This is a follow on from "The Big Tease" and "Oral in the Ocean". Sam and Emily have just indulged in oral sex while hanging off the back of the yacht...
Sam followed me onto the boat and sat his own naked body opposite mine in the cockpit where we both dried ourselves.
Asking him to wait where he was, I ducked below to prepare the finger food style lunch before bringing it up to lay out on the cockpit table and sitting back down again. When we'd got out of the water we'd sat just behind the spray dodger covering the companionway rather than in line with the table further aft and even now the food was out, that sitting pattern continued.
There'd been a few innocent reasons for that; with the angle of the sun that had been where the optimum shade was and, given we were both naked below the waist it was the point at which various parts of the boat protected our modesty from just about every angle where someone might see us. I assure you, the fact that it meant we were exposed to each other instead of our respective views being blocked by the table was merely coincidental. Really, I mean it. Of course I could have slipped my bikini bottoms back on, but they were wet and yucky. I could have put on the spare ones in my bag below but they were...ahmmm...below.
OK, let's put the issue on the table. I don't normally go about displaying my fanny (has a different meaning in Australia from the US - you work it out) to every guy I go out with.
Indeed I can only think of one other case where I've offered a fanny view while sharing a meal or indeed doing anything other than having sex. That had been when I slipped off my wet bikini bottoms and gone commando under a tight mini skirt after a late afternoon swim with my then boyfriend of the moment. On the spur of the moment, we'd decided to go Japanese for dinner only to find the only available table was one of those sit on the floor jobs in a bamboo booth.
I was half way to the table before the penny dropped that I had something of an issue. There was no way I could sit in a proper leg folded position without hitching my skirt up and exposing myself to the whole restaurant. I started sitting with my legs straight out under the table with my stomach as close to the table as I could; but with no back support that was really uncomfortable. In the end, out of necessity and with the help of two glasses of wine, I decided that it was better to be comfortable and limit my exposure to just the guy; moving back to find some support for my back and angling my legs inwards into the booth; even lifting one knee occasionally to avoid the discomfort that the straight legged pose presented.
There was not the slightest doubt he had a clear perspective of it; goggle eyed and completely distracted. Mind you it was the only look he did get at it; and he certainly didn't get to touch it - with anything. He wasn't a keeper nor even root worthy. And although I had to explain my dilemma to him over dinner, it was only later that I remembered he was already well aware I was commando. Then I remembered it was his idea to follow up the day with dinner and go Japanese. Yes I was suspicious. Wouldn't you be?
Sam on the other hand showed every sign of being a keeper; at least for the time being (I'm too young to think beyond that) and, as my loins had been telling me for a few weeks now, highly root worthy. And frankly being in a somewhat naughty mood, I could think of no more pleasurable way to compliment lunch than to have a view of his junk resting on the cockpit seat between his man-spread legs as we ate and talked. And while, in light of our recent water play, it might have started out resting, I fully expected that before long there would be a lot more on display.
And if I was going to stare at his junk, then it was sort of only fair he had a view of my fanny; and somewhat more than a demure, cross legged view at that. By the time we had had our fill of the table's contents, his junk was a tall pole framed by a pair of ping pong balls in a tight sack.
Funny, isn't it? We'd sat talking at the beach cross legged and face to face many times. He'd had a view straight into my crutch covered by nothing more than the skimpiest, thinnest bikini; the material narrow enough that it's pulled away from my thighs revealing substantial slivers of crutchskin (I know, I took a peek down there as I was talking to him; but is that even a word or concept?). And yet he's kept it under control. Take away that thin strip of material and his member has turned into a raging pulsing telegraph pole noticeably dripping pre-cum. But then maybe it's not just the view. We both knew where the day was going; it might have just been getting ahead of itself.
We'd been finished for a few moments when I gathered up the plates and stuff. Sam got up to help me but I turned to him, letting the tip of his erection brush across my stomach as I put him back in the seat and told him to wait there while I got the dessert ready.
Dumping the stuff in the galley sink as I got to the bottom of the companionway, I dug the sheet I'd brought out of my bag and slipped forward to spread it across the bunk in the forward cabin; tossing the packet of condoms on top. Then going back to the galley I called up the companionway steps "want to give me a hand with dessert?"
