Sex On The Beach 15

We meet on the white sand beach of Cancun, Mexico. I was a nineteen year old desperately trying to escape the stifling small Southern town where I had lived all my life. This was my big adventure. I had worked for months stocking shelves and cashiering. I had finally saved enough to purchase a one-way ticket to this mysterious paradise about which my friend had told me almost mythic stories.

She was now somewhat happily settled as the wife of a staff sergeant in the US Army, but when we drank she would once again relive her wild days travelling about Mexico on the back of a motor bike with some long abandoned lover. She spoke of how you could live for weeks upon a few dollars, how friendly the people were, and how beautiful the land was. With each of her drunken tales, my own spirit of adventure was ignited.

So here I sat underneath the scant shade of a cabana at one of the exclusive hotels. Of course, I was not staying there. I had checked into one of the numerous local and less expensive hotels in the centre of town. But with a little help from my smattering of Spanish and the hotel clerk's scant English, I had finally figured out how to take the bus from the city out to the hotels on the beach where most of the American tourists could be found.

I had been talking for several minutes to a very nice, but not exactly my type sergeant in the British army. He was stationed in neighbouring Belize. He was enjoying a two week leave with friends in Cancun and like me was staying in the city.

Then I see him; approaching us like an ancient Greek god coming forth out of the breaking ocean waves. He was tall; over six feet three. His body was firm muscles, but not bulky. He had regulation short brown hair and matching deep brown eyes.

He smiled as he reached us and in a deep, cool British accent said 'How bout a fag, mate?' Being unfamiliar at this point with British slang, my first thought was damn, a fag; what a waste. But I soon learned from his friend that fag meant cigarette. Yet the more this guy talked the less interested I was in him.

I was still young then and the insecurities of being a late bloomer continued to haunt me. When I had graduated from high school, the previous year I had been heavier and sported buck-teeth and acne. Yet in the short space of that year, my teeth now were straighter, thanks to the metallic braces still on them. I had lost about ten pounds and sported a rather nice figure, despite my smallish but perky 32A breasts. My skin that had already been improving now glistened with a golden brown tan thanks to the Mexican sun.

But at this point, I had yet to develop a sense of the power of my womanhood. I remained essentially the shy and insecure little girl I had been in high school. So I was very turned off by his arrogant, cocky attitude. I actually considered excusing myself a couple of times.

As the sun began to dim in the sky, we made plans to actually meet later for drinks. After all, there were far fewer English speakers in the city centre. I was a tad reluctant when I considered even more of the steady diet of this young man's ego-centrism. In the end, it was go out with these English speaking men or stay in my hotel alone; not much of a choice, really.

I was devastated when I saw only the tall, but arrogant young god sitting alone at the bar. He made quick excuses for his friend, saying that he was not feeling well because of the nasty sun-burn from a full-day of the blazing sun. We sat and drank; and argued. It seemed all we did was argue; stupid things such as which was more important the American Civil War or the British War of the Roses.

In the end, we decided to take a taxi back out to the modern hotels on the beach to a dance club that he knew of. I had recently shaken off the shackles of a life-time of country music; having discovered through the brand new medium of MTV the likes of Madonna, Cindy Lauper and Annie Lennox. I was looking forward to dancing; just not necessarily with him.

The first little bit was actually more of the same; arguing. Then we were joined by two older Canadian women; today we would call them cougars. They clearly had one interest: sharing him for the night. Now, one thing no woman wants is to have a man stolen from her grasp; even if she does not particularly even want that man.

Obviously, I did have charms of my own and at that moment I decided to use them; to at least give it a go with this guy. I quite literally pulled his tight ass out onto that dance floor and away from those two sharks. I will never forget it; the song that was playing: Bonnie Tyler's 'Holding Out for a Hero.' Considering his stellar looks and profession, it was an appropriate selection.

How can in the three-minute space of a song the earth shift? But as I danced and shammed against his hard body it did all change. This time when our eyes met it was desire we both saw reflected there. When we returned to the table, the Canadians had disappeared. We were breathless, and it had little to do with the exertion from dancing.

I don't think we even bothered to finish our drinks. He took my hand and we made a speedy escape from the flashing lights and suspended disco balls. We emerged into the dark and star-light warm night of the Gulf coast. We could smell the clean, crisp beacon of the ocean just fifty yards from us.

