Sex on the Beach

'Don't ask me, I'll be dreaming about Maria and Sabria double-teaming you tonight. Not to mention you and Camila this morning. Or is it this afternoon?'

I should have known Estela would suss me. 'It's both,' I confessed. 'I'll drop by the bar this evening to tell you all about it.'

'You kiss and tell, do you?'

'No I don't; not about one-off liaisons. Well, not without changing names and locations, to protect the not-so innocent. Not that that'll do me any good with you, Sabria and Maria.'

'Please tell me you're not regretting agreeing to . . . well, to the next few nights.'

I kissed her nose to prove I was only joking. 'Monday night can't come soon enough,' I assured her. 'I only wish we could do it again. Just you and me, I mean.'

'A little bird told me you have Wednesday night free. I could re-arrange my shifts . . .'

I had a brief vision of chesty blonde frauleins wondering where the hell I was. Then reason took over and I swiftly agreed a secret date.

As if anything could remain "secret" in those parts!

'Wednesday at eight,' I confirmed.

'Do you mean at your door?' she asked.

'It's my last night so I'll be in your bar,' I countered. 'Sneaking out will add to the excitement.'

'We're going out?'

'Yeah, I'll wine and dine you again, then who knows what'll happen next.'

Estela laughed. 'I don't exactly know,' she said, 'but I have a very good idea.'

******

As agreed, I hit my favourite breakfast bar promptly at nine that morning. Camila was already there, at my usual table (yes, another "usual" table!) two frothing pints of cerveza waiting appetizingly.

'Isn't it a bit early for a local to be boozing?' I enquired, taking a seat opposite her, drinking in the sight of her.

At first glance Camila could have been Maria's twin. They were both tall, dark skinned and absolutely, utterly stacked, with deep brown eyes and dazzlingly white teeth.

Yes, they were both babes to die for.

Shame she was dressed as a tourist today, complete with a backpack which was currently hanging off the back of her chair. I sincerely liked to see her in a sexy waitress outfit. Still, today's choice of a tight white T-shirt advertised the fact she was bra-less.

And were her nips hardening? Hmmm, maybe they were.

Already!

'If it's good enough for you it's good enough for me,' she replied, swigging beer and smacking her lips. 'And don't bother with the menu because I ordered ten minutes ago.'

'What did you order?'

'Same for both of us: two gigantic, cholesterol-laden fry-ups.'

With the exception of Sabria, I saw less of Camila than I did of my other local idols. In other words I'd seen her for perhaps an hour or so every day while I spent whole afternoons and evenings chatting to Maria and the wonderful Estela.

Yet Camilla seemed to know more about me than all the others combined.

(Aside: Nowadays I know the local grapevine was scarily efficient. All four of them knew all the stories circulating about me. Camila was simply more forthright. The rest of the gang of four were well aware of my likes, dislikes and eating and drinking habits. And God only knows what else, come to that!)

'I'm paying for this,' I said as grouchily as I could pretend to be, simultaneously pointing at the beers and our place mats.

'That's cool by me,' said Camila. 'I opened a tab in your name anyway.'

I had to laugh at that. And, two seconds later, when her under-the-table hand landed on my knee . . .

Well I laughed with her, even as I flooded my (supposedly modest) cut-off denim shorts.

******

Instead of heading back to the hotel we set off in the other direction, holding hands and stopping for kisses every now and then. And, because we'd left the promenade for the beach, it took us an awful long time to arrive at Izzy's private beach. Previously I'd estimated the trek at about an hour. But I had been alone then, with nobody to kiss.

Now, with kisses available at tuppence a bag, it must have taken us twice as long. But we did finally get there, albeit around noon.

And sod that for a game of soldiers! We only had time for a morning and afternoon together, and half that time was already gone.

How unfair was life!

'Those signs seem very serious,' said Camila, indicating notice boards written in Spanish. 'If we don't comply we might end up in prison.'

My Spanish was, to say the least, limited. I knew important words such as "beer" but otherwise relied on the locals' command of my own language.

(And why Izzy hadn't had a dual language sign put up I'll never know. Maybe she wanted to entrap an innocent tourist like me . . . tee-hee!)

'The owner is home in Notting Hill,' I told Camila. 'She doesn't have a permanent staff in her house so we won't even be noticed.'

'Where is her house?'

'Through a cleft in that cliff,' I said, pointing at a seemingly solid rock face. 'But I don't want to go in it. That's would be too much like trespassing. Let's stick to the sun and sand.'

