A Run on the Beach

We had reached the point of allowing our only daughter to invite a friend with us when we travel. At sixteen, hanging out with her parents just wasn’t as much fun and, frankly, having a friend along kept her entertained and less grumbly than when it was with just the three of us.

Fortunately, our daughter’s friends were all good kids, and none of them unpleasant to be around. It certainly made the prospect of an extra teenager tagging along much less daunting. So, when we surprised our daughter with the news that she could invite along a friend on our upcoming spring break trip to Costa Rica, she was completely thrilled. She asked one of her longest and best friends, Scarlet, to accompany her and enjoy the beach vacation.

It was a full day of travel to get to our temporary tropical home, located a long drive from the capital city of San Jose, so that by the time we arrived at the house we had rented, we had been travelling nearly twenty-four hours. But it was worth it: the house was beautiful, nicer than our own house back home. Modern, tastefully decorated, air conditioned, so after spending days in the hot sun – it typically hit the nineties during the day – we would be able to sleep comfortably and recharge for the next day’s adventure. Most importantly, the private home also had its own pool in the backyard and, despite the long, tiring journey to get there, the girls immediately went to their room, changed into their bathing suits and headed to what would quickly become their second, water-filled home.

We had known Scarlet since she was a little kid, the girls being best friends since kindergarten. But as they became teenagers and asserted their independence, we didn’t see nearly as much of her at our house, the girls spending their time at the mall, the movies and with other friends. So, I hadn’t noticed the young woman into which Scarlet had been turning. As she scurried past me in the living room, it absolutely was not possible to escape my notice, her firm, fit, strapping body as she rushed by in her bikini. Moderately tall and slender, Scarlet looked like there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her body. A seasoned, competitive gymnast, every inch of her seemed strong. Like many gymnasts, her breasts weren’t especially large, but their petite firmness certainly weren’t going to turn heads away. Her torso was taut and muscular – I was sure I could bounce a quarter off her abs, the way I’d been taught to test the make-up of our cots when I was in the navy in my twenties. Her legs were muscular and shapely, with no hint of jiggle as she jogged past me in the living room. As she went by, my eyes were involuntarily drawn to her firm ass, perfectly outlined by her bikini bottom, with only the slightest exposure of cheek descending beneath the suit’s confines. As the patio door slid shut, I shook my head to myself, muttering ‘wow’ under my breath, and reminding myself that this was the same kid I’d pushed on the swings after school with my own daughter.

As tired as we were, I continued to putter around, unpacking suitcases – we were going to be there for two weeks. Eventually, I wandered out onto the pool deck to make sure they hadn’t fallen asleep in the water – it had been a long day! There was no fear of that: the girls were splashing around, laughing and, of course, taking photos they could share on social media. We had thrown together a quick dinner and I let them know that dinner was ready. As they got out of the pool, my eyes couldn’t help but be drawn again to Scarlet’s amazing body. While before, I had momentarily been fixated on what appeared to be her rock-hard ass, as she faced me coming out of the pool, I was nearly mesmerized by the front of her bathing suit: firmly clinging to what seemed to me the perfect shaped snatch, pressed against the soft fabric of the bikini. She slid by me, standing on the patio, and made her way into the house, leaving me silently agog, and catching myself before my mouth hung open.

The next morning, when everyone had finally stirred, we made our way to the beach, about a ten-minute walk from our rental house, down a dusty, dirt road to the national park next to which we were staying. The beach was beautiful, miles and miles of soft sand, leading to the famous ‘whale-tail’ sandbar at its north end. We had scarcely arrived, when my wife and daughter ran for the ocean, leaving me momentarily behind to set up our beach blanket and towels. I had assumed I was alone, when I heard Scarlet. “Danny? Can you put sunscreen on my back?”

I turned toward Scarlet’s voice, to see her standing just in front of me, holding her brown hair up, her pale skin exposed, awaiting my assistance. Assuring myself I had heard nothing playful in the way she had said my name, I mumbled, “Sure,” and began to squirt sunscreen onto her shoulders. My initial reaction was to touch as lightly as possible, as if to barely make contact with her soft skin, and keep some sort of appropriate distance. But, as my fingers nearly danced across her shoulders and muscular deltoids, it occurred to me the gentle touch could be perceived as caressing. I quickly applied more pressure, rubbing the high spf lotion almost vigorously, trying to give the impression that what I was doing was mechanical, and without taking notice of the supple young body on which it was being applied. I could have sworn I heard Scarlet let out the slightest little moan as I firmly rubbed her mid back, but talked myself into believing I had imagined the sound.