Sydney Buckner. No kidding.

Sydney was about 5'6" tall and her hair was dirty blonde but, from my closer vantage point, I could see that it was mostly due to highlights and coloring as opposed to a natural color. I had known that she was active and involved in sports growing up, not just from Katrina taxi-ing her to and from gymnastics and soccer practices, but also hearing through the grapevine during her high school years that she was a standout in soccer and volleyball in the area she moved to. She didn't have the body of a stereo-typical athlete, at least not the stereo-type that I maintained. Her breasts were a bit too large and her hips were a bit too wide as compared to the more square shape that one would often see in the sporting elite, but, nonetheless, her stomach was flat, her body was lithe, and she obviously was still an athlete.

I finished the sunscreen on her back and stepped away, settling myself back into my own chair, and I was treated to the sight of a woman in her who very much took care of her body. And, as she finished applying the sunscreen to the rest of her body, I simply sat and watched.

Watched, as she worked the thick white lotion across the surface of her young, full breasts.

Observed, as her hands glided across her inner thighs and in between the cheeks of her butt.

Admired, as she dutifully covered every square inch of exposed flesh, leaving nothing to chance, leaving little to my imagination.

Whether she noticed me staring or not, she went about her task in quick efficiency before finally plopping down and back into her chair.

Big mistake.

Even with her size, the unsteady nature of the flimsy and poorly proportioned beach chair she had brought was no match for the momentum of her weight. The chair flipped backwards on the soft sand and collapsed on her, trapping her in position. It was like a ridiculous slapstick 1940's movie that was just too stupid to believe.

"Oh, shit! Help, please!"

It was obvious she was not in danger and only her pride was hurt, but it was also became very quickly obvious she was actually stuck - the chair wrapped around her butt and hips, her back and arms on the sand, her feet sticking straight up into the air - and I hopped into action to help her.

The act of pulling her out was not one of grace or modesty but, in reality, rather quite funny.

The problem was the chair collapsing onto and around her... and the fact that she was a fully grown adult. You see, the chair, like many beach chairs, had an overly high back, so when I tried to pull it out from under her it just pulled her along with it. So, our final course of action, at her exasperated direction, was to have her hold her knees back towards her ears as much as possible while I pushed on the bottoms of her feet with one hand in order to shift her weight and pulled the chair out from under her with the other.

"Oh, God," she said, her face bright red from both strain and embarrassment, as the chair began to pull away and I was presented with a fully unobstructed view of her sex, "I am so embarrassed."

There was too much to do to just sit and admire her lovely display as it was presented to me, but it isn't to say that I didn't steal a glance either.

A glance at her smooth outer labia.

A glance at her delicate inner-lips, clearly visible in her vulnerable position.

A glance at her puckered butthole.

Okay, maybe three glances.

Finally free from her prison and having taken advantage of the helping hand I offered to pull her off the ground, Sydney thanked me with a sigh and re-set up her chair, still facing me, still facing the sun.

"Well, I think you know me about as well as my gynecologist now," she said with a laugh though her face still crimson.

She was standing in front of me and brushing off sand from any place she could reach, an exercise in futility considering the vast majority of it was on her back.

"I'd like to say I didn't notice but... well... you know."

"Yeah, well, my mother always said that I have never been the most graceful. It's a good thing I shaved."

My eyes darted to her pubis - which was not totally shaved - and I felt a look of confusion wash over my face. A look she obviously noticed.

"I don't like to shave fully," she exclaimed as she sat down. "A lot of girls my age do. I personally like to keep some bush. But..."

She paused for a moment, looked at me for a heartbeat and then around the beach for two heartbeats more before murmuring something I just could not understand.

"Wait. What? I didn't hear..."

I stopped myself mid-sentence when she opened her legs wide - really wide - swinging her knees up over the arms of her chair and exposing herself more thoroughly and garishly than she even was when she was on the sand.

"But, I like to keep the area around my lips totally clean."

Her fingers furthered the point of where she seemed to want me to focus, massaging and fidgeting about between her legs.

