Pete and Samantha's Guide to Sex in the Summertime - 2012 Page 2

It is easy to see how the experience of being naked around others can quickly lose its ‘embarrassment factor’ once someone has taken the initial plunge, particularly in scenarios where everyone else is naked too. While someone might get into trouble for appearing nude in a non-sanctioned public place, talking to people who feel more at ease when not wrapped in fabric leads me to question whether the socially acceptable view that the human body is too inappropriate to be seen by anyone other than a lover or medical practitioner is particularly sensible or even healthy. Everyone being publicly clothed at all times leaves us exposed primarily to images of nudity provided by the media and narrows our view of what is normal and acceptable in terms of how a body should look, would more exposure to a variety of ‘normal’ bodies in day to day living lead to a collective rise in self-esteem? Perhaps the current nudist movement is too small a section of the population to answer questions such as those comprehensively, but talking with people involved is an interesting and revealing insight into an alternative view of the human body in a society where the need to be clothed socially is taken for granted as an absolute. I enjoyed hearing from those who have fetishised social nudity, as well as those who have come to view nudity as simply a natural state of being. None of the people I spoke to appeared to be particularly ‘hippie’ or strange, just people who for one reason or another enjoyed the sensation of being free from clothes and I can see how giving it a try could be an interesting experience, although perhaps I will wait until I am on holiday in a country having a warmer summer than the UK is this year.

  Confirmed Sighting

  ‘I’m bird watching,’ Daniel said with deliberate asperity. ‘What did you think I was doing?’

  As he spoke he had adjusted his camera to show the most recent of the images he’d been taking, a buzzard soaring on the thermals rising up the cliff. The woman’s expression, previously accusing, changed immediately to benign interest.

  ‘There are six pairs nesting locally this year,’ she told him, ‘but I always think you get the best view on a hot day along the cliffs.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Daniel agreed, toggling the camera to show two more pictures of the same buzzard.

  He was smiling as he turned the camera off, partly in an effort to seem friendly and sincere, but mainly because he was feeling distinctly pleased with himself. Another touch on the button and the woman would have been rewarded not with a picture of a buzzard, but of a pretty blonde wriggling her bottom into a pair of bright green bikini pants so tight that he’d been wondering if she’d had to borrow them from a little sister. It was a ploy he’d followed for years, always making sure then when he was out on an expedition he had a few bird photographs to show off in order to get rid of busybodies or lull the suspicions of anybody who’d guessed what he was really doing. Never before had he actually been obliged to put the plan into operation, but it had worked like a dream, the woman now talking in a friendly, cheerful fashion.

  ‘...if you go down to the river you’ll see our local colony of egrets, and there have been reports of an ortolan bunting in Chapel Wood, down by the private beach, but not from any real birders so I haven’t put it on the list. I’m Maude Hudson, by the way, chair of the Birling-by-Sea Orithological Association.’

  ‘John White,’ he answered, using his standard pseudonym as his interest quickened to the words “private beach”. ‘I’ll go and have a look, I think. How do I get to the wood?’

  ‘Carry on along the cliffs,’ she advised, point to the east, ‘and when the path turns inland climb the fence. Don’t worry about the signs, there hasn’t been a cliff fall in years. Chapel Wood runs along the bottom of the valley. It’s private property, but if you do see Sir Robert just tell him you’ve spoken to me.’

  Daniel thanked her, spent another few minutes in polite conversation and went his way. He’d been planning to follow the cliff path to the west, where it ran only twenty or thirty feet above a promising looking stretch of sand accessible by a wooden staircase and so an ideal hunting ground for young women who were after a bit of privacy. The eastern path looked less promising, rising to a high, chalk ridge with a beach of rounded flints below. Yet the private beach sounded tempting, while he felt he had little choice but to follow her advice, as it would have seem odd to go off in the opposite direction. Thanking her one last time, he set off up the slope.

