West Coast Games – Part One: The Beach


She was an enigma on the Pacific Coast Highway, a she-devil as I would later learn, but springtime in California evoked a lazy naiveté in me. The golden coast was full of the promise of summer love affairs and casual encounters. There are the mind-fucks too, but nobody is thinking about the pitfalls and risks while watching the swish of a short skirt over tanned thighs and the smiles that invite you down that gilded path of sexual adventure. I was hungry for it, thirsty for the taste of sweet pussy, but also on the cusp of wanting to make important changes in my life. I was looking for that that defining moment to make me want to put my trust and faith in a woman and stop playing games. Back then I was just as jaded as the next guy with a bit of emotional baggage in his closet. I was nearly thirty years old, with a laundry list of dead-end relationships and meaningless hookups behind me. A few more years at the pace I was going and I knew I’d be destined to become another Peter Pan guy on the player’s circuit, cruising bars, never growing up and always looking for the next big thing. In the meantime however, the closet romantic in me still held on to the boyish hope for something more. I guess you could say I was ripe for that crosshair collision with Roxy. I was looking for her just as much as she was gunning for me. And truth be told, I probably loved her at first sight. The fringes of Surfrider Beach in Malibu are always peppered with bright convertibles, Jeeps and SUVs. It’s been a mixed crowd for as long as I can remember, a playground for the beach bums and bunnies, the wannabes, the people-watchers and the hot-dogging shredders. Further down the beach, you’ll find the old school soul surfers like my dad, when he was still alive. There was an easy rhythm to the beach culture. I’d been going since I was a kid and was accustomed to the ebb and flow. Pretty girls were a dime a dozen on the coast, but she caught me completely off guard the first time I saw her that previous summer. There she was in that rusted out VW with faded aqua colored paint, worn just shy of being hipster cool again. She didn’t seem to care and that was part of her appeal. I was used to the kind of girls that were innately aware of the effect they had on men, while being completely self-conscious and insecure at the same time. She didn’t seem to pay any attention to the Barbies giving her jealous sidelong cut-eye or the LA tricksters trying to get her attention. She came with a single-minded purpose and that was riding the waves. Her board wasn’t anything fancy. It was as sun-bleached as her flaxen hair. In a way, I think I almost saw her in watercolors, like my mind was intentionally using a hazy Instagram filter. Everything is so much prettier through a filter though, isn’t it? It takes the edge off reality. It made me let my guard down. Instead of remembering to keep my game-face on, I let myself drink her in, day after day. I watched her lithe catlike form on the board, admiring her tenacity. And fuck, did she ever have a gorgeous face. I was like a teenage boy with his first crush. My eyes lingered on the tempting swell of her small breasts, and the impossibly supple curves of her sandy calves as she walked the beach with a confidence that couldn’t be faked. She reminded me of a coltish Brigitte Bardot or some pretty young thing from a vintage Playboy magazine. She was pure candyfloss on my tongue from that very first taste in early May. She had been a staple at the beach throughout most of the previous winter, when the usual crowds began to thin. Typically only the die-hard surfers remained, trading rash guards for wetsuits. Quite honestly, I hadn’t expected her to stay either. But there she was, like a shiny black neoprene seal, with those disarming mermaid locks, paddling her board out into the cold ocean. Yeah, I had her up on my surf girl pedestal. It was no secret, even among my buddies, that I was more than smitten. Obsessed, they had even called it one day as we lingered in the water on our boards beyond the break. I had developed this nasty habit of missing all the best waves while watching the glorious sight of her peeling down her wetsuit on the beach. Every inch of sun-kissed skin made me just a little more drunk off the fantasy of her that I’d built up in my head. Sometimes I felt like she was feeding the obsession on purpose. There were occasional long glances in my direction and sometimes a half-smile hidden behind that that long golden veil of hair when I caught her gaze. It was those looks that Tunalı