BEACH WALK WITH A FRIEND
By Francine
The sun was streaming in through the window, announcing it was morning.
I lay on my bed, mostly on my back, naked, my legs splayed. My mind was
somewhere between asleep and conscious.
He slipped into the room, then knelt at the foot of the bed. His hand
reached up to my crotch area, toying with my pubic hair. He stroked it,
pulled it slightly, his fingers running through it. I lay motionless.
With his hands he spread my lips, his fingers slipping into my crevice. As
they wandered around exploring, touching sensitive places, doing delicious
things, I rolled a bit more to my back, spreading my legs to allow him
better access. He stroked my most private parts. His finger pressed on my
urethral opening, and he admonished me, “Don’t pee!” He massaged my private
parts. Feelings of utter delight passed through me. I lay there,
absorbing the stimulation.
The light became stronger. I glanced around, looking at the window, and
at the clock. He was not there, of course. He never was. He was but a
figment of my imagination, something between a fantasy and a dream. I
closed my eyes and lay deep in my pillow, trying to return to that dream
which had so penetrated my mind. For a moment it seemed to come back, as I
seemed to feel that hand on me again; but, as quickly as I slipped back to
it, the dream was gone. I almost longed for it to be real. Slightly awake
now, I glanced at the clock, announcing that I must soon arise. My hand
slipped to my lower region and I fingered myself for a minute, trying to
draw back that delicious sensation. It didn’t work. It was time to get
up.
Slowly, stretching a little, squirming a little, I drew myself from the
bed. I had no nightclothes to shed, for I slept naked. Why did I do this,
I thought to myself. Through the years of my marriage I rarely slept
unclad, yet, now, with no one nearby to seduce, I had developed the habit
of sleeping unclothed. I told myself it was precisely because there was no
one else around, and so my appearance need not reflect modesty. Yet
somehow I knew that in that state of nudity I felt a kind of erotic
sensation, a feeling that I was just a little vulnerable, ready for
something I could not really describe.
I crept from the bed, then turned to straighten the bedding. I headed
for the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, looked at myself in
the mirror and groomed myself for the day. It didn’t take long. I was
never a great beauty, and used little makeup. I turned to the toilet, and
started to seat myself. In my mind I heard my imaginary visitor utter his
instruction, “Don’t pee!”. Before brushing my teeth, I had an urge to do
just that, but it had subsided considerably. My bladder, not emptied since
the previous evening, was rather full but not really uncomfortable. I
decided not to urinate.
I dressed myself for the day, my work costume a rather simple skirt and
blouse. I slipped on my shoes, flats, suitable for a rather informal
office, then put on my bra and a half slip. I slipped on my blouse. I
rummaged in my drawer for clean panties, then, a pair in my hand,
hesitated. Maybe I would go without today - but I hesitated only a
moment. I was not that adventuresome. I slipped them on, and wandered to
my little kitchen for a quick breakfast of coffee and toast.
An hour or so later, I was at my work station, my large board in
front of me. I worked as a commercial artist, doing artwork for
advertising, brochures, signs, an assortment of assignments that came my
way. I prepared my work area, beginning a sketch I had left off the
previous day. As I leaned forward, I noted the increasing discomfort in my
belly. My bladder wanted its relief. I would make it wait.
A short time later, my boss summoned me to his office. A new assignment
was to be explained to me. I listened, absorbing the instructions, yet
increasingly distracted by my insistent natural needs. On the way back to
my work station, I relented and stopped at the ladies room. Enough is
enough, fun is fun, but now it’s time to work.
My working associates were a mix of and women. My relations with
the males around me were friendly, but not romantic. At forty six,
divorced five years ago, I enjoyed the company of men, but was not sure I
wanted another permanent attachment. My marriage had ended, my two
children were grown, and I now lived alone. In the past few years I had
dated on occasion, but nothing serious had ever emerged, and I spent my
nights at my own place.
My work was fun for me, and at times I indulged myself in a bit of
private art. I could draw passable portraits of people, and sometimes did
so for friends. My own very private secret project was a book of sketches
I had made and kept at home. They were all caricatures of I had known
or worked with. I drew them all as nudes. They weren‘t explicitly sexual,
just my impressions of how some of them would look undressed. None were
done from life, they were, like my early morning visitor, figments of my
fertile imagination, and I kept them from the sight of others.
