Oh yeah, I know how it's supposed to be. But I looked at him, his groin thrust toward us, hot, fat, wet, white juice dripping down his chest toward his meat, his shorts drenched from the couple of hours working his board in the surf, and I knew.
His mates all are egging him on like he's king of the tribe, only added to my conviction.
I knew I didn't want to risk not being the one. If I played the game, and looked away, he may not choose me. I looked hot, damn hot, but lets face it, so did the other eighteen year old girls in my group. We all looked fucking scorching. That's all we can do. We've got nothin' else. So he can have any one of us. But, if he does chose one of my friends, one of the other five delicious bikini-clad eighteen year olds with me, at least I will always be the one who did it. No matter who he fucks, I'm the one that did it.
So I stood up. I'd never looked better in my life. My hair was long and thick down my back, out and messy with the hot windy air and my bikini rode high on my hips, half sliding up my ass. My tits were cupped like perfect curls of coffee ice cream, sitting high and firm like they didn't even need the bra that barely covered them. I stood, heart racing, digits shaking, amid the wolf whistles and howls of delight from his friends. I walked over toward him. I placed my hands on his hips, bent at the waist, and stuck out my tongue.
