Imperial Beach

Imperial Beach, Part I

I can't say I was looking for a reason to break up with my boyfriend. Our relationship had definitely turned south over the last few weeks so I already had quite a few I could have pulled out of a hat, but I found a good one that weekend at Imperial Beach.

It was supposed to be the week to rekindle what we'd had during the school year. Jeff was a grad student at Cal State Los Angeles working on his MSW, and I was a psych major in my senior year. We'd met in the library, hit it off, screwed on our second date, and by the end of October we'd moved in together. By March things had become kind of caustic, he was smoking too much marijuana, and we started fighting in April. I moved out in May but we stayed in touch. I'd spent a few nights at his place and he a few nights at mine. He told me he'd cut down on getting high. Things seemed to be coming back together so he suggested we spend a week, maybe ten days, camping- just the two of us.

We decided to spend a few days up near Santa Barbara, maybe a day or two in San Clemente, then the last three in San Diego. He rented a small 12 foot cab-over camper from El Monte RV Center and off we went.

Santa Barbara was nice. Romantic: campfire at night, breakfast at a beachfront restaurant, lovemaking whenever. Some of Jeff's demons started to pop up in San Clemente: his incessant chattering about nothing, his jealousy whenever anyone looked at me, and he started getting high again. He'd start smoking dope around noon and wouldn't stop until he was stupefied into oblivion. Then, as soon as he'd start coming back down to earth, he'd hit the bong again. Conversations became boorish. By the time we got to Imperial Beach I even had to do most of the driving.

Don't get me wrong: I love a little hit now and then, especially when I'm ready for some great sex. It loosens me up and I get real experimental. First time (and for that matter, the only time) I did a threesome was when I got a little high, and the only time I did girl-on-girl was when one of my roommates and I got a little loaded in my freshman year.

So anyhow, we got to Imperial Beach on a Friday morning. Jeff and I had been fighting most of the way. I told him I was tired of him being incoherent most of the time, how he couldn't keep it up while we were screwing, and how immature he was whenever some other guy even looked at me. He kept telling me about the insights he got from being loaded, and how he was going to write his dissertation about living in altered states and how I was too much a prude to accept him as a social maverick. And how I was a prick tease to all the guys on the beach, and he bet I was banging them when he wasn't around.

Yeah, those really were the conversations.

And it wasn't that he shouldn't be a little jealous. Not that I'm like a fashion model or anything. I have way too many curves for that. I have 6-pack abs, body fat of under 20%, but a 36 D cup bust without looking top heavy. And I'm strawberry blond from top to bottom. Even the thatch of hair above my pussy is blond. It's a naturally thin patch that barely covers anything. To put it another way, I don't have to shave. I don't wear an especially revealing bikini at the beach, but men mentally disrobe me when I go by, and Jeff knows it. Over the past week I've managed to create a really nice tan line, some of it with him on the towel next to me but mostly when he's been passed out in the RV. And with no strap lines on my back from the neck down to my hips, someone had to put on the sunscreen.

That Saturday I came up from the beach in the late afternoon, around 3:00 or so, and there was a fully tricked out gun metal blue Ford F-350 Diesel pulling a 5th wheel; both were parked next to us. It was beautiful: graphite gray with white and red stripes and a dark limo glass picture window at the back that looked out over the strand of sand leading down to the surf. Had to be 35 feet if it was an inch; it dwarfed our little 12 foot cab-over with the big El Monte logo in the area above the driver's seat.

A couple of young looking black guys, maybe late 20's or early 30's were sitting on their lounge chairs looking out at the beach, but they openly stared at me as I walked up toward them. I smiled, they smiled back, said something between themselves, and clinked the top of their beer bottles together as I strode past them to my own rig.

:"Cheers" they announced, "to the best lookin' woman we seen on this beach." I laughed at the obvious flirtation, then stopped before I went in to my rig.

"Beautiful trailer... you guys must've just got here," I said, pulling my shoulder length hair back over my ears, "so where you from?"

"Yeah, we just pulled in," the tall one replied. "You wanna beer, darlin'?" he asked. I nodded, so he reached around to the Styrofoam cooler behind him, pulled out a tall neck Bud, stroked the ice and water off with his hand, popped the top and handed it to me.

"Thanks" I said. I slid it down my cleavage, laughed, and took a sip. They both looked at each other. The short one made a sizzle sound "Pssssss", wiggled his hand like it was a piece of bacon in a frying pan, and laughed.

