The Island Anitas Day 01 02

Y'all gotta know tha' feelin' when ya're expectin' to see someone special, who ya 'avent seen for years? I bet most of ya do, an' I gotta tell ya, tha's the bigges' thrill in tha World...

Eh, but look at me... I keep forgetin' y'all probably ain't fullowin' wha' I'm sayin'. Sumtimes i's a helluva hard to understan' if ya ain't local or at leas' used to it. It would prob'ly be better if I started talkin' in "normal" language, right? So we don' get ya los' in tha story. Nobody likes to go trackin' back an' readin' sumthin for three times, goin' all 'Dafuq did I just read?' before gettin' what was said. Or even worse -- tellin' the speaker to r'peat the las' sentence or two. Righ'? I bet ya'll all agree with me: Sum of ya loudly, an' sum of ya jus' intimately -- even if ya'll be sayin' out loud, doin' tha' knowitall thang: 'Oh come on, I get what she's saying, it isn't that hard.'

So, from now on, I will be talking like this -- well, at least when I'm not doing the dialogues of the Islanders, including my own lines. They must sound original. And yes, I can actually talk like this. It's not as if we Islanders are unable to speak like majors in linguistic sciences. We simply choose not to unless it's absolutely necessary. And yes, when we talk to the outsiders, we do tend to take down a notch from our local dialect, because otherwise most of the people wouldn't be able to understand half of what we were talking about.

***

I took the towel and threw it over my shoulder. It was almost 7 PM, and it was the perfect time to go for an early evening swim. It was still hot -- hell, it was hot 0-24 -- but now it became bearable. The heat wave crashed down on us some days ago, and it was proper. Even at night the temperatures rarely went under 85 degrees, and from 10 AM until 6 PM they were hovering around 100.

In all that heat, I was naked all-day round. Partly because of the heat, and partly because I just loved being naked. But now I had to put something on -- even if it was just a short walk from our house to the beach. It was, after all, the Island, and some of the older folks here weren't that keen on completely casual nudity, to say the least.

My Dads (I called him that ever since I was 2 years old and sure as hell wasn't going to change that for the sake of this story) didn't care if I was naked or dressed like a nun -- part of his "Live and let live" motto that he even applied to me, his one and only child, his princess. The same as he never cared if I saw him naked. In our home, it wasn't even something to be bothered about. Both my Mum and Dads were part of the 'golden' generation of nudists in the '80s, and nudity was a perfectly normal thing for them. So I grew up around them being nude almost always when the situation and the temperatures allowed it, and it was the most normal thing for me.

Unfortunately, when they divorced, and Mum and I moved away to the City, she became somewhat more close-minded about everything. Or maybe it was just that my Dad's open-mindedness wore off when she distanced herself from him. She simply became 'normal.' She even complained to me sometimes, when she thought that I was 'too casual' about clothes-free lifestyle. Her City friends were a lot more conservative, so I guess they were the ones feeling offended when I walked around my house in Eva's costume, not caring about their presence there. And then my Mum, instead of defending my choice, decided to conform to their opinion. I didn't care, and sure as hell didn't abide. As I grew older, I found that Mum and I had less and less in common -- and that Dads was really the only parent that really understood me.

Still, there were boundaries that even I respected, such as walking naked across the Town Square. So I put on the white t-shirt and bikini thongs -- hell, folks around here haven't seen me since I was barely sixteen, and it would be a bit rude to give half of them heart attacks now. Though, if I wasn't to be naked, then I chose to go as close as it got to the nakedness. Dads was sitting in his deck chair, reading some book on World War II -- with old fighter planes and orange block letters that spelled "MIDWAY" on the front page cover.

"Dads, I'll be goin' to tha beach now!" I yelled out at him.

"Good on ya," he answered uninterestingly, not even trying to lift his gaze away from the book.

"Be back in an hour or so." And then I asked, for about twentieth time today: "When's He arrivin'?"

"Aroun' 8, deary. Jus' like the las' twen'y times I told ya that," Dads said, a bit annoyed I was disturbing some huge aircraft dogfight in the Pacific. Yeah, kill me, I don't give a rat's ass about wars and stuff like that.

