The Girl On The Beach 1

The girl on the beach was walking away from me when I first noticed her. Hard not to be drawn to firm young tanned hips shifting asymmetrically as each foot found uneven purchase in the sand. Her ass looked like two kittens wrestling in a sack. Though there was no sack - just a faint hint of neon green thong back strap peeking out of the deep crevice between those teacup taut globes.

She was topless of course, like almost every woman on the beach from six months to sixty plus years old -- no matching top strap marred the rich copper tan of her skin as I finally rolled my eyes up to appreciate the rest of her beauty. Her thick black hair flowed in thick waves, falling just between her shoulder blades.

"Not just another bleached blonde," I heard myself mutter, realizing at once that I was already wondering if the pubic hair matched. Though she had the look, even from behind, of a woman who shaved her pubes.

"Not that it matters, because she's walking away, you'll never see her again," my more sensible side insisted.

Regardless, I was glad that I was wearing baggy swim shorts as I reclined in my lounge chair. I could feel my organ throbbing, blood surging to my groin as I became turgid. I sipped my drink, wishing that I was twenty years younger, and that I had six pack abs -- then maybe I could take a shot at someone like that without looking ridiculous. Though I suppose I looked ridiculous enough, my round hairy belly thrusting up where my silly brightly coloured print shirt hung open, my impossibly skinny legs and knobby knees jutting out of the shorts, flip flops on my feet. My wrap around sun glasses and straw fedora completed my middle aged geeky tourist on the beach disguise. Except, that was the real me.

Having never married, childless, I had a good income, having switched from accounting to computers to consulting as each trend crested. I had recently sold everything, and this resort destination was the first stop of my intended year long around the world journey of exploration. My family and friends had joked that I was going abroad to "find myself". The busybodies all counselled looking close to home. To them I had replied "I no longer have a home."

That had provoked reactions ranging from nervous laughter to jokes about "becoming truly zen" to suggestions that I seek psychiatric help. I smiled, winked, put my few worldly treasures in storage in my brother's basement, and caught the next plane to paradise.

I had not booked an itinerary. I had the means to stay as long as I wanted at any spot, or to move on as often as I wished, so would pick my next destination when I got bored.

"Well, she sure didn't look boring," I said to myself. I had noticed that after decades of living alone I had a habit of muttering my thoughts aloud. "Not that it matters, she's already gone." I must have dozed off after the girl passed, because the next thing I remember was opening my eyes to see her walking back from the other direction, a sarong now tied low on one hip, sipping a fruity umbrella drink. Each alternate step flashed her tanned and toned right thigh out the flap of the covering, and then it slid tantalizingly into hiding.

My cock, which had turned flaccid while I dozed, throbbed and twitched its appreciation of her muscular beauty. I resisted the urge to pat it and say "Down, boy."

She was maybe one hundred feet to my left when she suddenly smiled. Her lips pulled wide, her jaw relaxed; her perfect white teeth caught the sun. Though she was still too far away to know for sure, I was sure that her eyes were dancing brightly with genuine excitement.

As I turned my gaze to see who was provoking this joy, I realized that I had not even checked out her tits. Toplessness was so prevalent that my natural voyeurism was adapting already. I made a mental note to correct my omission as soon as I saw what had attracted her attention, even as I felt the sinking sensation that no doubt she had spotted her husband, boyfriend, or some random guy more age and fitness appropriate than me.

My heart revived, pumping faster, when I saw that her smile seemed to be directed at a small knot of young adults who looked to be about her age -- twentyish, was my guess. In particular, one tiny blonde with fair skin and perky A cup tits crowned by giant pink nipples was waving at the girl I had noticed. Others in the group held a volleyball, a net, and support posts.

'My Girl', as I thought of her, quickly ran across the hot sand to where the others were setting up the game. This gave me the perfect opportunity to note that her breasts were just a size bigger than her blonde chum's, enough flesh to bounce lightly as she moved, but to remain upright even when braless. Her nipples, like her hair, were darker than her friend's - a rusty brown -- and poked aggressively out from oversized areolae which seemed to cover half of each breast.

