The Beach Lover

July 13, 1920

I love the Cote d'Azur this time of year. Visiting Cannes during the National Celebration, thousands of people in the streets... Of course, what I love most of all is taking the train out of the city, away from the crowds, and getting off to wander the solitary cliffs and beaches of the coast. One never knows what one will find. Take this morning for example...

I descended at Cap d'Ail, its tiny hook of beach tucked into the stony hillside. There, finding the place completely abandoned, I disrobed and entered the Mediterranean naked as the day I was born. Skinny dipping, the feeling of water tickling the nether regions, is one of the too rarely enjoyed pleasures of life. I swam for quite awhile, heading in the general direction of Italy, until I came upon a small and utterly secluded cove. There, exhausted, I climbed upon the beach and fell fast asleep, only to be awakened a short time later by the laughter of three shimmering nymphets frolicking in the clear blue waves. They all three came ashore hand in hand, naked save for sun-bronzed skin, and cast themselves down on the warm white sand a mere few meters away from me.

How did they come there? Who were they? I do not know. They ignored me completely, engaging instead in impudent play. And yet, can I say I was offended by the intermingling of their golden bodies?

Long black curls spread like a fan on the beach, the tallest of the three lay with her toes still in the sea foam. Her two companions allowed their small hands to caress her locks, her mouth, her neck. Four agile hands lingered on her breasts, fingers pausing to gently tweak both nipples. Then down that lean abdomen to the mound of flesh in which the cleft lay hidden. Her mons was perfectly smooth, free of pubic hair. Was this because she was young, because she was a nymphet fresh from the sea, or because her lovers had shorn her, the better to find her most sensitive recesses?

Twenty nimble fingers danced over her clitoris, teasing shrieks from the eager siren. Then, when a froth had built upon the swelling lips of the exposed labia, the smallest and most kinetic of the three slid a finger deep into that dark cove. The siren arched her back and brought it down against the wet sand beneath her.

A tender assault was launched against her. With fingers and tongues, the two darted at her mouth and cleft, and, when offered, she greedily sucked those fingers and tongues that had plumbed her depths. No orifice resisted the sea slick-fingers of her companions. Into and out of her vagina fingers slid. Into and out of her anus fingers slid. Her own froth was brought again and again to her lips to taste. As the sea lapped at her toes, her musky fragrance wafted in the breeze to where I lay, quite agape at the spectacle. My own mast was risen to its full height, and I was furiously polishing my mahogany, as the saying goes. None of which mattered to the girls a few meters away.

The tallest of the three began bucking her hips in an orgasm whose cries were lost to the roar of high tide coming on. The three rose to their feet and moved further up the beach. I followed at a distance. They still seemed unconcerned by my presence. They were all quite moist now, as I could see from the sun glinting between their legs. They lay together, their hands groping for a place to hold or hide. Breasts kissed, hardened nipples disappeared into mouths, mouths dived into sun-kissed thighs.

I wondered if what I was witnessing was a dream. I approached the three and stood in their midst, my mast pointing to the skies. Without making eye contact, the youngest reached out and grabbed hold. She brought my member to her lips and gingerly engulfed the head. The other two let their fingers caress my testicles and anus. The energetic lass now gorging herself slurped as eagerly at me as she had her female companion. With the attention I was being paid, I felt the first tremors of my orgasm rising from the depths. She must have felt it too, for she pulled me from her mouth and brought me to my knees on the sand.

What happened next was strange indeed. She moved behind me and pressed her stomach against my back, grabbing the base of my shaft. She wrapped her free hand round my abdomen, linking us as one body. I knew what must come next. She would use my cock as if it were hers. The tallest siren turned and raised her bottom for us. Deftly, my better half guided me into her friend. She was slick and salty as the Mediterranean, and we rose and fell together as if riding waves at sea. The third girl cleverly dove beneath us all to watch as my shaft penetrated her mate, occasionally managing to touch my shaft with her tongue. Behind us the sea was rising, the foam crashing over our shoulders. The sea moaned and lurched, tickling our feet. We continued to buck against the rising tide. Behind me, the smallest siren ground her hips. The surging sea, my own sense that this was a mad dream, the girl beneath me, the girl in front, it all conspired to draw a cry from my lips that Poseidon himself must have heard. I sprayed my steaming foam deep inside the tallest siren.

The one beneath pulled me out to taste the last few hot waves. The one behind me finally released her grip and dove for the mouth of her friend, to taste the salty liquid I had deposited there. Their pleasure taken, they laughed: a sound like waves echoing against the stone walls of the cove. They then subsided (that is the right word) into the very sea from which they had sprung. I was exhausted and fell back upon the sand. I slept for hours. When I awoke, I found the lonely cove illuminated by starlight. In that silver light I saw a string of white, salty liquid leading out to the waves, which seemed to laugh with impish voices...