The Old Man and the Beach

The guy gripped one of the girl's diminutive boobs and began kneading it though it barely made a handful-and she reached down to grasp and stroke his obviously enlarging penis. They were getting serious. I pinched and tugged Amber's nip harder; she moaned louder. "That's the way, Ed! Maybe you could do my other one, too!"

No way could I reach Amber's other mountain with my hand-not in the position we were in, lying side by side on our backs. But momentarily she seemed to realize this and rolled onto her side facing me, propping herself up with the arm that had been-almost painfully-working my nipples. "Now you can do both of them!" she breathed hoarsely-she really would have benefitted from breath mints. So I gripped both of her boobs and nips and began fiercely working them...if she wanted it rough, far be it from me to disappoint her. She closed her eyes and growled in her throat, almost a feral cat snarl. "Good Ed! Good!" I turned my head to survey the couple we'd been watching. The girl was masturbating the fellow vigorously-maybe she had inclinations in common with Amber-while the guy had one hand buried in her now-spread crotch while he continued to work her breast and nip with the other. Then the girl said something to the fellow, rose up on her hands and knees and rotated her body 180 degrees and threw her leg across the guy to straddle him with her pussy at his face, then took his penis in her mouth. She was assuming the classic sixty-nine position-mutual fellatio-cunnilingus-my favorite. (Or so I'd told Sally. I had never actually done sixty-nine with anyone; my late wife wouldn't have heard of it. But I'd watched it many times on porn websites and found it the most...stimulating... sexual activity I'd viewed.) Marcus couldn't have swollen any further; I was afraid he'd erupt any moment.

"Why are you stopping?' demanded Amber. I hadn't realized that I had stopped working Amber's boobs while my attention had been drawn by the sex show getting underway between the rocks. She looked toward the rocks, too, and breathed huskily, "So I see! Well, there's no reason the youngsters should have all the fun!" and she rose on her hands and knees and awkwardly pivoted her body maybe 120 degrees and abruptly impaled her face on Marcus and began fiercely (of course) fellating him.

I was startled and would have tried to extricate Marcus-but Amber being Amber I was afraid she might bite him, so I tried to lie still and enjoy the savage suction and nipping and tugging the best I could. Then Amber started moving her lower torso and legs closer and closer towards me. Was she trying to assume the sixty-nine position, too?

As she got nearer and nearer, I could see fluid dripping from her gaping, swollen, reddish-purple fleshy cave and smelled a strong, musky odor. And she had a huge clit bulging from between her labia. I'd heard of females who had clitorises as large and protuberant as small penises; apparently Amber fell in that category. Her knee bumped against my arm; she was in position to lift one leg and straddle me. Next I was sure she'd smash her pussy into my face and expect me to eat her out-if I didn't suffocate first. Irrationally, I was almost turned on by the prospect... but then she farted. And like everything else about Amber it was forceful: long, loud, and very, very...umm...aromatic.

And a libido-killer. The odor penetrated the testosterone fog that had numbed my brain cells and I became rational once again. I wriggled and twisted sideways so Amber couldn't straddle me-well if she had been as lanky and lithe as the young woman she might have managed but she wasn't.... But Marcus was running on autopilot and chose that moment to erupt and momentarily I blacked out and my body convulsed as my seed gushed into Amber's oral cavity. I had to hand it to her; she drank it all down until Marcus shriveled and sagged, then withdrew her mouth, wiping her lips.

She asked, "You a vegetarian, Ed?" What the...? "You taste good. Vegans' cum usually tastes better than that of meat-eaters." It did? How did she know?

But just then there was a low cry or howl from between the rocks and Amber and I gazed as the girl humped her pelvis up and down and back and forth on the fellow's face. She must have just orgasmed. And what an orgasm-I was afraid she'd break his neck. Then, as her climax eventually subsided, she seized the guy's penis again, took it in her mouth so far she was probably deep-throating, then proceeded to draw it in and out fiercely until he, in turn, let out a low cry and began bucking. Apparently he'd reached nirvana too. I was happy for the young couple but wondered "What next?" Was this to be a one-time beach fling or grow into something more?

"Well...it looks like Ambrosia got hers." commented Amber as she began to scoot about, rotating her hiney away from me. Whew. Saved by the orgasm.

