First Summer That Erection Will Be

I stopped and looked back in the direction of the voice. I hadn't really believed in the concept of being instantly attracted to a stranger from across a room -- let alone love at first sight - until this moment. I saw a tall slim athletic guy coming out of the surf dressed only in a pair of speedos in what looked like surf club colours. He was walking toward me in that male upright sort of way and he must have been swimming laps, because his muscles were all pumped.

It was a bit like that Craig Daniel moment in his James Bond movie, except this guy was taller and much slimmer and Craig Daniel would never have been seen in swimwear this brief, wet and clingy. And yet, that's a bad way to start describing the moment because it makes me sound all superficial, ready to fall in to the arms of some good looking guy just because he takes his shirt off. No, it was more chemical than that; as if a shot of hormones had jetted across from this guy and gone straight into my brain.

And for an uncomfortable moment that brain was racking itself to identify him. Clearly he knew me. Then the penny dropped. It was Greg, from my Accounting 1 tutorial. He generally sat roughly opposite me in the horseshoe shaped seating arrangement of the tutorial. There were maybe 30 people in the class, so you didn't really get to meet everybody; even less in this class since two of the guys from my group of friends were in it and generally sat either side of me. I recalled in Greg's case he usually sat next to a somewhat ordinary looking girl who I always thought might have been his girlfriend. From what he said publically in the tutorial, he'd always struck me as a nice intelligent sort of guy -- someone I should get to know better. I should have recognised him sooner, but where he was and how he was dressed (or undressed) caught me off-guard.

Why hadn't he had that effect on me before? As I walked towards him I felt something between a sense of anxiety and a flush of pleasure extend all the way from my brain to the pit of my stomach. It was like some new hormone receptor in my brain had opened for business that hadn't been there before, or maybe I was being just as superficial as a guy and it was his semi-nakedness. With mild alarm, there was a feeling in my crutch that told me that wasn't the only part of me opening in response to his presence. I was glad these things aren't as obvious for a girl as they are for a guy.

"Greg". In an unusual stroke of boldness for me I took both his hands, leaned in and gave him a greeting kiss on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my home town. What about you?"

So there goes my general theory on country towns and bogans. "I'm up here on holidays with my parents. We've rented a house just across the road from the beach for the whole summer. I've just come down to get some exercise on the beach and explore a bit. It's nice to know I'll know at least one other person in town" It instantly occurred to me I might have given too much away too quickly. Clearly the hormone shot was still affecting my thinking, because I was usually more cautious than that in presenting information in a way that inferred a commitment from me. Still, it might just have been my partial arousal talking, but I did feel a genuine sense of happiness that this guy would be in town.

Greg gestured in the general direction of the endless beach as it stretched out along the National Park. "I usually go for a bit of a run up to the other end of the beach after my swim. Would you like to join me? We're an accommodating lot toward visitors in this town, for the pleasure of your company I'm happy to go at your pace even if it's just a walk"

Flattery will get him everywhere! "How can I refuse an offer like that?" So Greg directed me to where he'd left his gear hidden up among the dunes and scrub least I wanted to unburden myself from my bag; something I was more than happy to do. Greg had already passed one test. He stood taller than me, so had to tilt his glance downward to talk to me. His gaze held my eyes in a most engaging manner. He avoided staring at them by occasionally glancing down toward my mouth. Only once or twice did I see him take a short peek south of that; a pretty good effort I thought considering how I was dressed.

Indeed, I hoped he didn't apply a similar test to me, because I wasn't doing so well. His pumped up chest muscles were a constant distraction; I actually wanted to reach out and feel them. I have always been neutral on the question of speedos. They can be good or bad depending on the body and the occasion. With his slim washboard stomach and pumped abbs, in Greg's case it was unambiguously fantastic. But right here and now, they were also an enormous distraction to me. Really for the first time I felt what it must be like to be a guy and fight the urge to stare where you were not supposed to.

