Beachcombing Redux

"Yeah, I know," I smiled at her, glad she was taking to it. I also noticed that she wasn't holding the suit right in front of her any longer. I guessed she still had it in her hand, which was obscured by the ocean water, but now her breasts were semi-visible, and as the water flowed and ebbed, they semi-appeared and semi-disappeared. I knew from the depth that she was bending her knees to stay a bit lower than she might if she chose. It was a game, and I wanted to keep playing.

We stayed like that for several minutes, just sort of bobbing along with the water, and I knew that hanging onto the suit was going to make really swimming awkward, not to mention body surfing in the next row of breakers.

"And now, feeling still better, relaxing?" I asked.

"Yes, I believe I am," she said.

"How about if we take the suits back in, so we aren't having to hang onto them?"

"Trying to get me naked on the beach, huh, mister?" she joked, but accurately.

"Well, yes, but if you're more comfortable, I could take both of them in to dry, and be back in a flash, pun intended."

She chuckled at that, but decided. "OK, here's mine - make sure you don't abscond with it!"

"I'd rather abscond with what's been in it, but I promise, I'm a good boy scout when it comes to giving my word, and I'll be right back."

I took her suit, dived back toward the beach for a stroke or two, then waded out, back to her towel, and arranged the suits flat on it to dry.

Standing back up, my back to the ocean, I thought, I'll be giving her a full frontal view, and on the one hand, there's the shrinkage factor of the cool water, but on the other, I definitely feel a bit of energy down there. I looked down and saw mostly the shrinkage effect. Being a male of the human type, I gave myself a quick tug to loosen (ok, and lengthen), then turned and strolled back toward Margaret, trying to look casual and not like an exhibitionist who wanted to get laid. She was still where I'd left her (duh - where could she go?), watching for my return.

I repeated the path to the water, re-dived in, and re-surfaced near her again. "There, suits are drying, ocean's fine, sun's out - not bad, huh?"

"No, not bad at all . . . from what I could see," she said, then dived back underwater, I thought maybe to hide her embarrassment from making such an overt reference. At least she didn't say anything about the local shrimp population!

I caught up with her, and we proceeded down through the water, diving and swimming a couple of strokes between more walking along. Bit by bit, she got less self-aware, and bit by bit, as we stood and chatted, her breasts became more and more her afterthought, not her focus of hiding. And nice breasts they were, not large, and not a twenty-year-old's, but looking delectable as they bobbed under, then at, but never quite clearing the surface.

She caught me looking at one stopping point, and said, "My, how blatant I've become! I'm standing here, my boobs bared to the world, talking to a man I just met yesterday, who's naked! If I ever get the courage to retell this day, some of my friends will be scandalized - and others will just be jealous!"

"I can understand they'd be jealous of you as a regular thing," I said.

"Ah, the silver tongue again!" She laughed. "It's scandalous for sure, but keep it up - you're very good at it." then, "Oh, did I say it that way?!"

"That you did, and I'll certainly try," I laughed back, letting her know I caught the "keep it up" part.

We kept that up for another 10 minutes or so, then headed back. It was a good light workout, and deserved some lunch, I thought.

As we neared the area of her towel and our suits, still in the water, I wondered how this would transpire. I hadn't really seen her totally naked, only glimpsed the breasts through the surface water.

She was silent as we strode side by side, I guess thinking about the same thing about what next.

Then, catching me mentally adrift, she took several long strides toward the beach and called over her shoulder, "Race you to the towel!" She had a good ten foot head start by then, and was in shallower water, but as we race-waded ashore, I almost caught up to her, lagging just a bit to enjoy the jiggling of her womanly but still firm ass, white and glistening with sea water.

We were both laughing as she won, flopping down on her towel and breathing hard, buns-up. I instantly regretted not getting ahead to see her full frontal, realizing her scheme to stay as shielded as she could.

"Not fair!" I complained, enjoying it all. "I'm going to lodge a complaint with the nude beach racing authority!"

"I'll deny any wrongdoing!" she giggled back.

"But I have friends in naked places - you'll definitely be brought to justice!"

"Hmm. And what would justice in that case, assuming hypothetically only, of course, for the moment, that you could prevail?"

