Caitlin Writes Ch. 02

Caitlin's log: Sunday, 10 a.m. I'm lying in bed with a terrible, nagging ache. You'd be forgiven for thinking I'd gone ten rounds with a Cabernet Sauvignon, but you'd be wrong. The ache was spiritual rather than physical, the apocalyptic realisation that for the third night running I'd lain awake for hour before falling asleep, contemplating all manner of things related to re-igniting my sex life. See? That's what I keep doing, dressing the issue up in euphemisms - "re-igniting my sex life", "putting the excitement back into my love life". I loved Richard, I really did, but I was reaching the point at which I could no longer handle being so ignored. Therefore, you could put it however you liked but in the end we'd still be talking about having an affair.

A quick walk on the park, fresh air and sunshine, would be the tonic required to revivify myself. I tried to help out my elderly neighbours when I could, and walking their dog was one of the ways I could offer my assistance, so after dressing I nipped round to collect the dog (a Greek breed, the dog's name was Candaules, don't ask me why). I'd have a walk round the park - school playing fields, technically - drop in at the newsagent, and get back to start on lunch.

It was certainly colder than I expected on the park. Windy, which gave the air a deceptive bite if the breeze caught you. Should have worn something more substantial than a vest top and combat trousers, but there you go. There were two games in progress on the park, and I watched the wrong one - the dull one - for a good ten minutes. In fact, it was only the mantra-like 'ooh', 'aah', and 'shit, that must have hurt' that made me turn round. Watching closely, there was a certain defender on the far side who was, shall we say, uncompromising in his determination to win the ball in tackles. There was an egghead in a white coat who was measuring the impact of his tackle with expensive-looking seismological equipment, let's put it that way. After one particular transgression, and a protracted and unnecessarily complicated attempt to construct a homemade splint for one of their players, said enthusiastic tackler received an invitation to an early shower. My suspicion that this player was my new crush, Roger, was confirmed when he left the pitch a little further down the sideline. I watched him as walked across the field in the direction of the school changing rooms, dabbing his bloodied nose with what remained of an opponent's shirt, as his team mates shouted things like 'bad luck skipper' and 'we'll get the bastards for you skipper'.

There's no real way to slip away from a football match to follow a young man into the changing rooms without the adjective 'furtive' being squirreled in there somewhere. If I were writing a book and the requirement for such a description arose, I think I'd be tempted to go with 'breezily, she took an early morning stroll around the playing fields, simply enjoying the buzz of activity, fresh city air and morning sunshine'. See how false it sounds? 'Furtively, she slipped away from the crowd with head bowed, trying not to look like she was following the dismissed captain into the changing rooms in order to secure a conversation she absolutely didn't want anyone else to hear'. You can't argue that it simply sounds more natural, not to mention accurate.

The silence inside the school building was an eerie contrast to the noise, activity and hangover-fuelled violence on the pitch. Wholly unlike James Bond I slipped through the double doors and down the corridor in silence, staccato bursts of movement followed by a pause to listen for any indication I'd been observed. I've no idea why, so don't ask. I just knew that I wasn't supposed to be here. Listening at the doors in turn, I made my choice of which to enter. After apologising to the gang of nearly naked 8 year old boys inside, I went for my second choice with rather more caution.

There were sounds indicating activity, but with no chatter I assumed the occupant was alone. I closed the door quietly, making the sharp right turn along the corridor and into the changing room. Peering round the corner stealthily - think the waiter from Fawlty Towers trying to be a spy - I scanned the benches down either side of the room for him, but through the forest of jeans and shirts I could see no sign. If he was in one of the many cubicles I wouldn't have a chance of spotting him anyway. Emboldened, I skulked further into the changing room. It was bigger than I thought, and beyond the dressing area was a large anteroom designed for schoolchildren to dry themselves before entering the changing room proper. Beyond the drying area was a large, communal shower where shower heads protruded from the four walls like some bizarre collection of stuffed miniature triffid heads, and where Roger stood naked, soaping himself down and grinning at me.

"Come in," he said simply, trying not to laugh at me. I observed the proper rules of decorum and etiquette and blushed furiously.

"You're, umm, sorry to intrude, naked," I stammered eloquently. Accurately, too.

