Day 9
The ninth day of my holiday on an island in the Mediterranean proved to be a quiet one; mostly spent happily snorkelling around looking at fish. I really did leave girls alone for the better part of the day. It was not that I had become bored or jaded by over familiarity with the fair sex but after the previous day a bit of a rest was called for. Well, a short rest anyway!
Nudity is often enough erotic, but clothes obscuring the female form can be even more alluring. I know nothing of the male. I very much doubt my practical khaki shorts, sandals and variety of tee shirts particularly sets girls hearts racing or causes a creeping wetness between their thighs. It would be nice to think it did. But I cannot really imagine a passing couple of girls turning as one to watch my retreating bottom with one saying to the other, "I wouldn't mind fucking him," and the other replying, "me too." No, rather unlikely!
The eroticism of clothing came home very strongly to me as I watched a couple set off for dinner at some restaurant. Clearly freshly showered and changed into light, but a little smarter, clothes for the evening, they were walking hand in hand along a stretch of pavement. Long limbs help of course, as does a pleasing tan, a pretty face and long flowing fair hair but what really made it all work so well was the thin little, figure hugging dress the girl was wearing. Light grey in colour; it was one of those things that simply clung to the body. The way it moulded around her thigh as she stepped forward, the materially stretching across it as she walked, was exquisite both completely revealing the curved shape of her body and yet at the same time obscuring.
Deliciously seductive - it had me in a trice.
It was more than enough for me to quickly find somewhere to 'disappear,' hurry ahead of them and 'reappear' so I could watch the girl walk past again in that light grey dress. Not only did her thighs look fabulous in the dress but I noticed how well it moulded her small breasts, delightfully encasing their very hemispherical shape; indeed showing their shape perfectly without actually revealing them. She was, of course, bra-less. Indeed, I wondered as I watched her retreating bottom, again the dress pleasingly taut over her buttocks, whether she was wearing panties either. The dress seemed a second skin; absolutely charming - it suited her more than I could describe. Really I should have complimented her upon it but I resolved to do it in my own way later. It was difficult to imagine the boy would do other than make love to her before the evening was out and I would add my compliment to his shortly after. My interest in the fair sex was rekindled and burning brightly. Ensuring I was with them later, of course, meant following them and, as a result, I dined at the same restaurant. Alone at my table but that is not exactly unusual for me on holiday. It would have been very pleasing had they invited me to join them but that was not going to happen!
Rather than leaping straight in and finding out if my surmise was correct, I allowed my anticipation time to relish the prospect and it was only later as they sauntered back chatting that I allowed myself the liberty of close inspection. I was a little worried that back at where they were staying the dress might come off in one fluid movement and I did so want to feel her in the dress before then. I do appreciate my desires and actions are not what would be described as normal or appropriate in a civilised society. I do have misgivings and doubts at my actions on occasion but am pretty sure my desires are no different from most other men. Most men faced with the sight of this nubile young thing in that dress would have looked closely and certainly desired to touch and touch intimately. It is just that I can give action to the desire.
There they were caught in mid stride. Up close she was as lovely as I had noted both walking and in the restaurant and the dress as pretty and sheer as I had thought. I stood stroking it like one might do a cat. I really liked the material... and her bottom which was where I was stroking! I did not want to stretch the material so refrained from cupping my hand around a breast within the material and contented myself with feeling her through the thin material.
Egress to her sex, though, did not require a stretching of the material, though it was taut enough with her thigh pressing forward; I crouched and let my hand run slowly up the inside of a thigh and under the hem. Isn't it a lovely thing to do - slip a hand up a woman's smooth inner thigh? I am told by an older friend that younger generations do not fully appreciate this in the way his generation did. The slipping of a hand up a nylon clad thigh and knowing if you got as far as touching bare skin above the stocking top you were going to be permitted to go further. He suggested nothing topped the thrill of feeling that skin beneath your fingertips. Personally stockings and suspender belts has not been my 'thing' but I can understand what he was meaning. Certainly feeling upwards under this dress was exciting enough for me. Higher and higher my fingertips travelled, becoming more intimate until just the faintest touch of hair on my fingertips revealed my surmise about panties had been entirely accurate. Just a little further and my fingers were in amongst the hair and the soft folds of her sex. Not yet aroused and oily but I was reasonably sure that would come later. It would be very tiresome if the two of them just went to sleep.
What would have been best would have been if we had teamed up at the restaurant and they invited me back for a fuck or should I put it less crudely, for some tandem intercourse. Well actually what would have been really good would have been the opportunity to fuck her in that dress!
Following them, I imagined the three of us teamed up and turning toward the beach along a rather deserted track; the man and me slipping our shorts off and walking along in just our shirts, tackle swinging to the evident pleasure of the girl. She reaching to clasp and stroke, one cock in each hand, bringing us both to a stand and then we men taking it in turns to fuck her; just easing our equipment under the hem of that little dress and pushing upwards, no panties in the way, her arms wrapping around a neck, and legs coming up to encircle hips as the penis was pushed in. A few thrusts, a few more steps along the path and then the other man doing the same. A slow, but very long perambulatory shared intercourse in the warm night air. I wonder how far and how long such a walk could go? Delightfully different. The ever present thrill of the risk of discovery.
The girl could look so demur in that dress in a moment, the fact of her dripping sex safely hidden - only her perky hard nipples pushing at the thin grey material giving anything away: but for the man and me with cocks wet from the girl, perhaps even dripping a little pre-cum from the long period of coital excitement as we had walked in the night - what could we do to hide the prominence of our erections thrusting out from under our shirts? Hide in the bushes or brazen it out. Perhaps meeting two girls walking along; girls re-assured by the girl being with us but open mouthed at our display in the moonlight. Staring as our girl reaching around one of our necks and mounting with a casual, "We were just having a little moonlit fuck, you can watch if you like." Would they?
Or meeting a couple with really the same result but with a, "why don't you fuck as well?" Would the couple walk on shocked and offended by what they had seen or walk by with a smile and a cheery, "Have a nice one," or a, "Come here often?"
Perhaps, though, the new girl would slip her panties down or drop her shorts and pull out her friends already hard cock and we could all watch each other in the moonlight. Perhaps all of us then going down to the beach for a post coital naked swim in the moonlight. Five naked bodies running into the surf.
But I was not with the couple and probably they were not going for a walk and swim but back to where they were staying. My little moonlit dream, alas, not reality at all.
It does sometimes happen that when I am following someone the person gets wind of me. Perhaps it is a sixth sense. It happened with this couple. All of a sudden they had both stopped and were looking back at me. I hate that. I can't just stop time and disappear: it is against my principle of not drawing attention to me. So I just kept on walking and with a pleasant, 'Good evening' walked straight on past them and at the next corner turned out of their sight. Stopping time I doubled back worried they might have gone into somewhere or otherwise disappeared. I would have been very disappointed indeed.
