Mrs. Valentine Hits the Nude Beach

And then I looked to Brett.

"Homosexual brother-in-law. Nice one," he winked.

I decided to say no more on the matter - I simply picked up my towel, and I left him to retrieve the rest of our stuff and follow me in the direction of the car park.

"So then. Nude beach, yes?" Brett checked.

I looked back to him, up and down his body, before fixing him in the eye. "Nude beach, yes," was all I said.

***

I didn't care to admit it to him, but I was aroused beyond all description.

God damn but that was a thrill! Teresa and 'Darling' were fine people, a little on the private-school-parent stereotype side but I got along well with them, and my boys were friends with their daughter. They were good people to know.

And here I was: Jamie, otherwise proper and prim, modest and demure about the school yard, dropping off my boys to Kindergarten, getting involved with the P&C Committee, or making promises to stock the Cake Stall with my best efforts. Only and always ever clad in a Sensible Mother dress, or a Sensible Mother jeans and knitted top, with Sensible Shoes and a Sensible Pony-Tail, never and nary a hint of wildness or controversy about me...

Here I was, with my Brett. Dripping wet with salty brine, hair askew, probably flushed from a very near-fucking. Clad only in my tiniest bikini bottom down below - hugging my form, clasping tight to my sex, camel-toeing all to Hell and back because I knew it got Brett going. And up above: no bikini top at all, no bra, only a sheer, white, partially-translucent linen top between my tits and the world. Maybe three buttons done up from down low, open to the top, the shirt moving gently in the breeze to tease and caress the sides of my breasts, the material shifting roughly across my nipples and making them ache with pleasure, billowing gently at times but sucking back hard against my skin to show me off, trace me out in no uncertain terms - showing me to Teresa, and to her Darling Husband, as the wild and wicked wanton that I was, with my handsome lover by my side and unabashed in all of it...

Fuck but it made me horny.

And I wanted more. Needed more. I wanted now to show myself off, to get to the nude beach as quick as we could. To get it all off and be seen, be seen naked, to be witnessed and held in wonder.

Brett surely knew as much from the urgency of our power-walk back to his car, and the way my hand immediately grasped his cock through his shorts as we began the short drive to the nude beach, not five minutes away.

Upon arrival at the nude beach, I was somewhat dismayed to find the car park looked just like any other normal, average car park for a fully-clad beach. I wasn't sure what I was expecting...

"So," I said, a trifle too brightly to cover my nervousness. "What's the etiquette? Do we have to leave our clothes and go nude from here, or is there some kind of change room along the way?"

I realised as I said it that I was sounding stupid, but Brett was good enough to only grin at me with grand humour. "The nude section of the beach is at the far end," he explained. "No nudity allowed this side of the big obvious sign that says 'UNCLAD BATHING PERMITTED BEYOND THIS POINT'."

"So, what? Do we have to drop everything and disrobe as soon as we get to the sign?"

"Nudity isn't mandatory," he kept on grinning at me, gathering up our things and locking his car, taking my hand and leading me towards the beach. "You don't have to take off anything until you find a good spot to set yourself up."

"It's not mandatory?" I frowned. "What - will people rock up with their rude-bits covered up, and just sit around and perve?"

"Hah hah, no," he assured me. "That'd be weird. Plus they'd likely be weirded out themselves by all the naked people around them. People can be such prudes sometimes," he added, with a look at me.

I sought to look affronted. "You've got me to agree to come with you to your stupid nude beach, and you're still suggesting I'm a prude?"

"One totally free of prudishness would not have needed so much convincing," he returned fire, with a cheeky wink on top.

I let him have that one, and we walked on.

We pushed through the dunes and walked along the water's edge, the first few hundred yards of beach free of any kind of bathers - clad or unclad. But I could already see the promised Big Obvious Sign, and not far beyond that...

Naked People.

Naked Men, for the most part. As we passed the sign - with a feeling of 'no going back' from myself - it became clear that not only were eighty per cent of the nude sunbathers of the male variety, the average age also seemed to be hovering around seventy. There was a surprising amount of manscaping going on though, given the vintage on show - most of these old blokes made Brett's junk look like an untamed mess, truth be told.

"Talk about a sausage party," I quipped.

