Hot Sand Hilton Head

Middle age doesn't feel like the middle anymore, not like it was portrayed in black and white movies, when forty-five year old men were bespectacled, with gray mustaches, mostly bald heads, a pipe in their mouth, and a newspaper in their hands. There was usually a dark leather chair involved, in a wood-paneled 'den.' Forty-five was

old

.

These days, thank God, men my age feel like they're just getting started. Or maybe not. There's always those lingering thoughts of a misspent youth, opportunities missed, beautiful girls not kissed. I think about that last one a lot. I never really did sow my wild oats, as they used to say in those old movies. The dictionary describes it thusly:

Sow one's (wild) oats: to have many sexual relationships particularly when one is young.

Yeah, I never did that.

So with that in mind, I tell you this story of a trip I took to Hilton Head, South Carolina. A work trip, to a boring business convention at a huge beachfront hotel and spa. I packed my suitcase with spiffy polo shirts, spiffy chino stye pants, spiffy socks and spiffy shoes. My mother calls them that, and yes, I'm living with her again, temporarily, because my wife of twenty-two years says she needs "a break." "Some space" was also mentioned.

So I'm still married but separated, and living with Mom again. Maybe I

am

just getting started. Maybe twenty-two years of marriage was a just a dream, something that didn't really happen. Maybe I look like George Clooney. He's spiffy, right?

Actually, I look like the guy down the block, and the guy over there, and that one over there, too. The one thing I have going for me is I eat right and I didn't get fat. I guess that's kind of a rarity these days. Maybe I

am

spiffy. I'm thinking no, I'm just an average guy, tall and somewhat slender, with nice clothes. Maybe that counts for something.

—

Arriving in South Carolina's airspace, just before the pilot began his descent, he played an old John Denver song over the plane's speakers:

Sunshine...on my shoulders...makes me happyyyyyyy

Sunshine...almost all the time...makes me hiiiiiiiiigh...

"We welcome you to the sunny South, folks," the captain said. "We hope you've enjoyed the flight. It's been our pleasure to fly you here. I know I always have fun when I'm in Hilton Head."

It seemed a rather odd thing to say. Does he hit the bars as soon as he de-planes? The colleague I'd flown down with, a woman I'll call 'Joan,' chuckled. I guess it struck her funny, too. "I'd like to meet him," she said, smiling.

Arriving at 10pm, on Sunday night, the temperature in Hilton Head was a muggy 78 degrees. It felt kind of wonderful after the hard winter we were almost finished with up in the snow-belt states.

Joan and I checked in at the desk in the hotel's lobby and we found our rooms, right next to each other on a long, quiet hallway, and we said goodnight. The next thing I knew, the alarm on my phone was going off. It was morning, time to get down to business. A full day of Health and Welfare seminars for actuarial analysts. That's me. One of them. A few hundred of us had gathered there in Hilton Head, most of the guys wearing polo shirts and chino style pants, and not a single George Clooney amongst us.

The women have a bit more fun with their fashion, but only a bit. These events are somewhat casual but it's still business, so it's mostly slacks, blouses, blazers, and the occasional skirt. Their color choices are a bit more adventurous than the men, but nothing too flashy. White and black are classically popular. To give an example, Joan wore black capri length slacks, a plain white blouse with no collar or buttons, and a cropped-sleeve lightweight blazer. Simple. Nice. With her nice leather briefcase-style handbag, she fit right in with the crowd.

Joan and I went our separate ways after breakfast, to take advantage of a greater variety of seminars. We'd decided to meet up in the afternoon for the most important presentation, at 2pm in the biggest of the convention center's rooms, after long lunch seminars that we planned to attend separately.

By 11am I was bored out of my mind. The morning presentations I went to were dull with a capital D. I decided to skip out on the lunch seminar, put on my swimsuit, and hopefully find a hotdog vendor on the beach. It seemed like a good plan, with plenty of time to get back and get dressed for my 2pm rendezvous with Joan.

I walked out past the pool, past the surprisingly busy outdoor bar, to the warm sand of the beach. It felt so good between my toes, and the warm, salty sea-breeze felt good in my lungs. I wondered who all the people were, the drinkers at the bar and the scattered sun-worshipers there on the sand. Conventioneers skipping out, like I was? I'm sure it happens a lot, even though I'd never done it before in all my years at conventions.

