The Coconut Grove

The Coconut Grove

I knew it was going to be hot, but somehow, thinking about heat in the middle of a Northeast winter just doesn’t allow one to fully comprehend how hot tropical heat can be. Escaping winter’s chill was why we were on this island; escaping the heat was why I was on the beach, knee deep in the gentle surf. 

I waded out, enjoying the chill of the water. Sinking in, I let myself float under the endless sky, clouds above me. 

A splash behind me, and a pair of arms, golden brown, slipped around my waist. “Happy?” A voice, warm as honey, murmured in my ear. I turned to the familiar, blueberry eyes, rimmed by long lashes, lowered to mine. “Are you?”

“I think so,” Ephraim breathed. “It’s what we dreamed about, never being cold again. The ocean. Just us.” As he spoke, he slowly pulled me into deeper water, the coldness creeping up my thighs, hitting more sensitive spots with shocking chill, washing over my hips and stomach. His intentions became more clear as, under the water, his arm moved from my waist, over my ass, tightening beneath it. My body, newly buoyant, lifted easily, legs wrapping around his hips for support as his arm supported my weight against him. I looked at him with a teasing raised eyebrow. “Here?”

He grinned. “Nah. Probably not. I can wait.” His other hand traveled up my back, and I dipped my head for a kiss. His kiss was chaste, with a glance toward the shore. I raised my eyebrow again. “Your signals are a little mixed.”

Another quick grin, reluctant. “You know me. Inhibited. I want to save it for when I have you alone. And I do want to have you alone right now.”

I shook my head. “Someday, you’ll discover how freeing it is to not give a shit what other people think.”

“Someday, I’ll be able to take you places without having you embarrass me,” he replied, the fond look on his face belying his harsh words. He released me, to the undeniable evidence of the gulf between his words and his wishes. I slid my hand over the front of his shorts beneath the water, pressing against the swelling there, and he pressed into my hand with a small involuntary sigh. “Are you sure you don’t want me to get you off? I could, right now.” I was teasing him. Mostly. He didn’t reply immediately, and in the space of his hesitation, I tugged the knot of his board shorts loose and slid my hand inside. His eyes closed as I grasped his warm hardness firmly beneath the water, then opened again. “Damn it. Stop. Now I can’t get out of the water until this…problem goes away.” He pulled my hand from inside his shorts, retied them securely, and backed away, sinking deeper into the waves, then swimming, with an even breaststroke, parallel to shore. I watched him with a bemused smile, then reached down and pulled my bikini bottom aside, letting the cool water swirl over my own sensitive places, slipping an exploratory finger past my lips to investigate how slick the thought of making him come in the ocean had made me. I had liked the idea a lot, apparently. My finger slipped into swollen, slippery flesh. I wondered if the water was clear enough to give me away if I rubbed myself. 

On the shore, a tan, muscular dad played with his child, squatting to pack sand into a bucket, his wet board shorts sliding down his surf-toned hips just enough to reveal the untanned skin below the band, and the top of a gloriously muscular ass. I imagined that ass flexing as it pushed me into a convenient tree trunk, and my stomach clenched a little with want as my fingers slid over myself, sliding inside, inviting the cool ocean inside with them, but my fingers were not quite enough, not what I truly wanted right then. 

I flopped down onto a warm towel on the sand, and eventually, Ephraim joined me, the front of his board shorts again in proportion to the rest of him. As I lay, drowsy with warmth, his hand slowly traveled up the back of my thigh, then stopped, short of indecency. I lay there, acutely aware of his hand on me. I pushed my knees into the sand, lifting my ass by almost imperceptible degrees, inching my thighs apart, in an invitation we both knew he must refuse. His fingers crept further between my thighs, slipping higher, but didn’t commit to anything criminal. I glanced at him. His eyes were closed. I turned my head and rested it on my arm, one half-open eye devouring the way the dad on the beach moved, the easy way the board shorts clung to his hard ass, the way his hips slid under the waistband, the subtle bulge beneath the closure. Stop it, I told myself. You have a great partner. Stop fantasizing about someone else. But I didn’t close my eyes. 