  The ground was as she had described it, following one hill and then another before the official footpath turned sharply inland beside a rusty barbed wire fence hung with signs warning of an unstable cliff edge. A group of hikers was visible some distance away, but nobody else, while beyond the fence scrubby thorn trees shut off the view. It was ideal voyeurs’ country, with plenty of cover, or would be, if only there was something to watch. Certainly it was worth exploring.

  The fence was easy to cross, and after just a few yards of pushing through thorn and bracken he had reached the edge of the valley Maude Hudson had described. It was almost perfectly secluded, steep and narrow, heavily wooded and apparently deserted but for the chimneys and high, sharp gables of a red brick and flint Victorian mansion some way inland. The beach was also visible, a tiny cove of perfect, golden stand between two blunt headlands, and on the beach were two girls.

  He could see they were girls because they were in dresses, one red, one blue, but both light and airy, ideal for the hot summer’s day. They were also ideal to strip off, and long experience had taught him that when girls on private beaches strip off they usually prefer to go nude, or at very least topless. It was an intriguing prospect, and he was immediately hurrying towards the cliff edge, his heavy 50-500mm telephoto lens cradled lovingly in one arm, eager to capture his favourite moment, when a girl’s clothes came off.

  As he ran his face was twisted into a manic grin, for the trill of the chase, the prospect of what he might be about to see, and also the irony of having been given directions by a woman who so clearly disapproved of his behaviour. Without her advice he would never have thought to go east, let alone cross the fence, but thanks to her he looked likely to get a treat that would rank beside his greatest triumphs and, had she known, would have left her in a state of indignant fury.

  Daniel was panting by the time he reached the edge of the cliff, but he’d made it. The girls were still in their dresses, and considerably closer. He flung himself down on the short dry turf, in the shelter of a small thorn tree that hung, half fallen, at the very edge of the cliff. Only a fringe of bracken hid him from view, but as he poked the long lens between the stalks he realised he had the perfect hide. If the girls saw anything at all, it would be the hood of his lens, and in the very unlikely event of them realising they were being watched he would still have ample time to retreat. His pulse had begun to race as he settled into position, and as always when on the verge of a success, he began to whisper to himself as he watched.

  ‘Come on, darlings, that’s the place. Oh yes, you little sweeties, just there, nicely out of the wind but not out of view. Oh yes...’

  The girls had settled on the final stretch of beach before the sand gave way to flints, in the lee of a huge chalk boulder. It was harder to imagine a better place for nude sunbathing, and Daniel’s heart was in his mouth as he clicked off the first shots, with the girls stood talking together. Both were petite, the one in red fractionally taller and with a slightly more opulent figure, and both had mops of curly brown hair worn in artless disarray to their shoulders. Pretty, pert faces suggested just the sort of haughty, self-confident attitude he liked in girls, at least when he was spaying on them, and as the one in red gave an ever so slightly nervous glance back along the beach his hopes for a really good show reached new heights.

  ‘That’s right, darling,’ he whispered to himself, ‘nobody about, nobody at all, Miss Red, so how about slipping off that pretty summer dress and show Uncle Daniel your goodies?’

  She did it almost as if on cue, putting down the beach bag she�
��d been carrying, spreading a large white towel onto the sand, then peeling her dress up over her head without a care in the world. Underneath was a bikini in the same bright colour as her dress, which followed the contours of her breasts and bottom to enhance her slender curves and leave Daniel in need of an urgent adjustment to his cock.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he murmured, ‘that’s my darling. Now how about the bikini? Come on, Miss Red, nobody’s watching except your friend, and you don’t mind her, surely? Oh but that is good, Miss Blue, that is good!’

  The girl he’d tagged Miss Red had stayed as she was, merely sitting down with her legs hugged to her chest, but her companion had pulled up her own dress. All she had on underneath was a pair of diminutive white panties, leaving her small, high breasts bare to his gaze and to the camera as he took picture after picture, capturing each perfect instant.

  ‘Oh baby,’ he sighed, ‘oh my pretty baby. And now the panties, please, how about the panties? Oh yes, you beauty, you dirty little darling!’

