This story is © 2004 by Robin Pentecost and may not be excerpted, reprinted, reproduced, or reposted in any form without the express written consent of the author. Visitors to this web site may read or temporarily download chapters but are not permitted to modify or re-distribute them.
None of the characters portrayed are related or intended to suggest persons living or dead and any resemblance is purely coincidental. The sexual activities described do not always take safe sex into account. Do not make that mistake yourself.
For several years Jill and I have spent our spare time at the beach. We have a neat, gray wooden house overlooking the sea, set a little back from the top of the dunes so that our front porch is sheltered from the sea breeze by the beach grass and the rise of the dune.
We bought the place because of the deck. We can lie naked in the sun all day, observing through the mesh that surrounds the railing those who, clothed, sun and play and swim below us.
The deck is on the upper floor overlooking the dune and onto the wide expanse of sand that slopes down to the water's edge, where the seagulls, terns and sandpipers run about on hungry errands. In the winter, it is beautiful and desolate and we prowl the beach for treasures, investigate the dunes and washes while there is no one to see but the creatures that live there so secretively. In the summer, it is still beautiful, but populated with sun worshipers from the city. The creatures withdraw into their burrows, except at night. The sea birds, ever hungry, never cease their search.
There are other houses along the dunes much like our own, but there is no other near us with a deck and with quite the view we have. We are very proud of it, we spend every day there we can. When we are not on the deck, we walk the beach, sit with others we know there, swim in the gentle surf.
On the lower floor another deck and back yard face the back of the dune. Even though it is open at the sides to our neighbors' yards, Jill goes topless there. It is private as few places are because it is obscured by tangled masses of prickly beach roses. I am convinced something lives beneath them.
At night we swim naked, knowing there are others who do so, too. When we meet them in the water, we pretend — either not to see one another, or to accept each others' nakedness as natural. But there is no doubt that after such a meeting, especially when we meet another naked couple in the brilliant moonlight, our lovemaking is raw, swift — more passionate than usual. Seeing our neighbors' naked bodies, being nonchalantly naked with them, excites me. It makes Jill wet and passionate beyond any dreams I once had of what sex with her would be. And, I'm an optimist!
Jill and I have been together only a little longer than we have had the house at the beach. Somehow, I think something about the place and its sexual heat, its feeling of sexual adventure, binds us together. We are very different; most of our interests diverge, though they do not conflict. We allow each other our freedom, to work, for friends, in most things. We are together because our genitals long for each other. Our life together is based on sex; fucking is our foundation. Talking about it is our communion.
When we met, it was at a gallery opening and I was attracted to her breasts, the sharply defined buttocks and dark Irish beauty; we left together soon after and stripped as soon as we could find shelter. I chewed her entire body that evening and all that night. Not just her breasts and her cunt and her mouth and her toes: every bit of her. I chewed her skin and swallowed her whole. I drank from her cunt, her armpits, her navel, the crack of her ass. I crammed my cock into her every opening, even those I could never penetrate. She demanded it.
'Fuck my navel, ' she said. 'Fuck my ear, come in it.'
We had sex from Friday evening until Monday morning and time for work. When we left work, it was to meet and mate again. It was not, of course, constant intercourse, but an evolving sexual adventure, touching, tasting, feeling, grasping, kissing. Lying together with our slippery, soaking genitals in contact. A constant friction of moist, naked nearness.
After a week of this, we sat naked together in her apartment. "You make me horny, ' she said.
"You're always horny, ' I replied.
"No, really. Mostly with you. I've had lovers; lots of them, I guess you'd say. The sex was just sort of what you did, and I did it a lot, but I could usually take it or leave it. You know, casual. You make me hot just to look at you. I see you and I want to strip you — like I did that first night. I want to do things with you... '
She got up and walked naked to the window, stood looking across the city street and confessed softly into the glass. "I want to do things I used to tell my girlfriends were dirty, disgusting.' She turned to look at me, leaning against the window frame, her buttocks pressed against the glass. "Until that night we met, I would never stand naked in front of a window like this. I never have, this is the first time.'
