I'm new at writing erotica. Any and all feedback is most welcome.
- - - - -
It was a long drive to the beach. The plan was to pick up my friend Daphne first, then make the 80-minute drive out to Grace's place, fortunately quite close to the beach. The southern coast of Maine hardly makes for prime beach season any time of the year, but it was unusually warm at 83 degrees that July day, and the sun feels good even if the ocean is too chilly to swim in. We take what we can get.
I pulled up to Daphne's and was just about to send her an 'I'm here' text when I heard a rap on the rear window. My mirror showed her smiling face. I opened the rear hatch for her, she tossed her stuff in, then bounced into the passenger seat next to me. I say 'bounced' because that's just she did: tits jiggling in one of the smallest bikinis I've ever seen. The minimal white cloth fantastically offset her mocha skin, and she accented the outfit with a white scrunchie holding her hair up in a cute ponytail. Daphne's always cute, with piercing dark eyes, creamy skin, and a quick smile. And that day, I couldn't help but steal glances at her tits. I had never thought much about them because she didn't show them much: more of a casual dresser than strictly a conservative one, fond of loose sweatshirts in the winter and baggy tees in the summer. But her tits were fantastic, with great shape, and as I mentioned, a mesmerizing jiggle.
"Hey Marc!" She said, smiling wide, excited for the day. "Ready for some sun?" She pulled the seatbelt across her body and clicked it, the strap pressing into her cleavage. She smelled of brown sugar and vanilla, spritzed with what I decided was the best perfume ever invented. At least that's the effect it had on me combined with her appearance.
"You know it!" I replied as I pulled the shifter into drive.
I couldn't help but wonder if I had made a mistake, planning on changing into my trunks closer to the beach. I just had on a basic maroon tee and a pair of jeans. But the smooth skin of her belly, lean with soft ridges faintly outlining the edges of abdominal muscles, made me feel like I should be dressed and pre-gaming for Spring Break in Miami, not that I had ever done that. Eyes on the road, Marc, and mind on the day. Daphne is just a friend - don't be a creep.
"Your turn to DJ, right?" I asked, and she nodded and grabbed her phone. She connected with the stereo and started a modern playlist that was somehow chill but simultaneously energetic and sunny.
I asked her about work as I navigated towards the highway, and she filled me in. Just after I left the onramp and was settling into highway speed, she remarked more than a bit wistfully, "I wish Grace hadn't decided to move so far away."
"You know her, always dreaming to live that small-town, Instagram-able, hipster life," I teased. She laughed a bit, but I could tell she missed her 'besty', as they called each other. Seeing she was serious, I offered, "Hey, it's a small place. They barely have enough food trucks for a single event. She'll tire of it and move back any day now." She gave a pondering nod.
Roadside strip malls faded into neighborhoods that faded into the lush green coverage of trees on either side of the highway. That majestic green that makes me never want to leave this state. The motor droned, equal to her playlist, and the wind and sound of tires on the road became constant. We chatted about books we liked, a cocktail bar she found that she knew I'd love, and more.
I asked her about her latest hobby, ceramics, and she filled me in on the nuances of throwing clay and firing in the kiln, and the complete mystery she's found glazing to be, as it virtually never comes out how she imagines. But she loves it, she said with a laugh, and can't wait to grow in skill enough to overcome that particular enigma. I listened attentively, nodding, occasionally glancing over to show her I was following, and trying ever so hard not to glance down at the skin her rather delicious bikini put on display.
We started playing a game of questions to pass the time. 'If you could live anywhere but could never travel again...' and 'What's the worst thing you've ever cooked...' and 'What would you tell your high school self if you could...' I was partly focused on the road - few cars were out that far from the city - partly focused on our game to pass the time, and partly remembering the way her luscious breasts bounced in her tiny bikini as she climbed into my SUV and sat down.
She pulled me straight out of daydreaming with her next question: "Tell me honestly: why do you have a boner?" she asked mischievously, halfway between snark and tease. I felt instant embarrassment, feeling I had dangerously crossed a line without ever intending to, not realizing that I was indeed sporting a hard-on, visibly pronounced even through my jeans.
"Um, I..." I began, trying to figure out if she'd be pissed I was perving her in my imagination, if I had ruined a friendship, if the rest of the day was going to be uncomfortably awkward, if she'd tell Grace when I wasn't around, or worse right in front of me, what kind of answer I coul-
"I said tell me honestly," she interjected into my thoughts, looking at my flushed cheeks and surely reading that I was scrambling to come up with a believable lie.
"Honestly?" I asked. She gave a slow nod. "Honestly, I was remembering when your chest bounced a bit when you got into the car. I, um... I've never seen you in a bikini before. And... you look really nice, " I said, feeling the last part came out beyond corny.
"Nice?" she asked. "Nice, like... sexy? Wearing such a small bikini and showing so much of my tits?"
"Uh... yeah. You look sexy," I said, feeling an incredible pull between embarrassment and sexual excitement, not sure which to believe was appropriate.
"Thanks," she said. "You've never called me sexy before," she said, laughing it off, and asked me what question I had for her next.
"What's your favorite drinking game?" I asked, deferring, but still leaving the game risque if she chose to perceive it that way.
"Oh, easy," she said. "I watch SpongeBob: take a sip every time Squidward gets irritated, three sips anytime something explodes in a mushroom cloud, and take a shot anytime someone yells, 'My eyes!'"
I glanced over and asked, "You're serious?"