First Summer: That Erection Will Be

It was like some primeval part of my brain was trying to take over. It was like "I've found you a mate, now mate with him. Take him into your body and accept his seed". It scared me witless and excited me all at once. No longer taking me by surprise as it had the first time, I accepted the flashes, toyed with them, enjoyed them; while still being anxious least I somehow lost control and gave action to them.

Maybe too soon we reached the water and moved out in to where it was chest deep to give ourselves a good scrub down; because a scrub was what it required to get the stuff off.

Greg took the lead in peeling his swimmers down to his thighs and giving them and the area they covered a good clean too. He was courteous enough to move about 2 metres away and turn side on before he did so (although frankly I might have preferred he was closer). I followed suit without being so careful about turning side on, much appreciating the fact my wax job made the task easier. I tried not to look, but couldn't help sneaking a peak at that the thing which his partial arousal gave the form of an eel seemingly emerging from between his legs. To clean it he had to wrap his hand around it and slide along its length a few time; using the action I assume a guy uses too jerk himself off -- before using his fingers to clean out any crevasses. It may have just been a blurry shape in the water, but the fact I could see an outline of it while I was standing also exposed so close to him gave me a bit of a thrill.

The hormonal forces controlling me did more than just give me lust filled mental flashes. They did more than just cause me to be aroused by his mere presence -- let alone what even the most insignificant contact with him brought about. They caused me to become outrageously physically flirtatious. Not calculatingly; more completely intuitively. It was as if I was trying to induce in him the sort of arousal he was causing me. I was emboldened to flaunt myself in ways that I wouldn't have thought was part of my normal makeup.

When it came time to rinse out under my bikini top I just bent my knees barely immersing my breasts in the water before pulling the triangle of the top aside and brushing under them. There was no sense of modesty; it was almost as if I wanted him to get a good look at my tits. Then when I covered back up again I didn't give the triangles the usual hoist up one would give them to centre the nipples in the triangles. Instead the triangle sat low; the nipples sitting in the narrow topmost part of each triangle -- the areola barely fully covered. Plus after cleaning out under my bikini bottoms I hoisted them up far enough to get the camel-toe effect; just waiting until I emerged from the water and flaunted myself at Greg.

I'm not sure what I hoped to achieve by this. I wasn't intentionally planning to seduce him and was far too innocent to actually think that the day might end in sex, whatever thoughts were flashing through my brain. It was just something my hormones seemed to set me on auto-pilot to do.

Cleaning wise, we were fortunate in that the stuff was thick enough not to have penetrated too badly under the swimmers, so you weren't left with that nasty gritty feeling that tends to be associated with being dumped by a shore break. We were both starting to look pretty good again except for our hair. I'd only managed a fairly superficial washing of mine. It required a lot more rinsing to get the stuff out.

When I mentioned that to him, Greg asked if I'd like a hand. I wasn't going to refuse an offer like that. Putting a supporting arm across my back, just below the line of my bikini top tie, he guided me as I lay back in a floating position. That left us with my left arm around his back -- my armpit tucked closely up against the side of his chest. His left arm was underneath my back; supporting me and capturing my right arm on the other side of my body as his fingers curled around it.

There was a gentle strength to his hold over me; one that gave me security and a promise I would be kept safe. He lowered his stance in the water to immerse his lower chest -- turning the top of my head towards the occasional gentle swells that rolled under my prone body and lifting my head over them while letting the water wash over the length of my body. Then he started brushing my hair through the water with the fingers of his right hand.

Brushed is not the right word. Seduced is more like it. He spread his fingers apart and ran them gently through my hair; first from the forehead down, then from the base of my neck upward and then from every other angle imaginable. He glided his fingers around the back of each ear, fondling the ear itself as he dislodged any sand stuck in the crevasse there.