"Yeah, it's a bit like that," Brett agreed. "There are ladies about, but they're pretty outnumbered in the Naturalist ranks."

That comment gave me pause, as we walked along hand in hand. "Naturalist? What's the difference between a Naturalist and a Nudist?"

"Good question, that," Brett replied. "I'm not sure on the official definitions, but for me, a Naturalist is more about enjoying the sensation, about throwing off the artificiality of clothing and getting back to the way nature intended. While a Nudist is, basically, an exhibitionist and a deviant - here for the kinky thrill of seeing, and being seen. Like you are."

I scoffed at that. "What? Are you claiming to be more a Naturalist than a Nudist? Mister Holier-Than-Thou?"

"I fall somewhere between Column A and Column B," he grinned in reply.

One short minute later, we had found a likely spot. Not far from the water - which was good, swimming in the nude had proven very enjoyable at the last beach and I had every intention of indulging again - and parked a reasonable distance between other beachgoers; one was another couple, man and woman, while the other was a guy on his own.

"Yeah, this'll do," Brett reckoned, setting down our bag and spreading our towels.

"So..." I said again. "What's the best way to go about, um, getting nekkid?"

"Same way as usual," Brett shrugged - and with a grin, his board shorts were gone, and he stood before me completely and utterly starkers.

I looked him up and down - hungrily, no doubt, much as I usually do. "You look great in the sunlight," I told him.

"Why thank you," he beamed, reaching for the sunscreen. "It really is that simple, though," he added, as a none-too-subtle prompt and prod. "Nobody's going to play a saucy trumpet serenade or swing the spotlights upon you."

"Righto, shithead," I told him, wringing my hands somewhat. "Don't rush me!"

"Nobody's rushing you," he said, smiling at his own outrageous lie. "Just go on and slip it off when you're ready."

I took a deep breath, and huffed out a sigh. "I'll start with my top," I allowed, most grudgingly.

"Gotta start somewhere," said Brett - rubbing a quick unceremonious dollop of sunscreen into his cock, fixing me in the eye and grinning as he did so.

"Don't wanna get burned down there," I observed with a smirk, as I loosed my few buttons.

"Nope. It's not fun at all."

"Speaking from experience?"

Brett said nothing to that, simply poking his tongue out at me as he moved on to rub more sunscreen into his bared pelvis, thighs, and shapely butt.

My buttons were undone, and the shirt drifted open in the breeze. I felt the material graze across my nipples before falling open, and I knew without looking that I was already exposed to the world.

So I took another breath, closed my eyes, and shrugged the shirt backwards to fall off my shoulders, down my back and away.

"Yay!" Brett cheered, managing to sound more pleased than sardonic at witnessing the turn of events. "I've got your boobs out at the nude beach! Huzzah!"

I pulled a face. "Pass me the sunscreen, shithead."

We settled into a gentle banter, as we topped up our own and each other's sunscreen. Working and massaging the cream into my breasts, out in the open and in front of everyone, was a thrill - it felt great, and from the way Brett didn't miss a second of it I'm sure it looked great too.

As we moved on to rub cream into each others' backs, I took the opportunity to survey our surroundings. The solo gentleman to our left wasn't too subtle in looking our way, and he sought to make eye contact as I looked in his direction - I gave him a quick but very non-committal acknowledgement, hoping to convey that I was not at all keen to make new friends during my time here. The couple to our right seemed fairly oblivious to us, however - they were quite close together on their towels, very much into each other, so I was able to take an extra moment for a quick perve and appreciation of their utter nakedness.

"Gonna keep that bikini bottom on forever?" Brett goaded, once our sun-screening was nearly done.

"Nope. I reckon it's about time," I had to admit - and without allowing myself another second's thought on it, I hooked my thumbs into the sides and reefed them down, kicking them aside and standing completely nude, bare and unfettered, without a care.

Brett took a moment to stand back and appreciate me. I returned the favour; his cock wasn't hard, which was probably an indication that such shenanigans were beyond the realms of acceptability at the nude beach, but it looked like it was a moment's surge of vitae away from hardness - big and threatening, definitely in a state of controlled semi-arousal. The set of his chest, the way he carried his shoulders, the look in his eye as he drank me in - by fuck but I wanted him.

"Care for a swim?" I asked of him.

