A few weeks ago, while caught in a sudden downpour, I happened to seek shelter in the nearest shop -- which turned out to be one of those increasingly rare book stores that sell second-hand books, often from all over the world, and even more often including titles that have been out of print for years. I love books, and I love these book shops, and since the rain was coming down harder than ever and since I had an hour or so to spare, I spent the time browsing.
I probably should explain that I never only browse in a book shop; I never come away without at least one or two purchases, especially if the shop handles second-hand books. This is why my shelves are loaded with partly-read books, which accumulate faster than I can read them. This time I had fairly good luck, and came away with several books, including a biography of Chingis Khan and a tome on the Loch Ness Monster. Of course, while buying the books, I checked them for damage and read a few pages from the beginning -- I didn't go through the whole thing. One never has the time for that.
Yesterday, having some time to spare, I opened up one of these books, and began to read. The book, as it happens, was an account of the fire-bombing of Dresden in February 1945, not that it matters. This isn't about the book.
In between the pages about halfway through the book I found several sheets of thin notepaper, folded tight, and covered with very small but neat writing. It seemed to be part of a letter, but both the beginning and the end were missing. I have no idea who the writer was, and who the intended recipient, or which of these people (or a third person entirely) had kept these sheets in between the pages of the book. For that matter, I don't know whether it describes something that actually happened or is fiction. I'm just putting down here what it said, for reasons that will become apparent...
...and so in May I'd gone down to the island on vacation after all. You know what I'd always thought about that man, and I also picked the island because I knew well enough that he wouldn't be there. I'm sure, knowing him as well as you do, you know all about that.
Anyway, I'd known about the island, and naturally I knew about the nude beach as well. It's famous. And after the last year and all I'd gone through, you know I needed a bit of freedom and fun, and of course I couldn't miss out on that beach.
The hotel was good but not fancy. I don't need fancy accommodation, never did, so long as it was clean and cheap. I got there quite late in the afternoon, and all I wanted to do was sleep. You know that jetlagged feeling. All I did was strip, bathe, and drop into bed and i was out like a light.
The next morning I brought out that blue bikini I'd showed you and put it on. It's been so long since I wore a bikini that I felt strange wearing one, and almost guilty. He never would have allowed me to wear one, and all the time I was with him I'd kept it hidden. It had almost become second nature with me to keep myself in a sort of personal hiding space. Whatever I was, I'd kept to myself so long that even thinking of exposing myself a little bit was strange and heady -- and yes, guilty. Obscurely I felt I should be ashamed.
To get rid of that feeling I went straight to the beach, which is within easy walking distance of the hotel. May isn't the optimum holiday month on the island, as you know, so the beach wasn't quite as crowded as it would be later in the season, but there were maybe a hundred people there already. Most of them had swimsuits of some kind on, even one-piece affairs, but even as I slipped off my sandals, skirt and shirt and put them in my bag, I could see the first tops coming off. Then a few of the men took off their briefs as well. I'd read about nude beach etiquette, so I didn't want to stare, but after all those months with him, you can understand that it wasn't easy, especially since most of the people around me were as good-looking as models. I walked past a truly gorgeous woman lying naked on her stomach on the sand and reading a book, her legs wide apart, and past a man with a muscular body and a really good-looking circumcised penis, and it wasn't easy not to stare. It wasn't sexual, not really. I had just been away from the rest of humanity too long.
I walked down to the edge of the water, until the sand under my bare feet was hard and smooth and wet, and the foam was breaking around my toes. Before me lay the wide stretch of the sea, blue as blue, and a sky so clear that I felt the blue of it would mix with the blue of the sea and there would be no horizon. The sun glittered on the water, though, and after a time I was forced to turn away because the glitter hurt my eyes.
The beach there is long and curved, and at the far end there is a big jumble of rock. I decided to walk as far as that jumble of rock and sit there for a while, because I wouldn't have to look at all those good-looking naked people and I could have a little time alone. Somehow the idea of some time alone had become very important to me.
