Megan had proven to be surprisingly useful as a deckhand over the past few weeks. While I can easily manage my ten metre yacht, 'Midnight Surprise' myself, I occasionally pick up a decky to help out, and sometimes just for company. Megan was a Belgian backpacker in her mid twenties with absolutely no yachting experience, but we had started chatting in the pub and then had the bizarre experience of having some guy, an American, trying to chat her up, and when she politely told him she wasn't interested, he had immediately turned to me and used the exact same chat up line. I had been less polite, we had a good laugh, and when I heard she was heading north, I had offered her a ride via the barrier reef islands.
She had been a bit hesitant at first, explaining that she would love to experience that but, just to clarify, she let me know that she wasn't into having sex with other women. I guess I had been vaguely disappointed. As we had talked, I was aware of her sexually, but we hadn't really been flirting, but it had obviously been on her mind. While I prefer to sleep with men, Megan was stunningly beautiful, with an incredibly sexy accent, and she wouldn't have been the first woman to share my bunk. We agreed to set off in two days.
As I motored through the gap in the reef, into the lagoon, two weeks later, Megan was forward and easily snagged one of the public moorings. Over lunch and a beer we checked out the information on the island. Eighty percent of the island was a national park, with the other twenty percent at the northern end, where we were moored, taken up with a mishmash of private holiday houses. We decided that in the morning we would take lunch and our masks and snorkels and do a ten kilometre walk that circumnavigated the island.
It was low tide when we pulled the dinghy as far as we could up the beach, then, in the absence of anything more solid, dug the anchor into the sand. We were both wearing shorts and a tee shirt over our bikinis. Living in close quarters with Megan it was impossible for us not to have seen each other naked a few times and topless regularly. It had been good for my ego to realise that even though I was ten years older than her, my body was still in damn good shape. I had been living on the 'Midnight Surprise' for three years now, since my divorce. During that time I had had a number of lovers, some just for a night, some for longer, none for more than a few months. I had married Pete straight after finishing uni and I hadn't slept with many guys before we got together. Now I had discovered how much I enjoyed fucking. How much I enjoyed feeling a guy's energy as he drove his cock into me, their sense of urgency, the look of lust on their faces and the grunts of satisfaction as they emptied themselves into me. But I especially loved the look on their faces when I came. Maybe they were inside me, or their tongue was dancing over my clit, or they were just watching me get myself off, but I believed I could tell a lot about a guy from how he reacted to my orgasm.
The walk was well marked and we made a point of swimming at every beach. We would strip down to our bikinis, grab our mask and snorkel and explore the reefs and headlands. After the first couple of beaches, to keep our shorts dry we just stuffed them in our packs and walked in bikinis and tee shirts.
We were most of the way around the island and approaching one of the final beaches when we heard male voices ahead. We looked at each other and we shared a look of concern. During our weeks together we had shared life stories, including our experiences with men. We had agreed that the bulk of men tried to be good, and most were somewhat successful at that. Then there were men who were just arseholes, mostly because they thought only of themselves or liked to put others down. Then finally there were men who were dangerous, mostly because they were just angry at the world and everyone in it. Here we were, two women wearing bikinis approaching a group of men on a remote beach on a remote island. We weren't going to just walk up to them.
We crept up along the track until we could get a look at them. There were four of them. All appeared to be about Megan's age. They were wearing swimmers and I have to admit to myself that they were a well built bunch of guys. Fit, lean, but with the broad shoulders, strong thighs and tight arses of swimmers. There were a few empty beer cans lying around. They didn't appear to be really drunk, but we had agreed previously that alcohol tends to quickly move guys from the 'good guy' category to the 'arsehole' category.
We headed back down the track to discuss our approach and decided that they appeared to be harmless, but that we wouldn't stop for a swim with them. Besides, we half joked, we were wearing shoes and they were barefoot so we could probably outrun them over the rough path of the track.
But then Megan commented.
"Though it's been a while since I've been with anyone, and that guy in the blue swimmers is really hot. If he wanted to chase me, I might have to fein a sprained ankle".
We both giggled.
"It's been a while for me too," I agreed. "Fingers and toys are fine, but eventually I need some male energy".
We both giggled again.
"Should we put our shorts on," Megan asked?
"Probably," I replied. "It would be safer".
We looked at each other for a moment.
"They look harmless," she told me.
"And they are damn good looking," I replied.
"Do you have any earplugs on the boat," she asked, "because tonight we are both going to be imagining ourselves fucking one or more of these guys and I have heard you come before and it spoils my own concentration".
I laughed.
"Yeah, it's not like you're quiet either".
She blushed.
We were at the guys beach now, so we put on our most confident faces and strolled up to them. They looked up, surprised to see us, which is understandable in such a remote location.
"Hi," I announced.
The guys proved to be quite civilised. They had been part of a water polo club before going their separate ways to uni and then pursuing their various careers. But they caught up once a year on the island where the family of the guy in the blue swimmers, whose name was Jamie, owned a house.
They offered us a beer, which we accepted, and we chatted while we ate our lunch with them. The guy in the camo swimmers, Mike, tried to encourage us to have more beers, but we declined. The other two, green swimmer's guy, was Steve and red swimmer's was John.
While I felt safe with them, I was conscious that they were checking us out. Feeling their eyes roam over my body and I am sure Megan was experiencing the same. This happens to any semi-attractive woman from when they are a teenager, but I was never comfortable with it, even when it is from four very bonkable young men. I wondered what they were thinking. Were they thinking about fucking me? Almost certainly I decided, after all, they were men in their mid twenties, it's all they thought about. Which position would Steve want me in, would he want to share me with Jamie? I could feel myself getting wet, contemplating possibilities. I could see that John was definitely contemplating the possibilities as he pulled a towel onto his lap to hide the erection in his tight swimmers.
After lunch I stood up, pulled my tee shirt over my head and announced I needed to cool down. I watched as the eyes of all four guys settled on my breasts, nestled in my bikini top. I let them look for a long moment.
"Oy," I yelled. "Were you all bottle fed? Eyes on mine please."
There were some embarrassed comments and general shuffling. Then Megan stood up and pulled off her tee shirt. All eyes shifted to her breasts, which I must admit are quite stunning. While mine are a perfectly respectable 34B her's are probably closer to a 36C.
"They can't help themselves," Megan laughed.
"Its pavlovian," I laughed back at her as I ran to the water and dived in.
Soon the six of us were floating around, and I suspected it was not just me that needed to cool off.
It was getting late now so the six of us packed up and followed the track to the beach where we had left the dinghy. As we walked Mike suggested that Megan and I come up to their house for dinner. It was tempting, but I declined. Megan gave me a disappointed look, but didn't disagree.
"Bugger," I said.
"Verdomd," Megan agreed. Which I assumed was a Dutch curse.
The dinghy was fifty metres from shore, still angered, bobbing on the high tide.
"I'll swim out and get it," I told Megan as I started stripping back to my bikini.
