All references are to people who are over eighteen. Most names have been changed.
Growing up I was always introduced as Lucy, short for Lucinda the name of my Mum’s…or was it Dad’s great aunt. However, schoolfriends and those who had known me since my teen years all called me Liddy, because of my initials. That started when I spent four years in an all-girls boarding school in England, before returning to the States.
Why did my parents put me there? Because my father had a diplomatic posting to Europe and my mother was an English professor with a job in the US she was not prepared to sacrifice. She joined my father and me for vacations and I got to travel and see quite a lot of Europe and the UK. Did I love school? No. Did I hate it? No. I just lived through it. Along the way I made some good friends, whom I still see, and I think I got a good education. I certainly became a lot more ‘world aware’ than most of my contemporaries in the US.
Growing up I always wanted, and was encouraged, to write. However, although I have three novels, unpublished and in constant revision, I have a very necessary full-time job that I won’t discuss here. I was married for five years before he cheated on me. I am now happy in a fulltime relationship but not ready to tie the knot again.
As you know what I mostly write now are erotic stories. I often like to include details of real places I have spent time in on either side of the Atlantic. Apart from that some are pure fantasy; most have elements of the truth but never ‘the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’ My husband and I enjoyed a vigorous sex life enlivened by shared fantasies. His favourites were 1) watching me being seduced and subsequently fucked by strangers in various settings and 2) of us making love on an almost deserted beach that became gradually more populated by pervs and voyeurs watching us, filming us, and masturbating as they moved closer.
I call these his fantasies because in origin they were, but we both enjoyed them. Our sex life was all the better for it, as long as any infidelity stayed in the realm of fantasy. When I found him fucking a work colleague, that was the end. I had taken our marriage vows seriously and had no tolerance for his breaking our oaths of life-long fidelity.
Before I met my current partner, I had a number of years outside a stable relationship and expanded my experiences and horizons and I regret none of these as I better understand the range of human sexuality. My current partner and I enjoy these and other fantasies and are more open in our thinking but do nothing without the other’s full consent.
More on my background. Being at an all-girls school and vacationing with my parents I had few unrestricted encounters with boys. I do remember a ‘show and don’t tell’ while swimming at Lake Como, but I was nineteen before I was in a world where boys and girls mixed as equals. I spent that summer back in the States working at McDonalds. I really didn’t know anybody and felt quite out of place at first, but I did meet boys and they were these strange and wondrous creatures. For the most part they were polite but most liked to brag about themselves and hit on me.
I confess I liked the attention especially when I met a quieter boy who seemed more interested in me. That was when I first got intimate with a boy. We were soon kissing and moving through the bases until I was letting him fondle my breasts and I gripped my first erect cock. What a thrill! There was no way I was going to ‘go all the way.’ I was scared stiff of getting pregnant for one thing and also held onto the idea of being a virgin bride.
After a few dates, I did start giving him hand jobs and letting him touch my breasts. Once when he took me out in his dad’s car, we parked, and I gave him head. I didn’t enjoy it, it tasted hairy and smelly, and I vowed to give no more blowjobs, unless the guy showered or washed thoroughly first. A resolution I have stuck to ever since.
At the end of the summer, it was back to university in England. I had the necessary exams and anyway I felt more at home in Europe and loved that a whole world lay just a few hours away across the channel. This was the year before 9-11 and travel was cheaper and simpler. My parents were generous and supportive.
In my first term I fell into an easy existence of studying, visiting pubs, and going to dances and parties. Many of the boys who took me out tended to expect a hand job at the end of the evening. They’d often catch the cum in tissues or handkerchiefs, or in toilet paper they’d stored in their pockets in anticipation. I gathered from the British girls I hung out with that this was customary if you liked the boy and had had a nice time, and in many cases, if the evening had gone well and ended with kisses, I obliged.
Honestly, I liked the feel of guy’s cocks and the sensation of bringing them off would get my juices flowing. I could sense their mounting excitement and the tightening of their ball sack as the moment approached. Mostly this happened in their cars if they had them. I learned early to point their cocks away from me as one time some cum landed on my skirt. Most guys shot what I would have guessed was two or maybe three tablespoons of cum, so I was quite surprised when one guy shot a first spurt that hit his windshield and dashboard and just kept spurting. He could have easily filled a cup, I think.