escort bayan got me hard and kept her constantly on my mind when I was away from the beach. She would pop into my mind at will, just before I’d fall asleep, during my morning showers and even at the office during those boring Monday meetings. It wasn’t just the physical appeal of her bronzed limbs, candy-apple breasts and heart shaped ass. It was in those eyes and that little tongue that playfully darted along the corner of her lips when I passed by, like in her mind my cock was already swelling in her mouth. Aside from her bona fide cool girl vibe, there was a sexual hurricane inside of her. I was sure of it. “So fuck her,” my buddy Zane would say over late afternoon beers on a sunny patio. “You’ll regret it either way. You might as well enjoy the ride.” “I won’t regret it.” “Dude, I know her type. She’s trouble. I fully support you thinking with your dick – in fact you should probably do it more often – but nope, not with this girl. You’re way too into her.” “I’m not,” I would lie, “I don’t even know her. I mean, yeah she’s hot, right? But I’ve had plenty of hot girls. It doesn’t mean I’m going to lose my head.” Then it was Noah’s turn to chime in as he gleefully grinned at me, amused by my infatuation. “You’re gonna get played, playa!” “By her? Not a chance. I’ve got my eyes wide open. You underestimate me, bro.” Of course, it was all a big bluff, but it wasn’t just for their benefit. I didn’t want to admit any potential vulnerabilities to myself either. “So then do it,” Zane would prod me. “For fuck sake, get it over with. How many swells are you going to miss this summer, distracted by a hot piece of ass? Talk to her!” Confidence wasn’t my issue. The problem was that she was never alone. My dream girl came with her very own chaperone, and he always seemed to show up within the hour of her arrival. He wasn’t even a surfer, he was just there to supervise and protect his property. And he always seemed to look vaguely pissed. At the time, I’d attributed his irritation to her growing desire for attention whenever he was around, almost like she enjoyed provoking him. It was in the way she’d push the skimpy bottoms of her bikini down extra low over her hips. The way she’d untie the strings on her wet top and drop it onto the sand, relying on her bleached out tresses to immodestly hide her breasts before slipping a thin t-shirt over her head and pulling it down. She would toss her hair back so that beachgoers caught a glimpse of her braless swayback form, her nipples jutting out in the cool late afternoon breeze as the sun dipped low in the sky. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible. No wonder he was so intent on staking his claim on her. And so it went on for months on end, the familiar tugs of lust awash with perpetual patience. There was the dance between us of barely acknowledged smiles, the scent of her Coppertone skin as she walked by me at the end of the day, always keeping me hungry. Then one day, on an unseasonably warm weekend in early May, she was there alone. I didn’t get my hopes up right away. After all, even the most dedicated jealous boyfriends have appointments to keep, or the occasional flu bug to fend off. Yet when I hung back from the guys, sitting in the sand to wax my board on that fateful afternoon, I noticed her again. I remember it like it was yesterday. She was a lithe silhouette on the sand, walking toward me as though she was emerging from the fireball of sunshine behind her. She sank to her knees in front of me. “I’m Roxy.” Fuck me, if she wasn’t even more perfect up close. After all the time I’d spent catching stolen moments of her attention, now my eyes could take in all the fine detail at leisure. I looked into pale green eyes, like tumbled sea glass, saw the pink cupid’s bow mouth and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was multiple shades of blonde, naturally streaked by the sun. It was messy and untamed and I immediately wanted to get my hands tangled in it. