“You’re really pretty,” I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “All my friends tell me that all the time. Most of them can’t even talk to you because you’re too pretty.”
“Stop it,” she said, wearing a tiny smile.
“It’s true and you know it. You know how much guys like looking at you,” I said.
“I’m okay looking.” She shrugged.
“Uh-huh,” I said, grinning at her false modesty. “But here’s the thing, before yesterday, I’ve never really thought about it. I mean, I noticed. I knew you were pretty, but I never thought about it in that way, in that ‘I want to bang her’ sort of way. Does that makes sense?” She nodded. I stopped, looking at her and I mean really looking at her. I ran my eyes across her body the way a lover caresses the bare flesh of his girlfriend. My gaze eventually landed on her imploring eyes. “If you didn’t make me hard, I think there would be something wrong with me.”
“I didn’t used to, though, right?”
“Right,” I agreed, walking again instead of staring at her. That was dangerous, because I knew how she looked without that tight t-shirt covering her breasts. “Is that good or bad?”
“Good,” she answered. “I think I would have noticed if you had always been looking at me the way other guys do. You’ve never been creepy.”
“I am now,” I admitted in a small, quiet voice. “Why did you turn your back to me this morning when you were changing shirts?” She looked confused by the question. “I mean, I’ve already seen your titties. I’ve done more than see them, right?” She nodded.
“Maybe I didn’t want to tease you?”
“Does that mean I can’t do this anymore?” I reached out and caressed her chest for only a moment.
“Do you want to do that?” she asked. Did she realize how she was arching her back ever so slightly, accentuating her tits and I struggled pulling my eyes away from her chest so I could look her in the eyes.
“Yes,” I admitted, unsure if I was blushing or not. I felt my heart racing, pounding against my chest so hard my t-shirt should have vibrated. I clenched and unclenched fists, struggling with keeping my hands at my sides and my eyes on her face.
“You can’t want me like that.”
“I know,” I groaned. My eyes slipped to her chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra or a bikini top, not yet. Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve. Maggie’s pronounced nipples meant they always showed if she wasn’t wearing a bra. Even around the house, Mom or Dad wouldn’t let her walk around without putting on a bra or something. I could tell the difference. Maggie’s nipples were hard and I felt a stirring inside my shorts. I went from feeling nothing nothing special down there to getting hard, all the way hard, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Maggie glanced in the direction we had walked. Had she heard something? Was someone coming? We were deep inside the treeline, out of view of the camp, but not a safe distance away. Anyone heading to the pond might be able to see us. My gaze followed hers, looking and listening for the crunch of dry leaves. I didn’t see or hear anyone. When I turned my eyes back to hers, though, I saw her looking at the front of my shorts and I knew she could see my hard-on.