Sailboard Lessons

As far as I am concerned, my wife is the most stunning woman I have ever seen. Her face just radiates warmth and kindness. She has a beautiful, flawless smile, that can be impishly humorous, or just open and friendly, depending on the circumstances. Her hazel eyes sparkle with life, and make my day whenever I am with her.

But then, I have to admit to being biased. I guess that if you really analysed Carole's looks more objectively than I ever will, then maybe her forehead is a little high, her nose too aquiline, and her jaw just slightly too strong to describe her as cover photo beautiful. But if you love someone, then you love the way the way that they look.

What Carole does have is an incredible body. That is not just a husband's opinion, but straight, objective fact.

At forty two, after giving birth to our two children, Carole has somehow retained the same perfect figure that she had when we first met, the same long, slender limbs, the same narrow waist with a dead flat stomach, beautifully curving hips, and breasts to die for.

I will be honest and admit that it was her breasts that I first noticed. It would have been the same for any guy.

It was winter, and she was wearing a tartan skirt and an off white roll neck pullover, standing in line at our university cafeteria, and her breasts stood proud. I was next in line, and she saw me look, but I guess that she was used to guys looking, and Carole just smiled.

I got talking with her, and we ended up eating our lunch together, arranging to have dinner the next evening, and a week later she was sitting on the bed in my college room, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

It may seem a little crude to describe Carole's breasts as being the size of melons, but while it is crude, it is the most accurate way of describing them that I can think of, and not just the size, but the shape as well.

Check out any grocery store and find the stand where they are displaying the shiny yellow, honey dew variety. Select the largest, pick it up, and feel its size. Imagine that instead of being hard and unforgiving, it is made of flesh, taut skin, but soft and malleable, and you will have an idea of what just one of Carole's breasts is like.

Then picture two of these perfect breasts, side by side, swaying because she has removed her bra, and you are getter even closer to the reality.

Then there are her nipples. I would never disrespect her by asking to measure, but my eye is pretty good, and the stubs are no less than half an inch in diameter. They stand proud, even when they are not aroused.

I had noticed them back in that university lunch queue, even through her bra and white pullover. Only when she wears a coat are they truly hidden.

Without a coat, pullover, or bra, not only are they revealed as delicious, soft, slightly crinkled, brown teats, that are deliciously sensitive to fingers and thumbs, and to lips and tongues, but they are surrounded by light brown areoles that are a generous two inches from side to side.

Remember what I said about those ripe melons. Picture those half inch nipple stubs, the two inch wide areoles, right at the end of pure white fleshy breasts shaped just like those melons, and you will some idea of what Carole revealed that night when she removed her bra.

Lastly, add to what for me is a stunning face, even if for other guys it is just attractive, and to her perfect body a natural libido that loves to fuck, and you will understand why ever since that first time in my college room, when she removed her bra and let me enjoy those breasts, Carole and I have made beautiful love at least once a day, barring illness, a couple of solo trips away, and in the weeks following the birth of each of our two children.

From the moment I first sank my cock into her sweet pussy, I was planning to walk Carole up the aisle for keeps.

Which brings me to the present day, or at least to recent events, more than twenty years from when Carole and I first met. Two children later, both grown up and if not quite flown the nest, at least old enough to turn down the offer of a holiday with mid-forties Mum and Dad, we decided to head to Spain, just the two of us, the first time we had holidayed just as a couple since the first of our two was born.

Before hiring our villa, we had checked it our online. Airbnb is so much better than hotel accommodation. It is better value, and you get the full facilities of an apartment rather than just a room with a kettle on a tray. The villa was out of town, built on a hillside, one of maybe a hundred that overlooked a cove below. There were photos of the cove on the website, taken from a distance, which is why we did not realise until we walked to the cove was that this one was naturist.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, so when in a Spanish cove, where no one is wearing swimwear, do as everyone else does there. It was just the two of us, after all. No kids to worry about. No family or friends. We knew no one else there, so no one cared about just another couple on holiday baring all on a beach where everyone was doing the same.

