't it, Whittie?" she asked, turning to the oldest girl, now apparently expected to be judge and jury, as well as mother hen.

Brian knelt next to the boy. "It's okay, I've got a first-aid kit, we'll just get this cleaned up and put a bandaid on it and you'll be fine."

The boy wiped tears from his cheeks and nodded.

Brian was tearing open the package of an antiseptic wipe when the oldest child walked up to her brother and him, as they lay and knelt in the dirt, administering to his wound.

"Thanks," the girl said. "Sorry we're disturbing you."

"Oh, no problem," Brian answered. "Glad to be of help." He gave her a friendly smile. She was tall for her age, he noted, and thin, wearing a white teeshirt that was light enough to reveal the hint of a pink-and-white polkadot bra underneath. Her ensemble was completed by a knee-length pleated black skirt and white ankle socks topped with a frilly hem, visible just above the top of a pair of dusty white sneakers. Her straight brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail that ended just below her neck, bangs in the front hung low and uneven, such that he could tell that she was in need of a haircut soon. She scrunched her little nose and pushed up her glasses, big round lenses that magnified remarkably beautiful light brown eyes. Her cheeks were round and pale, but slightly flushed, maybe from the exertion of her bike riding, or maybe from embarrassment at the behavior of her younger siblings.

The boy winced as Brian applied the antiseptic wipe to the wound on his knee. "Sorry if it hurts," Brian said. "I just want to clean it up before I put a bandaid on." The boy nodded, apparently trying to be brave in front of a stranger.

Once the knee was properly bandaged, Brian stood and offered a hand to help the boy to his feet. Standing now, the boy started shaking dirt from his clothing. He seemed none the worse for wear.

"Thanks again," the oldest girl said.

"Of course," Brian answered, picking the boys dirt bike up and checking it over. "The bike seems fine," he said, setting it back on its wheels and leaning it towards the boy. "My names Brian Thorston," he said to the oldest girl, reaching a hand out to her, once the boy had taken his bike from him.

"I'm Whitney," she said, "Whitney Smith." Brian could have sworn her cheeks flushed even more as she shook his hand.

It was several hours later, Brian sitting in his camp chair again, enjoying a beer that was rapidly becoming tepid in the warm late afternoon air, and pulling off the last remnants of the bark from the branch of oak with his jackknife blade, when the oldest of the girls, the one who introduced herself as Whitney, came walking down the dirt road and turned onto the driveway of his campsite. She waved; he waved back.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Thorston, but..."

"Oh, it's no problem at all," he answered. "Come on up, I'm afraid I don't have another chair, but..." He gestured to the nearby picnic table.

The girl walked up the driveway to his campsite. "Thanks," she said, "I won't stay long. It's just, when I told my mom about how you helped Frankie with his knee and all, she thought we should give you something, to say 'thanks.'" She held out a little bag.

"Oh!" Brian stood. "You don't need to give me anything!" He reached for the bag, regardless.

"It's just chocolate chip cookies," Whitney said. "I baked them myself, right before we left for camping."

"You baked them? I bet they're going to be great!" He opened the bag, looked inside.

She smiled shyly. "I hope so. People say I'm a good cook."

"I have no doubt. I'm sure they're delicious." He fished a cookie out, held it in his mouth with his teeth, then fished another one out and handed it to her.

"What are you making?" she asked through a mouthful of her cookie, nodding in the direction of his jackknife and the stick of oak that he'd set, the knife blade still open, on the seat of his camp chair when he stood.

"Oh, nothing," he said. "Just whittling. Do you like to whittle?"

"I don't know. I've never whittled," she answered.

"Oh! Well then, I'll have to show you how!" He picked up the knife and stick, set the bag of cookies down on the picnic table, and sat down at the edge of one of the table's benches. The girl walked to the table herself, although her steps seemed a little timid. Maybe also a little curious, though.

Brian took out another cookie. "These are really good," he said.

"Thanks." She sat down on the edge of the bench opposite him.

"These would be awesome with a glass of milk to dip them in. I don't have any milk though, but coffee would work. Heck, that might be even better! I could brew some, if you want."

The girl shook her head. "No," she said. "We don't drink coffee."

"Oh, okay... I'd offer you some tea, but... I'm afraid I don't have any."

"That's okay," she replied. "We don't really drink tea, either."

"Oh," he said, the meaning of her answers dawning on him. "So you're... I'm guessing you're Mormon?"

She nodded, looking a bit apprehensive, no doubt unsure of what his response might be.

"That's cool," he said, smiling at her, wanting to reassure her that he wasn't the sort to be judgmental about such things. She smiled back, but only a half-hearted smile. Only partly reassured.

"So," he said, picking up the stick and the jackknife again, "I'm mostly just taking the bark off right now." The girl nodded, watching him as he dragged the blade of the knife across the stick, curls of bark falling to the ground in front of him. "The idea is," he said, "you just pushed the knife away from you. Never pull it towards you, that's dangerous. It might hook on something, and then snap loose and give you a nasty cut." Whitney nodded again. "Here, you wanna try?" He held the stick and the knife out to her.

She took them gingerly from him and begin pushing the knife along the bark, careful to make sure it was facing away from her. After a few strokes, she was taking off little curls of the bark herself.

"There you go!" he said. "You're getting the hang of it!"

She smiled broadly now, though she just kept looking down at her work. "Thanks!" she said. "So once you get the bark off, what are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Maybe nothing. Maybe just smooth it down nice. Or, maybe, if it looks like something, like a fish or something, I might carve it into that." She nodded, understanding. "What do you think?" he asked her. "Does it look like anything to you?"

She turned it over in her hand, examining it. "Maybe a bird? This curve..." she said, indicating a twisting part of the stick as it narrowed, "...it seems like it could be a bird's neck, maybe?"

"Yeah," he said, looking at it in her hand. She has very pretty hands, he thought to himself. Strong fingers. "Yeah," I can see that! Like an egret, right? Maybe we should turn it into an egret!"

She smiled over at him. He thought she had an awfully cute smile. "I should probably be going, though." she said. "I need to help my mom make dinner." She reached the stick and the knife out to him.

"Well, we can work on it later, then, right?"

"Yes!" she said with a big bright friendly smile.

"Have a good dinner," he said. "See ya later!"

"Bye!" As she started walking down the driveway from his campsite, she turned and looked over her shoulder at him. "I hope you like the cookies!" she said, giving him a goodbye wave.

"Oh, yeah! I do! They're delicious!" He waved back to her.

That night, as Brian lay naked and sheetless in the stuffy humidity of his tent, he realized that he liked Miss Whitney Smith. Quite a lot, actually. He couldn't help but wonder if she might prove to be a dirty girl. Yeah, sure, it didn't seem very likely; she was such a sweetheart, and the sense of innocence that emanated from her didn't seem to be contrived at all--most likely, it was true; she really was a sweet innocent young girl. But he knew that Mormons have, how to put it, a "complex" relationship with sex. He wasn't thinking about the whole polygamy thing, he knew that was something in the past, and not a part of their religion anymore. Instead, he was thinking more about a buddy of his, back in college, who dated a couple Mormon girls. He said that they were the wildest girls in the sack that he'd ever known. "Seriously, dude," he said. "Get a Mormon girlfriend." And, he'd told Brian, one of the girls claimed that she learned how to give head from her older brother. Okay, so, it wasn't very likely that Whitney would be as wild as all that, but there's nothing wrong with fantasizing about it while he falls off to sleep, right? Right?

The next morning, the kids came riding by Brian's campsite again, screaming like Banshees. He noticed that Frankie's bandaid was dirty, and it looked like the wound needed to be cleaned up and rebandaged. Whitney was in the rear again, and when she got to his driveway, she stopped. "Hi Mr. Thorston!" she said, waving to him. She was wearing a pink dress today, light, airy, flowing like a gauzy curtain over her lithe teenage body in a way that made Brian's throat go dry.