Occasionally I would view them to myself, or draw a new sketch of someone I
had met.
My ex and I had parted after twenty odd years, on terms that were not
exactly pleasant. I had rarely seen him since, and now, with my children
grown, there was rarely a need to communicate. I had my own life.
Yes, I missed the sex. It was the part of my marriage that had never
gone sour. I could recall encounters that I loved - his body against mine,
the vigorous, almost athletic matings. Particularly I liked the times I
had been atop him, thrashing around, expressing and enjoying my own
freedom, all the while imparting a special excitement to him. Such an
encounter had produced one of the products of our union, who now had her
own home, life, and mate - and, probably, her own style of erotic thrills..
But physical unions I had not sought, nor allowed myself. To engage in
the a complete mating would require, for me, a kind of commitment for which
I was not ready, nor was I sure I would it in another. So, I found
gratification in my own little dreams fantasies, some forms of solo
physical activity, and subtle bits of sexual innuendo or subdued but
sometimes creative activities carefully shared with occasional male
friends.
My boss told me one day I would be sent to a city several hundred miles
away, to do some sketches for a real estate project for which a brochure
was being prepared. I would spend about two days there, seeing the area
and doing the groundwork for the artwork.
I liked the travel, and the chance to meet new friends. This one was
especially nice, because it took me to a growing area which had a beach
nearby. It was early summer, and I just might work in some beach time.
The trip was uneventful. I arrived at my destination, where I proceeded
to my previously arranged hotel. I called the client from there, and made
an appointment to meet with them.
A short time later, a of forty something appeared. He was not
especially good looking, just a guy in a business suit, perhaps mildly
overweight, but friendly.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Kelly, I am Mark Hudson. You are here, I
believe, to work up the artwork for our sales program. I hope your
quarters are comfortable!”
I assured him they were. “I’m going to enjoy being here”, I assured
him. “Where will we be going this afternoon? You don‘t need to be formal,
I‘m just Karen - Karen Kelly. Friends call me KK.”
“I will drive you to the site, show you around a bit, and then we will
go to my office and introduce you to the staff. It will probably be too
late for much more today, so we will save the planning discussions for
tomorrow, if that is OK with you.”
He took me a few miles to a large undeveloped land area, marked only
with a few small signs and some surveyor’s flags.
“Right now”, he observed, “there is not a whole lot to see. But when we
get started, this will change dramatically. Instead of wild grass and
trees, there will be home sites, roads, a shopping center there, and space
in the opposite direction for churches and community buildings. We think
it has promise.”
“Not a lot I can do with this”, I replied. “Will you be showing me your
plans or diagrams on how you envision it developing?”
“We have plans, and a few rough models. But the pictures are what you
are here for. We will need an artists rendition of how different areas
will look when finished. Hopefully, tomorrow, you may have time to rough
up some ideas.”
He took me to the office, where I met several co-workers. We did little
planning that day, as it was getting near closing time, so after our
introductions, Mark indicated he would pick me up the next morning and
bring me to the office by eight thirty.
Mark took me back to the hotel, depositing me at the door. “Will you be
all right tonight?” he asked. “If there is anything you need, let me know.
Otherwise, I will pick you up here at eight in the morning!”
“No, thank you, Mark, I will be fine. See you in the morning!”
The hotel was quite satisfactory. I had dinner in the restaurant, and
retired to my third floor room to unpack and prepare myself for the night.
The room looked out over a business area, now quiet. Most of what I
could see nearby were rooftops. I unpacked and took out my clothes for the
next day.
In my suitcase I had placed a nightgown. It was one I rarely wore, but
I packed in case I found myself in a situation where some kind of nightwear
would be necessary. I glanced out the window, decided there was little
danger of anyone looking in, and simply returned the nightgown to my
suitcase. I would sleep nude.
I watched a bit of television, showered, and prepared for the morning.
Unclad, I flopped on the bed and settled in for the night.
In my mind, I saw someone looking through that window. Of course, it
would be a man, inspecting my body through that glass. Half hoping my
fantasy would be repeated in a dream, I fell asleep.
The next morning, I was up early. This was a work day, and there was no
time for my clever erotic inventions. I dressed, went down for breakfast,
and awaited my ride.
