Chapter 01: Fun at the Beach
A strange thing happened last Friday. I had a spare day of annual leave left over and used it to do some chores. My last call of the day was at a supermarket in a neighbouring town to pick up a few provisions for the weekend. It was a pleasant sunny day and I took the opportunity to use my motorcycle. While I was checking out the beers I noticed a woman a little way down the aisle looking at me sideways, but didn't recognise her and thought nothing of it. I turned my attention back to the beers, but a moment or two later she spoke to me.
"You haven't changed much."
I recognised the voice immediately. It was Jean, who had been my first proper girlfriend, or at least the first I had been seriously in love with and whose panties I had got into on a regular basis.
I am now in my forties, and hadn't seen or even really thought of her for over twenty years. We were together for five years or so, and her rather rude greeting was typical of her in the latter part of the relationship -- I just knew she meant that I was still in scruffy leathers, checking out the beers, rather than that I was wearing my years well.
"Neither have you," I replied.
But it wasn't true. She was a good deal heavier, her skin looked coarse and jowls spoiled her once pretty face. Only her mouth was the same, just as I remembered it with a naughty little pout. I wondered if she had a man at present, and if he was enjoying her oral skills as much as I used to.
We chatted for a bit and I discovered that she was married, happily, she said several times, which made me think that she probably wasn't very happy. I was surprised that we seemed to have nothing much in common and little to talk about, beyond the enquiries about old friends we had lost touch with. Perhaps it should not have been surprising; by the time we split we had grown apart and were barely even on friendly terms. Maybe we hung on too long to a relationship which had run its course.
We said goodbye and went our separate ways in the supermarket. I caught site of Jean again as I finished at the checkout and our eyes met for a second. I swung the panniers over my shoulder, turned on my heel and walked out into the bright sunshine feeling an emotion that is difficult to describe. I had no regrets about no longer being with Jean, and yet our time together had been special. I felt a sense of loss for simpler times and youth that was gone forever.
I mused on this as I loaded the bike, and then the ritual of donning helmet and gloves, zipping up the jacket against the cold and kicking the engine over, as always, lifted my mood. Hell -- what lost youth! I was still on a Triumph (though not the same one) and I'd been glad to see the back of her when we split. I had a loving and sexy wife who would be home in a couple of hours so, what was there to look back on? Still, I rode home through the afternoon traffic at a slower pace and with more care than usual, aware that I was distracted.
When I got home, I found I had a message on my 'phone -- my wife was delayed and would be home late. No problem, Chinese takeaway and a bottle of wine whenever she showed up and then the whole weekend ahead. After I had put the bike away and the things I had bought in the 'fridge, my mind drifted back to the events of the afternoon.
On impulse I went upstairs and into the loft. In a corner, covered in dust and cobwebs, was a box which contained photos from the early days -- school days, university, friends, family and Jean. Some were in albums, but most were loose, stuffed into envelopes. My wife had wanted me to get rid of them, teasing me that I still had a thing for Jean, but they recorded a part of my life so I just quietly packed them away. As I leafed through the 'photos, I found one I remembered well.
The 'photo showed a girl (Jean) standing on a sandy beach, blue sea and breakers in the background. She was wearing a green and white stripped bikini, red hair blowing in the wind and her body was just as I remembered, neither plump nor thin and with the tone which comes with youth rather than from the gym.
Jean's skin was biscuit (she never really tanned, to her despair) and her breasts pushed invitingly against the material of her bikini top, the outline of a nipple visible on one side. I remembered the firmness of them, and the coral pink of her nipples. I loved the way her breasts stood up, with or without a bra, and the way they moved under her shirt when she went braless. I felt a slight stirring of my cock and gave it a squeeze as I looked more closely at the 'photo, hoping to see a hint of the crack between her legs but there was none. I sat on the floor, back resting against the wall, and remembered the holiday on which the 'photo had been taken.
We were both nineteen and were away together for the first time, touring by motorcycle and camping for part of the time, but when the 'photo was taken we were house sitting for an Aunt and Uncle who were away on their own holiday.
The day that stands out in my memory was a trip to the rocky part of the coast for some fishing. I borrowed one of my Uncles rods, slung it over Jeans back with some line, and the rest of the gear and some food and drink went in a small rucksack. We set off in the morning on the twelve mile ride to the spot remembered from my boyhood. We parked and then walked the mile or so along the cliff top to the place where we could get down to the sea. A few people were there, some fishing, and some were just enjoying the sun and the sea breeze.
As the morning went on and the heat built it became clear that the fishing was poor -- too hot, too bright and the tide out. People began to drift away and I gave up on the fishing to sit with Jean in the shade of a small bluff. I took my shirt off to feel the cool of the breeze and we kissed a little, had some lunch and kissed some more.
Soon it seemed that we were the only ones there. We were young and newly together, at the stage when horniness is never more than a touch away. The kissing got more serious, and I was getting hard and horny. I could tell Jean was feeling the same from the way she held me, and from the flush which ran from her face down her throat to her chest.
We kissed deeply, probing with our tongues and I slipped a hand under her T shirt and held her breast. She was braless, as usual, and I gently squeezed her nipple, which was as hard as an acorn. She sighed and I broke the kiss, pushing her shirt up and taking her nipple and its small, pink areola into my mouth. I sucked on it gently and swirled my tongue around. She loved this sort of attention to her breasts and her breath came faster, the nipple and areola standing up hard in my mouth.
I moved my hand down to the front of her jeans, massaging the mound beneath. She was breathing heavily now and I popped open the button and pulled down her zipper, pushing my hand inside. This was a step too far.
