The Adventures of Holly White and the Incredible Sex Machine

by Krissy Kneen

  A sudden sound. Holly leaned forward, squinting. A couple who thought they could not be seen, moving with the ease of privacy.

  The pool was hidden from the rest of the party by the overhang of the balcony. Holly watched as they shushed each other, laughed into their hands; she was close enough to see a blush on the cheeks of the girl, pretty. She had a short cropped bob and a cute little fringe. She was slim as a child with tiny ankles, small enough to break like twigs. The girl slipped off her sandals and delicately lowered her feet into the water.

  The boy was less petite, a little rotund. His solid chest and sloping shoulders made him look rather like a bear cub. He had a beautiful smile, though, and winked at the girl cheekily as he wrestled with his shoes. He rolled his socks off and threw them behind and into the darkness with a clumsy, endearing confidence. He rolled up his jeans and plunged his feet into the pool beside the girl, wrapping one foot around hers and squeezing her delicate ankles between his thick calves.

  The boy reached out and held her hand and it was sweet to watch her look up at him and offer her lips. Holly was entranced as they kissed, gentle, closed little nuzzling mouths communicating their attraction. The kiss continued and Holly saw the girl’s mouth soften, the lips open to surround the boy’s. She watched the little snake of a tongue disappearing into his mouth. She knew she should give them privacy, leave them to their secret desires, but she was stuck fast.

  They were kissing in a way that she and Jack had never kissed. They were kissing with a very naked desire.

  And then, without hesitation the girl reached for the hem of her floral dress and lifted it up and off her body. It tugged at her hair and when she was free of it the short bob looked mussed up, harried. Her face was flushed and glowing brightly in the dim light. She was wearing a white bra. Her breasts were small and it was clear from the sag in the cups that the bra was unnecessary. Her knickers did not match the bra and had thick elastic that cut into her tiny waist. They looked like a boy’s underwear. Holly’s friends would have rolled their eyes at the sight of it, but here, in the dark and without her friends to discuss the absolute necessity of coordinating your panties, Holly could see that there was something strangely sexy about the boyishness of this girl’s body.

  Her companion raised his hand and stroked the loose cups of the bra. She supposed he was finding the erect ball of a nipple because she saw his fingers shape themselves into a pinch and he focused on the bra with a rising interest clearly spelled out in his lap. Holly could see a highlight growing there that had not existed before, a certain tautness in the denim. She shrank back into the shadows, hoping that the glint of her widening eyes would not betray her; watched as the boy unclasped the girl’s bra; heard his gasp as the two little breasts were finally exposed. Sharp nipples, high set, pointing skywards, a tiny swell beneath them as if her body had almost committed to growing breasts.

  The boy did not seem disappointed. He bent his head, and one of her nipples disappeared into his mouth without preamble. He reached with his hand at the same time and dropped his fingers into the girl’s lap, flicking back and forth with his middle finger, agitating the sensible cotton of her knickers. Holly saw the girl arch her back suddenly, her chin stretching up, her mouth open to the underside of the deck on which a crowd of party-goers were pressed, drinking and laughing and flirting, blind to the seduction being carried out beneath their feet. But who was seducing whom?

  Holly watched the girl respond to the stuttering fingers of her suitor. She watched her raise her own hand to the other breast, plucking at her right nipple as the boy sucked and licked at the left one. She saw her tip her hips back, wriggle them forward as if it was her hips and not his fingers that were setting the pace.

  Holly felt her own hips move, responding to the sight, shifting restlessly on the bench. She interlaced her fingers, clutching them together on her knees as if she were about to launch into prayer. She felt an odd pressure building in her groin and as she stared at the rising tent of the boy’s jeans she felt that this was what he must be experiencing, this inner tension, half pleasure, half pain. She found that pressing her legs together only inflamed this uncomfortable sensation; she forced herself to sit with her knees a little apart. In this position she was suddenly aware of a wisp of breeze travelling under and up, into her skirt, the openness of that little place between her legs. She wiggled, and felt the little inner lips slowly parting. No one was watching. No one could see. Holly slipped her hand under her skirt. Her knickers were made of white lace, the same lace as her bra, edged with a pale blue silk ribbon. The lace was damp. She pushed it aside. She let her finger slip across but not into the lips of her sex, the snail trail of desire. She removed her finger, shaded it with her other hand.

  Her finger was glowing with a phosphorescence, pale cornflower blue like the colour of the ribbon edging her bra. She held her finger up, shielded by the cup of her other hand—the wartime gesture to hide a glowing cigarette from the enemy. Here was her terrible secret, the unearthly glow that plagued her. Whenever she felt even the slightest hint of desire there was this. This terrible blue glow from inside her body that marked her as different, alien, deformed. Holly knew she was a freak.

  She wiped the juices off onto her skirt and the glow began to fade. This girl, here now, was obviously aroused by the hands of her boyfriend, her legs parted, her hips thrusting, but when the boy removed his hand from inside her his fingers weren’t shining with any weird glow.

