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Ville meets a sad girl.
em? A lot?"
"Yes," he said, "it's called a fetish. I really like girls giving and getting wedgies. It arouses me unlike anything else."
"So..." she replied automatically, she must have had the question waiting, "You would like to give me a wedgie?"
When did this island turn into my own private confessional booth? He wondered, impressed by his wit, but still dismayed by the conversation.
"Yeah," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse as if strained from too much talking, but he cleared his throat and it quickly returned to normal.
"And you'd like it...if I gave you a wedgie."
"Yes," he said a little too quickly, and she giggled again. She moved closer to him, so close in fact that she was able to rest her head on his chest.
"Have you ever given a wedgie before? Or gotten one?" She asked. He really wanted to tell her that it was her turn, but he found that he couldn't, he really liked the feeling of her head on his chest, and he really liked where the conversation was going, even though it did make him a bit uncomfortable to be talking so much about something that for years he had kept a secret.
"Uh, well, not to or from another person," he said, hoping she'd get it. She did.
"You just gave them to yourself." It wasn't a question, but he responded as if it was.
"Yeah," well if she didn't think you were some kind of pervert before she does now; listen to you, talking about giving yourself wedgies because they arouse you.
"You poor thing," his first thought was that someone else had suddenly stumbled out of the forest and was in terrible condition; who else would she be calling a 'poor thing?' He looked up, didn't see anyone, realized she must be talking about him, blushed, and laid his head back against the cool sand. It was getting darker and they would have to light a fire soon, for light and warmth, and for the chance to get a good look at her face. To try and see what she was thinking.
"All alone, no one to please you. If I had to guess, wedgies gotten and given with another person are far better than the ones you do to yourself."
He thought he knew where this was going and he instantly got very excited, his arousal making itself known through the awakening of the organ he most associated with his fetish. She wasn't talking about... She wasn't actually saying they should... Was she?
"I did OK," he said, trying to sound nonchalant while having no idea of what to say or do.
"That's what I'm saying, all those years, growing up, I assume there aren't a lot like you. And you were only able to do OK? I think we can do better than OK!"
We can? He thought, and then, we can! Of course we can. But what is she suggesting? He knew, but he never expected when he thought about sharing truths that it would ever lead to this. It really was a dream come true.
"We can?" he asked.
"Yes, we can. How about this-" she pushed herself off of him and took a position on her knees facing him. Again he worried about her dress getting ruined, but she didn't seem to care, and his curiosity kept growing, urging him to find out what she wore under it. One part of his body was making a noticeable impression in his Hawaiian shorts, as it in particular wanted to find out.
"We get into positon across from each other like this," she said, gesturing to herself and her kneeling positon on the sand, and we can...countdown I guess. And when we reach zero, we both give each other a wedgie." Those words were enough to almost pleasure him without him even having to visualize a wedgie. She's probably pranking me, he thought, I'll get into position and she'll push me over, joking, saying something like, 'you honestly thought I'd let you give me a wedgie? What a freak!'
But he found himself getting into a position across from her, their bodies only inches apart, him slightly taller, her more attractive.