"Why are you doing it now?'
"Because it makes me hot to think that someone can see me — really, to know that you know they can — and know that you either want them to or don't care if they do. My cunt is dripping; it makes me want to fuck you.'
I got up and went to where she stood by the window. I could see no one across the street, but who knows?
"Turn and face the window, ' I said. She turned, and I pressed her nakedness against the glass. Her breasts and belly were flattened against the window pane. "Spread your legs, ' I said. She moved her feet as I slid between the cheeks of her ass.
"Fuck me, ' she said. "Right here. Let them watch.' I slid inside her and humped her against the glass, playing with her breasts, reaching to slip my finger into her sex and tickle her clit, kissing her neck now and then, but mostly exposing her body as we had the kind of open, wild, though languorous sex that was how we expressed our love for each other. I pulled back from her and fucked her ass until we came, framed for the world in the window. Afterward, for the first time, she told me she loved me.
The next day she met me after work at a bar we like. "I've been to the beauty parlor, ' she told me in the darkened booth.
"I thought you had your hair cut last week.' Jill's hair is very simple; she spends little on it.
"I got a wax job.' She grabbed my hand, pulled it between slick thighs; her vaginal folds were bare, smooth — and wet. She looked at me as she rubbed my hand on her sex. "No panties. It's another one of those things I always thought was dirty. So was shaving my pussy, letting someone see it. I sat there with my legs spread wide while this great-looking girl took all my hair off.' She grinned and moaned, humping my hand. "Like it?'
I took her home and we explored her new nakedness for hours.
We found the beach house some weeks later. We moved into it together and, almost as an afterthought, consolidated our living into the larger of our two apartments in the city.
In the city we are yuppie-stuffy. We dress seriously — our clothes are conservative armor against the workday world. We work hard, network intensely, play the professional games, make a lot of money, strive for advancement. Until we get home and we strip and fuck. Then, it is hard for us to dress again and go outside to shop or meet our peers. When we return, we strip again. We are naked as much as possible. Jill says, "I like it that you can just stick it in me. And I can always grab your cock and make you hard. I never knew it could be... ' She hesitated for a word. "Exciting. No, fulfilling. That's more like it.'
She told me she was serious about what she calls her "disgusters', the things she used to think were dirty. She is now resolved to try them all. "Until I find one I don't like, ' she said, "then I'll have to re-think. Somehow, with you, nothing seems dirty as long as it makes me feel good.'
At work one day, an email from Jill told me to meet her at an address I didn't recognize. It turned out to be a tattoo parlor.
"I want some roses, ' Jill told me. "And, I want you to watch.' So, I watched as the artist drew a red rose about one inch to the right of her hairless pussy, where it could only be seen if Jill spread her legs as widely as possible. When he was finished, Jill observed herself in a mirror. "Put a yellow one on the other side, ' she said.
As we left the parlor, she crushed my arm.
"You all right?' I asked, "Did it hurt? What was this one about?'
"I used to think letting a man see my panties was sick. That guy had his nose just inches away from my pussy for an hour. And, I'm so horny I could rape you here, ' she said.
One Saturday, Jill told me we had an appointment in the afternoon, but wouldn't tell me what it was about. She was dressed sexily — but that was standard weekend wear, now.
We went out, ending up in a loft belonging to a photographer. In the elevator, Jill told me, "I want you to screw me on camera. I'm going to put it on the DVD and play it all the time.'
We went in, and when the cameraman was ready, we stripped each other and began making love. "Make it last, ' she said, and I ate her, fucked her front and back, top and bottom, making her come as often as I could. We displayed her body, her sex, our mutual abandon in every way we could think of. Having the camera and cameraman peering at every fold of her sex, recording every squish and moan turned me on, but it also gave me enough objectivity to go on and on.
.... There is more of this story ...