"Lunch at my place. Definitely, lunch at my place."

"And how far is that?" she asked. "Do we drive back to the village?"

"No, no. Did you see that lone beach house down the way that we passed as we swam south? That's it - or that's the place that my friends own and let me use each summer about this time. It's about a 20 minute walk back down, from here, and I can fix a nice salad - nothing heavy."

"Ah, the silver tongue again. I'm flattered, but I guess not, thanks."

"Oh, come on - I'm harmless, and if you like, text your family or a friend with my name and such - I'll show you my cell phone number, if you're worried."

"Well. . . " She was worried, I guess, and so we did just that, to a friend of hers somewhere, and then we were off. I reflected that a really good serial killer wacko would be prepared with such assurances, and wondered if she'd totally bought my offer or was still a bit worried. The text she sent was a good bit more than a phone number, so I suspected she'd cited the house and such as well - good for her. I did observe that she was getting very good at hiding all but her nice buns from me during all that. Once she was agreed, though, she said, "OK now, Mike, you're going to have to put up with me on this - close your eyes so I can get my suit back on."

"Can I cheat, just a little?" I said, putting an open hand over my eyes in jest.

"Well, that would be up to you and your conscience, but I'm serious."

"Rats. OK, anything for a lunch companion, I suppose," I said, and, still naked myself, sat back down on my towel facing away from her. I knew if I had the opportunity, I'd definitely cheat, so I removed the opportunity.

I heard a varying amount of rustling as she dried herself off and donned the maillot again. "OK, and thanks, Mike. I know we're teasing, but that meant a lot to me." She was serious, and I was glad I'd taken the high road, frustrating as it was.

Having no such qualms, I stood back up, shook out my towel, and dried off most of the wet parts, then donned my own trunks, just to keep her company, I guess. I didn't check to see if she was watching, more of the not intruding on her privacy thing, strangely enough. And so, items gathered, we set off.

As predicted, 20 minutes later we were walking up to Rick and Linda's beach house, and as expected, Margaret was impressed. The only house in sight, the sun out, the deck broad and inviting coffee at sunrise as well as wine and star-gazing in the evening. We both washed off our sandy feet again in the outdoor shower, dried them, and I entered the code to get us in. Margaret took in the nice furnishings and followed me to the kitchen. We chatted about nothing in particular while I assembled two servings of simple salad, got us iced bottled water, and opened a nice crisp white wine.

Back on the deck to dine, we enjoyed the light breeze and warm air, recharging our fluid levels that the sun had sapped, as always.

"So, how will you tell the tale of this day, Margaret?" I asked.

"Well, the day's not over, but so far, I think there's one lady friend that I can share this with, over more wine and with laughter abounding. She won't be able to believe that prim Miss Teacher me went skinny dipping with a heretofore strange man, then dined alone with only him, in his beach house - that's very much not my image back home!"

"I'd love to hear that conversation!" I laughed back.

"And, Mike, you've been a patient dear. I think I'd have fled at several junctures today if you'd handled yourself any differently than you did. You would make a great teacher yourself - it's more about analyzing the students to bring out their best than it is about any classroom subject, as I suspect you know."

"Well, I had some great teachers along the way, but none that I went skinny dipping with . . . or even wanted to. Except maybe for Miss Sheffield, back in the first grade - she broke my young heart when I learned she was leaving our class to get married - my first broken heart, sniff, sniff. I'm sure that if I'd known in middle and high school just how amazing women, especially post-twenties women, are, I'd have had many more salacious thoughts than I already had, and likely flunked out of school for fantasizing!"

"I don't think any of my students think of me as anything but gray-haired biddy, and I'm fine with that! I've heard some stories in the teacher's lounge from others who haven't been as untried as I."

We paused in silence for a bit, and as we were both finished, I recharged her wine and gathered her dish

to take inside. Back in the kitchen, I gave the salad bowls and forks a quick rinse, then turned to return to the deck.

Standing behind me, now in front as I turned, was Margaret, maybe ten feet away, stark nude!

She was lovely. Medium breasts, a mature woman's yet with more perk than her years should have allowed, a sparse and untrimmed triangle of light brown hair with just a hint of gray and just a hint of lips to be discovered therein. She was looking uncertain, but brave.

