Hot Sand: Abaco Islands

Greg's mouth gave her an orgasm as she lay there, something else that only seemed to happen a few times a year. "Ohh, baby!" Greg said. "That's what I like to see."

Joan felt scrambled. Happily so. She pulled Greg by the hair and he lay on her, put his just-hard-enough cock inside her and fucked her again, nice and slow.

It was in the afterglow of their carnal bliss when Joan agreed, once again, to hike the path to the beach Clinton had told them about. As she lay there she wondered what he'd look like in a swimsuit, with those massive shoulders and his hugely muscled weightlifter chest bared. She could tell, from seeing him in his casual shirt at the Tiki bar, that he might be a man with no hair on his chest. But thinking about him flustered her. It wasn't about Clinton, she kept telling herself. It's about seeing an unspoiled, natural beach, one that might be surrounded by coconut trees, banana trees, tropical flowers, birds, and friendly lizards.

"We should bring plenty of snacks," she said. "And lots of water."

—

"This sand is so soft, I keep twisting my ankle."

"Are you all right, babe? If I was as strong as Clinton I'd carry you."

"Yeah, right. As if I'd let you. Seriously, this better be worth it. I'm sweating like a pig here."

Greg shook his head. It frustrated him to no end when Joan complained. His hopeful efforts to show her a good time often ended in complaints if there was much physical activity involved. "We're in paradise, hun," he said. "Did you think, somehow, that it wouldn't involve nature? Why don't you take off some of those clothes. At least take off the top."

They'd been walking for a half mile or so, on a soft, sandy path through the scrubby tropical woodland across the road from the resort. Joan stopped, stood still, let out a deep breath that sounded like frustration. She knew Greg was right, but her out of shape body wasn't happy. A big swig of bottled water was followed by a removal of the top half of her swimsuit cover-up, giving her the look of a thick-around-the-middle genie, with her breezy, wide-legged pants down below and her bikini top up above. Greg smiled, wanted to tell her she looked sexy, but didn't because he knew she'd say something about it being 'ridiculous.'

After another half-an-hour of walking the ocean started to show itself, glimpses of it, turquoise green. "If it's so nice, why isn't there a road here?" Joan said, stopping one last time, leaning against a gnarled, odd looking tree, gulping more of her water.

"It's like that hike we took in the Adirondacks," Greg said. "Remember how beautiful that pond was, with nobody there but us?"

"God, that was like three miles! You tricked me that day. Every few minutes you'd say 'I think it's right around the next corner.' "

Greg nodded, smiling. "It was so worth it though, wasn't it?"

"It was nice," Joan admitted.

Greg led the way again and the last bit of the path opened up into a sudden vista of scenic splendor—a smallish, pristine beach, and a few scattered sailboats with shining masts that flashed the sunlight, anchored on green water that was as clear as glass, making the boats look like they were floating in the air above it. "Wow," Greg said. "The Bahamas, huh? This place is amazing."

"Greg," Joan said worriedly. "Some of them don't have...oh my God, this is a nude beach!"

"Whoa!" Greg said quietly. His eyes darted from place to place, bare breasts here, total nudity there, with the occasional swimsuited person mixed in. "It looks optional," he said. "We're all right. Let's just act like we belong here. It's not, like, private or anything. Clinton would have told us."

"Would he have? He didn't tell us this. We should go back."

Greg didn't answer. At the very least they'd have to stay a little while and rest. As he walked out onto the beach, pulling Joan by the hand, his eyes took in the small gatherings of local folks, their deep brown skin shining like beautiful satin in the strong sunlight. There were sailors mingled in, and some grouped on their own. As Greg and Joan adjusted to the scene, they realized there was more full nudity than they'd first thought, but still the comfort of seeing three or four people wearing full swimsuits.

"Greg and Joanie!" said Clinton, fully nude, close behind them, surprising them in more ways than one. "Welcome to paradise. What do you think of our beach?"

Joan's shock numbed her like a hammer blow to the head, so Greg spoke. "It's...unbelievable," he said, astonished by Clinton's physique, the big man's massive body muscled like a competitive heavyweight bodybuilder. His trim waist expanded upward in a powerful 'V' shape, with perfect, rounded pectorals on his chest, mile-wide shoulders above them, and gym-toned biceps the size of Greg's thighs. Below Clinton's waist, more 'V' shaped musculature pointed at his hairless crotch and massive coal-black cock, hanging flaccid between thighs that were almost as big as Greg's waist. All-in-all, Clinton's six-foot-four-inch body was a stunning specimen of masculinity.

