Opportunities and Missed Buses

by nat213

By Helen Belton, welsh-based landscape artist http://www.helenbelton.com/hb/home.html

The bay was vast and the tide was out. The flat sands glowed gold in the afternoon sun. Enormous cliffs bared like Dragons teeth surrounded us on all sides except where the blue-grey sea rushed at the shoreline.
Her in a Bikini, pale, English skin and long rosewood hair.
Me in navy swimming shorts.
It was late September in Wales and the weather was the warmest we had since July. And this Friday afternoon, when everyone else was at work, gave us a canvass to explore our lust and friendship. There were, perhaps, six other people on this square mile of sand. Each couple had a private cove.
Light blazed from wet sand in the heat-wobbled distance like Apollo’s own footprint and the air was heady with sea salt.
We lay near-naked and kissing curtained by rocks. My fingers probed indiscreetly, borrowing in-between her tight bikini and skin. She aroused me to a state of painful hardness and, more than once, I had to stop myself just as I was pulling aside the crotch of her bikini pants and about to throw all decency to the wind. There were other people around. They moved across the glare of sand in the distance like typed characters. A running dog was a semi-colon.
It ran a sentence out into the sea and bounded back out again, shaking semantics from its coat.
Inviting as the water seemed, it was cold enough to cause hyperventilation and, in prolonged exposure, death. She had challenged me to get in; splashing ahead of me and windmilling her arms in the spray. I went in as far as the tops of my thighs; my lower legs numbing as the soft sand squeezed into the gaps between my toes. And when I held her after that her skin felt as cold as refrigerated Coke.

We had walked back to the deserted country road and had been waiting at the ancient stone bus stop for the over an hour. I was bored, angry and afraid. I had never learned to drive and was sure she would be internally admonishing me for not being able to take us home quick enough.
She was going to get rid of me.
A man needs four wheels and a cock. We all know that. And here I was waiting for a bus that doesn’t turn up like a chump.
The best way I could express my insecurity was by getting angry at the absent bus, baring my teeth at the windy road and fading light. I walked over and studied the timetable again and again. She had tried to engage me in a game of ‘I Spy’ which I had found intensely annoying. It didn’t last long.
We spent time in silence.
Her sat on the dry concrete floor and me arranged on the waist-high wall by the entrance; my legs swinging aimlessly either side. She stood up, her svelte figure made an S shape from ankle to head; a wisp of sarong around her legs and a vest top,
‘Take your frustration out on me’, she said. I knew what she meant. I was excited and fearful at once.
Parting the curtain of my thoughts, I stepped towards her. I took her in a kiss,
placing one hand protectively around the back of her head and shoving her against the cold stone wall. I pulled aside her skirt and eased my cock inside her. My frustration was a swell in my testicles and a wave at the base of my cock. I moaned, pulled out of her, gasped and shot ejaculate up the wall of the shelter
just as the bus passed by with an old lady, her mouth making a perfect ‘O’ shape, staring at us from the inside of the last bus home.

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