"Hi, Whitney," he waved back to her. "Hey, it looks like Frankie needs his bandage changed. You should bring him back here, I can take care of it."

"Okay!" She sped away on her bike.

A few minutes later, the kids returned, all of them riding up the driveway to his campsite.

"Hi, Mr. Thorston!" Whitney said again.

"Seriously," he said, "call me Brian. This 'Mr. Thorston' stuff is just way too formal."

She gave him a big smile. "Okay!"

As Brian set about cleaning and dressing Frankie's knee, Whitney spied the oak stick that they'd been whittling the day before, sitting on the picnic table.

"Oh!" she said. "You made a lot of progress! It does look like a bird!" The other kids crowded around have a look.

"Yeah, I think it's starting to look like an egret, you know? Or a heron?"

"Right, yeah, it totally does!" Whitney said.

"Well, there you go, Frankie," Brian said to the boy, standing and mussing his hair a bit. "You're good to go!"

"Thanks, Brian!" the boy said. Clearly he took Brian advice to call him by his first name! Then Frankie climbed on his bike, and the other kids did too. All except Whitney.

"Do you like the cookies?" she asked Brian as the other kids rode off.

"Oh, yeah!" he answered, with exaggerated enthusiasm. "I'm afraid they're all gone, I finished them off for breakfast this morning."

The girl smiled broadly. "Good!"

"Oh, and," Brian said, "I have a present for you!"

"A present? For me?!?" Those pretty brown eyes of hers lit up, twinkling brightly behind her big round glasses.

"Yeah, it's really nothing." He picked up a little bag festooned with the park's visitor's center label, and handed it to her. "I just grabbed this when I was out for a walk this morning."

She opened the bag, and her eyes went wide as she looked inside. She reached in and pulled out a little jackknife. "Is this really for me?"

"Sure! Of course! It's just a little 'thank you,' for the cookies. It's not much of a knife, but it's sharp. It's got two blades, one long one for whittling and a littler one for detailed work."

"I love it!" she said, turning it over in her hand, then carefully opening the blades.

"Here," he said, picking up the carved oak stick. "Give it a try!"

"Oh, I can't!" she said. "I'll ruin it!"

He grinned at her. "Nah, that's the beauty of whittling. You can't make any mistakes. If we don't like how it's turning out, we'll just start a new one!"

She smiled at his reassuring words. Then she dragged the knife blade along the egret’s neck, peeling off a couple small shavings of wood.

"Oh, it's such a nice knife! Are you sure? Can I really keep it?"

"Of course, it's yours. This way we can both whittle together!"

"I should go, though," she said. "I need to catch up with the kids before they do something totally stupid."

"Yeah," he said, trying to mask his disappointment that she was leaving.

"I'll come back, though!" she added quickly, apparently aware that he was disappointed. "We can practice together later, okay?"

"Yes, please, that would be nice," he said.

Lacking pockets in her pretty dress, she gripped the knife tightly in her hand as she rode off on her bike, waving goodbye to him.

Brian almost died, when he saw Whitney walking up the path that afternoon. She was wearing a two-piece bathing suit, a yellow and white striped towel wrapped around her waist, flip-flops on dirty dainty feet. Her hair hung loose in wet strands around her shoulders, and her pale skin glistened with wetness in the hot sunshine. He hadn't known, until then, exactly how "womanly" the young girl's chest would prove to be, but the pink flowered bra of her bikini perfectly revealed the shape of her teenage breasts; in fact, the bra was probably a size or two too small for her, maybe the result of her having recently blossomed, and while her breasts were not especially large, they were full and round; pale flesh billowed delightfully above the wet fabric of the bikini top, and yet more alluring was the hint of soft flesh that appeared below the bottom hem of the too-small bra, mounding mesmerizingly up from her thin belly and shimmering as she waved to him.

"Hi, Brian!" she shouted. She remembered to call him by his first name this time.

Feeling embarrassed that he was staring directly at the young girl's chest, he quickly lifted his eyes to her face. She looked so beautiful, her cheeks a little blush, her lips full and moist. Oh Jesus.

"We just got back from swimming!" she said.

"Yeah, I can tell," He replied, which made her giggle. "How was the water?"

"It was beautiful!" she answered. "Do you like to swim? You should come with us the next time! The lake is so pretty here!"

"Yes," he said, trying hard to keep his eyes on her face and not on those unbelievably charming little breasts. "I think I should!" He wondered if she could tell how much she was turning him on. She probably could. It was probably obvious.

Whitney sat down on the edge of the bench of his picnic table and picked up the egret carving. "This is getting so good! She has a face now!"

"Yeah, I tried to give her some eyes. I don't think it really worked."

"It looks great to me! Unfortunately, the jackknife you gave me is back in my tent," she said. "So I can't practice right now."

"Here, you can use my knife." He pulled his knife out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"Really? I don't want to ruin your bird."

"You remember what I said about that. Besides, she's our bird, right?"

Whitney smiled, opening the knife and gently smoothing the bird's neck with the blade. "My dad says that the knife you gave me is a really nice one."

"Your dad?" he said, a little surprised, and maybe just a little worried, that she'd told her father about the gift he'd given her. He hadn't told her not to say anything about it, of course, but he figured she'd realize the impropriety of him giving her a present, and would have a little discretion about it.

"Yeah, he..." She looked up at Brian, suddenly aware that he might think she shouldn't have told her dad about the gift. "Oh, don't worry, he doesn't mind..." She stopped, restarted. "It's just, you know, I tell my dad everything, right?"

"Sure, of course."

"But he's not the kind of guy who thinks a girl shouldn't have a knife, you know?"

"Sure, of course not," he said, realizing that she was misunderstanding his concern. "That's not what I was..." He stopped himself, feeling embarrassed, and a little disappointed that she didn't see it the same way as him. Disappointed, but not surprised. "I didn't think he was that kind of guy," he finished.

"Oh, okay," she said, sounding a little confused about what it was that he was worried about. "Well, he says it's a nice knife."

"Good."

"Yeah." She went back to smoothing the egret's neck, taking little shavings off with his knife. Then she said, "Oh, and my mom was wondering if you're here by yourself?"

"She was?" He sat up, sounding worried again.

"Yeah..." She looked up at him, recognizing the concern in his voice, confused again. Then a little grin crept across her face as she realized what he was thinking. "Oh, it's not that! She doesn't think you're... I mean, she doesn't think we're..." She couldn't finish the thought, so just added, "...you know..."

Brian could see the girl's round cheeks get a little pink. "No?"

"No! She just wanted to know, if you're here by yourself, maybe you'd want to have dinner with us tonight. That's all!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. She wants to say thanks for changing Frankie's bandage this morning."

"Oh, that was no big deal."

She smiled at him. "I think she's embarrassed that she didn't take care of it. Like, she's a bad mother or something."

Brian laughed. "I know she's not a bad mother. She raised you, after all."

Whitney's cheeks blushed a bit more. "So will you come? Dad's making bratwursts, I think. It's pretty much all he makes! But they're good."

"Sure, I'd love to."

"Yay!!" she said, a genuine happy smile across her face.

"Can I bring anything? Dessert?"

"No, I think we've got everything." She sat for a second, quiet, shaving a bit of wood from the egret's body. Then she added, "Maybe we could go swimming afterwards? After dinner?"

"Oh, that'd be great!" He couldn't hide his enthusiasm at the idea. Just to see her in the water with this bikini on would be paradise!

"The kids have to go to bed," she said, "but Mom and Dad let me stay up later. So if we go swimming, I guess it'd just be you and me?"

