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The Flared Skirt

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I spotted her first across the stone island full of empty red solo cups, half empty glass bottles of every type of alcohol you can imagine, and the living room, which had been turned into a makeshift dance floor.

She stood in conversation with another girl; her dark hair was unbound, cascading down her back in a multitude of soft curls. I wondered if they were natural? Or if she’d spent an hour precariously curling each individual strand like most of the other girls I knew. A silk red ribbon had been woven through her locks, and tied sweetly at the back.

I wanted to pull it loose with my teeth.

The rest of her body was covered, or should I say hardly covered, in a cheerleader uniform. Her own cheerleader uniform. The one she wore every weekend at our college rugby tournaments. The tournaments I starred in as one of our college’s best rugby players.

That uniform was the bane of my life; the bane of most of my teammates lives.

A short, red skirt sat across the cheerleader’s hips, reaching a tad higher than mid thigh. Sometimes it was flared out, with old school pleats throughout, and sometimes tight, hugging every curve.

It made my mouth water, whichever way it was worn.

A white crop top accompanied the skirt, short sleeved in spring and summer, long sleeved in autumn and winter.

I knew from past experiences that some of the girls didn’t wear a bra under their crop tops. It was tight enough not to really notice, unless it was cold, (nipply, as Angus would say). Or unless you were Stacy Youngman, who I’d slept with last summer when I was a reckless eighteen-year-old. She had poured an entire jug of water over herself on purpose, proudly showcasing me her bare tits under her uniform, in a ploy to get me to fuck her.

It worked like a charm.

In the kitchen, I pressed my tongue into the side of my cheek, bringing my nearly full bottle of beer up to my mouth and took a sip. To my left, one of my teammates, William, was being felt up by a girl dressed in a bunny costume, complete with lacy ears and a white pom pom tail. Not seeming to be bothered by her wandering hands, William purposefully squeezed the girl’s fluffy tail. Earning a squeal that rang through my ears, before his hand travelled further down south, squeezing real flesh this time and being earned a more human-esque sound.

Did I forget to mention it was Halloween?

I’d chosen to just show up in my college rugby uniform. Not the most inventive of costumes, especially compared to some of my other classmates who had donned tight spandex superhero costumes for the boys, and just as equally as tight, slutty costumes for the girls. But I knew my rugby uniform got me wet pussy, so that was good enough for me.

Quite obviously the brunette exchange student, who had flown in from London, England just under a year ago, had had the same idea to wear her uniform as a costume.

I certainly wasn’t mad about it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted another girl dressed in a black, bunny costume - an exact matching pair to the lass beside me grinding all over my teammate - treading down the stairs. Her black hair, cut into a blunt bob, kissed her jawline as she walked.

I knew she’d set her sights on me when our separate lines of sight crashed.

Bypassing somebody in a bright green teenage mutant ninja turtle, with a purple shell on his back, who tried to grab her attention, she continued on her path, undeterred.

I searched in the back of my mind for her name; I swear I knew it.

Katie? Katherine? Kate?

“Hi Jamie,” she uttered once she’d reached me, her hand brushing where my green shirt stretched across my broad chest.

Through half-mast lids, I peered at her; smoky brown eyes, long, bambi-like fake eyelashes, pink lips. Her lips did look rather pillowy, she smelt good, something powdery and feminine, and the strands of her hair did look soft to the touch… but there wasn’t enough to wrap around my fist as I took her from the back.


“Kaitlyn,” she supplied, filling in the blank.

If she was bothered about the fact that I couldn’t remember her name, she didn’t show it.

Taking three bigger glugs out of the round top of my beer bottle, I wondered if I’d slept with her before.

Surely not…

Surely I would have remembered a lassie like her… but then again, most of last year had been a blur – my last year of proper freedom, before I really had to get my head down if I wanted any chance of graduating from college with a scholarship.

“You busy right now?” Kaitlyn tried again, fluttering those lashes for days. It was a miracle her eyelids weren’t aching. “I could use some fresh air… you know? Down by the shack, where--”

“Jamie, kiss me, quick!” Another lassie’s voice, harried this time, stopped Kaitlyn mid sentence.

I glanced to my left, almost forgetting myself, as I stared into the whisky coloured eyes of the foreign exchange student, turned all American cheerleader, who I’d been not-so-secretly staring at only a few minutes before.

