Success at the Beach Part 1

"Garçon!” I called, “a pitcher of rum and ice for each of us!”

The sand burned my feet and sweat rolled down my temple, around my jaw and down my neck. It was hot and dry but the beach breeze felt cool against my arms and chest. I dug my feet into the lower layers of moist sand and so did she.

“I’m not a boy,” she said handing me a Dixie cup brimming with rum and five cubes of ice.

“Stand,” she said. I stood. “Turn, please.” I did so. She pulled on the waist of my trunks, dropped an ice cube into them and laughed.

“You, madam, are a bitch.” I reached down and pulled out the offending cube and plopped it into her half-filled, iceless cup of rum.

“Damn,” she said still laughing and threw the warm rum on my chest. She poured herself another half-rum and we sipped.

“Garçon!” I called, but she’d already begun uncapping the rum. She took my cup and scooped more ice from the cooler before handing it back to me. She tipped the neck of the bottle into my cup until it overflowed over my thigh and crotch. The ice cooled the rum and the cold rum felt fine on me and she knew this and smiled. “And you?”

“I’m going to take a dip,” she said as she laid out a beach towel before my chair. She got on all fours and smoothed it out, pointing her ass at me with her knees together, reaching and arching her back like a stretching cat. It was a beautiful sight and she did it on purpose. She stood, reached into her bag, came to me, dropped a lighter and cigarettes on my now-dry crotch, and gave me a peck on my cheek. “I’ll be back in a few and we’ll have another drink,” she said smiling before running off delicately to the water, barely kicking up sand.