Mark arrived on time, and drove me to the office. We had a long day, as
I was briefed on the various aspects of the planned development, and given
descriptions and shown crude models. From time to time I attempted rough
sketches to express my understanding, which were then critiqued by the
client’s staff. The day was both long, and for me, exhausting. I had
hoped that we might finish early enough for me to enjoy a beach excursion
on my own, but it was not to be.
Near six o’clock, Mark drove me back to the hotel. As we rode, he
talked a bit, almost apologetic.
“I fear I’ve been a poor host to you. We kept you so occupied all day
we didn’t even have a chance to talk about any time to relax. I think you
did say something about seeing some of our community’s attractions before
you returned?”
“No apology needed, Mark. You’re not a host - you’re a client! I’m a
working girl, and this was not supposed to be a fun trip. Yes, I had hoped
to squeeze in at least a tour of the beach before I returned - but, if we
can’t, I’ll just hope for another time!”
“Karen”, he continued, almost sorrowfully, “It really has been a
pleasure to work with you. I hope we will have further opportunities.
But, about that beach and the local attractions; I hope tomorrow will not
be quite as long a day. As it’s your last, we just might finish up
somewhat early. Are you leaving tomorrow night?”
“No, really, Mark, I will taking the flight back on the morning
following. I have the evening free tomorrow - except for a little time to
pack!”
He thought a minute. “I don’t mean to be too forward or intrude on
anything personal, but, I would love to have you join me for dinner
tomorrow after we finish talking shop. We might give you a tour of the
area, perhaps even in the evening, if you’d be interested. Now, if you
would prefer not to, I’ll certainly understand!”
I had no hesitation. Mark had been a good person to work with, and he
was trying to be hospitable. “Mark, I’d love to. If you’re concerned, I’m
not attached- I was married, but that’s been over for quite a while. I
have enjoyed our little time together.”
“Karen, I’m not asking you to join me to talk shop. I think you are
nice person to be with. I’m not attached, either; something of the same
situation. Can we plan on it, then, after we finish up tomorrow?”
“Let’s do”, I assured him.
The next day, I dressed in my working attire, blouse and slacks. Mark
picked me up in the morning. All day I was thinking of the evening and
what it might bring. I had recently had few chances of male company for
dinner and an evening, and I planed on getting his attention in subtle
ways.
We had lunch at a place near his office. As we returned from the quite
casual lunch, we entered the building in which his office was situated.
Mark and several headed for the men’s room as we came in, and I
diverted myself to the ladies facility. After, we returned to the office.
I was with Mark and the others of the staff from lunch until we
finished, a little after four. Mark indicated he would be taking me from
the office, and made a stop in the men’s room preparatory to leaving. I
told him I would wait for him, as I made my farewells to the others. .
They probably assumed he would be dropping me at the hotel.
As we entered his car, he asked, “Karen, would you want me to take you
to the hotel, first, or are you ready now?”
“Am I dressed all right, for whatever you have in mind?” I asked.
“You look great. If you’re OK, let’s just have a little drive around,
before we stop for dinner!”
“Fine with me”, I noted.
Mark gave me a trip around the community, then drove toward the beach,
knowing I had expressed in interest in seeing it. We drove on a beach
front road, then found a place to stop and get out.
“Now, if you had time, we might let you go for a swim. Does it look
inviting?”
I drew in deep breaths of the salt air. Taking him by the hand, I
stepped on the beach sand.
“Not a place to walk in shoes”, I noted, observing that both of us had
shoes more suited to offices than beaches. “It would be a place for a swim
- if I had a suit!”
We spent a few minutes there. Then I asked him if the beach was as
inviting in the evening. “After dinner, it might be fun for me to put my
toes in the water - if you would join me!” I half teased him, expecting
that he would refuse.
“In the evening it’s usually pretty quiet. And, that toes in the water
deal sounds nice - just might like it. Shall we do it, for real?”
“I’m game”, I answered.
We returned to the car, and he drove to the restaurant he had selected.
It wasn’t a particularly elegant place, but had tables and booths, and a
menu that seemed to feature modest prices. I could see he was not using an
expense account and was not out to impress me.
“It’s not fancy, but the food is good. I eat here occasionally. Now,
if it doesn’t seem to your taste, you just tell me - there are other
places!”
