The door bangs shut, obscenely loud in the quiet of the deserted bathroom. There’s sand on the floor, you notice, and the hot afternoon sun shining stickily through the high windows to dance on the brow of the beautiful boy standing in front of you. You giggle nervously in spite of yourself—it was unbelievably unlike you to be nose to nose with a stranger, locked in the stall at the far end of the beach bathroom, the lust between you almost tangible, crackling like lightning in your eyes. But here you were, and there was no denying the current rushing through your body, the blood pounding hard in your hands, acutely aware of every heartbeat that ached through you.
Too nervous to initiate a more deliberate touch, you reach instead for his hand, turning it over and tracing the veins up his wrist and along his tanned, muscular forearm. You bring his fingers up to your mouth, kissing one gently and letting out a ragged breath. As if your exhale breathed life into him, he surges into motion all at once, grabbing your chin to raise your lips to his, and pushing you back against the cracked tile wall. You reflexively moan into his mouth, need bubbling up inside your belly as his bulge presses hard against your hip.