'Notting Hill,' Camila mused. 'Does she see much of Hugh Grant?'

'That's what I asked her. She said no but she wasn't actively looking for him, she was looking for Julia Roberts.'

'I can't say I'm not with her on that. Shall we hurry up and get naked?'

'Go on,' said I, 'but don't hurry. Let's do it one item at a time.

Chapter Four

Cheating, Camila began by depositing her backpack on the sand.

'That doesn't count,' I objected.

Grinning, she kicked off her stylish sandals.

Grinning back at her, I followed suit.

Looking me in the eye (initially, at least) she slowly took off her tight white top. I gasped as her rather generous boobs sprang free. And "sprang" was the appropriate word. Those little beauties had a life of their own. And, on second thought, "little" is not an accurate description. I like breasts a lot and I've rarely seen finer specimens.

Keeping my eyes on hers was so not an option!

'Ah, ah,' she said as I prepared to pounce, holding up her hand like a policewoman stopping traffic. 'It is your turn.'

My upper body modesty was being preserved by a string bikini top. Not that the flimsy thing preserved a great deal of modesty. I had it unfastened and tossed aside in no time at all.

'No white bits,' Camila said appreciatively. 'You must have spent a lot of time on a sun lounger.'

In reality, back home I regularly have sunbeds. At the hotel topless was only allowed poolside, but not at the poolside bar. Seeing as I'd spent hours and hours flirting with Maria over her bar counter I must have just got lucky with the all-over tan.

Well, I'd got lucky tits-wise. Kitty-kitty was a different matter altogether. In fact I'd scouted this remote beach in the first place in a bid to nuddy sunbathe and, hopefully, get some colour on me down there.

Yeah, as if that had worked! Two minutes under the blazing sun and Izzy had come out of the sea like Ursula Andress in Dr No, except Izzy didn't have a stitch on her. And it quickly transpired she was just as horny as I was.

Whoosh, there went my bottomless sunbathing.

'Never mind sun loungers,' I said to Camila, 'off with your shorts.'

Her cut-off denims were very similar to mine. She swiftly wriggled out of them, leaving her naked but for an even flimsier pair of bikini bottoms than my own . . . and that was saying something.

Again, I followed suit.

'You look slightly damp,' Camila observed, gazing intently at my crotch.

'So do you,' I countered. 'Come on girl, off with them.'

Grinning again, she obeyed. And she had every reason to grin. Another member of the clean shaven club, she looked exquisite. And, of course, she was evenly toned with white bits nowhere to be seen.

Dusky and dark from head to toe . . . yum, yum, yum!

Slightly apprehensive, I took off my own bottoms.

'Noticeable but not too bad,' said Camila. 'I'm surprised you're not out here every day, though. It's the ideal suntrap.' As she spoke she rooted in her backpack and produced a large, colourful beach towel. 'I didn't know what the sand would be like,' she explained. 'Some beaches are volcanic and you would not want to lie on them unprotected. This sand isn't volcanic, it's been imported from North Africa but I guess my towel will work on it just as well.'

I was impressed by the girl's level of preparedness. My own preparations had consisted of sticking my wallet in my shorts pocket and calling the job a good 'un.

'Is that a cue to commence?' I wondered.

In response Camila flattened her towel on the beach and sat on it, legs parted. My heart raced at the sight. She was beyond beautiful and, framed as she was, above by the totally cloudless sky, behind by the moving, living sea . . .

Well who can blame me for diving in there? Anyone of any persuasion would have. And I have never needed much persuasion.

Me and Jane Austen, eh!

*****

I'm not going to go into great detail about the first hour or so; let's simply say it was very similar to my opening hour or so with Estela. That's right; I went to town on her, greedily indulging in a lot of licking, nuzzling, nibbling, kissing and tonguing. The only difference I can recall is that I paid a lot of attention to those exceptional boobs of hers.

Didn't I just!

Then, only too soon, I was being pulled off by the hair. Again! How unfair was that!!

Camila's eyes were flashing. 'That's enough pigging for now,' she said. 'Now I'm going to take you for real. Have you brought anything?'

I must have visibly wilted at that. Afraid to take toys through customs checks I'd been virtually toy-less for over a week. Okay, Izzy had a green strap-on and both Carla and Lottie had taken my with Lottie's big weapon of war (the one masquerading as an "aid"), but right then those treats seemed few and far between.

