First Summer: New Year's Eve Sex

New Year's Eve has never been my favourite time of year. Always I'm confronted by the question of whether I should go out to a party and try and pretend I was having a good time while trying to look inconspicuous hanging around in the kitchen, trying to doge the drunks and creeps and somehow hoping someone reasonably sober and nice might come and talk to me or just accept reality and stay at home on a night when every self-respecting person my age was out. Usually I surrendered to the reality of my boringness and stayed at home.

This year was different. While we'd received a couple of party invitations from friends of Greg, he and I both had other plans for the night together, so could decline them with a sense of purpose rather than defeat.

Instead we just stayed at my family's holiday house watching TV and then wandered down the path to the beach a little before midnight to watch the fireworks that were being set off down the main end of the town beach. We'd been finding places to have sex on this beach for six weeks now so knew every likely nook and cranny. What we wanted for tonight was somewhere closer to the midnight fireworks which were happening down the main town end of the beach while still being far enough away that the crowds wouldn't have overrun it. We set off having a pretty good idea where that spot was.

As we walked I held the arm of Greg closest to me wrapped in both of mine; leaving its hand resting in contact with my crutch, our hips and thighs sliding sensuously past each other with each step. As we walked and chatted Greg -- as I'd intended him to - turned his hand fingers in and under the hem of my dress where he played provocatively with the material of my bikini bottom lighting up every point of sensitivity in the skin underneath.

While he had a head start from the effect of my bikini fetish, Greg seemed to have a natural instinct which told him how to have maximum effect on me while he did this. His fingers gently zig zagged down the front of my pubis, across my mons, rimmed the leg hem of my bikini bottoms, glided along the very edge of each labia and generally touched up everything that was possibly capable of reacting to his touch.

In his other hand he held one of my bags with a single towel for us to sit on, a radio to listen to the New year broadcast and a bottle of champagne with two glasses.

The spot we had in mind was as quiet as we'd thought it would be. Just far enough from the main part of the beach to be separate from the crowds, it was a sand hill where the seaward side was covered in that low dune scrub Councils seem to use to bind them together -- so a very unattractive place for the general public to find a grandstand seat, while the back of it was accessed from a valley between dunes and was just clear sand. From the top we'd have a perfect view of the fireworks and a comfortable seat.

By the time we'd arrived our passions were up. No sooner had Greg sat on the towel on the ground than I was sitting across his lap, our tongues jousting with each other, his hand up my dress and mine wrapped around his naked erect shaft -- the top button and Velcro zipper of his board shorts quickly surrendering to my frantic tugging.

The dress I had on was a favourite of both mine and Greg's. A Roxy beach dress, it had a halter neck with skimpy triangle tops and a comfortably loose lightweight stretch knit bodice that never the less followed the curves of my body. It presented a minimal obstruction to Greg's hands as they explored every inch of the flesh underneath. As his hand moved up to play with a breast, the bodice of the dress followed, encouraging him just to flip the whole thing over my head and leaving me naked except for my bikini bottoms; and they fairly quickly had a hand down the front of them alternatively slopping up the juices from my pussy and using them to make me all slimy and sensitive while playing with my clit. I was almost surprised I still had the presence of mind to pull his T shirt off his body; much as I preferred to have sex with Greg while he was naked, my passions were almost getting to the point where you start to lose focus on such details.

We'd already decided we wanted to see in the new year 'in colitis' so to speak; crazy I know -- the sort of thing only young lovers would even think to do. But it somehow seemed an appropriate metaphor for all we had and hoped to experience through these holidays. There was just one little thing bothering me as the radio Greg bought told us the time was approaching when we really should be stepping thing up a level to fulfil our intention.

"Who gets to watch the fireworks?"

"Both of us" was all it took for Greg to otherwise answer by his actions.

Lifting me up off his lap he sort of tossed me over into a hands and knees stance facing down towards the main part of the beach where the fireworks would be. Then, bringing himself up onto his knees between my legs, his hand were instantly back over my thigh and down the front of my pants again where he continued to extract a stream of pleasurable moans from me as he played with my clit even as he bent over and tenderly kissed the skin of my back.

OK, so that was the obvious answer to my question and it just showed how much we were still learning this game of sex that I hadn't thought of it, nor even done it doggy style before. Still I preferred having sex with Greg face to face; but for one night I figured I could compromise.

His erection was pushing into my bum crack, folding my bikini bottoms into it in the process. I put my hands between my legs, grabbed the base of his shaft and bent it down to come between my legs and along the valley of my slot; only Greg's fingers stopping it from pushing hard up against my clit. One at a time Greg pulled the side tie knots of my bikini bottoms until they fell off me and draped themselves across the length of Greg's shaft. Pulling them aside Greg bought his erection into direct contact with my clit; moving himself back and forwards to stimulate it.

The radio told us it was only a few minutes to midnight. I grabbed Greg's shaft and guided it into the entrance to my body; it was time to make sure we straddled the New Year with our love making. At first he was slow and deliberate; pushing himself deeply into me with every stroke. And then as the clock struck midnight and the first firework left a stream of light as it flew skywards, his pattern changed. As the firework exploded into my eyes, Greg slammed himself into me (or at least as much of a slam as Greg's concern about hurting me would allow him). His love making kept time to the fireworks and music from the radio -- which even in this small town ran a specially designed synchronised 'accompaniment' to the fireworks; all the while his fingers till playing with my clit.

