My stories are memoirs spiced with a kinky imagination. Most stories contain a combination of real and fictional characters with names changed as appropriate to protect the 'guilty.'
Where possible I will provide a reference back to one of my Lit stories that fills in necessary background if necessary and I sometimes, to better frame the scene, include passages from stories I have previously published.
I hope you enjoy this story and comment on what you liked and perhaps didn't like to help me improve my writing.
A word of warning, this is a story of sexual submission. When I first started writing for Lit, I included in my introduction a few words about "being submissive by nature." I always had difficulty writing about that part of my life, that part of my sexuality, and only did a few times. "The Photographer", is one story series I wrote you might find interesting if you like submission stories.
My series titled "Doctor Catherine" was largely true and came about when, after the passing of my wife Beth, my Gynecologist, introduced me to a group of mature bisexual and lesbian women.
This story is Part 1 of a series of three short stories. This series is about Jillian, a woman I met who, unknown to me, when I first met her, was in the Dr. Catherine group. After the one weekend we spent together I never saw or spoke to her again.
Jillian Part 1 - Encounter
I love the beach, 'mother ocean.' Although I now live in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, in a tiny beach house I bought years ago, for many years I lived in Florida and of course near the ocean. Well, the truth is, in Florida I could not afford a house directly on the beach. I lived two blocks away.
I am a walker. In addition to regular gym and yoga sessions my real love is walking the beach, looking for shells, driftwood, sunsets and an occasional lover. I like to think of beach walking as 'butt control.' If I walk enough maybe I can keep it 'size cute!' I have, over the years, met a lot of new friends and lovers introduced to me by 'mother ocean.' This is a story of one of those people, Jillian.
I confess that like anyone else who is a long term beach goer, I must be careful of sun exposure so if you guessed that my beach time is mostly in the early morning near sunrise and the evening near sunset you would be correct.
I met Jillian on the beach one day following hurricane Maria. I say 'met' but that is not really correct. It was actually when she saw me for the first time and took my picture. She would eventually confess to me that she often watched me and took pictures of me without my knowing. Eventually, one late afternoon, Jillian approached me and introduced herself.
Jillian is easy to describe. She appeared to be in her late forties, perhaps early fifties. I would later find out she was fifty-seven. She had, at that time, medium length 'dirty blond' hair, light but very tanned skin and freckles, lots of freckles. Her eyes are blue, the shade of blue eyes that is disarming when you first see them. Judging from my own height, I'm five foot seven, I guessed she was about the same height, perhaps sightly taller. I would not have said Jillian was slender but not obese either. Let's call her "chubby." Like me a little extra here and there, mostly up there and down there. An hourglass?
Not a big fan of excessive clothing, Jillian every time I saw her, wore the same faded red bikini with a simple light color, white or light blue, man's shirt as a cover-up. I would not have chosen a bikini if I were her but that's just me, very self conscious of my own ever expanding "chubby." Jillian seemed to be constantly struggling to contain her much too big for that bikini "girls" as they attempted escape at every opportunity. Again, being critical of her choice, the bottom of that suit left little to the imagination as her bottom was a constant delicious distraction as it peeked from under her cover-up top now and then and mthe fabric of her suit found it's way between her lovely cheeks.
The thing about Jillian was that, attached to her left hand, constantly attached to her hand, was a real camera, not a phone, not an amateur camera, but a real professional looking camera with a rather big (long) lens.
The very first time we met face to face and spoke to each other she confessed to having seen me weeks before, at sunrise, on a day just after Hurricane Maria. She was also very honest about having taken my picture for the first time on that day. She half heartedly apologized for taking it without me knowing and offered the picture if I wanted it. I just smiled knowing that with today's technology she could give me the picture and keep it and I would never know.
I notice her choice of words 'for the first time' and ask her how many pictures of me she took. She is vague and evasive and doesn't seem to know with any certainty and suddenly I don't trust her.
Now, I was initially very critical of her bathing suit but as I think about that now it makes me smile to know that very often while walking the beach, I also wear a large mans shirt as a coverup and not much else. Now I do wear a thong or panties sometimes but I'm more a closet nudist than I will admit.
She walks with me for a while and I am a little more comfortable the more we talk. As we approach my turn off for home I tell her, "This is where I get off. It was nice meeting you Jillian, I hope I see you again sometime."
She grasps my arm and says, "No wait! Don't you want the pictures? Please call me Jill!"
I am suspicious again, pull my arm away, and reply, "Oh, no that's ok, you keep them. I know what I look like. I'll maybe see you again on the beach...... Jill." I was not really outwardly rude but uncomfortable and suspicious. However, she couldn't miss 'the keep your distance' signals I was sending in my overall tone.
I really have no idea where she lives or anything else about her. I head home and pretty much put it all behind me and go on with life.
~~
Two weeks or more later the sunrise on Wednesday was exceptional. I sat in a chair on the beach at the waters edge and watched the day begin. A voice from behind me.... "Good morning Robin, beautiful day isn't it? May I join you?" It's my new non-friend Jill with a folding chair that is quickly open and beside mine.
I look up at her and I'm a little surprised. Although the light is minimal Jill looks different. Faded, very tight, torn at the knees jeans, much more suitable for a younger woman, but the same mans shirt untucked on top. She has cut her hair much shorter and it is much more blond, very easy going, stylish. She looks younger perhaps thinner. Jill is barefoot and has rings on three toes I did not notice before. As I look at her I see her top is unbuttoned, just enough, revealing as she bends over, the swell and more of those now unrestrained 'girls.' I smile inwardly thinking I never met another woman who's breasts were trying so hard to escape as my own.