As I walked along the water's edge, I began to feel uncomfortable with the whole situation, and almost to force myself into the right mood I took my top off. That made me feel a bit more liberated, and right there I stopped and pulled my bikini panties off too. I put the bikini inside my bag and took out and put on my sunglasses. With them on I felt more natural about my nakedness. I don't know how to explain it. It was as if having my eyes covered made me feel anonymous and secure. Also, I felt I didn't have to worry about how my body looked -- it was my body, and mine alone. It was nobody's business but mine.
In fact, as I walked on further I began to feel rather good. The beach before me was deserted; the crowd was behind me, and all they could see of me, assuming anyone was even looking, would be my back and buttocks. My breasts and vagina were bare, but there was nobody to see except a seagull or two, so I was naked and not naked, clothed in my loneliness, and that was fine with me.
By the time I reached the rocks I was feeling rather good about it all, and the past few months were like a long nightmare from which I had just woken. Absently, I felt the scar on my forearm. You know how that had come about, so I won't mention it all over again, but it was a reminder of what had happened and what had been done to me. And right then I was grateful for that reminder. Never again, I told myself while I touched that scar, never will I allow that to happen to me again.
I had been listening to the sounds of the sea and the surf on the beach, and the cries of the birds, and the distant muted sound of traffic beyond the screening line of palm trees, so that I didn't really notice the other noise until I was passing the first of the big rocks. By then it was too late to turn back, because just beyond the first rock I came across them. I suppose I should have expected it -- the rocks were such an obvious place to get away to. But then my mind has never quite worked the way it should have.
There were two of them, naked, of course, kissing hard, arms and legs twined, and I'd have withdrawn at once but they had seen me. They broke their embrace at once, and I was going to apologise hastily and leave but the man smiled and held up a hand.
"No need to," he said. "It's all right." The woman also sat up and smiled at me. They were both average looking, not the model types up the beach, just average looking people about thirty five or forty years old, not too fat, not too thin. My kind of people, really. Not threatening.
"Sorry for disturbing you," I said, but I couldn't help myself -- I was staring between his legs at his huge erection, and then, fascinated, I stared at her too. Her vagina was shaved, wet and open, and the nipples on her small breasts were erect and rigid. They looked back at me and they knew I was looking at them. I saw them look at each other and nod slightly.
"Are you alone?" asked the man. Then -- immediately realising that this might be misconstrued -- he shook his head slightly and smiled. "All I mean is -- if you'd be interested, that is..."
"He wants to say," said the woman, more forthrightly, "that we want you to make a video of us having sex." She took up a digital camera and held it out. "If you're not offended by the idea, of course..."
"Offended? No." I dropped my bag on the sand and took the camera. It was the same type as mine, a Canon 7.2 megapixel model, and I turned the dial to the video function. "Is there anything you want me to do, in particular?"
"No," the woman said. "We'll make love, and you do the video as you wish. It's all up to you."
I looked down at the screen of the camera. Even as I looked up at them again they were kissing passionately, and the man's hand was fondling the woman's breast while her hand trailed up his thigh and clasped his penis. I actually saw it erect again, the head of it swelling as she massaged it rhythmically. The man's free hand dropped between the woman's legs, and the camera had an excellent shot of his finger slipping between the folds of her shaved vagina to tickle her clitoris. She moaned and spread her legs wide.
The woman sighed with pleasure and lay down on her back, still holding his penis. He lay down too, his head at the level of her hips, his finger still rotating on her clit. I knelt on the sand, scarcely noticing the harshness of it against my knees, bending to take in her wet slit, and his finger rotating gently between the spread lips. It was the first time I had ever seen another woman's vagina so close-up before, except in the porn movies, and it was nothing like what it looked like there. Her vagina looked wonderful, like a half-opened flower, and from my position I could get a clear view of it and beyond that of her breasts and her face as she raised her head and looked at me. Then suddenly she threw her head back and cried out, and her vagina and the skin between it and her little puckered anus began to contract, rhythmically, over and over. At last she sighed and lay back, her arms and legs spread, and let go of his penis.
