‘Well’, you say, deciding to take a chance. ‘Since you went to the trouble of organizing this whole thing . . .’ You look over at Phoebe, who looks up at you. You feel, you sense the sort of girl she is - brash and forward, flaunting her foxiness; it’s intimidating, as well as slightly annoying, her willingness to say what’s on her mind, though you wonder how much of an act this is.
As you hesitate, Phoebe has already stridden up to you. She takes your arm, leads you over to the couch where she was sitting, and pushes you down on to the seat. The brunette with the bobbed hair, Tracey, is next to you, close on your left.
You look up at the Phoebe’s slinky figure in front of you: her gold-blonde hair is hanging loose over her shoulders, the pale, skin of her chest under a loosely fitting white shirt, luminous under the single light behind your head. Darkness surrounds. Before you can take her full length in, she has straddled you, and smiling, she leans in to kiss you.
You meet her tongue lightly as your hands move to the smooth, taut thighs under her billowing school skirt, back to the hems of her panties, to cup her arse and pull her further up your lap. This force sends her back, you sense a to-ing and fro-ing of energies between you. With head raised now, you lean in to explore the skin of her neck and chest with a hungry mouth, raising your hands to her breasts through the cotton shirt.
Before you can begin undoing the buttons she raises herself off you. Almost incredulous, you watch as she begins to disrobe, half giggling, half with a hooded look of genuine desire - - performing a mini-striptease for you. Not just you - glancing at Tracey, curled up cutely by your side, her eyes are daring her friend on. You catch Tracey’s eye for an instant - she looks adorable, her clipped, straight brown hair framing her small, extremely pretty features and large hazel eyes. Though she seems a bookish and self-possessed type, they are bright and wild, a faint smile hanging on her lips, meeting your momentary gaze.
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