So this is where I tell you that I'm a heterosexual male; a fairly normal one, I think. By that I mean, women in bikinis catch my eye, in a big way. I hope I'm not lecherous and that it's normal to be so intrigued by feminine beauty. I think it is. Women of all shapes and sizes grab my eye, but I must admit the tall thin ones grab it just a little more. And so it was with a single, lone woman, sunning herself on one of a long row of otherwise empty lounge chairs right out there in the hot sun on the beach. Perhaps rudely, I decided to walk past her, not too close, but close enough to get a sneaking, corner of the eye look at her. Surprisingly, she spoke to me when I neared.

"You must be from up north," she said. "You're as white as I am."

I told her where I'd come from and why I was there, and an easy conversation blossomed. Before I knew it I was sitting sideways on the lounge next to her, chatting.

Her name is Tina. She's tall, thin and long legged, and that day she was as pale white as me. I asked her what brought her there and she said, "I'm celebrating my divorce. I signed the papers yesterday, got on a plane and here I am. I'm lucky they had a room here. One of you people must have canceled."

"Oh, wow. I'm sorry to hear about your divorce."

"Don't be," Tina said. "I've been with the same boring man for fifteen years."

"There's different kinds of boring," I said.

"Yeah, well...how about no sex for the last five years. Does that meet your standard?" Tina's eyes showed the quiet excitement of being brutally honest with a near stranger.

"Sadly, I can almost relate," I said.

"Oh, no," Tina said. "I saw your ring, but...now I've done it. I've bummed out our nice talk. I feel like it'll take me years to get used to talking to...men."

I smiled. "You're doing fine. Better than fine. I'm certainly enjoying it."

Tina smiled. She's really quite beautiful. "Don't you want to lean back?" she said. "You'll go home with a funny tan if you sit there like that. I have some lotion if you want. You'll burn without it."

I passed on the lotion because I didn't want to smell of it when I went to meet Joan, but I did lean back and relax in the lounge chair, hoping that my cock — chubby from the beautiful aura of this lovely, long-legged Tina — wouldn't lump up my swimsuit enough to be embarrassing.

"So you just got on a plane and flew away?" I said.

"Yup. I bought this swimsuit here at the hotel's shop, just two hours ago."

"Well, you nailed it. You look...perfect in it."

"To be honest," she said, "I didn't know if men would find me attractive anymore," Tina said.

"Are you kidding? How many men have walked by this morning?"

"You're the first."

"And here I am," I said, smiling. "Tina, you're gorgeous. I probably shouldn't say this, but...you're almost unique, these days. You've probably noticed that you're...oh God, I'm going to get myself in trouble. You're thinner than most women."

"My sister says it's the stress of the divorce that made me lose weight."

"Well,

all

women should get a divorce, then, because you look amazing."

Tina smiled. I'd successfully navigated treacherous waters in this dangerous era where the word 'fat' can start a war. We chatted about health, and about eating well. She seemed fascinated that I do all my own cooking and eat everything fresh, no processed foods. "You should try it," I said. "Your beautiful body will thank you."

I must have been saying all the right things, because, over the course of our nice conversation, Tina's sexiness seemed to blossom, right before my eyes. We were definitely on the same wavelength, and it was a hornier and hornier one. And then it happened. We could both see, in each others eyes, what we needed. She asked me, "You have another meeting, you said? How much time do you have?"

"Right now, do you mean?"

Tina nodded. Her eyes showed a beautiful soft intensity that I recognized.

"Two hours," I said.

"Oh, wow," she said, almost laughing. "My husband would only need five minutes."

"Your

ex

husband, and he's obviously an idiot."

I watched Tina put all her things into her beach bag, her willowy body only just beginning to tan on her front, still winter-white on her back. All the bending and bag stuffing gave me my first look at her beautiful ass, and at her nice long legs in their upright position. She's truly a fine looking woman, and I felt like a lucky, lucky man.

Then, my wife was in my head, altering the coursing blood in my veins that had started to plump my cock. "I need a break, from...this," my wife had said, about our marriage, "and you should have one, too." It was our final argument/discussion, just before our separation. Is having sex with other people what was on her mind? I'd wondered about it, after she said it, and I wondered about it again, there on the beach, when Tina, so gorgeous in her new bikini, looked at me with nervous, bashful eyes and said, "Are we ready?"