"Okay." He was able to be a little calm now, but inside, he was on fire with the idea of swimming alone with her tonight. Already, his mind was racing.

"Yeah? That's okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Calm and cool, m'boy. Calm and cool.

"I suppose I could ask my dad to come with us, if... if you..."

"No, I don't think we need a chaperone." He grinned at her. She grinned back.

"I don't either," she said, "but..."

"But...?"

"Well, I know I said I tell my dad everything, but that's not really true. I do tell him most things, but not really everything."

His heart skipped at the thought that she was planning to make their swimming excursion a clandestine meeting. "That's good," he said.

"Yeah? You don't think it's bad, that I hide some stuff from him?"

"Not at all. I think you deserve your own private life, you know?"

She nodded. "So you wouldn't mind, if we keep our plan, the swimming thing, secret? It's just, they might not like the idea, you know?"

Now his heart was really skipping. "I suppose not."

"I mean, they're not really prudes or anything, you know? Maybe a little. But, it's just... just 'cause of your age, right? They might not like the idea of me going off at night with an older man. They probably wouldn't let me go."

He nodded. "I don't blame them. If I had a daughter that was as attractive as you, I'd be worried that every guy who sees her would want to..." He didn't finish his thought.

She blushed a little more. "What?" she said, with a hint of teasing in her voice now. "What would they want to do?"

"Never mind," Brian said.

"No, tell me!"

"All I meant is that they would want to hold your hand."

She giggled. "I don't think they'd be worried that we're gonna hold hands."

"No? So what would they be worried about?"

"Never mind," she said, teasingly mimicking his words back at him.

"No, tell me!" he mimicked hers.

"Maybe they'd be worried that you're gonna give me presents, like a jackknife."

"Yeah? I thought you said your dad didn't mind that I gave you that."

"I think that depends on why you gave it to me."

"My motives were innocent. I just wanted to help you learn how to whittle."

"Yeah?" she said.

"Sure! Why else would I give it to you?"

She giggled, and stood up. "I should be getting back, Mom’ll want to know that you’re coming, and I really should help her get ready."

"Yeah, of course," he said, standing up too.

"You should come around six maybe? For dinner?"

"Okay. And I won't mention swimming, right?"

"Right."

"I'll just come back here after dinner and wait for you, Okay?"

"Okay." She smiled at him. "So you really don't mind, if I don't tell them about the swimming?"

"No. Why would I?"

"I don't know," Whitney said. "I guess I'm worried you think it's bad that I keep secrets from them, you know?"

"Sometimes it's okay to keep a secret, right? I mean, I wouldn't want them to think that I'm planning to hold your hand."

"Right. Or give me more presents!"

"Exactly!"

She was grinning big as she walked back down his campsite's driveway to the dirt road.

Dinner was... boisterous. It's hard to imagine how it could be otherwise, with six Smith kids crowded around the picnic table, fighting for each potato chip and each slice of watermelon. "Sorry, Brian," Whitney's father said loudly across the length of the picnic table, after one particularly loud outburst from the twins. Mr. Smith sat at one end of the table, on a stool, and Brian likewise at the other. To Brian's right was Whitney, wearing the same dark pleated skirt she'd had on when he first met her, and a nice button-up blouse. To his left was her mother. "Dinner around the Smith table," her father continued, a bit more quietly now that the kids had settled down again, "can be a little trying."

Brian, though, had been laughing at the antics of the boys. "Oh, I love it! There's nothing better than the sounds of kids having fun! I think you're a lucky man, to have such a lively family."

Whitney's father smiled broadly. "Couldn't agree with you more!"

"Do you have any children, Mr. Thorston?" Mrs. Smith asked him.

"No... My wife never wanted to have kids. But I'd love to, someday.."

"Oh, you were married?"

"Yeah. It's over now."

The woman gave him a kindly smile. "Sorry to hear that."

"Thanks, it's fine."

"Well, maybe it's for the better? I'm sure there's plenty of women out there who'll be glad to make a family with you."

Brian felt a little puzzled. It almost seemed like the woman was flirting with him. But before he could formulate a response, Whitney suddenly interjected, with surprisingly enthusiastic agreement.

"Definitely! I know there are!"

Her mother looked across the table at her, a little smile forming. "I mean," Whitney added, her round cheeks reddening a bit, "it's just, you're really nice, you know? And..."

"Yes," her mom interrupted the girl, turning back to face him. "Thanks again for helping Frankie out. That was very nice of you. We appreciate it."

"Of course."

"And speaking of nice," her father said, joining in from the opposite side of the party, "it was nice of you to give that pocket knife to Whitney."

"My pleasure," Brian said, a slight waver in his voice. He'd figured that the man would mention the gift, but he wasn't thrilled to be talking about it.

"She sure seems to like it," her mother said, smiling at her daughter again, "although, maybe that's just because you gave it to her." The woman's eyes twinkled teasingly at Whitney.

"Mom!" the girl said, even more blush on her cheeks..

"Well, it's just so she can whittle," Brian said, hoping her parents would buy his lame explanation.

"Yes, Whitney says you're whittling a bird?" her mom said.

"Yeah, it's nothing. I just like to whittle when I'm camping. I'm not good at it or anything."

"I hear you're very good," the woman responded. Again, Brian felt uncomfortably like she was flirting with him. She stood. "Now, help me clear the dishes, Whittie."

"Well," her father said, as the women took away the plates. "It's a nice knife. Good blades."

"That's good. It's just whatever they had at the visitor's center."

"S'mores now!" Amy, the middle girl, the one with the retro banana seat bike, shouted, interrupting the gentlemen's conversation. "Com'on, Brian, I'll show you my perfect technique for roasting a marshmallow!"

It was at least a half an hour later that Brian was finally able to make his polite goodbyes and hurry back to his tent, there to quickly change into his swimming trunks and wait, very impatient indeed, for Whitney to arrive.

It was getting late; the sun was starting to set and dusk was falling, and he'd almost given up on her, worried that her parents had found out about their plans and put a premature end to them. Or even worse, that she'd decided it wasn't a good idea herself and had decided to stand him up. But eventually, his heart suddenly palpitated to the sound of the soft crunch of footsteps on the dirt road outside his campsite, and the appearance of a darting beam from a little flashlight, dancing against the gathering shadows.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Whitney said in a quiet voice, with a little sense of apprehension, or concern, when she arrived at his campsite.

"It's okay," he said, worried from the sound in her voice that she was regretting their plans.

She sat down heavily on the bench of his picnic table. "Mom made me help put the kids to bed," she said, her voice now annoyance, rather than apprehension. "And then, Da and her wouldn't go to bed. They just sat by the fire talking forever!"

"Well, that sounds pretty sweet, really."

"It was totally annoying!"

"I really like your parents. They seem like nice people."

She nodded. "So finally I just had to tell them I was going for a walk, so I could get away. But my swimming suit was hanging in a tree to dry, you know? So I couldn't grab it without them knowing. So... I guess I can't swim after all."

"Oh!" His disappointment rang clearly. "Well, that's okay. We don't need to go swimming."

She sat quietly, looking down at her hands. "I really wanted to go swimming with you."

"I could loan you a teeshirt, and a pair of my gym shorts, you could swim in those."

"Really? You'd do that?" Her face lit up at the idea.

"Of course!"

He ducked into his tent to gather up the clothes and a spare towel, and the set off down the path to the beach.

"I'm sorry if dinner was annoying," she said as they walked through the lengthening shadows, the sun now mostly hidden behind the trees and just barely above the horizon now.

"Not at all, I had a lot of fun."

"I know my family can be a lot to take."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's just... a lot of annoying kids."

"It is a big family."