It wasn't that long before what must have been a particularly large firework streaked upwards, cascades of light falling from it as it went, Greg's shaft starting to push into me, almost following its path and timing. It exploded, its light filling the sky and almost hurting my eyes, Greg accelerated his thrust and slammed me again as it did. Then as the noise of it hit us, I felt a feeling in my stomach - that funny rumbling feeling that a loud bass noise induces -- which instantly caused my climax to break upon me; a wow climax if ever there was one. I contracted hard on Greg, my arms folded under me and I went down face on the ground, bum still up as my body instinctively sought to draw every ounce of pleasure from it and the now hurried almost desperate thrusts Greg hit me with as he looked for his own climax.

As he draped himself over my back and nuzzled my ear, he whispered --

"Happy New Year beautiful, and may we enjoy many more like it together."

I fought back a tear as the full significance of his words hit me. It was a wish that had a future; a wish that reaffirmed the love he expressed for me was, in his mind, something more than a brief sex filled fling with an out of towner. I know, I knew Greg well enough to be confident of that already; but it's still nice to have it said in words.

Now I know why I prefer making love face to face. Awkwardly, in a single action I pulled him out of me by swaying forward, rose upright on my knees, turned around to face him, straddled the still impressive residue of his erection between my legs, put my arms around him and hugged him tightly and as I kissed him replied --

"I hope it's many, many more."

Then even as his cum oozed out of me I put a hand between my legs and reinserted him, contracting on him to see if I could induce it to a prolonged firmness.

Pulling his mouth away from my kiss, Greg blurted out --

"Karen, I think I can safely say this is the best New Year's Eve I've ever had, and it's not just because of the sex. It's the first one I can think of where I'm exactly where I want to be; not just at some boring party and not at home wishing I had somewhere better to go. I'm with the person I really want to be with."

Why does Greg get to say all the best lines first? He'd stolen the thought straight out of my brain. That's the trouble; we're too much alike. One part of me was ready to fall into a blubbering tearful mess, another was tempted to engage in the bantering with each other that we like to do with a reply something like --

"I donno. Maybe it might have been better to go to that party Kate was trying to drag us along to."

[# Australian slang for "I don't know"]

But there a time and place for banter and this wasn't it. All I could come back with was --

"You took the words out of my mouth. Thanks for sharing it with me and thanks for just being you."

And then I kissed him again.

It seemed too early and too much of a come down to just walk home again already. Greg asked me if I'd get the champagne and glasses from the bag while he enlarged a depression in the sand into a sort of lounge where we could sit with our backs and heads resting comfortably against the edge of it while spreading our legs out in front of us. There we sat naked on the towel, drinking our champagne and chatting, his arm around me as I snuggled into his chest.

It was probably about an hour later during a break in the conversation as we both just sat there contemplating the stars that I apparently fell asleep. All I remember is that I had my head against his chest enjoying the sensation of its rise and fall with his breathing when I remember feeling a little drowsy. As Greg described it I suddenly just slumped across the front of his chest. He eased me back into a more comfortable position leaning against him and for a while sat there with his arm around me waiting for me to wake up again; except that he too then fell asleep.

So there we lay; naked lovers sleeping wrapped together by Greg's arm on a public beach. About 2 am Greg woke up again and, realising the hour, thought we'd better get home. Extracting himself from under me, he got dressed and then bent over me whispering into my ear.

"Karen would you like me to carry you home?"

Words can have magical effects; especially when you're half awake. Those words carried me back to my early adolescence; words whispered by my father to his not quite fully adult daughter as he carried me almost sleeping from the car to my bed after a long late night's drive. They were words that brought back a sense of safety and security; of being in the embrace of a loving family; of the impending drawing to a close of my childhood. They were words associated with perhaps the last truly intimate -- in the most innocent meaning of that word -- contact between me and my father before my own physical and emotional development made such contact embarrassing and therefore unthinkable.

They even brought back a memory of the last time I'd slipped my hand into that of my father's as we walked through a strange crowded place; that feeling of comfort as he gently squeezed it and folded it in his grasp. I was 13 or 14 at the time, but that particular moment has never left me.

I opened my eyes to see the person who has taken over those feelings. I suppose there is a time after adolescence when you feel a bit on your own security wise. It's not that your family abandon you; more that you exercise your independence from them -- you develop a sense of security that doesn't rely on them; even if that's not entirely an accurate statement of reality.

And then someone like Greg comes along and all those feelings you've deprived yourself of for so long come flooding back; this time mixed up with a lust and sexual desire completely absent from those earlier times. No wonder this stage of life can be so confusing.

None of this emotion or memory Greg could have been aware of as I answered his question by wrapping my arm around his shoulder, pulling his face to mine and giving him a deep passionate kiss. It was tempting. The little girl still in me would have enjoyed reliving her younger years; the older girl rather fancied being carried naked swooned across her lover's arms. But it was several hundred metres. That's a long way to carry my 50 kilos. It wasn't fair to Greg.

"That's OK, I can walk."