Sun, Sand, and Secrets: My Summer ‘Beach Deal’ with a Charming English Gentleman; Part 4 (end)

April 9, 2026

Hi my dear friends of the group,

This post will be a shorter one, with less psychological analysis and fewer flashbacks than the previous three in this series. I’ll go more or less straight to what Tom and I did that afternoon… and to the afternoon and night we shared together two days later.

Tom and I arrived at the entrance of his apart-hotel arm in arm, like any couple returning home after a day at the beach. Perhaps a slightly mismatched pair in terms of age: he was almost twenty years older than me, but nothing too striking, and if it caught anyone’s attention, I honestly didn’t care in the slightest.

Under one of my three light, semi-transparent wraps, pareos, I was completely naked… just enough to let everything be guessed rather than seen. It was a little game that excited both of us… there’s something about that subtle exhibitionism, isn’t there? And besides, beachside dress codes tend to be… forgiving. A young woman clearly coming back from the sea can get away with revealing far more than usual, as long as it remains in that delicious territory of suggestion.

By the way, I still keep those three semitransparent wraps, though I don’t use them in public anymore.

As I was saying, we were both already quite aroused, and Tom perhaps a little nervous… my intuition told me it had been a long time since he had last been with a woman. The apart-hotel lobby was empty at that hour, around seven in the evening, with only a bored receptionist gazing vaguely toward the entrance.

We walked straight to the elevators just nearby. Tom pressed the button, we waited a few seconds, stepped inside, and he selected his floor: according to my “intimate diaries,†the fifth.

And the moment the doors closed… we fell into each other’s arms. I couldn’t even tell you how it happened, but in less than a second my wrap was gone, now hanging from his hand, and I was standing there, completely bare, while his hands wandered eagerly over my body and our lips met in a kiss that had been waiting far too long.

Don't think I just stood there: I couldn't resist any longer, so I unzipped his fly and slipped my hand inside his pants. He wasn't wearing any underwear since he'd just come from the beach. I grabbed his cock, which was thin and hard as a wooden stake, slightly curved upward, not very long but more than enough, and, on top of that, uncircumcised: something very rare in Europe.

There was something almost disarming in that moment: his restrained eagerness, the tension he could barely contain. We were both panting, silent now, because words had become completely unnecessary. I could feel, with every brush of his hand, just how far this was about to go.

When the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, we were still kissing and touching each other like mad, and I was completely naked… well, except for my flip-flops 😠.

It was quite daring, of course: anyone could have been waiting; but after my daring nude photo shoot on the beach, the erotic things we’d whispered to each other, and the delightfully daring nature of our little arrangement: in theory, he’d hired me as a model, but the deal involved much more than just posing; let’s just say it included a mutual “relaxation session†afterward… well, we were both completely out of control.

We walked down the hallway arm in arm, still touching each other, because I had absolutely no intention of letting go of him, even as he clumsily tried to cover himself with his towel, just like he had on the beach. And I… I was completely naked, of course. Flip-flops don’t really count as clothing, do they? ðŸ˜

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[[ Image 1. These two photos were taken that same summer, when I was 24, on the very same beach where I met Tom. However, they were not taken by him, but a few days later by a local businessman, Paco (summary 12 in Post No. 3), with whom I had already had an ongoing arrangement for sex since the previous year during my summer holidays on the Costa Blanca.
Almost forty years later, Paco and I still meet once a week when I am at my holiday home. For the past two years, and for various reasons, we have no longer had sex… though neither of us entirely rules out the possibility of starting again… soon. ]]

And now, a brief note (not so brief really) on something I would never mention on my more public blog, though I do feel comfortable sharing it here, in this more private space of our group, for you my very special friends, away from the casual eyes of readers who might not grasp the full context of the experiences I’m recounting:

Regarding this little arrangement: posing nude as a model but, in a more or less tacit way, including a follow-up intimate session, it was something I had already done on several occasions before. The first time was nine years before this experience with Tom, when I spent six months at a boarding school run by nuns in Puerto La Cruz (Venezuela), with a photographer named Carlos. He was the first man who personally took the time to shave completely my pubis for these sessions.

A few months later came Matthias, though in his case the photography was almost incidental; my main interest in him was always in what came afterward (summaries 2 and 3 in Post No. 2).

I had already had full sexual experiences with four other boys my age… and more than once with all of them, besides Carlos, who was twice my age; but all of them felt like mere children compared to Matthias. He was the first real man I had ever been with… and, oh, did I notice the difference.

For a brief, intensely lived period, I could almost say I was Matthias’ “sex pupilâ€: a man three times my age at the time, from whom I learned more about men and sex than from anyone else in my entire life. I owe him my deepest gratitude; a true gentleman, he resisted my explicit offers until I reached the age of consent: a concept many seem to forget exists in the laws of some countries, and even then, it took some convincing.

