I was eighteen, about to begin my first year at college.  An inheritance from my grandmother had left me pretty well set up for the immediate future.  There was money for school, and I’d taken a lovely apartment in Boston with a friend from high school. Her family subsidized her, so we'd have far better accommodations than most first-year students.

The only hitch was the apartment wouldn’t be ready until late August.  As it happened, my aunt owned a beach house about thirty-five miles from the city.  She seldom used the place, mostly renting it out.  But the last tenants had fairly trashed the house.  Various contractors would be in and out for most of the summer.  Since my apartment would take some time, she asked me if I wanted to stay and watch over the repairs and renovations.  Would I ever!

When I took up the place in late May, there were still cool days, but that made for few people and a lot of privacy. I wasn't concerned about being there alone; there were other occupied houses nearby, and there was an alarm system. Plus, I always had my iPhone.   

I moved in on a Friday, so I had the weekend before the first of the builders showed up the following Monday. There would be a succession of them for weeks. The first came on Monday morning, which was right on schedule. 

I had no reason to hang around after they began working, so I’d already decided to spend the morning at the beach. I put on linen beach pants and a loose cotton tee over my bikini and set off after answering the foreman’s questions. 

Outside of one or two people walking dogs or jogging, I had it to myself.  The primary public beach had lifeguards and was about a half mile away.  I could make out a scattering of sunbathers there.  I lay back on a beach towel to enjoy the sun, too.  After a while, I walked down to the surf to test the water.  It was still quite cold.  I saw a tall, dark-haired man jogging toward me along the waterline.  He slowed a little to get a good look at me.  I developed early and filled out a bikini top quite nicely, so those looks were something I was used to.  We exchanged smiles, and I went up to collect my things.  The man continued down the beach.

The workers were off to lunch, so I quickly showered and changed into jeans and a long-sleeved chambray shirt. My aunt left me her aged Wagoneer, so I drove into the village to get lunch and look around. As expected, it was quaint, with several upscale shops—no fast-food places or tourist junk stores. I couldn't resist one women's clothing shop, though. So I went home with a new string bikini—not quite micro, but close. 

The following day, I was on the beach trying out the new suit—still just a scattering of people in sight.  When I was sure I was alone, I took off my top and liberally applied sunscreen.  You can’t be too careful early in the season.  It was a lovely day.  As I expected, the workers were at lunch when I got back.  I changed and walked to the small pavilion down the sand path from the house.  It's open-air but has a wooden roof and serves excellent coffee, soft drinks, and light food. 

I finished my lunch and took out my laptop to peruse likely courses for the fall. I noticed a young guy picking up. He was juggling a guitar case, a sandwich, and a drink. He was not bad-looking, with light-brown hair (relatively long and very wavy) and Scandinavian coloring. Maybe he was staying nearby, too.    

Some friends came by on Friday night. We had a great weekend—surf time, seafood, and good wine. As these things go, it was small and quiet because I’d promised my aunt there would be no parties or other problems. Monday arrived, along with the same contractor, so I took myself to the beach. It was bright and sunny, though I noticed the water was quite a lot rougher.

I’d been there about an hour when I saw a man slowly walking along the waterline.  As he approached, I realized it was the fellow with the guitar case from the pavilion.  It was apparent he’d already spotted me.  When he was just opposite where I was sitting, he smiled and strode to my towel.

“Hi, is it okay if I stop for a minute?” 

“Yes,” I replied.  “It’s fine.” 

Of course, I’d had men try to pick me up before.  But I was still mildly concerned about talking to a stranger on a deserted beach, with me wearing little clothing.  But he was well-spoken and courteous.  We chatted casually for a while. 

I asked if he was a musician.  “Yeah, I am.  I'm a sideman for bands, usually doing demo work.  Though I do some regular gigs, too.”  He seemed a little younger than I'd originally thought, in his early twenties.

“Are you staying in one of the houses here?”

“Uh-huh, a converted barn down one of the sand roads runs well back from the beach.  It’s been converted into a studio.”  He laughed, “A soundproof studio.”  

We spoke about nothing very profound or personal before going our separate ways.  I was suitably vague about where I might be staying.

I didn’t think much about it until Tuesday when I glimpsed him walking along the sand.  Once again, he stopped to talk.  Then I said I needed to get out of the sun, so he suggested going to the pavilion for a drink.  I wore the long, loose shirt I used as a coverup and walked with him.  We both got iced coffee and sat at a table.    