"Ya' know," she continued, her voice ever so slightly shaky, "bush on top and clean everywhere else."

I was paralyzed with shock. I felt my mouth hanging open and I couldn't take my sight off of the scene presented to me. My eyes were drawn to her display like a deer in headlights and any details that I hadn't caught previously were now being cataloged in my mind.

The dark-brown silkiness of her trimmed and groomed, "shaven" pubic hair.

The beckoning pink velvet that gleamed through her parted inner lips.

The tiny hint of milky wetness that just sat tantalizingly on the edge of her pretty little pussy.

And while it may seem crazy that my mind's processing of those intimate details didn't cause my body to sprout an instant erection, I knew, based on a multitude of factors, it wouldn't happen... and was thankful for that fact.

My brain finally kicked in and allowed me to at least close my mouth and begin to steady my breathing. Though I wanted to simply grab my book or gaze out into the distance - my way of defying her the attention I figured she was craving - I couldn't stop my gaze from drifting up, across her breasts and to her face, and when I did finally look at Sydney I saw something I wasn't expecting: she looked terrified. Though she wasn't returning my gaze, her face was as white as a ghost as her fingers absentmindedly continued their explorative and provocative play.

"So, yeah," she said, ultimately composing herself and shifting into a normal, sitting position, "there's that."

We sat in silence for a moment, neither of us saying anything. Sydney's face had switched back from white-as-a-ghost to red-as-a-beet and I was just beginning to regain a normal heartbeat.

Of course I had seen displays of this type at the beach previously. While it wasn't a frequent occurrence, there were certainly times where a provocateur looking to titillate their fellow beach goer would present themselves in a fashion that was less than modest or "family friendly." Obviously there was something different about Sydney, different in both her youth and our shared history, but it didn't change the fact that I was no longer young and my body no longer reacted in unwanted or unexpected ways like it once may have. Hence, no erection. And, yes, there had been times that I had found myself growing aroused or erect on the beach, but they were rarely during the overt displays, rather instead during times when I felt I was privy to a visual that may not have been intended for me or was somehow more "innocent."

As I watched her eyes first drift to my crotch and then dart around, always re-focusing on my normal-state penis, I couldn't help but suspect that she had hoped for a different outcome. Though when she did finally break the silence, her immediate declaration offered no clarification.

"Oh, God, I can't believe I did that," she practically cried, "I am so sorry."

"So sorry for what?"

"For what I just did. I know it was inappropriate, it's just that... well..."

She was looking around the beach again, as if trying to find someone to come to her rescue when she just couldn't find the words to finish her thoughts.

"Well... what?"

I really wanted to know what was going through her head.

"Okay," she said, straightening herself up and clearing her throat, "so, my friends dared me to get you hard."

I felt my own face immediately grow red as my eyes went wide and I coughed my disbelief.

"They have been talking about you ever since we saw you last time. I wasn't kidding when I told you that they would be all over you if they saw you again because they haven't shut up about how hot they all think you are."

I suspected the tips of my ears were bleeding with how flushed they had become.

"Anyhow," she continued, "we do these silly little dares with each other. They normally involve nudity of some sort but it's usually something just like flashing your tits to someone. It was a group dare that actually had us come here in the first place. So, when I told them I was going to come back here they dared me to... well... now you know. And then after I fell and you saw me anyway. Well, I'm not sure what got into me. I'm really sorry."

Interestingly, her confession caused a slight diversion of blood toward my cock, not away from it, forming a slight swelling that had been completely unexpected.

"Hey, no worries," I said. "Best show I've had in years."

I wasn't sure if my comment was going to make her laugh or make things worse. It turned out to be the latter.

"Oh, God," she lamented, throwing her face in between her knees and shielding herself from my slightly mocking grin.

Though to this day I am not sure what caused me to do it, seeing her there, shrunken small and vulnerable, the only thing I could think of was to comfort and console her. The fact that she had tried to embarrass me couldn't have been further from my mind. While I didn't doubt that her own embarrassment was also temporary and she would end up having a good laugh with her friends in conversation later, at that moment I only wanted to help her make it stop. So, I got out of my chair, pulled her out of her chair, and lifted her up into an enveloping bear hug. With her legs literally dangling off the ground, Sydney's only response was to wrap her arms around my neck and pull me tight.

