Ginny 555-1324

It wasn't her nudity that first caught his attention as she waded into the surf. After all, it was a 'clothing optional' beach, and very few failed to exercise that option. It was her hair, he realized, the red of her locks making a sharp contrast with the green of the sea.

"Like the painting by Gauguin," he thought, almost voicing it aloud, and he saw her as if in the painting, red hair and light skin contrasting and complementing the white foam and sea-green that flooded the canvas. He watched, transfixed, as she splashed and dove in the surf. Her back was always to him, but he knew by her flesh that she wasn't one of the young nymphs who frequented this beach, rather a mature woman, close to his own age. And free enough to enjoy herself with gleeful abandon in the ebbs and flows and tumblings of the waves, he concluded.

His eyes stayed with her as she finished her swim and made her way back up the shore, her red hair now blown by the land breeze and carelessly framing her face. "A very pretty face," he reflected, "not glamorous, but friendly and comfortable." He gazed at her body as well: clearly middle-aged, full, rounded, mature breasts and some extra pounds, and yet very appealing, soft and fleshy like a Renoir. Her casual, unself-conscious walk lent her a sensuality that reminded him of the women in Hopper's paintings. "My god," he thought to himself, "I've just found a woman right out of three of my favorite painters. And all of them sensuous. At least I can't see the sensuality that inspired O'Keefe, or I don't know what I'd do."

His thought were interrupted by laughter off to his right. There were three women camped there, and the one he watched was obviously returning to join them. They all clearly lacked her self-confidence: one lay face-down, her cheeks demurely covered by a towel, while the other two sat on their haunches, heels pulled in and knees to their chests so that nothing private could be seen. He became self-conscious as he realized they were laughing at him, at his staring at their friend. And he became even more self-conscious as he realized his interest wasn't purely intellectual. He looked away and quickly turned over on his stomach to hide the erection he just discovered he had.

He hadn't been there but a minute when he felt the cool of a shadow come to rest across his back. He knew it must be her.

"Hey," she said cheerfully, "I hear you've been looking at me."

He hesitated, and she playfully kicked some sand onto his back.

"C'mon, turn over and get a close look," she said, "and let me get a look at you."

He smiled at her casual audacity, and rolled over, stretching himself out so she could have the full look she was due. Her eyes started on his face, and he could see she found it pleasing. She glanced slowly over his whole body, her gaze coming to rest on his not-quite-flaccid penis.

"Well, thank you," she laughed; "it seems you liked what you saw. Maybe we should get to know each other."

He moved to the side of his beach blanket and invited her to sit and chat a while. She lowered herself slowly to a cross-legged position, and he couldn't help but see that part of a woman that so inspired Georgia O'Keefe. And he knew he was lost. And he rather liked the idea.

They chatted a while about beaches and children, and even grandchildren, about politics and loneliness, and while they talked, their hunger for each other grew. His mind found some snippets of an old song:

"We've seen a lot; I mean A Lot; And now we're like sweet seventeen a lot. We're vexed again; Perplexed again; Thank God we can be oversexed again Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I."

and he wondered if, or perhaps even hoped that, she felt the same.

And perhaps she did, for he had no sooner thought it then she spoke.

"Why don't we take a little stroll in the dunes; I always like to walk while I talk."

"Of course," he said, leaping quickly to his feet. She smiled at his quick reply and the bouncing of his now-less-flaccid organ as he arose.

"Bring your blanket, too; you might need to stop for a rest, old man," she laughed, and took his hand in hers as they started through the sea oats atop the nearest dune.

As they crested the first dune, she knew her friends would be watching, scandalized as usual by her behaviour. "Brazen," they called it, and told her to act like a lady, but she knew they were merely jealous of her freedom to do what they could only dream. And so she paused a moment, taking her hand from his and wrapping her arm around his waist, and he did the same. Then, just as they started down the sandy slope, just before they disappeared from her friends' sight, she let her hand slide down over his buttock and gave it a playful squeeze.

He understood what she was up to, and they laughed together as they slid down the dune and into the shallow valley. They walked and talked their way through the dunes, now, arms around each others' waists and bodies bouncing together as they slid in the sand here and there. And he smiled to himself at the casually comfortable friendliness between himself and this ;lovely, red-headed stranger.

Far into the dunes, far away from the eyes of the beach, they entered a deep valley, and she suddenly stopped.

"Here's a nice spot," she said, looking up at the sheltering grasses atop the dunes, "Spread out your blanket and we'll sit a while."

"A nice idea," he replied, smiling at her as he laid the blanket out and then sat on it.

She sat cross-legged next to him and they spoke some more. And as they spoke their hands glided casually and sensually over each others' thighs, fingertips lightly massaging the soft, sensitive skin of the inside surfaces.