"Jus' checkin', Dads." I truly felt as if I was a six-year-old waiting for Santa to bring me the presents.

"Yah. Sure ya're. Is 'is house all ready?" Dads asked.

"Sure is! Luv ya! Bye!" I replied, already departing.

He just waved goodbye, and I was off. The path to my favorite swim location led directly across His cottage, which my Dads (and me, since I got to the Island) was taking care of in His absence. Yep, His house was really ready. I was here on the Island for three days now, and I went there for about ten times. OK, maybe more. I cleaned all the nooks and crannies, opened all the windows and changed the bed linen. About three times. Because I really messed it up every time with my pussy juice.

I know, I know... I forgot to mention one tiny detail about me: Hi, my name is Anita, and I'm addicted to sex. Not in a "sex addict" way, or as some might call it, not as a nymphomaniac whore who fucked anything human. I have my standards that are even pretty high; I don't change my partners often -- hell, it could be months between two sexual encounters. But I'm horny. All day, every day. Ever since I discovered the pleasures of the flesh (with a minor interlude due to severe broken-heartedness) I haven't stopped cumming, every fucking day of my life at least one orgasm. In all manners possible. There was no chance in hell that I wouldn't get myself off on a daily basis, even when in fever, or in an extremely inappropriate situation. I couldn't even imagine skipping a day. It didn't matter if I was in a room full of people, or at the top of the mountain in freezing cold, or even in a hospital recovering from a tonsillectomy. I came. At least once, often more than that. It was like air or water to me. A delightful necessity. A bit crazy, I know, but at least I didn't do meth, right?

When I enrolled into med school, it opened a whole new world for me. At the anatomy classes, I paid special attention to the body parts that were my erogenous zones. The majority of my colleagues spent their time studying for the exam in the library. I did that too -- when I needed. I never found medicine so excruciatingly hard like most of the med students. It came to me as a given, as if I was simply learning to read. So, most of the spare time I had, I searched, read and applied everything there was to know about sexual arousal of the human body. I also studied a lot of the alternative sciences on the power of touch, of heightening your senses... Whatever was there to help me climax harder, longer, better. I taught myself how to ejaculate before my 19

th

birthday. Shit, I learned how to drive on a highway and do a quick rub without even changing the speed of driving, let alone swerving. And I taught most of my sexual partners how to fuck me properly -- God knows most of them didn't actually know front from the back. Yeah, I was a sexual geek and freak.

One of the problems of being so oriented on sex is that there is rarely someone to talk to about the subject. Now you're thinking: 'What? No one to talk to a woman who wants to talk about sex? Cut the bullshit girl, and let me introduce you to -- men.' But honestly, it's not like that. Men that I knew either got scared or thought I was just a complete slut who was asking them to fuck me. Which lead to me, regularly needing to explain that discussion about sex should not be different than discussing food (it's a basic human need, not something equal to drug-smuggling, for God's sake) and that no -- I don't want to fuck with you just because I find it normal to talk to people about different approaches to massaging the clitoris, so get your fucking hands off of me, please.

As for women, the situation was even worse. You see, the problem is that the City has a strong 'Catholic' culture. Not really Catholic in a religious, going to mass every Sunday sense -- but in a built-in feeling of overt prudishness which was deemed appropriate to be shown in public, and moral exaltedness of the 'true' believers in the 'word of Bible.' Which, of course, was all just a pile of hypocritical manure, since half of those prudes would blow a leper if he had keys to the new BMW or Porsche SUV.

Even my sexual partners found me a bit over the top. As I probably was. With men, it was their sexual borders -- either when I started talking about anal, or threesomes, or (God forbid) them doing it with another guy -- which made them lose their confidence and even disguise their fear by discarding me as a 'freak.'

With women, it was mostly jealousy with my openness towards everything sexual (ok, not really everything -- I drew my line at everything actually illegal, non-consensual and incestuous) and telling them not to expect me to be just theirs.

But listen to me. I'm babbling here, talking digressions about me and myself, and there is a story to tell. And what a story it is.

Anyway, as I said, I headed off towards my swim spot. As I got to the cottage, I went inside to check around for the last time. It was clean and ready. I climbed up the stairs onto the bed platform, and gently straightened the bedsheet. It made me start to think about Him again.