Ephraim may have dozed. I could not relax enough to drift off, as in my mind, a strong body pressed into my back, his cock brushing against the back of my thigh, as he breathed in my ear and grabbed my hair and slid his free hand around my front to slip between my legs, as my knees buckled and I pressed forward in his hand. It’s okay to look, right? It’s okay to wonder what it might be like. Fantasies are free. Dammit, I told myself. Get a grip. 

By the time we got back to our optimistically named house, actually more of a rented cottage jammed into a cluttered backyard, we were hot and hungry, and I had to dress quickly, apply makeup to my face, pull my stiff beach curls into a bun, and rush to the restaurant where I waited tables in the evenings. As much as I wished there was time for Ephraim to get me alone, as much as I needed him to fulfill the fantasies of my afternoon, there wasn’t.

Mornings were the coolest part of the day, ocean breeze blowing salt spray from the surf, short trees along the beach throwing long, cool shadows. I took an early bus to a long stretch of beach. Leaving my shoes, I peeled off my already-sticking shirt, and ran in a bikini top and loose shorts, quickly warming up, sweat rolling down my chest, between my breasts, down the cleft of my ass. 

I ran the length of the beach, then stopped, catching a glimpse of another beach over the rock outcropping in front of me. It was a bit boring running up and down the same stretch of sand. Maybe a quick, uncomfortable barefoot climb would lead me to a longer run before I had to turn around. Grabbing a low-hanging branch, I clambered onto the rocks, which were already heating up as they absorbed the morning’s rays. At the top, a narrow sand trail led into a stand of trees. I followed it, shuffling my bare feet to avoid stepping on thorns. Sure enough, as I picked my way over the rocks and rounded the corner, a beach stretched out in front of me, and I jumped off the last rock, landing softly in the sand, and began to jog again. There were already a few people on this beach, despite its less accessible nature. I would mention it to Ephraim, as a less crowded alternative to our usual spots. 

I was a third of the way down the beach before I actually looked at the other people on the beach, and at first, my brain glitched a little, not quite sure what it was seeing, but a moment later, accepted reality: I had stumbled onto an unadvertised nude beach. Definitely not the unofficially official local nude beach. This one was not in the guidebooks. Clearly, it was a bit of a local’s secret. No pale, winter tourist’s bodies lounging under protecting umbrellas here. No fresh sunburns. These looked to be locals who lived their lives in swimwear, surfers and boat crew. I tried not to stare. It was impossible. 

I slowed to a walk, and tried to process how I felt. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been around naked people before, but living in winter my whole life certainly hadn’t lent itself to much familiarity with nudity. 

And then, I saw him. My first instinct was to hide. I felt busted, somehow. It took me a second to realize he probably hadn’t even seen me the day before. Our many naughty and delicious transgressions had happened entirely in my imagination. He didn’t have a kid with him this morning. He was walking toward me, along the water’s edge. He was beautiful, he was glorious, he was completely naked, and oh, fuck, how can I look at him but not actually look at him, and do I make eye contact? Do I acknowledge him? Do I look the other way? Don’t look down. Don’t look- dammit . I looked at his cock. Fuck, I hope he didn’t see me looking. 

I looked at the ground, glancing up at the last minute, oh-so-casually, giving him a half smile and a nod. Like another runner on a regular, public sidewalk. Like he wasn’t naked. He returned my nod. Like he didn’t know he was naked. Like I wasn’t shaken and completely out of my comfort zone. 

I felt prudish. My clothes weren’t exactly covering much, but they were covering much more than everyone else’s were. Ephraim would be angry, I knew instinctively. He’d never come to this beach. This, this experience, was mine. He wouldn’t have to know if I chose to take my clothes off on this beach. I didn’t have to follow his rules. I felt a sudden surge of freedom, after being so used to making every decision in tandem with him. 

I walked up to the trees and peeled off my clothes, hanging them over a branch, then, the breeze on my skin, feeling both terribly exposed and perfectly myself, I walked down into the water. I swam into the waves, felt the cool current over my skin, my nipples hardening, as I began to feel the first tightening of unmistakable arousal between my legs, spreading through my belly. Filling my lungs with air, I floated to the surface, and imagined the ocean filling me, taking me, making love to me. I thanked the universe for giving my sex a body that did not betray my arousal in obvious ways. The water caressed me with cool fingers of swirling current, splashing between my legs as I spread them to invite it to swirl against me.

