A few years ago I was in Barcelona with my wife for six months. We fuck around a bit with others (which you can read about in my other stories – more coming soon). This story just involves me. Or, actually, me and some sexy Spanish girls (all above 18). There is no sex strictly speaking in the story, but it’s an especially fond memory that I suspect will be with me forever.
I was at the beach as usual on a surprisingly warm early May afternoon, reading and admiring the scenery. For me, the Barcelona beach is the sexiest beach in Europe. Others on Ibiza or Mallorca or the Greek isles may have more magazine-ready bodies or more naked people or more dtf girls, but Barcelona has just the right mix of normal people who have lowered their inhibitions and locals of all ages who have low inhibitions to begin with.
I didn’t speak much Spanish, so I usually talked to other foreigners. Today was different, in part because I didn’t initiate anything.
I picked my spot because there was a topless girl with great tits laying down by herself not far from a mixed group of 20somethings and a pair of women in their 50s who looked much younger at first glance. Interesting views in all directions. This part of the beach wasn’t crowded and I spread my towel in the middle.
After half an hour, I was wondering whether to talk to the topless girl, whose tits after lengthy inspection proved to defy gravity in all sorts of interesting ways. But then four Spanish girls came walking along the beach, noisily looking for a spot. There were many available – the beach wasn’t crowded – but they settled next to the mixed group, a little closer than they needed to be. This also happened to be directly in front of me.
They were bouncy with energy and laughter, and they seemed to ostentatiously ignore everyone around, speaking louder than necessary as they pulled their towels together, bending over to tug at the corners with their asses a little too high – the kind of flirty behavior you learn to recognise later as a bit over the top.
Initially they kept their bikinis on, but as they emerged from their first dip in the ocean, three of the four took off their tops and put on sunscreen. This drew everyone’s attention. Everyone except the mixed group, which was clearly who the girls were most interested in. There were three or four guys and about the same number of girls. They sounded Scandinavian of some sort, and they seemed to be coupled off and slightly prudish. None of the girls had their tops off, and you could see the guys trying hard not to look at these nearly naked Spanish teens.
The girls seemed disappointed that their spectacle didn’t get a full audience, but they were pleased, at least, with my response. I was rapt. I smiled at one girl in particular who was looking my way, and she gazed back with a sort of Mona Lisa half-smile and held my eyes as she rubbed sunscreen on her small, shapely left breast. She was the thinnest, almost wispy, and there was a fuller, buxom girl, a brown-haired girl-next-door-type and an almost otherworldly girl who looked built to fuck, thin with remarkably large, self-supporting torpedo tits and a cute, rounded ass.
They did girl stuff for a while: talking on the phone, sharing strawberries, laughing about text messages that they would show each other. They seemed to forget about being on display and I started to forget about them too, looking back toward the first topless girl, whose cute friend had now arrived, though both were now wearing bikinis and taking large numbers of photos of each other.
A couple of middle-aged women came by, dressed in normal clothes. It’s something tourists do in Barcelona, walk along the sands for a bit to dip their toes in the ocean and admire the beachgoers. These women stopped in front of me, and asked in halting English if I could take their photo, ensuring that I get the big sail-shaped hotel behind them. I was happy to oblige and took a few photos of them. As I sat back down, the Spanish girls tittered and I could make out something like “por supuesto…el guapo”, which even my pigeon Spanish was good enough to understand, in combination with their looks at me, to mean that of all the people they could have asked for a photograph, of course the women asked me.
The girls, who were drinking by this point, started to conspire, and then the wispy one – the one who had earlier locked eyes with me – got up and walked over to me.
“Hey photographer, can you take our picture too?”
The girls behind her were laughing, and she had a smile on her face as she offered me her phone.
“Do you also want the hotel in the background?”
“No, just us and the ocean.” She sat down on the lap of the brown-haired girl and fell backwards, provoking much laughter.
I started taking pictures and joking with them about their poses. They were not shy about touching each other, leaning their tits against each other, putting their hands high up on each others’ thighs. They were laughing and joking but also pouting for the right photo face: they really did seem to want a good photo or two.
After they seemed to have enough, the first girl said, “You look like you’re burning – do you even have sunscreen?”
Which, fair enough. I’m blond and relatively pasty – and I was especially pasty in early May.
I had put on sunscreen earlier, and I told her so. She said she didn’t think it was working and I should try some of hers.
“Come, lay down and we will put it on.”
These girls were surprisingly smooth operators. I looked back at my bag on my towel and wondered if there was something shady happening. Not that I had anything more valuable than my phone, but still. I went back for my bag, using it as a pretext to show them that I had sunscreen. But they insisted, and I brought my bag back to their towel complex.
We joked and talked a bit, and then the wispy one said, “Hey, lay down – we need to get this on you.”
So this was how I ended up getting an 8-hand back massage from four Barcelona girls who said they were just finishing their school careers. They would take their last baccalaureate exams a couple months later.
I sat up and insisted on doing my own chest and legs, and while I was doing that one of them – the supermodel – went into the water. We were talking about their exams and future plans when she came back out of the water, and we all watched her come back. I imagine the whole beach watched her, each slow step jiggling her tits in the most porn-y way possible.
Her friends commented on her tits and joked about them and then insisted that she lay down and that we all put sunscreen on her back. She requested that we do her legs too, and because I was sitting closest to them on her left, I ended up putting in on the whole leg.
She sat up and started doing her sides and stomach. The other three went into the water, and I sat there mesmerised by the supermodel, talking about her aunt the nutritionist or something – I can’t remember exactly what because my ape-brain was wholly consumed with her hands very delicate and deliberate journey back and forth across her incredible tits.
We all understood pretty early into my sitting on their towels that there was no possibility of sex: they were significantly younger and demonstrated a couple times that they just wanted to flirt (mentioning a boyfriend, talking about plans later). And I didn’t push back on any of these because my wife and I, in any case, don’t fuck young people. There was also no possibility in such a public place of me putting the sunscreen on her – or any of their – tits. You just can’t do that on a public beach. But the eroticism of the situation was off the charts. It might have been because we all knew sex was off the table that we allowed the tension to build. I don’t really know how it happened, and that mystery seems to be part of what makes this memory so precious.
The other three girls came out of the water, dripping and laughing, two of them topless and the brown-haired girl still in a bikini, as she had been the whole time. The sunscreen situation presented a challenge – one that was quickly met by the wispy girl, who said, “I want him to do me.” They poured more drinks and then she plopped herself down directly in front of me, her arm resting against my knees. The mood was light, and slightly drunken, as I worked my way across her back.
Spread her arms as I got to her shoulder blades, putting one arm in my lap and showing off very slightly one of her tiny little breasts. When I reached down toward it, she turned upwards to meet my hand with her tit. No objections from me. When I was finished with her legs, she and the others were starting to get sillier. They insisted I drink some of their awful rose and the three who had been in the water most recently started lathering their stomachs and chests. When the thin girl had a layer covering her whole body, she laid down on top of the supermodel, nipple to nipple. No kissing, nothing more than girlish enthusiasm that just last a few seconds – but incredibly sexy.
“Oh, he likes that!” they said, and I couldn’t deny it. It is the image that is still strongest in my mind at the moment – and probably will be for many years to come.
I left not long afterwards, telling my wife about it that night as we fucked. She said I should have invited all of them back for an experimental session. I don’t think she really meant it, but I did go back to the same place on the beach the next couple days – and didn’t the girls then, or ever again.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/rz61zu/barcelona_teens_with_soso_self_esteem_group
Nitpick – there is no ocean in Barcelona 😁