New Year's Eve has never been my favourite time of year. Always I'm confronted by the question of whether I should go out to a party and try and pretend I was having a good time while trying to look inconspicuous hanging around in the kitchen, trying to doge the drunks and creeps and somehow hoping someone reasonably sober and nice might come and talk to me or just accept reality and stay at home on a night when every self-respecting person my age was out. Usually I surrendered to the reality of my boringness and stayed at home.
This year was different. While we'd received a couple of party invitations from friends of Greg, he and I both had other plans for the night together, so could decline them with a sense of purpose rather than defeat.
Instead we just stayed at my family's holiday house watching TV and then wandered down the path to the beach a little before midnight to watch the fireworks that were being set off down the main end of the town beach. We'd been finding places to have sex on this beach for six weeks now so knew every likely nook and cranny. What we wanted for tonight was somewhere closer to the midnight fireworks which were happening down the main town end of the beach while still being far enough away that the crowds wouldn't have overrun it. We set off having a pretty good idea where that spot was.
As we walked I held the arm of Greg closest to me wrapped in both of mine; leaving its hand resting in contact with my crutch, our hips and thighs sliding sensuously past each other with each step. As we walked and chatted Greg -- as I'd intended him to - turned his hand fingers in and under the hem of my dress where he played provocatively with the material of my bikini bottom lighting up every point of sensitivity in the skin underneath.
While he had a head start from the effect of my bikini fetish, Greg seemed to have a natural instinct which told him how to have maximum effect on me while he did this. His fingers gently zig zagged down the front of my pubis, across my mons, rimmed the leg hem of my bikini bottoms, glided along the very edge of each labia and generally touched up everything that was possibly capable of reacting to his touch.
In his other hand he held one of my bags with a single towel for us to sit on, a radio to listen to the New year broadcast and a bottle of champagne with two glasses.
The spot we had in mind was as quiet as we'd thought it would be. Just far enough from the main part of the beach to be separate from the crowds, it was a sand hill where the seaward side was covered in that low dune scrub Councils seem to use to bind them together -- so a very unattractive place for the general public to find a grandstand seat, while the back of it was accessed from a valley between dunes and was just clear sand. From the top we'd have a perfect view of the fireworks and a comfortable seat.
By the time we'd arrived our passions were up. No sooner had Greg sat on the towel on the ground than I was sitting across his lap, our tongues jousting with each other, his hand up my dress and mine wrapped around his naked erect shaft -- the top button and Velcro zipper of his board shorts quickly surrendering to my frantic tugging.
The dress I had on was a favourite of both mine and Greg's. A Roxy beach dress, it had a halter neck with skimpy triangle tops and a comfortably loose lightweight stretch knit bodice that never the less followed the curves of my body. It presented a minimal obstruction to Greg's hands as they explored every inch of the flesh underneath. As his hand moved up to play with a breast, the bodice of the dress followed, encouraging him just to flip the whole thing over my head and leaving me naked except for my bikini bottoms; and they fairly quickly had a hand down the front of them alternatively slopping up the juices from my pussy and using them to make me all slimy and sensitive while playing with my clit. I was almost surprised I still had the presence of mind to pull his T shirt off his body; much as I preferred to have sex with Greg while he was naked, my passions were almost getting to the point where you start to lose focus on such details.
We'd already decided we wanted to see in the new year 'in colitis' so to speak; crazy I know -- the sort of thing only young lovers would even think to do. But it somehow seemed an appropriate metaphor for all we had and hoped to experience through these holidays. There was just one little thing bothering me as the radio Greg bought told us the time was approaching when we really should be stepping thing up a level to fulfil our intention.
"Who gets to watch the fireworks?"
"Both of us" was all it took for Greg to otherwise answer by his actions.
Lifting me up off his lap he sort of tossed me over into a hands and knees stance facing down towards the main part of the beach where the fireworks would be. Then, bringing himself up onto his knees between my legs, his hand were instantly back over my thigh and down the front of my pants again where he continued to extract a stream of pleasurable moans from me as he played with my clit even as he bent over and tenderly kissed the skin of my back.
