She was almost ready to step out from her hiding place and confront them when the girl on the beach moved. She stood and re-fastened her bra in preparation to leave. Immediately the boys pulled their swim trunks up and slithered off around the dunes and out of sight.
It was only after they were gone that Meg regained her sanity and reasoned how dangerous and stupid her thoughts had been. They were children, barely eighteen years old. What could she have been thinking of?
But, never the less, her body was boiling with the heat of sexual need and desire as she traced, her path back to the house. She couldn't get the picture of those two, stiff young cocks out of her mind.
She knew that the innocence and youth of the boys appealed to her. She couldn't stop the thoughts of playing and sucking on those cocks from entering her jumbled brain.
But she was a moral, respectable woman. How could she even think of such things?
She rushed upstairs to her bathroom and removed her clothes. She tried to put the boys, her daughter, and Jerry, out of her mind as she adjusted her shower cap and turned on the spray.
As she started to step into the shower, she caught a glimpse of her nude body in the mirror. For some reason it shocked her to realize how well her firm, smooth-skinned figure compared to her daughter's and to the young girl on the beach.
"If that girl could excite those boys that much, when she was only half nude… I wonder what I could do stark naked," she mumbled aloud.
There was not a trace of the fact that she had born a child. There were no stretch marks or any extra flesh on her body. Her breasts were still firm and large, her stomach was flat, and her ass was fleshy, but solid.
Meg was not very tall, only five foot three, but she was perfectly proportioned for her height. She looked much younger than her years. Her hair was still worn in an easy, loose shoulder length style that was more indicative of younger women. The natural dark color was still lovely.
She ran her hands over her body. She cupped her tits from underneath and pushed them up. There was not far they could go, they were so firm. She was pleased with the way she looked. She thought that it would not be too terrible to have a boy's young body next to hers.
But she quickly dismissed the thought. Her cheeks were burning with shame as she felt the water pour over her. She soaped up her cunt and washed away all of the juices that she had gushed out from her masturbation. She sighed again from the touch of her own hand as she washed. The thoughts of the boys again tried to intrude.
Again, for the third time tat day, her fingers found her clitoris and started to manipulate the hot, hard little button.
No, she thought, this is ridiculous, silly. I'm a gown, mature woman. Sex and its cravings are normal. It's also normal to satisfy those cravings.
She decided, defiantly, that she would satisfy them, that very evening.
The bar was clear at the other end of the beach. She had heard about it from gossipy women in the laundromat, from men at the check-out counter, and now and then even an ad in one of Jerry's underground newspapers that he constantly left around the house. The ad was all too clear in her mind as she gingerly approached the door.
"GEORGE'S, where the swinging singles swing and the swapping couples meet."
There was an insane hammering inside her belly and her head as she pushed open the door.
"…do you have a card?"
The girl was young, about twenty, and dressed very sedately.
"A… no, what card?" Meg stammered. "This is a private club. You have to buy a membership."
"Oh… no, I'm not a member," Meg said. "Sorry." She turned to leave.
"Oh, it's all right," the girl replied. "It's mostly for the singe guys, anyway. They sometimes cause trouble and the police are always trying to close us up, you know."
"Oh… sure." Meg didn't know, but she didn't want to seem totally ignorant. She felt her courage draining fast.
"George always lets single women in anyway if they look all right. It's good for business. Go ahead!"
The girl pressed a button and opened the door behind her for Meg.
"Thanks," she said, a lump in her throat as she walked into the dimly-lit, music-filled room.
For a moment she froze and was on the point of fleeing. The bar stools seemed all occupied, the tables a dark blur. Then someone was forsaking a stool. Two stools. An attractive couple, apparently just meeting each other, had gotten up to leave. The man was very handsome and he had obviously just picked the girl up. The idea thrilled Meg. But, instead of leaving, the couple disappeared through a curtain in the rear of the bar.
Meg slid onto one of the newly vacated barstools, forcing a look of conviviality. The music was soft. The room pleasantly air-conditioned. The sounds of ice clinking in glasses, the usual bar sounds, were somehow reassuring.
"A Rob Roy," she said when the bartender asked her for her order Meg knew Harvey would flip if he could see her here this way, alone.
"Excuse me," a voice said. A man slid onto the adjoining barstool accidentally – was it accidentally? – grasping her elbow.
"That's all right," Meg said automatically, not daring to allow herself to look at him.
"At least, let me buy you a drink, for being such a clumsy oaf," he coaxed. Nice voice. Deep, mature.
Then the image was shattered as she turned and looked at him. He was short, shaped like an egg, and drool practically rolled from the corners of his mouth as his beady eyes openly lusted for Meg's breasts in the tight, low-cut dress.
Oh, God, she thought, have I struck out already? Is this the kind of man I attract? "I have a drink on the way," she said, coldly.
"Then I'll buy the second," the man offered, his eyes still lingering on the provocative thrust of her breasts. "Joe here makes the best drinks in town."
"I'm not a drinker," Meg admitted.
"Shame." His eyes asked if she were a swinger.
"I've never been in a bar alone before." That was a kooky thing to say.
"Where else can swinging singles meet?" he jibed.
"You're not single," Meg replied, looking directly at the ring on his finger.
"But I swing," he said, parting his lips in a grotesque grin that revealed yellow, tobacco stained teeth.
"I don't," Meg said.
"Then what the fuck are you doing in here?" he said, suddenly angered by her attitude.
"Eric, why don't you leave the lady alone and go back to the john and play with yourself."
Meg turned toward the low, cultured female voice that had come to her rescue. She saw a tall, beautiful dark-haired woman at her shoulder.
"Butt out, Sandra," the fat man said.
The woman had a command about her that seemed to stare down and wilt the man. He slid off the stool and moved away, mumbling to himself. "Fucking dykes… oughta keep em outta here."
"Don't worry, honey," the woman told Meg. "He's just a harmless pain in the ass. He got too heavy with me one night and my husband worked him over. He's been petrified of me ever since."
"Thanks," Meg said.
"Mind if I sit down?"
"Please do," Meg said, sorry that her first encounter had turned out so lousy, but glad that she, at least, had a kindred soul to talk to.
"I'm Sandra."
"Margaret Reed. Call me Meg."
Suddenly it struck Meg what a stunning woman Sandra was. She was very tall, with short black hair, and exquisite features that gave a regal, almost imperial, quality to her face. She was around thirty probably, but could have passed as much younger. Meg was sure this woman had no trouble picking up anyone she wanted.
Sandra seemed to read her thoughts. "Don't worry, honey, he's not the usual kind that comes in here. Most of the guys are really cool. I know, I've had just about all of them."
Meg blushed. Sandra's bluntness was turning her on. It was exhilarating. The scene suddenly got better. "I don't know," Meg offered. "This is my first time."