You could tell that they were newbies from a mile away. First timers. Working up the nerve to actually do it. To go all the way. Maybe both of them, full swop. Maybe just the wife. Some couples fantasise about pairing with another couple, exchanging partners, watching each other, either taking turns, or playing as a four. Others, more usually the man making the suggestion, prefer to share the wife while he looks on. Some wives are reluctant, some not so, but just pretend so they do not seen too keen. He persuades her just to try, and she relents, and then she likes it. So both of them are happy. My guess with these two was the latter. He wanted her to play. She had reluctantly agreed. And here they were.
The newbie signs were clear. Hunters spot the tells, the giveaways, that mark their quarry as virgin swingers. First, these two were not yet tanned, although everyone has to have a first day in the sun. But new arrivals, definitely. But not heading for the beach. Using this pool, a daytime swinger's haunt. A place to meet, to introduce yourself, to hit it off, and fuck. Not so many people hit the scene so soon. They chill first. Unless they are afraid that sidestepping the big moment will result in avoiding it altogether. Like newbies might.
There was the hesitation at the entrance. The pool area is pretty much enclosed. High walls all around. Step up through the entrance gate, where you pay for entrance, so much for a couple, single guys like me a little more, single women free. Like anything, the market decides the rates. These two walked up the steps and stopped, and got their bearings, and talked together, deciding which way to go, taking more time that most, still daring themselves to risk this swinger scene, looking like frightened sheep, lost in a strange new field, all too conscious of the presence of impatient bulls.
They wore the short sarongs that most people wear here, daytime, until the hit the lounger of the sand. That alone was not a tell. The tell was in how long they kept them on. All the way to their choice of loungers, all they while they set out their thing, even while the guy went to the bar to get their drinks, queuing patiently, still covered where it mattered. Meanwhile, not until she was about to sit did she untie her knot and let her sarong fall away. Newbies, not yet confident in letting other swingers see the nature of the deal.
Then, it was just their look, clean cut, decent looking, respectable, the kind who would make good neighbours, but now were outside their comfort zone of dinner party friendships, golf at the weekend, Sunday lunch with parents, his one weekend, hers the next, and maybe church with one or both as well. The guy, not quite yet forty, short black hair, slicked back, an office worker, middle ranking, maybe in finance, maybe law. The wife, still in her twenties, blonde, bob cut, the nursery teacher look, not the kind of style that women wear who like to fuck around. Definitely new to this. Neither of them gym fanatics. Not macho, the husband. Not overweight but not in the kind of shape that would lead him to pick up too many other women. Unassertive, nervy newbie.
The wife was young. Other than the boring bob-cut, she looked good. Natural hour glass figure. Nice breasts, pleasantly full, perfect melon shape, honeydew, good sized stubs of nipples, wide areolas round them, the way I prefer a woman's breasts to be. Slender at the waist, not from sit ups, just from her genes. Nicely wide at the hips, great butt, denuded pubis, as they all were here, her slit no more than that, a slit, no labia protruding, but it was all the entrance any guy would need. Good legs as well. Not toned, but shapely. She was prime meat. Great quarry for a hunter. My gun twitched at the thought. Both balls fully loaded. I had not fucked a cunt since somewhere around midnight, and I could fuck that cunt.
In this game, it does not pay to hesitate. There are always other bulls around. Take your time, and someone else will get there first. They know the signs of newbies too. The guy still waiting at the bar, I made my move. A good hunter is decisive, takes the opportunity when offered, and this guy had left his woman undefended. A sheep tethered to a stake, except the bob cut blonde was cuter than any sheep that I have even seen, and it was a white sun lounger with a blue sun umbrella, not a stake, where she was left alone.
I picked up my stuff and walked, round to the lounger right beside her. Smiled as I asked if it was free. Initial contact. First level, basic communication. She said it was. Nice voice. A slight quaver, confirming she was nervous. Eyes that moved uncertainly, the bluest eyes you can imagine, not knowing where to look, but taking in what was on offer, then almost blushing, as she realised I had seen those eyes go there.
Close up, she looked even cuter. Even now that she was lying down, those breasts still formed creditable mounds. You could ski down the slope from nipple stub, over the curve of pure white flesh, onto rib cage, enough momentum to cross the softness of her abdomen, rise over her mons, and nestle in her slit. Stop with a plough, spreading it open wide. Dumb fantasy, but who cares.
