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"Oh my God, will you shut up and stack those cans before we have to close, you moron? You could chat all day," said Frances with only a slight hint of exasperation.

Tom laughed sheepishly and walked from the counter to do as she asked. "Yes comrade, we will need to be prepared for the onslaught of customers tomorrow." He had a point. It was midweek in late February and there very few customers coming into this seaside hamlet general store, despite the hot weather. Frances had been working in the store for four years, every summer holidays. Now she was in second year university the owners trusted her to lock up and do basic managerial tasks. Like managing Tom, a boy whose family had a house near her family's, three kilometres further down the beach from the general store.

Frances' family had been coming to the area for fifty years, her family's rather quaint fibro beach shack having been built by her grandparents when land was cheap. Melbourne's growth in recent decades meant that was no longer the case. What had originally seen as an unfashionable and wild holiday destination was now the place to have a home for the medical and legal set. Even a few celebrities these days. Gone were many of the fibro shacks to be replaced with sleek, multi storied monstrosities with enormous glass windows taking in the ocean views. Like Tom's house. His family had built about six years ago and she had watched him turn from an annoying, entitled private school boy into an annoying, entitled University student.

She had very little to do with him until he started working at the store last year. He had just finished his expensive secondary school and was mess of arms, legs and over-confident, slightly too conservative opinions. He constantly regaled her with annoying stories of his drinking exploits at schoolie's week...in a slightly charming way. She had seen him in the distance at Uni, hanging with the residential college set, but they hadn't really crossed paths what with him in the Law/Commerce orbit which didn't get too close to her film studies and art history major.

But golly, hadn't a year made a difference. He had grown up. The awkward arrogance had almost disappeared, to be replaced with a confident charm these boys so often developed. He had probably realized how easy his life was going to be so there was no need to try to hard. He was quite funny. Quick too and they had developed an easy form of banter over the summer when they worked together. She ribbed him for his Little Lord Fauntleroy upbringing and he gently mocked her father's 30 years of attending Labor Party branch meetings and her slightly cliched fashionably left views.

And, she thought watching him bend over to put the soup cans on the shelf, hadn't he turned into a specimen. He was still all arms and legs but a year of training on the university rowing team plus a year of adulthood (he had been a late bloomer) had thickened them up nicely and his height of 6'5' no longer looked ridiculous. She had found herself stealing glances at the golden hairs on his amazing calves and arms and enjoying the way his prominent Adam's apple moved when he laughed with his, now rather arousing, bass quality. To add injury to insult his teeth were fucking gorgeous. Luckily he hadn't quite realised what a specimen he had become and he was still sufficiently annoying at times for Frances to find it easy to patronize him.

It was 5.55 and they both began preparing to close the store when a tall young man walked in. "We're just about to close, you'll need to be quick," said Frances in cheerful manner without looking up from counting the coins.

"You made it, well done, I assumed you would just miss the bus," Tom said as he rushed up and gave the man a big, awkward late-teen hug.

"Frankie, this is James, a mate from rowing. He's coming to say for a few days."

Frances looked up from her task and nearly fell over. There was another gorgeous specimen of privileged white male. About an inch and a half shorter than Tom but still looking huge.His skin was paler and his hair much darker. He was less of a bean pole than Tom but only slightly.

"Nice to meet you," she said, extending her hand. "James was it? Gee there aren't many names to choose from in the private school name book are there?" James tilted his head back with laughter exposing the result thousands of dollars' worth of top shelf orthodontic care and tightened his grip on her hand with his huge mitt.

"No, that would break the rules and would confuse all the Chloes and Prues when they were looking for husbands." His voice was a light baritone, but resonant. Jesus, where did they make these guys. There no boys like that in her Cinema Studies class.

"You going to walk home with us?" asked Tom.

"Sure," she said "Let's just close up this bustling centre of commerce."

Ten minutes later they were walking down the hill to the beach. The walk was about 40 minutes, most of it on the beach. The was a bit of cold güvenilir bahis easterly when they arrived, and the surf was a mess. Frances usually had a dip after work but wasn't tempted today. They trudged along the beach, the boys taking turns with James' backpack.