We started working on our tans that first afternoon. Carole received the inevitable looks, especially from men. I got a few as well. I have always worked at keeping myself in shape, and the one part of my anatomy that you cannot work out in the gym is pretty generously proportioned. I noticed more than one woman checking me out, and it was not my face that they were looking at. It is good for the ego, especially when your wife is being checked out even more obviously by guys who clearly would prefer that you were not with her, so that they could try their luck.

It was superbly relaxing, and in a very special way it was delightfully stimulating. Lazing on the sand, taking the occasional swim to cool down, people watching, reading, all of it helped us leave life in England literally hundreds of miles away.

Then there is something about sun that does not just recharge the batteries, but enhances the libido. Whilst our sex life has always been good, it became incredible, the best ever.

There is all this advice to guys to take things slowly, make sure that she is ready with lovey dovey talk and gentle foreplay, but Carole needed none of that. All I had to do was touch her there and she was wet and ready. Whether it was seeing other people naked, or being naked, or having people give her some pretty obvious looks, being on a naturist beach clearly did as much for Carole's libido as it did for mine.

The first afternoon that we were there, we not only got used to being naked, but also learned how other people like to display the parts that on a textile beach, you never get to see.

There were a few piercings, nipple bars and rings, some labia rings, and even a guy with a ring that emerged from the eye of his cock and disappeared underneath, at his frenum. Pubic hair was either trimmed, or shaped to a neat triangle, or landing strip, or totally removed.

Without telling me in advance, Carole decided to go with the flow, and get rid of her curling brown pubic hair. She usually keeps it trimmed to her bikini line, and around an half an inch in length, but she came out of the shower that first evening having used her ladyshave, with her pubis smooth as a baby's behind. That delayed our trip down to the local restaurant. Once I saw those protruding labia without the camouflage of brown curls that usually disguised them, I just had to fuck her, and she did not complain.

What Carole did do,after the second shower that we both needed from energetic love-making in the Spanish heat, was to slip on a dress for our restaurant trip, with nothing underneath. It was one with an elasticated top that had no shoulder straps, but went under her arms, and was kept in place by the sheer fact that there was no way it could slid down over her breasts.

My wife did not seem concerned that her breasts moved freely beneath the thin fabric, or that her nipples were even more obvious than usual, and that the loose cut hem was no more than three inches below the pubis that was now hairless. We just strolled down to the restaurant,enjoyed our meal, strolled back up to our villa, and fucked ourselves to sleep.

Day time, we did the usual beach stuff. We had raffia beach mats beneath our towels, had our books and earphones, and even bought bats and a ball to play beach tennis, with Carole just laughing off her inability to control what way her breasts swung as we tried to keep the ball in the air for as many consecutive hits as we could.

For the record, we made seventy one on day eight of the holiday, the rally broken only by a guy not looking where he was going, and getting in our way.

The cove itself was large enough to have a beach bar, which we used for the occasional chilled drink, but we went back to the apartment for lunch, which we bought at the small supermarket that served the development.

I used shorts and a teeshirt to get to and from the apartment and the beach. Carole just used a wrap, which she put on at the apartment door, and took off as soon as we were back, leaving it off even while we ate on the open balcony. I guess the freedom of having no kids with us, and the naturist beach below, just made her feel freer than ever before.

The balcony was great at night for candle lit dining or for drinks if we went to one of the restaurants for dinner. The view over the bay was wonderful.

It was Carole who suggested switching off all our lights, and instead of going to bed, enjoying the view from the balcony, naked in the warmth of the late evening.

The view was indeed amazing, but it is difficult to enjoy it fully when your wife has just gone down on her knees and is using her mouth to bring your cock to full erection.