"Karen, you set the pace and I'll follow; don't feel you have to go faster than you're comfortable with on my account"

As we headed up the beach Greg captivated me in pleasant conversation. We started with the usual things like family backgrounds, where we'd gone to school and our sporting interests. It was interesting how many parallels there were in our lives. But each of those topics led off in fascinating directions. He was really insightful in the way he asked about me and I found myself revealing all sorts of things about myself and my attitude to things that I wouldn't normally open up on and Greg responded with an honesty and an openness I had previously found rare in guys. What's more, he had a view of the world that matched mine.

It was particularly interesting how much our approach to sport aligned. My main sport was tennis; although I was a keen horse rider until the pressures of my last year at school and was heavily involved in dance -- ballet when I was younger and modern dance more recently. Greg's was mainly the iron man event through his surf lifesaving; although ironically he'd had a few years of riding instruction when his family had first bought horses for his mother and younger sister and had six months ballroom and latin dance lessons under the influence of a former girlfriend. He'd also been a keen sailor until the demands of the final years of school got in the way. Plus we both dabbled in a bit of surfing; me with my family and he just through his association with the beach.

Where the real alignment took place was in our general attitude to sport. We both saw sport as a community building activity; we competed and wanted to do well, but winning wasn't everything and sometimes not important at all. But we both strongly believed in 'giving back' to our communities by getting heavily involved on the organisational side as well as, in Greg's case, in the volunteer surf patrols he undertook with his club.

Probably predictably with our attitudes, we each only did fairly at our sports, Greg could win at club level in the iron man but was well off the pace at State level and I was only a medium grade tennis player and rider. But because of our common approach I found I could talk to him about my interests with more passion and at greater length than I'd ever have been game to with anyone else.

We'd been going for maybe 40 minutes -- alternating between a fast walk and a slow jog as the mood took me -- but never fast enough to prevent an easy conversation, when we came to a place where the beach had been cut away by storm waters rushing out of the hinterland. The result was something like a creek, several meters wide and about one and a half deep; except unlike most creeks, this one had deep vertical sides where the storm water had carved out a trough. There was still some run off flowing along the bottom too, so the prospect of walking across it didn't look inviting. Fortunately a tree had fallen across it and even though the trunk was narrow and slippery, it looked like a better approach. In a gentleman like manner, Greg stepped back to let me go first, offering me a hand to balance myself against while I stepped on the log and took the first few steps across the void; suggesting helpfully that if I had to fall or slip, make sure I fell to the side rather than ended up straddling it. Even though I managed to banter back that was his problem more than mine, I was at the same time strangely thrilled by the contact with his hand and was reluctant to release the grip as I moved beyond his reach. He waited until I had finished crossing before starting across himself. As he came to the end, I offered up my hand in a reciprocal gesture of balance, which he took.

After he stepped off the log, he made no effort to retrieve the hand now firmly captured by mine and I certainly didn't offer it back. But even that level of contact with him was arousing me again. Of necessity, our pace was now restricted to a fast walk.

Ten minutes later we had come to a sort of point. Greg came to a stop and half turned toward me. "This is usually as far as I go", adding as he waived his arm in the general direction of the way forward "I'm happy to go further, or we could go back for a swim -- whichever suits you." As he finished his sentence, he completed his turn toward me, so we were now facing each other directly, picking up my other hand in his as he did so.

Frankly, I was happy to do whatever let me spend more time with him. To open up other possibilities I proffered "I'm a bit of a morning tea person, what say we go back for a swim and then think about eating".

"Swim and food it is than"

We were still standing facing each other, both hands joined. As he finished speaking, he hesitated and just for a moment I thought something might happen. While we'd been talking -- making decisions about what to do -- it had been easy enough to retain my composure.

