A few months ago one of my drinking buddies, Matt, asked, “What is the best one-night stand you ever had?” He continued, “I’m talking about the best lay you ever had with a woman that you’ve never seen since—only got it on her with that one night and then never saw her again.”
My immediate reply—without hesitation--was that it wasn’t a one-night stand, but an afternoon-long romp while I was on vacation back in 1982, when I was the proverbial strapping lad of 24, full of spunk.
As it happens, I had typed out a lengthy journal entry a few days after the encounter while details were still fresh. Well, the re-reading of my account in preparation for this blog entry brought back some incredible memories.
At the time, I was on the verge of taking a new job and decided to give myself and my girlfriend a little vacation before beginning what promised to be a very strenuous, if lucrative career. A friend of my parents owned a nice beachfront condo in Destin Florida. They had always offered it to me, gratis, and I took them up on the offer for a weeklong stay.
Unfortunately, about a week before my girlfriend and I were slated to leave for our vacation, she broke up with me. On the advice of friends, I decided to continue with my plans sans girlfriend. I was indeed a little melancholy as I made my way along the Gulf coast. I was so morose the first two days that I hardly left the condo, taking brief walks on the beach. But on the third day, my spell broke and I made my way to a local bar/restaurant within walking distance of the complex.
Seated at the bar were two couples, in their forties, attractive, upscale, well-coiffed all of them. I overheard various snippets of conversation; they were from up north, evidently successful. The men seemed to be in banking and real estate and were looking to purchase some distressed property in the Destin area as a result of the savings and loan debacle that was then just beginning to cascade throughout the country.
While both women were very nice to look at, one had a great set of hefty looking hooters ensconced in what must have been a heavy duty push up bra and a shear cotton blouse, with the nipples protruding button like through the material in the cool air of the bar.
At some point the bartender and I engaged in a lively conversation and the two couples overheard I was from Texas. Now, what ensued were a couple hours of buying shots and rambling banter. I was born, I informed them when asked, in Kentucky but attended college at a very prestigious university in the north. While in college I had acquired the nickname Buck, short for Buckskin—my dorm mates and classmates from Chicago and its environs thought the moniker was hilarious.
The ladies seemed to be especially taken with this appellation and had all kinds of questions as to what Kentucky and Texas were like, as their pretty heads were filled with stereotypes about both states.
Over the course of this boisterous, oft-times bawdy bar time, I learned that the day after next, one couple was going to drive over to Pensacola where one of their nephews was stationed at the naval air base there.
The guy of the second couple was planning on going out deep sea fishing with a potential business associate. The big tittied woman was going to stay at their condo—she suffered from sea sickness and was planning on spending the day reading her summer selections.
As it happened, they were staying at a condo complex a half mile or so down the beach from where I was encamped.
The next day, I was sitting out on the balcony, sipping a tall frozen daiquiri—yeah I know, but I like sweet drinks, what can I say--and reading a novel when I saw the two women walking down the beach. They were too far away to notice me and at any rate I was probably in the shadows.
For the better part of an hour, I waited, with my attention riveted toward the west, waiting for a sign of them to return. When I did spot them, I made my move.
I poured a tall drink in a plastic cup, picked up my book and a towel, pretending to make my way to one of the umbrella covered lounge chairs. My timing was a little off but the more slender woman—whose name eludes me--looked back in time to see me and the two of them halted, waved at me. I feigned surprise and walked toward them.
Thus began the dance. I had little or no illusions as to the prospects of success, but they both looked really, really hot…especially Liz in her canary yellow, two piece. While the top modestly covered her breasts, those beauties still bulged at their base and a few inches of breathtaking cleavage showed.
The bottom line for that afternoon was that I was able to coax them to take a seat, even springing for the rental of the lounge chairs, and scurried back to my condo to fix more daiquiris, terrified they would not be there when I returned. I know I appeared way too eager but perhaps that was what charmed them—flattered that a guy twenty years or so younger would be interested.
We actually spent a good hour talking, drinking and laughing and flirting. Liz would sit up a number of times for a re-fill and, it seemed to me, bent over way far too much than was necessary, to which I gazed unabashedly at her huge honeys.