She passed right in front of me, untying her wrap as she moved, allowing me a close up appreciation of how her firm tanned thighs moved. Her sarong fluttered to the sand as she wasted no time joining the game, pausing only long enough to give her gal pal a quick hug, nipples brushing quickly. I was not near enough to tell for sure, but got the impression that both pairs of nubbins perked up even more after touching.

The game moved quickly -- one guy and two girls on each side of the net. The other two women were about as cute as the blonde, but less memorable - both with mousy brown hair, full bikini bottoms, slightly pear shaped with wider hips than shoulders. One wore a top, long hair pinned up. Her skin was so pale she had to be new to the resort. Perhaps she was afraid of burning her enormous breasts. Her pal was built more boyishly, flat chest sporting pale red nipples, hair cut short, shaved asymmetrically on one side.

All the players were obviously athletic, and the rallies could have lasted until evening but for the interjection of dramatic spikes and leaping blocks at the net. I got a brief flash of the bosomy brunette's boob as it flopped free when she lunged to make a save. After that happen a few times, she got tired of shaking sand out of her top, and with a giggling comment removed the fabric and tossed it aside. I heard one of the young men laughingly offer to lotion up her freshly exposed flesh.

As nubile as the brunette was, she did not have nearly as much impact on the increasing turgidity of my cock as when my raven haired girl spilled onto the sand, unsuccessfully diving for the ball. She bounced right back up and took a moment to brush sand off herself while one of the boyish men chased after the ball. She shook out her hair, stroked her thighs, and flicked debris from the valley of her tits so quickly that if I had blinked I would have missed it. Fortunately, she had my full attention; my eyes wide open behind my shades.

I sipped my drink and glanced away as she settled into position for the next point, forcing myself to watch as some fat older woman collapsed an overtaxed lounge chair. Even that diversion did nothing to reduce the almost total hardness of my cock. It begged me to caress myself, the devil in my brain whispering that anybody watching could see my excitement anyway.

"Yes, but why draw attention to it?" I reasoned with myself. "No one is going to notice me when there's so much beautiful flesh on display.

I smiled, pleased with my reasoning and sipped more of my drink. My cock still begged for my touch, pleading to be released, daring me to stroke it right there on the beach. Even looking at the fat old women no longer was abating its urgent throbbing. I drank more; half dozed, knowing that I could relieve this pressure later, by reliving the moments unfolding before me.

The game continued. All six players were obviously competitive athletes, each point was hard fought, and the giggling fun soon gave way to intense concentration. The boyish looking brunette was the best player, nailing every serve. Though not tall enough to block effectively, she made many saves and set up her taller team mate's spikes. Her casual grace as she moved reminded me of how much I had enjoyed being the score keeper for girls' volleyball in middle school. Her underdeveloped body was probably much like those of my classmates, except the youngsters who had caused my adolescent involuntary erections had been clad in baggy gym suits, and she left nothing to the imagination. And here I was, thirty years later, still just as horny and confused.

Sand clung to the brunette's skin even more often than to my raven haired beauty, but I noticed that the more serious competitor simply ignored it most of the time, even when she bounced up from the ground with grains clinging to her erect long nipples. She only touched herself when her boy short style bottoms were shoved down so low that almost her entire ass crack was visible. First, she pulled the fabric up, snapping back into place where the almost imperceptible curve of her ass met her spine. One rally later though, she asked for time out. The sound of her saying "Sand in the crotch," together with her friends giggling, travelled along the beach to my ears.

So next she tugged the top front of the shorts away from her washboard abs and bounced. Apparently, this did not work well enough, because with another burst of laughter, she yanked each leg hole away from well muscled inner thighs. Her fingers extended up under the fabric, twirling quickly. In my fevered imagination, I wished that it was her clit she was diddling, not just stray grains of sand. I did notice that her nipples seemed even longer at that point, and were encrusted with bits of the beach. Almost as if I had willed it, she reached up and brushed her chest where her tits should have been, her palms casually making the nubbins bobble, the dirt falling to the ground. Just as quickly as she started, she was once again bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready for the next serve.