'No,' I mumbled.

'Then it's just as well I did,' said Camila, reaching for her trusty backpack.

*****

Camila wasn't just well prepared, she'd brought along a blue strapless strap-on. And guess what? I just love strapless strap-ons, both as giver and taker. Still not making the "pigging" connection, I had no issues with taking right then.

Indeed I could have taken that blue delight for England, as I ultimately did.

Not that I was imminently about to be delighted. Camila wanted her fair go at my tits and kitty-kitty first and oh my, wasn't she good! Lying there on my back on a by then distinctly soggy towel, I took it, took it and took it. Then, when life couldn't possibly get any better, it did.

Here's yet another aside. I kept glancing seawards as my latest new lover leisurely inserted the pony into herself, half expecting Honey Ryder (aka Ursula) to emerge from the depths. That was ridiculous, I know. Izzy had been back in London for three or four days. I guess I was just expecting a bit more of that bad luck that plagues me.

Not that my luck was anything other than superb that afternoon.

Poised over me, running a knowing finger up and down my slit, Camila's gorgeous brown eyes smiled down into mine. 'I've wanted this since you first walked through my swing doors,' she said (perhaps a little less than romantically). 'And I want you now more than anything on earth.

'Go for it, girl,' I replied. 'I want it twice as much and with bells on.'

She frowned at that and, delighted to have at last found and English phrase she didn't quite get, I had a chuckle. But not for long; needing lube not at all she eased the five or six inch horse into me, not in any way hesitant, not stopping until the incredibly clever bunny ears were up against my clit.

Then she let out the best sigh I have ever heard. It summed up all the earthly pleasures every human being has ever had.

'In the oven with chips,' she gasped, puzzling me somewhat.

'Come on sweetie,' I countered, not ready to worry about some weird Argentinian saying, translated or not, 'I really, really want it. I want it even more than you. So don't hold your horses. Go for it!'

To my eternal gratitude, she did.

Chapter Five

Being fucked by Camila was out of this world. And I know my bad language is showing again, I simply can't express my enjoyment without cursing.

She was utterly . . . absolutely . . . fucking . . . fantastic.

In all honesty I hesitate to describe the way we went at each other. On one remote level we may have been "making love" but on another we were at each other like exceptionally randy cave girls. And yes, I am aware that cave girls hadn't been supplied with sex aids made of silicone and designed for two.

No, those poor cave girls probably had to use far more primitive devices . . . and then only after one of them had bashed the other over the head with a rock.

Or am I relying too much on 1960s caveman movies?

(Omigod, remember that Hammer one with Raquel Welsh fighting ape men and dinosaurs! You know, the one where she wears a doe skin bikini and leaves very little to the imagination!!)

Please forget my meandering mind and believe me. I really, really relished being taken by Camila and I was frankly amazed by how well our bodies worked together. As you might already be aware, those strapless affairs are designed to pleasure both of the parties involved, be she giver or taker. And that one certainly pleasured both of us.

Trust me; I relished every stroke, be it in or out. For long enough we took it in turns to climax, me then her, her then me. Then we mixed it up, going at each other more wildly, competing to be the first lady not to cum.

And then, coated with sweat, no longer caring if anyone emerged from the sea, be it film star, property owner or whatever, we went for simultaneous. That wasn't as easy as it sounds. We did not always hit the target spot on but, when we did, we were in ecstasy.

And we hit it often enough to be ecstatic to the nth degree.

Finally taking my turn to grip another girl's hair, I breathlessly told Camila it was my turn to ride on the pony. She laughed in my face.

'What?' I gasped. 'Have I upset you somehow?'

Giggling, Camila reached for that backpack of hers and pulled out a latest model mobile. When she stuck it under my nose I was astounded to see it was just after six o'clock.

We'd only just got there. How could it be six o' frigging clock?

'My shift starts at seven thirty,' she told me. 'I need to be on my way.'

'You're hardly dressed for it,' my stupid mouth said.

'I'll pass my place on my way,' she assured me. 'Two minutes in the shower and I'll be good as new.'

'How about ten minutes in the sea?' I responded. 'Ten minutes with me on the pony end.'

'I'll be late for work.'

'Not if we jog back and abstain from necking.'

'Oh go on, then. Twist my arm.'

*****

We made it to Camila's half an hour before she was due in at work. Kissing her farewell, I told her I'd be eating God only knew what that night, but probably not Argentinian.