"Yes, I find it the most effective way to take a shower," he soothed. His sarcasm, gently applied and lightly rubbed in, did little to dispel the awkwardness I felt. "Of course, if there's compelling evidence that there's an alternative and more effective way to shower I shall certainly consider it. Perhaps there's been research into the matter that I'm unaware of." Whatever he may be unaware of, I remained utterly aware of his still-nakedness. He continued soaping himself as though alone, and unable to find words I simply watched as he washed his arms, his chest, his thighs.

"Not that I mind such company as yours, but was there something that you wanted?" Well yes, there was, but I should wait until you've finished soaping it.

"I saw your nose bleeding, just before got sent off for grand testicle-icide, just wanted to make sure you were okay," I lied unconvincingly. He laughed, a deep bellow that made my diaphragm vibrate. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

"He caught me with a good one in the first half, with his elbow. My nose is still bleeding, on and off. I just wanted to make him aware that he who lives by the elbow, dies by the size twelve!"

"But your nose, is that okay?" Why was I blathering on about his nose? It was the one protuberance I was least interested in. He laughed at the obvious transparency of my remarks.

"Yes, it's fine, thank you for your concern. I do wonder how it provoked such concern in a complete stranger, though," he asked, not unreasonably. I felt like I should to bring up what happened the other day, but I wanted to do it in such a way that made it clear I wasn't a voyeur, or simply an outright pervert. Strangely I decided the best approach would be to follow the bull into the china shop.

"Well - skipper (here he smiled, knowing that I must have been watching him for some time) - I was thinking about the other day..." His expression suggested he'd been waiting for this topic to come up. His eyebrows arched in expectation of my protests; it occurred to me that he was actually waiting for me to complain! There are many, many things that wind me up in this life - bank charges, American presidents, reality TV, do-gooder pop stars - and one of them is people pigeonholing me. This young man already thought he knew me, and that made me mad. It wasn't just waving a red flag at a bull, it was having him come home and find you in bed with Mrs. Bull. I was determined to confound his expectations of me - but how could I do that and remain true to myself? "What happened the other day..." My voice trailed off again. He smiled, but it ran dangerously close to being a smirk.

"Did you enjoy watching us?" He asked quietly, nonchalantly, as though discussing the right shade of beige for the carpet in the hall. Strangely his expression, and the tone in his voice made me want to mother him, and boy was that ever the wrong thing to be thinking with his dick waving about in front of me. "I was hoping you would join in but you left... with an abruptness that bordered on being rude." Floundering, I tried to comprehend the rules to this game. I wanted to discuss inadvertently watching him in a private sexual encounter; he was scolding me as though I'd left the table without excusing myself. Just what was happening?

"I... I wasn't being rude. What you were doing with the hired help was your business. I was simply looking for the toilet."

"Nevertheless you found us. Found us, and watched for several minutes, did you not?"

"It was just a brief glance..." Never has one snort expressed such derision. I deserved it.

"I'm sorry, but I must disagree. It was several minutes, during which you could have joined our little tryst at any point. You would have been very welcome. Still, you're here now, so let's make the most of this opportunity."

"What! We can't-"

"Of course not. What on earth was I thinking?" He strode forward, apparently oblivious to the semi-erection waggling in front of him, and extended his hand. "We haven't even been introduced!" Lost, I simply took the proffered hand of the naked man young enough to have been my son and shook it. His grip was strong, his hand large; instantly my mind filled with thoughts of it slapping my buttocks, which I had to shake my head to clear.

"Caitlin," I offered, simply.

"Caitlin," he echoed. "What a terribly nice name. Quite unusual. And I am-"

"Skipper, I heard," I said, trying to smile. So much nicer than Roger, which frankly seemed an old man's name.

"Just a nickname, and probably the only name they call me that's fit for broadcast. Now that we're no longer strangers, we should move on. I'd like you to remove your clothes. Start with your trousers please."

"No. I'm with someone, I have a boyfriend-"

"He's not here. I am, and I am telling you what to do." The forceful extra emphasis on the last personal pronoun jolted me upright. There was a pause whilst comprehension flittered around my head before finally settling down.

