Message-ID: <18832eli$9901220153@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Silverlink Subject: (Silverlink) Brighton Beach Story (MF oral) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <1999010421363076942@altavista.net> Brighton Beach Story Copyright Elena 1999 Distribute this story as you wish, on condition that it is attributed to me. This story is rude. It contains sex. Do not read it if you're not supposed to. Brighton Beach Story -------------------- Jack had always said that he loved my pubic hair. I'm a redhead, see, and my pubes are orange. Very bright, very unusual, much better than what he'd call "boring old brown". I kept it trimmed, but not overly so; I couldn't stand that porno look, just a little fuzzy triangle. So unnatural, I always think, and besides I don't want to look as if I'm trying too hard. I remember the first time he really saw it. We'd been intimate before - okay, we'd fucked - but always in a furtive, frenzied way. Although I know of my sexual appeal, it still takes me a while of being with a man before I can feel really confident about him just looking at me in the nude. So I'm insecure and a slow starter? It may take a while for the fire to kindle, but when it does it'll burn your house down! Anyway, the first time he saw my pubic hair, we were at the beach. We both lived in Brighton at that time, on the south coast. He had a flat in a terraced house just a couple of streets off the seafront, and I shared a house with a couple of other girls further uphill, just off Lewes Road. We'd were both working shifts at a big call centre in town, taking calls from the general public about their credit cards. You know the sort of thing. For a change, we both had our day off at the same time so we'd decided to spend a day together down by the sea. It was a bright Tuesday in March, and although Brighton beach is never the most secluded of areas, this early in the year and mid-week it certainly wasn't as busy as it could get on a Bank Holiday in August! We'd taken the Volks Railway (the world's first electric railway) along the seashore from the terminus by Palace Pier to Black Rock, and were walking back across the shingle, listening to the waves wash across the pebbles, hand in hand. I've always loved the Volks Railway. It's a curious tourist attraction, especially as Brighton beach to me brings to mind the raucus, tacky amusement arcades on Palace Pier far more than the elegant and fashionable resort you can only really imagine now if you look up at the fine buildings and ignore the hordes of tourists and beggers. The Volks Railway belongs more to that time, rickety little carriages rattling back and forth along a narrow track - but it's so cute that I always enjoy it. Our thighs had touched as we rode along. It had stirred something in me. There at the quiet end of the beach, we held hands and walked. I was extremely attracted to him, and was still in that stage of screaming lust that accompanies those early days in a relationship. We walked past the signpost sticking out of the shingle, in the official turquoise and white colours of Brighton and Hove Council. I remember what he said then. He said, "You do realise that we're now on the official nudist beach?" "I know," I said. "Have you ever sunbathed nude?" "I don't sunbathe. You know how pale I am." "Alright then, have you ever gone out in public nude?" "Oh, naturally," I replied. He looked expectant so I went on. "When I was three years old!" He laughed. It was an easy laugh. It made me feel comfortable somehow. >From the first time I heard him laugh, I'd liked him. "Why, have you?" I asked. He shook his head. "I woudln't have the nerve. In fact, I don't think many people do. In all the times you've been down here, have you ever actually seen a nudist?" "No, I can't say that I have." By then, we were sheltered from the railway track by the bank of shingle rising up from the shore. I suppose that was the point of the nudist beach, that this part of the shore could not be seen from the track or from the sea-front road above it. It was breezy but warm. I felt so happy, I just wanted to do something to make him laugh again. So, I pulled my T-shirt off. Yes, I pulled my T-shirt off, and yes, he laughed, a gentle laugh of pleasure and joy. I waved it in the air. It was one of those fitted V-necked tops, and it was bright blue. It fluttered in the sea breeze like a flag, matching the fluttering of my long cotton skirt around my ankles. "So, are you converting to naturalism, then?" "Oh, yes. It's healthy, you know?" "So I hear. But you're still wearing far too much!" I untied the drawstring at the waist of my skirt and pulled it down to my ankles. Kicking it off, I took it in my other hand and then I was walking along wearing nothing but my white cotton underwear and my shoes, with a blue flag flying from one arm and a black one from the other. "Would you like to sit for a bit?" I asked him. He motioned to the side of the shingle bank. I put my clothes down and weighed the garments down with stones, to