We never spoke a word as he took my hand; leading me to where the waves broke softly against the shore. It was beneath the full moon that we shared our first kiss. If that sounds terribly romantic, the reality was far more so. The kiss went on and on. Like the scene in From Here to Eternity, we dropped to the ground with waves crashing around us. We continued to kiss and became to touch one another as the salty water that remained warm even at night splashed over us.

I had worn a white sundress that looked really stunning against my new tan. In the light of the full, moon I am sure it clung to my body and revealed more than it covered. His hands fumbled a bit at the small buttons that ran down the front, but he finally managed to brush the material aside. He did seem to rather expertly disperse with my front closing bra though. His hands moved over my small breasts teasing and caressing.

My hands too were busy. I slipped them beneath his polo shirt to run across the firm muscles of his back. His skin felt hot and smooth as my fingers played across it. I could feel other heat too; as he ground his hard cock against me. I would call it dry humping, except that neither of us were very dry at the moment.

Now at this point in life, my sexual experience was limited and this type of behaviour, making love outdoors, was definitely not familiar to me. I was very nervous. What if someone from the club came out for a smoke? We could still hear the pounding of the music and see light escaping the double doors when anyone entered or exited. What if there was a beach patrol? Did they have such things in Mexico? Could we be arrested? In a foreign country where I barely spoke the language no less.

But the intoxicating taste of the whiskey and the man soon over-powered those objections. I felt him pushing my dress up and then his large hands were tugging at my panties, which were soaking wet both from the ocean water and arousal. For a single moment, I questioned the wisdom of lifting my ass; knowing that by doing so I was acquiescing to something far beyond anything I had ever experienced. In the end I lifted my hips out of the warm water, and my new lover quickly dispensed with them. He tossed them; we actually never did find them.

At the same time, he undid his jeans. Before I knew it, I felt his cock pushing deep into me. As I said, I had only had one other lover before; and he was no where near this big or thick. I was very glad for the wetness from the water because the discomfort was actually more than I felt my first time; as he stretched me with each stroke. The kissing and playing with my tits though did keep me aroused and after a couple of minutes the discomfort began to ease as the arousal took over. I began to lift my hips and move against him.

Now lest you think that sex on the beach is the ultimate romantic experience that we all fantasize about, there is one little thing; it is called sand. Being on the bottom, sand was grinding deeper into my bare ass with each of his thrusts. As good as the water felt on my inexperienced cunt being stretched uncomfortably by this large invader, it was also bringing with it a fair amount of gritty sand.

Thankfully, we were both pretty excited by the risks of sex on the beach, the sound of waves crashing around us, the moon and stars lighting the warm Gulf night, and each other. This first time for us both was hard and fast. His tongue thrusting deep into my mouth as his cock thrust its deepest inside my cunt; then he came, flooding me with his seed.

We stayed like that entwined in the sand and locked in a deep kiss for a couple of minutes. As he finally broke the kiss and drew back, he propped his weight on his arms. We were both soaking; there was not a dry stitch of clothing on me and even his jeans and polo were slightly damp from our adventure. We straightened our clothes, as best we could. Like I said, we never found my knickers; perhaps tossed too deeply into the bushes or washed away with the tide.

It was much too far to walk back to the city centre; it was so late that the buses were no longer running; and we were much too wet for a taxi. We decided to walk along the beach for a bit until our clothes began to dry out. It was nice now; no arguing over completely stupid shit. I suppose all of that had simply been defence mechanisms to protect us from getting hurt. As the sun began to rise on the horizon that morning, he drew me into his arms. Our clothes were almost dry now and we had decided to hail a taxi back into the city. But first, he bent slowly down and gave me another of those soul-deep kisses that intoxicated me almost as much as that deep British accent.

As he drew back from this kiss, he whispered in that accent, 'Eight letters, three words, one meaning.' I was more than a tad confused by what I later discovered was his rather unique way of saying...I love you. For the next ten days of his leave, he stayed almost constantly by my side. I returned to the US, shortly after he left for Belize. We continued to talk and write for months, but sometimes life just throws you curve balls. Eventually we lost contact and each moved on to other things, but I shall always remember my night on the beach...and him.