Swapping Wives and Fucking Teen Girls at the Beach Cottage
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The Yellow Cottage free porn video
SET IN New Zealand. Not a lot of sex, a true romance.
*
CHAPTER 1
A tidal surge, not very high but loaded with power and breaking, snuck up behind the well-formed young woman looking upriver in mid-thigh deep water and flattened her. When Jess Turner regained her feet, spluttering, her bikini top was no more. Half dazed she walked from the water to hear the guy she vaguely saw walking a lead-tugging dog say, ‘Nice ones.’
Indignant, now aware of what the grinning ape was on about, Jess felt like bawling out the uncouth Bozo. Instead, she’d recovered enough from her dunking to respond sheepishly, ‘Thank you for appreciating beauty.’
Bozo looked at her closely, the grin gone. ‘Are you okay?’
Jess was aware other people were watching so she couldn’t make a run for it, as her swinging breasts would attract everyone’s attention. She replied with dignity, her arms folded across her chest, ‘Slightly shocked — I was just dunked by a wave, tumbled over twice and stripped of my bikini top.’
‘Oh chute. Here take my top.’
He pulled off his T-shirt and held it open for her to put her head through, giving Jess a great view of a wide, almost hairless chest and great abs. She thought about him sweating into his T-shirt but the alternative of walking topless towards people lolling on the dry sand above high-water mark was an unpalatable alternative.
The guy she now thought of as Bozo the Gentleman pulled down the back of the T-shirt and stepped back, looked at her and frowned.
‘They’re still there, I assure you.’
She was appalled she’d just said that but he looked up from the front of the T-shirt, over-sized on her, and grinned. ‘You have humour.’
She smiled and asked what was the name of his dog that she’d recognized as some sort of terrier. The guy said it was his mother’s and was called Razor.
‘What?’
‘I said it was my mother’s…’
She cut in. ‘No, I meant whoever would call a dog Razor?’
‘My mother did.’
‘Oh, I apologise. I didn’t mean to be rude,’ she said, flashing her best smile at him and blushed lightly when he said she could apologise to him anytime with a smile like that. ‘As a pup Bass had a number of close shaves so mum fell into the habit of calling him Razor. Like you, my mother has humour.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘I used to be happy,’ he frowned.
Jess, began walking off, not wanting to listen a tale of woe. She pointed, ‘I’m living in that yellow cottage over there. Come with me to the front door and I’ll return your shirt.’
A grin displaying very white and even teeth appeared as he looked back from the yellow cottage. ‘I’d like to see what you have again but no, Razor is eager to walk.’
They watched the terrier pulling at his lead, confirming what Bozo had said.
‘Okay, drop in around 5:00 and have a drink on the front deck and watch the people go by.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Why do you say that? Are you unsafe?’
A little smile turned up the corners of his mouth. ‘Of course not. I was thinking about proprietary. You are possibly unattached and tongues around here waggle.’
‘Oh, so you are a local rather than a day visitor or a renter like me?’
‘I grew up here and visit regularly. My mother is the beach warden.’
Jess was delighted to hear that and comfortable now being well covered felt as though they were the only two persons on the sands leaving to the riverbank. ‘Oh, Marion Street. She introduced herself when I arrived and we talk most days. She’s sweet.’
‘And I’m not?’
Jess turned sharply to deny that but caught the mocking smile. ‘You displayed minor heroic qualities to me at the water edge just a few minutes ago. How could I think poorly of you?’
Mrs Street’s son coloured, nodded and was off, calling he’d think about dropping in around 5:00.
Think about it? Jess shook her head aware some men were keen to give her much more than a second glance. He must be gay. Oh yeah? She hadn’t gained that impression when he was looking at her bared boobs and it seemed unbelievable that sweet Mrs Street would have reared anything other than a well-adjusted and kind son.
After showering, washing the T-shirt and hanging it out, Jess made coffee and sat at the table in front of the open sliding glass doors, once again acknowledging her affordable environment was magical and unbelievably appropriate for her present requirements.
The yellow cottage sat on a ragged line of eighteen almost makeshift riverfront dwellings built in the days of minimal building controls. Most, like hers, had been upgraded but no longer would the District Council allow the riverfront dwellings to be replaced or enlarged as the strip had been zoned to become a future waterfront reserve. Directly across the river, only fifty metres from its mouth, she faced a very long and steep, bush-covered slope that she’d expected would provide visual stimulation to brain, and that was the purpose for her being there, renting the cottage for three months to hopefully produce creative writing that would enrich her through brisk book sales.