The conversation was entertaining. Surprisingly so. James was studying engineering but was anything but dry and dull. Both boys were single and lamenting the fact, despite the drunken pashes they had invariably enjoyed at the Uni balls. Frances with her added twelve months of maturity assured them that first year was a bit of whirl and that things settled down a bit. She didn't find a boyfriend until second year, although it only lasted three months.

"Did you dump him because he didn't eat kale?" asked Tom.

"Shut up dickhead," she said, laughing and punching him in the arm. She was walking in between the two of them. She was five foot nine but felt tiny. It was quite exciting. The forty minutes flew by. There was much laughter and she was surprised how much attention they paid to her. Very different from the Tom of twelve months prior. They turned off the beach and headed up to the houses. Tom's house was first, of course, one of the expensive houses with a view.

"I'm not working tomorrow Frank, but we'll see you round."

"Don't eat into your trust fund too much then," she cheekily offered and continued up the road. She hoped they were admiring her bum but she wasn't going to turn around to check.

The next day was a stinker- 38 degrees. The local retirees did their milk and bread run early and the shop was pretty quiet in the afternoon with the odd backpacker and tourist dropping in. Frances was bored stiff and the longing to go for a swim gnawing at her like an overachieving rat. At least she was in an air-conditioned space. Six o'clock took forever to come around and she started reconciling the till early. At 5.55 the door swung open and in walked James and Tom, glowing with that all-day-on-the-beach look, their hair still looking magnificent despite sticking up form all the salt.

"Hello comrade. Want to come for a beer? It's still too hot to walk home," asked Tom.

"Does the Pope wear undies in the shower?" she replied.

"I'm not sure," laughed James, "we're Anglican."

Ten minutes later the first ice cold beer pouring down her throat was like heaven. It disappeared within seconds. Between them the first jug lasted only minutes. The second was soon purchased. The conversation was as easy as last night but now with an added drunken familiarity. They were all having a ball. Three burgers and two more jugs later it was already eight o'clock and the sun had lost its ferocity.

"Come on shit-kickers," Frances confidently slapped her hand on the table "let's walk home before I get too drunk and start lecturing you on French New Wave cinema". She was feeling a bit too tipsy and a walk home would clear her head. These two strapping lads, it seemed, could drink forever.

The beach was entirely different from the previous evening. There was not a lick of wind and it was still about 33 degrees. The water was glassy and was reflecting the colours of the dipping sun, now only a few minutes away from sinking below the hills at the end of the beach. They walked in the water, luxuriating on the relief from the heat it brought, along with the cooler air off the water. Frances always enjoyed the sensuality of such evenings on the beach, especially at this time of year when she almost had it to herself. Feeling the effects of a gut-ful of overpriced craft beer and walking alongside two charming, gorgeous specimens on top of this was making her head spin. She felt like she could burst with happiness. The chat was more raucous and ribald than the last time, reflecting the comfort with each other and the affect of the alcohol. The three of them were young, gorgeous and had an beautiful beach almost to themselves. They felt like Gods.

By the time they reached their section of the beach the sun had set and the water and sky had taken on soft pink and purple of twilight. It was magical.

"Oh thank God," said Tom "I'm exhausted after that. Let's hit the water," and began taking off his shirt revealing a slim golden torso with enough muscle definition that caused Frances to have to look away, such was its appeal.

"I haven't got my bathers," said Frances "can you wait for me to go up to the house to get them?" She returned her gaze to him trying not to drink in the sparse golden fuzz on his chest and the dark nipples.

Tom rolled his eyes. "No way. Fuck that, come on I can't wait," and with that quickly unbuttoned his board shorts and whipped them down, briefly exposing himself before turning and jogging towards the water. His arse was pale and magnificent and almost glowed in the evening light.