After a while I got a little braver and I allowed a few to feel me up, not just my nipples and bare breasts but inside my panties. I liked the feeling as they stroked my clit, but I did not let them penetrate me even with a finger. I was always worried as I started to feel I might lose control. I went out on several dates with a nice Scottish boy and one day we went for a drive in the country. We drove quite a way and parked and walked into a quiet clearing by a lake.
Although it was early November the air temperature was in the mid-sixties Fahrenheit and the sun was hot. He stripped off and jumped in the lake and dared me to do the same. Like an idiot I did so. Supposedly, it was fed by warm springs, but it was absolutely freezing. When we got out, he produced a towel from his backpack and rubbed me dry while he stood shivering. I dressed quickly as he towelled off.
As he pulled on his shirt and sweater, I looked at his shrivelled cock and shrunken balls and pushed him down on the ground. I massaged his balls while I sucked life into his cock. He was only the second boy to get a blowjob from me and the first I completed. I kept going until his balls almost vanished into his groin and he came in my mouth. I spat most of it but kept swirling a little round my mouth to decide if I liked the slightly bitter salty taste. It was all right. I have since found that cum can come in a variety of flavours; none I’d call real favorites.
Then four weeks before the winter break, I met Xavier. His background was quite similar to mine, although he was Canadian from Montreal. Like me he had had much of his schooling in England, and in his case, a little in France. He seemed such a kindred spirit understanding both sides of the Atlantic that we hit it off at once. He was athletic but something of an introvert, although he had established himself with a group of good friends. It was our fourth date before he kissed me. In fact, I kissed him, but he responded warmly, and things escalated quickly from there.
Before I met him, I had signed up for a ski trip to the Austrian Alps. It was too late for him to sign up and he had already committed to going home to Canada for Christmas. I did not tell him, but I had decided that, although I was not close to being ready to contemplate marriage, he was the one who would pluck my cherry when the new term began. For one thing I was tired of the ‘goodie-goodie virgin’ teasing from the other girls. I did not want to rush into it just as he was leaving, as it occurred to me it was quite possible, he was a virgin too, and we would have to take our time if we wanted to enjoy it.
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As we gathered at the Waterloo train station in London, there were literally dozens of students from assorted universities milling around on the platform, many wearing their ski wear and carrying ski bags and boots in addition to a regular suitcases or large duffel. As I was one of those planning to rent the necessary ski equipment on arrival at our destination, I was wearing my regular street clothes along with my newly acquired anorak or parka. My equally newly purchased ski pants, shirts and socks were packed in my suitcase with my other belongings.
Boarding the Eurostar train for the journey through the ‘chunnel’ to the continent was a new experience for me and I was somewhat nervous. My friend Jane and I had seats facing forward. Her boyfriend Sandy sat facing us with his back to the engine. Another young man who introduced himself as John sat beside Sandy. He was rather good looking and not at all shy and soon we were all swopping experiences. John, like Sandy was a second-year student, and had been on a similar trip before.
In the event the journey was less frightening than I had feared. Although the first section from London to the channel was rather slow, we were so busy talking that we were through the ‘chunnel,’ and out into the fields of France before we knew it. In Europe you crossed borders without even realizing and an hour or less later we were greeted by the lights of Brussels in the early evening winter dusk.
In Brussels we had time for a quick meal before climbing aboard a new train for the journey to the Austrian Alps. The carriages were already configured into sleeping compartments each with four bunks, an upper and a lower on either side. Nobody seemed to care about segregating the sexes. By now John was part of us and we four found a compartment to share. At first, we sat two by two on the lower bunks while we played cards, talked, and drank the two bottles of wine that John and Sandy had bought at the Brussels station.
I wasn’t used to drinking much and found myself falling asleep. Then everyone decided it was time to get some sleep. After we all went to wash, pee, and clean our teeth, Jane and I took the lower bunks on either side while the boys took the top bunks. We weren’t changing into pyjamas, but as it was warm, we did take off and fold our jackets and pants. It would be more comfortable sleeping under the blanket in our tops and underwear. I found it somewhat exciting to undress even if only slightly in the presence of these boys I barely knew.