After her literary agent, now retired, had sold her third work for treble the price she’d received for her first two manuscripts, Jess had brimmed with confidence and took the huge step and resigned from teaching nine and ten year olds to write professionally. She left the apartment she’d shared with two other professional women and returned home. But her mother was forever asking Jess to accompany her when she went out and appeared hurt when the offers were declined. Incoming phone calls proved disruptive as was her mother’s preference to have moronic chatter on talkback radio at high volume. So Jess went north on a scouting trip and found the yellow cottage, available at a stiff rent. Just as she was about to say no to the letting agent she looked across the river and her mind found instant affinity with that bush-clad hillside. Jess reacted and said yes she’d take the cottage.
Well, it was becoming a disastrous change in vocation. She was lonely, uninspired and the outflow of money, despite attempts at being frugal, meant her bank account was haemorrhaging. She knew what was the problem: she was attempting to write an action romance novel when feeling not at all romantic. In Jess’s mind, where her heroine should appear uplifted and entwining in romance, the fictitious Bianca was now seemingly in danger of spiralling down into a morass of misadventure, lost opportunities and gathering greyness because that reflected the mood and thoughts of her creator.
‘You’re going through a dark patch. Remain patient and wait for your creativity to kick back in,’ Jess said aloud, attempting to remain positive. She stared across at the bush and thought of Bozo Street. His image appeared, stripped to the waist, which of course was her last memory of him. Jess attempted to manipulate the image to visualise him totally undressed and facing her. But she failed and what her mind repainted was most unexpected. Bozo remained still wearing shorts but on his chest were female breasts — she was quite sure they were hers.
‘Oh God,’ she gulped and hurried off to the paint-flaking village store to buy a packet of potato crisps, four cans of beer and a bottle of white wine. Was there anything else? Jess wondered as she walked to the counter between narrow and crammed aisles trying not to think condoms but she did. Before she had time to mentally kick herself someone said, ‘Oh hello Jess. My Scott told me he met you an hour ago. He didn’t know your name but described you as a cute young woman renting the Monk’s cottage, so I knew it had to be you. What do you think of him?’
‘Rather handsome and manly.’
Marion Street looked pleased. ‘I’ll tell him that.’
Mortified, Jess said, ‘Please don’t, I have no wish to encourage him.’
‘That is unlikely to occur my dear. He’s staying with me for
a month. Scott arrived back in the country two days ago after working a year on contract in Hong Kong only to find his girlfriend Lacy was his ex-girlfriend. Adding to that blow he learned she’s engaged to his best friend Mike. Scott says he’s off women for life and his friendship with Mike has fared no better’
‘Oh, how sad. You must encourage him to find a replacement.’
‘Yes and well said,’ Marion replied, looking at Jess intently.
Jess suppressed a desire to say, ‘Oh God Marion, not me’ but instead smiled and said she must press on and went to the counter, heart pounding. Jess flushed at the thought of she and Scott going to bed early to become better acquainted. Behind the counter the weary looking Mrs Perkins, attempting to manage without an assistant after the morning rush and dressed in shapeless granny-print, asked was Jess all right, or was she running a fever as she had a high colour.
‘Just a naughty thought out of the blue made me blush, Mrs Perkins. I had an image of a man in white shorts with rippling muscles.’
‘Oh dear, please call me Peg dear. I used to have thoughts like that when I needed a man but age has taken care of that. Is he here at Awarua Beach?’
Jess attempted to avoid lying. ‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘Marion Street’s boy arrived home two days ago. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing him stripped but imagine he’d have rippling muscles.’
‘I’m writing a novel which means no place in my mind for distractions Peg.’
‘Are you sure that’s right thinking?’ Peg said. ‘Some hot sex could really drive your writing?’
‘That might suit some writers but certainly not me. Thank you and have a lovely day.’
Jess walked home rapidly to hide. Why had she adorned Scott Street with enlarged breasts and why was he being pushed on to her…er, at her? She was in a small community of permanent residents. If his mother or Peg or both began talking about Jess and Scott she’d be done for. The rumours would fly that she and Scott were having it off and that was exactly what she didn’t want to happen — a distraction.
