I met Carrie on the beach in Antigua. I was there for the summer, staying with my parents, who had escaped the UK rat race and semi-retired to the place of their dreams. They were now selling real estate and I was appointed pool cleaner. Yes, it’s a cushy job but you have to know what you’re doing to a certain extent, like when you’re putting chemicals in the water that are harmful to humans.
This is not one of those stories about how easy it is for the pool guy to get laid, though. I did the work in the morning and in the afternoons I would go to the beach and spend the time reading, swimming and watching people.
This wasn’t the kind of beach where the locals went. It was right next to a hotel and was populated by Europeans on holiday. One day two girls and a guy came laughing down the steep steps onto the sand and walked slowly past me, messing about. They looked to be in their early 20s. I was 45. One girl was dark-haired with the kind of Caucasian skin that tans easily. She had beautiful, shiny black hair and was a bit fleshy. She probably would have described herself as overweight. That first day she wore a sarong to cover the fat. I thought she was tremendously tasty. She was walking with a boy who I thought might be her brother. He had similar skin and was dark-haired too, but slim enough to be skinny in my opinion, although some would call it athletic.
The other girl was fair-haired – not blonde, but fair. And she had pale skin and a pretty but sharp, pointed face. From the neck up and the ribs down she was thin, but in between was this fantastic pair of breasts that looked as if the angels must have put them on her by mistake.
The three played together all afternoon. They threw a tennis ball to each other and dived into the water to catch it. They played cricket with a piece of driftwood as a bat. I loved watching the dark haired one lollop around with her flesh wobbling as she constantly adjusted her bikini top and smoothed the sarong into place. I soon learned their names, because they were calling to each other the whole time. The dark one was Lesley, the fair one was Carrie and the boy was Adam.
The girls were surprisingly good at cricket, or at least they could hit the ball in a cross-batted, playground sort of way, while the boy usually played straight up and down, as he had been taught, although he would cut or hook one if the delivery was wide, which it often was. The girls didn’t attempt to bowl in an authentic cricket style, swinging the arm over the top, and they couldn’t throw hard, either. Why can’t girls do that? I have no idea, but it’s quite sweet in a way and an early indication to a boy that there is something different about women.
Every time I saw Carrie run she surprised me with the contrast between her bony frame and face and her succulent, bouncing breasts. She wore a mismatched bikini of pale blue briefs and a maroon top. I wondered idly if she shaved or waxed or if there was pubic hair under that small, ingeniously-shaped piece of fabric. I thought that Lesley probably had a big, luxuriant bush, whether she liked it or not, and Carrie’s was probably sparser. I concluded that she probably had hair too, because she didn’t look the type to be interested in sex. But – and this is one of the little thrills of life – you never know.
Lesley would occasionally glance in my direction, probably sensing that my thoughts were concentrated between her legs. I didn’t make any attempt to get friendly with them, though. They were a tight, self-contained little unit.
I wondered what they did at night and what exactly the relationships were. On about the fifth day, I got down there later than usual and found Carrie on her own. It was a public place and she was perfectly safe, so I just sat down right next to her.
“Do you mind?” I asked.
She shrugged and said, “Sure.”
“Gets boring on your own sometimes,” I said. “Where are your friends?”
“In town, shopping,” she said in a bored voice.
“You’d rather be on the beach?” I asked.
“There’s nothing really to buy here,” she explained. “It’s all just tourist tat.”
Having successfully started a conversation, we both relaxed and enjoyed it.
The other two were not related, it turned out. They were all friends from university, but Lesley and Adam had this special bond, which clearly irritated Carrie a bit.
I went to the beach bar and got a couple of beers, and we drank them and put the world to rights. She was studying design, hence the odd bikini. I got the feeling she wasn’t much good at it, but who was I to judge? My eyes kept returning to her breasts and she was well aware of that. Sometimes she even arranged her posture so that I could see a whole one, as the cup hung below it. I, in turn, adjusted my package in a casual but none-too-subtle way, so that she couldn’t help but notice. Eventually the air froze between us as we both hit a lust patch at the same time.
I took a last swig of my beer and said, “Fuck, it’s hot today.” A trickle of sweat rolled from her neck onto her collarbone and I picked it off with my finger. “Don’t you get sunburnt?”
“Yes,” she said. “Maybe I had better go inside.”
She began collecting her things and stuffing them into her bag. “Would you like to come?” she asked uncomfortably. I smiled. “We can have a drink in the hotel bar,” she clarified.
We walked up the steps in silence and through the cool lobby into the darkness of the bar. Carrie had a tequila sunrise. I had a margarita. We were talking about fashion, or she was and I was playing along, saying irrelevant things about Stella McCartney just to keep a toe in the conversational water.