***

His name was Martin. He was eight years older than me, and we knew each other ever since I was a little girl. His family came to the Island ever since he was around fourteen years old, and his father and Dads quickly became great friends, sharing their views on life, philosophy, politics... So Martin got stuck with me. An only child of his parents' friends who needed to be watched over while the folks had their grown-up ways of spending time.

Unlike most of the teenage boys, he didn't mind taking care of me. He was also an only child, so it kind of seemed that he enjoyed having a 'little sister.' I was really shy then. I understood much more than I showed, and Martin was the only one who saw me through. He was insanely smart, but not the geeky type. In retrospect, his intelligence combined with his charm and unbelievable empathy (similar to his mother's) made him 'cool' without bracketing him in any of the usual teenage stereotypes. He was handsome, which I only noticed later.

When we were hanging out together, he took me to the beach with him and his friends (or even just the two of us), he allowed me to spend time with him while he was in the apartment, reading books or playing games on his father's notebook, or was just bored. He loved teaching me about boys' stuff (in his case, those were mostly cars, sports, farting, belching, some computer games, and books), and I loved learning about it. I always felt closer to boys' frame of mind than the majority of girls.

OK, sometimes he was locked in his room and yelled that I should come back later -- but I took it also as a part of our relationship and didn't give it much thought. When his mom asked me once why wasn't I with him, I told them that he was in his room and that he locked the door, and she blushed and started to laugh. Of course, it was obvious to her what was going on, but I was clueless. She just told me not to worry and that he'll come out soon enough to take me to the beach.

***

I caress the sheets on the bed.

They feel so soft, like angel's wings.

There is Martin, laying naked on his back, sleeping, just a thin sheet covering his

groin

, his strong

hands,

and shoulders seductively spread on the white cotton. He looks boyish, just as I last remember him, even younger than I am now. He is devilishly handsome -- not a pretty boy, but a real man awakening, all the tiny imperfections on his face creating a perfect blend of raw masculinity and eye-pleasing smoothness. He wakes up, opens his beautiful green eyes, and sees me standing there. He invites me to come to bed with him. I am wet in a second. I quickly pull down my thong and throw myself on the mattress.

"Oh

luv

, touch me like that!" I say to him while my hands slowly explore my body. I start

to massage my outer labia gently

. I turn my face towards him and gently bite his lips. The inner temperature of my body begins to rise, making me feel all tingly. I don't want to kiss and caress

now; I

don't need any

foreplay. He sees that. He acts.

He starts to go down on me, holding my legs firmly while kissing me all over my belly and progressing toward my inner thighs. I spread my pussy for him, waiting eagerly to feel the tip of his tongue on my clit. His lips are gentle as they slowly form a circle around my pleasure button, already completely covered in juices. Without any warning, he thrusts his finger inside me. I release a powerful moan; my ass tightens as the first wave of ecstasy pummels through my body. He sucks gently on my clit, pulling it completely out of its protective cover.

"Oh my, Martin, jus' like

tha',

lick my pussy jus' like

tha

'!" I whisper loudly, as his tongue flicks left and right and up and down and as his two fingers are in me now, fucking me gently and massaging my g-spot. I

bury

my head in a pillow, groaning and moaning as my arousal becomes stronger and stronger by the second.

In reality, he is on a ferry already, and I am going to see him in less than an hour. And suddenly, that thought alone makes me cum so unexpectedly, so fast, that my mind actually takes a second or two to realize it is, indeed, an orgasm. Once it settles in, I twist, I raise my butt from the bed, I

shiver,

and I yell out: "Oh, YESSSS, that's it!" just as the wave after wave of orgasmic joy rolls from my head to my toes, turning all sensations into one huge bliss.

***

As we both grew older, he started with the usual teenage shenanigans. He still cared about me and protected me, but it was more and more obvious that there were some things that the eight- or nine-year-old me wasn't supposed to see or know about. Still, if he had no option but to take me with him, I had to promise to keep a secret about everything I saw or heard. One summer, there was this Ingrid girl from Germany. And, just like that, Martin was gone. Well, for a week and a half. Instead of spending time with me, he was all about her. What they did, I had no idea at the time. But yeah, his folks were teasing him alright. Ingrid this, Ingrid that. He seemed ashamed in the beginning, but that all went away and when someone started with 'How's your girlfriend, Martin?', he'd just smile and wink at them. Unfortunately for him, Ingrid also left one day. Back home.