* * *
When walking a dog the handler is free to contemplate while keeping an eye on the dog for any misdeed or visitation by another dog, particularly if exhibiting aggression. Scott began thinking of Lacy and his ex-friend Mike in a parked car, Lacy leaning back, smiling and pulling up the hem of her dress. Mike’s eyes flicked open very wide and Scott hastily wiped that thought. He walked over the sand spit, almost covered by the rising tide where the Awarua River met the sea and thought of his mother preparing his lunch. There would be just for the two of them, as her husband was on a two-day fishing trip. Sandwiches? He grinned knowing his mum would be good for at least an omelette — hopefully Spanish omelette. The smile remained as the face of the pretty young woman he’d met earlier than morning flooded his mind.
Pretty? Oh yes very pretty despite the freckles that teamed with her dark hair and slightly upturned nose. Green eyes, piercing green eyes he recalled, aware he found green eyes particularly attractive in a woman. He sighed and decided not to go to the yellow cottage. Only a fool would expose himself to another round of possible complications. Despite thinking about the beautiful orbs he’d seen as she waded from the river he remained unmoved. No complications.
Back home Scott looked at his watch — 11.52. His mother was asleep on the sofa, mouth open but not snoring. He sat outside in the shade from the burning sun and every twenty minutes or so looked at his watch and confirmed he wouldn’t be going.
Over lunch his mom told him when returning from the store she’d found out he’d met Jess earlier in the day.
‘Did I, oh yeah?’ he’d replied and then diverted his mother by saying the fresh flowers on the table looked pretty.
‘Flowers, you never comment on my floral arrangements?’ she said and then smiled as if becoming aware she was not to mention Jess.
Shortly after the dinning room clock chimed 5:00 Scott showered and dressed in a clean shirt, deciding to go for a walk but aware of the direction he’d be taking. His mom was preparing dinner and smiled but said nothing as he kissed her. As he walked off Scott became aware why she hadn’t asked where was she going, because she knew! She’d be aware he showered after a walk, not before setting off on one, and was wearing a good shirt, not one of the faded ones he usually teamed with his favoured scruffy shorts and, above all, he’d not taken Razor with him.
Scott’s knock on the sun-bubbled black back door of the yellow cottage wasn’t answered so he circled around and found Miss Tits — er, Jess — at the small table on the deck drinking wine. His pulse surged when he noticed she’d dressed up for him. She was wearing a party dress for goodness sake.
‘Oh hello,’ she said calmly. ‘I’d decided you weren’t coming. That’s a smart looking shirt.’
Yummy, he thought. She was in full make-up and her hair in a French roll like his mother favoured when dining out formally. He wondered what Jess’s vocation was. Dressed formally like that perhaps she was a lawyer or schoolteacher and unaware of protocol as that this was The Beach. The unwritten law was one didn’t dress up at the beach as the beach was the great escape from the trauma of urban living.
‘Y-you look beautiful.’
‘An exaggeration I’m sure but thank you,’ she said graciously, appearing to be struggling to hold back a bigger smile. Did she think of him as foolish or a guy on the prowl looking for an opportunity? Perhaps she was dressed up to give an emphatic message that she was no slut even thought she’d already given him an eyeful of her tits. He cringed at being so gross.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, looking at his reddening face.
‘I’m, um, a little embarrassed at being late.’
She giggled and told him not to be silly, that she was aware that at the beach people didn’t operate on city time.
He took the plunge, really without thinking. ‘Then why are you dressed up?’
Jess appeared a little take aback. She said she’d been only in a bikini bottom when they first met so she’d dressed to the other extreme to ensure he was left with a good impression. ‘The real me is somewhere between those extremes.’
‘You have an amazing figure.’
She bit her lip and then said, ‘Wine or beer?’
‘Beer?’ he asked in surprise.
‘Yes, I thought you might be a guy who likes a beer before dinner.’
‘You bought beer just for me?’
Her eyes wavered but he noted she kept in eye contact, saying he’d saved her from considerable embarrassment and deserved to be reward with a little consideration.
Scott asked, again without thinking, how many cans did she buy. She said four and he said that was enough for three more visits because he limited himself to one beer a day to stave off the pot-bellied look that some men gain at a relatively early age.
‘Oh how lovely, so you’ve decided to visit me again?’