I remember flirtatiously offering to rub sun block over them, to which one of them replied, “Thanks darling, but I’m afraid you would spread it where we really don’t need it.”
But alas, it came to an end. They each gave me little peck on the cheek and then they were moving down the beach. I watched their hips swing and asses work for quite a while until I glanced to my right where Liz had been sitting. She had left her sunglasses, yellow plastic frames to match her swim suit.
Well, that night I jerked off two or three times to the fantasy of getting the two of them alone in my condo.
The next morning, I recalled that Liz’s husband was going deep sea fishing, that the other couple would be off to Pensacola, but not knowing what time all that would occur, I resisted the temptation to make my way to the east toward their condo.
No Army Ranger on recon could have watched a beach with more focused attention, more tightly wound energy than me that morning. I prayed Liz would make her way down the beach, hoping that her left-behind sunglasses were a mere ruse to see me again.
About midmorning, I began to despair, but was yet to surrender to the notion of not seeing her again. I blended up a batch of frozen Margaritas, poured the concoction into a huge thermos, grabbed a travel cup, a novel, towel, etc. and made my way to those umbrella covered lounge chairs.
Sometime a little after 10:00 am, a shadow passed over me. I had drifted off to a Margarita, heat, salt-breeze induced slumber.
It was Liz and she looked stunning. Liz stood, if memory serves, about 5’ 2”, strawberry blonde hair, smooth skin, tennis court tan. Both couples had k**s, and Liz and her husband had a 20 year old son, and 18 year old daughter. But Liz had the exquisite looking, well attended body of a woman self-possessed, fully aware of her sexual power.
She wore a pair of cutoff jeans, a little sleeveless cotton blouse, flip-flops or sandals or the like; a straw hat, something that reminded me of Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music.
I told her at some point that her sunglasses were in my condo and so were the Margaritas.
After a couple of invitations to her to come in for a drink and to retrieve her glasses, and her gentle, pat-me-on-the knee rejections, I eventually conceded defeat and said I would go inside for her sunglasses.
As I was coming out the door, however, I saw her walking my way. She smiled and said, maybe she would have one—only one—Margarita with me.
As she came into the kitchen, following me as I began to conjure up more Margaritas I remember she noticed some of the reading material I had laying around. I think I had the Memoirs of Richard Nixon, a copy of Saul Alinsky’s Rules for Radicals…some other political material s**ttered about, Time magazine, Foreign Policy Review, etc.
I remember her saying, wow, and I thought you were just a party boy. She seemed a bit uncomfortable being inside the condo so we went out onto the balcony, where Liz became quite talkative, even loquacious.
Slowly it dawned on me that she too was a bit nervous. But, one or two Margaritas later we both were laughing, and joking and flirting. At some point we were standing at the balcony railing and she decided to go into the kitchen to refill our glasses. As she passed behind me, she raked her fingernails over my back, in a playful back scratch.
When she came back, I remember that a few buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned to reveal her canary yellow swim suit top and a heart stopping view of the base of her soft, bunched beauties.
The critical moment came when, while I was seated, she stood up and peeled off her blue jeans. I must have gasped, or moaned or something, because she looked down at me and smiled—baby, she said, it’s not something you haven’t seen before. But those go-on-forever legs and that healthy ass that fit tightly in snug those bathing suit panties, what a view.
A little later, she gave her ass a little shake and turned toward me and as she began to finger the buttons, she asked, do you mind? She took off her blouse and I simply gawked like a fool. I stared shamelessly at her splendid body which was rounded in all the right places, in all the right ways.
As you might imagine, I was rock hard and ready. But she wagged her finger back and forth, and warned me, now you know nothing is going to happen—you just get to look.
She sat down again and we talked—again. But at this point, I was even more lost in lust than ever. I am certain my erection was so evident and I stopped trying to hide it.
