Tuesday Turn-On: Bunkmates

Last year I signed on to Campus Camping Club. We didn't go on actual camping, unfortunately--just to the cabins an hour away. We go twice a year, with an optional trip during the summer months.

Having just attended the summer one, I have to say, hands-down, it's my favourite. It goes like this:

Being in our early twenties, we drank ourselves out of our livers and stayed up into the wee hours of the morning on our last night. The super came along and told us to pipe the fuck down, so we all retreated indoors to polish off our mickeys and two sixes in bed. Boys went to one room, girls to the other. We had a blast for a while. At some point we tired, though, and conversation nosedived.

The girl below my bunk was snoring lightly. Who was that under me? I couldn't remember. It could have been Rhianna or Jaquie or Lyn. I didn't know all the girls too well yet--I'd only been on so many trips with them--but I liked them, despite them having a wide range of personalities. Rhianna was quiet to the point you thought she was prim, proper, and terribly timid, but then she would slyly slip a comment into conversation that was so smooth in delivery I found myself tearing up with laughter. Jacquie was nice, buoyant, cute in a provocative way. She reminded me of Betty Boop meets Scarlet Johansson and acts like Lucille Ball. Lyn was so outgoing that you did not suffer a moment of quiet in her presence (or, in some people's minds, a moment of peace). She had an alpha presence, a good sense of humor, and was born without a filter. Whenever she got drunk, that fact became more apparent. She'd ripped a few out of me here and there, but in such a way I was smiling by the end of it.

Whoever it was was deep in sleep. Or so I thought. Suddenly I was focused on her breath. Realization was dawning. She wasn't breathing deeply; she was panting.

First I felt a wave of embarrassment and willed myself to sleep. Minutes in, though, I found I couldn't focus on anything else. Whenever I strained my ears I could hear her hand rub up against the comforter with each stroke. I didn't dare move. I scarcely breathed. Over time I grew restless; I could not fall asleep, nor could I just lie there and listen.

Slowly, slowly, I crept my hand up my side to my waist. Without a sound I slipped it under my belly and down, past my belly button, the band of my panties, and over my landing strip. I gasped breathlessly as I cupped my hand around myself; it felt like I'd been waiting days for a drink of water, and relief was simply too sweet.

I slowly rocked to her rhythm, bringing my hand one direction while tilting my hips in the other. I pulled, pushed, pinched, and pet surreptitiously, utterly terrified of making noise but dying for more. On one hand, I felt filthy for getting off to one of my girlfriends jilling it in the same room without her knowing. I'm not even attracted to women. But if you asked me if her restrained moans and faster strokes had me eager and willing, I would have to say "No comment" while I blushed furiously.

She must have been at it for an hour by the time she was getting close. Just hearing the difficulty behind holding her breath and keeping quiet had me going. I bit my lower lip and squeezed my eyes shut. It was pretty much impossible for me not to make noise. If she heard my faint sigh, she didn't acknowledge it--instead her legs came close together (they rustled the covers noisily) and her bed creaked when she sunk into it. Then I felt myself rising. I bit the pillow, desperately held my breath, and slid a finger into myself. My insides tightened so much I nearly pushed myself back out again, and working against my muscles made it one of the best climaxes I'd had recent memory.

I think she fell asleep immediately. After I slipped my hand out of my underwear, so did I. When the morning came, the first thing I did was peek at the bunk below mine.

It was empty.

We left after lunch that day, so I never got to find out who the mystery bunk mate was. For the past few months, whenever I lay back and let my hand drift, I always think of the bunk bed, and it never fails me.

We're going on the same trip again this summer. All three girls will be there.

Might be an interesting trip.  

To be continued...?