"Skipper," I started, using the term sarcastically, "I don't know what you think is going to happen here-"

"Do as you're told and take your clothes off!" His voice raised and his tone commanding, he reminded me of an English Army officer from an old war film. He had no need for fiery invective or coarse language; even naked he projected such authority that for a moment I almost capitulated immediately. Almost...

In my imaginary book, I'd have been tempted to write something like, 'with trembling fingers she undid the buttons on her blouse, each operation taking an eternity to complete'. But I didn't want to be that type of heroine. I wanted to show him that anything I did, I did of my own volition. What we were doing was wrong, for sure, but if we were going to do 'wrong' things I wanted to do them as an equal partner. Plus, I was wearing a vest top and there were no buttons to undo.

I wish that a more eloquent objection had occurred to me, but putting my hands on my hips and sticking my tongue out felt most comfortable at that moment, so I just went with it. Surprisingly he laughed at me, which kind of shattered the sub/dom thing we had going on, although I guess no more than me sticking my tongue out did.

"Just wait!" he laughed, in a mock-scolding voice, snatching up a towel and trying to whip me with it. Then he was after me as we ran around the rows of changing cubicles in true Benny Hill style. Doubling back, he forced me into the drying area and when he lunged at me I took that fatal step back I didn't mean to take. I caught my breath as the water caught me, and even dodging backwards out of the way of the first shower only took me into the path of two others in the corner of the shower room. It only took seconds for the skimpy vest top I was wearing to become soaked through, and once soaked it became emphatically clingy. My hair escaped the better part of a soaking, but my top and trousers were drenched.

The echo of Skipper's laughter ricocheted about the room, which did not improve my mood as I stepped into the changing room. Snatching at the proffered towel I dabbed at my hair and then surveyed the carnage in my cleavage.

"You did that on purpose," I snapped, with more venom in my voice than I really felt.

"Oh come on, we were just playing around. I didn't know you were going to dive into the shower like a sun-baked lemming!" He scratched around for another towel as I tied the first around my top half. In a movement Houdini would have been proud of, I whipped my vest top off, leaving my modesty intact and thankful that the thick terry towelling meant that my nipples would not have someone's eye out just yet.

"Find me something to wear then, I can't go home like this. And get me a towel for my hair!" His eyes widened and he pursed his mouth as he mocked me. He did eventually offer me a towel, only to snatch it away a moment later. I snapped at him again and he relented, only to do it again a second later. He kept goading me until eventually I made a lunge for it. My lunge was of course telegraphed so clearly that Edison would have been proud, and as I flew past him he grabbed the towel around my top. The momentum was sufficient to make a decent job of unravelling it, and it took a moment for me to comprehend that I was topless. By that time he'd already helped himself to an eyeful, but still I raised a defensive arm cross my chest.

"If I could just have my towel back, thank you!"

"Your trousers are soaking, take them off,'" he suggested.

"I will not! They're not that bad," I offered, but actually I could feel the dampness - from the shower, not anywhere else, not yet - seeping through and making me uncomfortable. It was heavy material and would hold water for ages, and be cold whilst doing it. He saw the hesitation in my face and pounced.

"Seriously, Caitlin, I'll give you my t-shirt, and if you put my surf shorts on they'll just look like cropped trousers on you." The offer was tempting. He turned and scrabbled in his bag, offering the advised clothing to me. Haughtily I looked at him, as he knew that I'd have to use both arms to take the clothes and thus reveal myself to him. He tutted.

"Caitlin, we're both grown-ups, and you don't have anything I didn't see ten seconds ago."

"Well, at least turn round then. I'm not generally given to flashing at young men." He did as bidden and I snatched the clothes from him, stashing them hastily on the nearest bench. I was actually glad to be taking these heavy combat trousers off and whilst his back was turned I took the chance to give my legs a quick rub with the towel, restoring some of the warmth.

"That's a terrific view, don't you think, Asok?" I knew he'd turn and look! Wishing irrationally that I had worn something more substantial than this tiny, sparkly g-string, I still couldn't help but smile at his compliment. Not wishing to dampen down the sentiment, I was still forced to ask:

"What the hell's 'ah-shuck' supposed to mean?"

"It's a name; specifically it's the name of the Indian medical student who wields a smelly sponge and calls himself the club doctor, despite the fact that no-one here would trust him to cure a guppy with indigestion."

"Okay, well why did you mention his name?"