The hesitation threw me. Now a door had time to open on another more primitive part of me; one I'd never experienced before. The mere possibility that he might make a move on me sent a jet of excitement and arousal through me. I couldn't help myself. I glanced down. He was somewhat aroused himself; not massively, but whatever was there before was now bigger and firmer.

Even as I stood there I knew that something more than a physical reaction was happening to me. There was something emotional. There was a strange disturbance of my body. There was a feeling of emptiness in my stomach. Above all there was a flood of pleasure in my brain. It was all a new sensation to me; I was falling in love. A part of me was dismissing the idea. I'd just meet him; I barely knew him. It just wasn't my style to flip out like this. But those doubts were just background noise. The reality was overwhelming my senses.

Something communicated to me that Greg was about to let the second hand go and continue our walk. Instinctively for just another moment I held it a bit tighter, unwilling to release it. The hesitation continued -- more than was decent or proper. Like a fast playing video thoughts started flashing through my mind. Erotic lust filled thoughts; a mental picture of me throwing myself at him and taking him then and there; of intensely physical love making. The vividness of the thoughts scared me. When those flashes reminded me Greg had been the stranger from class who was the only guy ever identifiable in my sexual fantasies, I felt I had to mentally nail my feet to the sand to stop me acting on them. Like someone getting a shot of static electricity as you touch a car on a dry windy day, I let the second hand go

It all happened so quickly. Did he notice me holding him tighter? Did he notice my panicked release of his hand? Like a householder frantically running around locking external doors after seeing a threatening stranger outside, my brain was going around trying to close out the primitive thoughts threatening its control over me. It was too late. From that point on the cautious rational side had lost its usually iron clad control over my actions.

We headed back.

In my study of History and in watching documentaries on TV it's always struck me that the most dangerous moment for a soldier is the moment when he comes out of hiding, puts up his hands and surrenders. Will his surrender be accepted or will it be rejected and he'll find himself shot down. I felt I was struggling with all the gut wrenching fear that goes with that moment. I just wanted to put up my hands and say "I love you. I surrender. Take me -- take my virginity -- fuck me right now". The emotional attachment I already felt towards him was indescribable. Did I really have to play the game? Did we really have to go on weeks, maybe months of dates before I could admit what I already knew? I was cursing to myself this modern world of hook-ups and non-commitment where love was something to avoid and be frightened of.

But the physical need I had for him was even more frightening. That bulge in his swimmers was no longer a distraction. It was now an obsession. Even as we held hands, Greg was walking half a step behind me probably trying to make his own state of semi arousal less obvious. Poor boy, he clearly had not the slightest idea of the state of mind of the woman he was dealing with. Inside me it felt like there was a cavernous space ready for him to fill. I was so hyper aware of that bulge that I could even detect the tiny dimple in his swimmers indicating where that eye at the top of his penis was. That careless glimpse of his that Steve had given me this morning seemed to have a lot to answer for.

Control yourself I kept repeating internally. Wait. The game has to be played; he might even reject any premature surrender. My hand squeezed his tighter.

Back at the log crossing, Greg again let me go first, following just a step behind this time. I'm not sure whether my loss of balance was entirely accidental or premeditated. What was certain was that, once I knew I was going, he was also. As I fell I half turned so that my outstretched arm was now across the line of his body. As I went down, it swept him off too. Greg fell on his side in the deepest part of the gutter, facing me. I landed on my back on the upward slope of the far side, so as I landed, I just rolled on my side bringing myself hard up against the full length of Greg's body, my arm falling over his waist with the rotational momentum of the turn. The creek bed was a slushy quicksand like material. So it made for a very soft landing. We were soon half buried in the stuff.

