12. Dates and Times
Taylor was dressed for hiking; or possibly hitch-hiking while intending to get fucked en route. Yeah, she had on a pair of hiking boots, a Stetson and she was carrying a backpack. But the shorts she wore barely covered her ass and were low-slung across her hips. She had on a check shirt that was tied up under her ample tits, leaving her midriff bare and exposing her navel piercing. Her hair was in a long plait, and she looked outrageously fuckable.
She climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV, leaned across and kissed me on the cheek. "Hey, Tommy. You did remember to bring swimwear and a towel, didn't you?" I motioned to my bag on the back seat, though I was still skeptical that we were going to the beach in Nevada. "Cool," she said, dropping her backpack onto the floor in front of her.
"It's one helluva drive to the ocean from here. I don't think we have enough gas for that."
She smiled. "Trust me, Tommy. I know what I'm doing."
"I've heard politicians say that," I replied. "But which direction, ma'am?"
"Just drive. I'll tell you where to turn."
We headed out north-west. Along the way, we exchanged small talk; remember, the only time we'd met before was when she'd been one of two girls to write her phone number on my arm, during my last night at the diner.
"Yeah, I'm a realtor. I sell a lot of property in and around Scottsdale, some in Phoenix. I seem to do pretty well, selling." Looking at her, she could sell me almost anything. Including her body, for which she could command a premium price. "What about your new job? What are you doing?"
"Yeah, it's going well, but I can't talk about it."
"Oh, so it's, like, for the Government?"
"Er, no. But it's kinda commercially sensitive. And I'm serving the community." Which was partly true. If I wanted to keep earning money right now and still wanted to get a job after I graduated, it would be a good idea to keep my current line of work as secret as possible. And I certainly was providing a service to certain members of the community, by 'servicing' them in the agricultural sense. But I decided the best plan would be to change the subject.
"Have you been to the diner since Wesley took over from me?"
"Sure. The food's good. But the service isn't the same," she said with a cute smile.
We talked as I drove, about my studies and ambitions, about the kind of properties she sold and the perks of the job. "So I'm living in a nice duplex right now, looking out for the right house for me. It's tough, getting a home you can buy at my age and with my income, but it's a lot easier if you're in the business. You should consider it for when you graduate. Business studies is a good grounding. And I'm sure you could sell."
Sure, I could sell. But unlike Taylor, who probably didn't sell her body, I most certainly did. I wasn't sure whether being a whore would be a good grounding as a realtor. And yes, I've had unkind thoughts about realtors in the past, comparing them unfavorably to prostitutes, so maybe it could be a good career direction, given my current employment.
We drove until we came to Lake Pleasant Regional Park and I finally realized what she meant by 'the beach'. She steered me toward a parking lot and, when we'd stopped, grabbed her backpack.
"Let's go! We need to head to Honeymoon Trail," she said. It sounded promising. I followed her, watching that tight bubble-butt move under those equally tight shorts.
We hiked for maybe an hour, heading off the trail on a route that seemed to go nowhere. I was getting hot and sweaty and my t-shirt had damp patches. It didn't help that, every time we headed up a steep slope, I was getting a closeup of Taylor's ass and her long, slim legs. I kept wondering what they would feel like, wrapped around me. It's tough to hike with a boner.
We finally reached a point overlooking the lake and Taylor sat down and removed her boots. Off came the shirt, revealing a skimpy bikini bra, and then the skinny shorts, leaving her firm ass cheeks beautifully framed by a minimal thong bikini bottom. With her clothes carefully stowed in the bag, she hooked the chinstrap of the Stetson through a loop on her backpack, bent down and dropped the pack, boots and hat over the edge of the ridge we were standing on. Before I could look to see where they'd gone, she stood up - looking fucking amazing, I may add - smiled and said "Whenever you're ready..." then ran to the edge of the ridge. And jumped off.
I rushed over to the edge and saw, maybe ten feet below, she was swimming in a deserted bay of the lake. Looking to the side, I could see that she'd dropped her things maybe six feet onto a shelving piece of rock below us, that then sloped down to something resembling a beach.
I removed my hat, t-shirt, boots and shorts and dropped them, with my backpack, alongside Taylor's things. I'd worn a pair of swim shorts underneath, which had chafed a little as we were walking and did little to disguise my boner, but I guessed that some cold water would remedy that, so I did as Taylor had done.
The shock of the cold water on my skin was both breathtaking - in that it took my breath away - and refreshing. My sweaty skin felt much better by the time I'd surfaced and could appreciate the coolness of the lake.
"Good?" Taylor asked from a few yards away, treading water and smiling at me.
"Good," I replied, smiling back.
