She wasn't the most beautiful woman at the beach. A blonde sitting about 30 feet to his left clearly deserved that accolade. If Helen had been blessed with features and cornflower blue eyes like the blonde's the Greeks would have launched two thousand ships to retrieve her from Troy. But her features were regular and pleasant to look at, and her expressions displayed a certain depth that was totally absent from the blonde's stunning face.
Neither was she the youngest woman stretched on the crowded, khaki sand. Even excluding the obvious "jailbait" scattered about in giggling little groups, there were at least twenty other attractive women in sight who were certainly junior to her. There was an occasional strand of gray in her golden- brown hair, a hint of crow's feet at the corners of her gray/green eyes and slight, yet unmistakable signs that gravity had begun to have its effect on the generous breasts beneath her bathing suit.
And the suit itself was surely not the most provocative or revealing one being displayed that afternoon. Compared to the thong sported by the brunette just now jogging out into the surf, an activity which was surely calculated carefully to showcase the woman's well-muscled ass while simultaneously threatening to release an equally impressive bust line from the two triangular
swatches of nylon which were intended to both conceal and reveal it, her sleek black tank suit initially appeared unremarkable. A more lengthy observation, however, revealed the height of its cut on her long, honey-tanned legs, dips which revealed tantalizing glimpses of cleavage in both front and back, and a pattern of translucent panels that offered a shadowy view of the curved underside of each breast.
No, there was no single element of her appearance that could explain his attraction to her, but it was there nonetheless. The more obvious attractions of other women on the beach were irrelevant. She alone seemed to possess an indefinable combination of beauty, strength, and experience that added up to a subtle, yet obvious relish in her own sexuality. It was like the lure of a favored narcotic for an addict. He had to have her.
He crossed the few feet between them without even being aware of having taken a step. Gazing down at her, he said the only thing that would come to mind.
Shading her eyes with one long-fingered, French-manicured hand, she looked back up at him.
"Nice day to be at the beach, isn't it?" he suggested.
"Yes," she replied, smiling gently. "Yes, it is."
"Mind if I sit down?"
He settled onto the hot sand beside her, wishing he'd thought to bring a towel or a blanket to spread beneath him, as she had. He squirmed slightly as the back of his thighs protested at the excess heat they were being subjected to, but he was determined not to display any discomfort. He didn't want her to realize that he was willing to suffer first degree burns just to sit beside her.
She smiled again, a little broader this time.
"You don't have to do that," she told him.
"Do what?" he blinked.
"Fry yourself on the sand." She gestured to the brightly striped towel she was reclining on. "There's room here for two."
"You wouldn't mind?"
"No, I wouldn't mind."
She moved to her left, and he scooted over to occupy the bit of towel she had vacated for him. It wasn't very large, certainly not as large as he was, and he found that if he truly wanted to save himself from the overheated beach he was obliged to sit close to her. Very close. He noticed their hips were touching, and he could pick out the scent of the thin layer of coconut oil that glistened on her skin, even through the more pervasive odors of the sea itself.
"I'm not crowding you am I?"
"No, you're not crowding me."
"I mean, I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable. It is your towel, after all. I'll move if you want me too."
"I don't want you to move." She smiled yet again, her eyes glimmering in amusement. "You're fine right where you are."
They sat together for a while, watching the other people move around the beach or enjoy themselves in the water. His thoughts raced through a variety of alternatives for striking up a conversation, for "getting to know her," but each and every one failed to make it past his lips. They were together, he told himself, don't screw it up with too much talk.
She didn't seem inclined to conversation, either. After only a short while he noticed that her thigh was now resting against his, and the pressure of her hip on his had subtly increased. A few minutes later, she deftly tucked her right shoulder under his left and leaned back against him very gently. The scent of her hair, clean and sweet and smelling slightly of honey and almonds, blended with that of the coconut oil in a surprisingly potent aroma. Gazing over the top of her head, he could see well into her cleavage. Well enough, in fact, to notice as her right nipple gradually stiffened, emerging slowly from a wide, pebbled areole.
He began to feel his cock stiffen as well and, in the relative silence, he was sure she would be able to hear it scrape along the fabric of his trunks as it swelled.
"Well," he offered. "This is nice."
He couldn't see her face, but it wan't the least bit difficult to imagine the smile that must be crossing it.
"It sure is," she agreed, and the soft motion of her elbow, back and forth just once across his groin, left him wondering about just what she was referring to.
Her hand was now resting on his left thigh. After only a few moments, she began to inscribe little patterns on his sweat-slicked skin with her nails. Whether it was her intention or not, the effect on him was erotic in the extreme. His cock began to extend itself to its full length and he began to wonder if he shouldn't shift himself to accommodate the swelling.
"I do like this," she interrupted his racing thoughts. "But if I'm going to stay out here any longer I need to put on some more lotion."
She shifted away from, rummaging in the canvas beach bag that lay at her feet to pull out a dark brown bottle. Looking over her shoulder at him, she favored him with another gentle, knowing smile.
"Want to do my back?"
He almost gulped, like some dazzled adolescent, but did manage to keep his voice from cracking.
She handed him the bottle and stretched out on her stomach beside him. He nearly forgot what it was he was supposed to be doing as he enjoyed the view of her wide hips and full, firm ass. Her voice, soft and suggestive, made him remember.
"I like it worked in good," she told him. "Why don't you straddle my back so you can really rub it in hard."
Swinging one knee over her waist, he hurried to follow her instructions. Pouring the oil into his hands, he started on her neck (already a little pink, he noticed) and began to knead her skin and muscles as though he were giving a massage. Beneath his thighs, he could feel her chest expand and contract as she sighed deeply.
"You have really great hands," she offered. "That's good."
Encouraged, he moved on to her shoulders and then her lower back. Shifting his knees to keep a firm, even pressure in his fingers, he eventually found himself straddling her hips. His cock, now pointing rigidly toward his navel, rested lightly against her ass. As he worked the oil into the small of her back, watching raptly as a single drop rolled down into the shadowed
cleavage there, she began to slowly shift her hips from side to side.
"Um-m-m-m," she sighed again. "I like that."
He paused, once again not sure to what she was referring, and uncertain how much more he should do. Luckily, she was willing to clarify things.
"Hey, you fall asleep back there?" she pushed herself up on her elbows and half-turned to look back at him. "Don't forget to do my legs."
"Oh, yeah," he replied. "Of course."
He started at her feet, working the warm, sweet-smelling oil into first one foot and then the other, the right calf and then the left. Prompted by a low, steady stream of vocal appreciation, he barely hesitated before beginning on her thighs.
Now he noticed another scent mingling with the predominant aroma of the coconut oil, a rich, musky one that was unmistakable. She shifted herself a bit on the towel, sliding down closer to him. Her hips started to move again, pressing back against his fingers so that, slick with oil against her equally slick skin, they slid effortlessly beneath her suit and began to stroke the soft, round cheeks of her ass.
"Yes-s-s-s," she hissed. "Just like that."
He could feel the heat rising from between her legs and a moisture that was the product of neither coconut oil or sweat. Certain now that he would be welcome, he slipped his thumbs, side by side, into the crack of her ass and traced a long, wet line across her asshole and down between her legs. Her hips twitched up and both his thumbs were suddenly buried inside of her.