The Old Man & the Beach–Part 1

An older man goes to the beach in search of sex, but finds much more.


CHAPTER 1

I took a spin around the oval parking area, finding it to be as crowded as I had expected with all fifty spots filled. The island portion of Sunset Beach has one of the best and most accessible beaches in North Carolina—it’s one of the few that face south–and it has the best of facilities, too with several showers on the boardwalk and real toilets nearby. Finishing the loop I realized that I had two choices—find a spot to park up the road as far as three or four blocks away or go next door to the fishing pier and pay to park. I chose to pay. I could afford it.

My Tommy Bahama beach chair has shoulder straps so it was on my back. My cooler with soft drinks, ice, and a big sub for my dinner was in my right hand and my umbrella was over my shoulder as I began my walk up the beach. I was looking for just the right spot and I walked almost a half mile before I found it. The beach was crowded, but not that crowded. I was looking for a special spot—one near the dunes and close enough to a woman I could tempt to sleep with me.

I found her alone wearing a sexy coral-colored bikini as she lounged on a towel spread on the sand. I guessed her age to be about forty, but she was in very good shape, what one might expect from daily workouts at the gym. Plenty of women who shouldn’t expose their flabby bellies wear a bikini, but she was the exception. Her light brown hair was tied up in a ponytail. Her breasts weren’t huge—either a big B or a small C in my estimation—and her abdomen was surprisingly flat. Her ass? Well, just let me say I’d fuck it. I was actually pretty particular when it came to sticking my cock into a woman’s rear. Facially she looked like a woman of thirty at most.

Me? I’m older at 61 and retired from one of those financial giants considered too big to fail. I’d been an extremely successful executive in bond trading and I had retired last year after my beloved wife passed away following a long illness. After her death I couldn’t see the point of working my ass off any longer. Why would I want to do it? Who would I be doing it for? I took early retirement and moved south. At six feet two inches and 190 pounds I was also in extremely good shape. I have brown hair partially bleached by the sun with more than a touch of gray, a straight nose, and piercing blue eyes. I may have looked harmless, but I could be a very successful predator; more about that later.

I smiled as I walked past, stopping to drop my cooler about ten feet beyond her blanket. There weren’t many people on this area of the beach so far from the parking. Those who were had come across one of the boardwalks from the many houses that faced the beach about 100 yards away over the dunes or on the streets beyond. She had to have come from one of them. I had my umbrella up and my chair set into the sand a few minutes later and was reading my book when she moved into her chair.

One of the things I like about the beach is that there are always people walking back and forth. I watched a few of the women, not finding them too interesting. Either they were much too young or they were too fat. I was silent until I saw her turn her head as a young stud in his twenties strolled by in a tight suit. That was exactly what I had been waiting for. I chuckled just loud enough for her to hear. She did it again when he walked back a few minutes later. I laughed even louder.

She turned in her seat to look at me. “What’s so funny?”

“You are; he is so NOT RIGHT for you.”

“I wasn’t….”

“Of course you were, but he would be so wrong for any woman like you.” I returned to my book.

“I really wasn’t, you know.”

I dropped my book. I have a tablet, but I never take it to the beach. Anyone could steal it when I go into the water. Speaking of the water, two kids were bitten by sharks early in the season touching off what seemed to be a frenzy of attacks up the coast. By July Fourth they were ancient history. “You were looking,” I told her firmly, “and you were thinking…’I wonder how he’d be in bed.’ There’s no reason to deny it. I’m sure I’d think the same if I saw you walking by.”

“Yeah…right! I’m an old married woman. Besides, what’s wrong with him?”

”You may be married, but you’re hardly old. You can’t be more than thirty-five. But that’s not the problem. The problem is him and the thousands like him. He’s the kind that would bang you hard, cum quickly, and walk away leaving you frustrated. He has no idea how to treat a woman.”

“And, you would know that…how?”

I raised my eyebrows for emphasis. “I’m a guy…been there, done that…too many times. You’d need to find someone who’d appreciate you and place your needs first, probably someone older and more experienced.”

“What you really mean is like you.”

“Sure…and why not? I was married for more than thirty years before my wife passed last year. I’ve cum enough over those years that it’s no longer that much of a priority. I’ve understood for ages how to best see to my wife’s needs.”

“Well, it’s an interesting discussion, but as I said—I am married.”

“So…where’s hubby?”

“Well…he’s supposed to be at work.”

“Supposed? That’s not good; sounds like you have suspicions. How long are you supposed to be here?”

“Two months…July and August; he’s supposed to come on the weekends.”

“Okay, today’s the 16th so you’ve been here just over two weeks. Did he come both weekends as planned?”

“He came for the first one, but claimed he had to work last weekend.”

“We don’t know each other…uh.”

“Cindy.”

“I’m John. Anyway, that doesn’t look good. Does he often work weekends?”

She hung her head and her reply was barely audible. “No.”

I pulled myself up from my chair and walked the twelve feet to her. Taking her hands in mine I pulled her up. “What are you doing, John?”