Frances looked at Tom with a sense of helpless exasperation, but he just laughed. "Well, if we don't go, we'll look like killjoy prudes," and türkçe bahis began to pull his own shirt over his head revealing a surprisingly luscious covering of dark hair on his chest. He turned before pulling his shorts down and running after Tom. "Wait for me dickhead." They surged towards the water with overwhelming explosion of energy that only young men can exude. That and the sheer beauty of their forms; their arses were gorgeous, made Frances take a sharp intake of breath. It was as though she a Thomas Eakins painting that she had studied in her first year art course had sprung to life.

Frances momentarily stood and mulled over what to do, but it was as if purely for the sake of decorum. This was going to be an aesthetic moment to savour forever, something to remember when her thighs were dimply and breasts were proudly sagging from having raised beautiful children. She took off her shirt and bra, and released what she actually knew to be were a gorgeous pair of breasts. They were a modest size but a generous and sensual handful at the least and a sense of weight about them which made the slightly puffy and perfectly upturned nipples all the more miraculous. She very rarely showed them off and almost felt shamed of possessing such physical marvels, especially among her bookish friends at uni. She yanked down her pants and underwear and walked towards the water, her heart racing. The warm air felt delicious on her skin, it felt like her body was humming. The boys splashed and dove under the small waves offering tantalizing brief glimpses of pale arse and white penis. They caught sight of her and let our a loud cheer and flashed those perfect sets of teeth, but then checked themselves and returned to their swimming so as not to make her uncomfortable. As always, the chill of the water came as a shock and she ran forward and dived under the first wave that came to her. The jolt of cold was like only momentary and the blissful coolness that replaced it was heavenly. She swam as long as she could underwater, reveling in the sensation of the water on her skin and on her exposed genitals. She swam till she thought she might burst then put her feet on the sand and broke through the surface and brushed her hair back, standing in the waist water. She opened her eyes to see the two boys, as if dumbstruck, gaping at her. It took all her willpower not to cover her chest with her hands. She looked at them and ever so slightly stuck her goose-pimpled chest out. "Creepy pervs," she said and splashed them with water breaking the spell.

They frolicked in the water for a good twenty minutes, chatting, splashing and catching the odd small wave . They used the cover of the water for modesty but there were tantaslising, deliberate flashes of breast, buttock and cold cock. Eventually the light got too poor for safety and they headed in. Walking naked together up the beach was awkward and the boys were probably embarrassed about the affect of the cold water on their now rather tiny cocks but it was exciting and the warm air on their thoroughly chilled skin was delicious

They quickly dressed as well as you can when your skin is wet once they had reached their clothes (easier for the boys just putting on their shorts) and then walked up the path to the houses,

"Are you coming in for another drink? We can watch a movie," asked Tom, casually. Her first instinct was to say no. She was tired and naked swimming with two young Adonis' was testing limits of proper behaviour. Then she remembered how hot her small, low roofed house would be with its poor circulation after the sun beating down on it all day. She knew Tom's place was air conditioned. Tom could see her indecision. "Come on, we'll need to have some normal clothed conversation to finish the day or we'll feel weird tomorrow. We can have some of dad's boutique gin."

"Jesus!" she thought, "when did he get so smooth and grown up?" The decision was made.

The house was incredible; huge windows overlooking the water and all decked out with expensive furniture. Tom turned on the air conditioning while James mixed three, long gin and tonics with cucumber. The freshness and coolness of the drink revived her immediately.

The three of them sat on the couch and listened to music, pretty bliss-ed out and contented. The conversation was more relaxed now, the boys weren't trying so hard which was lovely. They laughed a lot, and no one suggested watching a movie. At one point Tom told such a hilarious and filthy joke that she convulsed with laughter so much so that she winced from momentary pain as her shoulder, tight from standing all day at work slumped over the counter, seized up.

"What's wrong," asked Tom,"I'm so funny it hurts?"

"You wish," she said as she tried to rub the spot. " Just the aches and pains from my life of menial servitude."

James moved up from his spot on the couch. "Scoot down onto the floor, I'll get stuck into it."

Frances, never one to say no to some work on her shoulders, güvenilir bahis siteleri slide down to the floor, resting her back against the couch. James slid behind her, his legs resting against her arms, touching ever so slightly. His big mitts were soon kneading, very firmly and skillfully onto her tight muscles.

