Typical Disclaimer. This is a work of truth. Her name is changed. All persons depicted in sexual acts are at least 21 years of age and consenting adults.
Sara was a, cute, part-time library clerk, at Cal State Fullerton, during my university years. A Latina/caucasian, she had mid-back, wavy black hair, brown eyes and a C-cup build. A walnut farmer's daughter from Kern County, I knew her area from when I worked at a radio station on weekends a few years earlier. At 5-foot-7-ish, Sara was about 3 inches shorter than me. I crushed on Sara the moment I met her but she was living with a guy and wore his class ring around her neck.
When I returned from summer break, I went into the library to chat with Sara and hope she dumped him. I was shocked to learn why she moved out. "i refused to shave my coochie or take him up my ass," Sara explained. "He kept insisting. I am horny as hell, but I won't do anal. He also wanted me to do group sex. That's disgusting!"
"I can't blame you," I agreed. You're a beautiful woman. I would have loved to have you sharing my bed, eight nights a week... Only you, exclusively."
"If that's an offer, I would enjoy that," Sara responded. "I miss being loved on... I really need some loving... Are you offering? Please?!?!? You're cute and sweeter and more polite than most of the guys that I meet here and on campus."
"Nice of you to notice. Mom and dad taught me to respect ladies. And that's a fun offer, but I want to date you, not jump your beautiful bones. Let me pick you up when you're off, tomorrow, and we can go to the beach and lunch together... Give me your address and I will come by at 10:00 a.m." I blew Sara a kiss as I walked out of the library, smiling. My crush and I had a date and the chance for loving!
The next morning, I arrived at 9:50 and Sara walked out in a, modest, respectable, royal blue bikini and a white, lace, see-through, tank top and flip-flops. She also had a beach blanket and stepped back inside for a picnic basket. I was impressed, though I had a blanket and cooler in the trunk with a pair of boogie boards.
I was wearing a blue-trunk bathing suit and a white, fishnet, tank shirt.
Sara and I greeted each other with kisses on our cheeks as I opened my car door and let her step into the front seat.
We were both prepared for one of the last 100 degree days of September.
As I drove us to Venice Beach, we, discretely, held each other's hands. You could Feel our sexual tension. "OMG, I want you. So, Bad," she said.
When we arrived, at Venice, we carried our blankets and food past the famous artisans and bodybuilders to the sand. We spread out our blankets, removed our shirts and walked, holding hands, into the water and started swimming. Eventually, we hugged and enjoyed our, tender, first, French kiss.