When I looked at Greg he was a mess, completely covered in sticky sand -- right up through his hair and everything. I could only imagine that I looked the same. I burst in to a fit of laughter, my body shaking with amusement. Although it was entirely real, there was still a part of my brain functioning under sufficient control to register the feeling of his penis pushed against my crutch and I was naughty enough to ensure the convulsions of laughter were magnified in that area. It was strongly arousing me and as I felt his cock push further between my legs and harder up against my crutch, there was no doubt it was having the same effect on him. I actually wanted to go beyond what I could achieve with a laughter convulsion and rub myself up and down on it; let's be honest, I probably did do that as much as I thought I could get away with it. Trouble is, what I was really starting to want is just to come. I was a long way from that yet, but if in some parallel universe I had been given a no consequence, no obligation and no explanation possibility of doing so, I might just have lay there and rubbed myself up and down until I had.

Of course in this universe there were several consequences. Firstly, what sort of tease was I being with this guy? Secondly, we were sinking in the quicksand and there was only a 50:50 chance I get to have my first ever climax before we both drowned. Greg was obviously in no hurry to move either, but as the pretext of shock and laughter at the fall and our state couldn't be maintained any longer, he started to extract himself from both the mess and my grasp with a "I think we'd better get ourselves out of this mess before we drown".

Standing up wasn't that easy and it took a while for Greg to get in to a reasonably upright position; albeit knee deep in the goo. I was still on all fours, so he was standing over me offering me an assisting hand. That of course put my head pretty well in line with his crutch and so unavoidably in my line of vision as I took his hand. That thermometer of his was now getting up toward very warm. It was still sticking outward and downward within his swimmers, but it definitely projected much further out than before and had an evident degree of rigidity that was previously absent. My own was well in the hot range, but unless he could hear my heart pounding in my chest, he wouldn't have known that. I thought he was very brave standing over me like that so much on display to a relatively stranger. Still, he must have known I'd felt the contact, may have even sensed my rubbing movement - so the jig was already up for both of us.

Our state as we stood up was even more amusing than what we could see lying down. The sand clung to everything in a thick sticky layer. We had another giggle. Sensibly, Greg suggested we work ourselves along the creek down to toward the water and have a good rinse off. "It's that or go home looking like sand monsters" I sniggered lamely in response.

Even the walk was difficult. Climbing out of the creek was impossible because any attempt to climb the bank simply caused it to collapse. So walking the length of it to the water was the only option. But with every step, your leg sank to the knee and so it was a continual exercise in foot extraction and re-immersion. Because the slightest misstep in pulling your foot out of the quicksand resulted in you falling flat on your face again, the best approach -- to my considerable joy -- was one that relied on close mutual support. We quickly learned the easiest way was to walk with shoulders locked, each with an arm around the back of the other.

Sometimes I needed help getting my foot out of the sand, so Greg stood in front and perpendicular to me -- pulling against my shoulders so he could leverage me out until my foot came clear and my crutch moved forward to become wedged against his hip. And I made sure I extracted as much sexual pleasure as I thought I could get away with each time he helped me. If my thigh accidently brushed him up to a greater level of arousal as I moved my leg forward to the next foot position, so much the better. Even my breasts were deployed to my purpose, as each time he leveraged me my cleavage was of necessity straddling the side of his chest, each movement threatening to dislodge the bikini top's precarious coverage of my nipples. Somehow keeping him at some state of arousal became part of the game; not a fair one on my part because mine was hidden, but I just couldn't help myself. The physical contact with him brought back again those vivid mental flashes of us making love.

What was invading my brain was in an entirely different genre from the slow romantic love making of my fantasies; it wasn't sourced in those fantasies. I was naked on my back, legs apart but raised at the knee. Greg was on top, inside me. My bikini was discarded untidily next to me; every string untied. There is no word I can think of that describes the love making that was invading my brain. "Passionate" doesn't convey the real sense of it. "Violent" has a connotation that's not appropriate. I've heard my brothers use the word "pounded". Does it have an adjectival form? If it means something mutual rather than imposed, then maybe it's getting close. The woman -- me -- was clearly an equal participant. My hands were on his bum encouraging him; my legs tensed as they raised and turned my hips to a more advantageous angle.