Speaking of nervous, I felt like a kid who'd just shoplifted something valuable as Tina and I navigated our way past the busy outdoor bar, making our way into the pool patio lobby, and up the elevator. I felt like everyone who saw us was a colleague of mine, even though they weren't. We weren't alone on the elevator, but when we stepped out of it onto Tina's floor, all was quiet. Empty. You could have heard a pin drop, and neither of us said a word. She opened her door with her key card and we were in her room. "I wasn't expecting..." she said, her thought unfinished as she quickly straightened up the room. The hotel staff had already made the bed. It looked smooth, a little shiny, surprisingly big. It seemed to dominate the room, and my thoughts.

"I'll just be a minute," Tina said, ducking into the bathroom. "Want to sit?"

She shut the door behind her. I heard water running. It was a quick, two-minute shower, and then she was there, looking at me, with a big white hotel towel wrapped around herself. Her hair was still dry.

"I expected this to be exciting," she said, looking at me standing there in my bathing suit, "But...I can barely breathe."

I smiled at her wide-eyed nerves. I felt as she did, wide eyed, having trouble breathing. I walked to her, I think; or she walked to me, or both. Yes, it was both, a mutual decision to join together, the same as we'd decided with our eyes, on the beach. With her body tight to me, we kissed, and oh, yes, it was electric. I felt the dampness of the towel against me, and I felt the firm curve of her ass with my hands. Tina moaned, I moaned, and my cock was hard, pressing against swimsuit and terrycloth towel, tight against her lower belly.

I can only guess that the feel of my arousal excited her. It certainly seemed that way, because she suddenly wanted the swimsuit and the terrycloth to be gone. The towel was first, dropped away by her own hand, and then that same hand tugged at my swimsuit, wanting it down, pushed away from the heat of my hardness. I helped her push it down, all the time kissing, and then I felt her hand on me, on my cock. It sent shockwaves though me, and I think through her; the most amazing kind of shockwaves, the likes of which I hadn't felt since my first time with a girl, way back when I was a teen.

Tina moaned deeply and often, our kissing mouths lost in the passion, She angled my cock downward, with her hand, and I felt the wet heat of the lips of her pussy on me. Her moans, huffing out of her nose, were more and more frantic. I could tell from the way she was manipulating things that she wanted me to fuck her, right then and there. Our kissing mouths never parted as I moved her toward the door that was right behind her. For a second, as I started fucking her up against it, I thought of the people who might be walking down the hallway, just on the other side of it. Those thoughts vanished, though, when I heard the glorious beauty of Tina's happy noises. My cock was fully inside her, fully fucking her hot, squeezing pussy. She lifted one of her long, slender legs and I hooked it with my arm, and then she lifted the other. I had her there, fully off the ground, hard against the door, and she cried her happy love of it. I'd never fucked anyone that way, never anything so wild and animalistic, never anything so amazing. Tina came quickly, thank God, because I was boiling toward the finish line and didn't want to be presumptuous and cum inside her. At the last minute I lowered her legs to the floor, Tina slumping from her lingering orgasm, me squirting gushing cum onto her stomach, her legs, and the door behind her. I'd never seen my cum fly with such vehemence, splattering and clinging, pudding-white with creaminess, dripping down a beautiful, naked woman.

"Oh my God," Tina said, breathless, her voice and eyes still suffused with the colors of orgasm. "Oh my God."

I was almost embarrassed at the mess I'd made of her, but she wasn't unhappy. There was excitement and sparkle in her eyes, and a sexy, barely curled smile creasing her cheeks. I wanted to kiss her, so I did, and a deeper, more powerful lust roared like a flaring fire inside of me. Instead of being a gentleman and handing her the towel so she could clean up, I guided her to the bed, pushed her down onto it on her back, and dove right I with my hungry mouth on her pussy. She giggled with delight, arching her back up high, and we were right back in the thick of it, with Tina flying toward her second orgasm.

I must confess, making a woman cum more than once was new to me. Tina's legs shook as she held them in the air above me. I managed to get my hands on her chest, holding the lovely tits that were riding the crest of her high-arched back. My fingers played with her nipples as the leg-shaking orgasm consumed her. The beautiful, powerful totality of it was awesome to behold.

"Oh my God," she said again, the same as she's said after her first beautiful orgasm, but this time even more breathless and disheveled.

"Wow," I said, lips wet with her succulence. "That's...wow."