When she was ready, Carole took her turn to appreciate the night time panorama, the amber lights of apartments below ours, and opposite, the multi-coloured strings of bulbs around the beach bar, the more distant lights of other properties along the coast, and to our right, the white lights of ships far out to sea, and of course the twinkling of the stars in the sky above.

Taking in all of this, Carole just leant on the rail of the balcony, bending forward, her breasts pendulous, her legs straight and slightly parted.

Naturally I moved behind her. My cock was still rigid from the way that Carole had used her mouth on it. She may not give deep throat, but she can still turn me on, and she is not afraid to go below my cock, and even below my balls, and use her lips and tongue in places where the sun never shines, not even on a naturist beach like the one far below. Carole had made me stiff with desire, and I slid my rigid cock from behind, into her wet, newly hairless cunt.

No one there knew us, and the nearest villas were some distance away, so Carole did little to restrain the cries and moans that always accompanied our love making. Just like you hear of wolves howling at the moon, my wife groaned, gasped, and even shrieked at the stars, and at anyone below, or opposite, or out at sea on those ships with their wavering lights. I swear I even saw the man in the moon wink down at us.

But back to describing events on the beach, where you could watch sailboarders glide and weave and disappear around the rocks to the next cove, or beyond, and where at one end of the cove, near the bar, there were sailboards for hire, and you could watch the novices fall off, patiently coached back on and upright, until they slipped or overbalanced and splashed back into the water, time and time again.

It was a few days in when Carole surprised me by saying that she would like to have a go. I checked what she meant, and she confirmed that she was talking about sailboarding. Personally I was happy with lazing and the occasional swim or bit of beach tennis, but if the woman you love expresses an interest, you give her support and encouragement.

I said that we could always check it out, and a bit later that afternoon we strolled down to cabin where the sailboards could be hired.

The guy was friendly with a wide smile, but then this was his business, so he would obviously be friendly to potential customers. His name was Raphael, and I guessed that he was from one of the colonies, from the colour of his skin, and his wild, braided hair, and black, curling goatee and moustaches, but he spoke pretty good English, as well as Spanish, Dutch and German. If you work in a tourist area in Spain, it pays to be multilingual. He told us the cost of hire and tuition. It seemed reasonable, and we booked an introductory session for Carole the next day.

The next morning arrived, and Carole seemed appropriately nervous. We headed to the cabin, and the guy started by getting Carole to stand on a practice sailboard that was set up on the sand, holding a pole without a sail, just to get her footing right, and learn how to balance her weight with the pole.

Even that took practice, but falling off just meant stepping onto the soft sand. Then, after twenty minutes or so on the practice board on the sand, Raphael took her into the water, and had her standing on a board without a sail, while he held the board as steady as the light waves would allow him to. I watched from the water's edge, amused at my wife's unsteadiness, but impressed at her eagerness to give it a go.

They were only in a couple of feet of water, so Carole's falls meant jumping back, or forwards, into the water. Each time Raphael would help her back on, steadying her with his hand on her leg, high up, close to her bare buttock.

Had my wife been wearing a swimsuit, this would have seemed a straightforward bit of professional assistance. With both of them naked, it was another guy touching her, and it was my wife allowing him that privilege. But in the circumstances, all I did was watch.

Once he felt that Carole was ready, Raphael pushed the sailboard out a little deeper, while she was still trying to keep her balance. The inevitable happened, and she went in with a resounding splash, coming up moments later with her hair plastered to her face. It was deep enough that Carole had to swim, so the next lesson was how to climb back on without sand beneath your feet, and then how to stand erect again.

That took a little help. This time Raphael's hand was under my wife's buttocks, his fingers inches from her pussy, as he eased her up onto the board.

It was by no means rough, but the waves were enough to rock the sailboard, so when the guy let go, Carole became unsteady again, and hit the water for a second time. This time she managed to mount the board without Raphael's helping hand, and I felt easier. Watching another guy fondling your wife, even if he is doing it professionally, rouses strange feelings.