"So tell me mo...," he began to say, but found his words cut short by the sudden and sweet pressing of her lips gently against his. He joined in the kiss, his lips quivering against hers, each of them lightly tasting of the other, and she leaned forward, her hands pushing on his shoulders until he lay on his back, not quite fully on the blanket. She rose onto her knees as she continued to press the kiss, her tongue now flicking at his lips and drawing his own tongue out to meet hers.

Her hands slid down his arms, then, and she took hold of his wrists, forcing them above his head and pressing them tight into the sand. And the kiss continued, her tongue now far between his lips, exploring the whole of his mouth. He sensed her leg rising and felt her knee grazing across his abdomen, and the kiss was broken as she straddled him at the waist, holding herself just above his flesh.

She looked down at him, smiling at his smile and at the touch of his now-very-erect penis against her backside, and then slid herself slowly forward, drawing her breasts lightly over his chest and then on to his face. He sighed along with her at the feel of her stiffened nipples against his skin, and when they reached his cheeks, he turned to one, then the other, caressing each breast and each nipple in turn with his lips.

Her hips were even with his shoulders now, and she lowered them so her pubis would press against him. Back she slid now, her labia spreading against him as she slid, and he gasped at the moist warmth of vulva. Back she slid, further now, but close against his abdomen, and his erect penis slid smoothly between up the cheeks of her backside. Her lips met his again, and they kissed again, long and warm, before she once more slid forward. And then back again, the same as before, slowly, languidly, sensually, hep hips wiggling slightly from side to side as she slid. Her red hair framed her beaming face as he looked up at her, and the sun illuminated it as a blazing halo. "I'm being taken by an angel," he thought to himself, as his moans and sighs joined with hers in an ethereal chorus of earthly pleasure.

She continued like this, sliding up and down his abdomen, offering her breasts to his lips each time she slid forward and kissing him deeply each time she glided back. And each time she moved back across his belly, his penis would slide up against her, nestled between her cheeks and getting harder and harder until he thought it would burst.

Her tongue drove more deeply into his mouth and her lips pressed his more firmly at the end of one of her strokes, and he felt her hips rise from his. She still pressed against his erection, and he could feel her skin gliding over his penis until his glans was enfolded in her warm and moist labia. She paused a moment, each of them relishing the sensation and the anticipation, and then lowered her hips, ever so slowly, gradually taking the whole of his penis deep into her vagina.

Now her strokes became faster as she raised and lowered her hips, and their tongues danced frantically together, first in his mouth, then in hers. He felt the quivering of her body as she was about to come, and quickly swept her hands up and behind her, exchanging her grasp of his wrists for his grip on hers. Her chest fell against his now, and her breasts pressed hard into him. She fought him for a moment, but yielded as his feet slipped under her legs and brought her thighs to rest atop his. She found herself excited by the position he put her in, her arms held and her legs without footing, a sense of surrender while still being on top, and she moaned softly through their kiss.

He began to move her now, sliding her up and down over him, his organ tight within her warm, enveloping sheath and her labia splayed so her clitoris rode uncovered up and down the length of his belly, squeezed firmly between her pubic bone and his and the end of each stroke. With each stroke her pleasure became more intense, her breathing more rapid. She broke off the kiss, gasping her breaths and crying out softly with each gasp until her body trembled in orgasmic spasms, her muscles contracting and relaxing uncontrollably from her toes to her lips. He held her there as her back arched and she cried out in delight until the waves of pleasure subsided and her bod fell slightly limp against him.

Now he lifted his knees, and her legs spread wide. With this new leverage he thrust his hips between her thighs and his penis deep inside her, and withdrew and thrust again. On the third thrust his organ erupted, throbbing and pulsing, shooting jets of hot semen into her as his body trembled and convulsed. She lay atop him, cheek-to-cheek and her arms still pinned behind her, and smiled at the sound of his cries in her ears, at the touch of his penis, expanding and contracting within her, and at the feel of his semen ejaculating like waves on the back wall of her vagina. His grip relaxed as his orgasm abated, and she slid herself from on top to kneel upright beside him. As she ran her hands over him, he ran his over her, lightly brushing her breasts and thighs and abdomen, and then she bent over him, taking his organ in her hand and kissing its head warmly and lovingly. He sat up as she arose and kissed her just as warmly as she had kissed him.

Some childish laughter between them, laughter both conspiratorial and joyous, and then they rose to return to the beach. As they parted for her to rejoin her friends and end the day, he asked if he could take her to dinner that evening.

"Of course," she murmured, "I'll see you at eight."

"Your number?" he quickly added, remembering that he had no way of finding her, and she quickly told him.

As she left with her friends, he realized too that he had no way of writing it down. But he also realized that it was a number he could never forget.