Sleep came quickly but I woke quite early feeling a little chilly. It only took a minute for me to realize that at some point Sandy must have come down and slid into Jane’s narrow bunk beside her. Perhaps he had just done so and that was what had woken me. There was a little whispering and fumbling movement and then a stillness before they started to move quietly and rhythmically. “Shit,” I thought, “They’re making out.”
At least they weren’t cold. I was lying there, party in shock and partly in envy, and getting mildly aroused when in the dim light I saw John’s feet landing on my bunk on the way to the floor.
“He’s going to the loo,” was the thought that entered my mind but then he leaned in towards me. With a smile that was barely discernible in the darkness, and without a word, he lifted the blanket and slid in beside me. There really wasn’t room to lie side by side and he was more on top of me. He leaned in and kissed me, and I felt his underwear against my bare leg. I reached out and my hand closed on fabric and within that a rapidly stiffening penis. I held it and my breath for a second and then let both go.
He continued to kiss me and caress my breasts. I found my hand had slid under the waistband of his underwear and I was slowly stroking him. I was conscious that this was something beyond my experience, but as we continued to kiss and his hand rubbed across my panties, I was not about to stop. He was the one to move my hand from his hard penis. He pressed something into my hand as he rocked back on his calves and let out a muffled “Fuck!” when his head came in contact with the upper bunk.
I was aware of his shuffling, as I realized I was holding a wrapped condom in my hand. Memories of a ‘sex ed’ class full of embarrassed laughter as we girls in turn unrolled one over a dummy penis went through my head. It was the only other time I had ever held one.
I don’t know what he expected but I quickly handed it back to him. I heard him tear the wrapper and after a moment I felt his body above me again. I reached forward and my hand immediately found his condom cloaked penis. Instinctively my forefinger and thumb closed on the little bubble at the tip as we had been instructed to do to make sure there was no air trapped in it. His underwear was gone, and he reached forward and pushed my panties to one side. I was terrified and desperately aroused.
A finger brushed up and down my clitoris and the thrill ran up my spine. It touched the wetness of my opening cunt. Yes, I knew the “c” word. I’d read “Lady Chatterley” and heard it enough. It wasn’t part of my vocabulary, but it was the word that was in my head now. I raised my bum slightly as he pulled my dampened panties down my legs. They came off one foot and were left dangling from the other ankle. If consent is conveyed by an almost silent intake of breath and the spreading of my legs, then he had my consent and he took it as such.
Stroking my clit again he pushed the tip of his penis into me. He raised himself on his elbows and pushed forward meeting resistance. I felt rather than heard the ‘pop’ of my hymen and an instant of pain as his pursued his gentle assault. I was transported by the rhythmic whisper of the train over the rails and the faint sounds of sex from the bunk opposite into a James Bond moment as this complete stranger continued to push his cock into me.
I was on fire enjoying every new sensation. My whole being was absorbed in the feeling of my virgin vagina adjusting to his girth. He was long enough to lightly touch what I later learned was my cervix. I remembered his stiff cock had felt quite long and thick in the darkness. I was aware of the sounds of someone’s muffled climax from the other bunk as I revelled in the eroticism of my situation. I have had very few orgasms brought on by a penis alone, but I was so full of anticipation that this was one of them. I know John felt it as my whole body was wracked by spasms and my muscles tightened around him.
His movements speeded up as I pulled my knees up to grip his waist and my feet started drumming on the backs of his thighs. He didn’t last much longer, and a second orgasm shook me as I felt his climax. I don’t think I shouted, but I was definitely louder than our companions. To this day I’m not sure, but I think John uttered some expletive too.
He collapsed on me for a minute or two as his penis shrank. Then he pulled back and retrieved the condom which had come off as he withdrew. I felt him pull its length out of me and sensed him tying a knot in it. I think he dropped it to the floor. I was vaguely aware that Sandy was climbing back to his upper bunk.