stop them blowing away. We both sat on the outspread cloth of my long skirt. As I turned to him, and placed my hand upon his thigh in one of those intimate gestures we were beginning to make, I noticed something. "Naturalists aren't supposed to get turned on by seeing each other undressed. They're supposed to be used to it." "I know that too," he replied, "but I don't see how I could ever look at you wearing nothing but your underwear and not get turned on by it." My hand slid up his thigh until it rested just by the bulge showing through the cotton fabric of his trousers. "Maybe I should take my underwear off, then?" I stood and slipped out of my bra, then I pulled my white knickers down and picked them up. The wind went straight to my nipples, perking them up. I could feel it against my bare flesh; brisk and bracing, but surprisingly good. I'd never been out wearing less than a swimming costume before. I noticed he was staring at my pubic hair. "Is there something wrong?" Even then at my most uninhibited, a little trace of insecurity crept into my voice. "It's orange." "Of course it's orange. I'm ginger, you know." "No, I mean, it's lovely. It's really beautiful. I can see your pubic hair, and it's beautiful." Somehow this was one of the nicest compliments I'd ever had. As a redhead, I'd endured jokes for years about my "ginger pubes" and perpetual questions about being a "natural redhead". Although I was happy with my body, I'd never managed to think of the colour of my pubic hair as a plus point. It was neutral at best. I smiled at him and sat back down. "I'm glad you like it." "Oh, I do, I do! It's much better than my boring brown." That was the first time I heard those words that were to become such a sexy shared joke between us. "Boring? Let me see. Oh, that's not boring!" I had shuffled round in front of him so that I was sitting just below him on the bank, having let my underwear drop onto the pebbles, and I had unzipped the fly of his trousers and his cock had popped out. It was very much showing signs of arousal. I curled a finger into the brown hairs at its base. "That's not boring at all." I kissed the end of his cock, a delicate little peck and when I licked my lips I could taste the pre-orgasmic fluid oozing from the tip of it. "No, that's lovely too," I said. "How could you ever say this is boring?" Slowly, I took the head of his cock inside my mouth and I mashed my lips against it slightly, squeezing. He groaned and placed his hand upon my head, not pushing but running his fingers through my red locks, stroking me gently. At this encouragement, I slid slowly down the hard shaft until I could feel that "boring brown" tickle my lips. The head was stuck right at the back of my mouth, just into the entrance of my throat, which I squeezed slightly, bringing a second moan from him. His other hand slid beneath my chin, so that he was holding my head. Slowly and gently (I never felt forced) he moved me down the shaft of his cock again, until my lips were nearly sliding off him. Then, he pulled the warmth of my mouth back onto him. Slowly I took him all the way in. His cock was so warm! He'd somehow come to quite an advanced state of arousal very quickly, although you know how easy it is to get like that when you first start fucking someone. Of my own accord now, I started moving back and forth on his cock, slowly, but now I slid my tongue forward, so that when I moved the firm tip of my tongue ran up and down the vein along the front of the shaft. It flicked against the cleft side of the head, then I pushed him into me firmly, squeezing the head of his cock (now huge and burning hot) with my throat, then moving back and licking the head, then down... He came so quickly. As I felt the first telltale pulsations, I pushed my head down so that he came right into the back of my throat. I could feel his semen slip down his throat, although I could barely taste it. He shuddered as I held his cock firmly with my mouth and drank all his come. For a while I held him there, until he was soft and small again. Then I pulled away and sat next to him. I rested my head against his chest and he stroked my thigh as he silently recovered from his orgasm. When I sensed that he was almost back to normal, I teased, "Not so boring brown, is it?" He laughed and pulled me up, looking into my eyes for a moment before kissing me tenderly and deeply. It was when he released me that I realised that my underwear had been blown away by the wind and I could not see where it had gone. We often laughed about that afterwards, a private joke, the day I lost my underwear on a nudist's beach and discovered "boring brown". I remember those moments with great tenderness as well as humour. I can never forget walking back to his flat wearing no underwear beneath my skirt and T-shirt, with the faint taste of his come in the back of my mouth. I can never forget the way he made love to me when we got there. Sometimes I wonder if my knickers and bra were ever found. 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