You never want a white Christmas. It’s cold, snow gets everywhere, and somebody is bound to have flu.
You always wanted a white sands Christmas. You’d be able to leisurely rise out of bed in the morning, open gifts when you wanted knowing that one was a bikini – the skimpier the better, and you’d be able to try it on and stroll down from the beach how to break it in. Everyone else could freeze, you were getting a tan.
You had been planning this trip since the divorce was finalized in June. It’s not that you weren’t festive, it’s that he and his family were just so much to deal with. No more Christmases with his shitty family in Upstate New York. No more of their judging glances or prying ears – you’ll never forget when his grandmother shamed you for “corrupting her gran-baby” by fucking him, your husband, on Christmas Eve (I mean, why was she even listening in the first place?!). No more matching Santa and Mrs. Claus outfits. No more lake-effect snow. No more fucking cold.
It wasn’t an easy divorce, but it was welcome. Sure, he caught you having an affair, but at least you didn’t have to pay for extra-marital fun like he’d been doing. Besides, the only reason you had that affair with Eduardo was because your husband had stopped trying to be intimate in the first place. Well, stopped being intimate with you. Seriously, who pays escorts on Benmoo and forgets to make the transactions private? You perversely hoped the hookers and hotel rooms were worth; Eduardo sure was.
But, now, even Eduardo was gone. After finding out he was the other man, he called it off. And that left you walking with your regular beach-bag along a secluded beach – something that was hard to find on Florida’s Gulf Coast – alone the day after Christmas. It was the gift you’d always wanted.
You passed by another young couple lounging on their beach towels and walked a little further. You could feel the man’s eyes following you “hidden” behind his sunglasses. If only he could see the g-string bikini bottom as you passed, but you still had your wrap on. It let a little peek of your left cheek out, but that was all. It was enough; you could feel him staring until you were just far enough away – or until his girlfriend noticed his head turning, following you. Either way, it made you feel desired. This was way better than ever wearing a goddamn parka.
You hadn’t seen that couple last night, and the man was handsome enough, but it wasn’t his attention you wanted. When you first stepped onto this beach as the sun was setting, you were only thinking of taking an evening stroll. The thought of a quick skinny-dip crossed your mind, but you weren’t too sure of the water temperature. The walk, however, would definitely clear your head after the airport fiascos and hotel nonsense earlier in the day.
During your walk that first night, there was no one on the beach. There was a low hum of parties in the beach houses up on the dunes, and the lapping sounds of the seawater invading and retreating from the sand. You wandered down into the surf, and the water washed over your bare feet. It was warm, and definitely swimmable.
You nervously looked around. Nobody was looking. Nobody was visible on the porches of the beach houses above. You dropped your towel. Off came your top and sports bra. Down came your shorts. Into the water you went. You didn’t go out too far at all. Just enough to be about waist-deep and then float for a moment, enough to let the warmth envelop you. It was perfect, relaxing, and not fucking cold. It wasn’t how you’d ever spent a Christmas evening, but you did think, for a moment, that it could be the start of some sort of tradition.
You stood back up and waded back to your clothes on the beach. You picked up the towel first and dried off as best as you could. Then you grabbed your shorts and pulled them up, shimmying them over your round ass. Then you grabbed the sports bra and put it back on. As you did, you happened to glance up to the porch of the beach how directly in front of you. You pulled the bra down and noticed that a person stood there, leaning on the railing, looking down at you?
Your first thought was to panic, but that subsided quickly. You could see that it was a man, and he held up a glass of some kind – it was too dark to make out any detail, including of his face – as if to say, “Hello.” You bent down and grabbed your shirt and put it back. He just stayed were he was, without a word, without shouting down to you or catcalling.
You grabbed your towel and started to walk away when a dirty thought came over you: you looked back up to the onlooker and pulled up your shirt and sports bra. It was the most college thing you’d done since, well, college, but it felt naughty and fun and, oddly, like an irresistible urge. You could faintly hear him laughing as he shook his head. He whistled his approval. You waved to him after covering yourself back up. He raised his glass once more, and you scampered off. You did wonder how much he could see of you. With the sun setting over the water, surely not too much.
As you trotted down the beach, you wondered, “Had anyone else seen me?” A part of you, as yet not fully unleashed, hoped that someone else had.
As you wandered the beach, you looked up to the beach houses to see if you could identify the porch from the night before. You thought you found the one, a couple hundred feet past the younger couple and easily a few hundred more to the next. You were so surprised that a Florida beach would be this empty, but it was pretty perfect. The beach house was a pastel yellow and the porch jutted out into the dune, its pylons looked like they were driven into the top. The railing looked like it was the same shape you saw silhouetted against the light from inside the previous night. But no one stood outside.
Oh well. That wasn’t an excuse not to post up in that spot to lay out and sunbathe. In fact, it seemed like the perfect distance from anyone else to lay out in such a way as to not end up with any tan lines…
You spread out your towel, and looked around. The next couple seemed t be buried in their books, and the young one was probably bickering over the man’s wandering, lusting eye. You looked back up to the porch. Nobody stood there. No one held up a glass to bless your endeavor, but that wasn’t going to stop you.
You played it cool, setting up your collapsible lounger from your bag with ease. Then, you laid out the towel. You checked around one more time before removing the wrap. It was silly, you thought, “Tons of people have definitely been naked on this beach.” You untied one side of the g-string bottom. Then the other. The young couple was still bitching to each other. The other one didn’t seem to know you existed at all. The bottom fell down to the sand. You laid down on the longer, and off came the top. You kept both beside you, crumpled in a ball, just in case you had to hastily reapply them, but, otherwise, you were set. Time to dig into the beach bag.