At last, the intended run long abandoned, I rolled over in the water and commenced a lazy butterfly stroke through the waves. There was something so sensual about being in this moment. I never wanted to return. I knew my time was running out, that I would be due back home soon. With reluctance, I turned toward shore. 

He was standing at the water’s edge, far enough away he maybe didn’t realize I was watching him as I swam in. Completely uninhibited. Unashamed. Thick surfing shoulders, stomach stretched over muscle, skin deeply tan above where the waistband of his board shirts normally hung, lightly tan below, the v of his hips leading my eye down to… I shouldn’t be looking. Should I? What were the rules? His cock hung free, as if it didn’t realize it was supposed to be hidden. I wanted it in my mouth. I wanted to taste him so badly. What the hell was I thinking? He had a kid, which meant he probably wasn’t single, and I certainly wasn’t, and I needed to get my myself under control.

My knees bumped the sandy bottom, and I stood up, afraid to look at him as he saw me. He did see me, though. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him watch me. I imagined walking up to him, naked in my want. What would I say? Be cool, I told myself. You’re just weirded out by everyone being naked. You’re forgetting the rules still apply, even on a nude beach. You are still the same person you were yesterday. 

I slipped back into my running shorts and bikini top, sat for a minute watching the waves as my skin dried, then picked my way back across the rocks, through the trees, and out to the road, where the bus stop was located. It was empty. Dammit. I had missed the bus. There would be another one in thirty minutes. 

A dirt bike sputtered up, slowed, and stopped. “Missed it?” A voice shouted over the noise. I nodded, turning toward the driver. Oh, shit. It was him. Shirtless, wearing the board shorts that fit him so criminally well. “I…yeah. It’s okay.” I fumbled, my face warming. 

“Live in town?”

“Yeah.”

“Hop on.”

This was not happening. I couldn’t do this. Oh, but I was. This was wrong, considering how I felt about him. Oh, but I wanted to. This meant nothing except he was being nice. Oh, but I wanted so much more than nice from him. 

I hesitantly threw a leg over the back of his seat. “Careful of the exhaust,” he shouted back to me, kicking it into gear. The bike lurched forward, throwing me back, and I grabbed at him, digging my fingers into his hips. He slowed, and I slid forward into him, my chest smashing into his back, my thighs jamming tightly around his ass. I suppose I should have slid back, but it didn’t occur to me, because our skin, slightly sticky with salt and sweat, melted together, and having his ass so firmly between my legs felt so absurdly delicious, and my thoughts were busy fleeing my brain, chased out by sheer, reckless impulse. I slid my palms over his hard stomach, under the pretense of holding on. As the ride smoothed out, my arms slowly relaxed and slid down his waist, my hands drifting down his body. The engine vibrated through me, my running shorts soaked, pulled tight against my clitoris, pulling me into- holy shit, I wasn’t going to come, was I? No. No. I wasn’t. I was not that desperate. Get it together. But I realized, in mortification, that I was thrusting my hips forward against the solidness that was his ass between my thighs, and my palms were sweating, my fingers splayed out over the waist band of his shorts. Oh, dear God. I was a mess. I took a deep breath because I suddenly realized I was panting. 

He slowed for a stop sign, then stopped, putting his leg down to steady the bike. The breeze coming in from the ocean smelled different, and I realized it was because his scent was no longer blowing over me in the wind. He spoke over his shoulder. “Where do you live?” His voice sounded a little tight, a little breathless. 

“Other side of town.” I gave him the street. 

Was he shaking?

I don’t know what possessed me, but without thinking, I let my hand drop to his lap. The back of my hand connected with…oh. My world spun again. He sat very still, and I felt my hand forget who it belonged to, press into the hardness it found there, then slowly turn, drawing its fingers up the long shaft covered by only a thin layer of fabric, feeling veins and ridges in perfect detail. I forgot to breathe. He forgot to drive. The moment stretched on, and at last, he reached back, placed his hands on my thighs, slowly followed them up until he gripped my hips behind him, pulling me closer. I reached between us with my free hand and pulled the cups of my bikini top aside, brushing his back with my nipples, then, leaning forward, gently sank my teeth into his muscular shoulder, salty with sweat and the ocean. His hands traveled up my hips to the waistband of my running shorts, then slipped inside, squeezing my ass, and I slid even closer to him, pushing myself against his tailbone, with a gasp and a muffled groan. 