But I was puzzled. "Ambrosia?" I asked. "The girl between the rocks you mean? You know her?"

"Well, of course. She's my daughter, the one I told you about. The one who talked me into coming to this orgiastic place."

I was stunned...flabbergasted. For one thing the girl didn't resemble her alleged mother physically at all-tall, willowy, dark-haired, small boobs with chocolate perky nips...almost the opposite of Amber. Of course recessive genes can do all sorts of apparently strange things. And maybe the alleged Gold-plated Jerk ostensible sperm donor was tall, slender, et cetera. Then again, the girl seemed to share some of her mother's aggressiveness, though she seemed more...subtle...in exercising it. Still..I was amazed. But I was about to get more amazed.

"And the boy...I know him, too." continued Amber. "He's a former student of mine...Richard or Cody or something...I don't really remember..."

"A student of yours?" I asked in astonishment.

"Is there an echo in here somewhere?" growled Amber. "Yeah. What's so surprising about that? I've taught high school English for more than twenty-five years, had thousands of students. Bound to run into some of them sooner or later. And this fellow is probably at least nineteen or twenty now and those guys he was hanging out with were likely his fraternity pals."

It made sense. And I'd run into more that a few of my ex-students years after having them in one course or another. Some seemed happy to meet me; others not. Maybe it depended on what grade they'd made...

But then Amber said, "How about we invite them to join us? Or we join them? That hollow between the rocks looks like a comfy, snug spot. Just right for fun and games. We could make a foursome. And I'll bet Richard could do it again soon Young guys recover a lot faster than old farts..." How flattering... "... in any case I know Ambrosia and I would be game to go again almost immediately. One advantage of being female." She grinned lasciviously and gave me a hard nudge. I was not amused. And my arm hurt.

But Amber struggled to her feet and strode away across the slope, apparently bound for Ambrosia and Richard Whoever.

I was faced with a decision and had almost no time to make it, or events would make it for me and I'd be trapped. To join in a foursome (sexual no doubt) in a mother-daughter-boyfriend (or male sex slave)...and myself... combination. Or to get up as quickly as my tired old joints would permit-and flee for safety? Hmm...

Amber was now conversing animatedly with...Ambrosia. The boy-Cody? Richard?- looked dismayed and was apparently trying to look anywhere but at Amber. What IS the proper etiquette if you meet your high school English teacher naked on a beach? Especially if you're naked, too, and have just fucked her daughter while she watched?

But my body was making my decision even as my mind contemplated the scenario. I was hastily stuffing my book and sunglasses and most of my clothes and my sandals and paraphernalia in my duffel. Then I tugged on my sweat bottoms and stood up-I'd take time later to get more completely dressed- gathered up my towel without bothering to fold it, then my recliner, and immediately headed for the entry to trail number two. As I neared it I heard a cry from behind me. It was Amber. "Hey, Ed! Where're you going?" I didn't bother to acknowledge or even turn around. I was fleeing for my life.

Chapter Seven

I never went to Sunbody Beach again that summer on a Saturday. Matter of fact, I didn't go to Sunbody again after the Amber Debacle, as I thought of it, on any day of the week during the next two weeks, even though I had to hunker down in my basement (nude) to endure the heat wave/brown-out combo. I wondered if anyone at the beach missed the white-haired geezer. I doubted it. And I was sure Ambrosia could sniff out another teacher-or at least a coercible penis-to help satisfy her insatiable lust.              

Satisfy...insatiable...isn't that an oxymoron? Never mind...

Then the hear wave broke-somewhat-and I decided to drop in on Sunbody on an overcast, relatively cool-well, less blazingly hot-Monday. But my visit was anticlimactic--no Amber, no Sally, no Ambrosia-and even the usual sexual frenzy seemed unusually subdued. Maybe it was the day's spirit... But I did get in some good reading: Cornelia Funke's Inkworld.

And on Tuesday, the day after, I drove to Fresno Yosemite International Airport and flew to Atlanta, Georgia, via Dallas-Fort Worth to visit my oldest daughter and her family. She had been begging me to come ever since Veronica's death and I decided to humor her when I didn't have any teaching commitment. (I'd been engaged once again to teach Fall Semester part time-two sections of the usual non-Science Major Chemistry for Dummies course [not its official name but widely used among chemistry faculty snobs], and also my signature upper division specialty course, Biogeochemistry, that no one else taught and I insisted on being permitted to offer as a condition of my teaching the "service" gen ed course that no one else wanted.)

