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The Day’s Last Children

Contributing Authors: kymusicguy 
A true story

Soon after we married, my sister-in-law and her husband invited us to share a cottage they had rented right on the beach in Martinique.  It was so beautiful there!  I had never been to the Caribbean before and it was like paradise.

One evening, after an exhausting day playing volleyball, swimming, and sunning, we all lay on the beach on our blankets and watched the sun as it slipped swiftly towards the horizon.  We lay near the water’s edge by a clump of palms, fronds rustling contentedly in the gentle breeze above a crescent beach of moon-glow gold, they on their blankets and a little away, we on ours.  Chris and I lay together, my head nestled securely on his shoulder, watching the shroud of evening fall and the first stars pop suddenly into the darkening sky.  The riotous sea had settled for the night as little wavelets lap-lapped hypnotically on the shore.  Puffball clouds scudding on the twilight breeze passed from deep purple to orange to brilliant red as they bathed in the glory of the swelling sun.  From down the beach came the cries of the day’s last children, splashing in water tinted crimson by the fading light.

His fingers toyed idly with my hair, and I had never felt closer to him.

And the waves lap-lapped on the shore and palm fronds rustled.

He pulled me tight and hugged me one-armed, and when he relaxed and let me go his hand fell casually across my bikini-bound breast and gave it a gentle squeeze.

I pushed his hand away!  What was he thinking?  His sister was lying right there!  And anyone could walk by and see us!

But nobody walked by.  And when I stole a glance at his sister and her husband they were far too occupied with their own affairs to give notice to anything happening beyond the bounds of their blanket.

I relaxed again, and again his palm cupped my breast.  And it felt so intimate to lie there like that, my breast in his hand, that I did not push him away.  And he kneaded me through the taut nylon of my bikini.

And the waves lap-lapped and the palm fronds rustled and the stars strove to overcome the rays of the dying sun.

And his fingers found their way into the cup of my bikini, and he massaged my bare breast.  I turned towards him to hide what he was doing from view.

For anyone could have walked by and seen what he was doing.  But no one did.

I relaxed and enjoyed his attentions, idly running my fingers through the hair on his chest.  In pure bliss I floated, enjoying the closeness, when suddenly I felt his fingers at the clasp of my bra and the sudden release as he unfastened it!

Oh!  This was going too far!  I pushed him away and sat up to redo my clothes, glancing anxiously at the couple next to us, afraid I’d spy laughing eyes staring back.

But they were not there.  I glimpsed shadows disappearing quietly through the dark rectangle of the cabin door,  and my sister-in-law flashed a conspiratorial smile as her husband guided her quickly inside.

And the waves lap-lapped on the shore and the palm fronds rustled and I did not resist as my husband efficiently stripped me of my coverings and I lay naked on the blankets.

And anyone could have walked by.  But no one did.

His body was hot on mine and I could feel his excitement ripple through his muscles.  I pulled him close as he entered my oh-so-ready body and I felt him swell inside me as I squeezed him into my soul.  He thrust and thrust again, urgently, heedless for once of my pleasure, unable to contain his passion longer.  And my body responded, quickening, rising, singing, and finally exploding as his warm wetness filled me and unintelligible sounds escaped our throats.  And finally, we both slumped exhausted, unmoving, hovering in the warm embrace of our ecstasy.

And the wavelets lap-lapped on the shore and the palm fronds rustled and all was bliss.

 

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