I

The August boardwalk was a sultry wall of heat and chaos. We walked at a snail’s pace, trapped in the flow of a summer-loving crowd, while the bass from the beach clubs made the air vibrate. Amid all that brazen, exposed skin, Alexandra—twenty-seven, with an almost girlish appearance—seemed to almost want to hide.

She had chosen to leave her long, dark hair down and wore a light, ivory cotton sundress with a tiny blue floral print. The dress had delicate spaghetti straps and flared just above the knee, something she hoped would let her blend in. The bodice hugged a petite torso, with small shoulders, a delicate neck, and firm breasts that barely filled an A-cup. Beneath it, though, the thin fabric couldn’t hide her hips and a beautiful, rounded backside: a lush contrast to her frame, with long, shapely thighs that I loved watching move with her every step.

I squeezed her hand twice, catching her attention with our usual signal. She looked around, searching for the target I had spotted, the one I knew would catch her eye. She spotted her instantly, about thirty feet ahead of us.

She seemed a few years younger than Alexandra, with pitch-black hair tied high in a sleek ponytail. She wore a black bodycon micro-dress, so short and tight that with every stride in her high heels, it rode up, exposing her tanned skin. She walked with a deliberate confidence, swaying her hips as if the street were her personal runway. She knew perfectly well that every eye was on her.

“Look at that slut,” Alex whispered in my ear, letting out a soft laugh. The words tumbled out, with the irreverent tone of teenage boys hanging out and checking out girls.

I played along, enjoying her boldness. “Quite a view. Look at those legs,” I replied in a low voice.

“And that ass!” she chimed in, her eyes locked onto the tight black dress. “Look at the way those heels make it sway ... I really want to see her face.”

We fell into step behind her, moving discreetly and blending into the crowd, taking our time. Every now and then, we whispered another comment about the girl, noticing how her curves shifted under the dress, and how she was chatting away with her small group of friends. We wondered what she liked to do in bed, and when the last time she’d done it was. Alex elbowed me, giving me a knowing laugh.

“How often do you think she does it?” she asked me, but foot by foot, the dynamic was shifting: the jokes were thinning out, her tone becoming less playful and much warmer.

“I wonder how she moves when she comes...” she told me after a rather long silence, her voice a little raspy.

Then, as if remembering to keep up the playful facade, she let out a quick chuckle, but it was short, forced: a mechanical reflex that was becoming harder and harder to produce. She was literally devouring her prey with her eyes, pouring every ounce of her energy into it.