Another moment, and the man was keeling over her, between her legs, and was guiding his penis into her wet open vagina with his hand. He pushed with his hips, and the lips of her vagina spread and enfolded his penis as it slid inside her. She moaned and her hips bucked upward so that he slipped into her until his patch of pubic hair was pressed against her shaved pubis.
He began to push in and out of her in slow long strokes, each time pulling almost all the way out and then pushing back in. She spread her legs open as wide as she could, holding her ankles with her hands, and he began to rub her breasts with his hands as he pushed his penis in and out of her. Their eyes were closed, their breaths coming in gasps, and I knew they had just about forgotten my existence. I leaned over them so as to get the close up of his penis, glistening with her fluids, as it went in and out of her.
Then she suddenly sat up and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard on the mouth, and pushed him back until he was lying on his back and she straddling him. She turned round so that she had her back to him, and, holding his penis in her hand, came down on it so that I could clearly see it enter her vagina. At first she pushed down only a little way, and out again, and in, and then with a little impatient moan she pressed down so that the entire length of his penis entered her. Slowly, sensuously, she began to rise and fall on his penis, the lips of her vagina clasping him as though reluctant to let him go.
I was standing in front of her, the camera in my hand, and my own vagina was so wet with my fluids that they were coating my upper thighs. Her eyes were fixed on my vagina, and as she did her slow dance on his penis she suddenly leaned over and planted a kiss on my wet lower lips. It sent a thrill through me, like an electric shock. It was all I could do not to stumble back.
She was moving faster now, her thrusts more urgent, less like a dance, and he was bucking under her, pressing himself into her. She was still looking at me, and now she put her hand between her legs and began to stimulate her clit with a finger. They both began to moan out loud in the heat of their fucking, and suddenly she cried out and began to shudder as she came, and came, her body trembling, her breasts bouncing, her hand frantically stimulating her clit. His orgasm struck moments later -- moaning and threshing -- and she rolled off him and lay down on the sand. They lay side by side, their chests rising and falling, their eyes closed and hair wet with the sweat of their passion.
I was about to put their camera down on their bag and quietly walk away to masturbate where I could find a little privacy -- oh, but I needed to get off! -- but she held out a hand and grabbed me by the ankle. "No," she said. "You aren't going away unrewarded." With her foot she nudged the man. "Don't you think we should reward our photographer?" she asked him.
He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "How do you suppose she wants to be rewarded?" he asked.
"Oh, I think I know how." The woman sat up and caught hold of my wrist and pulled me down to her. "Looking at how excited she is..." She was surprisingly strong; before I knew quite what was going on I was sitting next to her on the sand and she was kissing me on the mouth. I had never been kissed by a woman before (unless you discount that time when you kissed me, do you remember?) and my lips parted to her thrusting tongue more from surprise than passion. She kissed not softly, not gently, but with a hard urgency, her teeth pressing against mine, her breasts squeezed against mine, and I felt her hand slip between my legs. An instant later I felt her finger penetrate my vagina, pressing inside me, until her knuckle was hard against my pubis. I must have gasped. I really don't remember. I don't remember anything until I found myself lying on my back on the sand and she was lying on me, kissing me and murmuring endearments and kissing me again.
You'll understand that it had been so long since I had last felt a tender touch -- more so, a tender sexual touch -- that her kisses and caresses hit me with the force of a hurricane. I felt unable to move, to co-ordinate my body's movements. All I could do was to lie there and take the pleasure she was giving me.
Her kisses moved down from my mouth to my chin and along the line of my neck to my breasts. She kissed them and licked around the undersides of my breasts, with little delicate licks, up to the nipples, sending shooting bolts of pleasure through me. Totally involuntarily, I began twisting under her, feeling the warm moist touch of her vagina on my thigh. Her mouth left my breasts and moved down my stomach towards my navel, which she tickled with the tip of her tongue and...
And there the pages ended. This is why I am posting this story here. If the lady who wrote those pages reads this, will she please get in touch with me?
I would so love to find out the rest of the story!
(Please note that this is FICTION. There is no letter found in an old book. The entire story is fiction, and the sequel to it will be fiction as well. Thank you...Bill)