Really nice areolas. I have good sized palms, but those pink circles would be wider. Taut skin, surrounding half inch stubs. Real teats. On her hands and knees those breasts would sway beneath her, forming cones. I thought of that Roman sculpture, Romulus and Remus, feeding from the mother wolf's teats, and pictured her suckling them instead, infant mouths latching onto those breasts, gorging on warm milk. Or maybe suckling the wolf's cubs, while their mother fed Rome's founders. That, I would be pleased to pay to see.
Nice slit as well. Like I said, no lips down there. Nothing to see except that telling groove, entirely hair free. Not shaved. Even a blonde would have slight shadow. Waxed with every follicle removed, or lasered, gently put to sleep for good. She saw me look, but then I did not hide my interest. My look was telling her I planned to fuck that slit. No question. Before the day was done, it would be mine. She drew one leg up to hide it. I smiled. She gave in gracefully and lowered it again. She brushed back her hair. Left hand, ring finger, one medium diamond, one gold band. Standard issue rings, representing promises that soon would be no more.
The guy returned, still with his newbie sarong around his waist. Two cokes with ice. Maybe with rum as well. They look the same. He glanced at me in passing.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi," he answered. Politeness breaks down barriers. He had had no choice except to reply.
His eyes went where hers had gone. Checking me out. Not necessarily because he had already worked out my intentions. An instinctive glance, checking out the size, as all men do, wondering if he would be shown up as smaller, not that flaccid cocks reveal the final dimensions they will reach when fully primed.
He set down their drinks. Finally tugged at his own knot, his back to me. Turned and sat down on his lounger, legs out straight. Nothing to be ashamed of. Above the average. It was already getting there, curving outwards, head exposed. Another newbie thing. The excitement of breaking rules, of anticipation, of wondering if today it would actually happen, if some guy's cock would finally fuck the cunt that he so badly wanted to be shared.
"Just arrived?" I asked. Him not her. Recognise his status, as the man.
I could have just ignored the guy, and talked to her, chatted casually, made conversation, social intercourse, precursor to another kind of intercourse, more physical, more intimate, the final goal. Ignoring him like that would have been a put down. Unnecessary. Respect the guy. Just being there took guts. I never underestimate the courage of a husband who offers up the woman that he loves, her cunt at least, to other guys.
He hesitated, not expecting to converse so soon.
"Yesterday," he said. "I guess it shows. You've been here for a while?"
A reference to their lack of tan, compared to mine. But then they were still English pale, while I was brown, even if I was English too.
"Six weeks," I said.
"You're retired?" he asked. "I mean, it seems a long time for a holiday."
His voice was remarkably steady for a newbie. Respect to him.
"Army. Early retirement at fifty-five," I said.
"Okay, nice," he said. Then he went quiet, unsure what to say.
I waited for a moment. Then made a move to put him at his ease.
"Mike," I said, leaning across his wife and holding out my hand.
He took it. Not a strong grip, but we shook hands briefly, my arm brushing his wife's thigh.
"Luke," he said. "And this is Emma."
"Hi, Emma," I said.
"Hi," she answered.
Definitely a nice voice, not too high pitched, soft and gentle. Perfect for giving the reading at church. But still with that slight quaver. As if she knew that I was going to fuck her, and was feeling nervous that what they were exploring here might happen very soon.
"You've been married long?" I asked him.
"Three years," he said.
"First time here?"
"We came here last year," he said. "Just for the all over tans. This time, we thought,..."
He did not finish. He did not have to. Had they just been working on their tans, the beach was perfect. This pool was for those who wanted something more. Couples, single guys, or even single women, which here were rare as unicorns, but existed just the same.
"So you've not been to this pool before?" I asked.
"First time," he said, his voice still steady. "We thought we'd try it out. See what happens here."
"Okay," I said, "so how it works, is around the pool, you get to look around. Maybe there's a couple that you take a liking to. It's like picking up a girl at a dance. You exchange eye contact, and you can tell if they might be interested or not. But no playing outside, by the pool. Over there is are some steps down to the spa. That's where you play, if you decide to. Or you can hang there, get the feel of what goes on. Maybe watch til you get comfortable. Nobody is going to mind."