"Yeah, my parents like having lots of kids." She paused for a second, a little smile forming. "Although, I think mostly they just like making babies."

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows at her, smiling himself.

"Let's just say," she said, grinning, "I'm glad me and Amy are sleeping in the tent and not in the camper."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They can be pretty loud. I think Mom's gonna be pregnant again before this camping trip is over!"

"Wow!" Brian said as they both laughed. "You're dad's a lucky man."

Whitney giggled. "I guess he is. Lots of my friends say my mom is hot. Whattda ya think?"

"Sure, I guess. Not half as hot as her oldest daughter, though."

Whitney blushed and giggled some more as they stepped into the clearing of the swimming beach. It was getting dark by now, but a three-quarters moon was just rising over the trees, its pale yellow-white flashing against the rippling water. There was no one there; the beach was entirely empty except for the two of them.

"Here," he said, handing his shorts and teeshirt to her. "Maybe you can change in the woods? I guess there's no bathroom or anything down here..."

"The woods?!?" she said. "No way. Too many spiders."

"You don't like spiders?"

"Not when they're crawling on me when I'm changing my clothes!"

"Well, you can just change here then. I promise not to look."

She was already pulling her shirt off. "You can look, it's no big deal. All you'll see is my underwear anyway."

Her shirt off now, he looked. And it's true, it wasn't that big of a deal. The sports bra she was wearing didn't reveal nearly as much as the bikini she'd had on earlier that afternoon. Remembering that bikini top, he was suddenly very disappointed that she hadn't been able to grab her swimming suit before she left. Nonetheless, her pale skin glowing in the yellow moonlight had an almost magical feel to it, which added a fascinating sense of exotic beauty to the scene. He felt himself swelling at the sight.

A second later, she'd pulled on the shirt he'd loaned her; unfortunately, it hung to low for him to see her panties when she dropped her skirt. He looked, though, that's for sure. If she noticed, she didn't seem to mind. Once she had his shorts on, cinching the drawstring tight because they were almost comically too large for her, she picked up her clothes and folded them neatly and set them on a fallen tree trunk, then took off her big round glasses and set them on the clothing.

He took her hand as they walked into the water together.

At first, they just stayed close to each other while they swam; Brian tried to be flirty with her, splashing her a little, swimming around her, and she seemed to be flirty back, doing the same. But he could tell she was a little nervous, or shy, and to be honest he felt the same way. He'd been thinking all afternoon about what he'd do, what they'd do, on their clandestine swimming excursion, but now that it was a reality, he felt hesitant, unsure, unable to even bring himself to touch her while they swam. But when she mentioned that her dad used to throw her in the air when they were swimming, he saw an opportunity.

"I can try to do that, if you want."

"You think you can? I'm a little too big now, I think."

"I bet I can! Let's try! How did he do it?"

"Well..." She stood in front of him, shoulder-deep in the water. "...he'd put his hands on my waist..." She reached out to him, took his hands in hers, directed them to her waist. He gripped her tightly through the wet fabric of the teeshirt she was wearing. "And then, I guess he just lifts me and throws me in the air."

He bent down, hoisted her, and at the same time she bent her knees a bit and sprang up. She fell back into the water in a fit of giggles.

"It sorta worked!" she said as she stood again.

"One more time!" He grasped her waist, and bent, and lifted her. She splashed into the water.

"Again!" she said, sounding like a playful child for just a moment. "Do it again!"

He threw her several more times, the girl giggling joyfully each time.

Eventually, he put his hands on her waist but did not throw her this time. He just looked down at her lovely face, smiling, glowing a pale yellow-white in the moonlight. Her light brown eyes glittered, reflecting the moonglow like diamonds. It was the first time he'd looked at them closely without her glasses on, and they were even more beautiful than he thought.

"That was fun," she said, her voice sounding a little nervous as he stared at her. "Thanks!"

"It was fun!" he said. Then he leaned in, and kissed her.

He wasn't sure what she would think about him kissing her, he didn't really even think about it at all, he was just moved by the beauty of her eyes, and the romance of the moment; he just suddenly wanted to kiss her, and so he did. And her response was as precious as he could have ever hoped, reaching out and setting her hands gently on his bare chest, standing up on her tip-toes, and opening her mouth to let him slip his tongue inside.

And so Brian and Whitney just stood there, kissing in the moonlight, tasting each other, as cool ripples of water danced against their skin.

They held hands as they walked together out of the water. When she peeled of the shirt that he'd loaned her, he could see her bra clinging tightly to her breasts, her nipples stiff and prominent, the pale pinkness of their flesh hinted at in the moonlight through the translucent wetness of the fabric. She noticed him looking, and looked down herself. "My underwear's really wet," she said.

"Yeah..." he said, unable to bring himself to stop staring at her breasts.

"I guess..." She gave him a sheepish smile. "I suppose I should take it off?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

He was disappointed that she turned her back to him when she pulled the bra over her head. She dropped his shorts with her back to him as well, and while he might have preferred a front-side view of her soaking panties as they clung to her body, he nonetheless enjoyed a perfect view of the shape of her ass; round, full, womanly. Yeah, that was a fucking gorgeous ass. Sadly, she pulled on her blouse and skirt before she shimmied her soaking panties down.

"I don't have any pockets," she said, looking down at the wet underwear she held in her hand.

"I'll carry them for you," he said. She smiled demurely as she handed her bra and panties to him.

They held hands again as they walked back to his campsite, saying very little. Brian was too enamored with the girl, too thrilled with everything that was happening, to be able to even form coherent words. And Whitney seemed to be feeling the same way. When they made it to his site, she turned to him, took both of his hands, and stood up on her tip-toes to give him a kiss.

"Goodnight," she said.

"Maybe..." he said, haltingly, not letting go of her hands, "...maybe you should come up to my campsite? So I can give you a proper goodnight kiss?"

"I'd like that," she said, her voice trembling.

He held her hand and led her up the driveway, then sat down on the edge of the bench of his picnic table and reached out to her. She let him take her into him, turning her and sitting her down on his knee. He wrapped his arms around her and they began to kiss, long and deep, tongues flirting in each others' mouths, and as they kissed, he slipped a hand up, from her belly, to her breast. He just cradled it for a moment, squeezing gently. He could feel her breath, warm and labored, against his cheeks as he fondled her. When he slipped his hand down, down her belly, to her skirt, gathering the material in his fingers, she spread her legs open, inviting him to touch her.

She was already wet, when his fingers found her pantyless little slit. He could feel her sweet warmth, he could feel damp curls of hair on her lips. She moaned in his mouth through their endless kiss as his finger gently pressed inside her lips, sliding up to her clit. She reached her hand down as well, setting it on his cock.

He finally broke the kiss. "We should go in my tent," he whispered.

She nodded.

Inside, he lay her down on his air mattress, and as he knelt before her and pulled her skirt up to her waist, she spread her legs open wide. It was too dark for him to see her sex, but he could smell it, the wonderful fragrance of excited womanhood, and he leaned down, and gave her pussy lips a kiss.

"Ohhhhh," she instantly responded, a sweet, high-pitched sound. She continued to coo the same little moan the entire time that he made love to her with his tongue and mouth; she inhaled sharply between each of her little mews. "Ohhhhh, ohhhhh!' As his tongue rolled over her clit, gently rubbing up and down, she lifted her legs in the air. "Ohhhhh! Brian, Brian! Ohhhh yesss!"

He could feel her pussy gushing cum, soaking his face, and he lapped it hungrily. She tasted perfect; clean, fresh, sweet, earthy. He loved the taste of pussy, and there was no doubt that this was the best he'd ever experienced.

