His Size Matters

I helped her out of her dress, slipped her panties down her thighs, and lifted her bra off her shoulders. She didn't need my help, of course, but it was part of the ritual, part of what I enjoyed at the beach, helping her get naked. When she was totally nude, I applied sunscreen over every part of her, every crease, every soft round mound, and every hidden curve. When she was naked and protected from the sun, we spread out the towels, put down the beach chairs, and settled on the sand.

As he walked up from the water, I gasped. I had never seen anything like it. Swinging free and flaccid between his thighs was the biggest sexual organ I had ever laid eyes on, not that I made a habit of noticing other men's cocks, but it was unavoidable. He was just that big.

My wife sat with her mouth open, obviously seeing the same wonder of the world I just had. I looked over at her and she was spellbound, gazing at the obvious king of the beach, admiring an organ the size of a salmi.

"Wow," she finally said as if she was unaware that she had spoken. She held her book in front of her face, but she was clearly looking over the top of the pages. When he sat down she looked down at her book as if surprised it was still there. A few moments later she turned over, as if she wanted private thoughts without showing the look on her face.

We'd been coming to the nude beach for just over a year, and there had never been anything on the beach quite like it. Figures went through my mind as I estimated its possible length. Eight, nine, ten maybe, but it was eye catching and impossible to miss. I found myself thinking just how long would it be erect. A foot maybe. Finally, unable to keep from saying anything, I asked Claire if she had "seen that?"

"What?" she asked without looking up, but clearly not reading her book, as if she couldn't stop thinking about what she had just witnessed.

"The guy next to us," I said.

"Of course," she said before turning to look at me. Her smile was wide and clearly one of admiration. "That's Randy," she said with the same lecherous smile.

"You know him?" I asked.

"Well, not really know.," she said looking over at me from behind her glasses, "but the girls on the beach know about Randy. He is kind of... famous, you might say. I played frisbee with him once."

"I am surprised you were able to concentrate on the frisbee," I said.

"I couldn't," she said. "Couldn't keep my eyes off of it."

"It?" I asked.

"His 'gift', you know. It," she repeated. "It is beautiful."

"I didn't know you noticed those kind of things," I said.

"Usually I don't," she said, "but.... You know, it's so... impressive. It makes women swoon," she said.

"Does it make you swoon?" I asked, incredulous that she would admit that.

"It makes me dizzy," she said. "I think of it, we'll, you know."

"You think about what it would feel like.... in you?" I asked unable to believe what I was hearing.

"Sure," she said finally, after a long pregnant pause. "You guys see a beautiful woman and you think of fucking her, right?"

I stammered, then said, "Sometimes."

"Yeah, right," she said. "You mean sometimes you don't if you are looking the other way. I know you men. You think of fucking twenty-four seven. Admit it. When you are 'helping' me out of my clothes, you're thinking of fucking. Right?"

"Well, you are my wife."

"So tell me you don't think of fucking her when you see a hot chick on the beach. Really?" she said skeptically.

"Okay. Maybe," I said, beginning to laugh self consciously.

"We're no different," she said. "We think of fucking, too. A cock like that makes our pussies wet. You don't think so?"

"You ever think of him and masturbate?" I asked.

"Well, ah, yeah," she admitted.

I thought for a while, then said, "Well, what if I said to go ahead? What if I said it would be okay to, well, to fuck him?"

"Well, then I probably would play some more frisbee, or invite him over to chat, or ask him to help me carry my stuff to the car, when you're not here, of course."

"You'd fuck him in your car?" I said.

"Or in the bushes," she said, "or his van."

"You know he drives a van?" I said, incredulous.

"I know where he lives," she said with a sly smile.

"You really do want to fuck him, right?"

"You want me to be honest? Well, okay, yes. I would be the envy of the beach. Every woman here wants to fuck Big Randy. So, sure. Yes. Without a doubt," she said truculently.

"Okay," I said. "Go ahead. Be the envy of every other woman on the beach. Really."

"You coming to the beach tomorrow?" she asked, knowing I had to work.

"Will you tell me what happens, how it was, if you enjoy it?" I asked.

"I will enjoy it, for sure," she said. "I am sure of that. I'll take pictures even," she said with a naughty grin. "You're serious?"

"As a shark bite," I said. "If you want to, then, yes. Go ahead. I want you to."

She turned back to her book. "Okay."

The next day she was ready for the beach even before I had left for work. Usually, we leave for the nude beach about ten, but that day she was ready before eight. She left, she told me that night, at nine. All through the day I could think of nothing else but Claire fucking Randy, in the bushes, her car, or in his camper van. I kept visualizing his giant dong sliding into her hungry and very open pussy.

I wondered how it would go. Would she come right out and ask him to fuck her, or would she invite him over, chat, play frisbee, then work her way to her real reason for the attention? Would the other women on the beach notice what was happening? Of course they would. Would the other women slap hands with her when she was finished?

I would give anything to be able to watch it happen. I was discovering I had a bit of voyeur in me, maybe a little cuckold was hiding inside of me. I found myself getting hard at work thinking about her fucking Randy with the horse cock. I pictured her kneeling on the beach with him fucking her from behind with all of the women circling around them clapping as he drove into her. I imagined her holding his giant schlong in her hand and putting her lips over the tip and sucking him dry in the back of his van.

She got home later than usual, about seven. When she walked in the look on her face told it all. She had indeed fucked the king of the beach. Her cheeks were pink and her neck was still flush. The smile on her face said, "I have been fucked and fucked good." All through dinner she didn't talk about it. The kids ate, helped clean up, and went to bed after some television. Once in the bedroom she walked to the bed, turned around, and smiled.

"Well, what they say about size is right," she said with a broad grin.

"In the bushes, on the beach with an audience, his van, where did it happen?" I asked.

"His van, then the bushes, finally on the beach, after everyone left," she said with a silly grin. "Thank you," she finally said, sitting down on the bed and removing her top.

"Nine inches," she said, like 'in case you wanted to know.' "Eleven hard. I took my sewing tape measure."

"If you fuck me, I'll tell you all about it," she said holding her arms out to me. I asked her how she brought it up.

"I told him the girls on the beach were wondering if size really mattered. He said he didn't know, that I would have

to find out for myself. I said, 'Okay, when?' He said anytime. I said how about now?"

When we stated to make love I asked if she could even feel something so small. "It may not be big, but it is well shaped," she said. I thanked her and said she didn't need to say that. "I don't love Randy," she said, "I just love his cock. You wanted me to fuck him, right, so you have to know that has risks. But I prefer you," she said, "little as you are." Then she laughed and poked me in the arm. "Don't tell me to fuck someone if you don't want me to enjoy it."

I told her I was glad she enjoyed it. I said I was just an insecure ass and I loved her. I told her how hot I got from thinking about her fucking him. "I know that sounds strange, but that is the truth," I said.

"Not so strange," she said. "Emotions are crazy. People are afraid to get hurt but they do dangerous things. We are a collection of contradictions. Things that excite us scare us. It is just the way we are. It excited you that Randy turned me on, but it scared you at the same time. That is not so strange."

"How did you get so smart?" I said.

"I am a woman, silly," she said. "That's how. We are all smarter than you." She was right. I had to admit it, and I knew she was smart enough to know that size really does matter, at least his.