Her Wet Bikini

Chapter 3

After lunch, we sat on the front porch and drank coffee. Throughout the entire time we were there, Paula found it unnecessary to discharge her aloof mannerisms. She didn’t say much, just sat next to me with her bare legs stretched out. The black cap and sunglasses she was wearing made her look even more detached.

Our mothers along with my sister were going to head towards the pier on the other side of the island. The reason they wanted to go there was to meet a friend of my aunt. He was a moderately famous film critic who like us owned a vacation home on the island, with the difference that it was located at the part of the island where things happened. There were lots of cafeterias, restaurants and bars. That’s where you wanted to go if you wanted to buy newspapers and magazines.

At this time of the year, dance events were held quite often at the central piazza in front of the cathedral. I used to like going there but not any longer. I preferred spending the time alone with Paula.

Today would be the first time since Paula’s arrival four days ago, we would be all alone in the house. I remained reserved while I sipped on my espresso, but what was going on inside my head was a completely different matter.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” asked my aunt.

“Wanna go?” I turned and asked Paula.

“Not really. You can go if you want,” she said.

“Not bothered either.”

“As you please,” said my aunt. She didn’t mind leaving us alone. Her main concern was meeting Luigi, the film critic. I was certain there must have been a time when something was going on between the two of them and now decided to rekindle the flame.

She was younger by my mother by a few years and a much different personality. While my mother preferred to stay home and paint, she wanted to go out and meet new people constantly. Her body was well shaped for a woman her age. I had been caught several times by my sister and mother while staring at her in a hypnotized manner. Her big round breasts, pear shaped buttock, sensual mouth and dark tan were food for the imagination. Maybe much more than her daughter.

“Do film critics get paid a lot?” I asked.

“Do you wanna be one?” asked my sister, her lips smeared with chocolate ice cream.

“Not unless you’re a top critic,” explained my aunt. “Luigi happens to be one of those. He even made some short films which were shown at Cannes.”

“I suppose he has a beard and a big stomach,” said Paula.

“You’re wrong my dear. He doesn’t write for a leftist newspaper but for a couple of film mags and large circulation newspapers. I would say that he reminds me of a young Jean-Paul Belmondo. Do you know how many female followers he has acquired throughout his career?”

“I have read many of his reviews,” added my mother. “He possesses a European intellect yet he doesn’t look down upon the other side of the Atlantic.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “What’s wrong with American films?”

“Everything; according to most critics,” said my aunt.

“What do you plan to do when you meet Luigi?” asked Paula.

“We may go out with his boat or go to the beach. Not sure yet. Don’t expect us to be back for dinner though.”

“We’ll get by,” I assured her.

“I need to sleep,” said Paula and got up from where she sat and headed to her room upstairs. The others left soon leaving me alone with Paula at last. I didn’t want to rob her of her sleep so I picked an old book from the bookcase on the ground floor and I started reading it. The title was Catcher in the Rye about this weird kid who runs away from home. There were moments in the book where I could identify with the main character one hundred percent. In my case, it was the parts between him and his little sister. I suppose lots of guys who got little sisters would agree with me that the writer was expressing a universal truth rather than the peculiarities of a strange individual. It seemed to me that what made the hero of the story a normal person, was his relation with his sister.

I read about thirty pages before I put it back on the shelf. No matter how interested the story was, I could not concentrate on reading. Not when I was all alone with Paula in the house.

I walked back and forth nervously wondering whether she would be interested in resurrecting one of our childish games. I got out in the back yard and I looked around for the stupid cat. It was lying under the shadows of the apple tree. I stroked her with my foot to which she reacted in a lazy manner. It was the time of day when you didn’t want to do anything.

The curtains at Paula’s room were shut. This meant she was now asleep. How would she react if I paid her a surprise visit? Maybe it was time to find out.

I crept all the way up to her room and stood outside the door. The mere fact I was standing outside her door was giving me an erection under my summer trousers.

I wondered how far I should push things. She pretended to be cool yet I was completely unaware about my limits. How far could I go before pissing her off? If she tolerated my s****l pranks just for old times sake, sooner or later she would make it clear there would be no more.

I pushed the door open and entered the room. There she was, curled on the bed apparently asleep. With slow steps, I approached her until I was standing above her.

Now what?

I bent forward with the intention of putting her toes in my mouth. Then all of a sudden, she shifted position. Her mouth was open and her flat stomach was exposed. I put my hand inside my trousers to stroke my thing. I went on for a minute or two until I felt something sticky inside my underwear.

Feeling disappointed with myself I slowly retreated until I was out of the room. I closed the door and went to change wondering whether she had noticed anything or not.

“What a lousy world!” I said to myself. Why could we be straightforward with each other during the times our s****l organs had not yet developed but not now?

The thing I hadn’t realized yet was that the rules of the game had changed.