"My American friends invite you to join us," Clinton said. "They sailed down from your own New York State."

"No," Joan said, nervously looking at the naked man and topless woman Clinton pointed at. "We need to be alone." Joan was horrified, both by the situation she was in and by saying something so easily misconstrued. The heat of the moment was scrambling her thoughts.

"Ahhh, yes!" Clinton said, smiling. "I understand. I'll tell you, since you are new here, there are sometimes children around. But today..." he said, looking around, his big smile beaming, "...we are all consenting. I'll have your brandies poured and ready for you tonight. You'll come and see me again, won't you?"

Joan nodded, because his eyes were on her. She kept her eyes up high, on his, her nervous mind terrified of what he'd think if she let her gaze drift lower. But even with her eyes on his she felt like she was staring at all of him, especially that huge cock that was right...there.

Clinton's eyes shifted to Greg. "Be good to her, Greg, my friend. Your Joanie deserves careful attention."

"I...will," Greg said, watching the equally stunning back side of Clinton as the big man, with his arm up waving goodbye, walked away. He looked even more powerfully 'V' shaped from the back, with a tight, round, muscled ass that wiggled a little when he walked, like a dancer's.

Greg and Joan didn't say a word until Clinton was out of earshot. "Oh my God," Joan whispered. "What the hell! "

"You got that right," Greg said, his eyes darting between Clinton's ass and the mostly naked couple he was heading toward. "You know," Greg said, turning his now smiling gaze on Joan, "he's got a thing for you. He likes you. A lot."

Joan looked stunned. "You're crazy. Now I suppose your going to tell me you're going to fight him, and he'll kill you, and 20/20 will do a whole hour show about it."

"That's what's going through your head right now?" Greg chuckled.

He knew for a fact that Joan's eyes were on the same thing his were on — Clinton's empyreal ass, the woman's impressive breasts, and her man friend's hairy crotch and fleshy-white penis. Similar in age and looks to Joan and Greg — ordinary, somewhat dumpy, white-bread Caucasian — they nonetheless had easy smiles and a seeming familiarity with Clinton that fascinated Joan. How, she wondered, could the woman stand there so nonchalantly with a man like Clinton, a man so eye-poppingly, shockingly gorgeous and masculine, a man so hugely cocked, a man with every inch of himself shaved to baby-soft smoothness?

"Wow," Greg said, smiling. "I like those eyes of yours, hun. Maybe there's more going on in there than I thought."

"Get out!" Joan said, blushing. "We should go. We don't belong here."

"Let's at least rest a little," Greg said. "We're both hot and tired. Can we spread out the blanket, and maybe go in the water?"

Joan looked around. The beach wasn't at all crowded. She started walking, toward the biggest unused portion of white sand. It was, Greg noticed, a spot with a clear view of Clinton and his friends.

After the blanket was laid out neatly, Greg smiled when Joan unpacked all of her accoutrements: two fresh water bottles, a big tube of sunscreen, her Yankees ball cap with the big visor, and her book. He thought about making fun of her quick change of heart, but he didn't. He flopped himself down on the blanket, smiled, and took in the incredible scenery. "I'm starting to understand the word 'paradise' a little better," he said.

"It is kind of...amazing," Joan said.

Greg smiled. "Clinton's ass? Or do you mean the front of him?"

Joan laugh-choked on the sip of water she was taking, and she punched Greg, playfully, on his hip. "Can you believe him? God, I mean...am I allowed to say wow?"

"Don't get the wrong idea about my feelings," Greg said, "but...he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen. And one of the nicest."

"Nice guys make good bartenders," Joan said. "I'm glad you're staring at him. That means I can, right?"

"You don't need permission. There's gotta be at least a dozen women here for me to stare at."

"You better not! I mean, you can, but, don't stare. They'll think we're creepy."

"If you get naked I promise I'll only look at you," Greg said.

"Yeah, right. That's not happening. The only tits you're seeing today are already on display."

Greg smiled, shrugged his shoulders, let his eyes drift back to the 'scenery.' "How cool would it be to sail here all the way from home," he said.

"Pretty cool," Joan said. "You'd kind of have to know how to sail, though."

"Yup. They're not big boats though. I mean, a couple of them are, but they look pretty normal. I don't think they're rich people. Some of them look more like hippies."