Carole stood up slowly, spreading her feet the way that Raphael had shown her when they were on the practice board on the sand. She got her balance. Raphael was looking up at her, obviously giving her encouragement. Equally obvious was the fact that he was looking up at my wife's pussy, which was open to his view both from being shaved, and from her stance on the board, and he was looking up at her breasts as well, swaying as she balanced on the moving board.

To my surprise, and I guess some pride, Carole retained her balance for what might have been five minutes. Raphael even let go of the board, and just swam close enough to be there if she fell. Then he brought her back, and she came to me dripping with water and grinning, asking how she had done.

I told her the truth, as droplets of water ran down her body from her hair, some dripping from the undercurves of her breasts, some from her erect nipples, and some running between her breasts to her exposed labia. I was impressed.

That was when I looked at Raphael, who was pulling a couple of sailboards into the shallow water. I did not remember his cock being that long, or that thick, when he had started the lesson. I felt a slight sense of unease. I could understand his cock reacting to Carole's nakedness. There are some things that even a professional coach cannot disguise. But that did not mean that I had to like it.

I watched for another hour as the two of them went back out, and he showed her how to lift and hold the sail, how to duck under and hold it the other way, and all the other bits of technique she needed to know, before they did some practice gliding. She did well. She fell off enough times to confirm that she was definitely a novice, but every time she climbed right back on. She came back smiling, saying that it had been fun.

Raphael grinned, asking if she wanted another lesson the next day. Carole gave me a look, and then agreed. He grinned again. Unless I was mistaken, his cock was even thicker than before.

Of course I knew that it would never happen, but still I thought about it. I mean, I had seen guys giving Carole looks before, and we had been on beaches before, as a couple before the kids arrived, and as a family with the kids, when Carole would usually wear a bikini, but sometimes might go topless, and her breasts were always attracting attention.

But that was the first time that I had seen a guy's cock reacting, actually getting towards the size and solidity that would enable him to enter her and do her justice. Technically, it was still flaccid, but it had developed the length and girth that would satisfy any woman. So I admit that I thought about it, pictured it, imagined it happening.

Not that I said anything. I did not ask Carole if she had noticed. I assumed that she had, but I was not going to draw attention to another guy's cock.

I did think about it more while we were making love that night, or to be more accurate, fucking the hell out of one another. That night's love making was so much more intense. I pounded Carole's pussy, and she loved every minute of it, shrieking each time she came, and holding me tight when I spewed my semen deep into her.

It was Carole who commented about it having been incredible sex, that something must have really turned me on. I said nothing about what had been going through my head, Raphael touching her upper thigh, her buttocks, right beside her pussy, looking up at her, his cock growing. I just said that it was her body that turned me on like that, and she thanked me and told me how much she loved that we could still make love like that after being together for almost twenty years.

The next day we went back to the sailboard cabin, and Raphael saw us coming, gave us a wave, and pulled two sailboards straight into the water ready for our arrival.

There was no need to repeat the early stages of practice. They could go straight to sailboarding past a few coves and back, so that she could practice serious gliding, and tacking to travel against the wind. It sounded good, but I could not help noticing that this time, before they had even started, Raphael's cock was thick.

Of course you compare. You wonder if when it was erect it would be longer or thicker than your own. Not that mine is under sized. I already mentioned that I get looks. My cock is fine, nothing to be ashamed of. So was his.

He was circumcised, but then a lot of North African countries practice circumcision. The head was black, like the shaft and balls, like every inch of his gleaming body. The shaft was veined, not as thick as mine, but the head was bulbous, the skin taut, the rim a centimetre wider than the shaft, all the way around. A battering ram made of flesh and blood and jet black skin.

They were gone something close to two hours, the same length lesson as the day before. I waited, reading and sipping ice cold coke at the nearby beach bar. I could have done with a stiff whiskey, but I do not like drinking in the day, or in the sun. It just wipes me out. So I stayed sober, with nothing to blot out the thoughts rampaging in my head.