"Margaret, you're beautiful - I hope you already knew that." I said, not knowing yet if her disrobing was a decision to join the nude beach practice, or to doing what most people do when initially agreeing to disrobe - have sex.

"I might have been . . . long ago." she said, downcast looking.

"Are," I confirmed, approaching to lift her chin to look at me, figuring if she just wanted to test the fresh air waters, she'd shy away. Sensing no such move, then I kissed her, our bodies not touching, but our lips meeting with one accord. Gently at first, our motives - complicated and no doubt individual - seemed to mesh and propel our lips and tongues toward a mutual agreement.

Stepping back, she said quietly, "It's been a long time. Please . . . "

"Friends care for friends," I said. "Come with me," and I offered my hand. She took it as we walked to the bedroom.

As we walked, I unbuckled my shorts and let them drop, stepping out of them to be naked as well, not missing a step. Once at the bedside, I turned and pulled her to me for another kiss, this time our arms encircling each other, our bodies pressed close together. As we kissed, I made a note of feeling her breasts against my ribcage, the swell of her hips as my hands explored her back and sides.

And, not surprisingly to me, I felt my cock start to stir and swell. I kept our hips together, knowing that if not yet, it wouldn't be long before she felt it as well. She still didn't pull away, and I could sense her breathing increase through the kiss. Moving my hands upwards, I stroked the outsides of her breasts, then leaned back just far enough to get my hands around them, gently grasping the now-hard nipples and rolling them softly. She let a soft moan go at that, and I felt her hands gripping my shoulders more urgently.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, she sighed, "Oh, Mike," not even a sentence, but the phrase meant to carry meaning, and succeeding. I stepped back to look at her again, and my now almost fully hard cock bounced in the release from being pressed into her belly. She looked down, seeing it, and gave out another "Oh - Mike!"

I wasn't about to ask for a translation of that, and didn't need to as she followed that with, "May I?" as she reached her hand toward my erection.

"Hardly worth a question," I nodded, and she took it, wrapping her fingers around it, watching it intently.

"So much better than anything else," she murmured.

"I hope it will be," I answered, figuring that I'd compared favorably to whatever toys she may have been used to.

"You know I want this, but . . . "

"Yes?"

"I'm going to need some, uh, extra, uh . . . "

Guessing right, I nudged her back onto the bed, her hips right at the edge, her feet on the floor. I knelt between her knees, raised them over my shoulders, and made it obvious that I was going to taste her before any other preliminaries. I also knew that I could add the lubrication that I suspected she was worried about needing. There's something attractive about the woman too shy to say what she wants at first, but sometimes, c'mon, help us out, ladies. I was lucky and experienced in such things - another younger guy may have missed the signal altogether.

Not that I minded. I've always enjoyed, make that relished, "going down" on a woman, and I have yet to encounter one who doesn't enjoy it as well.

Margaret, however, ever the proper school marm, even in non-school activities, was both surprised and reluctant. "No, Mike - I haven't showered or anything - we've been in the ocean - you shouldn't - we can't, oh . . . Oh!"

You can imagine how that slowed me down - NOT - and the excuses transitioned into the Ohs about the time my tongue first tasted her. She was indeed salty, as in of the sea, but really, not off-putting in any way. I tongued a little at first, getting her past that reluctance, and adding "You're fine, Margaret - just relax and let things happen," before resuming. I tasted and tongued from bottom to top, circling the clitoris at the end of the stroke, and being rewarded by a quiver and gasp when I got there. Not in a hurry at all, I went back down further, and intentionally deposited several doses of saliva as I reached my tongue in as far as I could go, then back up to the clit, more quivering, back down, and so forth, until I figured she was well enough lubricated by me at the opening to enable things to go further when I was ready.

Then back up to the clit. Good sex is about the man tuning in with all his senses to the woman. As indicated earlier, Margaret was reluctant to verbalize. So, I watched her breathing, listened to it as well as to any gasps or words she may have, felt her thighs around my shoulders to see if they were starting to signal. She had crossed her face with her arms, so I couldn't see her face - it was as if she was embarrassed to be receiving and engaging in such a carnal act.