In Georgia I had a good time (generally) shmoozing with my daughter and son-in-law and their four children, though I was reminded just how noisy and intrusive kids can be and got tired of being urged-at least four times daily-to sell my house in San Patricio and move in with or closer to my adult children. But I retorted, "Which one? Georgia, Ohio, Oregon-or the two still in California though one is in the south and one in the north?"

"Well...umm..."

And if I left San Patricio I couldn't teach at the university any more, which I much enjoyed (generally) and what would I do with myself? Vegetate to death? Well...umm... Discussion over-until another redux a few hours later. Sigh...

However, I had packed a copy of Nudist's Guide to America: Clothing-Optional Resorts, Campgrounds, Beaches, et cetera in the United States (yes, there is such a text; periodically updated) which described nude establishments in twenty-nine states and three American territories. And I planned to supplement my visits to my family members with discrete outings to at least a few of the listed venues. So during my stay in Atlanta I took off for a three-day private excursion (I refused to tell my daughter where I was going-just "personal interest.") to a "clothing optional" private Atlantic barrier island beach resort on the border of Georgia and South Carolina. However, I was much disappointed. Though the sand was nice and it did have palm trees, it was old-fashioned in intolerance of sexual activity and I found it rather boring. (Later I noticed that the guidebook provided a code for each location: "B" for public sexual activities banned, "R" for restricted, and "P" for permitted. I noted a "P" next to the entry for Sunbody Beach and "B" for the Georgia one. I considered that there should have been a fourth code, "F" for "frenzied" to be used for venues like Sunbody. But the take-home lesson, which I had tried to drill into my students over and over, was "If all else fails, read the directions.")

From Atlanta I flew to Cincinnati where my eldest son lived with his family, shmoozed a few days, took an outing to the United States Air Force Museum near Dayton (awesome-if you haven't been there you gotta go) and a nudist campground (Code:R) in the foothills of the Appalachians in southeast Ohio: okay but nothing to write home about. Then flew via Chicago to Portland, Oregon to visit my other married son and his family. More of the same (are you getting bored yet?), except I hung out for a couple of days at a nudist resort (Code:P) in the Coast Range mountains west of Salem. It was okay, with beautiful scenery, and indeed there was open sex-but nowhere nearly as energetically exhibitionist as Sunbody. I considered that Sunbody was perhaps in a class by itself; it was sheer coincidence I happened to live only thirty-five miles away and it happened to be the first clothing-optional venue I visited. I guess I got spoiled.

Then back via Fresno to San Patricio-where I discovered the teenaged boy I had hired to look after my place had followed my instructions to water well quite enthusiastically (I was appalled by my water bill-maybe he just turned on the sprinkler system and left it.) but not so conscientiously other directions: such as to mow my lawn or weed my garden, and I had a good week's work ahead of me to tame the jungle my yard had become (and settle the "You better mow your lawn or else" notice from the city that was stuck to my front door.) No time for an outing to Sunbody that week.

Chapter Seven

So it was mid-August before I once again sought out my sandy knoll at Sunbody and surveyed the scene. Nothing had really changed that I could see, though the six week absence had rejuvenated my appreciation of the exhibitionist frenzy and I spent most of my time sex-watching instead of reading. But Fall Semester was fast approaching and I had classes to prepare for, and even though I was now technically employed (and paid) only part-time/temporary, I was still Professor Emeritus and thus yet a formal member of the faculty and under social pressure if not legal obligation to attend the Opening Faculty Conclave for the school year and...

...so it was another two weeks before I returned again to Sunbody, on Monday of the Labor Day weekend, still hot and sunny and dry in central California.

I had gone to Sunbody much as usual, though I was concerned that with its being a holiday weekend the beach would be crowded-and it was. But not as badly as I had feared, perhaps because it was Monday and not Saturday or Sunday. So I was able to secure my favorite spot high up on the sand knoll and settled myself for a browse (of both people and my current reading material, Ernest Hemingway's novella The Old Man and the Sea-rather metaphorical for my current situation in life I figured).