He told me what being a sideman is all about and his hopes for a musical future. I gave him a sketch of where I was in life. He was straightforward to talk to—nothing like I expected a rock music guy to be. Of course, there was an invitation to go to the studio and watch him and the band. I didn’t think that was a good idea—not yet, anyway.

As I expected he would, my guitarist appeared on the beach the very next day.  I was on my towel in the same place when he came strolling down the coast.  He stopped, and we chatted.  He was charming.  Before too long, we were, what my mom would have called, making out.  He was good at that, too.  I knew he was getting way excited, but I wasn't doing a beach shag just yet.  He was wearing loose drawstring pants.  I took a glance around and then reached inside with my hand.  It took about four strokes for him to ejaculate. 

“Oh wow, sorry!”  He looked a bit sheepish. 

“Don’t be concerned,” I told him.  “I have to be going anyway.”  I wiped my fingers on a corner of my towel.  “I think we made a mess of your pants.  Maybe you should go into the water.”

He scampered down there, and I picked up my things and returned home. We’d already exchanged numbers.  My iPhone rang before I’d made 200 feet.  I couldn’t help smiling.  I'd never been exactly shy about giving guys what they want.  I wasn't easy or promiscuous, but - you know - I found it was a reliable way to quiet boys down and, usually, get what I wanted from them as well.  I would do it if I liked the guy and he treated me nicely.

The first set of contractors was finished, so I had the place for myself.  Lunch was leftovers from a previous town meal.  I wasn’t old enough to legally buy liquor, but my aunt had a closet that contained wine racks and a cooler.  Of course, I knew where the key was.  I took out a well-chilled white and helped myself.  She never minded that sort of thing. 

It was cloudy and chilly the next day.  I dressed in jeans and a pullover to walk to the pavilion.  My musician texted, and I told him where I was.  He pulled up in a beat-up Toyota about fifteen minutes later.  We talked over coffee. “We’re starting a session in an hour.  Want to come along and hear it?”  He seemed all right, but I knew nothing about the others, so I was still cautious.  He saw me hesitate. “No, there’ll be the tech people there, too.  Seven or eight, at least.”

In the end, I agreed to go.  The studio was quite something.  A large converted storage shed with all sorts of tech stuff.  There seemed to be a lot of organized confusion.  The actual music was…well, my guitarist and the keyboard were excellent, but the drum and singer were a little ragged.  When they took a break, I was introduced to the band.  They looked like rock musicians.  I'm not sure that's a compliment. 

The others drifted off; I suspected to toke up.  My friend showed me around the living area, where he had a small bedroom. It was not subtle, but I expected it.  It was a typical early-twenties guy room. I sat on the edge of his bed.  He moved closer and reached for my breasts.  Well, that’s what guys went for first, in my experience.  I let him lift my top and unclasp my bra.   

In a few minutes, I reached for his zipper.  When his hard-on sprang out, I closed my fingers around it and gently stroked.  He got even more stiff and wet.  Pulling him nearer, I kissed, then licked the tip of his dick.  He let out a gasp that nearly made me laugh out loud.  I formed my lips into a perfect “O” and slowly took him.  I was bobbing up and down on the erection and sucking, but not too hard. Guys love that! 

I pulled back, thinking of moving us onto the bed for some basic intercourse, when he fired a spray of semen directly onto my face.  It missed my eyes, fortunately.  But some was in my hair—not something I liked very much. 

It's a little disappointing, but what can you do?  We did move to the bed after I wiped my face.  He was apologetic—and embarrassed, I think.  But really, it took him only minutes to get hard again.  We lay sideways, facing each other.  I draped my left leg over his body, and he pushed himself into me. He was still overly excited, but we settled into a nice rhythm once he got going. 

There were girls at school who claimed to have gotten huge orgasms screwing with guys.  That’s never happened to me.  But I was feeling good and liked it.  We went on for several minutes, then he slowed and let out a soft groan.  I love it when I make guys come!  I love the feeling of them spurting.  Maybe I’m a little slutty—about some stuff, at least.

His name was Nick – the guitarist, I mean – and we had sex twice more that week.  The only thing was that I was getting bored with all the music talk.  It seemed to be the only thing he and his pals knew anything about.  Okay… I liked him, but he could be a little tedious.

A few days later, I was at my favorite spot on the beach.  The closest people were perhaps thirty yards away—not more than eight or ten altogether.  Several girls were already topless, working on their tans.  I shed my top and lay back to enjoy the warming sun.  A bit later – I dozed, so I don't know how much later – I heard someone nearby walking in the sand.  I reached for my shirt to cover my bare breasts and sat up.  It was that dark-haired jogger I’d seen before.