So be it, breathing and legs and such were enough. I zeroed in on her hot button then, circling it, testing, discovering what worked, and it seemed that what I chose did work indeed. The circles got me soft whimpers, and then started to build, and when I thought she was right on the verge of coming, I pressed harder, smashing her clit against her pubic bone with my tongue, while sucking it into my mouth.

That did it. She skyrocketed! Her thighs clenched, her chest heaved, and she cried out unintelligibly, her arms flying out to grasp the sheets at her side, and I could see her mouth agape, then her head thrown back as she came, gloriously. Eager as I was to fuck this woman, if things had ended right there, I'd have been thrilled and satisfied - what a gift she'd given me in her responses!

And now, I was going to fuck her. I lifted her hips to scoot her back further onto the mattress, as I climbed onto it as well. I paused to give her a moment to "digest" her orgasm, as well as for me to figure out just the best way to start this thing. Should I be the animal in pursuit, ravishing, or the tender lover bringing her up to bathe in the gentle, building sensations?

"Now what?" she asked, smiling that beatific post-orgasmic peaceful smile that women do, while knowing good and well.

"Now, I'm going to fuck you, lady librarian."

"Mmmm. Do me a favor?"

"Certainly, what?"

"Take no prisoners." She said that flatly, and it took me back just a second to realize she wanted the ravishing, not the tenderness, at least not the tenderness at that moment.

And so I did, lining up in the classic missionary, guiding my shaft to her, my right hand stroking it up and down just to coat the head, and then, in one stroke, in!

OK, in about half way. Still a bit dry in there, and certainly tight. I pulled out and pressed forward, getting another quarter's worth of shaft in, and finally on my third stroke, in to my full length, with just a pause to feel how good it felt. And then the ramming, the steady pistoning, with a little extra power at the end of the stroke, hitting her clitoris with the base of my cock as it went by.

I felt her wrap her legs around me, and I kept it up, tuning into her rising breathing again. I was in no rush, but I was going to make sure she knew she'd been fucked. Keeping it up, I knew I had plenty of time, regardless of how good it felt and how much some of my genetics were wanting to cut to the release part. I kept it up some more, and when her breathing changed into heaving and small cries, I grabbed her tailbone in one hand, curling my middle finger between the cheeks right behind her rosebud, and used the leverage to pull her up, trying to get my cock to her G-spot. Fortunately, I have something of an upward bend, so that works for me, depending on the woman's individual anatomy, and it worked for her, I suppose, because it was as if I'd floored it in a hot rod, the supercharger taking over for additional thrust. I fucked her, hard, and she cried out some more, and I kept it up as she came again, not quite screaming (librarians don't do that, maybe), but whimpering and almost sobbing. I loved it.

As I let her calm down, still fucking, but less energetically, I took inventory. My right hand was still between her ass cheeks, my left arm supporting my weight, its hand under her back, while her hands were gripping my shoulders and her heels were dug into my buns. I slowed some more and felt her hands move down to hug my back to her, as if she wanted to stay coupled, so we did.

Rolling over to one side, still impaling, I held her close, not talking, just holding her, and now stroking her hair as she buried her face in the nape of my neck.

After several minutes of sideways cuddling, she said softly, "That was the best. Thank you!"

"I think it's thank YOU," I said back, not making any move to shift out of our still-coupled position.

"Don't you want to . . . uh . . . "

"Finish?" I offered, leaning down to kiss her, realizing it was the first kiss in a while.

"Yes, finish. Don't you?"

"Parts of me, yes, but I'm usually a once a day kind of guy, so I don't want to rush things. Unless you have to get back to school or something," I was smiling, and she took it well.

"Well, I do want to file this memory for future reference, but I'm in no rush."

"Good, me either. Let's take a break, and I promise we'll get back to this."

"You're full of surprises," she said as I pulled out finally and pulled her over to rest next to me.

By the time she left, we'd showered together with associated hand play that she seemed to especially enjoy, both getting and giving. I drove us back to her car, then followed her to her hotel where she took an early checkout and loaded her bags. She followed in her car behind as we shopped for groceries, picked up some fresh seafood, went back, and grilled on the deck, supped, and made love (more the languid style than the take no prisoners thing) back in the bedroom.