“I’m just going to move you over here under my umbrella. This is a very personal conversation and you don’t need to broadcast it all over the beach. It’s nobody’s business but yours. Here, you take the chair.” She followed me blindly. I doubted she could see through the tears in her eyes.

“As I see things you have several choices. You could ignore your suspicions and go through life never knowing, but probably never trusting him again. Or you could try to learn the truth and then you’d have some other options.”

“How could I find out the truth, especially if he’s cheating on me?”

“Hire a private investigator. Have them shadow him. If he’s playing around you’d know pretty soon.”

“I don’t have that kind of money, unfortunately.”

“Don’t sweat it—I do. In fact, I can call now. Where do you live?”

“Charlotte.”

“Okay.” I pulled my cell from a pocket behind the chair, but before I could dial she asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, I’m sure you realize I’d love a shot at you. That alone should tell you that I’m an honest man, but I hate men who take advantage of their wives to cheat. I had plenty of opportunities when I was working for one of the top brokerage firms in Manhattan. We had hundreds of hot young women and I was a senior vice president with an office and a couch and my own bathroom with a shower. There’s always some dumb blonde or brunette with big tits thinking they can sleep their way to the top. More than likely they’d get their asses fired, but only after fucking or sucking a few times.”

Sitting in the shade next to her I dialed a firm I’d used in the past. When dealing with billions of investor dollars it’s important to know as much about a company and its management as possible. You’d be surprised how many deals have been quashed by pending sexual harassment suits or other skeletons in a firm’s closet. The phone rang twice before it was answered. “Hi, Manny.”

(“John, is that really you? Aren’t you retired?”)

“Hell yeah, and I plan to stay retired. Manny, you guys have an office in Charlotte, North Carolina, don’t you?”

(“Yeah, why?”)

“I’m at the beach with a friend and she’s concerned that her hubby is having too much fun at home without her.”

(“Shit! That sucks.”)

“Yeah, it does. Hold on and she’ll give you the information.” Handing her the phone I told her to answer all Manny’s questions as completely as possible. She nodded before speaking. She gave her name and address, husband’s name, where he worked and what he did. She also told about the country club and gym where he worked out regularly. Ten minutes later she handed the phone back to me.

“Manny, send me the bill. I don’t want any of this to get back to her.” I finished by giving him my fax number. I still needed one to manage my investments. He already had my cell number.

“I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“It’s not that big a deal, but if you want to pay me back you can have dinner with me tonight.” I saw the hesitation in her face. “And, no, that doesn’t mean sex although I think you’d be a great partner. If you agree I’ll pick you up around 7:00 at the line of cars parked along the causeway, not at your house. Your husband may be acting the idiot, but you don’t have to join him. I was going to eat here—a sub from the deli—but I could make a reservation for Chianti South if you like. It’s high-end Italian down in Little River and very nice.” Checking my watch I saw it was just past 3:00, giving us plenty of time.

“Okay…just as long as it’s just dinner. If we have any dessert it will be at the restaurant. How will I know your car?”

“Know what a Lamborghini looks like?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry. Wait at the back of your car. You’ll recognize it when you see it.” I opened my cooler and asked, “Pepsi or ginger ale?”

“Ginger ale, please. Are you always so nice to strange women?”

“I am if I think they’re hot, but even if they’re not I’m still never rude.” I handed her the can, we toasted as best one can with two soda cans and relaxed. I could see a lot of the stress leave her face. We chatted for a while until I felt hot and sweaty. “I don’t know about you, but I need a swim. Care to join me?” I stood and held my hand out for her. She took it so I could help her out of the chair then we walked together down to the water.

Sunset Beach is broad, more than a hundred yards at low tide from the waterline to the dunes. The bottom is all sand with a very gradual slope that enables me to walk out almost a quarter mile before the water reaches my neck. However, I’d never seen anyone go anywhere near that far unless they were on a surfboard. This is the ocean and the waves, although not as rough as they are in New York or New Jersey, are enough to discourage such stupidity. We walked out about seventy yards until the water was waist high. I floated and ducked underwater, noticing how closely she was to me throughout. We touched several times and I was pleased to see that she was neither offended nor did she pull away.

We swam–although there wasn’t much real swimming involved–for about twenty minutes when she complained that she was getting cold. Once back at my umbrella I pulled her towel from the sand, shook it several times, and wrapped it around her shoulders. I pulled mine from a large pocket built into the back of my chair. “I assume you’re staying at one of the houses back here.”

“Yeah, on the second street; we kind of have a view of the ocean if you look between houses. It was a lot cheaper than the ones on the ocean. I don’t mind the walk. It’s not all that far, besides I usually walk every day. Where are you staying?”

“I moved here permanently almost a year ago. I have a house on the intra-coastal waterway.”

“You have a house for just one person?”

“Yeah, I’m accustomed to having a lot of room and I enjoy the privacy. I’ve heard some real horror stories about living in condos. Sometimes they rent out to groups of golfers who drink and party all night, urinate off the balcony, and worse. No thanks—not for me.”