He was gentle and careful with her, allowing her feelings to grow, licking the full length of her perfect pussy, then flicking his tongue over her clit again; gradually, her moans grew in intensity, and her legs began to shake. "Oh Brian!" she said, breathless, quickly this time. "Oh Brian! Oh my god!!! I'm cumming!!!"

He kissed her gently a few more times as she came down from her climax. Then he sat up and smiled at her.

She gave a big vocalized exhale. "Ohhh, That was so good! It was better than I ever dreamed it would be!"

"Yeah?" he said, leaning over her and kissing her on the forehead. "Was that the first time for you?"

"Ye--ah, I've always, I've always wanted, I've always heard it's really nice, but that was better than I could ever have imagined!"

"I'm really glad, Whitney," he said.

"Do you think... can I do it to you now?"

"Do you want to?" he asked. "You don't have to, if..."

Whitney was already nodding, enthusiastically.

Brian lay down on the mattress now, and she climbed above him, helping him to pull his swimming trunks down.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess a few times," she said, leaning down, her breath warm on his cock. "My cousin really likes getting blow jobs."

"Your cou...?" he started asking, wanting some follow-up information, but his words were lost, turning into a deep groan as she took his head into her mouth.

Brian hadn't gotten head in ages, and certainly nothing as erotic as having a beautiful fourteen year old crouched between his legs with her lips wrapped around his crown. Brian's wife, even at the height of their sexual relationship, had never much liked blowing him and had never gotten very good at it. Whitney, on the other hand, this girl knew what she was doing, her soft warm tongue gently lapping at the underside of his glans as she loosely massaged his shaft, sucking inward with each upward stroke, letting up her suck with each down-stroke. She must have had a lot of practice with her cousin.

So Brian just lay back on his air mattress, his hands behind his head like a king, while his sweet new girlfriend worked magic with her mouth, sucking, stroking, lapping, spit flowing down his shaft. She kept at it with surprising tenacity, barely even taking a break, until he finally felt his balls clenching gloriously and he bucked his hips up to her, let out a deep, low moan, and exploded. She held his head tightly in her mouth as he came, still gently stroking. When he'd finished, she sat still for a moment, her lips still wrapped around his crown. And then he felt her swallow.

Whitney climbed up from between his legs, pressed her body against his. "I swallowed it!" she said. He knew that she was smiling, even though it was too dark for him to tell.

"You did! I could feel it!"

"I've never swallowed it before," she said.

"No?"

"But I really wanted to swallow yours."

"Good!"

She giggled. "I promise I'll always swallow yours!"

They kissed, one last time, before she stood. "I better get going, or my parents will totally freak," she said.

"Yeah."

"See you tomorrow?"

"I can't wait!"

She giggled again.

After a wonderful sleep involving many beautiful dreams, Brian awoke late and spent the morning fixing a nice breakfast, reading a bit, and around eleven, he set off with his kites to a big open field on the south side of the park. There he launched his favorite kite, a big delta, and soon it was soaring high in the air, its green and white tail trailing majestically behind. It was a perfect day for flying; a  steady, moderate breeze, bright sunshine. He really wasn't particularly surprised when the sight of his kite in the air attracted the attention of the Smith children.

Nor, of course, was he disappointed. However much he enjoyed his solitude, which was, after all, the actual purpose of this camping trip, he enjoyed far more, one trillion times more, the opportunity to see Whitney again.

The kids rode up on their bikes, the young ones and the twins dropping them to the ground and running to him, Amy more carefully deploying the kickstand of her sweet retro banana seat bike, and Whitney, taking up the rear as she usually does, doing the same with her bike.

"Here," he said to Amy, handing her the spool of string for his delta kite. He wasn't going to entrust his favorite kite to either one of the daredevil twins, and certainly not the little ones, but he figured he could trust Amy with it. Amy's face shone bright as she took control of the sweet sailing delta. From his kite bag he produced a couple of smaller kites that he gave to the twins, and two nice diamonds that he helped the little kids to launch. Then he walked over to where Whitney stood.

"Sorry I don't have one for you, Whitney," he said, "but that's all the kites I have."

"It's okay, I'd rather talk with you anyway!" They stood together, watching the twins running back and forth with their kites fluttering behind them, and finally managing to get them in the air.

"So, were your parents worried that you were out so late?" he asked her.

"They mentioned it this morning," she answered.

"Oh? What did they say?"

"They asked me what we were doing after dinner."

"So they... Like, they knew you were with me?"

"I guess, I mean, I suppose they just assumed? Mom seemed mostly worried that I was bugging you."

"So what did you tell them?" he asked.

"I told them we were whittling."

"Oh? That's a funny word for what we were doing. Is that what kids call it these days?"

She giggled, then punched him in the arm.

"Hey!"

"You deserved it," she said, with a mocking pout.

"Well, you do have a nice gentle stroke. With the knife, I mean!"

Her cheeks blushed a little in the bright sun. "You're very dirty."

"What about you? You're the one that likes to 'whittle.'"

That almost earned him another punch in the arm, but right then, one of the kites that the little ones were flying came crashing to the ground and Brian ran off to help them get it back in the air. When he got back to Whitney, she had a big smile.

"What?" he asked. "Why are you smiling?"

"'Cause I had a funny thought."

"You gonna tell me what it was?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Yes."

"Well, I just thought..." Brian saw the girl's cheeks blushing again. "...if I was going to whittle a stick in the shape of your... you know, your cock, I'd have to start with a much thicker stick than the one we're using for the egret!"

"Wow! And you said I was dirty!"

"Hey, you asked me to tell you, so I did. The egret is long enough, but it's way too thin!"

Right then, another kite flown by the younger kids crashed to the ground, resulting in a wail from the pilot.

"No need to cry!" Brian assured the crying girl as he jogged over to help. "We'll get it back up in a second!"

"Actually," Whitney said, "I think Julia just needs a nap." This made the girl cry even more.

"I don't need a nap!" the other youngster, Tommy, said, an air of stout defiance.

"Yes, you both do," Whitney insisted. "Come on now, it’s time for your nap." Brian started winding up the strings of their kites.

"Do we have to go, too?" Amy asked. "Or can we keep flying the kites?"

"How about I stay with the older kids, Whitney," Brian suggested, "while you take the little ones back to nap?"

Whitney stared at Brian with her eyes open wide, almost as if in surprise. She pursed her lips, leaned towards him in a little nod, as if to say, "Hey dummy! What are you thinking?!?"

Brian took the hint. "On second thought," he said, "you kids will be fine by yourselves. Just stay and fly the kites. I'll walk Whitney and the little ones back to camp. Okay?"

One of the twins rolled his eyes at the other two older kids, and Amy giggled in response. "Okay, Mr. Thorston," she said,sounding a little sardonic.

"I think those kids know something's up between us," he said to Whitney when they were on the trail back to camp, the two younger ones sluggishly following behind.

"No," Amy said, "they just think I have a crush on you."

"Hmm... I don't know. Maybe they think I have a crush on you?"

"Do you?" she said, turning to look at him, sounding suddenly serious.

"Do you?"

"I asked you first!"

"Okay. You want the truth?"

"Yes..." She sounded a bit unsure, though.

"Since the moment I saw you, Whitney, I was crushing really really bad."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, totally. Now your turn."

"I think you're the sweetest guy I've ever met and I totally have a crush on you!"

They both were beaming when they arrived at the Smith campsite.

Whitney opened the door to their family's big camper trailer and ushered the still-whining kids inside. She poked her head back out of the door. "Come on in," she said. "You can wait in the kitchen while I get them in bed."

"We want Brian to read us our story!" Tommy whined.

"Tommy..." Whitney said reproachfully.

"No, that sounds like fun, I'd be happy to," Brian said.

