Author's Note: all sex scenes described in this story are between adults.
*****
"Hi I'm Jamal," a baritone voice said.
I squinted up into the midday sun. A tall young man stood over me. I lifted my head and pulled on dark sunglasses to suppress the blinding light. A tall dark young man with an athletic physique towered over me. My first thought was my, my I hope he's old enough.
I propped on elbows on my beach towel. "Hi Jamal," I smiled. "How are you?"
"I'm good," he said, his dark eyes on mine. "How are you? What's your name?"
"My name is Sandy," I said.
"Sandy like the beach," he smiled.
"Yes," I chuckled. "Sandy like the beach."
"How are you, Sandy?"
"I'm fine, thanks Jamal."
I liked that he shifted his stance. It meant he was at least a little nervous approaching me. I like self confidence but too much becomes arrogance.
He flashed a toothy white smile. I could see his eyes through his amber shades. They locked on my breasts for a moment then ran down to my bikini bottoms before quickly returning to my eyes. My sunglasses were so dark he couldn't see mine.
I raked his body. It took only a moment to assess. High school or college age athlete. Three sports. Weight room powerful but not musclebound. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Smooth chest and belly. Six pack abs. Great ass sicking out the back of board shorts. Nice bulge in front. Hairy thighs and calves but with sharp muscle definition. Wide receiver in football, starting forward in basketball, slugger in baseball or maybe sprinter or swim teamโwhichever sport he did in spring. African-American. Fleet. Despite his size he looked very young. I hoped he was eighteen.
"Are you here alone, Sandy?"
"Yes, Jamal," I said, noticing his eyes on my breasts again. I felt my nipples getting hard through my bikini top despite the summer heat.
"You're not afraid of being alone?"
"No," I smiled. "There are plenty of people around. It's a family beach. I live nearby and come here all the time. It's safe."
"Your husband isn't afraid for you?"
Jamal had noticed the band on my finger. Points for the courage to approach me and more for respecting that I was married.
"He doesn't need to worry," I said reaching into my beach bag and pulling out my keychain, flashing the tiny canister of pepper spray which hung from it.
"Whoa I'm not going to hurt you," Jamal said, holding up his palms.
"Oh I know you're not," I smiled, putting keychain away.
He flashed his brilliant toothy smile again and said, "How do you know I'm not?"
I wondered how he'd be in bed. I spread my legs a little. His eyes went straight to my mound, looked underneath it then moved up my belly over my tits to my eyes again. My nipples got harder.
"I can tell," I smiled, shrugging a little. "I've been around a long time."
"How old are you Sandy?"
"Fifty-two," I said.
"That's crazy," he said. "No way you're that oldโum, I uh, I mean fifty-two."
He started tripping over his choice of words. I smiled and bit my lip.
"It's okay Jamal."
"Sorry," he said. "You look like you're thirty."
"Thanks," I said. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen," he said with some pride.
"Do you live here in Clearwater?"
"No. I'm from Atlanta. I'm down here visiting family."
"By yourself?"
"Yeah. I just graduated high school in June. I'm going to Florida on an athletic scholarship this fall."
"Which sport?"
"Track," he said. "Decathlon."
I looked away from him and took in the scene. Water lapped the shore, kids worked on sand castles, boys hydroplaned on beach boards in the surf and sun bathers cooled in the ocean before turning to beach towels. The air smelled of salt, sand and sunscreen. Pelicans soared up and down the beach on the breeze. Palms swayed in the same. I wondered how many people noticed Jamal trying to pick up an older white woman at the beach.
"Why don't you join me," I said, patting the sand.
"Let me get my towel," he said.
I watched him trot about twenty feet behind me and to my left, scoop up a beach towel and return. I wondered how long he had been sitting there watching me.
"Thanks," he smiled, spreading his` towel and sitting on it with long legs straight out in front, arms behind him propping him up, palms down on the sand. He wore a musky cologne, but not too much of it. Maybe some had washed off in the water. It smelled really good. His eyes locked on my chest.
Breasts. Tits. Ta-tas. Jugs. I have used them to get almost every man I've wanted my entire adult life. They're not as pert as they were when I was younger. They sag a little more with each passing year, but they still have the same magnetic effect. They're big. A large 34DDD or one of the smaller 34E bras fits best. They and the fact that I'm the same weight and have the same figure I did when I graduated high school turns men's heads and makes blood pool in their loins. My breasts had pulled Jamal into my orbit and now he sat beside me chatting. Easy capture.
I propped up on my arms and arched my back a little to stick out my chest. My yellow bikini didn't cover much but his eyes removed it over and over. He talked about his high school athletic career in football, basketball and track, the family he was visitingโgrandparentsโand what he would study as a college freshman at summer's end. Men love talking about themselves. I didn't stop him.
"You're a beautiful woman, Sandy," he said. "That's why I stopped. I had to tell you."
"Thanks, Jamal," I said. "You're a handsome young man."
"Really?"
"Very handsome," I said.
"Thanks," he said. "I'd like to get to know you better."
"So would I," I said.
"For real?"