  There was something terribly wrong with Holly. She knew it. There was something abnormal about her moments of arousal. She touched the ring on her wedding finger. Her three friends wore the same ring, a little silver band with the words True love waits engraved on the side. She stroked the ring with her damp finger and the last traces of blue lit up the letters there. True love waits. She wondered what Jack would think on their wedding night when he lifted her skirt to find her glow-in-the-dark vulva providing subtle illumination of the final act of love. She winced and furrowed her brow.

  The skinny girl pushed suddenly away and slipped forward into the pool, silently cutting the water with the arrow of her body, setting the surface to rippling away from her entry. Holly heard the quiet little lapping of waves on the river stones and heard as well the sound of her own glowing sex opening just a little to suck in the night air. How cold the water would feel on that little place between the girl’s legs. The salt might ease the heat in those slightly swollen lips. She longed to slide into the pool beside her, to feel the water kicking up between her parted thighs as she trod quickly to stay afloat.

  ‘Come in,’ the girl whispered and Holly almost stood to obey her. The boy shook his head shyly. He kicked his leg through the water and the wake travelled outward, lapping at the girl’s body, stroking the nipples which were just grazing the surface of the water.

  ‘No one’s going to see us.’

  He shook his head. The girl travelled through the water, an easy breaststroke; she clung to his calves, big thick meaty calves, the edges of his rolled-up jeans turning dark with water.

  ‘What’s wrong, Craig?’

  Craig remained tight-lipped. Holly could see the swelling in his lap beginning to subside. The girl lifted a hand, trailing a cascade of water droplets onto his thigh. He flinched, but remained seated there at the edge of the pool.

  ‘
Is it your body? I love your body. I love looking at your body.’

  Holly watched as Craig folded his hands over the thick swell of his stomach. It had never occurred to her that men might be just as shy of their bodies as women were.

  ‘I’m not going to take my clothes off, Tess.’

  She laughed then, a small pretty sound, high and breathy. ‘Aren’t you?’ she whispered and Tess floated closer in between his thighs, pulling herself along on the thick trunks of his legs. When she was nestled firmly between his knees her fingers crept out, making spidery steps across his crotch, settling on the buttons at his fly.

  ‘You’re not going to take your clothes off?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not in public. You know I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t?’ Her fingers had found their way into the crevice between the buttons. ‘Or won’t?’

  Craig did not answer. Instead Holly heard a low moan as Tess began to pop one button after another. She could see the renewed vigour of him, the swelling pushing his underpants out and up through his fly. The girl bobbed forward, lowered her head. Holly couldn’t tell if she was sucking him through the fabric or if there was some kind of opening to slip his penis through. All she could see was the bobbing of Tess’s head as she moved her mouth up and down.

  Distracted, Craig let his lover lift his shirt, not all the way up but far enough so that Holly could see the pale swell of skin, the dark covering of hair across the curve of his stomach. He was a large boy and there were stretchmarks etching his flesh like wounds, shining silvery in the moonlight. Strangely, these marks aroused her even more. She imagined her tongue tracing the lines as a finger might pick out a path on a map. She would reach the underhang of the belly and her tongue would poke up into the folds of flesh there as if she were exploring the cleft between buttocks or the smooth overhang of her own breasts. She wanted to see this boy, Craig, this man she had never even met, she wanted to see him naked. The little glimpse of his flesh left her hungry for more.

  Holly was leaning forward, watching the slow creep of Tess’s hands as she stretched his fly wide and pushed the jeans back from his thick hips. She was aroused despite herself and, watching the scene unfolding in front of her, she allowed her breath to become heavy. She shifted restlessly, knowing that the slipperiness between her legs would be a beacon. If she were naked they might use her to warn ships away from treacherous rocks. It was only her dress that saved her from beaming her lust to everyone at the party.

  A movement at the top of the stairs distracted her. Three girls, women now but she still remembered them as children. Her friends. Together they were a froth of long hair curling like yellow silk ribbons, pale faces perfectly made up. Each of their exquisitely proportioned bodies draped in water-colour pink, blue, green. They were a Monet canvas glowing beneath a soft tangle of fairy lights. They descended the stairs and god, they really were fascinating to watch, each with a dress of a different pastel hue, coral pink, pale anemone green. The dresses floated gently with their delicate steps, their skin shone. Their hair brushed to a frenzy of light static. It seemed as if they were descending through water into the murky depths.

  In a few more steps they would see the lovers, Tess’s tight little breasts, Craig’s stretched and swelling stomach. She knew suddenly how her friends would see the couple, their imperfect bodies, their daggy clothes. Their unforgivably unchaste behaviour. She knew her friends wouldn’t find the scene exciting, as she did. They would stand in judgment, laughing at the mismatched pair, picking the scene apart later with not even a nod to the eroticism of the moment. Holly felt suddenly protective of the couple.

  She stood, knowing that her quick movement would attract their attention. She stepped forward into the night and heard the frantic churning of the water as Tess slipped up and out, scrambling to pull her light frock over her damp shoulders. Holly waved to her friends and they skipped lightly down the stairs. She could smell their sweetness before they reached her, just too light to be cloying, and she merged with them, her own perfume sticky sweet. She belonged in their soft, powdered embrace.