‘Yes, every day.’ He’d thought before saying that and awaited her reaction.
‘Visit me, why me?’
Scott said he’d been impressed at the staunch way she’d behaved when facing him after a large roller had ripped off her top. He added that most women would have acted hysterically or near to it, bending over to cover up with their arms. He didn’t add he appreciated being given such an eyeful, as that would probably have brought an abrupt end to his social hour. Cheekily he added he thought because she was, um, rather well developed she should wear a tie-top when in strong tidal flow or in surf on the main beach and a single clip closure would be rather flimsy, not that he knew much about bras but the thought seemed logical.
Remaining impassive, Jess asked, ‘Do you think I have nice boobs?’
Oh God! His tongue froze so he nodded and was relieved to see her lovely smile appear.
‘Cat’s got your tongue, h
as it?’
Scott squirmed and she went off to fetch his beer. She handed him a glass as well as the can and said it was okay to drink straight from the can if he preferred.
Mr Bumblefoot looked at the glass and looked at the can so she laughed and pulled the glass away.
‘Relax. Just because you’ve seen my tits you don’t need to be shy of me.’
Scott grabbed the can and swallowed a big mouthful. She was watching him intently so he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unaware that was not normal practice for him but she was making him nervous.
‘Oh good, I’d understood men drinking beer without a glass did that.’
He nodded and said he’d not heard a woman call her breasts tits.
Jess laughed and said she was only trying to impress him. She didn’t elaborate so he didn’t ask why she wanted to impress. He felt pleased she he hadn’t offended her.
‘I just wanted to observe your reaction. Normally I think of them as breasts or boobs or wished I had a more boyish figure.’
Scott rubbed his nose thinking about the objects of their present discussion. ‘Why did my backhand wipe interest you — are you some kind of social researcher?’
‘In some sort of way.’
That was too vague so Scott took another tack. ‘What is your vocation?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Oh come on, you must be, um, twenty-five (he thought twenty-six but knew women preferred being considered younger than what they looked). You must know by now what your vocation is?’
As he looked away to the river and watched two young blonde teenagers in scraps of material they probably thought were bikinis, Jess was aware their conversation had taken a shift. There was a serious tone to his last question. ‘Well Scott…’
‘You know my name?’
‘Er, yes, I asked someone.’ She coloured and said, ‘Oh God, we haven’t introduced ourselves. How stupid of me. I’m Jessica Turner, always known as Jess.’
‘I’m Scott Street. This really has been an usual association, me knowing your breasts well before learning your name.’
Jess sipped wine before apologising.
‘Why should you apologise?’
‘I’m your hostess and should have introduced myself when you arrived. But for some reason we just slipped into conversation before that happened. I’m twenty-six and had two novels published for a measly return when the third sold for quite an impressive amount. I taught at primary school so decided to launch out and write professionally, so here I am.’
‘And doing brilliantly.’
‘Far from it.’
‘Oh damn. What is your genre?’
‘Action romance.’
‘Hmmm.’
At that Jess looked at him over her wineglass, sensing he had something worthwhile to say after their almost mindless verbal jousting that had established an element of understanding between them. At least he appeared sensitive.
‘You ought to venture outside the closet.’
‘What?’
‘I lecture in philosophy and turn thirty next month. For the last four years I’ve accepted teaching contracts in South Africa and international English schools in France, Japan and Hong Kong. So I’ve travelled and some of the experience of living in foreign lands has rubbed off on to me. I’ve experience friendships with men and women of various nationalities and female students and female lecturers have found themselves attracted to me and I took advantage of that in some instances. Further, I have travelled within those countries and some neighbouring countries during teaching breaks and lived as close comfortable at being ‘native’, experiencing a myriad of adventures and misadventures, mostly minor in nature but nevertheless tutoring me in the fabric of life. I returned home to marry my near-abandoned sweetheart only to find she’d really abandoned me, leaving half of my reason for returning to base gone.’
‘What other reason did you have for returning to base?’
‘I felt I was ready to begin writing a book. Writing a travelogue didn’t appeal because my interest is in writing intensely about my beliefs and more casual thoughts.’
‘A writer?’
He didn’t answer and Jess hoped he accepted she was thinking aloud. She was determined to appear intelligent. ‘You’ll have a wealth of knowledge and experiences to thread through your writings?’
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