This went on for what seemed an eternity. Liz smelled so nice, of coconut oil, of shampoo, and she looked fabulous. I must have made something of a fool of myself during this phase of the conversation, repeating myself, not paying attention to what she was saying, for at some point she leaned over and those big titties bulged out and threatened to spill free. Liz said something to the effect of you really want to see them don’t you? I must have whimpered—for she laughed.
Again, Liz warned me, now, no touching. You just get to look. And she walked me into the condo, into the kitchen.
I noticed she was a bit tipsy, but even so she refilled her glass and even took a shot of tequila. I took a shot, and according to my journal, we each downed a second round. I remember thinking—things are about to get crazy.
While we were in the kitchen area, I admit to letting my hands roam a bit. As I moved by her to get some more ice for the blender, I put my hand on her side and as it began to ride down a bit, Liz giggled and batted my hand away.
As this point, I was so horny but really frustrated. I wrote in my journal that I was beginning to think she was just prick tease. Then, as if to confirm my suspicions she suddenly set down her drink, heavily, and said in a bit of a slurred voice, I’m getting a little d***k, I really need to get back to my condo.
As she made her way about to collect her blouse and shorts, and yes, those sunglasses, I watched with total dismay. The only thing I could think to say was, Oh my goodness, are you going to leave me like this? And, I waved at my crotch, my very evident erection.
This, I think, gave her pause. Another critical moment ensued. It reminded me of a teaching of one of my philosopher professors—existential moments can occur anywhere, anytime, with anyone over any issue. Whether on a battlefield, a boardroom, a baseball field or in a bedroom—he was one for alliteration—most decisions taken cumulatively make up who we become—but some decisions turn us about, or into the wind or steer us onto another path altogether, turning us into someone entirely different—one moment we are A, the next we are L or Q. Liz, standing there in the patio doorway—symbolic?—made an existential decision. She was going to fuck a stranger. I could see it in her eyes. And me, I was the happy recipient of that decision—yes, I was the stranger in the room.
Liz smiled and said something about needing another Margarita.
She stood in the center of the living room, well out of my reach. Sipped her drink, set it down reached up behind her and unsnapped the bathing suit top.
I will never forget that lush titty tumble. They fell out and down and bobbled about as she removed her bra top. I also remember my immediate, radical reaction to the sight of those heavy hanging hooters. I moaned and barked out, fuck they’re beautiful.
I grabbed my crotch and worked my dick through the material of my swim trunks. She actually seemed surprised at my reaction and to my never dying delight turned around and wagged her bottom at me, gathering her panties to expose even more of her gorgeous ass cheeks.
Things happened pretty quickly after that. I don’t recall if she asked me to take off my swim trunks, or if I simply ripped them down. But right after her ass wagging, I was jerking on my cock. Liz stared at my dick action for a time, drinking her Margarita. I watched her titties wobble around as she went across the room and sat down. As I mentioned earlier, Liz was short, well rounded, not quite plush bodied but nice hips, great ass, and those titties, oh those titties. At some point during our tryst, I would learn they were double Ds, but on her diminutive frame they looked much larger; they were bounding boobies indeed.
I guess I was a little embarrassed, but when I stood to put my swim trunks back on Liz said, no, leave it out, you like looking at my breasts, I like looking at your cock.
Well, you will recall that I was in my early twenties and frankly, in those days, I usually walked around in a general state of constant sexual arousal. Not only am I a voyeur, I’m an exhibitionist as well. I recall going into the kitchen to refill my own drink, my cock firm and erect, enjoying the thought of Liz watching me. When she called out that she was ready for a refill, I made a new batch. My cock softened a bit, but when I held up the carafe to show Liz the drinks were made, she motioned to bring it to her, that was magic enough. Getting near her was such sweet torture. While I poured the Margarita into her glass, she touched my thigh and I remember nearly melting, I wanted it so fucking badly. My cock firmed up noticeably and she giggled, damn honey is that all it takes to get that thing going?
At this juncture, I think we both were pretty tipsy. She said she had to go to the bathroom and when I helped her up, her tits brushed against me. I ran my free hand down her side, along her hip. Liz giggled and pushed me away, no touching, remember? Or something to that affect.