  When the girls were seven years old they had all bought rings from a bubblegum machine. The rings were bright and smelled chemical sweet. Holly could still remember the taste of her finger, sugary, as she sucked it. They called themselves Charlie’s Angels although there were too many of them. They held their rings together, four little arms, raised in a pledge. We belong to Charlie, their loyalty captured by an imaginary man. Years later they replaced the plastic rings with silver ones. True love waits. A pledge to yet more imaginary men. Their future husbands.

  Now the Angels handed her champagne in a plastic flute. When they clicked their glasses together it was the same plastic clicking sound that their angel rings had made. She belonged to them. Holly glanced back at the shimmering surface of the pool. Her own sex would be just like any other now. The phosphorescence of her desire never lasted, but still, she felt this one terrible secret separated her from her friends.

  ‘We lost you.’ Jennifer reached out to stroke her shoulder. Holly glanced past them to where there was nothing but damp footprints marking the rocks beside the pool. The lovers had fled. She was glad despite the little wave of disappointment that rushed through her. She still felt heady from the voyeuristic encounter; her fingers tingled.

  ‘I was just getting some air.’

  Jennifer squeezed her shoulders fondly. ‘We can swim later,’ she said slyly. ‘We can swim in our underwear. We’ve all got our good underwear on, right?’

  The girls all nodded, golden hair floating in the warm night breeze. They could hear the deep bass thud of the music. Jennifer kicked her shoes off and began to sway. She held out her hands, and gripped Holly’s. She twirled her out and Holly’s blue skirt kicked up like the body of a jellyfish, her dark hair fanning out around her face. She heard a clear whistle of admiration and stepped away from Jennifer, glancing up to the balcony above them. Jack was staring down at her, admiring.

  He was terribly handsome, his chiselled face framed by the warm glow of his red hair and beard. He grinned and she imagined the tickle of his beard on the soft skin between her legs. She closed her eyes. She was feeling a little dizzy. She felt herself sway and Jennifer quickly steadied her, one arm around her shoulders for support. Holly knew her nipples must be visible, erect under the delicate silk of her dress. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  ‘You are such a lightweight,’ Jennifer grinned. ‘Three champagnes…’

  ‘I should probably go home.’

  Jennifer looked at her Chanel watch, pink sapphires glinting under the fairy lights. ‘Oh my god. It is almost morning.’

  ‘Your carriage awaits you, ma’am.’

  Jack was beside her, his elbow angled towards her. Holly took hold of it. He was strong and steady. She remembered the sight of Craig’s soft silvered flesh. There was really no comparison, and yet when they walked past his damp footprints, Holly could feel the dampness between her legs, the tingling of her reignited desire.

  Holly sank into the soft leather of Jack’s passenger seat. She toyed with the ring on her finger, spinning it in slow circles as he eased the car out of the driveway. She glanced nervously at Jack’s lap, remembering the bulge in Craig’s jeans, the swell of his desire. It would be so easy to lower her head i
nto his lap as Tess had done. She rested her cheek against the cold glass of the passenger window.

  True love waits.

  She closed her eyes and let Jack swing the car around the suburban streets, the movement of it like a cradle rocking her to sleep. She dreamed of a pool, a girl, a boy, a head bobbing up and down, up and down.

  Jack touched her gently on the arm and Holly flinched.

  ‘Your chariot has arrived, princess.’

  She waited till Jack walked around to her side and opened the door. The sky was pink-tinged, a pre-dawn glow. He helped her clamber out of the car and she hugged him, pressing the taut buds of her nipples against his chest. When she tilted her face up he leaned down to kiss her. Holly closed her eyes, opened her mouth. Jack pulled away.

  ‘Woah, tiger!’ He held her at arm’s distance. For a moment it seemed to her that he was afraid. He stepped away from her somewhat warily. ‘One too many champagnes?’

  Holly nodded, chastised. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  He smiled and patted her on the shoulder. ‘No problem princess. Sleep tight. I’ll meet you at mine tomorrow night?’

  ‘Oh. That’s right. Valentine’s Day.’ As if she might have forgotten. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘A secret. Someplace nice. Wear a pretty dress.’ He laughed. ‘You always do.’

  She stood at her door and watched his car speed off and around the corner. Red like his beard, long and sleek as his body. He was right to push her away. She shouldn’t have been so forward. Her open-mouthed kiss spoke of sex. She remembered the lovers, Tess and Craig, and heard a sound, a deep, guttural animal growl. She glanced around, startled, before she realised that the sound had come from her own throat.

  True love waits. She shut the door quietly behind her and crept up the thick carpet of the staircase to her room. The growl again, a little louder. She dropped heavily to her bed and pulled her silk skirt up to her waist. The glow of her vulva was brighter than the waning moon. She pressed the palm of her hand against herself. The strange phosphorescence of her desire stained her fingers. She imagined Jack’s lap where Craig’s had been, her own head replacing Tess’s. Her inner thighs were damp and shining. She heard the call of a morning bird, a strange sad song ever repeated. If the bird glanced through her window now he would see the sunrise reflected in the V of her crotch.