I decide to go to the beach in the early morning before the big crowds show up. It's always annoying when you start to see the giant umbrellas and families towing their children and coolers and large sound systems. There's just something so peaceful about only hearing the ocean waves and the seagulls, like the world hasn't woken up yet. On this particular day, there are only two other cars in the small pay lot in front of the public beach access.
Carrying my beach bag, I search out a little slice of sand to call home. I settle far enough away from the tide line, but close enough that it's a few short steps to the water if I choose. I spray a liberal amount of sunblock and lay on my back to read my book for a while.
20 minutes go by, and the sun is just about to peek over the horizon. A man who appears to be in his mid 60s plops a worn beach chair down and procures a Kindle from his bag. He's wearing one of those gray canvas hats with a big brim; the kind that has a tie around the chin. I give him a brief glance and smile to myself as I watch him use his belly as a stand for his eReader.
After a while, I lose focus on what I'm reading. The Gulf water looks like it will feel awesome on my skin, so I set my paperback down and test the water with a toe. Just as I thought: bath water. Without hesitating I wade in and dive forward, coming up and swishing my wet hair back to my shoulders as I stand in torso-deep water. My bikini isn't entirely stable, and I look down to see my right nipple staring back at me. I quickly pull my top up and laugh at myself. I remember and look over at the older man out of the corner of my eye, and notice him peering over his device with a small smile on his face.
I chide myself for my next line of thinking, but I find myself creating a backstory for my spectator. He doesn't strike me as a widower. Probably married to a woman who chooses to let him pass out on the couch watching golf so he won't try to fuck her. Or maybe he's a recent divorcee, gone to the beach to look at young women's tan sleek bodies as they play in the water. Or, my rational brain intrudes, maybe just a normal guy wanting to escape the drone of 9-5 life for a peaceful few hours in the sun and sand.
Either way, he's unknowingly become my temporary plaything.
Every good exhibitionist needs her voyeur, and I'm hoping I'm right about him. I lick my salty lips and wring out my hair, shooting for a contemplative yet playful look. I dive again and do a few underwater breast strokes. The warm water envelopes me, and when I finally come to the surface I feel goosebumps rise on my skin. I shiver, crossing my arms under my tits so it pushes them up and makes them look fuller than they are. I try to discretely see what the man is doing, and he's lifting his hat and wiping sweat from his brow. I think I need to amp this up to see how broad his tastes are and how far I can go without losing my nerve.
I swim back to shore and choose to sit in the wet sand right where the waves break. I dig my toes in and busy myself grabbing a few shells to inspect and toss into the ocean. A bigger wave barrels toward me. When it hits me, it throws me back and I feel my bikini bottom pull downward. The sand scratches my bare ass cheeks as I attempt to get back in a seated position. I pretend not to notice that my lower half is exposed and lean over to grab a shell just out of reach.
