One of the appeals of vacationing on a formerly French-owned Caribbean island is the lingering French influence. Great food, for sure, but also their sense of freedom on the beach. Women routinely sunbathe topless, and there is always a section reserved for nude bathing. It was the latter that attracted me. An American tourist, I enjoyed the adventure and anonymity of baring all.
I was on my back on a blanket, eyes clothed, soaking up the sun. I felt the temperature change as something shielded the sun from my body. I thought it was a cloud but when I opened my eyes, it was two young women standing in front of me.
“Hi Billy.” An attractive blonde wearing a bikini was smiling at me.
“Carol!” I exclaimed. A girl I knew from my college days.
“I haven’t seen you in years,” she said. She was certainly “seeing” me, all right, as I lay naked on my back in front of her. To her credit, she kept her eyes on mine, but I had no illusion that she hadn’t noticed my condition.
I was flustered. I never expected to encounter someone I knew so far from home. My immediate thought was to cover myself, but that would have emphasized that I was embarrassed. So I opted for nonchalance – nothing unusual here, right? – and just raised myself up on my elbows. Carol asked me a few questions about myself, my work, my old girlfriend from college. Her friend (Betty, as I learned) stood there, but she was more open in observing me, her eyes frequently drifting below my waist. My penis was like a small snake surrounded in a garden of wild black pubic hair. I answered Carol’s questions and asked a few polite ones about her life. Just a normal conversation between a naked man and two bathing-suit-attired women.
It often occurred that people in bathing suits traversed the nude area, pretending to just be walking the beach, although everyone knew they were surveilling the nude bodies. I wasn’t sure where the conversation was going, so I asked them if they were looking for a spot on the beach.
The two girls exchanged glances. Neither spoke for a while, so I knew they were just lookers.
“What do you think about staying for a while?” Carol said to Betty. Betty was hesitant. “Would it be impolite if I kept my bathing suit on?” she asked me. If she thought I was going to toss her a lifeline, she was wrong. “I think if you just went topless, it would be okay. Otherwise, it’s a little awkward. This is a nude beach, after all.”
This wasn’t something Betty would have chosen to do, but the pressure of Carol’s clear desire to stay, and that many women on the beach were topless, conspired against her.
“I guess,” she said.
“Great,” said Carol. Carol unlatched her bikini top. Two lovely, full milky white orbs spilled out. Prominent nipples and broad areola added to a delightful look. Carol pulled down her bottom. Wisps of blonde hair covered her groin. Two beautiful, firm butt cheeks completed the package. Carol sat down on the blanket beside me.
Betty had no excuse now. Looking around first as if to see if she was being observed, she unhooked her bikini top. Her small breasts with little nubs for nipples, hardly goddess material, made their appearance. Maybe her reluctance was due to the clear disparity between her body and Carol’s.
Betty sat on the blanket, crossing her hands around her drawn-up knees, effectively covering her chest. Modesty is a hard habit to shake.
We talked for a while, when I noticed that Carol’s skin was showing signs of redness.
“Have you lathered up with sunscreen?” I asked. “This sun here is more intense than we’re used to up North. If you don’t use sunscreen, you’ll burn.”
The women hadn’t used any, so I offered them mine. And I gallantly offered to apply it to Carol’s back. She scooted over to me, sitting with her back between my open legs—inches from my genitals which felt the warmth of her body situated so close. I massaged the cream onto her shoulders and back. I rubbed cream onto her side, getting immodestly close to her breasts.
“I got it from here,” she said, suspecting what I might do next.
Damn. I offered the same service to Betty, but she declined. Instead, she had Carol do her back. But I liked where this was heading. Carol was nude, Betty was topless, both lying beside me on my blanket. My penis discreetly remained flaccid. One-on-one nudity is erotic. Nudity on a beach full of other nude bodies becomes normal very quickly.
We lay on the blanket, swam a little in the ocean, and grew accustomed to each other. Intimacy in revealing the body encourages other intimacies.
“How come men don’t trim their pubic hair?” Carol asked me. She had clearly manicured hers.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe it stems from guys’ nervousness with having a blade too close to their penis. The last time one got close to me, I lost my foreskin.” (I’m circumcised.)
They laughed.
I moved the conversation forward. I looked at Carol’s ample bosom.
“So, Carol, are you all natural, or have you had breast enhancement?”
“No, this is all me,” she said.
And then the nature of our encounter shifted.
“Can I confirm that?” I asked.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Absolutely. But as Ronald Reagan said, ‘trust but verify.’
She paused, looked into my eyes, smiled and answered. “OK.” I moved closer to where she lay. Very gently, I pressed on her left breast, circling around, feeling for a foreign presence.
“I’m persuaded,” I said, “This one is all natural. Now let me check the other side.”
This last move was hardly ‘investigative.’ It was obvious I was just groping her, but Carol smiled again and let me do it.
I pressed on the other breast, cupped it in my hand and bounced the mass of flesh up and down. It moved with a natural flow, like shaken jello.
“Yep, they’re both real.”
Betty was an observer to this interplay, and I could see from her darting eyes that she was agitated. Agitated over the sexual direction things were taking, or unhappy not being a part of it? I decided to find out.
“Betty, it’s your turn to ask a question. What about guys are you curious about?”
She sat up on her side and looked me over. Her gaze focused on my penis. I wish I could say I presented a robust presence, but at this time, it was just a smallish protrusion.
“Can you make it get bigger whenever you want?” she asked.
“I can’t will it to enlarge. It has to have stimulation. Then it happens automatically. If you touch it, I’m sure it would react.”
She gave me a quizzical look. Was I serious? As I learned later, Betty had had few sexual encounters and most of those were in the dark, under the covers. She had small familiarity with the male organ. But she was curious.
She reached over and tentatively touched my penis. Nothing happened.
“You need to rub it firmly,” I thoughtfully advised her.
She began stroking the penis more vigorously, from the base to the tip.
“Use your other hand to cup the testicles,”I advised.
She did, and the penis began to fill in her hand, engorging, snaking upward, rising toward her.
“Wow,” she said.
Wow, indeed. She continued the stroking even after I was fully erect. I think she was impressed with her success in transforming its appearance.
“I need release now,” I pleaded.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Just keep stroking,” I gasped.
She did, and I soon erupted. Semen shot into the air, some landing on her chin.
She emitted a small cry, released me, and wiped herself clean with a towel.
Our little adventure did not go unnoticed on the beach. Others had been watching, and when I came, there were gasps and murmurs from several. Nudity on the beach is the French way. Orgasms are meant to be private, in the bedroom. It was time for us to leave.
Carol’s face was flushed. She was aroused by the boldness of this public display. She suggested we move to her and Betty’s room in the hotel. “I have a few more questions that I want to ask you,” she said with a smile. “Like how long it takes you to recover.”
We gathered our things and departed. As I said before, I liked where this was heading.