John and I must have dozed, for his weight was still on me, as I sensed his cock was hardening again. I reached out to confirm it and my legs parted as he slid into me again. I don’t even think we were fully awake. The feeling of his naked cock was different, so much better in fact, and I knew that we…I …should not be doing this, but then a thrill passed through me, and I felt the feelings build again.
As he came fully awake, he raised himself on his arms again and moved them outside my thighs raising my legs to his shoulders. My outstretched toes brushed the bottom of the upper bunk as he continued his gentle thrusting. There was a sharp intake of breath from the bunk opposite. The early dawn light was leaking around the edge of the blind and I sensed Jane must be watching. The blanket had fallen to the floor, and even if dimly, everything must be on display.
A sense of shame and excitement filled me as I felt her eyes upon me. I was not mistaken because my hearing was acute, and although I could hear Sandy’s steady breathing as he slept peacefully in the upper bunk opposite, I could also hear Jane starting to masturbate as she watched us. That made the whole situation even sexier. I don’t think John knew as he kept an even pace, but another orgasm swept through me, and I bit my lip. He just kept going. He must have felt that one too, but he was now intent on reaching his own climax which was not coming as quickly.
My unaccustomed inner thighs were beginning to chafe as he lifted his whole body on his toes and outstretched arms and went into the final sprint. He audibly grunted as I felt his cum fill the depths of me. That wasn’t good. My periods had always been light, and I wasn’t on the pill or anything. I should have… could I have…it was all too late. All I could do was hope. I decided I should not tell him. It was not his problem; he wasn’t to know.
Then he slid off me, stood up and pulled on his underwear. He must have picked up the condom and he slipped out into the corridor. My hand went to my still pulsing ‘vag’ and explored the wetness there. I was leaking cum, and I sat up and pulled a tissue from my jeans pocket and shoved it into my dripping hole. There was now no sound from the bunk opposite. A moment later John returned, leaned in, and gave me a kiss and put the blanket on me before climbing back to the top bunk. I lay there in shocked amazement as my excitement subsided. After a few minutes I heard the sound of the light breathing of sleep from the bunk above and thought I will never sleep again.
I was shaken awake by Jane to the sounds of an announcement saying something in German and then “We will be arriving at Kitzbuhl in ten minutes.”
The others were already up, and I hurried unsuccessfully to pull up my panties under the blanket, but the one side was hooked between my toes. With no time to spare I stood up exposing my nudity, unhooked them and pulled them on, and then pulled on my jeans. I fixed my bra and pulled my shirt back on. I did not remember when it had come off. I put on my boots and anorak and took hold of my suitcase as the train slowed and I followed the others into the corridor. My last glance back showed an unmade bunk and a bottom sheet in disarray with obvious traces of blood and cum on it. I was filled with shame and prayed the others did not notice.
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When we arrived at our ‘pension’ John and Sandy were assigned one bedroom and Jane and I another. Each room just had a double bed with a big down duvet and a bolster to put down the middle to give us each our own space. Instead, John and I had one room and Jane and Sandy the other. John and I had sex another six times that week, sadly but of necessity, it was always with a condom. I even found a use for the bolster as I placed it under my butt to give him deeper access. As it was too cold to open the windows the whole room began to smell of sex. While this was mildly disgusting it was also highly arousing.
All in all, with the skiing and partying the week was a great success, even if I felt a little sleep deprived by the end. On the last night Jane joined me in bed and the boys were back in their room. We were mostly packed and had an early train to catch in the morning. I was just in a waking doze when I felt a hand on my thigh. Jane had wrapped herself in the duvet and I was lying naked. I felt his weight as he climbed on the bed between my legs and his hard cock pressed into me.
I was starting to respond when I felt something was wrong. There was no condom and his cock felt different. I opened my eyes to find Sandy on top of me.
“No!” I shouted and hit him. I aimed for his chest but caught him in the throat which was probably more effective. He pulled back and by now Jane was also fully awake.
“You bastard!” she shouted as she understood what was happening. She slapped him across the face with a slap so hard the whole house might have heard it.
I think he thought he could talk it away, but one look at the two of us and the words froze in his mouth.
“You fucking rapist!” she shouted, not caring who heard. “Get out of my sight.”
