Epicurean

I swear I can smell cunt. I feel like a goddamned dog, or maybe a wolf, yeah, maybe a wolf—downwind of some delicious, vulnerable prey. I don't belong here alone, this wasn't my idea, but here I am, and there is pussy everywhere. I can't get away from it. Little ones, big ones, bald ones, hairy ones—and I'll be damned if I don't want them all. I know there's an off switch in my damned head somewhere, if I could find the thing...

What is so compelling about the flesh? It's spread out on the sand in front of me, and I want to roll them all up and take them, keep them, little pigs in their blankets, squealing and squirming and delicious. I've never seen so much skin in one place, masses of bodies, mountains of flesh, rolling titty hills and valleys of cunt.

There's no shame or hiding here—there's the wide-bottomed mama and her two toddlers playing in the sand. I can't take my eyes off the way her ass dimples as she sits, and I know her plump, hairy pussy must be kissing the sand as she leans over the rolls of her creamy, full belly, her dark-tipped breasts becoming another roll in the pile as she laughs and pats her daughter's little behind. I want to crawl under her, to be buried under the mountain of her body.

The sea of flesh shifts and moves. They remind me of seals in pack, some of them, college girls, sleek and brown, their bodies oiled and rolling together for maximum exposure to the source of their heat. God, it's fucking hot. Sweat is rolling down my lower back and there's not a damned thing to soak it up except the towel under my bare ass, growing damp beneath me.

I want to seek that core of heat, and I've got an arrow pointing the way. To hell with the sun, damned dry heat, I want to drown in wet fire! I am the only one hiding here, rolling to my belly to conceal my lust, resting my chin in my hands, my eyes seeking the source of my desire. Wet mounds of flesh, peeking pink, jesus god it should be fucking illegal to tempt a man this much!

My cock is an iron bar, uncomfortably hard beneath me, aching to point to the way to one of the sweet treasures laid out in front of me like some luscious buffet. I feel like a dog, but really there is a hungry wolf, an animal in me that simply wants what it wants, and the visual feast of flesh is a cruel reminder of my hunger, my greed.

I don't just want one. I want them all. I am no gourmet, some wine taster, sample and spit. I am a gourmand, a glutton, and I would happily devour their flesh beyond the point of satiety—I want to burst with it, explode into everything and nothing with the taste of them all still in my mouth.

The tender bald slit, oiled and glistening between the thighs of that coed and her friend, jesus, look at how smooth, like a baby, how her pink inner lips stick out at me like a tongue, a wiggling tease as she shifts, spreads a little, curls her toes.

Her friend isn't shaved, just trimmed, the hair curling inward, pointing the way toward heaven, her pink hidden underneath the darkness of her bush and my cock is straining against the damp towel and the soft sand underneath me, playing a constant beat of "want, want, want."

There's that big mama again, rolled to her back with a book, her voluminous belly and thighs seeking to hide her treasure, a fat purse that one, meaty and moist, and my cock yanks at its leash like a dog straining toward a bitch in heat when I see that her pubes are a fiery red, a curly, ruddy mass waiting to be spread.

I raise my head a little, seeking more tantalizing tidbits, knowing I shouldn't be, I'm not supposed to be looking. Nude beaches are about being natural, relaxing, letting down the pretenses, being yourself. Well, gentlemen of the jury, I have to tell you, I am getting to know myself as I watch these tender morsels roll and stroll, and I am, first and foremost, an animal.

My brain has its switch—don't touch, a Pavlovian response—my cock, however, has no such restraint, and nowhere to hide, trapped between my belly and the towel like a twitching, growling beast, coerced into hiding and straining toward freedom. And I can't stop looking. It's compelling, the fascination, the need to see, to take them all in, savory treats, every one.

Two women walk by, a black dog leashed between them, leading the way, his nose to the sand. Their bodies are luscious curves and angles, their breasts ripe fruit. One of them is blonde, pale, her nipples fat pink centers almost larger than her breasts, pointing skyward. The other has long, straight brown hair, very long, it swings to the rounded swell of her ass, and her breasts are bottom heavy, pear-shaped, her nipples dragged downward with their weight.

