One of the reasons I adore this beach is because of how quiet it becomes at dusk. The fair-weather sun-worshippers pack up their inflatables and mini tents and fractious children and slip away for chips somewhere else. The few lifeguards pack up and clock off. The boat trippers turn off their cheery soundtrack, to the landscape’s relief. Paddle boards are deflated and kayaks are lifted onto shoulders for the long walk back to the car park.
The people who remain are the ones who truly love this place; the ones who understand how special it becomes once the sun dips behind the cliff. The warm sparse wind drops even lower and the only sound remaining is the sea gently washing the shore.
At this time of day, the ailing light bathes every pebble and pool and tasteful little yacht in honey. The entire beach glows and you are embraced in the greatest peace you’ve ever known.
I’m still here, because I’m one of those people who truly love this place. I’m always here at dusk, and sometimes beyond as darkness falls. One time, I left the pub up the hill at closing with a bottle of champagne and borrowed glasses and great friends and we sat here on the beach and toasted it for being so insanely beautiful.
I’m still here, alone. The last I saw of my friends were their practical boots scrambling up the cliff seeking a better view of the sunset from the top. I could have gone with them, however I’m too in love with this exact view to move.
I’m still here, and every inch of me is serene. Each limb is heavy with ease and peace and has sunk into this blanket. The only movement is my chest, vaguely moving out and in as I breathe. My eyelids close languidly.
I’m still here, and I really want to orgasm. I’m not horny in a ferocious, passionate rage; it’s a point of pure relaxation where a climax seems so right. A climax would complement rather than disrupt. A climax would complete, this. A climax would heighten every sense and I want to hear and see and smell everything here, right now, as much as I possibly can. I want to live this moment, this perfect moment, as much as I possibly can.
I don’t want to fuck, I don’t want anyone else near me, I just want to cum, for me.
Turning slightly to the side, my hand is given enough space between the beach and my stomach to ease under my bikini bottoms and between my thighs and lips. I keep my eyes closed as my fingertips slowly reach past the pebbles prodding me from beneath the blanket. I pause there, savouring the sound of the sea and the tentative dampness; two waves, on different shores.
One fingertip begins to gently pulse against the swollen flesh it finds there. For now, it’s enough. It’s enough to accentuate my breathing, it’s enough to cause the blood to gush around the vessels in my brain, it’s enough to ease a soft moan from my lips that’s little more than a whisper. How long I lay there, flicking my clit, I don’t know, but the sun becomes cooler as I do.
A second fingertip joins its ally and together they push between my soft folds and dip into the pool. I pull my pelvis upwards, my arse pointing further towards the sky, to give them more room to circle and rub. They work together as though they are no longer part of me; working together with synchronicity, with meaning and verve. I am merely a body lying on this empty beach, being gently pushed closer to climax with every touch. I’m not even thinking about anything sexual; I’m not imagining any scene or kiss. I’m just feeling and listening and exhaling.
My breathing quickens close after my fingers do. My chest is no longer moving vaguely but is beating against the ground. I’m certain if anyone were here, on this beach, they would be able to tell from my body that I’m almost there. The fingertips continue circling and rubbing and flicking, their movements becoming smaller, slighter, firmer, more deliberate. It’s almost here.
My cheek rubs against the blanket and the stones underneath as I silently cry out into the salted air. As the climax rumbles through me, my body sinks once again. It sinks with the weight of satisfaction, of quiet joy. It’s all complete now.
My fingertips remain where they are, simply resting against my damp skin, and my mind is empty; my arousal slipping away like the other visitors to the beach. What doesn’t slip away is my smile and the salt I taste on my lips as I lick them.
Somewhere above me, a single gull screeches. The water laps at the lip of the inlet somewhere beyond the reaches of the bay. The breeze beats against a sail, on a boat somewhere out to sea. My eyes are closed but I can see it all. This is truly my favourite place in the entire world; my beach.