All the blood left his face at her words, and he brushed past John who was now standing in the doorway looking confused. We did not see Sandy again on the journey home. I guess he was somewhere on the train but not with us. John and I hugged, kissed, and promised to write when we parted on the platform at Waterloo. We did write once or twice but with a new term underway I reconnected with Xavier and John became part of a very memorable memory.
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I was right. Xavier was a virgin, but he became a fast learner. I credit him with two developments in my sexual experience. He loved watching and had a knack for finding other students hiding places where they thought they could make out in secret. Along with that he loved to make out in places where we might be discovered and with his cock buried deep inside me, he would hold my trembling body as people passed us by unaware of the sight they were missing. The first few times I was scared out of my mind but then the excitement just added to the enjoyment of the sex.
Sadly, that summer he had to transfer back to a school in Canada to complete his degree as his brother was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. In the two years that followed I had other boyfriends some briefly and others for longer periods. It was at the start of my third year that I got stupidly drunk on a trip to someone’s cottage, and I was raped. I’d drunk some beers and got persuaded into doing shots and suddenly I was feeling nauseous. I barely made it to the loo before I threw up, partly in the toilet, partly on myself.
These two guys came in and shepherded me upstairs to the full bathroom, helped me strip and put me under the shower. They towelled me dry and as the alcohol still in my system continued to work its magic, I found I could barely stand. They wrapped me in a bathrobe that was hanging on the door and took me to a bedroom and laid me naked on the bed. I started to curl up to sleep but they spread me across the bed and one of them got between my legs and started licking my clit. I was half passed out and the feeling was non-threatening and nice. I started to relax but when he stood and started to move between my legs, I suddenly had enough sobriety to say “No” and kick out at him. My drunken kick only hit air, but I pulled my foot back in and turned sideways lying with my legs locked together.
Then the other guy crossed to the other side of the bed, pulled my arms straight out above my head, and sat down holding them. That forced me onto my back and the first guy reached out and forced my legs apart. He rubbed my clit a few times and put two fingers in me. He withdrew them and as I stared in disbelief, he licked them. He moved closer and I felt his dick penetrate me. I’d seen him earlier; I remembered him because he had this really pathetic moustache. He wasn’t violent. In fact, he was extremely gentle and rubbed my clit as he pushed further into me. He continued to massage my clit and labia as he thrust back and forth in my vagina. I kept saying “No” but the truth was I was getting aroused in spite of myself.
I might have reached an orgasm if he had not suddenly spilled his sperm inside me. By now I was on the pill so that worry was gone. He pulled out, walked around the bed, and took hold my wrists as his buddy let go and came round to have his turn. He pushed straight in and began to shaft me vigorously but still not violently. By this time in my life, I had had rougher sex consensually more than once. His faster pace brought my renewed arousal to a fever pitch and despite myself I came violently, just as he came. I felt his cock continue to jerk inside me as more and more of his cum flooded my vagina.
I lay in shock as Mr. Moustache was back in front of me. My wrists were pulled back again and the whole process started over. There was no pleasure this time and as I started to shout a pillow was pushed in my mouth. When they had each finished a second time they were gone before I realized, and I just lay there still chewing on the pillow. In the end I curled up exhausted and fell asleep.
When I sobered up the following morning, I found the girl whose parents’ cottage it was and told her what had happened. She knew them; indeed, they were friends of hers, and I watched as she told them what I had told her. They did not deny it happened. They just insisted it was consensual; I had invited it and even enjoyed it. Mr. Moustache even said, ” I’m sorry you’re suffering ‘morning after remorse,’ but last night you really wanted it.” That was an outright lie, but it was two against one and I let it die rather than have the story do the rounds, as it surely would have. The I think many women have found themselves in similar non-consensual situations, but without recourse.
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It was on Spring break of my third year that I first accepted a fare paid invitation to join my parents at the ‘villa’ they rented each spring at Orient Beach Village in Saint Martin. It was about five years earlier that they had started to go down there for a month or more each winter. The ‘villa’ was really a two-bedroom townhouse with a pool much like I have described in one of my stories. My parents weren’t nudists at home, but I was not unused to seeing their naked bodies. They slept in the nude and rarely had more than a towel with them as they went from bedroom to shower and back.
