I had been swimming twice in the July sun that day. By the time I had dried myself, the afternoon clouds had rolled until the sky was like a lumpy quilt. I sat down on the beach towel and pulled a second, smaller towel over my shoulders to help keep the cooling wind away.
My friends Deena and Lindsey had just gone out for a stroll at the snack bar, which was across the beach. In need of rest, I lay face down, feet towards the sea, adjusting the top towel to cover from my shoulders over my back to just above the back of my knees. My only pillow was my forearm, so I cradled my head as comfortably as possible, closed my eyes and listened to the roar of distant waves and the meow of seagulls.
The crowded sand beneath the beach towel was surrounded by my curves as I moved restlessly. In a short time I realized that I was getting aroused. I didn’t need reason; I was alone. Maybe it was all that personal pleasure I had indulged so often. But that was almost always in bed, and always in complete privacy.
Damn, and we’d be there for at least another hour. I looked around. Although the crowd had thinned, there were still many people around. The closest was about twenty-five or thirty feet away, and the sounds of summer fun rose and fell in all directions. The siren song of my clit moved tantalizingly upward through my pressed belly.
“You know what to do,” I could almost hear him sing. I should? I thought nervously. I could? It wouldn’t be possible to take something off or spread your legs wide enough. I couldn’t help things along my hips. Would anyone really know if I were discreet? How discreet could I be? I got up to take a look and make sure my top towel was in place.
This time, as I lay down, I made sure the towel covered my right arm as well, which tilted under me until my hand reached my swimwear leg band. This is something else. That day I was wearing a one-piece instead of a bikini. Another access method should be employed.
So my index finger pulled the nylon aside. I immediately felt the freshness of a sea breeze as it stroked my warm lips. Clit’s contact was now possible. Immediately the middle fingertip rang it slightly and increased even more. Oh yes.
I felt so good. I buried my face in my left forearm and smelled the day’s sun and sea salt. My feet were shoulder-width apart, perhaps. After a few minutes I was definitely missing the next phase, being able to open all-round. I spread my thighs as much as I dared, which I hoped wasn’t much.
Due to the slope of the tidal zone, it may have been possible for someone closer to the water to see what was going on in the jump, I thought, and that made me scrub faster. I had not yet met a guy who, while looking at me alone in my favorite pose, complained that he did not see enough. I heard the screams of the swimmers at the end of the day as they somersaulted in the surf and pressed me harder. The fingers of the ring and little finger had been sketched to help the forefinger brother keep the bathing suit pulled out of Pleasure Central.
The tingling intensified and spread into the groin, accentuated by the pleasantly intrusive breeze between my spread legs. My toes involuntarily stuck in the damp sand. So close… I wish I could open more… so close… The determination of my swirling, stinging finger overwhelmed the swollen button beneath it. The slippery lick of my drooling juices kept the motion smooth, so to speak.
And oh, oh, ohhh! I felt the familiar joint explode in tunnel spasms and shooting stars bouncing off my clit all over my body and legs. I did my best to control the wheezing that was blowing from my nostrils. Other than that, I didn’t care. I was reaching a ferocious climax and nothing else mattered. On the trip home, if I had an extra stitch on my dress, no one was wiser.
To this day, I don’t know if anyone has ever seen or seen something that inspired them carnally in a future time, but the possibility still excites me when I remember my unique outdoor experience.