"Got in from Newport Beach about an hour ago," the short one continued, "but we're coming from Florida. Started on the road last month and this is our last stop before heading home."

I heard the door from my rig open. Jeff came out wearing his swimming trunks and flip-flops. He hadn't shaved yet.

"Hey Cassie," he said, eying the two men in front of me. I hadn't noticed, but they both had great smiles with almost perfect teeth. What I had noticed was how they looked at me, then at him, then back at me. There was laughter in their eyes. "I'm heading down to the beach, babe. You wanna come and rub some lotion on my shoulders?"

It was obvious that I was just coming back from the beach, so I knew what he was trying to pull. "No babe," I said without looking at him, "I just got back and need to get the sand and salt off my body."

"Well can you put some lotion on my back before I go down?" he begged. "Sure," I nodded, "go back in the camper and I'll take care of you, babe."

I set the beer down on the table. "Keep it for me guys, I'll be back in a few minutes." I turned back just as Jeff pulled at my right elbow and lead me back to the camper.

"You fuckin' prick-tease bitch," he hissed at me as we stepped into the confines of our rig.

This is usually where our Kabuki dance of sex usually begins. He's jealous about some guy looking at me so I calm him down, he apologizes, we make up, kiss, touch, rip each others clothes off and screw like rabbits.

But this wasn't the usual. These guys had done more than look at me. They'd actually come on me, and I'd had the audacity to flirt back. Oh yeah, he said, he'd seen what I'd done with the beer bottle, and what they'd done afterward. This time he was really sober enough to be angry.

But I was too past the whole thing to give a damn. "Look Jeff," I replied. There was no emotion in my voice. I spoke as if I were talking to a 12 year old. "If you want me to put lotion on your back, then lay down on the bed, otherwise, just go down to the fucking beach and be miserable."

He laid down on the bed pouting. I spread the sunscreen on his back and started rubbing it in, kneading it into his shoulders, down his spine, and onto his hips. I could hear his breathing change and I knew he was allowing himself to get turned on, and it was having its desired effect on me. I was getting turned on.

I took off my top and dropped it to the floor, then lay down on top of him, crushing my breasts against his back. I kissed the nape of his neck as I slid his trunks down his thighs. He turned over. I straddled him, only the thin film of my bikini separating my swollen pussy lips from his hardened manhood. He slid his hand under the fabric, massaging my ass cheeks while I slid sensuously along the base of his shaft. We started kissing, probing each other with our tongues, when I suddenly felt him stiffen up beneath me. He had shot his wad, his sticky white semen clinging in little clumps to the thin swatch of hair between his cock and navel, some of it smeared to my bikini bottom and the bare skin of my abdomen. I was dumbstruck and he was laughing.

"Goddammit baby, you really had me goin'" he howled. "That was so hot!"

I just sat on his hips, speechless, looking down at him. "You fucking bastard!" was all I could say. I wiped his cum off my body, put on a long tee shirt from Hooters, and left. I could hear the propane lighter click as he started pulling on his bong. I slammed the door.

"Damn baby," the tall one said as I emerged, "you wasn't kiddin' 'bout a few minutes, was ya?"

I hadn't forgotten about the two black men but I hadn't thought about what it looked like right now. I had gone in with my boyfriend, anyone in the world thinking we were going to kiss, make up, and then fuck for a while. But, before the dew had dried off the bottle, out I come wearing nothing but a long Hooter's tee shirt that went part way down my thighs to just above my knees with two oversized owl eyes covering my knockers.

And I looked flustered, I know. I went to their table and picked up my beer. "He decided he didn't want to get ..."

"Any..." the short one said, chuckling to himself.

I scowled at him, my hands on my hips. Was it that obvious that I'd been left dangling?

"Any sun," he scoffed, "that's what I meant, babe, he didn't want any sun."

"Yeah, that's what he meant, honey," the tall one added. "Your boyfriend just didn't want no sun on that bleached white body of his." He turned to his short friend. "Shorty, you ever seen anythin' so white as that boyfriend of hers?"

"Not since the sheets them Klansmen was wearin' when they parked that burnin' cross on grandpa's front lawn," he replied. They both started guffawing.

I was a little shocked: they lived around the KKK? It must have shown in my face. "Jes' kiddin' babe, no Klansmen- but boy! Your boy is whiter'n library paste."