I was the one who was always more modestly covered on those trips back home. So, it was a strange experience to be disrobing before them on the nude end of Orient Beach especially as they had lots of friends to say “Hi” to. In fact, on the first day I wore my bikini for half the morning, before discarding the top and revealing my very white breasts. I experienced my first beach ‘Happy Hour’ when Dad returned from the Peach Bar with a Pina Colada each for my mother and me. One of his buds came with him carrying a Planter’s Punch for each of them.
I was quite embarrassed as this naked man my father’s age shook my hand and said how pleased he was to meet me. At least I was wearing my reflective sunglasses. He tried to maintain eye contact, but I know he checked me out and noted how my nipples responded to his attention. I saw his semi-aroused dick give a nod too. If you have read my stories, you may have guessed I am rather proud of my very responsive nipples. At the time of meeting this stranger I was more ambivalent about them. I enjoyed their easy arousal in sexual foreplay but was embarrassed how easily they responded in situations like this. It’s something I have grown to delight in as the more exhibitionist side of my nature has blossomed.
Orient Beach was an education. By this time, I had seen, and touched, well over a dozen guys’ dicks (if you count the hand jobs I’d given). But they were all white guys of about my own age (actually, also one Chinese guy.) Here there were mostly older guys, mid-thirties and up, way up in some cases, and while mostly white, there were also black guys, Asians, and Latinos. On that first day, just walking the beach I must have seen well over a hundred dicks of various shapes and sizes, almost all of them flaccid or slightly tumescent at most. There was one guy strolling the beach who seemed quite content to show off his fairly erect cock. It stuck out almost horizontal to his body.
My mother used words I had not heard her use before to express her disapproval. Any implication of sexual activity on the beach was strictly discouraged, and security were there to enforce it if necessary. It was the women who surprised me more as there were quite a number who straddled their loungers and were shaved to the extent, they left little to the imagination. This was also an education because up to that point in my life, I had only ever had brief glimpses of other girls’ ‘hoo-hahs’ in changing rooms. I’d never even seen Jane’s up close in Austria.
I was used to shaving down there when I was dating but quite happy to let the bush grow at other times. Xavier was the first of my boyfriends to actually shave me. That had started me, and he had encouraged my doing so as he preferred to eat pussy, when the clit and cunt were clean shaven. I would trim the hair on my mons with scissors or sometimes shave to a landing strip, but I only once went fully hairless, the full Brazilian, and I didn’t like the look. My labia, both majora and minora, are quite prominent enough without emphasizing them. It may be all right for girls whose vulva is closed, the little girl look. Now I realized they were very much the minority and wondered if with age that situation became even rarer.
Speaking of which, on that first day I hadn’t given much thought to it, and it wasn’t until we were talking on our loungers while sipping our drinks that I realized I had not done any preparation. My Dad was clearly trimmed, and his balls were clean shaven. Mum had a trim triangle, which at the top was almost as wide as her mons but came to a point just at the top of her clit. Below that she was clean shaven. I, by contrast, was a hairy mess and I was glad when Mum suggested we go back to our villas for lunch.
My parents had been down here for two weeks already and so the lunch things were quickly produced from the refrigerator. We ate a variety of cold meats, cheese and mixed salad and drank a chilled rosé wine. As soon as I could be excused, I went to get a razor, scissors, and some privacy. When I came back downstairs my Mum was swimming and my Dad was nowhere to be seen. I asked where he was.
“I’m surprised you did not hear him. He went upstairs for a nap. I might join him shortly. Why don’t you go back to the beach as you’ve just arrived?”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought this might be a hint they would like to have sex, so I said, ” Good idea. I’ll leave you in peace for an hour or two.”
Going back to my lounger I discretely but thoroughly applied more sunscreen. No point in getting burned on day one. I had just picked up my book to read when I was struck by the appearance of a guy about my age. As I said young people of my age were quite a rarity. His lounger was no more than fifteen feet in front of mine. He had just removed his shirt and, whereas his arms and legs to just above his knees had what my parents call ‘a golfer’s tan,’ his almost hairless chest was only lightly tanned.