Lotions, tanning sprays, bug spray, a couple of airplane bottles of vodka, and various small plastic bags were stuffed into this one beach bag. It zipped up nicely so you could just chuck it in your luggage, check that bag, and take off. And everything was already in there, so no need to check. That didn’t stop you from rummaging around when you were finally set up at the beach though. You wondered what the hell was in some of these plastic zip-bags anyway.
The first couple you pulled out were run-of-the-mill beach afternoon items: there were earbuds, an unused disposable camera, and spare handtowels. The third bag had another bag inside it. The bag was inside was made of velvet and did not seem like beach material. You set the large beach-bag down with everything else inside it and you opened the strings on the velvet bag. Inside was a small clit sucker, a stick vibrator, and a charging cord for both.
You stuffed them bag into their bag nervously. You remembered why you packed them in the first place. You and your ex-husband had taken a trip to Greece two years prior. It was at a small, private resort on a tiny island. You had booked two weeks, hoping to rekindle the marital spark. And while it was an active weekend, and you did get to play with the toys on the secluded beach a couple times, the spark seemed to die on the plane flying over the Mediterranean.
You were almost embarrassed to think about it, but the temptation was already there… they were in your bag, after all. Was this feeling taking over? You hadn’t done anything like this since you gave Eduardo a blowjob in a restaurant bathroom that one time, or, before that, since you and your ex were still just dating. He used to love to watch you touch yourself as you both headed down the highway. It didn’t matter if it was the middle of nowhere or rush hour through Kansas City. He used to get so turned on he once had to pull over on an isolated stretch of highway and bend you over the trunk of the car.
Fuck it. You opted for the clit sucker. You turned it on to see if it still had enough charge, and you were sure the waves and breeze would overwhelm the buzzing noise it made. No one would hear you. No one would see a thing… but they might suspect it. That suspicion… that thrill of being caught… it set you over the edge.
This would have been unthinkable last year: setting a vibrator to your clit on a public beach the day after Christmas. You started it on a low setting, and it was more than enough to get your breathing heaving, to get your clit tingling, to make you forget that someone could be watching, wanting.
You closed your eyes behind your sunglasses. You upped the setting, getting ready to send yourself into an orgasmic bliss among the dunes and the waves and sun.
“You do like to show off,” a man’s voice said.
You panicked, opened your eyes, and saw a middle-aged man with silvery hair standing a few feet from you. He was dressed in a light button-down, shorts, and blue sunglasses. He held a drink in his hand. “I should have introduced myself this way.” He held up his glass the way your observer from the previous night had.
You covered yourself as best you could with your hands. Your still-running clit sucker tumbled from your thigh into the open beach bag. “You shouldn’t walk up on people like that!” you shouted as quietly as you could.
“You set up your lounger right beside my path down the dunes,” he said motioning to a clearly well-worn path you had completely ignored prior to setting up. At least you had found the right house. And this man was seeing what you, at least partly, hoped he’d see.
“I don’t mind,” he said, “I can leave you to it and go for a walk like I’d planned.”
You didn’t know what to say. He turned to walk away, raising his drink and winking at you.
Fuck it. “Wait,” you said. He turned back to look at you. “I…”
“You…” he said. “You had hoped you’d find me or something?” You couldn’t speak, so you nodded, agreeing. “I had wondered if I’d bump into you again. Hell, I’d even hoped for it.”
“Well,” you said, “you did.” You relaxed, and removed your hands from your breasts and crotch, exposing yourself for him to see.
You could see the thirst on his face. He motioned with his hand that held the drink. “Would you like to come up?” You nodded and started to grab your bikini to slide it back on. “No need for that,” he said. “Let them see. You’re beautiful and coming up to my beach house.” The lust, the dirtiness in his gravely voice turned you on. Even if he stopped your play time, you could feel yourself getting wetter.
You still hesitated, but you stood up. He asked if you wanted some help with your things, but you declined. Your brazen nakedness seemed to be working on him; you could see the outline of his large cock growing under the fly of his shorts. You didn’t care if either of the couples, or anyone else was looking. Well, in a way you hoped they were. Fuck, this was the kind of foreplay your former marriage sorely needed.
Hell, this was a new Christmas tradition you could get behind!
You followed him, naked, up the path on the dune while he carried your bag. He opened the lower door to the beach house, behind which was the garage and stairs to the main residence. You followed him up. Your heart was racing. Your lust, your thoughts were ready for anything. He opened the door at the top of the stairs, and you followed him in eagerly.
The inside was stunning. There were floor to ceiling windows on the beach-side and the porch was set up for a party. The inside was clean and beach-themed, but not tackily so. Your jaw fell open at the beauty. The sunshine washed over your nakedness like it was birthing a new chapter of your life. It all felt perfect.
And it was about to feel better…
“Is this the girl from the beach last night?” you heard a woman’s voice ask. You turned around quickly to see a woman, about the man’s age, swirling a glass of wine and wearing a black sundress. She looked you up and down, “She is stunning.” She walked over to the man, who you now assumed was her husband, and kissed him. “I approve.” She looked back to you, and you were too surprised to speak or move, but something about the joyful envy in her eyes kept you from being worried… And kept you enthralled…
“I approve all of his playmates.” She held up her hand walked to you, around you. “I don’t have to watch, if you don’t want me to.” She walked around to your front, “But seeing as you like to be seen…” You bit your lip and nodded. She looked back to her husband, who was seated at a bar stool, gently touching his cock through his shorts. “What are you waiting for?” she asked him.”Take her to the bedroom…” She looked back at you, “…or to the porch.”
You grinned. You already hoped this would be a new Christmas tradition.