When she came out of the bathroom, she was a vision. Liz had taken off her swim suit bottom and she tossed them across the room, onto her pile of clothes. Her little pussy patch was nicely trimmed—a true blond—shaved to a nice triangle.
She said something like, well, you showed me yours, I guess I should show you mine.
Let me reveal the ending right now. We fucked like proverbial minks. All fucking afternoon. Allow me to share some of the highlights. Fortunately, I wrote a rather detailed entry in my journal about that special day.
I still get hard thinking about that first embrace, our naked bodies meeting at around 11:30 am on that Thursday morning in Destin Florida. The recurrent surge of the surf hushing over and over, the blow and bluster of the wind, the heat all flowing at us through the open patio door and my moan and groan as I touched, groped over and grabbed, fondled and felt that woman’s incredible body.
It was, indeed, a miracle I didn’t just shoot and spurt my load when Liz touched, my cock, her fingers so soft and gentle and even as I lusted to view every inch of her, the sight of her looking at my dick, sensing her growing excitement at its firmness; when I reached down to finger into her, hearing her little gasp, feeling her generous, oh so generous, wetness, I nearly came right then and there.
We stood there for a time, roaming over each other’s bodies, playing with each other; me gripping her sweet ass cheeks, jiggling her fantastic fun bags, her cupping my balls, dancing her fingers over my throbbing, stone hard cock, kissing, lots and lots of kissing,
Liz had, of course, tan lines. From the base of her tits to halfway down was tanned to a rich dark brown, the other half pale white, the nipples and aureole a lighter shade of brown from her tan. There was delectable panty shaped paleness along her pelvic region and her ass. This excited me, knowing that I was getting to roam over female terrain no one ever got to see except her husband.
As we felt and fondled over each other in our heat, and lust and wanton desire, I remember feeling that wonderful sensation of total well-being wash over me that is almost as great as sex itself, a sense that arises from knowing I am going to get to fuck a beautiful woman.
At this point, she began to lead me to the master bedroom but I had a better idea. The condo was a two story affair, with a small bedroom upstairs that opened onto a smaller, more secluded balcony. In addition, the closet had mirrored doors. After we collected our glasses of Margaritas, I steered her that way. I remember it took us a while to get up there as I made Liz go up the stairs first and I kept stopping her to play with her gorgeous ass, patting those cheeks, squeezing them.
In my journal entry for those delicious afternoon hours, I devote a lot of space to describing my first slip inside her. But I do recall that, prefatory to our actual fucking, Liz sat on the bed and gave me a wonderful, saliva soaked cock sucking. A word about her technique—Liz used her tongue so sweetly, flattening it beneath my shaft as she worked her head back and forth. She also cupped my balls with one hand and with the other stroked over my ass. It was a sensory delight, with neurons firing like the birth of a galaxy in the pleasure centers of my brain. This was made further intense by the fact I had positioned her at the foot of the bed so we could watch her sucking my dick reflected in the mirrored closet doors.
Of course, I titty fucked her, several times. I enjoyed tit play throughout the afternoon; her rubbing those huge honeys over me, putting them in my lap, batting them back forth across my face, hugging my dick with them.
Now, allow me a word or two to describe her breasts. As I’ve alluded to earlier, they were beautiful, big boobies. While Liz was standing, they hung down pear-shaped, with silver dollar sized, wet-sand colored aureole, pert nipples. They were big beauties indeed, bulbous, bulging boobs. There were faint stretch marks, and the tits had some heft to them, but they still held the bounce and fluff of youth. And, she was proud of them. And, I couldn’t keep my hands and mouth and cock away from them.
Our first time was missionary style. She had sucked me and hand jobbed me to the point of supreme excitement, just short of climax. I remember I laid her back kissed her warm thighs, nudged her clit, licked her to full, drenching readiness. When she begged for my cock, growled out an order to fuck her, I couldn’t resist. So I did. I fucked her like a mad man, like hers was the last pussy on earth.
Admittedly, were it not for my fairly methodical practice in those days of keeping meticulous journal notes of “all things Dean” that afternoon would be a fogged memory of legs and arms and tits and dick, moans and groans.