"Do you think they live on them, and just sail around?"

"Looking for places to get naked, maybe," Greg said. "What a life, huh? You could have a handsome naked friend in each port."

The sudden thought of it affected Joan in a physical way, pebbling her skin, raising the hairs on her arms. She hoped it, and the uncontrolled change in her breathing, was outside of Greg's current line of sight. She thought that it was, because his eyes were back on what hers were on — the friendly, laughing interaction between naked Clinton, the naked man, and the topless woman.

Joan glanced at them often as she took off her cover-up pants, applied sunscreen to her easily burnable northern skin, and settled in with her book after handing the tube of lotion to Greg. Joan lay on her stomach, propped up on her elbows with her head toward the water, so she could keep an eye on things.

A quiet half hour passed, as peaceful as any clothed beach would be. The shenanigans that Joan had braced for were minimal — one couple disappeared onto a side path into the woods, reemerging after ten minutes, smiling, Joan thought, although she couldn't see their faces that clearly. Another woman, off at a distance, put sunscreen on her man, apparently arousing him. Joan's body reacted with goosebumps again when the woman spent a few moments there, stroking his hard cock. It didn't continue to a 'happy ending,' though, just a kiss with their mouths, then they lay back and soaked up the sun.

Soon after that, Clinton and his friends were in action, gathering their things, shaking the sand out of their towels. They vacated their spot near the water, carrying everything to a dinghy with a tilted-up outboard motor, the small boat resting on wet sand at the water's edge. There were four others similar to it scattered down the beach, one for each of the sailboats anchored in the calm water just offshore.

"Looks like Clinton's friends are leaving," Greg said, but Joan's eyes were already on the still-stunning sight of him, watching as he pushed the dinghy off the sand like it weighed nothing. The topless woman and the naked man climbed aboard, Clinton pushed them into deeper water, and then he hauled his own huge naked body aboard the tiny boat, somehow as gracefully as a gymnast. The quiet sound of the little outboard motor was the loudest thing in the air as the dinghy, overloaded with humanity, turned and headed for a white sailboat, one with a blue cloth bimini shade over its cockpit and two black solar panels tilted toward the sun. "Looks like they're going sailing," Greg said. "Maybe they'll drop him off over on the other side of the island. That'd be cool."

Greg and Joan continued watching, but the sailboat's anchor stayed down. As soon as Clinton and his friends had boarded, they'd disappeared down the companionway, into what Joan and Greg both imagined as a cozy, wood-paneled cabin. When the three of them didn't re-emerge, Joan knew there were many possibilities, preparing food maybe, or showing off the boat itself—maybe it was new? But deep down, Joan knew the truth of it, the real reason they'd wanted comfortable privacy. Gradually, Greg knew it, too. Neither he nor Joan said anything about it, the suspicions that were almost certainly true. And then, a closely watching eye could see, on the clear surface of the turquoise green water, decidedly rhythmic ripples emanating outward from the boat's hull, and a closely listening ear could hear, carried on the quiet tropical air like an aural apparition, the blissful sounds of a woman in ecstasy.

Greg looked at Joan and said, "Holy shit. You hear that, right?" Joan, trying her best to keep her composure, nodded. Greg's eyes gave away his own excitement. "They're probably married, right?"

"Maybe," Joan said. "I mean...it happens."

"Threeways, do you mean? Oh, yeah, for sure," Greg said.

He and Joan fell silent again, listening. The woman's unmistakable sounds were muffled, distant, but they both imagined the true volume of her, loud and unbridled as she obviously was, in the cozy confines of the boat's cabin. Someone, almost certainly Clinton, was making her fly very high indeed.

"Can you imagine the size of him, when he's..." Greg said. "I mean, he's huge when he's soft for God's sake!"

Joan wanted to scold her husband for saying such things, but his thoughts on the subject were the same as hers. She sat there with an odd look on her face, looking at Greg, wondering how to get the afternoon back to some kind of normalcy. "We shouldn't talk about this. It's their business."

Greg chuckled. "Seriously? We're just going to never talk about this? I mean, we gotta tell our friends about this. This is cocktail party gold."

Joan's eyes widened, showing her uneasy amusement. "It is not! We can't...tell this! How would you do it without sounding...filthy?"

"Let's see," Greg said. "I'd tell everyone how turned on you are, and how that turns me on, and...you know...so on and so forth. I mean, the story's not over. Seeing Clinton at the bar tonight is going to be...interesting."