“Hello,” he began.  “Beautiful shoreline along here.”  He, very discretely, I thought, turned toward the water so I could put on my shirt. 

“Yes, it is.” 

He was, I guessed, in his mid-thirties but good-looking, if not handsome.  I also noticed I'd caused him a rather impressive erection.

I’m not entirely sure how it came about, but soon, he was leading me by the hand into the dunes.  He spread my towel on the sand and gently eased me onto it.  I never spoke a word.  He began to kiss me, first softly, then more urgently.  Before I realized it, my shirt was off, and he was rubbing my breasts, kissing and sucking my hard nipples.  I’m not sure how long that went on, but what now seems like seconds later, we were nude, and I was on my back with my knees up around my ears.  His rather large penis was powerfully pounding my pussy.  I still can’t say how this happened.  I can remember no conversation at all. 

I eased my legs down to hook my heels on his thighs while he continued to hump me.  Then his head arched back, and his teeth clenched.  His cum came in great hot spurts.  I pulled him closer, using a free hand to press his ass so I could feel every bit of his climax.  It…it just felt good!

He rolled off me and quickly started rubbing my clitoris.  At some point, I was aware of another person close by.  I glanced to the side and saw another man kneeling near the towel.  But I was so worked up that I couldn't pay much attention.  It took only a minute for me to reach an intense, trembling orgasm. 

I was breathless, but when I recovered after a few seconds, I whispered, “Wait, who are you?  What’s going on?”  I wasn’t genuinely panicked, more surprised. 

“It’s okay, you’re going to like this. I’m Kevin, you know my friend Josh.” 

“Oh.”  I thought, “I should stop this now.”  But I didn't object.  I didn't ask anything or say another word.  And I was still fully nude.  Kevin curled up behind me and immediately slipped his dick inside me.  Josh was fondling and kissing my breasts.  “Holy shit!” was all I could think. But I still didn't object.

They took turns with me in different positions. I was both shocked and excited. Of course, I knew people did these things.  The internet is loaded with porn, after all.  But I’d never actually seen it done, nor did it ever occur to me I’d be doing it.  It was unbelievable! 

Eventually, I was on all fours. Josh was doing me from behind while Kevin tried to push his cock into my mouth. I succumbed to the inevitable and began sucking him off.

Kevin was the first to come. His semen went directly down my throat. No tasting or swallowing at all. Not more than seconds later, Josh pulled out and spurted hot cum across my back. I collapsed onto the towel.  No one spoke for several minutes.  Finally, Josh said, “That was something.  You're okay with it?  It was good, yes?” 

Except that I don't DO that kind of thing. “Yeah, it, ah… It was good.”  And, to my surprise, it was.  I was embarrassed to admit it, but I liked it. 

I asked, “Do you two do that often?  Both of you with the same girl, I mean?”  I got a good look at them now.  Both were very good-looking, about the same age.  Both were fit but without that gym rat look. 

“No. Only a couple of times.  We’re attracted to group sex, though.  And you are very hot.  So…”

Partly because I felt sticky and needed time to think I put on my bikini and strode to the water.  Kevin soon joined me while his pal picked up my things and returned to my original spot.  “You’re all right, I hope.  It wasn’t too much for you?” 

“No, it’s only that… I’m not an escort or porn actress, you know.  I’ve never let anyone do something like that.  It was surprising.”  Of course, I hadn’t protested, either, even when it was clear what they wanted. 

“No, no.  We know that.  But I’m pretty certain you were having fun, too.  New experiences are good, right?”  Not knowing where he was going with this, I cautiously agreed.  We returned to Josh and my towel.  The conversation was reassuringly normal.  Both were lawyers working for the same medium-sized law firm on the South Shore.  I was right; they were thirty-two and thirty-four.  I told them I planned to pursue paralegal studies.  I didn't say where I lived or why I was here every day.  We eventually traded cell numbers, and they headed off. 

I waited until they were well down the beach before going to the beach house.  “Wow!’ I thought.  “That was indeed something.”  That evening, I had a long conversation with my friend and future roommate.  I told her what had gone on that day,

“No way!  You’re such a whore!  What was it like?”  I explained all about it in explicit detail.  We laughed and giggled like children.  “So, are you going to see these guys again?”

I hadn’t thought about that.  Good question.