Tight enough to feel her heartbeat through her warm, soft breasts.

Tight enough to feel her small, feminine hands gripping onto my shoulders.

Tight enough to feel my own swelling turn into a rapid growth between our two bodies.

And, while I couldn't imagine she didn't also feel the sensation of my cock pressing up against her legs, she didn't immediately let go, rather continued holding me tightly, her breath blowing gently across my neck, letting the swelling in me progress.

Progress to the point that I was quite certain that I was hard.

So, when she did finally let go and step back away from us, my appendage sprung straight upright, a visual she absolutely couldn't miss.

A visual she absolutely didn't miss.

Her eyes went wide as my cock bobbed about in the warm air and sunshine as if it were trying to say hello. Sydney stepped back for a quick second and then stepped back toward me, her hand outstretched, seemingly about to grab my bouncing phallus with child-like curiosity, before I covered myself and sat back down in my chair, immediately pulling the towel over my groin.

"Yeeeaaaahhhh," I drawled, "that type of up-close and personal interaction is pretty frowned upon out here."

She snapped out of whatever odd trance she was in and plopped back in her own chair and threw her face back in between her knees.

"Ohmygod...ohmygod...ohmygod... what the hell is wrong with me today?!"

"Take a deep breath," I said with a laugh. "You're gonna' be just fine."

Sydney sat quietly for a bit, her body still, before finally sitting up.

"I swear I really am a pretty normal person. I just don't know what is going on in my head today."

"Seriously, you're good," I responded. "Nothing to worry about."

"I'm going to go in the water. Maybe it will cool my head down and I can get the rest of the sand off me. Want to join me?"

Though I realized it was a bit of a cruel thing to do, I pulled the towel off of my groin and let my still-hard dick back into the warm sunshine. Again, her eyes went wide.

"I think I'm gonna' have to wait a bit," I said with a wink. "I guess we both know each other about as well as our doctors now."

Sydney spun around, her cheeks flushed, and walked toward the water, peeking back over her shoulder every 5-10 steps, each time just shaking her head and continuing on her path.

What an interesting day at the beach.

Sydney Bucker.

No kidding.

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When I was showering after our long day on the beach, very much in contrast to the first time I saw her on the beach, I couldn't get the picture of Sydney out of my head. I convinced myself that, through a backwards type of barely-chivalrous justification, that it was somehow okay because my mind did not objectively focus on the intimate, graphic details of her exposure, rather instead a more "wholesome" vision of her as a whole.

The glow of her hair under the hot summer sun.

The joy of her smile and laughter.

The enticing sway of her breasts as she took uneven steps on the soft sand.

...Okay, maybe not totally wholesome.

I was settling down for dinner when her text came in asking if I had a moment to talk and, being older, I figured it prudent to just respond with a direct call.

When she asked me to come over to her house for dinner a couple of days later, I gladly accepted. Not only would it give me an opportunity to get out of the house, but it would also give me the excuse to see her again. I admit that I had become quite taken with Sydney, not specifically because of her undeniable physical attractiveness or due to how I had been in her company in the nude, rather because of her positive, youthful energy. I had to pinch myself twice that evening as I sat down and tried to read a book. The first pinch was for my good luck in that Sydney wanted to spend time with me. I was as giddy as a child with a middle-school crush. The second pinch was to remind myself that -

Nothing.

Was ever.

Going to happen.

Between us.

Like, seriously, nothing. Ever.

It's amazing how the human mind can confuse itself and I followed my mental ping-pong with an unrestful night of sleep.

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Two nights later I stepped up to her front door with 3 items in hand: Flowers, as a housewarming gift; a small store bought cake, for dessert; and a bottle of tequila, for making sure the evening was enjoyable as possible and to complement the fajita's she told me she was making.

"Papa!"

She wrapped her arms around me and I returned her greeting with a kiss on the cheek.