Claire, her name was.

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

I kent it, not because I’d ever spoken to her, but because I’d asked around – gathering my intel from any source who would give it up… and as an all star rugby player, sources weren’t hard to find.

“What?” I choked out, surprised that the beer bottle dangling from my fingers had dropped and smashed all over the tiled floor beneath my feet. I prided myself on being confident around the lasses… but something about the Englishwoman…

“I said, kiss me!” She repeated herself, pressing herself against my front, and essentially barging Miss Bunny Girl out of the way.

Before I could say anything else, or even blink, Claire’s lips were against mine. I couldn’t stop the groan bubbling out my throat as she threw her arms around my neck, causing her soft breasts to rub on my chest.

Christ, she smelt good.

I was man enough to admit that my knees nearly buckled when the tip of her tongue traced the seam of my own lips.

Of its own accord, my empty hand not precariously holding my beer bottle squeezed her waist, meeting a sliver of bare flesh between the bottom of her crop top and the band of her flared skirt.

“Is he gone?” Claire whispered, her breath hitting my cupid’s bow. She tasted ridiculously sweet, like she’d been drinking something resembling grenadine.

I chased her lips for another kiss, before answering. “Who?”


I scoured the crowd above Claire’s head, searching for the bespectacled mathlete, Frank, that I kent she’d been dating for the past seven months. He was tall enough to usually spot. Always dressed in cream coloured chinos and a jumper, even when the weather outside reached soaring temperatures. Plus, he certainly didn’t strike me as somebody relaxed enough to come to a college Halloween party – so it wasn’t like I would find it hard to see him in a crowd of sweaty, drunk and high teenagers.

“Can’t see him,” I replied, my eyes flicking back to Claire’s face.

“Oh, good,” she huffed, moving backwards just enough to prop herself up against the stone kitchen island. Only a handful of centimeters separated us.

Stretching out my left leg, I gently tapped the top of her trainer covered foot with my own. “I’m guessing ye’ve broken up with him then, huh?”

I was glad that it was just us two (Miss Bunny Girl number one and William had slithered away, most likely to fuck and Miss Bunny Girl number two must have left once she realised my attention was elsewhere), particularly when Claire’s lips (glossy from our mixed saliva) parted in a pout. I placed my now empty bottle of beer in front of my half hard cock, lest it be visible straining in my tight black shorts.

Not that any of the horny teenagers here would really give a flying fuck.

“How do you know I was the one to break up with him?” She’d crossed her arms over her chest now, but it did nothing to hide the hard nipples that I’d seen peeking through her crop top. “What happens if Frank broke up with me?”

“So ye did break up?” I countered, unable to stop my smirk growing across my face.

“Yes. Now answer my question, Fraser.”

Bossy – I liked it.

My skin shouldn’t have flushed so hot when I realised not only did she ken my name, but she was using it in a sentence.

The ridged bottom of the green beer bottle clinked on the marble countertop behind me, as I placed it downwards, and covered the tiny gap between Claire and me. I needed her back in my hands, ASAP.

“Because look at ye, lass.”

To be fair to her, she raised her chin upwards to glare at me.

“What on earth does that mean?”

As the palms of my hands came to rest on her bare skin again, my thumbs wiggled beneath the hem of her crop top, brushing, what I felt to be, the curved bottom of her heavy breasts.

The lass was even more mesmerizing than I’d fantasized as she arched into my touch, face going slack with sheer pleasure.

“Ye’re gorgeous, Claire.” I nuzzled my way into her neck, leaving a wet kiss there.


For a second, I pulled away to stare back into her glass face. “Did ye kiss me tae make him jealous, lass? Is that what that kiss was?”


“Coz if it was I want a do-over tae make sure dear old Frank gets the point.”

Christ, her eyes were even beautiful when they were narrowed. “You said he wasn’t anywhere to be seen?”

He wasn’t.

“Kiss me, Claire,” I told her, giving no room for another answer.

This time, I didn’t stop myself from smiling against her lips when she went in for another kiss. Even more so, when my left hand landed on her bonny, round arse, pulling up the hem of her flared skirt just enough to bare the bottom of her cheek and palm it.

Mmh, I could do this forever.