It’s 82 degrees in Dana Point, California.
It’s hot, but not too hot. I’m laying on my back, reveling in my solitude—my parents aren’t home, and they won’t be for a few days. They’re visiting my sister at school up near San Francisco.
I wonder if he’s watching me. He’s my sister’s age—20 or 21, now—a year or two younger than me. He’s quiet. I don’t know him, but I know he’s quiet. I talked to him once—a year ago, when he and his dad moved in next door. He said his name was Eli. I told him mine was Ari. Eli and Ari haven’t spoken since.
He watches me, though. Whenever I’m alone, I can feel him watching me. I’ve caught him a few times, peering down from his balcony to our back porch. He seems lonely. I like lonely boys.
When I catch him watching, he always holds my eyes for a moment before he looks down and pretends like he was never looking, at all. He’s tallish—5’11 or so. Dark skin. I remember his eyes being greenish the time I saw him up close, but I could be wrong.
I can feel him watching me now. I’ve been out here for forty-five minutes, I think, and I can finally feel him watching. I don’t want to open my eyes—I don’t want him to disappear. I roll onto my stomach, untying my bikini top as my cheek touches the towel.
I stay there for a few minutes, till my skin needs to feel the ocean. I turn my cheek up to see if he’s there. He’s not. But I know he was. I walk to the water. It’s cool.
The beach is silent. The closest people to me are playing with their kids five or six houses down. I haven’t put my top back on yet. Relaxed and alone, I float on my back, my nipples peaking out of the water. I let my hand drift down to my vagina as I start to think about Eli between my legs.
I wonder what he’s like in bed. Probably strong and soft—the way those quiet, lonely Elis usually are. His body is probably hard. And his cock is probably long.
As I float, I can feel every muscle in my body let go. I’m happy here—floating. Relaxed. Alone. I wonder what it’s like to feel Eli’s hand where mine is right now—to feel him touch me. To feel his palm press on me. To feel him slip his fingers into me as we roll around in the sand.
I wonder what his cock tastes like. I’d probably like it. Especially when his hands are squeezing my tits and my pussy is wet—I’d probably like the way his cock tastes when I’m turned on. When I can feel him getting tense with pleasure. And then relaxed. And then tense again, as I run my fingers down his stomach, pressing into his hips as I take all of him into my mouth.
I wonder what his hair feels like when we’re sweaty and breathless. When I’m on top of him, my body completely still as he thrusts into me. Fast. Deep. I wonder what his hair feels like when I’m looking into him, and he’s looking into me, and both of our heads tilt back—our mouths slightly open—as we moan.
I wonder what his hands feel like as he gets even hungrier, flipping me around so he’s in control. I wonder what his hands feel like as he puts a finger into my mouth, taking it out slowly so I can get it wet. I wonder what his hands feel like as he presses that finger into my clit, rubbing me quickly and softly as he slides his cock inside.
I wonder what he sounds like as I lift my hips, pushing them into him so I can feel all of him. I bet his groans are long and deep. I bet he sounds like the ocean.
I wonder how loud I’d moan when he pins me down, one big hand clenching both my wrists. I wonder how wet I’d be when my back arches without me telling it to—when my body starts to move and feel him without thinking. I wonder how badly I’d want him back inside me when he pulls out to tease me, sucking as he kisses me from my stomach to my neck.
I wonder what it feels like to feel him grab me. My tits. My thighs. I wonder how good it feels—that sting of perfect pleasure when I tell him to slap my ass, and he does. I wonder how good it feels—that violent rush of blood when I tell him to wrap his hand around my neck and squeeze, and he does. I wonder what it feels like to feel him pause, shaking as if he’s about to come, and then take a deep breath and keep coming into me. Faster. Deeper. And then slower. I wonder what it feels like to tingle with excitement over what he’ll do next.
I wonder what it feels like to hear him say my name. To tell me I’m Ariana when I’m on my knees and he’s pulling my braids with both hands, telling me exactly how fucking good this feels—how good it feels to fuck me from behind as his head swings back in ecstasy.
I wonder what it feels like to come before him. To feel his body smile as my vagina swells. As my thighs shake. As I sing a little, two-note song of satisfaction. And then I wonder how it feels to feel him let go completely—to release everything he’s got left into me once he knows I’m satisfied. I wonder how it feels to feel him speed up, grabbing my ass as we both get ready for him to finish. I wonder what it feels like to feel him come inside me.
“Are you okay?”
I pop up from the water. I don’t know how long I’ve been there. When I turn around, I see Eli.
“Oh my god…I’m…sorry.”
I don’t know what else to say.
I’m embarrassed. But I can’t throw this moment away.
“Do you…do you want to go inside?”
“Oh,” he blushes, “Ok. It’s hot out here”
I undo my braids as I get out the water, watching him watch me as I go. I take his hand.
I wonder if he’s wondered what this is about to feel like, too.
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