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In many ways Sally is Lo’s nemesis: a blond, flirtatious floozy, a former cheerleader, who is a glutton for attention. Lo has always had a bit of a rivalry with Sally and, during an unguarded moment, would descry Sally as a fraud, a charlatan, an imposter. “She pretends to be a slut,” she once said to me, “I’m the real thing, the genuine article. I hate her ostentatious flaunting of her tits and ass. I, on the other hand, can’t keep my hands off my own assets, let alone anyone else’s.”

Sally was dating Jeff, a tall, lanky, fella who always reminded me a bit of a country bumpkin. He spoke slowly and he was not particularly interesting. He observed Sally’s behavior with quiet reservation and I often wondered what he thought of her and what she saw in him. I don’t know what the guys and Sally were talking about, but I could see, from my occasional glances over their way, that Sally was holding the rapt attention of the men. She wore a tiny little red bikini that looked two sizes too small for her on top, causing a lot of cleavage, and three sizes too small on the bottom, revealing a lot of her butt.

When she overheard the laughter from our area, or perhaps saw the hushed tones of the conversation, she grew curious and drew up a lounge chair by us.

“What are you girls gossiping about?” she asked, eager to know. I was glad to be included in her “girls.”

Fifty Shades of Grey,” one of the girls responded.

“Oh,” she said, smiling. “It’s overrated,” she pronounced, as if her word was the objective truth on the subject.

I could see that this upset Lo, not only because it was identical with Lo’s opinion of the book, but because Sally had the audacity to say it in just that tone; a dismissive tone that Lo likes to use when talking about restaurants she no longer frequents. Often the people who are most like us are the ones who most aggravate us. That was the case here. And, as if Sally’s words weren’t enough, what she did next really caused Lo to steam. Since we were on the beach during the off season, there were no lifeguards and few other vacationers. Taking full advantage of this relative privacy, Sally undid her bikini top and said that she sees no reason for tan lines.

When Lo saw this, she was not about to be outdone by that little wench. Immediately Lo removed her top, with a carefully constructed smile, and said she completely agreed. Lo looked at me in a threatening fashion implying that I had better only have eyes for her rack and not Sally’s. But, the other three ladies followed suit, one by one, either with caution and modesty or care-free, till all five of them were proudly displaying their chests.

The guys then announced that the burgers and steaks were done and we all got up and sat over by the outdoor table, each grabbing plates and various condiments for lunch. After a few minutes of sitting together eating and trying to make small talk, the toplessness of the ladies became awkward and uncomfortable and so they either put their tops back on or put on t-shirts. Lo grabbed her white see-through top and happily enjoyed her meal. Val, though, remained unabashedly topless as Ruggles came over to the table to beg for scraps.

After lunch, Lo and I went for a long walk along the shore and talked about her weekend so far. Most of what she had to say was about Sally and how she had really had just about all she could stand of “that whore” this weekend. I laughed and joked with Lo, saying that she’s only angry at Sally because she’s stealing all of her own tricks. “Yeah, so?! What of it?” said Lo, well aware that her ire was irrational. “You know,” she went on, “that she only pulled that ‘tan lines’ bull shit stunt to grab your attention.”

“Now Lo, I don’t really think that. . .”

Before I could finish, Lo interrupted, saying, “Of course she did! You can’t possibly believe that she’s happy with that dolt, Jeff, can you? No, she wants someone like you — older, stronger, well built, a silver fox.”

I admit, though I didn’t believe Lo, it was nice to hear. “Go on,” I said, letting my vanity get the best of me.

Lo pushed me down into the sand and got on top of me, “Daddy, I want you so bad!”

“Lo, you’re going to have to wait. This is not the time, nor the time, nor the place for this.”

She rocked back and forth on my cock and made sure to make it good and hard before relenting and letting me up. My tent pole was up and the tent of my suit draped around it. How terribly embarrassing. There was nothing to do but run into the cool waves of the ocean. Lo followed. We swam for a while and Lo kept going underwater and taking my cock in her mouth.

“Lo,” I said when she came up for air, “if you’re a good girl and wait, I’ll make it worth your while. Believe me, I want you as badly as you want me.”

We swam back to our crew and now most of them were up on the deck drinking. I went up to grab a cold beer, but Lo said she was going to shower first. “You’ll watch me, right Daddy?”

She went into the outdoor shower she had told me about the previous day and I went up on the deck, but before I could get to the side to watch my little Lo bathing below me, like Bathsheba before David, I was intercepted by Jeff. He began with some small talk and offering me a beer. Of course, I appreciated the cold one on the hot day, but I wished to do nothing more than bypass the chit-chat and view my lovely bathing beauty. I was practically standing on tip-toes trying to gain some perspective on the action below without arousing suspicion or attention. Jeff went on about his work, sports, and money — all subjects I couldn’t give a farthing about. Finally, parched from all his talking (or so I assumed) he said his beer was empty and he was going to get another. Not a moment too soon!

I saw Lo’s hat protecting her lovely head from the sun like a sombrero as she sat on the small bench and removed her bathing suit. Then she removed the hat as well, tuning on the water and testing its temperature. I was practically falling off the railing when suddenly there was a slap on my back. It was Jeff again. Apparently he’s fond of me.

