At thirty seven I don't consider myself to be a supermodel, but I do believe I aged quite well, and I certainly don't feel shy wearing a bikini in public. And it never seems like anyone minds either as I get stared down aplenty at the beach, by both young and old men, sometimes even women. Although mostly the women stare at me with contempt for distracting their husband's gaze away from themselves.
I'm what most would probably describe as voluptuously curvaceous. I've never spent more than a day in the gym throughout my life, but I keep myself busy with all sorts of things. I eat what I want, when I want and therefore I am slightly fuller figured but I would never consider using the word fat, but definitely not muscular or athletic. All the curves are in all the right places, and still just as firm as I remember them ever being, and rather large if I say so myself, just the way men seem to like them.
Now I've never been unfaithful to my husband in the traditional sense of the word, and I do hope to keep it that way, but long before we even met or got married I'd been around the block and consider myself sexually adventurous, and just a little bit too naughty for my own good.
Needless to say, when my husband came alone I had a little bit of trouble keeping myself under control, especially since he isn't nearly as sexually active as I am. I resolved myself to what I call "hardcore flirting", which can mean any number of things in different situations but ultimately comes down to the fact that I can look (and play) with the menu as much as I want to, as long as I eat at home.
Over the years I've had many fun times chatting up guys at bars, getting topless here and there, stroking the odd package when a little drunk, and generally misbehaving within my own guidelines. As the Internet came along I found a great many new avenues to entertain myself with, starting with plain text chat rooms, and later moving on to webcam sessions with strangers.
Some of these adventures I actually did with my husband, so he isn't completely ignorant of my needs, and even in the flesh we had an experience or two with a jacuzzi and another couple. And I'm sure we'll have a few more in the future.
The webcam experiences unlocked some voyeuristic tendencies in me that I never expected of myself. Often I would stay home instead of going out with friends, when my husband was away, so I coulsteer in front of the computer and find new people to cam with or old favourites from my Skype list.
Initially it was innocent as most things are, just a little sexy and flirtatious dressing for my partners at the other end, but this soon led to getting completely naked in front of them, and eventually even playing with myself in front of the camera while watching them do the same.
I would chat and cam with, and for anyone, from young guys half my age, to couples much older, and even other women sometimes. It really started getting steamy when I had my husband buy me a laptop instead of the desktop I was using, with a loose webcam so that I could take to bed with me, and show even more details of my excursions to my fans.
He of course reaped the benefits, because you simply can't get off by yourself even with help, like you do with a real person. So every time he came back from a business trip I would absolutely fuck his brains out, because I had made myself so super horny with the help of my Internet friends.
Anyway enough back story.
It's been years since my husband and I took a good long holiday. In fact, our honeymoon might have been our last, and since then we've only really taken a long weekend here and there, to nowhere particularly spectacular.
So, approaching our forties we decided its about damn time we spend some money on ourselves and a good long holiday, and we soon found ourselves at a beach resort on the coast of Kenya.
After a horrendous experience of delayed flights and crazy taxi drivers we eventually made it to our destination after a full day's travel, somewhere in the middle of the night, and went straight to bed without a moment's hesitation.
The next morning I woke up stressed, which is unacceptable for someone on holiday. So right after breakfast I started with the first of many Gin & Tonic's, which is completely unlike myself.
Soon after, I sauntered down to the beach, while my husband went to check out the Scooba diving lessons in the hotel's main pool area. Surprisingly I found the private beach virtually deserted, apart from one older couple lounging on the opposite end, and a security guard manning his post just as you entered the area.
I say private beach loosely, as it's simply a section of the beach for hotel residents only, divided from the real beach by a low knee-high wall. There's nothing really stopping anyone from simply walking up from the public area, but it appears rules and regulations are well respected and nobody takes any chances. Kenyan beaches are covered with the local African "Beach Boys" who peddle their wares and services to tourists, and I guess that's where the security guard comes into the picture, in case they get a little too much for residents.
Regardless, I settled myself on a lounger close to the low separating wall so that I could at least be closest to the sea, and got myself in a half sitting position so I could have a look around while reading my book.
I just got out my suntan lotion and started liberally applying it to my face and shoulders, when three of the aforementioned Beach Boys appeared on my section of the beach. They had all sorts of goods for sale, from key rings to little statuettes but in their typical way they first tried to smooth talk you before getting to the real sales pitch.
Since they were not allowed on the private beach, they kept their distance at the low wall which was probably ten or so metres away from me, but I felt quite comfortable and safe knowing that there was security somewhere behind me, within in screaming distance.
The Beach Boys wanted to know all about where I come from, who I was with and what I was here for, and most importantly what my name was, so that they could then introduce themselves. Names are very important to the people, and they remember them well, together with all the other details you tell them about yourself.
They implored me to come closer, and shake their hands so they could introduce themselves properly, and I obliged them cautiously. Each had a fake name that was specially for tourists, and obviously American. I met Justin Timberland, Captain Zero and I couldn't remember the last.
Of course they were very flirty and complimentary, telling me that I looked great in my red bikini, and that I didn't even need to tan as my skin was already perfect. It was only when I reached down to pickup one of their creations and my breasts almost popped out of my top, that one of them got really adventurous and commented on my bosom being greater and firmer than any of their local girls, this while demonstrating profusely with his hands.
I took it in my stride, but the comment had awakened many naughty thoughts at the back of my mind, and by this time my third G&T for the morning had gotten me very relaxed and adventurous.
I stood up and half turned, looking around the beach and there was still nobody in sight, except for the old couple who seemed to be on their way, picking up their towels and packing their bags.
And it was while I turned my back towards them, that one of the other two commented that I had an even better ass, to go with my big bosom.
Now, I'm very proud of my breasts, at a rather large D-cup they are more than most men can handle, and still exactly where they should be. However my ass is not my greatest asset, being a bit too large for my tastes, and hanging ever so slightly out of my bikini bottoms. So this comment hit home, and immediately excited my already dirty thoughts regarding my situation.
I walked back towards my lounger, with my back towards them, and set my little game in motion. As I reached the lounger I made a very obvious gesture of slipping my hands under my sarong, and resetting my panties over my ass cheeks, and I looked back over my shoulder and thanked him for the generous compliment before dropping the sarong and turning myself around sitting on the edge of the tanning bed.
Immediately I had their full attention, and they moved closer climbing onto the wall to take a seat, while continuing to chat to me about all sorts. I grabbed my suntan again and continued to cover my arms, my stomach and my legs while we chatted about inane topics, as they held their gaze very firmly on my body and my hands.
The three of them were all superbly built, with muscular but not massive arms, incredible pecks and ripped stomachs...very much like sprint athletes. Of course they were as black as Africans can be, wearing nothing but board shorts, not even shoes. Needless to say, having them watch me with such wild desire, started a fire in my loins.