But spacing out on top of that wonderful, beautiful, trophy of a woman was exquisite. And, as I mentioned, I piston fucked her. Alternating between hard, desperate drives into her, to soft, slow strokes--it was a great fuck in deed.
Throughout the afternoon, we banged away…but in my journal, I mention that each time she got out of bed, to douche herself, or to go downstairs for ice—that woman could drink booze—I would just stare at her ass and tits, jacking on my dick at the sight. When she would return and climb back into bed, I recall cupping her dangling breasts, rubbing over her shoulders, savoring my access to her soft, oh so sweet body.
I noticed in my journal that I had taken note that as the afternoon progressed, after each fuck, and as she drank more, Liz became more and more vulgar; wanting me to call her my fuck-bitch, ordering me to fuck her pussy, bang her ass, do it you fucker, and so forth. Liz wanted me to talk about it, while I was fucking her, what it felt like, to talk about her ass and tits.
Two or three times, Liz marveled, damn baby, you’re ready again! She not only stroked my cock, but my ego as well. Speaking of stroking it, I spent an entire legal sized page, both sides, in describing one episode during our afternoon of rutting.
I had just taken her from behind, rammed her rump, banged her butt good, me hyper-excited as I had watched our action in the mirror, watched her titties flop and fly about, her ass cheeks turning pink from my wild man fucking, her grunts and groans and her pussy getting wetter, we both had launched into prolonged mind numbing spasms of climaxing.
I remember we toppled over in our exhaustion, laughing at our own lust. We sipped our respective drinks, cooling down, and then lay for a while in a post coital daze.
After a few minutes, maybe fifteen or so, Liz moved her hand down to my dick and balls. She began to gently stroke over my abdomen, running a single finger up the base of my dick, softly rubbing my balls.
She moved down, so that her body was perpendicular to mine, so I could still reach her gorgeous ass. Liz licked over my cock and she murmured, I want to suck you then I want to see you cum.
For me, one of the great visions in sex is watching a woman work her head up and down, or back and forth on my dick. She was beautiful. And, this little blond bride was so damned good at sucking cock.
I was helpless. I grabbed ass. I jiggled jugs. When I tried to pull her up to ride me, or to roll her over, she resisted.
Then, at some point I gasped out that I was getting real close, she lay down at an angle facing me, and began to jerk on my dick with a steady, expert rhythm. Give it up, baby, let go of that load—at least that’s the gist of what she said. She rubbed her tits over me, jacking my dick with them for a few strokes, me slack jaw with lust.
In my journal I describe the load I popped out, her pumping my cock. It wasn’t a Peter North load, but those milky threads shot up and then collapsed and fell until we had made quite a mess on my abdomen.
From then on, she would ask me to cum on her, on her tits, her stomach. Once, when she was on her back and I had mounted her, rocking my dick back and forth between her big beauties, I had pulled up and spotted and splattered her titties. When we had been at it a while, we had decided after this fuck we would go downstairs to get something to eat.
After I had jacked out my jism onto her gorgeous mounds and climbed off of her, Liz did a curious thing. She stood at the mirrored closet doors for a
few moments staring at the archipelago of cum I had sprayed onto her titties.
We did go downstairs, and after looking in my refrigerator decided to order out for pizza. Liz put on her jeans and blouse, I collected my swim trunks and put them on. We kissed a while, and I was hoping to get in another fuck before the pizza arrived, but Liz demurred, said she really needed to get something into her stomach, what with all the booze she had been drinking.
I did notice she staggered a time or two and was beginning to despair that my play day might be coming to an end. Liz drank water until the pizza arrived and then we grabbed a couple beers and a few slices of pizza and when out onto the balcony.
I had entirely forgotten about our conversation until I read through my journal. She asked about my past girlfriends. Liz admitted to having had an affair with one of her husband’s business partners, but only in light of his fairly numerous flings. She had a bisexual fling a few years prior. Then, we started recapping our own little frolic. We told each other what we really had liked.