He was wearing a type of speedo, short tight shorts rather than a banana pouch, and was now in the process of pushing these to his ankles. As he stepped out of them, I saw the area revealed from his waist to his thighs was even whiter than me. I also noticed a chubby cock pop out to greet the world of sunshine. Was it flaccid or slightly aroused? He was cute rather than handsome and he turned my way and smiled. It was a really nice smile that lit up his whole face, his eyes, his mouth and…well, his whole face.
I found myself smiling back as he pulled out his spray can of sunscreen and stood there spraying himself. He covered his whole front from ankles to shoulders, not missing his private bits. He sprayed some on one hand and carefully worked it over his face and neck avoiding getting any near his eyes. He was struggling to aim it at his back, when he caught me watching. I signaled him over, stood up and took the can from him. I sprayed the back of his shoulders and between his shoulder blades and began to lightly rub it in.
“You need to rub it in to make sure it goes everywhere.” I whispered in his ear. I felt his body tense as he first felt my hand upon him. I worked down his back to his waist as he began to rub his shoulders and chest where he had sprayed. I crouched and went up the backs of his legs from the ankles to his thighs, as he rubbed from his knees to the front of his thighs. It was then I noticed his shadow and that although I was behind him his shadow revealed that his cock was now out at thirty-five-degree angle from his body.
When I went to his butt, I massaged his glutes. I sensed he was going to stop me but thought better of it. I finished brushing spray between his butt cheeks and was glad to see the shadow was now almost horizontal.
He grunted, “Thank you,” and quickly sat down on his lounger. As I stood and watched he rubbed the lotion into his balls and already stiff penis and rolled over to lie on his stomach. I put down the spray can beside him.
“You’re very welcome,” I said, and went back to my towel.
I read for twenty minutes and then got up. As I walked by him, I said, “I’m going for a swim. Maybe you should too. You don’t want to burn.”
I headed for the water and turned back just before I got there in time to see him get up and head towards the water too. He was still slightly aroused, and he went straight into the water rather than following my direction. I swam out past some moored yachts and was not surprised to see him appear a minute or two later on the other side of them.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Dawn,” I answered giving him my second given name. The one I use a lot when I’m on holiday. That way they are less likely to find me on the internet if they are stalkers.
“Dawn, that’s a nice name, I like it. I’m Mike, Mike McCaffrey.”
“Hello, Mike,” I said, “I expect I’ll see you around.” I turned and swam away. I don’t know if he expected more, but although I’d found our little encounter titillating, I wasn’t about to do anything with someone I’d just met. Some of my characters might, but that’s the difference between fiction and reality.
After my swim I moved back to my lounger, sat down, and put on my sunglasses, which I had laid down beside my book. I could see Mike was looking at me and after a minute I let my legs fall either side of the lounger and felt my labia blossom under his gaze. Might as well give him a little joy, and for the first time I felt the liberation of fully exposing myself in public.
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No matter what anyone says I believe you cannot spend time on a nude beach without your libido ticking up a notch or two. I don’t mean you are constantly horny. You can be perfectly relaxed among people who just enjoy the freedom that being nude brings. I have been to nude beaches in Europe where whole families from grandparents to toddlers have been happily at play and I’ve thought nothing could be more natural. But every now and then you see someone, male or female, so striking that it sends a shiver through you and not in a bad way.
Can this happen in other circumstance? Of course, it can, but in my experience, it just happens more often on nude beaches. I know my parents feel it too. By the time I had spent that trip to Saint Martin with them, I knew they were having sex a lot more frequently than at home. At home it might be twice a week, here it was every day and sometimes twice a day. What was frustrating for me was that the walls in the townhouse were a lot thinner than at home and their bedroom was right next door.
It was on my fourth day that they persuaded me to join them on the Tiko-Tiko nude cruise. Being definitely the youngest person, I was tempted to keep my bikini bottoms on. Don’t ask me why? That lasted, while we made the crossing to Tintamarre, but I decided I had no desire to wear a wet costume as most people dived or jumped in to swim to the shore. My parents had not commented on my earlier decision. They had, of course, not hesitated to be as nude as everyone else.