The first stroke of my hair had a massive effect on my state of arousal. It seemed every erotic zone in my body lit up; became achingly, demandingly engorged. This was unlike anything I'd experienced before. No guy pashing me with a hand down my shirt - even the one who's insistent stroking of my lower stomach was trying to get his hands an access all areas pass -- had ever had this effect on me. I closed my eyes and soaked it in; feeling how my body responded to his touch and imagining so much more.

As I lay their floating I inflated my body; throwing at Greg every visual distraction in my armoury. My breasts were thrust above the waterline. I could feel my nipples -- even the breasts themselves - fully engorged and swollen; pushing up into the material of my bikini top. There was no padding or inserts in the thin material. I had what you might call reactive extended nipples at the best of times. I knew they would now be standing proud. I could feel the wet material plastered to them.

As I lay back with my eyes closed I now imagined the material surrounding them as Greg's lips, stimulating my nipples and drawing them in to his mouth. As each wavelet passed over my breasts, I imagined my top slowly slipping down; being pulled down by his lips to gradually expose me.

My pubis was also thrust above the waterline, my legs wide apart, the material of my bikini bottom following every contour of my crutch; my stomach was sucked in until I could feel the waist band separate from my stomach -- creating a gap between the two.

I deliberately floated my body so my clit sat on the waterline; the gentle rise and fall of the water across its surface stimulating it. As the water washed over me I imagined the water rushing over my stomach and down through my crutch as a stroke of Greg's fingers -- touching, exploring and stimulating my most private parts.

I was imagining myself toward an orgasm. It was working too. I was becoming more and more aroused; breathing heavier and moving beyond a mere desperate yearning for contact to the feeling I was travelling along the path to orgasm. Given time, I think I might have got there too. As you may by now have guessed, I wanted Greg to be aroused too. Why, I'm not sure. I'm not really sure I knew how I intended the day to pan out. Had you asked me at that moment, I might just have said I'd go home and need to teach myself to masturbate. But I certainly wanted him to be attracted to me; for me to trigger a strong physical reaction from him.

Of course, he didn't actually know any of this or of what my imagination was doing to my body. Too early I heard the words "I think you might be finished". Just for a moment I was tempted to answer "not yet, but keep going and I might!" But I felt his body pull away a little from me -- preparing to bring me back upright. I had one more thing I wanted to achieve. I wanted to feel his reaction to me. The arm around his back held him tightly enough to me that he couldn't pull away. As I brought my feet down I slid my thigh down the length of his body. The rigid shaft sticking out perpendicular to his body that I brushed past as I did so brought me an enormous sense of satisfaction and pleasure.

I wasn't finished with him yet. As soon as my feet were on the ground, my arm was over his shoulder pushing him back down on the water -- suggesting I do the same for him. Initially he resisted; both in words and body. I knew why -- he didn't want me to see what I had just felt -- but I wasn't letting him get away with that. I insisted; engaging him in a little bit of a light-hearted physical wrestle as I pushed him back into the water - bring myself face to face with him and feeling his erection dancing around on my stomach in the process and only just resisting the temptation to straddle the erection and bring it up to my crutch.

Eventually he relented and let me push him back in to a floating position; although unlike the hold Greg used on me, my arm ended up over the top of his body, grasping his far shoulder in a manner that actually offered him minimal support while pinning both his arms within my grip. But he didn't float properly. For obvious reasons, he tried to keep his waist deep; his erection barely breaking the surface. Now everyone knows if you don't bring your hips up to the surface when you try and float then your body acts something like the Titanic after its accident. Your feet keep sinking, your body rotates in the water somewhere around your neck so that your head rises and finally you slide under the surface. However good Greg was in the water, he couldn't fight the basic science of floating.

As he felt himself submerge, his arm looked for something to support himself; breaking free from its position between our bodies and moving down my body looking for something to grab for leverage. It all happened in an instant and for Greg the action was entirely instinctive, but it still gave me quite a thrill when just for an instant I even thought I might lose the side knot on my bikini bottoms to his grab for security or he might grope my crutch. But in the end, all I got was his hand on my thigh.