"You know," she said as we walked into the kitchen and put the items I brought down, "I was doing some mental searching today and realized you are pretty much the only person I know in this town."

"Really? No old school friends?"

"Nope. I mean, it's possible if I ran into someone in the store we might recognize each other and say hello, but that's probably about it. I moved to my grandparents house the summer after 7th grade. So, realistically, all of my high-school friends - not that I really stayed in contact with any of them - are 2 counties over. Then, with college being on the opposite side of the state, well, I'm by myself. Even both of the next-door-neighbors are new. So, being back is kinda' nostalgic and kinda' weird at the same time. I do love the house though, even if I do have to figure out how to fix a few things."

"YouTube," I answered flatly. "It's amazing how much content there is out there these days to allow people to do stuff themselves."

"Awww," she responded sarcastically, "and here I was hoping serving you a meal would be enough payment to have you just do it for me."

She was talking to me over her shoulder as she continued prepping the meal. Though she may not have been comfortable in the geographic area, she certainly was in the kitchen. Something I commented on.

"Yeah," she replied, "it's the one good thing I got from my grandmother. Even though my grandparents essentially shut me down from having any sort of life or social skills, I did at least learn how to cook."

"Cooking is a social skill."

She quickly threw a flat, annoyed look over her face.

"You know what I mean."

"What was their reasoning?"

It seemed she wanted to talk about it so I didn't feel back about continuing the conversation.

"Money, I think. And not even in the way you think. You see, besides the house, my parents both had life-insurance policies. My grandparents seemed to be so dead set on never touching the money and making sure that every last penny of it was mine when I hit 21, that there was never any money to do anything. I mean, they fed me and housed me and made sure I had clothing on my back and was able to do my school activities, but if there were ever any additional expenses they said it just wasn't in the cards. Plus, there was definitely a generational gap that made them think that anything that kids were doing was somehow sinful or deviant. Anyhow, by the time I got to college it was predicted I was going to go one of two different paths: first was a wild-child, second was essentially that of a nun. While I'd like to think I was somewhere in the middle, I was probably a bit closer to a nun."

She had gotten us some plates and we had settled down to eating. The conversation took natural turns as we talked about the house, work, school, and more, and we happily ate her delicious meal and shared a few shots of the tequila I brought over. Eventually, however, it got to the beach, her exposure, and her finishing up the story.

"Oh, so the beach!," she blurted, happily buzzed from the drinks and during a walking tour of the house. "I had definitely never gone before, and when I saw you and recognized you I wanted to leave but my friends wouldn't allow it. They say I need to break out of my shell and that we were all in it together. If it wasn't for the bottle of vodka there is no way I would have been able to get through things. But, I did and am glad I did and am glad I even saw you again a couple of days ago because I really did like being out there... even if I did make a fool out of myself."

Her comment got a laugh out of me.

"Oh, come on. You didn't make a fool out of yourself."

"Papa! You know I did! You saw my butthole. I practically lunged at your penis. Do you not remember these things?!"

I was happy that she had a couple of drinks in her as it appeared she was remembering the events with an almost comedic fondness, as opposed to actual humiliation.

"Of course I remember. Cutest butthole I had seen all week," I replied with a wink. "I'm confused though, you said that you have this reputation of being like a "nun-living-in-a-shell" yet your actions would not exactly back that up. And you yourself told me that you and your friends have this series of dares that involve public nudity. These personas are not exactly lining up."

We were standing in the hallway upstairs and she finished the rest of the story of her background. She talked about how she had never had a date in high school. How her grandparents had essentially scared her away from guys. She told me of two alcohol induced one-night-stands freshman year of college that were so monumentally unenjoyable that she pretty much reverted back into her shell. She said that she had a really good group of girlfriends and some male friends as well, but nothing went further than that. Though she had difficulty articulating it, it appeared as though she just had no confidence in herself as a sexual being. She was a good friend, attractive, a good student, fun to be around, in good shape physically, financially, and more - everything that would potentially make someone else extremely confident in themselves - but she just couldn't translate it into a relationship or sexual fulfillment.