He seemed my kind of guy. Simple, down to earth. “It looks fine, Mark.
Let’s eat here!” I told him.
As we entered, Mark excused himself to use the restroom, and invited me
to do the same. “I’ll just wait for you here, Mark; I’ll be looking over
the menu!”
When he returned, we found a well lit booth, and sat down.
We made selections and ordered. I asked for a large soft drink to
start, and when it arrived, I quickly began sipping it.
There was no mention of our business during dinner. We talked about
ourselves, our backgrounds, our personal histories, where we had grown up.
We attacked our food eagerly when it arrived, continuing our relaxed
conversation. At one point, my drink glass was drained and I asked for
another. Mark turned away from me to attempt to summon a waitress for the
purpose.
While he was not watching, I took the opportunity to unfasten the top
button of my blouse. My purpose was to display just a little cleavage, but
I quickly saw that what was showing was not my cleavage, but my bra. It
was not a sexy, lacy, bra; just a plain serviceable white cotton type.
When he turned back, I detected his glance to my neckline, indicating
that he observed the adjustment. Perhaps he thought it was an accident.
“You’ve quite a thirst”, he noted.
“Maybe something to do with the climate, and maybe some of that beach
air”. I countered.
We finished our dinner, and he took care of the check and tip. We
prepared to leave. As we approached the door, he stopped at the rest room,
asking me, “Need a stop before we leave?”
“No, thanks. I’m OK”, I answered him.
“You sure?” he asked. He was beginning to wonder about me. I had
wondered how long it would take him to make that observation.
“Yes, OK. I’ll wait for you!”
When he came out, he went to his car. It was now dark. He politely
opened my door, then entered himself.
“You must have quite an endurance!” he noted.
“How so?” I asked.
“Well, I have been with you since lunch. That was a long time ago. You
haven’t made a stop in a ladies’ room since about one o’clock, and now it’s
past eight! After drinking coffee all afternoon, and those two big sodas
tonight! How do you do it?”
I had his attention. I had been waiting for him to make that
observation.
“Isn’t that a rather personal question?” I asked, a bit of mischief in
my voice.
“Maybe. But it just amazes me. Don’t you need to go?”
“Yes”, I answered, “I do.”
He waited for me to expand on the subject, but I didn’t.
After a short interval, he asked me, smiling just a bit, “Are you
teasing me?”
“Yes”, I answered. I returned the smile.
Baffled, he waited for me to comment further. When I did not, he asked,
“Karen, what game are you playing? Are you trying to see how long you can
wait?”
“Not exactly”, I told him. “Now, you promised me a walk on the beach.
Are we going?”
He started the car and began to drive.
It wasn’t far to the beach front drive. We rode along it, until we
found a quiet spot where we could park the car. I was out the door first.
“Can we leave our shoes in the car?” I asked. “It would be a little
less sandy that way, and I like the feel of the sand on my feet!”
Mark took his shoes and socks off, rolling up his pants legs. I took
off mine, also rolling up my slacks. We locked our shoes in the car, and
walked toward the water. A few yards from the shore line, we began to
stroll together up the beach. It was dark, but warm, and there seemed to
be no one else about.
“Now, Karen, are you going to tell me what your game of avoiding
bathrooms is all about?”
“To get you to ask”, I told him, quite truthfully.
“You mean, you avoided going, just so I would notice and ask you why?”
I nodded.
“Doesn’t it - doesn’t it hurt? I’d think you would get uncomfortable!”
“Yes. I do. But I can manage it. I did get you to ask, didn’t I?”
“But Karen, it just isn’t natural. I don’t see how you do it-”
“Mark, are you doubting my bladder is full?”
He was all but blushing, embarrassed at my blunt observation. I stopped
walking, took his hand in mine, placed it on my abdomen, and pressed it.
“Feel that? Full up, right?”
“Karen, what are you trying to do? Is this a come on?”
“No, Mark. And just so you know, I’ve no intention of either of us
taking advantage of our situation to turn it into a bedroom encounter.
That’s not going to happen, I’m not that kind of woman. But holding my
bladder a little beyond the full point does make me feel a little, well,
spicier than I might otherwise. I won’t turn that into a romp in the
sheets, but, I do enjoy the kind of conversation it has sparked. Now, if
you’d like me to just empty it and be completely normal--”
Mark shook his head. “Karen, I just don’t understand you, but you do
sound like a fun lady to be with. Look, I’m not looking for a ‘romp in the
sheets’, either, but you intrigue me. I never had a lady ask me to feel
her bladder before!”