"He's been standing by the door watching you for the last few minutes. Like I said, Asok, one hell of a view."

"Not wrong there, Skipper!" came the reply in a cheerful but curious mix of Asian and South Yorkshire accent.

Not wishing to accept the inevitable, it took me a moment to straighten up, but when I did there certainly was a third person in the room. He was tall and bony, must have been six three, six four and staring at me with great intent and delight. His midnight black hair was run through with a few odd looking blonde streaks and his mouth was the widest thing on Earth after the Grand Canyon, although his smile was not without charm. How had I come to be in a compromising situation with two young men whose aggregate age was not far from mine? Given that they'd both been peeking, there seemed little point trying to cover myself. Feigning a casual affect I reached over for the shirt Skipper had given me.

I'd assumed that most of the plans that he had for me didn't involve clothes; it didn't take an Oxbridge graduate to make that particular mental leap. So when Skipper motioned for me not to get dressed, I had a defence prepared. Sort of.

"I can get along with being outnumbered, I'll always stick up for myself. I can go with being naked too, if that's how things are to be. But I'm not going to suffer at a disadvantage," I said, looking directly at Johnny-come-lately. Unsure of how to play the game Asok remained silent, but Skipper remained in control.

"What if I offered a trade-off that suited all parties?" he suggested. I indicated that he should continue. "I've not made a secret of the fact that I've been trying to relieve you of your kit. Quite reasonably you pointed out that you did not want to be both outnumbered and disadvantaged, and made a point of saying that we're strangers, knowing little, well nothing of each other.

"What if, you voulunteered certain pieces of information, intimate information, and in return Asok will remove his clothing until we're all au natrel. You get to share a little about yourself, I get to see you naked, we all win."

"Uh, Skipper?" Asok asked. We both ignored him. I countered the proposal.

"And what after? What are you hoping to achieve from all this?"

"Skip?"

"Simply put Caitlin, I'm looking to put my cock in your arse and make you squeal. I thought I'd made it clear that I fancied you before, and now either you're being terribly slow, or an awful tease. I think it's the latter, in which case not only do I want to fuck you, but I'm inclined to make it hurt just a little by way as payback."

"No really, Skipper, I just-"

"Shut up Asok!" we shouted in unison. I fancied Skipper and somehow, God only knows, he fancied me. I'd only ever slept with two men and never cheated on either, never even come close. I wasn't wholly onboard with the idea now but something in my life had to change. In an inspired piece of rationalisation, I decided that as long as it was just between the three of us, I could cope, just once. I think it was the power of the high that you get from simply being so desired. Do scientists call it reciprocal liking? I thought he was gorgeous, and he wanted to, ahem, put his cock in my bum. We'd have to negotiate that last point, but I think I could sign up for the rest. Somebody pass me a pen before I change my mind.

"Okay," I started, doing a rank job of hiding my nervousness, "but we have to agree on a couple of points. What happens here must stay between the three of us. I have a boyfriend and I cannot risk it getting back to him. I'm sure you two are probably in similar position. Second, I'm not into the bottom stuff, we need to talk about things like that." Asok retained the bewildered look he'd had for the last few minutes, but Skipper smiled. It was one hell of a smile; charming, seductive and dangerous. I could have just eaten him up. He approached me, smiling.

"From this moment on Caitlin, I promise," he charmed, "that you will never issue another demand to me again. You will do as I tell you." There was such a discrepancy between the tone of his voice and the things he said that for a second it didn't register and I just stood there. It gave him ample time to grab me, and then things just moved too fast for me to comprehend.

With Asok assisting once commanded to do so, Skipper dragged me into the showers, holding my arms in anticipation of a struggle that never materialised. The surprise robbed me of any real fight. We struggled briefly under the showers, and all that registered in my dumbstruck brain was the feeling of Skipper's erection slapping against my skin as we tussled. When the boys stood back, my arms were tied above my head, secured by a belt or somesuch device to one of the shower heads. Warm water cascaded down my front, dripping off nipples that were almost painfully erect. The pleasurable feelings induced by the water and my advanced state of arousal conflicted with the indignation of being manhandled, and my trepidation of the situation I was now in. Skipper's erection had grown harder, and there was a bulge in Asok's groin that left no doubt as to his mood.