Thank god Louie did his SH things again, and that he did it to me. It was so good to feel his cock sliding in and out of me as I awoke. Then he got on top, and deposited a large amount of semen in me.
When he was through screwing me, I had a long, hot steamy shower, soaping myself thoroughly while Louie shaved in the extra sink outside the bathroom door. His shower, after mine, was almost as long. As I watched myself in the mirror, I wondered why I felt such a need, sometimes a constant need, for sexual attention. Louie gave me all the love, affection and attention any man could possibly give. His efforts were so strong, he tried so hard, and he never let up.
I put my bathrobe on and went to the motel lobby for coffees and juice. The bathrobe covered everything. When I was descending the stairs I noticed a couple on the first floor, under me, looking up my robe. To give them a good view, I stopped, turned around, went back and forth. Then I went on as if nothing happened. As I was pouring the coffees, they came into the lobby. The tie on my robe was fairly loose and the robe opened a few inches. As I turned their way, it opened more. I grabbed a couple of packaged orange juices, and I walked past them. It was my way of starting my day.
Louie was drying off as I reentered our room. I put my new string bikini on and over it I added baggy shorts and a casual blouse, and some sandals. Louie dressed the same way. We drank the juice and coffee from the motel as we finished dressing. Next I gathered some essentials, towels, extra beach sandals, buckets of ice, three bottles of white wine and a couple of wine glasses. I placed all this stuff in a cardboard wine case box, lined the box with plastic bags, covered it all with ice, put a towel over the top and, presto, an instant cooler.
Like a typical tourist, I studied the maps, looking for a town that's name ended in 'beach'. The only such town was 'Mustang Beach', on Mustang Island. The map also indicated, as the internet maps did, that we could drive there from north Padre Island.
Louie drove, I navigated with the map. The highway architecture, the style and the engineering was impressive - the turn around lanes, the heavy use of concrete, and the service roads along the highway. The Kennedy Causeway was our connection out to Padre. What we found were muddy lagoons – big mud puddles – that separated Corpus from Padre Island. When we attempted to drive north to Mustang Beach, we couldn't drive across the nature reserve, so we turned around. It was only ten minutes or so back to the big bridge over the harbor, and I charted a nice drive on a beautiful morning. But most of the scenery were military complexes, places where our government made land mines. We drove US 181 over the harbor, went east to Aransas Pass, then took the free ferry out to Mustang Island, where we turned south and pointed toward Mustang Beach.
"Woops," I said. The town of Mustang Beach was not on the gulf, it was on the lagoon. I didn't come down from Ohio to swim in a lagoon. We passed that place by. There were signs for gulf coast beaches, and we followed them. Soon, a sign announced 'Gulf Coast Beach Access Road', and we turned toward the gulf. Eventually we came to a large beach area, with parking, life guards, hundreds of people, and police.
Texas beaches are different from any other gulf coast beaches that I have seen. First – and someone told me this when I asked about the signs – the beaches are considered roads. They are also public parks, and free for all. And people drive their vehicles on the beaches. What a contrast to the parking lots and meters of Naples, Florida.
At the big beach we found, and it stretched for miles in either direction, that American English was a foreign language. Mexicans, by the hundreds, had flocked there. They backed their pick ups and vans as close to the water as allowed, and they made 'camps', like circling the wagons. Their towels and their bathing suits were hanging like laundry. It may well have been that these families were sleeping there, maybe even living there, I didn't ask. They all had ice coolers stuffed with cheap beer, shit food, and colas for the multitudes of fat children that were running everyplace. While that lifestyle, and those people, didn't appeal to me, it was clear that they were happy. The men would sit, smoke and drink beer, the women would parent, and the children played.
I had my new bikini on under my blouse and shorts, Louie had his Speedo under his shorts too. Unbuttoning my blouse, I widened the coverage on my bikini top to as wide as possible. That's as far as I peeled. Louie took his shirt off, and his sandals, and we walked along the shore.
Without question, the shore was the trashiest, most filthy beach I have been on in my life. Seaweed was growing everywhere. There was no white sand. The seaweed caught every piece of garbage the waves delivered, every leftover piece caught when the tide came out and in. It appeared that every Styrofoam cup and every cigarette pack ever tossed west of the Florida Keys ended up on that beach. The water stunk of sewage, and there was little space for even the children to swim. Nevertheless, I was in awe, it was that strange. It showed me the direction of the current, showed me why the Florida side of the Caribbean was so white and clean. Louie and I didn't get out of our shorts, we couldn't lay out there. But we did walk around for an hour, and an amazing hour it was. There was one attractive woman of European descent, which Texans call 'Anglo' whether of English descent or not. That's it, one gal, who was sunbathing on a fold out lounge chair. She certainly had courage. We left that place.
I knew we had to drive back to the ferry and through Aransas Pass. There was a quaint little village near the north tip of Mustang Island. We found a take away shrimp shack open, and I bought a bag of huge batter dipped jumbos. Turns out the harbor there houses the largest shrimp fishing fleet of the entire Gulf of Mexico. The ferry ride, both ways, was fun. My hair blew in the wind and I saw dolphins swimming along side the boat. Once back on the road, I opened the white wine, and we munched on the delicious shrimp.
There must be more to the Padre Island stories, I thought, so we headed back that way. We went across the 181 bridge, out the Kennedy Causeway, but this time drove south on Padre Island on Park Road 22. Once past the main intersections, the place was desolate, there were no services, no condos up for sale, no gas stations. As we went miles further south, even the road signs warned us not to continue. Down a side road, we caught a glimpse of the gulf, and we saw several other parked cars. Assuming there was a beach, Louie parked the Mercury, we grabbed our towels, and we went looking for it.
What we found was a completely different setting. The seaside was not nearly as trashy as the other Texas beach, and far more isolated. There were hideaway places to sunbathe among the dunes, very private spots cut out in the grass overlooking the water. The tall grass bent with the blowing wind, and I hoped that the wind would keep the bugs away. Maybe forty other people were scattered there, maybe more, all 'Anglos', as the Texans say. Those that I saw looked young, like college age kids, young and cute. Soon we found a spot out of view of the other sunbathers. I prepared our space, I laid out the beach towels and got out of my shorts while Louie did the same.
I narrowed the width of my bikini top, and bottom, to as narrow as possible. It was no more than three strips of fabric that covered my nipples and my crotch. I need my UV rays, it helps raise my seratonin levels. It was around 2:00 in the afternoon, and it was hot. After laying out for a half hour, Louie left to go for 'a walk', which meant to see the other women sunbathing and to show off. As he was walking away, a pair of young girls walked by, early twenties I guessed. Minutes later they walked by again, carrying their cooler and chairs, wearing tee shirts, ball caps and shorts. I pretended not to notice them.
"Do you mind if we lay out here?" one asked me. She was a pretty faced blond, tall, thin, and being polite so as not to invade our privacy. Louie was gone but obviously our space was set up for two.
"Please do. I could use some company."
Her friend was also attractive, but in a different way. She also had a toned and trim figure, but she had short brown hair and long earrings. My first take was that at least one of them was gay. They each had the same tattoo – a string of barbed wire - around their right arms. After spreading their towels out, they unfolded their beach seats, and sat down. One opened their cooler, it was full of cheap long neck beers. The pretty blond offered me one, and I accepted.
"I'm Tina, and this is Gail," the blond said.
"Hi, I'm Sheryl. My husband's Louie, when he gets back."