“Did you like to?”
“Yes - it was - well, rather fascinating- doesn’t it you?”
“A little,” I answered. “I’m not really expecting to hold it much
longer!”
“Do you want to go back and find a rest room?” Mark asked, rather
innocently, I thought.
“No, Mark, I can hold it a little longer. Frankly, I enjoy talking to
you while my bladder’s so stretched - it makes me think of things that,
well, I might not have thought of otherwise!”
“Like?”
“Do you have any secret hobbies, Mark? I Mean, things you do that would
not usually share with others? Collect calendar art, maybe?” My comment
was a bit suggestive.
“I might have had a few pieces around. But, if it was truly something I
did secretly, would I being sharing it with you?”
It was a fair question. I had to open up some, too. “Mark, OK, I will
tell you something I do. You know I’m an artist, right?”
“And a good one. I saw the sketches you did here!”
“Do you know I have a notebook at home of sketches I do of I’ve
met?”
“Oh - rogues gallery of boyfriends?”
“No, Mark”, I explained. “Not boyfriends, just I have met-
worked with, done business with, seen around. No romantic interests,
really!”
“Then why do you do sketches of them?”
“Because I like to imagine them as they are, really. I see them all
dressed, but in my sketches I draw them nude. Of course, I haven’t seen
them that way, I just draw them the way I imagine they would look without
their clothes on!”
Mark showed a bit of a smirk. “I’ve heard of mentally undressing
women as they look at them, but a woman mentally undressing men, and making
sketches?”
“Why not?” I asked. “Fair for the goose, fair for the gander! Besides,
I just do it for my own amusement. I like to think of what are like,
naked. What’s wrong with that? I don’t really undress them!”
“Will you be making a sketch of me?”
I smiled at him. “Would you like me to?”
He thought about it. “You’re a strange one! But, then, maybe you’re
just honestly saying what other women think but wouldn’t want to admit.”
“I don’t speak for other women. I only know how I feel. Right now, I
feel like I need to so bad I’ll be doing it in my pants soon if I don’t
get them off first!”
“You got yourself in that condition. Look, there’s really no one
around, here. Do you want to, well, here?”
“With you watching?” I asked, a bit indignantly.
“And you the woman who likes to sketch nude men! Suppose I liked to
look at nude women!”
“Nude women peeing?”
“Are you offering?” he asked me.
“No. Absolutely not. Unless, of course, you are.” I retorted.
“You said your sketches were only imaginary”, he answered.
“Imaginary, because I hadn’t seen the subject! Now, if I wanted a
sketch of you, think how much better I might be able to do if it was
something I had seen!”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I want you to pee! Your conversation
is a lot more interesting when you just need to. Incidentally, your bra
looks nice - did you know it’s showing?”
I glanced down. I had intended to open only one button, two were now
unfastened. My bra was clearly showing in the gap in my blouse.
“Trade you,” I offered quickly. “My for yours - but then I really
have to pee. I just can’t hold it any longer!”
He smiled, shaking his head. He opened his shirt, slipping it from his
shoulders. Under it he had a white T-shirt. I saw it as I slipped my
blouse from my shoulders. I pointed to it.
“That for my bra?” I asked.
It was quickly off, and joined my bra as part of the pile of clothing
now deposited on the sand.
Not quite sure what or why I was doing, I unfastened my pants and
slipped them off. I folded them up and laid them on the pile. Then, in
one quick stroke, I deprived myself of my panties, adding them to the stack
on the sand.
I turned to Mark. He was undoing his pants. I looked directly at him,
awkwardly removing his clothing.
“Mark”, I said, in an unmistakably serious tone. “The rule is, touching
with fingers only - nothing more than that! OK?”
“I heard you - loud and clear”, he answered, his pants falling to the
sand.
“Then, before I size you up for the sketch, will you try to help me hold
just a little longer? I’ll show you-”
In a moment I was naked on my back on the sand. Mark sat beside me,
staring at my unclothed body in the dim moonlight. I took his hand and
placed it on my abdomen, over my distended bladder. I felt him push. I
winced at the momentary pain, then bravely told him, “Again!”. He did.