The story was an interesting one, a picture book about women pulling carts on the Mormon Trail. The kids snuggled with him as he read, sometimes reciting along from memory, and paying rapt attention during the more exciting parts, like when the pioneers encountered a pack of wolves on the trail, which Brian read with a dramatic flair.

Finally, he was done, and the kids lay down to sleep as Whitney and Brian sneaked out the door of their bedroom.

"What do you want to do now?" Whitney asked him, sounding a little shy.

"We could practice whittling," he answered.

"'Special' whittling?"

"Yeah! I mean, if you want to."

She nodded, with enthusiasm.

"Should we go to my tent?" he asked.

"I should hang around here for when the kids wake up," she said. "But my parents, they're in town having lunch with some people from the local church, and they won't be back for like an hour, or more. And... and their bedroom is really nice...."

Whitney showed Brian into her parent's bedroom, then shut the door behind them. And then, Brian noted with excitement, she locked it. She walked up to him and stood up on her toes and kissed him.

"What should I do?" she asked.

"You should get down on your knees," Brian said, already unbuckling his pants.

The girl knelt in front of him his pants fell. She wrapped a hand around his already-stiff cock and gave the tip a kiss.

She looked up at him. "I've never done it like this before. I like it!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. This way, I can look at you." With her eyes still locked on his, she opened her mouth and took him into her.

"Oh, god, Whitney!" he moaned. Her eyes twinkled in response, and she increased the speed of her stroking and sucking.

Eventually she pulled off and looked down at his cockhead, right in front of her face. Then she raised her eyes back up to his.

"Your cock is so big!" she said. "It's just huge!"

"Yeah?"

She looked back down at it, lifting it, examining it. "Oh, yeah. You’re like twice as big as my cousin and his friends!"

"His 'friends?'"

"Yeah, didn't I tell you? Sometimes he has friends over when I do it."

"Oh... And you give them all blowjobs?" Suddenly Brian remembered what his buddy from college said about his Mormon girlfriend... Maybe there's some truth to it, that these Mormon girls are hot!

"Yeah, I mean, it's usually just him, or maybe one other guy, sometimes more. Does that bother you? Do you think it's slutty?"

"No, not at all!"

She smiled up at him. "Good! Besides, your cock is so much better than theirs, I don't think I'll ever want to suck them again."

"Yeah?"

She looked back down at it, leaned in and gave the tip a kiss. "Yeah. Your cock is a monster!"

"A monster?"

"Yes! You have a monster cock!" She lifted her other hand up to his balls and petted them. "You have monster balls, too!"

"You should kiss them."

"Okay!" She leaned over and gave each ball a little kiss. "I've never talked dirty like this before," she said.

"You are awfully damned good at it!"

"It's fun!" She smiled up at him with his balls right in front of her face. "I love your big huge balls. Will you fill my mouth with their sperm?"

"Yes I will!"

She moved back into position, but before she opened her mouth, she whispered, "I promise I'll swallow it all."

Brian was already on the verge, and the girl got him off in only another minute or two of her expert strokes. He held her head in his hands, his legs shaking, as he felt an unbelievable amount of pent-up energy course down the length of his shaft and explode into her mouth.

When he was finished, she pulled away, looked up at him, and opened her mouth. She curled her tongue out, a pool of his cum cradled viscously in the center. She rolled it around for a moment before retracting her tongue and swallowing.

The girl stood, up on her tiptoes, and gave him a kiss. "We probably should get out of here before my parents get back," she said.

"But... I didn't get to return the favor," he protested.

"It's okay," she said. "I'd rather suck your cock anyway."

"Oh Jesus," he moaned at her words. "Well, okay, but you have to come to my tent after dinner so I can return the favor then."

"Yes, sir," she said with a big sweet smile.

"Oh my god, Brian!" Whitney moaned, hands gripping his head, pink-and-white striped panties ringed around one ankle, black pleated skirt up to her waist. Brian's face was buried between her legs. "Oh my god!"

At this moment, he was holding her clit tenderly between his teeth, flicking his tongue up and down over her stiff little bulb. He'd been licking her for ten minutes now, full broad strokes along her soaking pussy lips, then tongue-fucking her, and then, the clitoral play.

"Oh God Brian I'm gonna cum!" she said, more loudly than she probably should have. "Oh God! Ohhh!" She arched her back, gripping his head tightly with her fingers laced in his hair, her whole body quivering now. As her climax peaked, then waned, he let go of her clit and just kissed her pussy, tasting the sweet salty flavor of cascades of girlcum that flowed out of her.

She was red-faced, bright red, as he rose to his knees between her spread-open legs and began unbuckling his pants.

"I..." she stammered, not yet having caught her breath from her orgasm, "I should probably tell you, I'm still a virgin."

"That's okay," he said. "We don't have to do anything, we don't have to go all the way, if you don't want to." But even as he spoke, he was already pulling his pants down, his rigid cock standing proud, foamy precum forming at his hole.

"But I want to," she said, still breathless, staring at the thick cockhead that was aimed aggressively at her, watching precum ooze from his hole and drip down the seam of his crown. "I want you to take my virginity."

Brian gripped his cock, aimed it down. He painted her pussy lips with precum, rubbing his head inside them, up, and down, bathing his crown in the nectar of her teenage sex. She was looking up at him as he leaned over her, her beautiful brown eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, her face red. With each downstroke of his head, rubbing down the underside of her clit, she let out a heavy breath and he pushed into her a little deeper, opening her, preparing her for his eventual assault on her maidenhead. Then, with his head positioned inside her enwrapping lips, right at her opening, he tightly gripped his shaft and pushed hard into her.

She arched her back; she turned her red face to the side. She closed her eyes and let out a little cry. But it was over, he'd broken her hymen with one solid thrust, and he was in. He felt a surge of precum leak out of him as his head passed through the remains of her torn flesh, providing lubrication for his further conquest.

But he stopped before he ventured deeper. "Are you okay?" he asked, her pussy lips enfolding the crown of his head in a womanly embrace.

She turned her face towards his, opened her brown eyes again. "I'm fine," she said, though her voice sounded strained. "You took my cherry!"

"Yes!" he said, pulling his cock back, pushing in, delving deeper. "Did it hurt?"

"A little," she said in a small voice, "but it's okay." Her words were halting, little exhaled breaths each time he pushed deeper into her. Then she leaned her head back, closing her eyes, a little smile appearing on her face. "Oh, god, fuck me Brian! Make me your little whore!"

Despite the tightness of Whitney's new-defiled puss, gripping to his cock like an addict to her favorite drug, Brian's cock nonetheless moved freely; between the precum leaking from him, and her increasing wetness, pussy's maiden voyage was well-lubricated indeed, and he lay down on the girl, lifting his hips, driving them down and forward, plunging his cock as deep as he could into her willing hole.

"You wanna be a whore?" he hissed into her ear.

"Yes!" the girl moaned in reply. "I want to be your little whore!"

Driving deep, he sat up on his hands and knees, reaching one hand up to the first button on her blouse. "Let's get your little whore tits out," he said, unfastening the button.

"Oh god yes!" she said. "Play with my titties, Brian!" She joined him, quickly unbuttoning her blouse and pulling it off, then sitting up as best she could with him impaling her, to unclasp her bra.

Once that her breasts were bare, she lay back down and cupped her hands under them, holding them up to him, presenting her nipples. "Please play with my little whore titties, Brian," she said, her voice shaking with excitement. At the sight of her pale pink nurse-toy nipples, he pulled his hips back and slammed them forward, driving deep. She closed her eyes and moaned. He leaned over and latched onto a nipple, sucking in a stiff little nub; it was like candy to him, tasting of sweetness, of honeydew. As he pulled it into his mouth, she moaned again. Barely able to contain himself now, he was fucking her hard, taking full advantage, driving his entire length into her. He put his face between her breasts, and she squeezed them together, their soft warm flesh hugging his cheeks.

