Finally she took a long hot shower, carefully dried her long black hair, and got dressed again. She applied lipstick – a little too much for her age – and sprayed a deodorant under her arms. After dressing, something was still missing, she decided. Then it came to her. She glanced furtively around the empty dorm, then dashed to Dana's locker and extracted a bottle of perfume she knew was hidden there. She put some on her neck and forearms, rubbed a good amount inside her blouse and for good measure she darted a hand inside her skirt and applied a liberal amount right on the vertical slit in the pouting mound at the junction of her slender thighs. A few quick strokes of the brush to make her black hair sparkle, and she was out the door.
Two minutes later she was standing primly in front of Vera's cabin with her hand on the big iron knocker. It was not her troop leader, however, who she expected to open the door.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tim dragged himself out of bed when he heard the noise and staggered to the door in his night-shirt. He was rubbing his eyes when he opened the door, but after he saw who was standing there he took a step back and rubbed his eyes again. The best he could make out, a perfectly beautiful young teenager was there. And she was sticking a shapely ankle forward, saying something about a sprain.
Claire introduced herself and beamed up at him. He finally understood, through his haze of sleep, that her ankle was hurting and all the others had gone on a nature walk. Could he please help her, she wondered.
He invited her inside the cabin and asked her to sit down while he went to the bathroom for a second. He washed his face in cold water and woke up at last. He'd gone back to sleep immediately after Vera left for the nature trip and had been very deeply asleep when the knock came on the door.
Back in the room with Claire, he couldn't believe his good luck. Lynda had whetted his appetite for younger girls when he arrived the day before. Claire, with her fair skin and jet black hair, her cute figure and pretty face, seemed like a dream come true. But he had to be careful, he reminded himself.
"It's been sore since yesterday," she explained, pointing to her ankle. "Miss Kressler told me to stay inside today and not walk on it and it'd be okay. But it started hurting right after she left. I thought maybe if someone would kind of… I don't know, kind of rub it, maybe… that it might quit hurting."
"Honey, you've come to just the right place," he told her. "It so happens that I know all about muscles and sprains from belonging to a ski club. I'll have you fixed up in no time."
"Really?" she beamed. "Oh, thank you, sir."
"Tim," he said. "Just call me Tim."
She looked up at him and knew what Lynda had meant when she said he was handsome. If he had really done what Lynda said he had – flirted with her by looking inside her blouse – then she wanted to prove to herself that she could be as effective as Lynda had been in getting him to treat her like a woman instead of a little girl. The fact that she was a little girl – or, at least, at fourteen, not by any means a woman – didn't faze her at all. She thought of Lynda having him look down her blouse and hoped he'd do something like that with her. She wouldn't stop him if he wanted to peek a little at certain secret places on her young body.
He sat down on the floor in front of her. "Let me have your ankle," he directed, taking her petite foot in hand. He took off her shoe and white anklet, leaving the delicately boned foot completely bare.
As he knelt before her, she noticed that the nightshirt was all he wore. Once or twice, the bottom of it shifted as he moved and gave her a glimpse of his buttocks. If ever he happened to be turned just the right way, she thought, a lot more than just his buttocks would be in sight. And since the precocious youngster had never seen an adult man's penis, she was more than a little anxious to get a good look at it.
He gripped her ankle and jabbed it professionally from several different angles, asking her each time if it hurt. After several, she decided she'd better claim that it hurt somewhere.
"Ouch! Right there," she exclaimed.
A look of concern came over his face. "Ummm, too bad," he muttered under his breath. "That's a very tricky spot there."
For a minute she thought she'd ruined her ploy by picking a spot that he'd say he couldn't fix. She had no way of knowing that he was even more eager to participate in forbidden activities than she herself was. But he, on the other hand, had no idea that the innocent-appearing young teenager harbored such burning sex interests behind her naive looking face. She stared down at him for the verdict on her "very tricky spot" ankle pain.
"You see, honey," he told her, running his hand much farther up her leg than necessary, "if your ankle hurts right here, it means that the real cause is a place farther up your leg. You must have turned the wrong way without noticing it at the time."
She was all ears. "You mean way up high, like up under my skirt here?" she asked. She patted her leg about mid-thigh and queried whether that's where he meant, but her hem was still down almost to the knee so he couldn't see the naked flesh of her leg any higher than that.
"Well… uh… somewhere like that," he stammered. "I'd… I mean I'd have to… you know, feel around up there in order to find the exact spot." His stammering wasn't part of his act.
It was real. Being so close to the pretty young girl's unstockinged legs was taking its toll by making him nervous. "Uh, that is… heh heh… I mean if you don't mind lifting the hem of your skirt some so I can feel – er, I mean locate the place that's bothering you," he meekly requested.
"Well," she began slowly, "I guess it would be all right. Since Miss Kressler isn't here to help me and it hurts so much."
She really wanted to say, "Sure you can stick your hand up my leg, mister. I'm dying to do a little experimenting with my body and I'd love to have you show me a few things my parents mentioned to me."
But even at her tender age the feminine art of coyness was already in flower. She instinctively knew that she should not give the impression of being too willing to go along with a male's suggestions, even if she were dying to do it any way.
"Ah, yes," he said, "well, then, let's see here." He ran his fingers up to the girl's rounded knee and continued several inches higher. Thus far he'd kept his hand on the outside of her thigh but he was anxious to slip it around to the sensitive inner area as soon as possible. She made no move to shift her leg away from his hand, nor even to look down and see what, precisely, he was doing with his hand.
Claire was in seventh heaven with the handsome man's hand up her leg. She sat quietly and tried not to give any indication of the pleasure she was receiving from his touch. She was successful.
He looked up at her and thought, What a sweet kid. Look at that angelic face. I should be horse whipped for wanting to get my hands on her pussy and tits, but she's so damned sexy I just have to do it.
She twisted her ankle and gave a bogus yelp.
"Thought I'd try the ankle again and see if it still hurt. It's just as bad as it was. Maybe I should sit back farther like this, so you can find the place easier, okay?" she asked cooperatively. And with that she reclined backward on the edge of her chair in a posture of relaxed ease. She even raised one leg slightly to permit Tim better access to the possible location of the "sore spot". He readily accepted.
He could now see all the way up to the place where darkness obscured only the very top of her thighs. One or two bare inches, he was certain, would allow him to view the crotch of her underpants. She was being so cooperative that he was tempted to go faster with his shabby attempts to seduce her.