I was afraid that my cock would pop right out of my shorts. At the same time, I felt guilty about diverting my attention away from my original girl. Tearing my eyes off the brunette, I refocused on the dark haired beauty. She was giggling like her friends, arms hanging loose by her hips, feet spread in a relaxed position, ready for anything.

"Not quite anything. She's not ready to fuck a fat old nerd," my common sense silently reminded me.

"Shut up," I mumbled allowed. "I'm not really fat; I just have a bit of a belly."

After all, my legs were still as spindly as they were in high school, and my ass still had dimples. How pathetic is that -- a middle aged guy checking out his own butt in mirrors, because no one else did. Not that it mattered much with my baggy swim shorts.

The self deprecation might have caused my hardness to soften, except fortunately the volleyball game resumed, and almost immediately "my" girl took her turn to spill in the sand and bounce back up, bits of the beach coating her tanned flesh, and reflecting sun off her dense mane of hair. She leaned forward, giving me, and hundreds of other onlookers, a perfect view of those firm tits dangling earthward, sand covered nipples begging to be rubbed clean.

I closed my eyes briefly, long enough to day dream that it was not a crowded beach, but instead a secluded oasis, and that she was inviting me and only me to wipe her clean.

When I opened my eyes, the girl was rubbing her hands up and down her body, without any show of hesitation or shyness, knocking the sand off. She hooked a thumb in either side of the narrow waistband of her thong and pulled it away from her hips, bouncing on the balls of her feet to shake grains out from inside the cloth. As she moved, her hands slid around to the front and back of her body, tugging the fabric well away from any crevices. I was pretty sure that a fingertip quickly stroked her labia open just enough so that no debris could hide in those folds.

"Hurry up!" I heard the young man holding the volleyball yell, "you're just going to get messy again soon anyhow."

The girl stuck her tongue out at him and seemed perhaps to slow her movements, to taunt him back. She ran her hand under the thong again, nodded in satisfaction. Then both hands roamed her belly, pausing to flick bits from her navel.

I'm sure it was just my imagination, but the entire beach seemed to freeze frame for a moment, as if everyone paused in anticipation of where her hands would travel to next. My heart and my shaft throbbed to a common tempo, but I could not breathe. I was afraid that if I exhaled, I would blow a wad so intense that it would burst through my shorts and spurt out onto the sand.

The girl moved her arms slowly, as if drawing out the moment - there was no hesitation, not a hint of shyness. Her palms moved slowly up her ribs, finally cupping the underside of each boob, giving them a shake to loosen the deposits clinging to her skin. This did not remove the crusty grains of sand pasted by her perspiration to her nipples. Those she had to brush off more deliberately; long tanned fingers fluttering over nubby flesh. The last few bits she picked off individually with her fingernails. This required that she tug each nipple slightly. If they weren't erect already, this gave them an enticing stiffness.

"Come on, let's play," one of the young men yelled, breaking the spell.

"If you're all done playing with yourself," the girl's blonde pal joked, but there was a hint of uptight sarcasm in her tone.

The girl stared long and hard at her friend, boobs resting in her palms an extra few seconds, as if to say "you aren't the boss of me."

She dramatically ran her tongue over her slack lower lip, giving each mound one more twist in opposite directions, perhaps in case there was any sand deep within the valley. Then she ran one hand back down her belly, just grazing the edge of her thong. That probably distracted most onlookers from noticing that her other fingers were giving her right nipple one last long tug. My cock definitely was paying attention, rising to salute, barely constrained within my shorts. I felt the ooze of precum seeping out.

I was sure it was just my imagination which made it appear that as the girl nodded once and set herself in position, she was panting slightly, arching her bum out and up higher, and that her nipples remained excited.

Finally exhaling, I sipped more of my drink as the game resumed. The girl was playing with more vigour, chasing each serve and volley enthusiastically, perhaps trying to show up the blonde, or maybe just from a natural competitive urge. Her body glistened with beads of perspiration, each reflecting a tiny ray of sun, until she looked golden.

"Whoa, boy, better cut back on the cocktails, waxing poetic in the midday sun," some practical voice cautioned in my head.

