Mom and her dog
"You're not gonna let him fuck you, are you, Traci?"
"Emily Grabble, don't you ever say anything like that to me again!"
The lithe, young blonde tilted her chin up defiantly, staring at her good friend through narrowed eyes. She didn't like to hear that word. It made her nervous, unsettling her ordered mental image of both herself and her surrounding world. The two girls were sitting on a large multi-colored beach blanket, watching the high surf smash onto Venice Beach while the sun began to settle behind the ocean. A few male joggers trudged nearby, their heads turned toward the two attractive young women.
"I don't see why you're so bent out of shape," Emily said defensively, brushing back several strands of her black hair the wind had blown in her face. The scent of the damp, salt air was pleasant, even mildly exciting. A fine spray from the surf coated their flesh. Neither wanted to leave the beach. But the conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn for Traci. She was thinking of cutting their day short and packing up. She didn't want to hear about boys all the time, about what they did in the back seats of cars. Her mother had told her all about that. That was exactly how Traci was born and why her father left. Illegitimate! The word stung her pride even now. No, she wasn't going to get in the same position as her mother.
"I just don't like to talk about… about that sort of thing," Traci said hurriedly, her face growing tight and prim. She stared at the rolling sea, then leaned back, watching several sea gulls wheel overhead, squawking to one another in their continual search for food. The sun felt good and warm on her legs and belly. She closed her eyes and let out a long, low sigh. Why couldn't life be this simple? Why did… sex have to rear its ugly head?
"Well, you're going to have to sooner or later. It might as well be with a friend," Emily sniffed, searching in her beach bag for a mirror. "Oh God, the sun's done a number on my face! What's Billy going to think about it?" she said, her forehead wrinkled with worry. Traci watched as Emily tried smoothing back her frizzled hair, then gave up in despair.
"You're always primping. I don't see why," Traci said, shrugging as she began gathering up her belongings.
"And you're not? I see the way you try fixing yourself up whenever Greg's around," Emily countered. Traci dropped her eyes, feeling a flash of excitement rush through her pussy at the mention of the basketball player's name. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slipped a shirt over her naked shoulders. Wearing a skimpy bikini as the air chilled wasn't such a great idea.
"I… I do not…"
"Don't lie to me, Traci," Emily said, hooking onto her friend's discomfort and smiling nastily. "You keep meeting him in the halls. He likes you, Traci. Why don't you let him… go all the way. I said before you shouldn't let him fuck you. But now I'm not so sure. Maybe that'll loosen you up."