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Subject: {ASSM} Is windsurfing better than sex? m/F [older woman] by Ace
Date: Sat, 21 Apr 2001 16:10:04 -0400
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The rest of my stories are at; http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/www//
and; http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/   [in plain text]

Is windsurfing better than sex? by Ace, 2001

I'm sure that the vast majority of readers would immediately reject
this notion.  That's because the vast majority of readers don't know
the joy of riding and jumping waves in a Beufort force 6.  For those
non-sailors out there, a force 6 is when most of the sea is white with
foam, and the spray is blowing off the crests of the waves.  The beach
will be unpleasant, as sand is blowing around up to the height of the
knees.

It's a rare thing for me to be lucky enough to be able to get down to
the beach with all my gear on those exceptional wonderful days when
conditions are perfect near where I live.  This story starts on one
such day.

I had been sailing for two hours, and came into the beach for a break.
I ached in every muscle already, but I had every intention of
returning to the sea after a rest.

As always, it was damned cold when I'd stopped for a few minutes, even
in my wetsuit.  Most people come with their cars, a few lucky rich
bastards have campers.  They can sit inside and have hot coffee in the
warm.  The rest of us just get behind a windbreak of some kind.

A guy came over to talk to me; mid '30s, I would guess.  Medium build,
sandy hair, about my height.  I was only 17 at the time.  He was
wearing land clothes.

"Nice little blow.  What do you think, force 6?"

"Oh yeah, it's a 6 for sure."

"That's a nice rig you've got.  I've got a sinker at home.  Shit, I
wish I had it with me."

"Why don't you?"

"When I left home yesterday, I had no idea I was coming to the beach,
or that there would be a blow. Say, it's awfully cold out here, want
to come up to the camper and have a coffee?"

It was damned cold, and he was pointing at a large motorhome parked
just up off the beach.

"Sure."

I climbed up inside after him, to find there was a woman inside.
Well, there would have to be, wouldn't there?  Otherwise, this would
have to be a whole different kind of story.

They introduced themselves; Allen and Fran.

Now this Fran was a helluva sexy woman. But if I describe to you how
she looked, you wouldn't be overly impressed.  She had frizzy hair and
freckles, she was a bit short, and didn't have very large breasts. She
wore clear round glasses. Her ass was slightly generous for her small
size, but other than that she was quite lean.  She was also in her mid
to late '30s.

Yet there was something strangely appealing about her.  A sexy
something that it's hard to put your finger on.  The way she moved in
the small space as she prepared coffee for the three of us; the way
her brown eyes shone at me through her glasses.

I sat on a towel so as not to soak their seats, and Allen asked me
about myself.  Whenever I looked at Fran, she seemed to be looking at
me.

She sat down with us at the small table, and we talked a little bit
more.  She even played the footsy with me.

Then Allen said; "Listen, it's pretty clear to me that you two have
some chemistry going on.  I have a proposition for you; lend me your
gear, wetsuit and harness.  I'll take an hour or two on the water, and
give you guys some space."

Fran and I were both shocked into silence for a moment.  What he had
said about the chemistry was very true; but one doesn't expect such
things to be spoken of out loud.

He continued; "Fran, why don't you get him a towel, and he can have a
nice hot shower. Come on, it's alright.  Life is short, why waste it?
What do you say?"

"Okay.  I'm for it."  Said Fran.

"What about you, Hank?"

Windsurfing may or may not be better than sex.  But I had just
windsurfed for two hours, and I hadn't had sex for some time.

I wouldn't normally go with a married woman, certainly not one who was
twice my age.  But there was something about the way Fran kept looking
at me.  She wanted me; she was radiating that desire.  There's
something very alluring about that.  And if Allen was willing to trade
a couple of hours with her for an equal time using my equipment, well.

The only thing worse than getting out of a wetsuit, is trying to get
into one when it's wet.  But fifteen minutes later, Allen had
succeeded in doing so, and climbing down out of the motorhome wearing
my wetsuit, my harness, and a huge grin, set-off down towards where
I'd left my board on the beach.

I took a hot shower and washed my hair in the tiny shower stall, and
emerged wrapped in a large towel that Fran had lent me.  It was a
little stupid of me, I realized, that I hadn't gone to my car and got
my dry clothes before stripping off the wetsuit.

I looked out through the window, and I could see my sail as Allen
punched through the waves on my board.  I saw that he was competent,
so I stopped worrying about it.

I sat on the little bench, and Fran stood behind me, toweling my hair.
Her fingers trailed across my face, down my throat, and slowly traced
across my chest.  I should probably point out that we serious surfing
people tend to have significant chests.

She grabbed my tits, and kind of growled a bit. "God, I wish my
husband had chest like you."  She said, giving my ear a little bite.

My 17-year-old dick was pushing up the towel.

I lay down on the bed and relaxed completely, while Fran made love to
me like no one ever had.

She gently caressed and kissed every part of my body, she worked from
my fingers up my elbows to my armpits.  She massaged my feet, my head.
She fondled my balls and sucked my cock, then caressed my body some
more.

The way she was worshiping my body had me enthralled.  She rolled me
over, and massaged my back and ass.

I was very happy with the choice I'd made; I started to realize how
tired I was.  You don't notice that when you're surfing.  Her fingers
across my flesh were ecstasy.

This must have gone on for at least half an hour.  She would caress my
cock and balls, and suck me for a minute every now and then, or pause
for a little kissing.  I didn't think it was possible to be so
intensely aroused.

She stopped then, to undress.  Her body was lean and firm.  She was
pale, with a few freckles scattered around as though somebody had
sprinkled her with pepper, just to add a little extra flavor.