My eyes are drawn by the movement of the two college girls in front of me. The hairless cunt is up on her knees, fixing the corner, spreading out the blanket, and my cock jumps as she arches and I can see the puckered hole of her ass, winking at me. It's all a tease, a horrible, exquisite, glorious tease, and I feel full to bursting with the torture.

The head of my cock is flowing with pre-cum, sticky on my belly as her pussy parts for a moment when she stretches like a cat, the spread of pink, and oh, fuck, the sight of that little gaping hole where I want to shove my aching cock! What heaven lies there, between those thighs?

My cock knows it, can almost taste the yielding of her flesh, how moist and velvety and smooth she would be. Desire doesn't want exposure, the light or the sun. Lust seeks darkness, a deep, secret heat, something buried, a treasure to find. And I want the rush of plundering that sweet booty, all of them, the blonde, hairless gem, the trimmed brunette with the rounded behind, the roll and swell of the red-haired mama and the incredible heat of her riches—I want every slope and mound of flesh scattered down the beach.

I can see them all now, spread out on their towels and blankets, my cock eager to find the swollen flesh at the apex of their thighs. I can only satisfy my lust with my eyes, my hips moving every so slightly, imperceptible, rubbing my cock between my belly and the towel. It isn't anywhere near what I want to do, the thrusting frenzy and grind that I long for, to part thighs and cunts with the heat of my lust, the fat, thick head of my aching cock—but it's enough. Just barely enough.

I have been feasting for hours and my cock can't stand it anymore. I watch through half-closed eyes, feigning disinterest, even a doze, but my nostrils flare and my ass twitches and beneath me, I am rubbing the head of my cock in the sticky pre-cum dampness, pressing it between my belly and the sand. It's a slow grind, but deliberate, sneaking up on my climax by degrees.

The big mama puts her knees up, letting me see the soft swell of her ass, how the slit extends downward, her flesh thick and doughy, her pubes like fire in the sun. My cock aches to find its way through, seeking her center. The couple with the dog walks back by again and I stop, realizing how gradual but effective my movements have been now that I have ceased. My cock is aching for release.

When they've passed, I begin again, shifting, a slow rub, my eyes moving to the girls, the brunette on her back, the blonde on her belly. I am lost in the smooth, oiled flesh of their tawny thighs, the bend in a leg, the way the brunette's hair there glistens and shines in the light. I watch her belly rise and fall, see the blonde swing her legs, her feet crossing, uncrossing.

They are talking together, laughing, and my cock is twitching and throbbing beneath me. It's hard to control my breathing now, the longing I have to fuck, to keep fucking, to fuck the whole world wide open and reveal it all.

Two things send me over—the breeze that catches the edge of my towel, blowing it against my leg, and seeing the red-haired mama, my eyes drawn back to her as she rolls to her belly, laying her head in her hands, her thighs spreading out over her blanket, giving me just a peek of her cunt, lost in the roomy, dimpled swell of her flesh.

And then I'm cumming, closing my eyes, clenching my jaw, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from growling and thrusting and grinding into the sand, a sticky wetness flooding beneath me in hot, fast spurts, dampening my towel and sending me reeling. I bury my head in my arms, breathing hard, and when I look up, the two girls are standing, running off toward the surf.

My lust is spent, but my desire is not. I can still feel the craving, my predilection for more in the swell and sway of the flesh on the sand. When I'm sure that my cock has waned, I stand, flip my towel over, and lie back down on the sand. My eyes are hunting again, I can't help it. The wolf is always there—whether I have reined him in or not.

"Hey, Dad!" I look up, shading my eyes, seeing my daughter and her mother coming toward me across the beach. I smile, wave them over, pat the sand. My daughter is going on about shopping, my wife is talking about lunch, and I take a deep breath, turning my eyes back out to the beckoning world, doing my best to take it all in.