Well, the truth is that a very common fantasy for many women is, let’s say euphemistically, to play the role of Mary Magdalene before becoming a saint. Most women who have had that fantasy never think of making it real, but I dared to do so on a few occasions. Not out of necessity, but out of curiosity, indulgence, and lust. And for me, a man making an offer in exchange for intimacy has always been a little boost for my usually low self-esteem regarding my body, due to my right leg issues and the slight limp I had back then, which I’ve mentioned several times before.

It was Matthias who taught me how to handle such dealings with elegance and class, making me feel valued rather than objectified. Over the years, with practice, though not that often, I refined these techniques, but the foundation came from him. And so, just as I described in the previous posts of this series, that is how I approached my arrangement with Tom: with the same elegance, sophistication, and playful daring.

Just as a small example of Matthias’ wise teachings regarding sexual health and condoms: before he ever possessed me for the first time… though we had already shared a few oral sessions, he said almost literally:

Only go bare with a man if trust is absolute… and if trust isn’t absolute, don’t have sex with him at all, protection or no protection. Trust comes first; everything else is secondary.

A little while later, when we went to bed to make love, to fuck to say it plain, for the first time -something he approached almost ceremonially- he put on a condom. I slowly removed it, looking him straight in the eyes, and simply said, Matthias, I want to feel your semen inside me. And oh, did he fill me!

Yes, I was very young, but with the gifts of someone who could have been a courtesan for a Roman emperor. Allowing a man, the first time he is going to fuck me for the first time, to put on a condom and then slowly taking it off myself, as I did with Matthias, is something I’ve done many times since. It has always impressed them, and when he was a very mature man struggling with an erection while putting on a condom, that gesture often worked better than any high-dose blue pill ever could.

At 29, while working part-time as a hostess for eight months at an exclusive, members-only gentlemen’s club in Bilbao (northern Spain; see summary 17 in Post No. 4), I met a 65-year-old judge. On our very first private date, he was having some trouble with a condom, and I used that same gesture: removing it with seduction and elegance… and it worked brilliantly. He told me he hadn’t had an erection like that in twenty-five years, and being a judge making an important declaration 😊 , I have to assume he wasn’t lying. Even after I stopped going to the club, he would call me from time to time to invite me to his home over the next four years, until he retired and moved to a warmer climate. During all that time, he never needed condoms or blue pills.

Before I finish this note, I should say that: without any coercion, exploitation, or an organization behind it, all of these socially frowned-upon activities, when undertaken individually and voluntarily, are completely legal in Spain. If they aren’t in the country where you live, perhaps you should consider whether that country is as free as you think…

But enough of my rambling; let’s return to the moment at the entrance of Tom’s apartment…

We were still caught up in each other, my hand wandering just where I knew it would drive him wild, and his hands desperately trying to cover himself with the towel. I was completely naked… flip-flops hardly count as clothing, after all, and every brush of skin against skin sent little shocks of anticipation through both of us.

The door loomed ahead, and yet neither of us slowed down. The thrill of almost being caught, the memory of the beach session still fresh, and the deliciously daring nature of our little “dealings†kept us on fire.

As soon as he opened the door to the small apartment and we stepped inside, I knelt right there in front of him and, following my instinct and my long-standing habit, I kissed his entire cock and balls, which tasted and smelled deliciously of man, salt, and the sea, including a few grains of sand, and then I took it into my mouth and began to suck him with relish, moaning with pleasure.

Tom was moaning too, but more like a muffled sound, a sort of snore, almost, while he looked down at me with a wild look on his face, grabbing my hair in his hand like a ponytail, but without hurting me... he thrust deep into my mouth and began to move in-and-out, fucking it.

It was delicious, but as soon as I noticed him getting close, I had to fight the urge to go all the way in my mouth… I wanted him to penetrate me, for both our sakes, just as we had agreed during our dealing on the beach.

Tom helped me to my feet and kissed me deeply, sharing that intimate taste while he slid two fingers inside me. Few men care to kiss a woman after she’s been pleasuring them in such a way, but Tom was one of those rare ones, and it was a deeply personal, almost binding gesture between us.

I wanted to give Tom a long, indulgent foreplay session that would end in a truly magnificent fuck with a huge simultaneous orgasm, but first I needed to use the bathroom. I whispered this in his ear, and he pointed me in the right direction… though it wasn’t really necessary, since it was the only interior door in the small apartment.

And you know what? He asked me not to use the bidet afterward… a request more men have made than you might imagine, especially when they’re already uncontrollably horny, but I won’t dwell on that little detail.

After that, we moved together to bed. I undressed him, and Tom: hungry and desperate for a woman, licked me all over, front and back. He started at my toes, traced up my legs, explored with his fingers and tongue my intimate parts both front and back, spent a long while on my navel, continued over my breasts, sucking my nipples as if feeding from me, and then all over my face.

And then, as he kissed me passionately on the lips, he began to penetrate me slowly, both of us savoring every inch. After just half a dozen energetic thrusts, we came together in a huge, simultaneous climax… inevitable and exactly as expected.

By the way… just a reminder: during our talk on the beach, the use of a condom had been left to his choice. Well, he didn’t even make a move to put one on.