Her breasts were small, but very well shaped for an older woman.
Somehow, I found that very sexy.  On girls my age, you expect firm
breasts, but on an older woman it's just more special.

She slid over me, wedging her naked body between the wall and myself.
I slipped an arm under her, and one over her.  I pulled our bodies
gently but firmly into contact.  I ran my hand over her fine round
ass.

Her vagina was very wet.  She gasped as my dick slowly penetrated her.
I started slowly with her, as she had with me.  I fucked her harder
and harder, and she dug her fingers into my shoulders and stared at me
bug eyed with each of her orgasms.

The wind was roaring outside, and the force of it was enough to shake
the motorhome.  It was a little distracting, which was okay.  I was
having a helluva good time.  I just love making a woman come; it's
such an ego booster.

Finally, inevitably, I came as well.  It just doesn't seem fair how
women can have one orgasm after another, and we guys can't.

The sky was darkening; I got up on one elbow and looked out the
window.  There were no sails left out on the sea; there were a few
guys on the beach packing their gear.

I didn't see my own sail anywhere.  Or Allen.

I dressed quickly in Allen's clothes, and went outside to ask a couple
of surfers that I knew if they had seen him.

"That guy who took your rig?  He sailed out past the Breakers, then
took off downwind.  Haven't seen him since."

I was a little bit panicked.  I climbed back into the camper.

"Fran, I don't know what's happened to Allen.  Hopefully he's
somewhere down the beach.  I'm not sure what I should do."

"That's strange.  He sure talked as though he knew what he was doing."

"He told me he has a sinker and everything at home.  Was that
bullshit?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?  I thought he's your husband!"

"Allen?  Oh no, Allen isn't my husband.  I just met him this
afternoon.  I was saying to him how I thought you were really cute,
and he said if I wanted, he would introduce you to me."

Well, it turns out that mine is not the first board this guy has
sailed off with.  The nasty part is that people are left not knowing
what happened to the guy. I found out that he was reported lost at sea
to the Coast Guard three times.



It was about six months before I saw Fran again.  I had been seeing a
nice girl during that time, but then we split up and I got to thinking
of Fran.

I don't know why, but I seem to have real trouble getting a date.  I
think because of my height; I'm only 5'8", and my slightly undersized
penis.  It's a small town, girls talk.

I haven't had trouble getting girls off.  I don't have trouble meeting
or being friends with girls.  But somehow, it's just hard to make the
transition from friends to lovers.

I don't know, maybe guys with big dicks are much more fun.

But I remembered well how it was with Fran; she'd worshiped me like a
God, and the way she came, it had made me feel like one.  I wish there
was a single girl near my age who was anything like Fran.

I had kept her number.

"Hi.  Fran?  It's Hank.  You remember, from the beach last fall?
Windsurfing?"

"Hank!  Don't worry, I don't think I'll ever forget you.  Where are
you?  How are you? I'm so glad you called!"

I was surprised at how easily we talked.  Like old friends, amazingly
comfortable with each other.  As I put down the phone, I had to remind
myself that we'd only spent a couple of hours together nearly half a
year previously.

I met her at a steak place in another town.

"So, first you screw my brains out, and only then do you ask me for a
date."  She said to me with a smile.

She was looking excellent, her lean body elegant in high heels and a
black cocktail dress.  With her small breasts, she looked demure
despite the extremely low cut.  A string of pearls accentuated her
neckline, the gold hoops in her ears swung enticingly each time she
moved her head.

She was right; it was a strange thing to get to know someone, after
you already knew him or her intimately.  We talked, laughed, and found
each other pleasant.

She spread my hand out on the table palm upwards, and stroked it with
her fingertips.  It brought back to me the memory of her intense
sensuality.

"Can we do somewhere?  Where we can be alone?"  I asked her.

"Definitely."  She replied.

She was my lover, my mother, my sister, my devotee.  I don't know how
it was possible for her to turn on her love like opening a valve,
drenching me in the deluge of her sexuality, the power of it washing
away my hesitations and inhibitions, my distaste for the fact that she
was married to another, and that she was twice my age.

Nobody touched me like she touched me, enjoying every part of my body,
every instance of contact.

Nobody sucked me like she sucked me, possibly enjoying it more than I
did myself.

And nobody came for me like she came, moaning with passion, gripping
my hair in her hands, frantically trying to keep control of herself.

My dick may be small, but when it's inside of Fran, that damn thing is
turbocharged.  Its super dick.  Oh yes, that woman does it for me.



We lay together in the bed, dozing.  Spent.  Well spent.

"Hank.  Will you do something for me?"

"Name it."

"I have a fantasy.  I've had it for a while, since the first time we
were together."

"Yes?"

"I would like you... and me... and my husband... together."

It took me a while, but I agreed.  How could I refuse her?

We're supposed to meet next Sunday.  She asked me to read a story
first, that her husband had written.

[http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/www//john_was_17.htm]

It's about a similar m nage-a-trios they had had some years ago in New
York.

Now I'm wondering what I've gotten myself involved with.  I really
like Fran, and I want to make her happy.  But in that story, her
husband gives head to her lover.  It's pretty clear that the reason
she wanted me to read it is because that's what she has in mind. She
wants to watch her husband suck my cock.

I think I'm going to have to make an excuse, and back out of it.  I
hope Fran will still see me alone sometimes.

So is windsurfing better than sex?  Well, I'm not sure. With a partner
like Fran, I think the answer must be yes.

Ace 2001
This is not commercial; it's just for fun. what I would appreciate is some 
reader response;
aceinthe_hole@hotmail.com

The rest of my stories are at; http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/www//
and; http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/   [in plain text]











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