He caught the look in my eye, and grinned. "People will be watching," he warned me. "We won't get away with fucking each other in the water here, even in the deep."

"Who said anything about fucking?" I averred, feigning a demure pose even as the sea breeze gently blew against my bare, exposed, throbbing pussy. "I just feel a sudden need to cool off, is all."

"Well then in that case..." he returned, and he offered me the crook of his arm.

I ignored it, reached around, and gave his arse a hearty slap before sprinting for the water.

He chased me in, of course, and I even let him catch me after we got through most of the breakers. By God, but the surge and caress of the water - fantastic against my bared breasts, I already knew from recent experience - was other-worldly against my sex. The way it touched me, the shock of cool against my intense radiating warmth, served to heighten my state of arousal massively.

And then there was Brett, who bundled into me from behind, picking me up bodily and throwing me around like a rag doll for my impertinence. I virtually squealed with laughter - I was nearly forty years old, but there I was, being thrown around by a hunk of a man and giggling like a school girl.

He eventually released me, and I turned and crowded near, crashing into him with a kiss - urgent, telegraphing my needs, my gratitude.

"Mmm," he growled when we came up for air. "I'm so glad I've finally got you here."

"Me too."

"Isn't it just the best feeling?"

"It really is," I freely admitted. "I'm naked, Brett. I'm at a beach, in broad daylight, surrounded by people who can see me plain as day, and I'm naked. Fuck but it's awesome."

"Not worried you'll be seen by someone you know?" he quizzed, with a grin at the thought.

I'd never admit it, but he knew the answer - he always knows. Being seen right then, right there, in my complete and utter nakedness by someone, anyone from my regular boring old Mother of the Year life... being seen in the nude by someone I knew, would have been fantastic.

"I doubt anyone I know would frequent a place like this," I answered instead.

"Too bad," Brett reckoned.

"Why's that?"

"Well," he began. "If they were here too, they'd be naked too. Then you and they both would get a good eyeful!"

I had to laugh at him. "There would be that," I allowed.

"Maybe we should give Teresa and Darling a call?" he went on to suggest. "Teresa looked a pretty good sort. And there's no doubting Darling would appreciate the sight of you," he added, the definition of a cheeky shithead.

"Yeah, let's not."

We headed back up to our towels, and settled in to dry ourselves in the sun. The afternoon passed most pleasantly; people walked by, of all ages shapes and sizes, and again at a high ratio of sausage-to-McMuffins, but for the most part the viewing was pleasant enough.

The solo gent to our left rose at one stage and headed our way. I turned away from the water and shuffled demurely onto my stomach, presenting only my bare back, butt and the back of my head to him, and he did stop to try to strike up a conversation - Brett dealt with him masterfully, replying politely but giving a very firm unspoken indication that we weren't interested in making friends, which the solo gent picked up on and left us to ourselves after a short couple of minutes.

As the afternoon wore on though, I became bolder. I was glad to be seen. I'd stay face-up to the sky as people passed by, my knees politely together but tits on display; I'd even seek out an eye or two - especially if they were ladies or couples - and I'd share a smile and a nod with a few passers-by.

I was getting antsy, though. Brett and I would head off for a frolic in the waves every fifteen minutes or so, the hot sun heating our skin very quickly in between - and each time we hit the safety of the water, we'd explore our bodies a little more, caress each other more freely and wantonly. After an hour had passed, I was grinding myself without a care on Brett's cock - having to give him a couple minutes at the end of the session to 'settle down' again before we left the water.

"Do you really care if anyone sees you with a hard-on?" I challenged him as we waited. "Go on and give them a thrill," I added, enjoying the opportunity to use his own words against him.

He laughed, but looked hesitant. "It's not really the 'done thing'," he reckoned. "You very rarely lay eyes on a bloke with a hard-on. Nor would you really want to," he added, with distaste on his face. "There's a time and place for that sort of thing."

"Oh yes?" I quizzed him as we finally headed for land. "So what then - if couples get too randy, is there some special place around here they can go, to get it on?"

"There may be..." he hazarded.

I seized upon the sense of things left unsaid, straight away. "Tell me," I nearly implored of him. "Where do couples go to fuck around here? Where can we go?"

"Are you that desperate?" he grinned.