Whitney was moaning now, or even squeaking, high-pitched, excited. "Oh God Brian I'm gonna cum again!" she said, once again louder than she should. Her body quaked, her breasts shimmering around his face. "Ohhhhhh!"

Brian knew he was close, too, and he couldn't bring himself to stop before he came. He couldn't pull out, not now! Oh God not now! Not while she was cumming underneath him! Just one more stroke, just one more, and I swear I'll pull out! One more, one more! And so he drove in, his face buried in her bosom, skewering her on his cock deep inside her teenage body, and he held himself there as she squealed and shook.

His cockhead was at her deepest reaches now; his hole was aimed directly at the opening of her cervix, the sweet warm mucousy entrance to her undefiled teenage womb. He let out a long, low groan between her tits as suddenly an enormous stream of cum fired out of him, filling the young girl’s nourishing uterus with its first taste of sperm. She herself must have felt it, and she arched her back, lifted her hips, presenting herself to him. Whatever thought he might have had of pulling out of her now was lost in the pure ecstasy of the moment, and he held his cock in place, still skewering her, and pumped another shot of cum into her, and yet another, three huge loads of sperm injected into her eager womb. Only then did he begin to move, but he didn't pull out; he just slid back, and in, expelling several more, much smaller shots of semen on each downstroke.

He collapsed on to her, panting, and she wrapped her arms around him, panting herself.

"I..." he said, when he eventually caught his breath, "I just couldn't pull out, I just couldn't stop. I didn't want to leave you."

She held him tightly to her. "I didn't want you to pull out. I don't want you to ever pull out. I don’t want you to ever leave me." She began rocking her hips, as if begging him to begin again.

To his amazement, Brian found that he hadn't softened entirely; his cock was still half-hard inside her, and his hips joined hers, his cock sliding along in her now sloppy-wet, ravaged vagina. Within another minute, he grew to hard again, and they began their second copulation, having never really finalized the first.

More patient now, more gentle and less aggressive, he set a slow and steady pace, her hips joining his in the rhythm of their mating dance. She was smiling up at him.

"I could feel you grow inside me," she said.

He only grunted in reply.

"It's so thick! You fill me up so full, you stretch my pussy wide open."

"I have to," he said through his groans. "You're pussy's so tight!"

"Really? Is she tight?"

"Oh God yes," he panted. "The tightest little pussy I've ever fucked."

"How many pussies have you fucked?"

"I don't know... you mean, how many women?"

"Yeah, how many?"

"I don't know, maybe fifteen, twenty?"

"So many that you lost count! You're a stud!"

"Does that bother you?"

"No, I like it, I like that you're stud."

They rode in silence for a moment, and then she asked, "How many times have you taken a girl's virginity?"

"Twice, before you."

"I'm the third?"

"Yeah."

She had a big smile now. "I'm glad I was your third. I'm glad you took my virginity."

"I am, too."

They fell silent again, holding each other, kissing, the only sounds their steady breathing and the wet slick slaps of their genitals uniting. This time, when Brian was close, he made a conscious decision about whether to cum inside her; the first load had been so big, he figured, what difference would a smaller one now make?

A so he came inside Whitney Smith a second time that evening, pumping his semen into her, both of them shaking and moaning as they came together again.

"Here," he said, handing the carved egret to her. "I want you to keep this, so you'll remember me."

"I'll never forget you."

"Look on the bottom, I carved something special."

She turned the stick over. Carved there was a message, saying, "W and B," then a heart symbol, then "forever."

"Oh!" she said, in an almost pitiful way. He saw a tear roll down her cheek and she leaned into him, sitting on his lap at the edge of the bench of his campsite picnic table, and kissed him.

"I don't want to leave, I don't want to go home, I want to stay with you forever."

"I don't want you to leave, either. You're the most wonderful person I've ever known."

Her tears were flowing now, and he just held her tight and kissed her cheeks to clear away the tears. He wanted to tell her not to be sad, but he just couldn't say it with any conviction, because he felt the same way.

Eventually his kisses on her cheeks turned into kisses on her forehead, and her nose, and then her lips, and they sat there together, kissing, one long kiss, at least five minutes, barely coming up for breath. While they kissed, she turned on his lap so that she was straddling his legs, facing him. His hands petted her back, rubbing her shoulders through her shirt, then her neck, her arms. When they made it to her front, she sat up, and arched her back, to give them better access to her breasts, and he cradled them, squeezing and massaging the softest firmest sweetest tits on Earth.

Finally she sat back a bit, looking at him, a sly little smile on her face.

"I can feel you growing," she said, pushing her sex against his as she spoke. She reached a hand down between his legs. "Do my titties turn you on?"

"They're the most beautiful breasts in the whole world," he said.

"I thought it was so sexy, last night, how you came when you were kissing them."

"I couldn't help it. They made me want to cum so badly!"

"My titties made you cum!" Her fingers traced the contour of his erection.

"Yes!"

"Your monster cock made me cum!" She tried as best she could to jack him through his pants, fingers on one side of his shaft, thumb on the other, rubbing up and down. He let out a low groan. "Does Monster want to fuck?” she asked. “One last time before I leave?"

"Yes...." he said in a low hiss, "but only if you want to."

She gave him her sly smile again. "You don't have to ask me. I'm your little whore. It's my job!"

They were shedding clothing before they even got into his tent. As it was, Brian hadn't yet begun zipping the door closed when Whitney tore her bra over her head and was topless, bare-chested, sweet round teenage breasts topped with delicate pink candy nipples, shimmering with excitement. The window flaps were left open, entirely forgotten, and while the evening dusk was gathering, a passerby would have easily seen the girl, naked now, sink down onto her knees, even before Brian was able to get his pants unbuckled. He didn't need to finish. She did it for him. And then the passerby would have seen a fourteen-year-old girl wrap her hand around the stiff cock of a grown man, staring directly at it.

"Hi, Monster!" she said, stroking as she spoke. "I'm happy to see you again!" She looked up at Brian. "I think Monster's happy to see me, too."

"Oh he definitely is!"

She opened her mouth, but then paused at the sight of a clear liquid seeping from his hole. She smiled, then leaned forward and licked, from the lower part of his crown seam, up to his hole, lapping up the drip. She looked up at him, smiling. "Precum tastes so good!"

"It does?"

She couldn't answer. She was licking him again, another lick up his seam to his hole, then gliding her tongue over the entirety of his head. And then she dropped her jaw, and took him in.

She seemed disappointed, a couple minutes later, when he made her stop.

"I don't want to cum yet," he said, "and you're so fucking good at sucking cock, I'm about ready to blow."

"Really? You think I'm good at it?"

"You give the best head I've ever gotten in my life."

She was beaming. "That's good, because a little whore ought to be good at giving head, right?"

"Right! Now, I want you on your hands and knees."

"My hands and knees?"

"Yes, your hands and knees. Are you going to do it, or are you just gonna talk about it?"

She grinned. "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" She flipped over, as instructed.

He knelt behind her, put a hand between her shoulder blades, and pushed her down. "Face in the pillows, Whitney."

"Yes sir!" she said, her words muffled as she obeyed his command.

Behind her, he put his hands on her ass cheeks and gave them a squeeze. Then he spread them open, leaned forward, and planted his lips right on her pussy. She moaned, he licked, she moaned some more. Then he lifted a hand to her clitoris, fingers pressing hard and rubbing her in circles, while he pushed his tongue into her pussy, savoring the sweet earthy taste of the opening to her vagina, pushing his tongue in and out.