I admitted to really getting aroused when I took her from behind, and she
laughed and said, yeah she could tell by the way I hammered at her ass. She liked watching my cock when I would cum. I liked to titty fuck and she laughed again and said yeah she could tell. She admitted that with the exception of her and her husband doing in their bathroom and on a previous vacation Liz had never watched herself getting fucked. She found it quite exciting.
This went on a while until I found myself getting hard again. By this point, the wall to our right was blocking much of the sunlight and a good part of the balcony was cast in shadow.
We finished our beers and Liz took the bottles inside. When she returned, much to my surprise, she was topless, and she had two large glasses of tequila on ice. Liz asked if I thought anyone could see us and I replied no, we were pretty much shielded from being seen from the beach.
Liz took a long sip of her drink. In my journal, I again marvel at her capacity for drink. She shook her tits at me and I simply dropped my trunks and began jerking off to the sight of those hanging, wobbling, bobbing beauties. To wit, she drank some more, bent over and made them swing and sway, telling me to jack off to her titties.
By this time, I’m really in to the dirty talk and I tell her to come over here and help me with this. Put those big beauties in my lap. And she did. Putting a cushion down before me, she knelt and proceeded to suck me, tit fuck me, then suck me, then tit fuck me—I sat there in that heated glow of being fully serviced by a beautiful woman. Now, here I spend some time in journal describing the scene. I moaning, yeah, get down on that cock, baby, oh yeah some more of that titty touch, oh work on my dick, yes, you’re such a sweet little cocksucker.
I also reflected in my journal on the sensation of being with, fucking, getting serviced by another man’s woman. Now, I don’t like the idea of being a cuckold and normally I shy away from getting involved with another man’s wife, except for perhaps, a onetime encounter, or, if the guy is a real asshole. But being able to take this incredibly attractive woman and fuck her over and over, getting her to suck my dick, to let me use her gorgeous boobs for my pleasure, and knowing I was cuming on, at, and inside another man’s woman was quite exciting to me—certainly that day at any rate.
Further, knowing that I was taking care of business, making another man’s woman squeal, moan and groan, gasp out in pleasure, beg for me to fuck her was dick hardening material in my fevered brain.
Liz spent quite a bit of time on her knees, working on my cock. Then, I told her to get up, turn around and bend over—it’s pussy time baby, I need that pussy. We fucked there on the balcony for a while. People milled about on the beach, lounged and played while Liz and I fucked. I made it last. . I had roamed my hands over her ass, telling her how good it looked, how good her pussy felt. I reached around and jiggled and jostled her flopping titties. In my journal I write that I growled out, take my load you little fuck bitch. Her replying, yes, give it all to me.
And, when I came inside her, I rammed her rump several times, our bodies clapping together, her grunting and groaning, me grunting and groaning. I stayed inside her a while, lovingly rubbing over every inch her body I could reach.
When I pulled free, we cleaned up in the downstairs bathroom. At this point we were out of tequila so Liz poured some gin for the two of us and we went back upstairs.
About a half hour later, she was straddling me, riding me cowgirl style. I played with her titties and her ass, loving it when she would lean close and rub her honeys over me.
We fucked a couple more times on the little second story balcony. We dozed for a while and around 4:30 or so she sat straight up in bed, looked the clock and said shit. I’ve got to go.
I offered her the shower but she said no, she would go into the water before she got to the condo, in case her husband and or friends were back. That would give her an excuse to go to the shower there.
Thus, my play day came to an abrupt, unceremonious ending. In a rush of flopping titties, bare thighs and wild hair, Liz donned her clothes, grabbed her sunglasses and gave me a fairly chaste kiss and said she had had a great afternoon.
I watched her walk down the beach and that is the last I ever saw of Liz.
I thought about her often during the following several months and to this day wonder how her life turned out. The sex that day was incredible, intense at times, tender every once in a while. We were lustful, wanton and went about our fucking each other with total abandon.
I’ve been lucky at times in my life when it comes to connecting with busty women who like to have sex. But I count those few hours with Liz to be among the best.
Yes, I still think of her and on occasion jerk off to the memory of my time with her.