Carl knew the spot well. Many a hot summer day he had trudged alone over and through the dunes to this secluded position, which was set back and almost hidden in the cliff overlooking the small horseshoe cove.
This day, in the mid-afternoon, the burning sun was still high in the azure sky. Not even one fluffy white cloud punctured the blue. Carl, a solidly-framed six-footer whose fitness and shape denied his fifty years, stood erect and planted both feet firmly in the white sand and scanned the beach and ocean. Dark glasses shielded his deep-set hazel eyes but he automatically raised a hand to provide extra shade against the brilliance of the orange orb in the sky.
Satisfied with what he saw below him on the beach, a sprinkling of naked bodies lazing about, soaking up the rays, he relaxed his grip on the rolled blanket trapped in the crook of his left arm. He unfurled the roll on the soft sand, revealing a pale blue bath-towel wrapped within the blanket. He spread them both out, towel on top, and immediately peeled off his white T-shirt, quickly followed by his red cotton shorts. He folded them into a pillow shape and, finally, kicked off his lightweight deck shoes.
Carl was naked. His skin, an all-over golden tan, glistened with liberally applied sun lotion. He dropped to his knees, sat back on to his heels and, once more, took in the view.
He was in the far north end of the cove and most of the sunbathers were to his left, having not ventured far from the zig-zag path which led down to the beach at that end of the horseshoe. Carl quickly estimated no more than twenty people had apparently made their way down. Then he noticed, almost directly below him close to the cliff base, a lone multi-coloured beach towel. It was spread out alongside a small, fluttering parasol.
Carl tried to identify the items dotted in the shade of the little umbrella: a paperback novel, a pair of dark glasses, a bottle of water, a beach bag and what was probably a towel, scrunched up in a large messy lump. He was too far away to properly read the paperback cover but, squinting, it looked like Penny Vincenzi emblazoned in raised gold. A best-selling author.
Carl looked again at the water bottle and ran his tongue over dry lips. 'Stupid,' he thought, 'I should have brought a drink. After all the booze I sank last night I must be dehydrated'. He ran fingers through his mass of greying hair. 'Should know better, be wiser at my age. Blame it on the drink!' He scratched his head, sighed and, after a few seconds staring below, raised his sights to concentrate on the sea.
A couple, slim and probably in their mid-twenties, walked hand-in-hand along the shoreline, barely ankle deep in the gently lapping ocean. Almost becalmed, the sea was so tranquil it struggled to create foam. She was blonde and he fair-haired. Both had white patches, starting to turn pink, where normally they would have worn trunks or bikini pants. Her small breasts were tanned. Carl assumed they were fresh to nude bathing.
Whatever, they seemed to be the only people moving about. Everyone else sprawled flat out or sat up reading. Carl spotted one man with earphones, his head nodding to a beat. Next to him, a lady, quite plump, struggled to her feet and, yawning, stretched her arms skywards, setting her considerable breasts in wobbling motion. She spoke to Mr Earphones, who pulled out the right plug and listened, looking up at her. He eventually nodded, replaced the earphone, and Mrs Plump settled back down, this time on her front.
Carl glanced out to sea again and thought he spotted movement. He focused and nodded to himself. A head bobbed on the surface, perhaps a hundred yards from the shoreline. The hair was dark and Carl watched intently as the swimmer progressed slowly, almost languidly, towards the beach. Some fifty yards out, the swimmer stood, the water swilling around at chest height.
The dark hair was cut to shape the round face, wet tendrils clung to the neck, and the chest was, in glorious fact, a magnificent pair of full proud breasts, bobbing and swaying with every wading stride.
Carl was transfixed, oblivious to anything other than this fascinating creature emerging from the blue waters. He concentrated totally, forgetting to breathe for at least a minute. Then he exhaled, the long breath developing into a sigh as the swimmer’s trimmed wispy pubis came into view. From his vantage point, probably only thirty yards distant now, Carl studied the firm thighs, pleasantly rounded tummy and phenomenal tits topped with deep brown aureola. Walking tall on the beach, this was a proud and assured woman, confident in her nakedness, her skin a shade of sepia.
She headed for the vacant blanket and parasol and Carl felt his cock twitch as she bent to retrieve her towel, lifted it with both hands and began to rub-dry her hair. The action set her breasts trembling and bouncing and Carl stared longingly. What a pleasure it would be to feel them, fondle them, kiss and suck them, caress and rest his head on them, between them!
Next, she patted dry her shoulders, followed by her chest and stomach and Carl’s dangler markedly thickened when she rubbed the towel between her legs. He stood, aware that his tool was no longer flaccid, and decided he needed to cool off in the sea before it became a full erection. He started to negotiate the walk down the slope of the soft sand but kept his gaze on the woman. He noticed a gold chain around her neck, a small ruby pendant sitting just above her breasts. She wore matching ruby earrings.
Towards the bottom of the slope, no more than five paces from the flat of the white beach, Carl lost his footing. He yelped and swung his arms wildly in an attempt to regain his balance. It was futile. He crashed with a thump on his rear end, toppled over on to his left shoulder and rolled twice before coming to a sand-covered halt.
“Are you okay?”
Carl gingerly got to his feet, brushed sand off his arms, torso and thighs as the velvety voice hung in his ears.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, sheepishly smiling at the woman. “Just lost my footing. No damage done.”
She smiled. “That’s okay then.” And immediately she chuckled, a deep throaty, sexy sound. “I must say,” she said, “you gave a good impression of a falling-down drunk. Here, use my towel to clean off the sand.”
Carl smiled back but shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m just going for a quick dip, that’ll wash the sand off. But thanks anyway,” and he walked off, almost with his tail between his legs except, despite the shock of his tumble, it was still somewhat tumescent.
She watched him go, carried on drying herself and observed him dive into the shallows, swim a few strokes and float on his back. She picked up her water bottle, sipped, moistened dry lips by licking them with her wet tongue, and dropped the bottle next to her bag under the shade of the parasol. When Carl left the water and began his walk back up the strip of beach, she flapped her towel into place on top of the colourful beach blanket.
“Do you feel better?” she asked as he approached her station.