I have trouble keeping my boobs contained in bikinis, especially those that are just two triangles of cloth with no underwire support. I have 36 D breasts and they ooze out of the cloth.
Of course I could have just gone topless on the Greek beach. All the other women were. But I was thirty-nine years old with a bit too much flop and sag to take it all off in the midday sun. So, my beach attire was a pair of shorts that concealed my derriere -- and a bikini top out of which my breasts flowed in abundance.
Not that I'm modest. I'll take my clothes off in an instant for a horny man. If you've read my other stories you know that on my thirty-fifth birthday, divorced and lonely, I had decided to become a slut -- and in the previous four years I had been rolled in the hay by three or four dozen men. But I'm not into public displays of nudity; that's for younger women whose little pink tits stand up and salute.
I was in Greece on a three week vacation after completing a difficult and demanding two years working in a remote African country. I planned to take ferries to several different islands. I'm an accountant, and you know the old joke: an accountant is like an economist except that he or she doesn't have as much personality. Men don't gravitate to me -- at least not until that they learn that behind my unremarkable exterior lies a first-class slut. I was hoping for a long easy rest exploring the Greek islands with the chance that I might find a man or two along the way to share my bed.
It's easy for a woman -- any woman -- to get laid in Greece if she has a little money. On every island and every beach there are handsome young men called Kamakis who make a career out of servicing older women willing to spend money for sex. I didn't have much interest in Kamakis, being conservative and tight-fisted. So, I was sitting on a rock at the edge of a beach my first day on Skiathos and wondering where I was going to find a companion of the male gender.
The prospects didn't look good. That beach was crowded with topless women who were younger and prettier than me. Suddenly, a man -- a good looking man -- sat down beside me. He was Australian and about 15 years younger than me. "You know, luv, it's the woman who dares to be different that is interesting."
I took it as a reference to the fact that I possessed the only unbared breasts in sight. Make that one unbared breast. I looked down at my chest and a nipple had crept out the side of the bikini top. I pushed it back under cover. "Well, mate," I said, imitating his speech. "I was just going to lunch. Shall we order up another shrimp on the barbie for you?"
"My name is Rebecca."
We went to lunch -- a salad, broiled shrimp and octopus, a couple of beers -- and my young Aussie friend actually paid half the bill, although he gulped when he saw it. "Nap time," said I, pushing my nipple back under cover again.
"Your place or mine?" he asked.
"Where's yours?" I asked.
"I don't have one yet."
"Well, you can come to my room. But this is nap time --not play time."
"I'll fetch my back pack," he said.
My room was in a small, old hotel just off the main square. It had a lovely terrace with a view of the white buildings of the town and the blue sea beyond. The Greek islands ooze charm. It was hot; I opened the door to the terrace to let the air come in. I love to nap on a hot afternoon with just a breath of air.
My Aussie youngster and I laid down together on the bed. He took off his shirt. He was nicely built and slender. I thought, "What the hell?" and took off my bikini top. My tit was sticking out anyway.
I slept for a couple of hours, and the sun was low in the sky when I woke up. He was in the shower, and he came out wearing only a towel. "Hi, Sheila. Sleep well?" He sat down beside me on the bed. He put his hand on one breast and began to massage my nipple as I stretched and yawned and tried to wake up. "Too bad, we don't have any oil," said he. "That tit needs a little moisture."
"There's oil. Olive oil. Extra virgin. A bottle on the dresser."
"Hmmm," he said skeptically. "Worth a try." He got the bottle of olive oil, poured a goodly measure in his hand and put it on my breasts. It was my first ever massage with olive oil. It felt good, a bit grainy which caused agreeable friction as his hands moved over my nipples. The towel was loose around his waist and his half-erect penis and testicles showed. It was a wonderful way to wake up.
Now, I am well aware of the conventional wisdom that a woman, to demonstrate that she's not a slut, shouldn't fuck a man until the third date. I don't follow that rule and, to the converse, I think it's a good idea to have sex with a man as early in the relationship as possible. A fuck before your first date will relieve mutual sexual tension and, afterwards, you can get to know and enjoy each other and decide whether you want to continue the relationship with sex after the first date. If there is no first date after the first fuck, well, it wouldn't have been worth it anyway.
So, I decided to fuck the Aussie right then and there. I imagine that about every other woman on the island would have decided the same. It's vacation, a Greek Island, and a young, handsome man. .
"Give me a little of that oil," I asked.
He poured a few drops in my hand. I reached out and grasped his penis and rubbed the oil on it with a series of strokes that left it shining and wet and very hard in my hand. "Oh, God," said he. Now, I was also aware that my man/boy had about a thousand options on that island who were younger and prettier than me and to keep his interest I needed to demonstrate my assets in the most favorable manner. I was up to it -- and so was he.
I pulled away the towel and laid him down beside me, his penis sticking straight up in the air. I pulled off my shorts, straddled him, filled my hand with oil and began to massage him from the toes up and down his legs. As I sat on his groin, he slipped inside me for a moment and we both missed a breath. I froze. I didn't want him to cum. Not yet. I eased his penis out of me, oh so carefully.
"Roll over," I said. He was getting too hot, too quick. I massaged his back and shoulders and then rolled him over on his front again, sitting with his head between my legs. Then, hands slippery with olive oil I massaged his chest while he hunched pleasurably, that penis poking holes in the air. I reversed my position and laid down beside him and kissed him from head to groin, my hips grinding against him. I went around and around his penis, filling my mouth with olive oil, spurting it over his balls and rubbing it in with my lips and tongue. If I had taken his penis in my mouth he would have gone off in an instant -- but I wanted to make sure that this boy stayed around.
I backed off from his balls. I knew he wouldn't have a condom -- handsome men never do -- so I reached into my purse beside the bed and took a condom out of a box containing a dozen. Always the optimist! I was a little worried that the act of putting it on would make him cum, but he showed admirable self-restraint -- and then he impaled me. Oooh!
The fucking was splendid. He employed that penis like a pilot does a joy stick, ensuring that I gasped with pleasure as he rammed it deep within me and then withdrawing all but the head, forcing me to grab his hips and pull him deeper. We came together in one beautiful sexual explosion, my legs straight up in the air over his shoulders as he dug as deep as he could within me. His final spasms seemed to go on forever, one spurt after another....matching my own. Eureka! As that old Greek -- what's his name? -- said.
That was the first time and never have I been fucked better or more often than in the two days I spent with that young Aussie: morning, fore-noon, after-noon, and night -- and once on the beach at sunset, only partially hidden from passer-byes behind a large rock. And there was an added benefit to the relationship. As I got ready to catch the ferry he said, "I have a friend on Skopelos."
"Tell him I'm coming," said I.
"I will." I bought another dozen -- no, two dozen -- condoms and a liter of olive oil and his friend, an older and very funny Aussie, was waiting for me at the ferry landing when I arrived. Three days later, that friend told me of a friend he had on another island -- and so it went. By the end of my eighteen day vacation, I had enjoyed five Aussies and one Canadian on six different islands, used up four liters of extra virgin olive oil, and had replenished my condom supply again. I didn't get much of a tan.