Most of us snorkeled in the morning, although one couple chose to stay under their umbrella and close to the drinks cooler. It was at lunch that I really met the other people on the trip. They were a real cross-section of humanity from all walks of life. Once your clothes are off, so are most of your pretensions.
A nude beach is about the most accepting place you can be. After the first introductions where most people were open about who and what they were and whether it was their first cruise, conversations were going on on multiple topics around the table. Everyone had the good sense to stay right away from politics, even then. Despite being a newbie nudie, I found I was relaxed and enjoying myself as the captain and his girl assistant, dressed only in a bow ties, served us food and wine.
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Let’s get a few questions I’m often asked about Saint Martin out of the way. After that first time I have been back many times but never again with my parents. If you have been, you might have sat right beside me. If you tend to notice these things, as I do, you might have looked twice. I’m five-nine with boobs that fill a B cup and even today are still perky. I would not want them any larger. What you probably would notice first are my nipples; they do tend to get hard and jut out at the least provocation even a faint breeze.
I’m not a fanatic but I continue to work out enough to keep in shape. I like how I look, especially in the nude. If we met on the beach or at Papagayo or the Perch Bar or even on a nude cruise, I would have been Dawn. Over the years I have met so many people there. Sadly, I have not been back since Irma devastated the place.
The questions: is the island of Tintamarre a real place? Yes. Is there a second beach on the right side of the island? Yes. Have you had sex there? Yes, more than a few times. Were you spied on? Not to my knowledge. Have you ever spied on someone else having sex there? No. Have you ever had sex in the sea in front of Orient Beach? Of course, probably at least once on every trip, and over the years that probably means with at least three different men. Were you spotted? Quite possibly, although I’ve always tried to be very discrete, and no one ever made an issue of it. I have seen others do it and it’s hard to totally hide what you are probably doing, although you can leave them guessing. Did you have sex on that first trip? I plead the Fifth. Have you had a nude massage on the beach? Yes, quite often. It’s very relaxing and for me mildly arousing. Am I a voyeur? Yes, if the occasion arises, I find it irresistible. Am I an exhibitionist? Yes, that too on the right occasion is a guilty pleasure.
Enough questions. If people meet me who have read some of my stories the questions never stop. They find them titillating and to a degree, so do I. One other question. Do I consider myself immoral or an easy lay? Absolutely not and I do not cheat.
Talking of which I met my husband in our final year. We got married not long after graduation. We shared many common interests, and both quickly found interesting jobs. We were both into having sex on an almost daily basis, sometimes it was slow and sensual lovemaking but often it was just fucking. We explored new positions and found the ones that we both liked best.
Some evenings I would take a bath and afterwards he would eat me out bringing me to great orgasms. We bought toys, and I found holding a vibrator to my clit would bring me off as he reached his own climax. On vacation we were even hornier sometimes fucking several times a day. I thought we couldn’t be happier, until the day I felt unwell at work and came home early. I caught him fucking her up the arse in our bed and she had my thrusting vibrator in her cunt. Fucking cunt!
She was a colleague from his work. We’d met at work events, and I knew she had been with him on one or two business trips in the past few months. He said it didn’t mean anything he just needed a change. It meant something to me, and he got his change; I threw him out of the house and filed for divorce. I was one angry bitch.
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Over the past several years I have become more relaxed in my views, but I still will not brook cheating or betrayal. My current partner and I have a more open relationship, but it is consensual, and we have boundaries beyond which we will not tread. We are not swingers as a couple, but we allow each other free passes if we have to be away from each other, and things happen. We love to give each other blow by blow details as part of our foreplay.
When he found my real first name was Lucinda, he called me ‘Cinders’ but only once. He switched to Cindy, which I quite like. So, in addition to having older friends who call me Liddy or Lucy our new friends all know me as Cindy. At parties it can get complicated until I explain. Those friends mostly do not know me as Dawn, however, and the few who do and know why, are discrete. I’m actually quite proud of the stories I write but I don’t need everyone to know.
Unless or until I am ready for a more traditional relationship I will not marry again, and I think it’s a little late to contemplate having children although part of me would have liked to. End of my confessional.
THE END
Copyright: © Dawn Ramble 2022