Chapter 10
David and Jean roused themselves from their euphoric happiness long enough to walk down the road for lunch. David went out onto the beach while Jean freshened up in the motel. He snagged a couple of beers from a cooler. They walked back to their private nook and drank the beer slowly, only one can each. They talked about the size of their family. Jean sat with her legs under her. David had his head in her lap. He looked up fondly into the face he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life. They were alone and content to be alone, away from the main group. Darkness came and shut them into their own little dream world. Everything was fine, because they had each-other.
Pat Emory's body washed ashore south of the pier. The incoming tide rolled her into the wash of the surf and left her on the dark, wet sand, limp, cold, sand and seaweed in her hair.
Ernie was ready to put the little blonde on ice. "Let's cut the scene," he whispered to her, "and seek silence and solitude for a deep discussion about life and things."
She giggled. Ernie led her across the dunes and the road, checked his room, found it empty and escorted her inside. She was waiting for his embrace when he closed the door. She came into his arms with a smile, put her arms around his chest and let her body curve inward until her pelvic mound was tightly pressed against him. She was sweet woman, soft woman and he was man, man wanting, man not to be denied.
He pulled straps from her shoulders and folded the swim suit down, exposing a pair of breasts tight and pointed and responsive to his lips as he bent to them. She watched him with half-lidded eyes as he slid her one-piece suit down over her blossoming hips. She was a true blonde, the triangle of womanhood as light as the hair of her head. Down-sloping, curved hips and full thighs were smooth under his hands. That pleased little smile stayed on her lips as he caressed her, standing, holding her close by the pillowy handles which were the separate roundness of her buttocks.
He dropped his trunks, kicked them away, and pressed his hardness against her soft stomach. She shivered, smiling her way into a wet kiss. He lifted her, light, in his arms and carried her to the bed.
There was no need for preliminaries. Both of them were ready, both pleasantly excited by the coming intimacy. He put his open palms on the inside of either thigh and pushed, and she spread for him. He kneeled between her legs, opened the dark flower with two probing fingers and felt damp readiness. He inserted himself into bliss carefully, gently, in no hurry, savoring the thrill of slow entry. She clung to him and sighed. It was wonderfully lovely. She was the quiet type. She did not squirm and lunge under him. She tensed her body, arching upward, holding herself high for the long, slow, downward stroke, sighed again when the bump of joy was made.
He took his good easy time, breathing heavily, savoring every small sensation. She was ripe-apple mellowness, sliding warmth, parting, oiled tissue, lubricated for the love act. He felt the long, growing completeness of building ecstasy and the warmth and the closeness, and she sighed in a lady-like way and pushed tensely against him, lifting her rump. She pulsed softly around him before he was near.
"Lovely," she whispered. "Oh, lovely." She clung to him, kissing him with quick, wet, little kisses. "Don't stop," she whispered. "Please don't stop."
She was so different from Tina. Tina was a wildcat, but for all of her action she didn't give a man that feeling of smug happiness which comes when he feels his ministrations rewarded by shared pleasure, when he thrills to the tensing and loosening of deeply hidden muscles and knows from the pleasant squeezings inside his partner that she is knowing intense pleasure. If Tina could only do that.
Why the hell was he thinking of Tina?
He used his body to bring the little blonde to tenseness again, eased into a faster tempo and gave himself to her in strength and vigor as she responded a second time with that same muted throbbing deep inside and the same lady-like sigh of joy.
He relaxed, feeling content, holding most of his weight off her small body with his elbow.
Later he asked, "Encore?"
"Ummm," she said, moving under him, liking the feel of his relaxing manhood in her. The encore was longer lasting, fiery, yet peaceful and lovely.
Ernie was pleased with himself. He had done a hell of a fine job of organizing the weekend. He had found that the little blonde was equipped with the finest body, that her quiet, intense climaxes were very, very exciting. He liked her body and he liked the wet feel of their love and he liked the drowsy peace which closed his eyes. Later, there might be another encore. Right now he was merely content to he atop her, kiss her lightly and watch that cute little smile as he teased her.
Two hundred yards away, in a depression between two sand dunes, another male body was atop a female. The circumstances were, however, vastly different.