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Her first time at a nude beach.

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Big Tits

The day started out like any other day. Well, like any other day in the past few weeks, that is. Normally, I would have gotten up, shaved, showered, and headed off to work. But it’s tough being an executive of a company where the owner is more concerned with what’s going up his nose than he is earning a profit. Since my firm closed, my days have taken on a monotonous regularity. Get up, check email, check fax. Check Classified ads. Nope. Construction was at an all-time low, which meant employees with my particular expertise were… redundant. Fuck. I weighed my options. I could either call around to my friends (again) and see if anything had popped up. Or I could sit around watching daytime television, and slowly turn into a turnip. Or… I could do something new. I had to get out of the house. I just HAD to. I had decided. And this decision made all the difference in the world… There’s a beach I used to frequent in North Miami back when the world was young and life was beautiful – Haulover Beach. I hadn’t been there in a while, though. For one, I had moved a decent drive away. For another… to be honest, while life (for some) may still be beautiful, for me, it was mostly just grey and curmudgeonly. I was no longer the wide-eyed lad, searching the world for wonder and excitement. I had found my excitement, courted her, and wed her. Together, we had shared laughter for a dozen years. When she had met fate, it came in the form of a drunk driver… and life became a chore. Tedious, mechanical. Grey. Still and all, though, I reckoned that a trip down to Haulover could be some fun. An interesting journey down memory lane. At the very least I could see if the old codger that called himself The Ambassador was still around. Packing for the trip took a half hour, the drive an hour. It was still fairly early when I pulled into the drive and ankara travesti paid the daily toll. To get from the parking lot to the beach you have to walk through a tunnel. Yep – still dank as I remembered. New graffiti, though. Coming out of the tunnel, you walk through a small stand of trees and shrubs, then over a wooden crosswalk that bridges across the privacy hedge. That’s where I saw her. She was a tiny little thing– I stink at guessing heights and ages, but she was probably not much more than 5 feet tall. She looked to be of Asian or Polynesian decent (yeah, I suck at guessing backgrounds, too). She was standing on the wooden bridge, right at the point where the nudists first come into view. Oh – I guess I didn’t mention; what makes Haulover stand out in my memory so vividly is that it’s Florida’s only actual legal nude beach. I know for a fact that if you don’t know what’s coming, when you hit that midpoint on the bridge, it can be a stunner. Many tourists stand there, open-mouthed, wondering where all the naked people came from and why the cops don’t put an end to it. And yes… that’s where I saw her. I clunked my cooler into the rail so she would know I was coming and wouldn’t be surprised. She glanced over at me – I must have been quite a sight. Cooler in one hand, bag of sundries in the other, and a towel wrapped around my waist. She was beautiful. Long straight hair the color of midnight flowed out from under a small-ish floppy hat. Oversized movie-star sunglasses did nothing to hide the look of trepidation on her face. I didn’t know where to look. I didn’t want to stare openly but… Her body was as near perfect as I’ve ever seen. She was wearing a yellow flowery bikini, with some kind of matching wrappy-thing around her tiny little waist contrasted with her smooth tanned skin. Her breasts were perfectly rounded ankara travestileri under the bikini bra and her hips matched her breasts both in roundness and perfectness. I felt like a cartoon character going, “Homina homina homina…” This was NOT my normal behavior. I somehow regained the use of my major motor functions, and approached her. As I came up next to her, I asked, “Everything all right?” She smiled and replied, “Oh, sure. It’s just all… so…” “New?” I asked. “Yes, that’s it,” she said. She let out a breath as if she had been holding it in for a while. “It’s all so new…” I asked if she was meeting someone, and she told me she wasn’t. I don’t know how I got so bold, but I asked if she’d like her very own personalized tour of the beach. She smiled again and said, “Yes. I’d like that.” I introduced myself and she did the same. I’m not great at pronouncing foreign-sounding names – best I can do is say it sounded like ‘Swan’ something. I called her Swan for the day and she didn’t seem to mind. As we ambled down the sand, I pointed out a few things. Here’s where the gay guys hang out, trying to pick each other up. Here’s where the families with kids are. I tend to walk all the way down near the south end, where it’s quieter and the lifeguard stands are farther apart. She said that sounded fine to her. On the walk over, I made sure she knew that Haulover was officially a “clothing-optional” beach – that she wouldn’t have to go nude if she didn’t want to. I also said that I never wore anything under my towel when I went there. She accepted this news without comment. Eventually we got to a spot where we had a little space between us and the next guy. I helped her lay her towel out. I gritted my teeth. Now or never. Either she would not mind, or she would go running for the hills. As smoothly as I could (which was travesti ankara not very) I took off my towel and spread it out on the sand. When I stood up, I nearly gasped out loud. She had taken off her wrap, and as I watched, finished untying the strings holding her bra. Her breasts, free from confinement, were even more stunning. They were round and even, not overly large but not small. Her nipples were a pleasant shade of… well, fuck. I never knew my colors that well. They were brownish pink and stood out proudly. I learned a new definition for the word “perfect” that day, and it meant “Swani’s breasts”. She tossed her bikini top down onto her towel. Her perfect thumbs went into her bikini bottoms and with perfect grace she took them off. Somehow, she managed to look graceful and beautiful carrying out an act that always made me feel like a drunken ox. My eyes slowly traveled down her lithe form. Wordlessly, I marveled at her shape – the way the swell of her bosom narrowed to the tiniest waist, then curved out again to fill out her taut, round butt. Her skin was flawless, without a tan line to be found. The muscles in her legs rippled as she bent down to retrieve a bottle of lotion from her bag. She looked sideways at me and caught me as I stood there gawking like a fifth-grader at free cotton candy day at the fair. I could have sworn I saw a fleeting smile flash across her face. I must have turned several shades of red as I blushed deeply. Yeah, she caught me staring all right. I turned away, embarrassed. Little was said as we busied ourselves applying sunscreen. Mine was SPF several million. Hers smelled like pina coladas. “Here,” she said after a bit. “You missed a spot. Let me get it for you so you don’t burn.” She took my lotion and filled in the missing areas in the middle of my back that I can never get on my own. My head swam with her scent and the touch of her strong hands. I needed something to distract myself (“honestly – do you THINK she could be interested in an old dinosaur like you?”), so I cracked open the cooler and offered her a drink.

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