"Fuck off," the rest of my instincts muttered back. This was time for common sense.

Every five points, the teams switched sides, offering me ever shifting angles to appreciate the girl's bounty. My cock throbbed along nicely, like a V8 on cruise control. My attention had narrowed, so that the other players were like extras in my own private movie of the girl on the beach.

She giggled and my helmet twitched. She stretched to set for a spiker, my balls tightened against my groin. She sprawled again onto the sand, flying straight towards me, perfect valley of cleavage fully displayed, and I had to shift in my chair, my hand finally creeping to my lap to adjust my discomfort as surreptitiously as possible on a crowded beach.

After the face plant, the girl stood, facing directly towards me, feet spread wide, and quickly repeated her grooming routine, save for the theatrics, since now no one taunted her. She looked serious as her eyes aimed towards the ground while she tugged on her thong, lifting her right foot as she adjusted the fit of the back strap, her impossibly white teeth chewing on her pendulous lower. Then she looked up and smiled. Though the beach was already sunny, this grin reflected and amplified the rays as if she was thinking "Old Man Sun, your power is a trifle compared to mine."

There was no sign that she had noticed me. I was just one of hundreds of people on the beach who might be idly distracted by the volleyball game, a dozen or so of us in my row of lounge chairs alone.

I sipped my drink slowly, stifling any urge to inappropriately return the smile. I was still uncertain about the topless beach etiquette -- whether leering could be cause for some beefy beach patrol sort to politely escort me back to the more staid and sedate bar inside the main building. The girl would certainly have no trouble getting any guy to help her. Any male with a pulse would react to that smile.

My cock had, thrusting to length and girth previously unknown. I could feel the warm beach air bathing the slit of the head where it had extended so far that the elastic waistband of my shorts was stretched enough to create a gap. My cock was still hidden from onlookers, but if I stood, my shorts might fall below my balls, allowing my hardness to seek freedom. Again I wished that I knew the limits of the beach.

"She'd just gasp and laugh at your cock sticking out above your wrinkly balls and spindly legs," a voice which sounded suspiciously like my mother's echoed in my mind.

"It would be worth it, just to see the reaction," I muttered back, but did not have the nerve to test for real by standing at that moment.

He who hesitates is lost, and that moment passed. The girl spun with balletic grace and sprinted back to rejoin her game. I ordered another drink and tried to relax, but could not help focussing on her mixture of grace and athleticism - not to mention those great tits jiggling ever so slightly with each movement. She was carefree and casual about her semi nude condition, totally wrapped up in her competition.

My cock did recede just a tad, settling into a turgid, but not urgent, condition. The throbbing with each heartbeat was just a comfortable reminder that I was still alive enough that the sight of beautiful young women at play had me horny. I imagined that was no different than most of the males on the beach.

"Yeah, but most of them aren't here alone, so they have the disappointment of knowing that the most that they can do about it is go back to the room and beg their fat old lady for a blowjob, or ride the same tired flesh in the missionary position for the umpteenth time. You, on the other hand, are a free agent. Able to dive right in the deep end."

I liked that interior voice a lot better, and it sounded nothing like my mother. I could not help but grin. The warmth spreading from my groin joined with the sun's rays to make me glad that I had decided to start my new life with time on this beach.

"Well, if it's a new life, then act differently. Take the same intensity that made you rich and apply it to seducing women."

That voice sounded a lot like a motivational speaker, which spread my smile even wider. I had already considered taking up the lecture circuit after I saw the world. Right at that moment, I realized that the one success that I lacked to have the total confidence required was my sexual ability. And that just as I had made my money by knowing which risks to take, and then committing entirely to making them a success, my love life required the same dedication.

Timing had been a crucial element of my acumen, and once again, that day on the beach, fate played a hand. Just as I began figuring angles to introduce myself to the girl, one of her loutish friends smashed a hard spike so errant that it bounced off the blonde's noggin, and spun crazily in my direction. Perhaps if I had consumed one fewer drink, I might have had time to try and put my drink down, leap up, catch the ball and toss it back smoothly.