And then, he moved. He let go of me and kicked the bike into gear, but instead of going straight through the intersection, he made a sharp right, toward the ocean. I held on, but my hand went lower, curling around him, cupping his balls, before rubbing up the length of his shaft and circling the head, and his legs sprung apart further as it slowly made its way back down again. He slowed, then veered off the road, killing the engine and kicking down the kickstand. I didn’t speak, afraid of ruining it, and neither did he, as I dismounted the bike and stood beside him, breathing hard, my bikini top still pulled aside. He met my eyes with a serious intensity, then swung a leg over the bike as he reached for me, one hand against my scalp, tangled in my hair, the other clutching a breast. His kiss was deep, his tongue searching, and I couldn’t stop kissing him back as my stomach clenched with want and disbelief that this was happening. At last, he straightened, and, drawing a deep breath, whispered, “Oof,” as he grinned at me, his thumb still rubbing circles around a nipple that was currently puckered and hard. His eyes were deep green, his teeth white in a tan face. Every cell in my body screamed for more, on edge and inpatient. I attempted to smile back, but I had just remembered Ephraim for the first time since I had climbed on the back of his dirt bike. I froze in sudden horror. Was I really doing this? What if I didn’t?

If I didn’t, I’d never know. I’d never have him in my mouth. I’d never know how he tasted. I’d never know the sounds he made when he came. I’d never know the feeling of that exquisite body straining against mine. I suddenly was not sure I could survive not knowing. 

His look was questioning. “Are you okay?” I probably wasn’t, but I nodded. He smiled at me again, then, bending down, swept my knees from under me, lifting me easily. He stepped through a small hedge into a coconut grove, completely surrounded by beach hibiscus, set me back down on my feet, and knelt in front of me. He reached up, pulling my hips to his face with both hands, yanking my running shorts down to my ankles. I kicked out of them as he pressed his face between my legs. 