"Geez, you are tight," he said leaning in to get more pressure.

"Unlike your mum," she replied causing Tom to nearly choke on his drink.

"How was that James?" she asked, "Would I go alright with the rowing shed banter? "

"You would fit right in, and be a welcome addition to the showers."

"If you can get your hands off each other."

They all thought themselves very amusing. Frances was enjoying herself very much. Laughing, slightly drunk, sitting in between a gorgeous pair of legs while her shoulders were massaged by a huge pair of strong hands. She looked across at Tom, who was watching them is his shirtless glory, and was suddenly worried about him feeling like a third wheel when that wasn't the impression she wanted to give off at all. They were just mates hanging out and he did look so cute trying not to look left out. She tried to think of a solution that wasn't too cheesy and the result sounded good in her head.

"You're very good at this James, wasted in engineering."

"Thanks Frank, noted."

"Last year" she continued, "I had a four hands massage when we went to Vietnam, it was amaaaaazing." There, that'll give him an in.

"Did you get a happy ending?" asked James

"No, but I bet those 60 year old ladies knew their way around a vulve." She was quite shocked at how filthy she was being. It must have been the fancy gin.

Tom pulled himself off the couch "Alright, hint taken, and it's the least we can do for you after having had you see our shriveled willies earlier. Up you both get, we'll have to put you on one of the beds."

He was handling the situation very well, it didn't feel too sexually charged and as if she was going to sleep with two 19 year-olds. They headed down the stairs to the bedroom that James was sleeping in. It had a queen size bed and a fancy matching sheet and bed lamps that must have come from a posh fancy interior design store. What would they think of her shack?

The boys stood next to her awkwardly , It was fascinating how they seemed to vacillate between being confident men and shy boys at unexpected moments. Frances ran forward and dived onto the bed, the expensive mattress of which was barely troubled by the impact. "Alright, don't be offended if I fall asleep."

She lay with her head on top her folded arms and her eyes closed and felt the boys move to either side of her on their knees.

"Um, what do we do? " asked Tom. "I've just realised I'm not much of an expert in four-hand massages."

"Just copy what James does on the other side and be a good boy. I give extra points for application and dedication."

"OK, here goes."

She felt the two pairs of hands press down on her back. Two pairs of big, strong hands she realised with deep satisfaction. They pressed and kneaded a little but the fabric of her shirt made it difficult and was irritating her skin.

"Hang on. Stop, stop, stop." she ordered and felt them pull their hands back nervously.

"What did we do? Was it too hard?" asked a crestfallen James.

"No, no. All good. The shirt is just giving me the shits. Let me just...."

She raised herself to her elbows, reached back and wrestled the shirt over head and threw it on the floor. She then reached back, unhooked her bra, pulled it out from under her and threw that after the shirt. "That's better, knock yourselves out".

"If we have to," said James with feigned boredom.

Their hands connected with her back the feeling of skin on her skin sent an erotic charge through her body. She tensed quickly and drew in a quick breath, then felt embarrassed at the response.

"Sorry, ticklish." She wasn't sure if that would have fooled them.

The boys too were obviously enjoying the feeling of the skin. The moved their hands up and down her back and shoulders gently, enjoying the sensation rather then kneading away. It was heavenly. After a few minutes James started pressing a bit harder and Tom followed suit.

"Oh, this is a bit tricky isn't it. Hang on a sec, mum has some fancy lotion in the bathroom, let's use that." He leapt off the bed and ran into a bathroom down the hall. James waited patiently with his hands just resting on her back as though continuing alone would have been against the rules. Tom returned promptly. She felt his weight on the mattress and heard a jar being unscrewed.

Then she felt cool moisturiser on her back and the charge of lubricated touch. Amazing. "Oh, that's the ticket. Good boys."

That didn't really respond, they were concentrating on the moment. Their movements had become lighter, more sensual. As they picked up their courage they moved from her back to her arms and then to her sides, feeling ribs and angling for a hint of breast. It was charged. Whereas she had only moments before been ready for sleep she was now wide awake and excited. This was crazy stuff.