Bringing my hand under the small of his back, I helped him refloat himself properly. In all the hold we ended up with was neither secure nor one that offered Greg much support. Essentially he was floating himself and exposed to being washed over by waves or drifting away from me.

But to float himself, he had to bring his hip to the surface and thus his erect shaft above the water. As it broke the surface I could see him embarrassed by his situation. "I'm sorry, you seem to have a rather strong effect on me. Some things you can't control".

"Relax, I'm flattered; and anyway, you have a strong effect on me too". I was surprised by how much I'd just revealed, but I suppose Greg's statement had paved the way for my own.

The hand I had in the small of his back provided little leverage, either in supporting him in his float or stopping him from drifting away. What it did do however is give me some control over the float position of his hips. I wasn't going to let him sink those hips again. The hand he had down on my thigh was an equally poor supporting mechanism -- but since his shoulder was buried under my breasts, he couldn't get his arm around my back.

As Greg stabilised in his float position, I got my first clear look at what was happening down there. He was massively, and I do mean massively, aroused. It was a large completely rigid shaft stretching the fabric of his swimmers to the point I thought the stitching would give. Now I could see why it was sitting out perpendicular instead of laying along his body. The top third of it was sheathed by his swimmers; they wrapped it up like a sausage wrapped in cling wrap; a little dimple in the material even revealing the location of the eye at the top. I could see the friction of his wet clingy swimmers wasn't too easily going to release its grip. The bottom two thirds tented up his swimmers unbelievably into a sort of straight sided pyramid. I could see the elastic around his legs had been pulled a long way from his skin. The waist band had been drawn right down to the base of his shaft so that the material coming down from the tip was stretched along the gently curving line of the shaft. Through the shallow water layer still covering his waist I could see his exposed pubic hair and I was fairly certain I could see the waist band lifted away from his skin creating a gap underneath where I would be able to see the base of his shaft.

As I started stroking his hair, I also experimented with what the arm under his back could achieve. As each wavelet passed I gave a slight lift on the arm -- magnifying its rise and fall effect. As I noted he too had now closed his eyes, I could let me gaze go where it would. And it wanted to go down there.

With each wavelet I lifted his pubis above the water level, revealing to me where the waist band of his swimmers had been drawn up and the base of his shaft was exposed to my eyes. A thick rigid shaft growing up out of his pubic hair with the bulging line of blood vessels marked out upon it. I could even glimpse the balls sitting either side of it.

I knew at that moment that the thoughts I'd had this morning and the glimpse of Steve's trouser eye were prophetic. This shaft was the one I was going to lose my virginity on; the eye at the top of it would be the one to first see inside me. It wasn't a statement of determination or intent; simply of premonition. I didn't know when and I didn't know where, but I knew that before the holidays were out that shaft would be inside my body. It gave me a strange proprietary interest in it; I almost felt as though I already had an entitlement to play with it.

At first I tried to concentrate on giving Greg as sensuous a hair wash as he'd given me; duplicating his technique of running my hands through his hair. It must have worked too as I occasionally watched his shaft surge in response -- the tip of it swelling and the shaft extending even more as it pulled powerfully against the restraining tug of his swimmers, stretching the material even further as it attempted to lay itself parallel to his body, only to be tugged back as the pulse passed.

But I became distracted. With every rise and fall of his hips, I watched the circle of water surrounding his shaft move up and down it. When the waist band disappeared under the water, I could still imagine that circle as it continued up his shaft. In my imagination, that circle of water became the opening to my body; his shaft was making love to me. In and out -- I transferred what my eyes could see down to my crutch where I was standing, slightly squatting to lower myself in the water and legs wide apart feeling it pump in and out of my body. One of my breasts rested on the side of his face and with every moment I was inducing in his body, the nipple was rubbing against his cheek. Once again I was bringing myself to orgasm with my imagination -- helped along this time by a little physical contact.

In my passion I got a little ambitious. The rise and fall of his hips no longer had anything to do with passing waves. I was now lifting it up and down to my own rising tempo; exaggerating the effect. I had to remember to actually keep stroking Greg's hair to maintain the pretence that is what it was really all about.