"You're telling me!" she said, her back still arched, my hands still there on her breasts. She stared up at the ceiling. "Good

Lord!

" Trying, and succeeding, to prop herself up on her elbows, she looked at me, my face there in its new favorite place, just an inch from her pussy. "Are you...hard?" she asked, looking like the whole world was astonishing and new. "I want you to fuck me again."

I smiled, mounting her in the fabled old missionary position, her long legs wrapping around me, and I fucked her for a blissfully long time. After a while she had an orgasm again, her legs squeezing me tight, her moan growling out like a contented lioness.

Having cum already myself, I was able to maintain, way beyond what I ever assumed I could do. I rolled Tina into the doggy style position and fucked her some more, then I lay on my back and she fucked me cowgirl style. She said she wanted it standing up again, this time from behind, like she'd seen in a movie. I'm not sure if the movie went this far, but she took me by the hand, led me out onto the balcony, right out into the brightness of the day. There, she put her hands on the railing, arching her back low. Her ass would pass any pornstar audition, I'm convinced of it. I crouched behind her and ate it with my mouth and tongue. I ate her cheeks, and I ate her asshole, and I ate her pussy. I stood and thrust my cock into her pussy, her moaning scream lingering and then carrying away on the soft sea-breeze. Was anyone watching me fuck this beautiful, exciting woman? Maybe. We were quite high up, but yes, we were out there, and I felt like the king of the world.

By the time I got to my room, changed into my convention clothes and arrived at the afternoon seminar — the important one — I was quite late. I found Joan, and sat in the seat next to her that she'd saved for me. She looked perturbed at first, but then, rather quickly, she eyed me differently. Quietly, she told me my hair was mussed, offered to fix it for me. I let her, noticing something new her eyes.

"God, you're a whole new man all of a sudden," she said, eyes twinkling as she looked deep into mine. "Tell me all about it, after."

We settled in for the rest of the seminar, but my mind was awash with thoughts of Tina. Tina on the beach in her bikini; Tina in her room out of her bikini; Tina asking me to fuck her harder, out on her balcony.

"I never would have guessed this from you," Joan said, after the seminar ended, as we headed toward one of the hotel's nice restaurants. We hustled to get there before the crushing rush of conventioneers.

"Guessed what?" I said, feeling the heat of blushing embarrassment on my face.

"You don't need to explain," she said. "I get it."

Sitting and having dinner with her seemed fairly normal. The two of us talked about what we'd learned at the seminars and how we could apply it to the work we do at our company. We had some wine with dinner, probably a glass more than we should have. Joan suggested a drink after, but I begged off. I really needed a shower, to wash the sweat and the smell of Tina off of me. I suddenly wondered if Joan could smell it, the scent of feminine fluids and my very own semen, not to mention Tina's sun lotion, and her lovely perfume. When I'd first gotten to the afternoon seminar, fresh from my wild, sweaty time with Tina, I must have nearly reeked with it all. I was in such a hurry, I hadn't even washed the scent of her pussy off my face.

"Really? You don't want to have a drink with me?" asked Joan, her lovely eyes clearly disappointed. "What are you going to do, sit and watch TV? Come on," she said, "lets enjoy this place, before we fly back to reality."

It was a good argument, and I fell for it.

Joan took me, by cab, to a shabby old cocktail lounge about 4 miles away. "One of the other girls told me about it," she said. When we got there, the throb of dance music could be heard out on the sidewalk. A sign on the door advertised a Dubstep DJ, whatever that is.

Turns out Joan is a tequila girl. I had what she was having — a simple, non-frozen margarita, and a plenty strong one at that. We chatted a little at the bar, a difficult task that entailed leaning in close, talking just an inch or two from each other's ears. Joan smelled lovely, and I'm sure I didn't. She pointed out two women she'd seen at the conference, and three or four men. I didn't recognize anyone.

Her drink didn't last long, and she encouraged me to finish mine so we could dance. It wasn't something I really wanted to do — the cocktail chugging

or

the dancing — but I did both. The hard part for me is getting started, but I actually like to dance once I'm in the groove. The music — loud, rhythmic and deep — quickly had me under its spell.

Joan likes to dance, too, and before we knew it fifteen minutes had passed, another round of strong margaritas was in our hands, we drank them down, too fast, and we were dancing with the freedom of empty hands again.