"Brett: I am so fucking horny I could just die," I told him, all seriousness - and caring not if anyone overheard me, ignoring the gent off to the left as I saw his head turn our way. "I need to get off, and as soon as possible."

"Well then," he began. "I'm not a hundred per cent sure, but I do believe that couples who simply must fulfil the need, have been known to head into the bushes behind the dunes over yonder."

"Really?" I asked of him. "Well then, let's go!"

"There's a catch," he added, with something of a wince. "If we were to go back there and get it on... well, we might not necessarily be alone."

I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

He took a moment, as though wondering how best to put it. "Well: again, I'm not a hundred per cent sure, but I believe there's a bit of an unspoken edict. If you're up there, fucking or sucking in the broad daylight, it's given that you won't mind if people gather to watch."

My mouth hung low in shock. "What? Really? People go back there to... be watched?"

"Some people are like that," he allowed. "It's an extension on the exhibitionistic portion of this experience. Kind of like: I've been seen naked, I've been seen static and posing, feeling sexy and getting horny, and now I want to be seen - in action," he concluded.

I looked at him. "Have you ever gone back there?" I asked, directly.

He was good enough to look somewhat abashed. "A gentleman shouldn't tell stories."

My jaw was flopping low again. "Brett McGinty, you little deviant!" I declared. "Did you go back there to watch... or to be watched?"

"I'll never tell," he promised, with a cheeky grin of defiance. "So the question remains: are you really that keen for some action, to get it here and now - and probably with an audience?"

I stood on the dry sand to think about it, even as droplets of water ran thrillingly down my bare skin and the breeze caressed my naked body. I was horny: no doubt about it. And I loved the thought of being with Brett in the here and now, with the mood so intensely upon me, in the sun and the salty air...

But in view of people? With people watching, and doing who-knows-what-else while they watched?

I shocked myself to realise: it had an appeal. Real appeal. Just like Brett had said, it built off the thrill I'd recently discovered in being seen. I was in no ways abashed anymore; hell, the last few people to have walked by had been treated to a view of me with my knees raised and akimbo, and from the looks on a few faces they had been gazed upon a sight of plenty.

Which had made me all the hotter, wetter, and hornier...

I turned to Brett - whose cock was twitching, fat and verging on hardness at the very thought that I might say yes. "Just one question. Nobody will want to join in, will they?"

"No. Definitely not," Brett promised me. "The conventions are known: people are allowed to watch, and even free to have a wank or a tweak themselves if they please. But they're to keep a respectful distance, and keep their hands to themselves."

"Well then, let's go," I declared. And with a shared look of joyous excitement, we grabbed our towels and our stuff and made a bee-line for the Bushy Dunes of Wonder.

Once we had found some relative cover - we had travelled a couple hundred yards inland and uphill, and we could no longer see the sparse groups of folks walking along the shoreline - we paused only to lay out our towels before we got straight into each other. We kissed each other anew, groping and grasping at each other's bodies like teenagers. Brett was hard in moments, and my pussy was hot and slick as we palmed and pawed at each other, kissing and emitting moans and sighs all the while.

We weren't left alone for long. A guy who we had passed along the way moseyed on into the clearing of dune bushes, and I couldn't help but let my eyes fall to his cock, which he was palming and pulling, making it grow fatter and harder as he watched us. He didn't approach too close though; he stopped at a good six or seven yards' distance, taking a stance and rubbing onwards as he took in the view.

Two or three more gents ambled along in short order. They must all have seen us as we made our hurried way towards the dunes; whether they had chosen their positions in the hopes of catching a couple heading this way, I couldn't say, but I definitely suspected it was the case. They too kept their respectful distance, settling into something of a semi-circle around us.

Brett and I were hot and heavy now. I was actively pulling on his rock-hard cock, and his strong hand was cupped possessively over my sex, his middle digit plunging into my pussy masterfully as I grasped and pulled at his finger with my sex.

And as another couple of men walked in to join the audience - no ladies unfortunately, much to my disappointment - I found myself keen to give them a show. Incredibly keen.

So I sank to my knees, to an audible murmur of approval from my watchers.

Brett bit his lip in anticipation as I began by kissing his member, softly, reverently. I alternated between kisses and snaking my tongue out to tease and trace around the contours of his glans; he shivered wondrously, as he always does when I treat him so.