The first flick of his tongue was the exquisite death of me. My knees bent, pushing into his shoulders, almost pushing him backwards as my fingers threaded through his hair, but he braced a hand behind him, placed the other across my ass, fingers splayed, and pulled me toward him as his tongue found its way between my obscenely swollen, soaked lips, deep inside me, then slid forward to circle my clitoris. He sucked it into his mouth, gently, carefully, and I simply couldn’t stand it anymore. The pressure was too great, and it broke too suddenly, and I twitched too violently. I could not support myself. When my knees buckled, I straddled his body, sliding down it, over his hard chest and stomach, leaving my wetness smeared down him. He sat down hard, and I settled on him, straddling his lap, only the layer of fabric between us. The grass beneath us was soft, and I pushed him back until he was lying on his back, then reached down to untie his board shorts and slide them down his hips, which he lifted for me. I pulled them off and tossed them in the same general direction as my running shorts, then, straddling his legs, crawled back up his body, taking him in my mouth, as much of the salty, warm, silken length of him I could. I swirled my tongue around his tip, pressing into the opening, tasting the drops already forming. I slid it along the inside of my cheek, then over the back of my throat, gently rolling his balls in my palm, a hand on his tight stomach, until I felt him twitch, then stopped, squeezing his cock firmly as I looked into his eyes, in a silent signal that it was not yet his turn. He met my eyes pleadingly, holding my gaze as he eased back from the edge. When he drew another breath, I straddled his lap, guiding his impossibly hard cock to my soaked entrance, lowering myself onto it with delicious deliberation and agonizingly slowly. I suddenly realized that this would end. I needed to remember this later. I needed it to slow down, just as much as I needed it to happen right now. He struggled to a sitting position under me, holding me tightly lest I move and push him over the edge. He pulled my face to his for a deep kiss, and, because he would not let me grind on him, I tightened my inside muscles around his cock as it filled all the empty corners inside me. “Impatient?” He whispered. I bit my lip and grimaced. He laughed a little, but it was more of a gasp. “Me too.” Letting go of my hips, he leaned back, letting me move, and I did, grinding against him, my hips making circles, exploring all the new ways his body fit mine. I felt the exquisite pain building, and suddenly, there I was, again, on the brink, only this time, I lost all trace of control as I ground my hips against his, as his cock swelled inside me and I tightened around it until I was clenching, over and over, shuddering, as fresh, weak relief washed over me. I screamed in a voice I could scarcely believe was mine, and beneath me, he suddenly pitched sideways, grabbing me and lifting me off him with shocking ease, as he gasped and squeaked in a less than dignified manner, his stomach tightening, hot spurts landing on the soft inside of my thigh. I sprawled out on the grass beside him, delicious weakness rolling through me. He melted onto the ground beside me, then reached for me languidly, sliding two fingers inside me, making me jerk and tighten around them as the aftershocks continued to abate. He slid them in slow circles inside me, gently, lightly, coaxing the last of the twitches from me, each one weaker and further apart than the last, until I lay, splayed under the high palm fronds, filtered sunlight playing over my skin, feeling drops of him roll off my thigh. He lay as still as I, silent, eyes closed. My hand slid up his sun warmed thigh to rest gently on his balls and the bottom of his shaft, now softening slightly, avoiding touching the tender tip. At long last, his other hand moved to mine, closing around it. I squeezed it back. He sat up slowly, as did I, both of us blinking in the bright sunlight. We both looked as though we wanted to say something. Neither of us did. We drew apart with only a hint of awkwardness, and stepped back into our clothing. We reached for each other again once dressed, cupping each other through our clothes, gently rubbing, and for a moment, I considered pushing him back down to the grass, but he read my thoughts and said, reluctantly, “We should probably go.” He helped me over the small hedge surrounding the coconut grove. Remounting his dirt bike, he kick started it, idling down the road to a shoreline access point, where he again parked and lowered the kickstand, and we waded into the water, clothed, diving under the waves and washing the scent of each other away with the tide, both of us suddenly remembering all the reasons we should not have been in the coconut grove. We dried in the wind on the ride home, me inhaling him, the scent of his flesh, as I explored his body with my hands and planted small kisses on his shoulders and neck, and he placed his hand over mine, sliding it down, inside his board shorts, to where he was again hard. I stroked him softly as he drove, memorizing him with a sense of urgency and loss. He dropped me off at the bus stop by my street, holding my hand and pulling me back for a last kiss as I tried to walk away. His kisses were the true goodbye kind, not the see-you-soon kind. I returned home to Ephraim, the scent of his saliva on my mouth, remembering each moment of the morning, strangely devoid of guilt, but also knowing it would not happen again. It was only in the shower that I realized I didn’t know his name.

It was a small island. A few weeks later, he brought his wife and child into the restaurant. His wife was beautiful, and incredibly nice. His name was Chris. Knowing it made him real. It wasn’t that I didn’t fantasize about him, didn’t feel my stomach turn over with sudden want each time I passed the coconut grove, but Ephraim was my future. That much I knew. 

A year later, I finally got Ephraim convinced to try the nude beach. We had a car by then. On the way home, I pulled over at the coconut grove and led him inside, removing our clothing. The grass was still soft, the beach hibiscus still sheltering, the sunlight still filtered through tall fronds. We made new memories in that sacred place. 

A year after that, we met Chris and his hot little wife at a beach bonfire. We all drank too much, but not so much we revealed all of our secrets. Chris and I stared meaningfully at each other and said things to each other in our silence we would never speak aloud. We girls giddily peeled off our swimsuits and ran into the ocean in the moonlight. Things got a little crazy. We kissed, hardly realizing it was happening, caught up in the moment and the soft, unfamiliar feel of another woman. Ephraim and Chris watched us. I slipped my hand over her body, then between her legs, to find her slick. She gasped and pressed into my hand. I invited the cool ocean inside her with my fingers, as she and I and the ocean made love, the moonlight leaving some mystery, the alcohol leaving a haze over the memory. Some day, maybe we’ll go to the coconut grove together. I’ll push her back into the soft grass and explore her exquisite curves in the dappled sunlight. Maybe when I do, Ephraim and Chris will be there, too. Maybe they’ll join us. I hope.