Then, both of us exhausted after an entire day of mutual arousal; starting that afternoon on the beach, under the Mediterranean summer sun that drains more energy than one might expect, the nervous excitement of a flirtation we both knew exactly where it would lead, the negotiation, and finally the release of all that erotic, emotional, almost vital tension during what was, for him, probably the most satisfying sex in over five years, and for me in five days (I’m not joking or being ironic: that summer I was having sex in truly abundant quantities)… we simply gave in to the exhaustion.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms, our legs tangled together like a single being, his semen deliciously oozing out of my pussy (I adore that feeling), and we must have slept like that for more than two hours.

When we woke up, kissing softly, one of us… perhaps him, perhaps me… hinted at being intimate again, and we slipped into another round of penetrative sex. This time it was gentler, unhurried, without that subtle urge to perform for your partner that often comes with a first encounter with a stranger.

By then, we had already been together for more than four hours: well beyond the three we had originally agreed, and for the first time all afternoon, it dawned on me that my husband would be waiting for me.

So, somewhere between lingering kisses (yes… I am like that, even with men with whom everything began as a “dealâ€), I told him I needed to go back to the beach to collect my things: my umbrella, my mat, my towels… and to meet my “friendâ€.

“My friend,†of course, was my husband, though I imagine that in Tom’s mind, he was something more like a protective partner in my sexual escapades with strangers… I think you understand what I mean.

Tom offered to walk me back, like a proper gentleman who, only moments before, had been anything but restrained. But I gently refused. It would have been… awkward, to say the least, for the two of them to meet.

Some worlds are better kept just slightly apart, even when they orbit dangerously close to one another.

I won’t hide from you that before leaving Tom’s apartment, I didn’t shower. So I carried with me the scent of our mixed sweat… and of Tom’s saliva and semen, still unmistakably present on my skin, as I made my way back to the spot on the beach where I had left my things before going with him to his apartment.

It was July, and even though it was already past ten at night, darkness had not yet fully settled. From a distance, I noticed that my umbrella was no longer on the sand. Instead, almost in silhouette against the fading light, I saw a young, tanned, athletic man sitting on the edge of the promenade, looking at me, surrounded by my scattered beach things.

As I drew closer, his wide smile appeared first: soft, knowing, and illuminated in that peculiar way by the last, dying glow of the sun. His teeth caught that dim light like pearls, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade.

It was my husband. My beloved Dan (summary 10 in Post No. 3). My soulmate. My best friend. My accomplice… My Love.

He was waiting for me with that familiar, mischievous smile; the one that held no judgment, only understanding… and a shared secret. And in that instant, even though I still carried the scent of Tom on my skin, even though semen traces of another man lingered on me, my heart leapt, and a smile spread across my face, wide and unstoppable.

I know that for some of you, my dear and selected readers, it may be difficult to understand the nature of the bond between my husband… between Dan… and me. But this is who we are. This is who we have always been. And this is who we will remain for as long as time allows us, till the end of our time.

We are accomplices in my adventures… and then, together, we relive them, reshape them, and make them our own… again and again, adding to the raw experience I had with another man something far deeper: the love, the trust, and the profound desire we feel for each other.

The truth is simple, even if it may sound strange to some: the best sex my husband and I have ever shared… has always been when I come back to him after have being with another man.

We are made this way. And we have never wanted to be anything else.

As for Tom, there was more. We met again over the following days, in the afternoons on the beach. We would sit together, swim together, and of course… touch each other in the water, yes and a late afternoon we had sex in the sea, by a buoy, and now for free, why not? We were almost friends.

He told me his holidays were coming to an end and that he would soon have to return to London. Before leaving, he invited me to spend one last afternoon and night together, including dinner at what was, at the time, the most elegant restaurant in Moraira, “La Bona Taulaâ€, though it has changed name and owners since then: it was in 1985.

There was no need for negotiation this time, though obviously I was not going to spend almost a full day with almost an stranger for free. Tom was wise and had already… extrapolated what that would involve from our previous arrangement, and, like a true gentleman, he added a little extra. I haggled a bit, just for self-respect, and accepted. And so it was, and so we did.

There’s no need to go into details; you can easily imagine them. Suffice it to say there were four wonderful orgasms before morning came. After breakfast together at a small café near his apart-hotel, we said our goodbyes… and not far from there, I could already see my husband’s blue Citroën Dyane 6, waiting for me.

The following summer, when I returned to that same beach: La Fossa, in Calpe, on the Costa Blanca, with my husband, the first thing I did was look for Tom. He wasn’t there. I never saw him again.

And with that, my dear friends, I bring this short series of posts to an end; a glimpse into one of the many summer affairs I had between my early twenties and my forties. Each one different… and yet, in some way, all the same. Tough most of them were for free…

A kiss to all of you, my dear friends. And please, don’t judge me too harshly. Tom was happy for a few days of one summer; and so was I. We hurt no one, we were both happy, and in the end, that is all that truly matters.

As for moral judgments: the why and the how, they have never interested me in the slightest. Rules of morality are, after all, nothing more than social constructs… artificial, and often arbitrary.
Aura