When he finished tongue-fucking her, he slipped his tongue out, and up, to her spread-open anus, licking the young girl's ass. She began to shake as he pushed his tongue into her hole, letting out her high-pitched orgasmic squeal, and he knew it was time. He sat up, gripped his cock, and positioned his head at the opening of her gushing, quivering, orgasming pussy. He reached out and tightly grabbed her hips, and shoved into her.

She grunted into the pillow as he entered her, and again as he reared back and pushed in deeper.

"God your pussy is so tight!" he said. "You're the tightest girl I've ever fucked!"

"My pussy..." she squeaked, the pillow muffling her words, "...belongs to you! You own her!"

Her words thrilled him beyond expression, and like a man possessed, or a man in possession of a fuck-toy all his own, to whom he could do whatever he wished, he held her hips in a vice grip, his hands large and strong around her, and he reared back and slammed in, fucking her as hard as he had ever fucked a woman before.

She cried out with each inward thrust of his cock, her face buried in the pillow. A better man, or at least one less possessed at the time by sexual dominance, might have worried that he was hurting her. But not Brian, not with Whitney. He knew what he wanted, and he knew that she wanted the same. And so he fucked her with the fury of a man who had been for years in a joyless, unfulfilling marriage, who was finally free, and had found a lover willing to let him take out his pent-up frustrations inside her body.

After five minutes of this aggressive sex, he felt his orgasm boiling. But he wasn't ready to finish yet. He had the world's tightest cunt to fuck as long as he wanted, and he wasn't going to end it this soon. So instead he rammed into her as deep as he could, Whitney crying out again, and just held it there as the feeling of pending orgasm subsided.

While he was impaling her, she reached under her, to his balls. Cool fingers silently stroked his sack, then explored her entrance, feeling how the thick base of his cock stretched her open, how his manhood disappeared inside her. With her fingers there, he pulled back, sliding out, letting her feel the length of his cock, sticky wet with her pussycum, as it exited her. With only his head inside the extended flaps of her pussy lips, he reversed course, and she felt his cock slowly disappear into her again.

Now he set a methodical pace, slow, deliberate, full strokes of his entire cock. Whitney whimpered, cooed and mewed, her fingers still petting his ballsack. His hands left her hips now, one gently tickling her naked back, the other slipping around her waist to her clitoris, stiff and exposed. Whitney whimpered all the more.

Fingers stroking her clitoris as he continued to his long slow strokes, he moved his other hand back down to her ass, index finger gliding down the crack, rubbing her pink little puckered anus, pushing in. Whitney cried out again when his finger entered her, "Oh god yes!" And he was double-teaming her, finger and cock, fucking ass and pussy in rhythm. A minute later, she began to cum, ass cheeks quaking before him as she shook and moaned, her fingers still at his scrotum, gripping tightly to his balls now.

Brian was ready, too. He'd been on the verge for the last several minutes. It took only a dozen quicker, expert strokes as her climax reached its peak, and he exploded, cock buried in her cumhole, pumping, pumping, pumping.

The girl hollered out loud as they came together: "Oh my god! Oh my god!" her body spasming now, uncontrollable orgasmic joy cascading through her body.

They collapsed next to each other when they were done, smiling, red-faced, panting to catch their breath. After a minute, they began kissing, little kisses on cheeks and noses that made Whitney giggle, then Brian moved down, kissing her warm soft billowy teenage breasts, suckling at her teats. Then Whitney took her turn, kissing his neck, his chest, his belly, down to nuzzle into the trimmed hair above his cock.

"He's little now," she said.

"Yes, and very happy."

"He worked so hard, he deserves a break," she said. With her head resting on his belly, looking down, she lifted his limp cock, holding it up and speaking to it now. "I'm very proud of you, little Monster. You're my hero." She gave his head a kiss, and a lick, then turned her head to look up at Brian. "I can taste myself on you."

"Do you like that?"

She lay his soft prick down on his belly and climbed between his legs. She licked him again, starting at the base, up to the head. "I love the way your cock tastes..." Lick... "I love tasting how you were inside me." Lick... "I love tasting us together on you." She lifted his cock so she could lick the topside as well. Then she looked up at him.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too, Whitney.”

"I don't ever want to leave you."

"I don't want you to leave."

She moved down to his balls, bathing them now. "We could run away together," she said between ball-licks. "You could take me home with you."

"That sounds wonderful."

"We could pretend I'm your niece, or your long-lost daughter. I could have your babies." She spread her tongue wide and lapped at his balls.

"You want to have my babies?" he asked her.

"I think you would make a great father." Another big lick. "And anyway, I'm not on the pill or anything, you know. You've cum in me so much, I'm probably already pregnant."

"I'm sorry, I..."

"It's okay," she said. "I love it when you cum. Besides..." She lifted his ballsack. "...what good is it for a man to have a little whore, if he can't cum inside her?"

With that, she lowered her face, stuck out her tongue, and licked his anus.

"Ohhh..." Brian let out a breathy moan.

"Do you like that?" she asked, licking again before he hand a chance to answer.

"Y... yes!"

"I loved it when you licked me there," she said, licking again. "It's so dirty!"

"It's very intimate," Brian said. He felt her pushing her tongue inside. "It's only for people you really love, you know?"

"Ummhum..." she agreed, tongue still in his ass.

"And I love every part of you," he said.

"Yeth," she said, still licking. "I lothe all oth you!"

Finally, giving his asshole one last kiss, she lifted her head away. "Oh, look!" she said, eyes twinkling with merriment. "Little Monster has become Big Monster again!"

"Yes!"

She climbed up, straddling his hips. She reached behind her, lifting his now-hard cock and sitting back, hissing with uncontrolled passion as he slid into her hot cunt again. He reached up and grabbed her breasts as she began rocking her hips back and forth on top of him.

"You have the sexiest breasts on Earth," he said, lifting his head and burying his face between her warm flesh.

"My titties belong to you, Brian," she said. "You own them."

"Oh God!" His words were muffled between her titties.

"They're for you to play with, all you want, and to give milk to your babies."

"Oh God!" She was rocking hard now, and he was bucking his hips with her. "Oh God!"

"Come inside me, Brian," she shouted, far too loud; loud enough that surely the entire campground could hear her. "Make a baby inside me!"

Epilogue

Now, at this point, a good erotic writer would spend some time in the denouement. Letting you know how it all worked out for the characters involved. Did Whitney get pregnant? If so, what were the consequences, for her, and for him?

But, alas, I am not a good erotic writer, as I'm sure you've realized by now if you made it this far into the story, and even moreso if you've had the misfortune of reading any of my 100+ other erotic stories. Sure, I might revisit Whitney and Brian again some day, and tell you all about how she gave birth to a cooing mewing smiley pink baby girl, and they named her Emma after Brian's mother, may she rest in peace...

But, let's face it, I probably won't. I write erotica after all, and while there may be lots of babies in Whitney's and Brian's future, along with lots of diapers to be changed and strollers to be pushed and yellow school buses to be caught, that's not erotica. That's a beautiful story, to be sure, and an important one. But it's not erotica.

So I prefer to end our story with Whitney shouting to the heavens, "Make a baby inside me!" for the whole campground to hear, and let you, dear reader, determine for yourself what happens next. Perhaps you think this is a story of true love, and you see a wedding, with the wholehearted blessing of Whitney's parents, and a life happily ever after. Or, perhaps you think Brian is a cad and a criminal, and you think he should get ten years in prison for what he did to a sweet impressionable fourteen-year-old girl at his campsite that weekend. Or, perhaps you have something entirely different in mind for the ending to our story. If so, I’d love to hear it.

But, regardless, at this point, I hand it off to you. To your imagination. Which is really where the best erotica of all resides.

Peace to you all!
Chris