Then I saw her. Yes, HER. Sally. It had to be she-short, tawny, dark hair, oversized owl-rimmed glasses. My heart soared as did, I'm sure, my blood pressure. Finally...at long last..we had been moved by the same spirit. I scrambled to my feet immediately of course-bad knees be damned-and set off down the slope towards her.

As I approached her I could feel Marcus rising to the occasion; he remembered her too. But I didn't care. At long last... It seemed like forever. All comes to them who wait..or so they say.

But then...

A slender, medium-height, olive-skinned, dark-haired young man-he appeared to be Eurasian or Hispanic, approached Sally from her side, enthusiastically embraced and kissed her, then took her arm, and the merry twosome began strolling down the beach, laughing and animatedly conversing-away from me.

I halted. This wasn't supposed to happen. The fish wasn't supposed to get caught by someone else. No... My heart plummeted into my gut-totally irrational and foolish, I know....but...

The couple was walking slowly, very slowly, pausing to kiss and playfully shove or throw sand at one another. They were having a jolly time. I wasn't.

I took a deep breath and hurried after them. I had to know. With their leisurely pace I soon caught up with them and called out as I approached. "Sally! Sally!"

The couple halted and the girl turned about. Yes, it was definitely Sally. No question of it. But the boy...?

"Professor!" she gaily chortled. She DID remember me. "Long time, no see!" She wasn't kidding.

I hobbled up to the pair, panting just a bit-well, more than a bit. And one knee was hurting badly-the rush across the beach hadn't done it any good.

I gasped out, "Sally...Sally...umm..." What was I supposed to say? "Why the heck have you stood me up all summer?"?

I managed to get out. "It's good to see you. I've missed you." And how...

"Oh? I've come to the beach almost every week. I wondered what had become of you." Groan. She did?

"Well...umm...I've come here almost every week, too." Except for only once in the past eight weeks...

"We must have come on different days." Yea, verily. Over and over.

But the young man was shuffling and interjected, "Umm...Sally..."

Sally started a bit, then said, "Oh! How rude of me...Professor Ed McKean, ..." She remembered my name..."...this is my fiancé, Joao Fernandes. We're getting married about Christmas time. You'd never believe it, but we met here on the beach. He's a schoolteacher, too." And did she introduce herself by inviting him to fuck her, too?

I felt like vomiting but I didn't. Instead I extended my hand and took...Joao's-I guessed him to be Brazilian...and we shook. "Congratulations..." I muttered, "Sally's a great girl." Indeed.

"Obrigada...I mean 'thank you.'" replied Jose with a distinct accent. I wondered what he had that had attracted Sally so strongly. His dick didn't look particularly impressive. Maybe it was the schoolteacher thing. But I was a teacher, too...

Then Sally said, "It's nice to meet you again, Professor. But we really need to get going..."

Me. "Well, congratulations again. Best wishes..."

"You, too." Then Sally and Joao turned and resumed their stroll. I stood there watching them go. Ridiculously I felt tears in my eyes. Story of my life: In the wrong place at the right time-or right place at the wrong time. Too much too soon, or too little too late. I couldn't win for losing. Even the Old Man in Hemingway's book, Sebastian or somebody, finally got his fish...but not Ed McKean. A real self-pity party. Boo hoo.

Finally I turned about to head back to my perch, but, on impulse I did something I considered dangerously risky: I waded out into the swash and surf up to above my knees and struggled through the water parallel to the beach heading back to the part of the beach where my stuff was. I sloshed slowly, with difficulty, fighting to keep my balance, but kept going. Maybe it was a form of masochistic penance, attempting to wash away my sinful fecklessness. Or maybe I not-so-subconsciously wanted to stumble, drown, and be put out of my misery. My kingdom for a rip tide or good undertow.

But no such luck. Whyever I did it, I didn't drown, but eventually came even with my hang-out and struggled slowly out of the water and up the slope to my towels and sun shade and books. My knees were going to kill me that evening but they weren't hurting half as much as my self-respect. What a ridiculous fool I'd been. In spades.. Falling head over heals in lust with a young girl-woman, just because she'd flattered my ego by having sex with me... a pitiful old geezer. Then becoming obsessed with her..for months. And worse, somehow not reconnecting with her in a timely fashion. Maybe I SHOULD have hired a private eye... My emotions were a maelstrom of conflicting moods and thoughts. Horrible...and embarrassing.