We chatted for a while, but avoided both her fears about her husband and any possibility of sex between us. We left at five and I was back in my house by 5:30. I phoned for a reservation at 7:30 asking for a table in the rear and by the window. Then I went in for a shave, shower, and a quick nap. I was up and awake by 6:30 and dressed by 6:45. It was only ten minutes to the causeway, less in my Aventador because it handled corners better than most cars handled straightaway’s.

I pulled in behind the line of cars parked along the causeway, pleased to see Cindy standing behind a dark blue minivan wearing a short-sleeved yellow floral top and a pair of tight navy Capri’s that accented her trim body. I coasted down to her, stopping and opening my door so I could walk around and open hers. “Wow…this is some car. Is it fast?”

“Yeah, it is…faster than anything you’ve ever been in—zero to 60 in less than three seconds, although I’ve never gone that fast. I assume one would have to be on a straight track several miles long to do that and there’s no road even close to that around here.” I made sure she was buckled in and off we went. There was no traffic in front of us on the causeway leading to the bridge over the waterway so I opened it up a bit, hitting 100 less than halfway there then I eased off the accelerator and coasted over and down the bridge.

“I hesitate to ask, John, but what kind of gas mileage does this thing get?”

“Well…it’s a V-12 and it takes premium gas so it’s not for economy. I figure I get about ten…maybe as much as twelve, but you don’t buy this if you don’t have money. Thank God it doesn’t need much in the way of service.”

We were on Beach Road—NC 179—the road that parallels the ICW here in the mainland portion of Sunset Beach. I had just turned around a curve when I pointed to a large house with a high wrought iron fence and gate just ahead. “That’s my place.”

Cindy turned her head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe you have a big house like that just for yourself.”

“It’s pretty much what I’m used to. I enjoy having a lot of room and privacy, plus I have a dock and a boat I use occasionally for fishing. Maybe you’d like to go with me sometime.”

“I haven’t been fishing in ages…not since I was a kid.”

“It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed over the years except for all the rules, and needing a license, and not as many fish to catch. Otherwise, fishing is basically the same as it was hundreds of years ago.” I stopped at the light and turned left through the little village of Calabash, the self-named “Seafood Capital of the World.” There was traffic here and plenty of it as one might expect during the height of the tourist season. Calabash had more restaurants along its mile length than any other place I’d ever known.

Once we were through it was just a short run across the border into Little River, South Carolina. Less than a mile later I took a right turn into Chianti South’s parking area. “I hope you don’t mind if I park in the back. I hate the idea of getting the car scratched. People here are more considerate than up in New York, but sometimes they can be careless.” We were seated in the restaurant three minutes later.

We had just ordered drinks—margarita on the rocks for me, white wine for her—and were checking out the menu. I don’t know why; I always ordered the same thing—veal parm. Cindy opted for the lasagna. “So, tell me about yourself, other than you suspect your husband of cheating.”

“My name is Cindy Hopewell. My husband is Brian. I’m forty, not thirty-five, but thank you. We attended UNC, met there and were married after graduation. I worked for a year until our daughter, Leia, was born. She’s eighteen now and she attends UNC, too. I stayed home to care for her. Brian got a job in real estate development and did well. Now he’s a manager in the firm so money isn’t really a problem for us. I thought we had a great marriage in most respects, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Where’s your daughter now?”

“At UNC, taking some extra classes; she’s pre-med so her class load is heavy. I’m just glad she’s not home. God, I hope he’s not cheating on me.”

“I do, too. We should know pretty soon. It’s Tuesday so I’m guessing you’ll have an idea by Friday if not sooner.” She seemed about to cry so I reached across the table to take her hand in mine. Sure, I wanted to fuck her badly, but I hated to see people be cruel to their spouses—people they were supposed to love. I changed the subject, talking instead about the weather and when she’d like to go fishing.


CHAPTER 2

We were into our entrees when my phone vibrated. I took a quick peek and placed it back into my pocket. “Not going to answer it,” she asked.

“No, it’s just a text. I can deal with it later. How’s the lasagna?”

“It’s delicious. I love lasagna, but it’s so much work to make it. I’m okay in the kitchen, but not great. How’s the veal?” In response I sliced off a small piece and held it up to her. She sucked it off my fork. It was one of the most sensual things I’d ever seen. ‘Good…nice and thin. Someone must spend hours every day just pounding this with one of those mallets.

“I’m pretty sure you’re asking yourself why Brian would want to cheat on me. I’m forty, but I do work hard at keeping myself in shape. We still have sex at least three times a week although I’d prefer it more often. Looking back though, I’d say mostly it’s been sex rather than making love over the past couple of months. He seems less interested in cuddling or even going twice. He just does it and goes to sleep. God, I sound pathetic.”

“No…you sound like someone who cares for your husband and your marriage. I’m sure you love your husband. I hope it works out for you.”

“Do you really?”

“Yes, as funny as that may sound, I do. I worked in a field where greed and cheating are commonplace, but I rose to the top by being a straight shooter. I’ll tell you something few people believe. In finance the cheaters rarely win. I sold billions and billions in bonds so it was important that my clients knew they could trust me; buy when I say ‘buy,’ sell when I say ‘sell’” We finished dinner—no dessert—and were back into the car by 8:10.