"Fine. The beach is just over there when you're ready." We swam around a little, and then she made for the shore. I followed. It wasn't much of a beach - more like a shelving piece of rock - but that was fine. The area around was deserted and the overhang that we'd jumped from hid this piece of the shoreline very nicely. Yup - we had our own private beach.
I watched as she extracted a towel from her backpack and spread it out on the ground. It was a rewarding pastime. Her little bra barely contained her spectacular tits, and the tiny thong bikini bottoms didn't hide much at all. When she laid down on the towel, I could see her body in all its glory, with only the most private parts
mostly
covered by tiny bits of white fabric. She looked pretty fine.
My problem was that my cock had decided that Taylor was pretty fine too, and had begun to assert itself. I headed for my backpack, made a show of drying myself with my towel, and then spread it out on the rock and lay down beside her, on my front. My swim shorts were doing little to disguise my arousal, and I felt sure she must've noticed, so I tried to hide it as best I could.
But she put another small towel, rolled up, behind her head, adjusted the Stetson to shade her face and laid back down. I turned onto my side, watching her. After a few minutes, she said from beneath the hat brim "You know, you're pretty hot, but I have to warn you that I have a rule; I don't fuck on the first date. So you'll need to keep that boner under control, young man."
"Well, I have to say that you're extremely hot, and though I do sometimes - quite often - fuck on the first and subsequent dates, I also respect a lady's wishes." I mean, yes, I'd have loved to fuck Taylor; she was hot and not too much older than me. But I was hardly sex-starved. It was more like I was 'sex-obese'. I had access to more pussy than was healthy for an eighteen-year-old, and I was gorging on it. Some guys would've been happy with being able to fuck once a week. Recently, it was unusual if my weekly total wasn't at least in double figures. And I was getting
paid
for most of it!
But there's a big difference between being paid to fuck women and wanting a woman you'd pay to fuck. Taylor was so hot I was worried I might get serious burns from just being this close to her. And yes, I'd fucked several amazing ladies - the Scottsdale Sluts were pretty high up on the Fahrenheit scale - but most had been at least ten years older than me, and a large number of my clients had been old enough to have been my mom. The wedding party from the night before had been among very few girls under thirty who'd tasted Tommy's hot sausage.
"You know, we don't have to fuck," I added. "We can just be friendly." I leaned in, lifted the hat and kissed her. She took only a moment to respond. The kiss went on for some time. Her hand came up to press against my chest. So I reciprocated.
When I cupped her breast, over the skimpy bikini top, she let out a little moan; of pleasure or protest, I couldn't tell. But she didn't take my hand away or say anything, so I rubbed gently. Her tit-flesh felt firm; not artificially so, as I'd felt with some of my clients, but natural. Then she slipped the shoulder strap of her bra down on one side, and a large, firm nipple was suddenly in my palm.
All the while, we were kissing. Slowly, her hand on my chest moved down, over my abdomen, onto my swim shorts.
"My, that feels like a big one you have there, Mister," she said after breaking the kiss.
"Sure is, ma'am. But if we're to stick to your rule, it may be best to leave it where it is."
"Hmm. You know, if I make the rules, then I can break them." Her smile was radiant.
I changed position and lowered my mouth onto her exposed nipple. She moaned softly. I pulled down the other strap and alternated between nipples, sucking and palming. Her tits were truly incredible; no sag, but full and rounded, with no sign of surgery or other augmentation.
I finally dragged myself away from the sunlit uplands and diverted my attention to the moist valley. Her bikini bottoms were tiny, and I was able to shuffle them down her legs. She lifted her ass to make it easier. Some manual exploration proved to me that she was excited by what I was doing, and soon after I was tasting the proof of that excitement. Her pussy was neat, smooth, and with plump outer lips and tiny inner ones. And a finger inserted in the right place, greeted with a long moan of pleasure, showed she was tight. Very tight.
So I feasted. My tongue traced every contour of that sunken valley, lapping away contentedly and relishing every little wriggle and squirm as her legs spread wide and I showed her that I was more than just a big cock attached to a well-honed body. My finger delved deep into that tight hole, finding the most sensitive parts and teasing them. Her moans got louder, interspersed with gasps of "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
And then she came. I could feel it in my finger (but not, as the song says, in my toes). She was writhing around a lot and moaning so loudly that I was concerned that any nearby hikers might investigate. But despite the moans, she wasn't in distress.
"Oh my God, Tommy. That was amazing!" she eventually gasped. "You seem to know what you're doing."
"Glad to be of service, ma'am. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"I don't know. There could be something I could do for you. Why don't you show me what's inside those shorts?"