  She’d done it, pushing down her panties with no more concern than had she been in her own bedroom, to expose a sweetly turned little bottom, and as she bent to pull them off one foot he was rewarded with the briefest flash of the rear view of her cunt.

  ‘Got you!’ he breathed. ‘Oh yes, Miss Blue, I have got you, all pink and bare and perfect... and oh my!’

  The girl had laid out her towel, then got down to spread it out properly, on all fours and facing almost directly away from him, so that he now not only had a full, clear view of her cunt, but also the tiny, dun brown knot of her anus. His finger was hard down on the camera button, recording picture after picture, until at last the buffer memory gave out in protest. Daniel rolled over onto his back, sobbing with pleasure as he struggled to get his fly down, unable to hold back any longer, only to turn back the moment his cock was free, determined not to miss the show.

  Both girls were now on their towels, face down, Miss Red in her pretty bikini, a sight that would normally have made the expedition worthwhile for its own sake, and Miss Blue stark naked, with her perfect little bottom turned up to the sun and her legs ever so slightly parted. He took a few more pictures, although he knew that the best moment was probably past, as he far preferred to catch a girl undressing than to see her already naked. Still he lingered, hoping that Miss Red would add her charms to his collection of stolen moments, and before long he’d been rewarded.

  Her top came off first, unfastened and then tossed casually to one side, briefly exposing the side view of one quite full breast. Miss Blue made a comment, too faint for Daniel to catch, and a moment later she had sat up, reached out, and deliberately pulled down the other girl’s bikini pants. For Daniel it was too much, he’d had his cock in his hand since being treated to Miss Blue’s rear view, just nursing his erection, but as Miss Red snatched back in a vain effort to pull her bikini bottoms back up he was hammering at himself as if his life depended on coming in the next few seconds.

  His judgement proved perfect. Miss Blue didn’t let go, and as the two girls fought Miss Red had humped herself up, displaying her bottom in full glory, her cheeks spread and her bottom hole on show, her cunt peeping out from between her thighs. Daniel got the shot, a final, perfect image, with Miss Blue kneeling splay legged on the sand, making a fine show of her own rear view and her pert little breasts as she hauled Miss Red’s bikini bottoms low, with every single rude detail exposed.

  Daniel was still gripping the camera as he came, with the mental image of what he’d seen burning in his mind’s eye and the knowledge that he’d captured it all on camera adding a fierce, triumphant joy to his climax. His eyes were closed tight as he held the moment, but before too long curiosity had got the better of him. A quick glance showed that Miss Red had given up and was just pulling her bikini bottoms off her feet as she chided the giggling Miss Blue. A third figure was also visible, well along the beach, a tall man with an air of military authority, short grey hair and a stiff, bristling moustache.

  The man called out, which had an instant effect on the girls, Miss Red hurrying back into her bikini and Miss Blue snatching for her dress and struggling it on over her head as if being caught in the nude was likely to earn her a spanking. That seemed unlikely, but Daniel took his time cleaning himself up, glancing occasionally at the beach as the man had a brief, gruff conversation with the girls before all three set off back the way they’d come.

  As Daniel started back through the scrub he was feeling thoroughly pleased with himself, having judged the situation to a nicety and come at the perfect moment while capturing everything he could possibly have hoped for on camera. Still he remained cautious, his camera ready to record a few bird shots on the way back, preferably something worth showing should Maude Hudson still be lurking near the car park.

  He skirted the wood, preferring not to risk being seen from the beach and hopeful of capturing the ortolan bunting on camera, although he wasn’t sure what one looked like. One fine bird did appear though, flying down from the open chalkland to settle on the trunk of a dead tree. It was large, black and sported a striking red crest, while the way it clung to the tree suggested it was some sort of woodpecker. He took a series of photographs, genuinely interested for something he’d never seen before, including an exceptional shot as it spread its wings before flying off among the trees.