In all of this, I hadn't been keeping an eye seaward for those occasional larger waves one gets even on calm days. A wave broke just seaward of us. It wasn't really that large. Had we been standing up we could have turned our back to it and stood our ground. But I was squatting down relying on the floatation of the water to balance me and Greg was trying to maintain his precarious floating position within the constraints of the grip I had on him.

I heard the break, which gave me just an instant to hold my breath, but the broken water slapped me in the back, knocked me off balance and pushed me over Greg's prone body. As I tumbled forward, my face ran in to Greg's upright shaft. As I was thrown shoreward, I then slid across the top of Greg, his shaft drawing a line down the centre of my body until it hooked the tie string of my bikini top between my breasts and dislodged the triangles; threatening to pull the top off altogether. With his initial tumble the hand Greg had on my thigh was thrown up in to my crutch. I felt him instinctively grab the material of my bikini bottom and then almost immediately release it as his mind registered what he was doing.

Locked momentarily together by the shaft caught in my bikini top we were washed towards the beach, our bodies intertwined in an untidy jumble. Because I'd managed to hold my breath, there was nothing causing me to panic and I had time to savour the interaction of our bodies as they tumbled together -- even enhancing the contact and just for a moment wrapping my hand around his shaft as I groped for some footing or stability in the washing machine action of the wave. Even after my top managed to free itself from its hooked position our bodies didn't really separate as they travelled shoreward.

Because it wasn't a big wave, we managed to stop ourselves short of where the sand was churned up by its action. Greg ended up on his back, his bum on the bottom, his head lifted above the water by his elbows under his shoulders. I was face down, my body across his, my arms holding my face above the water while his still erect shaft tucked itself into the arch of my hip.

As I folded my knees under myself and rose on to all fours, I could feel my breasts were exposed. I was probably lucky the top was still attached to me at all, but it certainly wasn't covering what it was intended to. The wet clammy feeling on one side hinted I might at least have some Lady Godiva like protection there as my hair draped over it; although as wet as it was there was a good chance the nipple poked through even that. I was fairly sure the other side was as exposed as the day I was born. I chose not to look. As I backed off Greg and came upright on my knees alongside him I looked him in the eyes. He wasn't spluttering or gasping for breath, which was a good sign. "Sorry about that, I forgot to keep an eye out for waves".

"I seemed to have survived, so I think we can put it down to experience". I could see his eyes were having trouble not looking down at my exposed breasts.

"That's good, I hate to have drowned you on the first day of my holidays" With that I bent over and gave him a kiss. I'd intended it to be a sort of peck on the cheek, like I did when I greeted him. But instead I planted a full contact lip kiss on him. Lustful thoughts exploded into my brain; tempting me to throw him on his back and lose my virginity to him there and then. Just in time the control side fought back limiting the kiss to something within acceptable pecking limits. It'd been so good that as I pulled away I decided I could go in for another; and again toyed with the mental images it generated.

Frankly I would have liked to push him back and explore his tonsils with my tongue, but that was beyond what I had the confidence to initiate. With his arms under him and supporting him, Greg couldn't grab my head and pull me in either.

The moment slipped away from me. All I could do was come back to my kneeling posture and finish my second kiss with a "sorry"

With that I theatrically looked down and pretended to notice for the first time my exposed breasts. With an "oops" I returned them to the position of minimal coverage.

In the momentary battle between my controlled side and the hormone driven side, the control side had won the first round. I surrendered to the fact the moment was over. I might have wanted to have embraced him, pash him and take him right there and then, but I was too shy to instigate something more here. What had started out as a sort of sneaky exploitation of the effect Greg was having on me had got a little out of control. In many ways I'd just had more intimate contact with a guy than I had ever had before, but I didn't have the confidence to just take him; and if I read Greg correctly, he wasn't the sort of guy to assume he could get away with a premature move on me either.