This is my first story on Literotica.
I would welcome any constructive feedback, and please let me know if you spot any spelling or grammar errors.
This is the first of many chapters to come for this story. In fact at this time, early 2022, I’m still going with it and have just past 21,000 words.
Enjoy.
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Discovery
Chapter One
It was yet another gorgeous day, cotton wool drifting across the achingly blue sky on a light sensual breeze that just took the edge off the hot spring sunshine. We were driving from our villa down a road bordered by azaleas, their red and pink flowers swaying as we passed. A road that soon deteriorated to a potholed, single-track lane that led us through a series of hairpin bends — a dance across the cliffside — below us the vast Atlantic ocean, the coast of Africa in the hazy distance. A different continent; so close and yet so far from the European bustle of Lanzarote.
It was mid morning. We’d been offered local knowledge from Alicia, so were not surprised to see no other cars at the road end. I say ‘road end’, the beach was road-end, any further and we’d be floating to Morocco.
Alicia was the woman from whom we had hired our three week holiday home. With dark eyes and long, darker hair she was a heady mix of Spanish haughtiness and African mystique, a sultry, petite beauty, full of life. We’d already spent some great times with her since we’d arrived a few days ago; a lunch out and dinner over at her own villa. We both loved her for her passion, and her sense that anything was possible.
She lived next door, running the holiday villa with her husband. That was until he ran off with their daughter’s best friend’s mother last year. Now she ran it alone, her daughter at university in Madrid where she was studying fashion and design.
Of course I longed to get Alicia into bed. I suspected that she was a fiery spirit, and would love to have her wide and ready smile wrapped around my cock. Alas, these fantasies of mine. I hadn’t mentioned that to you, of course, you would have just rolled your eyes. And anyway, Alicia was way out of my league, even if I wasn’t devoted to you. Probably only mid forties, she wasn’t going to be interested in a mid fifties married man. And, even if she did have her own fantasies about me, or better still about us, there was no way that you would go down that road. And that was fine, these things needed to come from the heart as well as the mind.
And anyway, I’d made a complete fool of myself this morning, which was why you were still chuckling to yourself as we pulled up and parked.
We’d been up early, as we always were, and had wandered in to the village — town — something in between, to get some fresh bread. The bakery opened at 7.30 and it was worth the morning walk just for the smell of the place, but also for the fresh baguettes and croissants. By the time we’d walked back it was getting warm and I felt sweaty and grubby so, when we opened the front door of the villa, I walked straight down the hall, through the lounge and out of the patio doors, discarding shirt, shorts, underpants and finally sandals as I went, jumping straight into the cool water. I swam a couple of lengths, cleared my head from a little too much Rioja last night and was now in the perfect state of mind and body for a refreshing breakfast on the patio.
I strode up the curved steps and out of the water, single-pointedly focussed on juice, coffee and warm croissants. It took me a couple of paces towards the lounge before I realised that I wasn’t alone. Standing off to my left was Alicia, towels draped over her arm. I’d forgotten that we’d asked her for an extra couple for the beach and I hadn’t heard the side gate. Her mouth was agape and she was in mid stride. We stared at one another. I at her clinging t-shirt and tight shorts, her at my slim, running toned, six foot three dripping nakedness. It was a proper comedy tableau, like something out of a French porn film from the ’70s; ooh-la-la, snigger, snigger. Only it wasn’t that funny in real life and I was half expecting her to scream. After a few moments her eyes glanced down. And widened. I wasn’t hard, but I had been imagining you naked on the beach later on, and swimming with you in the sea, and maybe, who knows, if it was as secluded as Alicia had said…
I span around and jumped back into the pool. What else could I do? Turning around Alicia had dropped the towels on the floor just inside the patio doors and was on her way back.
“Thanks,” I said, “and I’m sorry”.
She glanced over her shoulder and grinned, mischievously. “No problem.”
At the road-end we grabbed our bags from the backseat; crammed with sunscreen, towels, lunch, a change of clothes and a lot of water. And hats. We found Alicia’s faint track easily enough, heading through low, rough and prickly bush, then up the slope that left the north end of the stony beach. It began easily enough, clear on the ground, but not clear enough to have been walked by many. Alicia had told us that the next beach but one was the best. It was about five kilometres, up and down, and who was going to do that in this heat? Clearly only mad dogs and Englishman, she’d added, with her distinctive side-of-the mouth smirky grin and that sparkle in her eyes.
After twenty minutes of winding switchbacks, the track becoming steeper and steeper, and our shins and ankles becoming sorer and sorer from the thorny bushes causing us to regret not wearing long trousers just for the walk, we topped out. The small plateau on which we stood was devoid of life, in fact it looked as if a bulldozer had scraped off the top layer of earth and pushed it off the cliff and down into the foaming sea below. Sweat ran off me like rain, the rocky plateau acting like a mirror.
In one direction was our car, and then cliffs rising beyond it, and then Costa Teguise in the distance, it’s many whitewashed resorts dazzling in the sunshine, the bustle and busyness in complete contrast to the almost complete silence here, broken only by the sea below and the birds that swooped up and over the cliff edge.
Gazing inland, rough country for miles. Trackless it seemed, but I doubted it. There would be sheep trails and shepherd’s paths and small holdings and corral areas. But from where we stood it seemed a desolate place; stark, arid and remote, despite not being far from urban ugliness. Untamed, and why would it ever be tamed, every habitation on the jagged piles of volcanic rock that made up the Canary Islands was on the coast. Easier to use a boat than to build too many roads, the busiest one being a loop around the coast which connected all the resorts and towns.
We continued on our way, down a rougher track that was barely on the ground. I agreed with Alicia, most people who walked it at all stopped at the view, maybe sunbathed, picnicked and then went back down to the sea for a swim. But we’d never been ‘most people’. This next beach was very similar to the last, where we’d parked, rocky and stark. We stopped for some water and a brief rest, the next climb looking just as steep and for which I was expecting no path at all. I would have liked to have taken off my t-shirt, made the most of the breeze to cool bare skin, but I knew from sore experience that sweat and rucksack straps didn’t mix.