  Now fully content with his day, Daniel started back up the slope, following the chalky cliff path to the first ridge, only to stop in alarm at the sight of some thirty people hurrying towards him. For one awful moment he had visions of a lynch mob, ready to drag him off to the local police station where he’d be branded a pervert, but the people were all carrying either cameras or binoculars, and they were led by Maude Hudson, who spoke up as soon as she was close enough to talk to him.

  ‘Have you seen it, Mr White? It came this way.’

  It struck him immediately that she had to mean the unusual bird he’d photographed in Chapel Woods, and he was ready with his answer.

  ‘Yes, I have, and I got several good pictures.’

  ‘Got you!’ she answered, making his heart skip, but she was talking not to him, but to her companions. ‘A confirmed sighting, everyone, great black woodpecker, Dryocopus martius, in England at last, and Mr White has photographs to prove it! May we see, please, Mr White?’

  Daniel had already got his camera ready to show off the pictures of the bird and people were jostling in from all sides, exclaiming in astonishment and delight. As the photograph of the woodpecker taking flight appeared on the screen they pressed in closer still, one man jogging Daniel’s elbow so that instead of displaying the previous pictures a full array came up, nine tiny thumbnails, but not so tiny that anybody could possibly have mistaken the first for anything but a picture of a naked young girl pulling down her friend’s bikini bottoms.

  Sweat Baby, Sweat

  We have all seen it on film, a couple getting it on in some far flung place on a summer night, beads of sweat trail enticingly down their perfect bodies, attractively damp hair being flung all over the show (this is only a thing in movies, trust me). Most of our words to describe sex are temperature related, ‘last night was hot’ ‘things got steamy’ ‘we were raising the temperature’. The opposite of arousal tends to be described by temperature too ‘left me cold’ ‘frigid’. It makes sense, sex (if done right) is energetic, it requires effort and movement, arousal causes our breathing to speed up, blood to flow to the surface of the skin to engorge erectile tissue such as lips and nipples along with more obvious places... Sex heats us up, we associate heat with sex. Perhaps this is why the concept of the summer romance is so popular, why so many romance novels are set in hot countries and why in the movies it’s not sex unless it is being done in oven like temperatures. During sex we like to sweat. It is the done thing.

  Interestingly enough, sweat in most other contexts is considered kind of gross. Damp h
andshakes, sweaty feet, sweat patches, all these things are considered a bit off-putting by most and accompanied by a strong suspicion that the afflicted party may also suffer from bad body odour. We go out of our way to prevent ourselves from sweating with antiperspirants and similar products.

  Our natural body odours can be a great source of appeal to current and potential partners, there are many theories out there surrounding pheromones and how scent and body chemistry is involved in our selection of mate, from pheromones to unconscious detection of immunities, but whatever the true science of scent and attraction, who hasn’t experienced enjoying how a lover smells when we are snuggled up close to them?

  Fresh sweat in itself does not smell bad if the person in question showers or washes regularly enough that there is no build up of ‘stale’ sweat, as it is actually the bacteria that can accumulate in hot damp areas over time that are responsible for BO. In fact, the summer heat combined with any activity that can produce a light sweat simply increases the potency of a person’s natural body odour, which if appealing in the first place, can be quite a turn on.

  There are plenty of people out there with fetishes based around sweat and body odour, especially seeming to focus on glandular areas such as the armpits and feet. Some people prefer the body part to be attached to a specific gender of person, some people are aroused simply by seeing pictures of that body part, some people are only interested in that area of their partner and are unmoved by the body part on a stranger.

  So in honour of all the sweating in the hot summer sun we are all no doubt doing (those of us stuck in the UK aside, we are still wading through floods) here is a short infographic on a less well known fetish- Armpits.

  Even if you are not an armpit fetishist, it can be fun to explore parts of the body that are not traditionally seen as sexual. The armpits are very sensitive, gentle stroking and kissing in that area can feel highly erotic. They can be warm and moist, reminiscent of other parts of the body that get a lot more attention during sex, so consider laying down your inhibitions and paying this area of your lovers body some attention, you might be surprised at the result!