Tall, with long, straight dark hair down past her shoulders, she stood under the resort's breach umbrella. The roundness of her breasts complemented her pregnant belly, which hung low, pushing down the waistband of her bikini bottom. She rubbed sunburn cream into her already tanned breasts while another woman lay face down on a towel next to her.
It was a warm summer day, and after 20 minutes or so in the sun, I decided to head back to the house. The sandy track up through the bush that separated our family's property from the beach was about 50 metres long and quite steep in parts. But it meant that the second floor of our house was above the tree line, providing an unobstructed 180 degree view of the deep blue tropical sea stretching away to the horizon.
My father had bought the house at Buchanan Beach many years ago, at the insistence of my mother, who had loved the beach. My parents spent most weekends and their annual holidays at the house, right up until my mother's death. But these days I was the only regular visitor.
Like other tiny settlements on this part of the coast, time seemed to have passed Buchanan Beach by. Most of the tourists using the highway drove straight past the turnoff; a poorly signposted minor road which ended at our little seaside hamlet.
Even for those who knew we existed, there was little reason to visit Buchanan Beach. There were no shops or public facilities of any kind. The only buildings were a block of units and half a dozen scattered holiday homes. The units, grandly named the Buchanan Beach Resort, were right next door to my parents' house. Even in the middle of summer, they weren't exactly doing a roaring trade.
As I walked across our front lawn, I saw Dave, the resort's owner and Buchanan Beach's only permanent resident.
"So you saw my guests on the beach?" he asked eagerly.
From the expression on his face, I knew there was something he was bursting to tell me.
"They're dykes," he said, in his typically crude and direct manner.
He smiled lewdly. "Did you hear them last night? They're in room 3."
I was surprised I hadn't heard anything. Our lounge room windows and the bedroom windows of room 3 faced each other. The two buildings were separated by about 20 metres, but given how quiet it was at night, I often heard couples fucking.
I saw no more of Dave's guests until the next morning, when I saw the pregnant woman walking along the path that led to the track down to the beach. I changed into my board shorts and followed a few minutes later.
She was lying on her back on the sand under the umbrella, topless again. She appeared not to notice when I put my towel down on the sand, in the shadow of a tree near where the track came out onto the beach, about 60 metres away from her.
After a short time, the woman sat up, and then, with little more difficulty, stood up. She began walking towards me, and when she was only a few feet away, she stopped.
"I'm Belinda," she said, flashing me a dazzling smile.
My eyes were immediately drawn to her chest. Her boobs were large, and her nipples dark and thick. I guessed she was in her late 20's or early 30's.
There was a moment or two of slightly awkward silence.
"Where's your friend today?" I asked.
A look of slight annoyance crossed her face. "Tanya's sulking. We had a fight."
"You know we're together?" she asked, though it was more a statement than a question.
"I bet that dirty old man couldn't wait to tell you he's got a couple of lezzies staying at his resort," she laughed.