“What ya loo. . .” Before he could get out the whole question, he saw what I was looking at. Yes. My Lo. Naked. Under the shower. Did I mention, naked? Lathering up. Washing down. Rubbing. Pinching. Fondling. And then, as the two of us stared in silence, she grabbed the shampoo bottle and placed it on the bench, pulled her knees up under her on the bench, and slowly, gradually, descended upon the bottle — swallowing it with her pussy lips. One hand spread her pussy, the other rubbed her clit furiously as she enveloped the thick cylinder all the way down to the base.

“Hey. . .” Jeff began to call to the others, but I grabbed his arm and gave him a serious look, implying that he’d better shut his pie hole if he knows what’s good for him and just enjoy the show. He looked back at me as understanding slowly rippled over his face. He turned again to Lo and said to me in a more confidential tone, “How do you put up with it, H.? I mean, Sally is always flirting — you know that — and it drives me crazy. Like today when she took off her top in front of you and everyone else. But you, you seem to take it all in stride. I mean, just look at her. She’s a fucking fuck-crazy whore.”

“Is that what you really think of my girlfriend?” I asked, toying with him, cruelly.

“Sorry,” he said, “but you should have seen her this weekend.”

“What do you mean?” I inquired, keeping my eyes fixed on my Bathsheba below.

“You know how this house is laid out. And you know where Lo’s room is. Every night we might be sitting around watching TV or drinking in the living room or kitchen and she’d announce at some point that she was getting tired and that we were in her bedroom. She’d then get undressed right down to her thong. She’d throw over a t-shirt or something and hop in the pullout bed and say we’re welcome to stick around. Different people would be in bed with her on different nights and, I swear to you, I’m pretty sure that while we were watching TV or what have you, she was sitting there touching herself under the covers.”

Yep, that sounded like my Lo — reverting back to her college-days ways.

“But last night,” he went on, “we were up drinking late and the same routine happened, but this time Sally got in bed with Lo. I was over by the kitchen and others were in the chairs in the living room and we were watching a movie. I wasn’t paying too much attention to Lo and Sally — hoping Sally wouldn’t make a scene, drawing attention to herself like she always does. But as soon as the movie was over, Sally turned on some porn channel. Before long, Sally and Lo were making out. The guys were all encouraging them and egging them on, and then Sally went below the sheets and went down on Lo who came and came hard in front of everyone. The guys applauded and laughed like it was a big joke, but I was furious at Sally, who then appeared from under the sheets with a giant grin on her face.”

Meanwhile, as Jeff was telling me this, Lo was furiously pumping up and down on that shampoo bottle — her tits bouncing, her eyes shut, her mouth open, water streaming down her glistening body in the sun, and — I wouldn’t be surprised — her pussy squirting all over that thing. I managed to take my eyes off of Lo for a moment to look at Jeff and I had a realization; Jeff is my antipode, just as Sally is hers. Or, maybe, he is just the person I used to be thirty years ago.

I looked back at my Lo, as did Jeff, and I said slowly, “Jeff, you know, I don’t begrudge Lola any pleasure she may seek out and take because there she is, a young woman in the throes of her sexuality, full of life, love, lust, and libido. And here I am, a middle-aged man, wildly devoted to her, madly in love with her, but, between you and me, unable to keep up with her sexually. Love, Jeff, is about wanting the good of your partner for your partner, not wanting your partner’s goods all to yourself. I want Lo to be happy. If that means doing things like this, then that’s ok by me.”

“But aren’t you. . .” he considered his words carefully, “embarrassed by her?”

“Embarrassed? Embarrassed, how?”

“I mean,” he looked down at Lo whose galloping motions were now slowing to a canter, “she’s such a,” and again he tried to find a delicate word and failed, “such a slut.”

Oh, the poor boy. Caught, still, in the slut/stud, sinner/saint, virgin/whore dichotomy that has plagued Western sexuality since Eve and Lilith and only became worse with the whole cult of the Virgin that blossomed in the 12th Century.

I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. “Jeff,” I said, “you’re never going to be happy with Sally or any woman until you learn that love is not limited or limiting. Love is license. Love is liberating. Love is the levity of life. I’ve often wondered why the idiom is ‘falling in love.’ Why falling? So passive. Why not leaping? Leaping into love. Leaping up to love. It is an elevated, ecstatic experience; not a tumble down. Remember, my friend, the immortal words of Blake when he said, ‘He who binds to himself a joy does the winged life destroy, but he who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity’s sunrise.’ Would you believe me if I told you that for all her whoring around, just about every night Lo begs me to put her collar around her neck, place her on a leash, and walk her about the house as if she were my dog? Would you believe me if I told you that she constantly implores me to ‘mark my territory,’ as she calls it, by cumming in her and through other physical acts? Would you believe me if I told you that every night she calls me ‘Sir,’ and ‘Master,’ and repeatedly professes her devotion to me? Jeff, my friend, I pity you and the pain you must be going through. I was there myself once. But it wasn’t until I found true love — a leaping, unbounded, unlimited love — that I realized how foolish I had been. Even so, Lo doesn’t quite comprehend these mysteries herself. She still strives to make me jealous, get me to punish her for her indiscretions, show her that she’s mine. But, deep down, I truly believe that she does get it and that these little protestations of hers are all part of the game.”

[Excerpt from the story, “Lust in the Dunes, Part III: Bathsheba at the Beach” from the blog:]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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