“Find my outlet - don’t let me pee!” I asked. He fingers slipped down
over my pubic hair, into my slit, pressing, exploring.
It felt wonderful.
He couldn’t find my outlet. I took my hand and placed his finger in the
right place. “Hold it”, I commanded.
I released my sphincters. I tried to push. The feeling was odd,
strangely pleasurable, but there was no result. Suddenly my hand, holding
his, felt a spray. A messy disorganized stream was slipping out from under
his finger. I pulled his finger back.
As I lay there, a strong stream projected from me, arcing through the
air before landing on the sand. Mark stared at it and at me. I smiled at
him.
“Fingers only!” I admonished him.
Following my instructions, he reached up and placed two fingers on my
nearest nipple. I allowed him, moving not at all. He tweaked the other
nipple, as my stream continued unabated. Finally my bladder was empty, and
the arc dropped, and finally stopped.
His fingers slipped back into the crevice between my lower lips. I did
not move. My mind called up the fantasy I had so often enjoyed, my unknown
visitor playing with my private parts. I let his fingers explore for a
couple of minutes, creating delicious sensations, and I then removed his
hand.
“My turn - I need to etch the sketch in my mind!” I told him, sitting
up. I motioned for him to stand in front of me. As he worked himself up,
his erection was obvious. I stared at it, signally for him to show me a
profile.
I reached up and took his erect organ in my fingers, gently stroking it
and squeezing it. “Do you need to pee?” I asked him.
“No - couldn’t like this. But if you keep that up, I won’t have to
worry about it!”
“Fingers only - remember?” I reminded him.
He nodded. His face reflected a sensation of a form of ecstasy. He
stood still. My fingers were gentle, but active.
Suddenly, there was a jerk in his body, accompanied by a gasp and an
acceleration in his breathing. My fingers stayed on his penis, remaining
still as he gradually softened.
“Thanks” I told him. “You seem to have got the idea. Now, can you
pee?”
Standing, his breathing returning to normal, he began to release a
stream from his organ. I watched it with intent interest, my hand holding
his shaft. My other hand slipped into my own slit. I held him until the
stream ended. He settled beside me in the sand, relaxed, on his back.
We lay there, perhaps the better part of an hour, relaxed, talking a
little. Finally, I reached down, took his hand, placed it on my pubic
area, and quietly suggested, “Why don’t you explore a little - fingers
only, now!”
“As though I could manage anything else!” he answered, his fingers
working their way into the inner parts. I opened my legs a little to admit
his touch, then closed my eyes and mentally put myself back into my bed, in
the morning, receiving again my unknown visitor. I could feel him
exploring me, as I had so often. His fingers went to the most sensitive
parts, and I lay there, waiting for the dream to end and the sunlight to
pour in on me. I was aware of a growing tension within me, though I seemed
to sink deeper into that reverie.
I awoke from my trance with a gasp, feeling an explosion inside me. I
arched my back to receive that magic touch, as my lungs froze, then began
heaving deeply.
I opened my eyes. There was no sun, just the stars, and the beach sand
roughly grating my back.
We were not late. I was shortly back at my hotel. My final greeting to
Mark was not a goodnight kiss, but a handshake, as befits business
associates. I left him with one final farewell suggestion.
“Goodnight, Mark. Third floor, north side wall, second window from the
left. Ten minutes?” He raised his eyebrows in a curious way, but seemed to
understand that it was a message.
In ten minutes, I was standing in my room. My clothes were all lying on
the bed. I was dressed for a shower, or perhaps to fall asleep. I stood
directly in front of the large window. I opened the curtain a bit, then
turned all the room lights on. I walked to the window and stood, facing
out, directly in front of the uncovered part of the window. Before me was
an uncluttered street scene, only a few cars about. I stood there for five
minutes, by the clock. Then I closed the curtain.
I fell on the bed, wondering if Mark had deciphered the message, and if
he was looking at that window.
The next morning, I awoke. The sun was streaming in the window. I lay
there, attempting to return to the dream I should have had. For some
reason, I hadn’t had it. I did have the most wonderful inspiration for a
sketch, though; and I reached for my sketch pad. This one wouldn’t be
imaginary.
END
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