“I’ve got some of her stuff!” Carrie announced, animated for the first time.
“I’ve never seen any in real life,” I said pathetically.
She stood up. “I’ll show you,” she said, and held out a hand to help me up.
It took about 30 seconds to walk to her room and it was the most intense half-minute of my life. She seemed to have made a decision of some sort.
The room was untidy, with clothes all over the place. Two beds.
“Sharing with Les,” she said, picking up underwear from one of the beds and tossing it into an open suitcase. She walked to a wardrobe, opened it and leaned inside. I stood behind her and looked over her shoulder.
“My Stellas,” she said proudly, fingering a dress and blouse. I was so close to her that when I breathed in, my chest touched her back. She didn’t flinch. I kissed her neck and then she did move, so we both stood up and she turned to face me. She put out her hand and I took it, then pulled her towards me and kissed her.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the first moment I saw you,” I said.
“Bollocks,” she replied. “You were looking at Lesley. I know, because I was looking at you.” I locked her in my arms again and unfastened her top as I kissed her.
“You have incredible tits,” I said.
“Thank you,” she replied. “They’re the best part of me, aren’t they?”
“Well, they’re the best part I’ve seen so far,” I agreed.
I slid my hand into the front of her briefs and felt the hair, then ventured further and found her warm, inviting slit. The middle finger of my right hand took its natural course into her vagina as her tongue raced around inside my mouth.
I slid down her body and began kissing and sucking her nipples. Then I pulled her briefs down and she lifted her feet to let me take them off. I kissed her pubic mound.
“Do you mind the hair?” she asked nervously. “I’ve never had the guts to take it off.”
“I like it,” I replied truthfully. “I like your pubic hair, Carrie. Sit down.” She sat on the edge of the bed and lay back obligingly. I parted her legs further and licked the very tops of her inner thighs. She was salty and sweaty in a very nice way. I drew back a little and looked at her vagina. Very tidy, almost no lips. I slipped my tongue in and she gasped.
I wrapped my arms around her thighs and pulled her crotch towards my face. She wriggled slightly, but not trying to get away. I licked her welcoming cunt and she said, “I like that. I like that a lot,” as if she was surprised.
I stood up, pulled my t-shirt over my head and took off my beach shorts. She wasn’t looking at me, consciously averting her gaze.
“Move up the bed,” I said, and she obeyed.
“Condoms?” she said breathlessly.
“I haven’t got any,” I said.
“In Lesley’s bedside drawer.”
I fetched a packet of three with only one remaining. As I got on with the tedious process, Carrie said, “There’s something you should know. I’ve never done it before. Not properly.”
“Okay,” I said, as I crawled on top of her. I put my cock head at her entrance and felt the resistance, but not for long, as I plowed into her and she said “Ohhhh. Fuck, that’s nice.”
I put my hands on her shoulders and pumped in and out as she bit her lip and then flung her arms around my neck and said, “Fuck me, baby. Fuck my virginity away.”
“Sweetheart,” I said softly. “You’re not a virgin anymore. A man has got his penis inside you and is fucking your beautiful body.”
This seemed to have an effect on her, because she began moaning and almost crying and after another minute or so she came to a twitching, wriggling orgasm.
I knew I wasn’t going to cum for a while, so I pulled out and lay next to her.
“We haven’t finished, have we?” she asked with a mixture of nervousness and disappointment.
“No,” I said, “But can I take the condom off? I’ve been tested and I know I’m clean. And I had a vasectomy two years ago.”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “I think I trust you. Just don’t cum inside me anyway, okay?”
I went back to her breasts and sucked her eager nipples, then turned her over. I kissed her neck and shoulders, then followed her spine down to her buttocks and licked them provocatively, edging ever closer to the cleft. She seemed comfortable with this, so I literally took the plunge and got my tongue in there.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “You’re licking my arse on the first date?”
“It’s not a date,” I said as I came up for air.
“Then you’re doing it before
our first date,” she said as I continued. “That’s even worse.”
“Would you like me to stop?” I asked.
“No,” she breathed heavily. “Never. Don’t ever stop doing that to me.” I slid my thumb into her cunt and put my index finger on her clitoris and she cried out.
“Oh my God,” she went. “I’m going to cum again.” She gave a kind of extended yelp as she did so. “Are you going to cum now?”
“Where would you like me to cum?” I asked.
“In my pubic hair,” she said. “And around my crotch.”
She turned over, spread her legs for me and I knelt between them and masturbated. As my semen spurted into her hair and began to roll down, she groaned contentedly. She rubbed it into herself as we began to kiss again. Then the door opened and in came Lesley.
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