SCENE ON A BEACH

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2011


I will admit, I was annoyed when you came into view. A few days ago, I found this secluded hollow in the sand dunes, about 100 yards back from the beach, and until that moment I had had it entirely to myself. I am on a family holiday here for two weeks and, although the beach is not busy, I was looking for somewhere quiet, away from the boisterous play of my two younger brothers, aged eleven and nine. After all, I’m quite grown up, my sixteenth birthday was a month ago, and I want a peaceful spot to lie in the sunshine and read my book, without shrieking siblings splashing sand all over me.

So there I was, in my special place, lying on my front and stretched out on my beach towel, when I heard a soft sound. I glanced over my shoulder and saw you there, standing on the lip of the cosy hollow and looking down into it. After a moment’s pause, you started carefully down the soft sand of the slope, and I could see that you were on your own. I guess you are about five feet six inches tall, a brunette with hair that is dark but not quite black, falling straight from a left-of-centre parting and trimmed neatly to collar level. You were wearing denim shorts and a scoop-neck short-sleeve top in black, with a white band under what I could see was a full bust; this smart outfit was complemented by a black leather shoulder bag and black canvas beach shoes. With your large stylish sunglasses, it was hard to see your face, especially as the sun was behind you, but my first impression that you were in your mid-20s was later proved to be correct. You halted a few steps away, gave me a friendly smile, and said:

‘I hope you don’t mind … it’s so quiet and sheltered here.’

Well, of course I minded – I wanted the place to myself! However, it was a public beach and it is a free country, so I managed to choke back my real feeling (‘fuck off, find somewhere else!’) and – really quite graciously – smiled up at you, gestured at the sandy floor, and replied:

‘No, of course … be my guest.’

You smiled again, and I did think you had a pleasant smile. You turned aside, took a light towel out of your bag, and laid it out parallel to mine but about six feet away. Then you pulled your top over your head, making your full breasts noticeably jiggle, and swiftly unbuttoned the denim shorts and shrugged them over your hips and down to your ankles. You were revealed in an elegant bikini in plain black with contrasting aquamarine trim and ties. It left little to the imagination, either of the smooth curve of your hips or of the full swell of your breasts, which seemed to be barely contained by the small triangles of the bikini bra. As you stood for a moment silhouetted against the sun, I could not help but admire and envy your figure.

Then you lay down on your front, and began to leaf through a magazine. Although I returned my attention to my book, your presence was a constant distraction. I found myself sneaking little sideways peeks at your shapely adult profile, and especially your almost-exposed breasts – but from behind my sunshades, so I felt sure that you would not notice. But, of course, you did, because it was what just you were looking and hoping for. Without letting on that you had registered my girlish interest, you smiled inwardly with satisfaction, and a warm wetness made a small damp patch on the crotch of your bikini.

After a while, you reached behind your back and untied the two strings of your bikini top – one of them across your back and the other a halterneck. When they both parted, the sketchy garment flopped onto the towel underneath you. You were not exactly topless as a result, because your nipples were still resting on the undone bikini top and were not visible, although your back was completely bare and the sides of your breasts were now completely exposed. I must have given a slight gasp, because you looked across at me and asked, with another of your warm smiles:

‘You don’t mind, do you? It’s just us women here.’

I was flattered that you spoke to me as if I were an adult and your equal, not a pubescent girl a decade younger, and I airily assured you that it was fine. That started a conversation, which seemed to flow naturally. You learnt my name and about my holiday and my family, and I discovered that you are single, aged 26, recently qualified as an accountant, and staying at the same large hotel that we are. We chatted about other things – I recall you asking if I had a boyfriend, and my reply that it wasn’t something that interested me very much, and then, after just a slight pause, you gave a warm laugh and said: ‘I know just what you mean!’ I think it was after this that you said something about how pretty I looked in my bikini, and I remember my flush of pride at your compliment, and the tingle of pleasure deep down that it left in its wake.

I know that I am attractive, for people compliment my looks too frequently and definitely for it to be just politeness. I am slender and tall (five feet ten inches already!), a natural blonde with a mane of pale straw hair that falls from a centre-parting to the level of my nipples. My blue-grey eyes, pale smooth skin, jawline and cheekbones all point to my Nordic ancestors. Whilst my hips and ass are boyishly slim, my breasts have grown over the last year and I now take a C-cup bra in most of the teen lingerie ranges. Although I have only just turned sixteen, due to my height and my developing figure I am regularly taken to be a couple of years older than this – and perhaps because of that, I always try to carry and conduct myself like a young woman and not a giggly girl.

So the ice had been broken, and I decided that you were really charming (my initial vexation at your intrusion having quite evaporated), and very pretty too. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when you held out your bottle of suntan lotion, and asked if I would be kind enough to put some on your back for you. I was happy to oblige, and I knelt in the sand beside you and poured a trickle of the oil down your spine. When the cool liquid touched your back, you gave a delicious shiver which I couldn’t help noticing made your full breasts sway and gave a brief glimpse of your nipples.

At first, I massaged the lotion over your shoulders and upper back, and then I worked my way down to the waistband of your bikini panty. I skipped over this, and applied some more of the oil to the backs of your firm, muscular legs – you clearly go jogging, or do some other physical exercise, on a regular basis. You sighed and murmured that this was lovely and so relaxing, and said: ‘mmm, please don’t stop … it feels so nice, do carry on …’

By this time, I had shifted my position from being at your side to straddling across your upper legs, as I reapplied some of the lotion and rubbed it into the small of your back. I really didn’t want to stop, I was so much enjoying touching your warm feminine skin and the feel of your firm adult body. In truth, I continued rubbing in the sun oil for longer than was really needed. I was suffused with a warm tingling feeling from the contact and proximity, although at the time I ascribed it to the heat of the sun on my back as I leaned forwards over your prone form.

However, I was unprepared for what you did next. Quite suddenly, without any warning, you rolled over beneath me, turning to lie flat on your back and gazing up at me from below. Of course, in the process of this manoeuvre, your bikini top remained on the towel: it was now underneath you, and your bare chest and the full swelling mounds of your breasts were completely revealed. You placed your hands quite gently on my hips, as if to steady me, and said with quiet and calm assurance: ‘Do my front as well, won’t you?’

My mouth went dry and I swallowed nervously, but somehow I never thought of refusing or of rising and stepping away from you. Instead, almost as if I was hypnotised, I reached for the bottle and pooled some lotion on your smooth flat stomach, rubbing it in with soft circular motions of my hands. You squirmed slightly with pleasure, and this made your hips rub against my inner thighs, as I was still straddling you. That friction, so close to my most private place, sent another tingling wave of sensation through me.

‘Mmm, that’s lovely’, you sighed, and then you added, with a mischievous smile playing around your lips and eyes: ‘and further up, please!’

For me, the whole world suddenly shrank to that one tiny place and time, as if we were two castaways alone on a desert island.