And, as sure as anything, I was back to being his little buddy girl, but I could see his mind and heart were somewhere out there, around Berlin or some other part of Germany. It was funny, you know -- I was a kid who still thought that playing games was THE most important thing in the world. Martin suddenly looked different. He spent less and less time playing games and reading books, and more time hanging out with his 'big' friends, and especially girls, who suddenly took an interest in him since they saw him hanging around with Ingrid. It was not that he started to neglect me, but more of a... Well, he had less and less interest in doing stuff with me. Martin was all growing up, and I was still really, really far from it.

***

I gently made the bed back to look picture perfect for him, straightened each crevice, folded each overhang. And then stuck my finger deep into my still throbbing pussy, and smeared the juices gently over the pillow, decorating it all with a slight kiss. He might, or might not notice it -- I knew I'd sure as hell have my answer to that dilemma soon. Almost forgetting to pick up my itsy-bitsy panties from the gallery floor, I exited his cottage and headed towards the sea, enjoying the gentle early evening breeze on my naked skin as I strolled down the narrow path. It was late June, and the sun was still some way above the horizon, so if someone was accidentally there, they'd see me walking around naked from my waist down. I couldn't care less about it. It was summer, it was hot, and anyone who'd have a problem with my naked pussy can go fuck themselves. Not with me, naturally. As I climbed the last rock overhanging the magnificent, turquoise sea, I pulled my shirt over my head, threw it on the ground and, without breaking a stroll, I jumped right into the velvety, perfect liquid.

***

I was still half-wet when I put my clothes back on and scurried quickly back to my Dads' house. I had no watch, but it must've been close to 8 o'clock since I took my time up in the cottage and some more time just enjoying the swim, meaning that Martin was about to arrive any minute now -- if he weren't already there yet. And there was no chance in hell I wouldn't be one of the first two people to welcome him. The more I approached the house, the faster my heart was beating. I haven't seen the man for ages, so I had no idea what would happen when I saw him. Shit, he could be fat. He could be boring. And worst of all, he might not be alone. Yeah, he did tell Dads he wasn't bringing anyone with him, but things change, surprises come out, girls get disappointed, you know the story.

When I was in the ear's reach of the house, I heard my Dads talking. And then I heard the other voice talking to him. Not an Islander, definitely. It was an inland accent, almost like the one I'm using right now. And the voice was oh so familiar -- maybe a bit hoarser than I remembered it, but there was no mistake. I felt my chest bumping outward as my heart grew two sizes and started to pump. I needed to calm down. It was... Shit, I've never been like that. It felt just like the last time I saw him -- just before my teenage heart got broken into thousands of pieces, completely unbeknownst to him. So, I stopped just before I could be seen from the porch, and decided to go around the house. As I reached the back door, I stopped and took 10 deep breaths. Inhale, exhale -- 15 seconds each. Calm down. Get a grip. Don't fuck this up. It's a long game, Anita, not a dash and crash.

As my vitals finally got back to normal, I silently passed through the house and exited out onto the porch, standing directly behind him. And, oh my, he was... Martin was the shit! He was there, looking awesome (well, his butt looked awesome) and talking in that charming, lovely tone of his. I wasn't even listening to what Dads and he were talking about. I just stood there, silent, and waited for him to turn around. Which happened in less than a minute. As much as his ass was looking all lovely, his front side was delicious. Those piercing green eyes (yeah, a bit tired and rounded by black circles, but who cared), that slightly unkempt beard, and, most of all, that smile. And boy, he was in shape, especially for someone who was thirty and had a stressful office job. Sadly, Martin had baggy pants on, so I could've only imagined the part of him I really, really wanted to get to know finally. I had no idea when, but my face went into the biggest of all grins. He looked shocked to see me and was obviously processing me carefully. Well, I was the host, after all, so it was only polite of me to break the ice: "Oh my, I can't believe it's you! I 'aven't seen you for five years!"