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that she awoke a kind of primal sexual need to own her. I’m sure most guys felt the same way in her presence. There were plenty of pretty girls that inspired more protective or loving instincts in me. They often had a kind of pristine perfection that you were afraid of messing up. And then there was Roxy. There was nothing innocent about her smile. She was a self-styled lioness of a kitten. All of her girly attempts at casual flirtation Escort ulus did nothing to belie that because part of me knew she was playing a game from the beginning. The thing is, at the time, I didn’t care. She wasn’t the type to take it slow and I certainly wasn’t going to be cautious after all those unbearable months of wanting more. “You like checking me out, don’t you?” she teased, watching my eyes skip along her sand-dusted legs. “You noticed.” “Sure. I’ve been noticing you right back.” “To be honest, I would have introduced myself sooner,” I said with chagrin. “But I didn’t want to be that guy.” “And what guy is that?” “The kind that moves in on another dude’s girl.” “Actually, I think it’s kind of sweet that you play by the rules,” she said, vaguely tugging on the strings of her seafoam green bikini. “So many guys are opportunistic. They don’t give a fuck. They’ll take it whenever they can. I hate being drawn to the bad boys but sometimes I can’t help it. They’re a terrible influence.” “Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t say I was saint.” “Neither did I,” she said. “I can be a bad influence too.” I should have listened and taken those words of wisdom to heart. Instead all I saw was the doors swinging wide to welcome me in and tempt me with possibilities. “As luck would have it, I’m on my own again,” she told me. “So you don’t have to worry about that conscience of yours.” “Single?” She nodded, flashing a knowing smile. I tried not to get too excited. “Girls like you aren’t all that common to these parts.” “Surfer girls?” I shrugged. “Girls hitting waves like that in the winter months. You’re pretty dedicated.” “Well, I came to the coast to play. I’m not going to waste all my time on dry land. I could have done that in Arizona.” “Ahh, so there we have it. You’re not a native.” “Not quite. But I was born with a mermaid’s tail,” she teased with a wink. “This just seemed like a better long-term fit for me.” “So where are you staying?” “With a friend. It’s just temporary though. I moved out of my ex’s place a few weeks ago. I have to get used to the single life again.” And just like that, I already had an imperceptible fear of losing her, like a fish nibbling on a hook. I didn’t want to fuck this up. Girls like her wouldn’t last long with all the smarmy land-sharks around LA. And speaking of sharks, there was Noah walking in from the surf, ready to crash my party for two. Between the three of us guys, Noah was the natural lady-killer. He had also been the most critical of Roxy when I’d first started crushing on her. Swearing he was immune to her charms though, you’d never know it by the way he poured things on as the three of us lulled into an easy conversation about surfing and beach culture. She could keep up, and I knew Noah at least appreciated that. I was also grateful that he had finely tuned social smarts and was quick to sense when he was becoming a third wheel. After predictably talking me up, he picked up his board and bag and gave us a half-wave salute. “I gotta get home. You kids have fun.” Beyond her, halfway up the beach, Noah turned to fist pump the air for my benefit, celebrating my assumed sexual victory. I suppressed my laughter, not wanting her to turn around and see his showboating. I’d come too far to blow it now. Roxy and I talked a little more, and I was sure that I was gaining ground. I started flipping through my mental rolodex of Santa Monica hot spots, wondering if the LA scene was more her style. Dinner? No, that was lame. Drinks and sushi. Somewhere up and coming and not too obviously trendy. I was determined to play this just right. She lay back on my beach blanket, propping herself up on her elbows. I caught myself unable to focus on anything but the dipping curves of her abdomen, and that patch of wet sand on her lower hipbone, just above her string bottoms. I could almost make out the outline of her sweet little slit. That seafoam fabric was damn sheer and I could swear I detected a distinct trace of moisture too. Casually, she turned her head to the side, squinting up at me in the sun. “Do you want to fuck me, Leo?” Admittedly I questioned how to answer this. Had she noticed my wandering eyes? In my experience, blunt questions like that were usually a prelude to risking a slap or being read the riot act on being an insensitive asshole. And yet with this girl, feigning a moment of flustered surprise would have been the wrong way to go. “You know I do.” She smiled. “Wanna make a dirty wager?” “Bring it on, girl.” She nodded toward Zane, yenimahalle escort who was still nobly battling the choppy surf. “What do you think of him?’ “Who Zane? He’s my buddy.” “No, I mean as a surfer. He’s pretty good. He might even be better than you.” I raised an eyebrow. Was she purposely baiting me? It should have been another red flag but I was already in too deep. “The swells are heavy today,” she continued. “You think he can get in on one of the next three sets he tries to catch?” “Nope. I think he wipes out.” I had some inside knowledge, of course. Zane had always been more about the surf culture than actual surfing. The waves were total bombs that day and well beyond his abilities. “Ok, so there’s our bet. If he drops, then you win. And I’ll fuck you. Right here, right now.” She said it so casually that I was instantly hard. “And if he makes it to shore?” “Then I win. And you have to fuck me.” With such propositions, I’ve learned that resistance is futile. And totally asinine. Of course, I agreed. Even as we shook hands, however, I wasn’t truly expecting her to go through with it. So many girls loved the tease, and I assumed it was just a play or a bit of verbal fun. Yet still, I was aware even back then that she’d imperceptibly flipped the switch. It wasn’t her on my hook anymore, it was me on hers. And I was a gluttonous fish, ready and willing to be reeled in. We watched Zane chase waves for a while, trading sprightly comments like sportscasters at a surfing competition. Roxy was up on her knees, holding an invisible mic, flirtatiously hamming it up. I was throwing it right back, almost forgetting the implications of the bet. I found myself falling hard for her under the Malibu sun, just like a starstruck groupie. Her vivacious energy was infectious and despite being such a gorgeous thing, she didn’t take herself too seriously. I was so distracted by her that I’d barely kept track of Zane’s progress. Roxy always had her eye on the prize though, and she was quick to remind me that he was down to his last try. And then she was pointing, laughing. “Look at that little scoundrel. Trying to drop in on that other guy’s wave.” Zane was known for his bad surfing etiquette and this time ocean karma was going to catch up to him. “Damn, he’s gonna get worked,” I smirked. The wave was huge and it was controlling him rather than the other way around. The wipeout was spectacular. We watched him get pulled under and then pop back up, shaking his head and flipping us the bird as he noticed our hollering on the beach. Luckily Zane was the stubborn type and he hauled himself up on his board and paddled back out, throwing us a rueful glance. Roxy settled back down beside me. I was trying to play it cool, but my heart was racing and my palms were sweating like a schoolboy. “So… you win,” she said finally. Her grin was filled with mischief. I watched her crawl toward me on her knees. Her hair was a golden halo, like my private beachside Lolita or maybe a Botticelli Venus from the sea. Fuck, she was a siren. I like to remember her that way, silhouetted against the blue skies of Malibu just before the promise of our very first kiss. Of all the girls I’ve had and would have, that image is springtime green in my mind. I’ve allowed nothing to fade those vivid hues. I remember the scent of saltwater on her skin and the grains of sand dusting her bare knees as they sank into my old blanket. They moved up to settle alongside my thighs as she straddled me like we’d already been lovers for years. The presence of her nestled so easily into my lap was overwhelming. Her skin was warm to my touch as my hands moved over her supple legs and hips, discovering her inch by inch. My fingers slid along her lower back, feeling those toned muscles moving beneath them. Roxy’s body was unbelievably fit and tight. And that face, that impish grin, knowing she had all the power in that moment and using it to keep me just slightly off balance in my approach. Her lips pressed the corner of my mouth, her tongue darting out to tease mine even before we locked. Neither of us was coming up for air. I swore under my breath as my hands gripped the back of her head, damp salty strands ensnaring my fingers as I inhaled her, nearly devouring her. All my big plans evaporated. All my hesitations and fears caught on an offshore wind, taking them far away from that moment on the sand. I didn’t have to say anything, I was sure she could practically taste my desire for her. “Wanna go back to my ride?” “Nuh uh, that wasn’t the bet. I said right here,” she reminded me, placing her hand firmly on my crotch. My cock was snaking up toward my belly button and she was not shy about dextrously exploring it through my shorts. “This is pretty out in the open.” The last thing I needed was a citation for public indecency. She just shrugged.

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