I laughed. It was true. Jeff wasn't bad looking and he had a pretty good looking body, but he didn't like being in the sun. Skin cancer, yadda yadda. Even those times we were on the beach together, he stayed under an umbrella.

But the ice had been broken, so to speak. We all tipped the necks of our bottles together and took a long sip.

"I'm Cassandra- Cassie for short" I said.

"I'm Jackson- but mos' people call me Pencil," he said. He was wearing a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a Florida State tee shirt and looked like he played basketball. Tall, shaved head, with well defined sinewy muscles and long legs. His fingers, long and elegant like those of a pianist, tapped on the side of the glass as if playing out an old standard. "Name ain't about nothing important, though," he added quickly, winking. He took a long draw from his bottle, then tossed it aside, empty.

"An' I'm his big brother Daniel- Shorty for short- but some things don't count in that, either!" he laughed. He was stocky, also with his head shaved clean, a little on the plump side, like maybe he'd played guard or tackle in college and then quit the workouts once the NFL passed him over. But not dumpy, no big floppy gut or triple chin. Just plump. Like his brother, he was wearing khaki shorts and a college tee shirt- Georgia Tech.

Both were very black.

I heard the door to my camper open, then slam shut. Jeff turned the corner.

Imperial Beach Part 2: Pencil

"Hey dudes," he said, "wazzup?" There was a wariness in his voice, an anticipation of friction. His eyes were bloodshot and darting back and forth between the three of us. I knew he thought that somehow, in the ten or so minutes since I'd walked out on him, that I'd had wild animal jungle sex with both of these black studs several times each. He knew we were talking about him, making fun of him, turning him into a cuckolded sucker wimp.

He was loaded.

"Hey bro," Pencil replied, reaching out for a fist-bump greeting.

"This is Jeff, my boyfriend. Jeff, this is Shorty and Pencil."

Jeff had no idea what to do next; he extended his hand but, at the last second, the fist-bump concept burned through the haze in his head. It was awkward, but fist-bumps eventually happened between the three guys, followed by an equally awkward silence.

Shorty sniffed the air. "Hey Jeff, sumthin's smellin' awful good!" he said after a few minutes. "Seems like you might be holdin' a li'l smoke, eh bro?" He looked over at me, smiled, and winked.

That was Jeff's cue. He was quick to pull out a sandwich bag full of pungent green dope, along with a pack of Zags. One thing was always true about his stash: no seeds or stems. Only the best. "Oh yeah, bro, you gotta try this shit," he bragged.

Pencil smiled, looking like he was about to eat the canary. "Mmm, a little reefer seems like a good thing right now, don't it Cassie. Turn the sunset into somethin' special." I could sense something was up, but wasn't sure what.

"Jeff only scores the best," I replied, "...only the best." Hell, it was impossible not to get a contact high just being in the same room as his dirty laundry.

"Definitely will fuck you up good!" Jeff responded as he expertly poured the narcotic into the fold of the paper, rolled it, licked it closed, and lit it, "and I mean really good." He took a long toke and then passed it to Shorty.

Shorty took a quick hit and passed it to me. I took a deep hit, passed it to Pencil. We all exhaled together. Pencil looked at me, smiling and passed it back to Jeff. "Damn baby, your boy sure knows his shit. This is tight."

He turned to Jeff. "You want somethin' to wash that smoke down, bro?"

Jeff nodded while he took another really deep hit. Pencil reached into the ice chest and pulled out another Bud and quart bottle of Colt '45. "Here ya go, bro." He handed him the Colt and kept the Bud. I thought I might be catching on to what was happening.

Jeff passed the joint again. Shorty took a quick hit, but Pencil passed it on to me without toking. I took a hit, held it deep and passed it back to Jeff. I wanted to be just the slightest bit high if what I thought was going to happen, actually happened. Experimental was the word that came to mind.

Jeff had already chugged maybe a third of the potent malt liquor by that time, and it was starting to show. Another long toke, another sip, then another toke. Finally he had that 1000 yard stare, that look into infinity which tells the world you've slipped over the edge. He took a final hit off the joint, a long draw on the Colt, and slid down into the sand onto his back, his eyes looking blankly into the late afternoon sky.

"Hey Jeff," Pencil said, "I'm gonna show Cassie the floor plan on my RV, the kitchen, the bedroom, all that shit, maybe ask her if there's somethin' else she wanna see." Jeff nodded but said nothing. A chill of seductive anticipation went up my spine. I folded my arms across my chest in a vain attempt to hide my stiffening nipples.