Giving me a knowing smile, she said I'd probably be eating a pair of Spanish enchiladas.

That freaking grapevine in those parts! Couldn't a girl sleep around without everybody knowing all the ins and outs!

("Ins and outs": Freudian or what!)

Not that there was likely to be many ins and outs. Not unless Sabria brought a toy, assuming Maria genuinely had been a virgin and wasn't into mild depravity.

And please let me correct myself. Girls using dildos, strap-ons, vibrators and so on together is by no stretch depraved. A woman's body is constructed to be gratified by penetration while her mind might question the identity of the penetrator. And she might well question the gender of the penetrator, too. Why should she forgo the joy of being filled simply because she didn't like or trust guys?

Why when there were a million acceptable substitutes?

And why when other women were infinitely more skilled at fucking anyway?

*****

Missing Camila already, sweaty from our jog along the beach, I arrived at the hotel's pool bar maybe ten minutes before closing. Asking Maria for a cerveza I ditched my sandals and shorts and passed an enjoyable few minutes under the poolside shower. Then, ignoring my discarded items, clad only in a revealing . . . and very wet . . . bikini, I perched on a bar stool.

'I'll pay for it later,' I told Maria, indicating my full glass.

'It's on the house,' she replied, engrossed in closing-down duties.

'In that case I'll buy you one in Estela's bar,' said I. 'Sabria's not finishing until eight.'

'As if I didn't know that,' Maria broke off from her closing duties to admire the soggy bits of string that (more or less) restrained my boobs. Or maybe she admired other bits, bits beneath soggy string.

'We can enjoy a drink of two and bug Estela at the same time,' I said.

'Yes, yes, you and your cerveza!'

'Hey, I've had a very dry day,' I objected, slurping beer as if to prove my words.

'You probably needed a dry day,' Maria countered. 'And hurry up; it's after seven.'

Others poolside were still drinking but I wasn't about to argue. Not with the night ahead still to come.

Stuff other drinkers; Maria could collect their empties when she opened up again in the morning. So I downed my last half a pint and pushed my glass towards her. Two seconds later the shutters were up and Maria was grinning at me from the drinking side of the bar.

'What is "bug"?' she asked, sounding a little like Manuel (meaning the Manuel in Fawlty Towers rather than her taxi-driving brother).

Smiling at the linguistic lack of perfection, I told her "bug" meant to annoy or bother someone.

'Great,' she trilled, 'let's go bug away.'

*****

Estela still wanted to know about Camila so, being careful with everything I said, she and Maria got a somewhat abbreviated version of events and Camila got ten out of ten.

'Do you score all your lovers out of ten?' Maria enquired.

'Yes,' said I, 'and don't worry. Everyone so far on the island has scored a ten, locals and tourists.'

'Are you always so generous with your scores?' Estela put in.

'No. This guy I went with twelve years ago only got two out of ten.'

'So you downplay guys.' It was a statement, not a question.

'No I don't. I dropped guys in 2010, but before then I knew a few. And one who was brought along by a naughty girlfriend actually scored eleven. He was so good I never dared try him alone. Having him in a three was the only safe option.'

The two locals exchanged glances.

'Maria,' said Estela in awed tones, 'what have you let yourself in for tonight!'

Maria laughed. 'I've been plotting and scheming with Sabria,' she said. 'Don't worry; I'll cope.'

I signalled for more drinks and, to my astonishment, Estela refused to accept any payment. Twice in an hour! That had never happened to me back home in Yorkshire.

In fact home in Yorkshire free drinks only happened once or twice a year, including the complimentary pint I got every Christmas day lunch in my local boozer. In other words, free drinks were rare as hens' teeth.

'Your fellow Ingleses are over there,' Estela said as I put away my (rather optimistic) five euro note.

Following her line of sight I saw Carla and Lottie sitting at a remote corner table. They raised glasses in salute even as my head turned. I might not have noticed them but they had certainly noticed me.

Our plans for Monday's hours of daylight were apparently still very much in place.

And weren't they fit! Carla was almost as dusky as Camila and had a catwalk body. And Lottie looked like a young Barbara Windsor, but with even bigger, springier tits.

To tell the truth and shame the devil, I could hardly wait to get my hands on those tits again.

Not to mention my lips and tongue.

Chapter Six

Maria and I had passed Sabria's reception desk on our way to Estela's bar so the muscly babe knew where to find us. And, at perhaps two minutes past eight, find us she did.