"Oh, no," Joan said. "We're not going back there. There's no way I could...face him."

"Why, because you'd be picturing him naked? Hadn't you already, before we even got here? And please don't tell me women are different than men in that regard. I know you're not."

"It's not just that," Joan said, letting a moment of silence perk her and Greg's ears to the woman's continuing ecstasy. "I mean...God!"

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere," Greg said, smiling. "It's not just his body and his size, it's his prowess. You don't want him to see how turned on you are."

Joan's breath rushed out of her, noisily, through flared nostrils. She felt slightly out of control, even though she was perfectly still. Greg's next comment sent her body into even more quiet turmoil...

"What if I said I'd be all for it. I'd kind of love it, seeing you, like she is." Greg gestured with his head toward the love boat. "No, let me rephrase that. I'd really, really, love seeing you like she is."

Joan forced out a couple words. "You're...insane."

"I'll tell you what I think," Greg said. "Knowing how Clinton acts around you, and seeing what we've seen today...I think he'd do it in a heartbeat. Want to make this a vacation you'll always remember? When you're ninety, the memory of it will make you smile."

"You're nuts! Totally fucking nuts!" Joan said. "This place is messing with your head. If you think I'm gonna...with him...you're..."

"Generous? Giving? Horny? Maybe all of the above?"

Joan shook her head at Greg, but once again she was clearly not unhappy. Greg smiled at her sparkling eyes. He let the subject drop, but, deep down, he knew it wasn't over.

—

That evening, before dinner, sitting outside on her private ocean-view veranda, Joan sipped on her room-service iced tea. Greg wandered out, buttoning his shirt after a quick shower. "First of all," Joan said, "I don't make noise like that woman does, and second of all, when did you get into kinky stuff anyway? Did you have a threeway before we met?"

Greg smiled. He sat in the chair next to Joan, surprised but happy that she was the one bringing the subject up again. "You make beautiful noise, Joan. That's why I married you."

"That's why you married me? That's not the best compliment to give a woman, but I'll take it, I guess. But what about this threeway thing? Do you...think about it?"

"Every guys does, I'm guessing. It's sexy."

"Do they?" she said. "I mean...guys think about another man with... their wife? I would have thought it would be another woman...you know...a guy with his wife and another woman."

"That's sexy, too. Obviously. It all is. Some guys think it's hot to know their woman is...well taken care of."

"Their 'woman'? Am I your 'woman'? "

"I'm glad you're smiling," Greg said. "This is dangerous territory."

"Yeah, well...I love being your woman. And I love that you're my man," Joan said, her voice relaxing a bit. "So...have you? Done a threeway?"

Greg shook his head. "Nope. It's kind of on my bucket list, though, and since you and me are together forever, that means you're in on it, in my fantasies, at least."

"Wow," Joan said. "This has been an...enlightening vacation. I'm glad. I like knowing what's in your head, even if it's crazy."

Greg smiled. "You mean you, me, and that weather girl from the news, together on a bed together, is crazy?"

"Hey!" Joan smiled. "I knew you had a thing for her."

"So does every guy in the county, and she's not exactly accessible. But Clinton, he's right here, just the three of us, chatting at his bar tonight."

Joan's eyes sparkled, her brow furrowed a little. "You're actually serious, aren't you. I'm...kind of...amazed by all this. By you."

"Amazed in a good way?"

Joan nodded, just enough to be seen, her mouth curled into the faintest of smiles. She wondered if Greg heard her thumping heart. She couldn't remember having a fantasy that involved Greg and another guy—a two-man threeway—but now that the thought had invaded her mind it was solidly in there, and it was because of Clinton. His smiling, easy-going friendliness had won her over, and his body — big enough to overpower her in every way imaginable — had begun to consume her thoughts.

"So, we're doing this?" Greg asked, surprised and excited but trying to act casual. "We should ask him if he wants to come here, maybe, right?"

"I can't even begin to think rationally about this," Joan said. "Do you really think...?"

Greg nodded. "I do."

Joan's reply surprised Greg, and it surprised her, to. She said, "If you're crazy enough to make it happen, I'll..." She ended with a slight nod. A barely noticeable affirmative.

Greg, smiling, said, "Damn, Hun. I'm horny as hell right now, but...we should wait, in case this happens tonight."

"Tonight? Do you think...it will?"