Shorty waved his right hand in front of Jeff's face. No blink, no expression; Jeff was wasted. "The boy is numb, brutha," he laughed as his brother put his arms around my waist and escorted me up the steps into his massive recreational vehicle.

It was like a small modern apartment. The slides on each side came close to doubling the floor space so it didn't give the tunneled sense of being inside an aircraft fuselage. The carpeting was plush, wood floors down the center aisle, the cabinets in white with chrome hardware, stainless appliances, and Oliver Nelson's "Blues and the Abstract Truth" was playing softly on a hidden ceiling-mounted sound system. The sensual rhythms, his hands on my hips, and the strong weed were turning me into putty.

"See baby," he said in a low Barry White kind of voice. His hands riding softly on my hips moved me inexorably down the passageway leading to the back. "This is where we cook," pointing to the stainless stove, "this is where we eat," pointing to the white and ash trimmed table, "this is Shorty's bed," pointing to a double bed mounted in one of the slide-outs.

We got to the back of the trailer. Slide-outs on each side, with a full king bed and an incredible view of the ocean through the picture window. It was huge and, in spite of the window, intimately dabbled in shadows. This time the chill went down my spine and burrowed its way between my legs. "This, baby," he said softly, gently nudging my ear, "is my bed."

I turned to face him, finding a warm sexuality deep in his eyes. His hands came up under my shirt, resting at the top of my hips. He drew me close, his firm manhood pressing against my abdomen. His elegant ebony fingers continued their meandering walk up to the base of my breasts.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the moment as it unfolded. I wrapped my arms around his neck. "You want to fuck me, don't you," I stated as a matter of fact. His lips were pressed against my ear, nipping down my neck, into my cleavage.

"I think that's what you want me to do" he whispered, "every move of your body tells me that's what you want." He pinched each firm nipple between his thumb and forefinger, torturing them to stiff attention. I moaned. He slowly lifted my tee shirt over my head, revealing first my long tanned thighs, the small powder blue triangle of cloth trying desperately to protect my womanhood, the tight muscles above my navel, finally exposing a pair full, round tits with their dark brown nipples standing upright, stiff and proud. He cupped each, plying them with the palms of his hands. Tilting his head down, he took a nipple between his beautiful full pink lips, teasing one, then the other. I gasped as his teeth gently bit while his lips eagerly sucked.

"I knew your nipples would be brown," he whispered as he pinched them, hard. I squealed as an electric shock of painful pleasure coursed into my loins. "I saw you come up from the beach and I said, 'Shorty, betcha ten bucks that honey's got brown nipples.'"

I knew it. Men did that mentally every time I walked by: took my clothes off. It was always in their eyes.

"So did he take the bet?" I cooed. I began kissing the top of his shaven black head while his lips and tongue worked their magic on my hypersensitive nipples. The heat between us became palatable.

He eased me back onto his bed and I inched myself up to the pillows with my hips and elbows. "Pink, that's what he said."

His fingers undertook a journey up the inside of my thighs, gently spreading them as they marched, finally finding and probing the swollen lips of my labia through the thin cloth of my bikini. There was a thin line of wetness in the middle of the baby blue triangular swatch. I lifted my hips; a pull on each side slid it down my thighs, my calves, my ankles, to the floor. I lay there propped on my elbows, legs spread wide exposing the pink flesh of my wonton blushing womanhood to his equally wonton stare. Trembling with uninhibited lust, I was wishing through sheer force of will for him to take off his clothes.

"So he owes you bigtime," I finally replied, my uncontrolled sexual senses making conversation difficult.

"Oh," he laughed, "he don't know how bigtime it's gonna be."

His eyes wandered up and down my naked body, fixed for a moment on my blue-green eyes and full red lips, my tanned rounded breasts, then the firm nipples embossed in the whiteness within the tan lines, the navel, finally settling on the white triangle pointing like a searchlight to the blond thatch and puffy pink slit between my legs. "Oh baby," he whistled, "you have about the finest body I have ever seen. You got the whole fuckin' package"

I started playing with my nipples. "You gonna talk?" I chided, "or take off your clothes." The long hit I'd taken off Jeff's great weed was working its wonders on what few inhibitions I might have had. My eyes were fixed on his zipper. Moreover, on the immense bulge tenting out from it. I'd never been to bed with a black man before. I'd heard myths and legends about the size of their sex organs, their length and thickness. I wanted to see it in all its throbbing glory.