You’re never too old to get homesick, apparently.

I found this out during my post-divorce tropical vacation. Balmy temperatures, fruity drinks poolside at the luxury resort, and all I wanted was to go back to Chicago.

The dissolution of my marriage had been a whole bunch of no-fun. Tim and I had called it quits after 16 years. Now I was single, in my late 40s, with only distant memories of how to date or even flirt like I meant it. I had gotten the house in the settlement, and I thought about cutting my holiday short to return to the familiar setting.

I decided to stay one more day, but I would shake things up. The resort felt fake to me, like a grand-scale dollhouse.

So I ducked out.

I put on a pair of ragged cutoffs, sandals and a bikini top, and then rented a grungy scooter from a shop on the wharf. Off I went, buzzing up the coast road, passing mule-drawn carts and friendly locals in beat-up pickups who hooted at the blonde Americano. The bright sunshine and speed lifted my spirits.

Eventually, I pulled off onto an unpaved track. Feeling adventurous, I followed it past palm trees and gleaming green fronds, until it emptied into a secluded cove. I cut the motor and beheld the perfect little place, with pale sands and turquoise water lapping.

No one else was around. I walked down to the surf and felt the warm water on my toes. I bit my lip, looking around. Just how adventurous was I? I found out quick enough as I left my clothes on the ground and dove naked into the water.

I’d swum in the resort pool, but this dip was immensely more refreshing. I swam out against the incoming waves, feeling the pull and twang of my body. I had kept myself in good shape, eating right and exercising. The problems between my ex-husband and me hadn’t been physical. But now what was I to do with this hot body of mine? Who to share it with?

I thought of all the people I knew back in Chicago, a wide circle. Who among them was an eligible prospect? I sure wasn’t looking to get married again, but it would be nice to have a man or two to fuck regularly.

The alien idea sent a thrill through me as I frolicked about in the aquamarine surf. I dove and came up for air. I felt the sun and water on my bare skin. My nipples were hard. I touched my breasts, squeezing, imagining a new pair of hands on them for the first time in almost two decades. My pussy tingled.

I stayed out for about 20 minutes, then let the waves take me back in. I felt better than I had this whole trip. I dove one more time, skimming along the silty bottom, then stood up in knee-deep water. My blonde hair was pasted to my neck and shoulders. I shook water out of my eyes.

I froze. I was no longer alone on this little beach. There was a second scooter. A man stood by it. He was handsome and dark-haired, about 25, in a T-shirt and shorts. He gaped at me with an expression of stunned admiration.

My clothes were out of reach, but I could make a mad sprint for them, or at least cover myself with my hands. Somehow I was doing neither of those things. I merely stood, with the waves breaking around the backs of my calves and water glistening on my taut naked flesh.

I said, “Hi.”

He broke out of his own paralysis and sputtered, “I’m so sorry! A bartender told me about this spot. I wasn’t spying! I promise.”

I gave him a grin. His accent was American. Somehow in this isolated cove I had met a fellow tourist.

“Come on in the water,” I told him.

His eyes were still traveling my body. Excitement rose in me at the attention. That wasn’t all that was rising. I saw his shorts tenting nicely.

“B-but I… ” he fumbled.

“You’ve seen me. I want to see you.” I didn’t know whether or not I was making a fool out of myself. Did he think I was too old for him? Would he hop on his scooter and flee?

Nope. With a tentative smile, he removed shirt and shoes. He hesitated with the shorts, then dropped them. As he strode toward the water, his hard-on waggled. I eyed it shamelessly.

He dove in. I liked his sinewy movements under the iridescent water. He came around in a circle and stood up next to me, dripping. He wasn’t the only one. By now my pussy was streaming with need.

I took a sloshing step toward him and closed my hand on his cock. His hard young body jerked, muscles bunching beautifully. I relished his silken texture and throbbing firmness. I gave him a few pumps.

But soon I absolutely had to have a taste of his meat. I slid to my knees in the soft silt. He stood facing the beach. The incoming waves splashed through his legs, foam dotting my tits. I put my mouth on his swollen cockhead, finding the flavor of the tropical sea there. His strong taste came in the form of a thick drop of pre-come that oozed onto my tongue.

“I sucked him right down to the hilt, taking that cockhead into my throat.”

I dropped my encircling lips down his shaft, charting his pulsing veins with my tongue tip. I fondled his balls. He moaned, the sound almost lost beneath the crash of the waves. The sea pressed and pulled on me. The salty air filled my nostrils as my sudden lover’s cock glided over my tongue.

His hands wound themselves into the damp hanks of my hair. He gave an experimental thrust, and I sucked him right down to the hilt, taking that cockhead into my throat. He started a steady face-fucking. I matched his every lunge with a fearless plunge of my mouth. I made it clear I wasn’t going to release him.

He thrust harder. I let go of his balls so I could feel them slap my chin. I reached around and sank my fingers into the taut swells of his ass, encouraging him to pound my mouth as hard as he could.

A wild cry tore the air. Suddenly, a torrent of come was jetting into my mouth. I squealed deep in my throat as the hot spunk coated my tongue. The flavor was intense and masculine, like an elixir meant to transform this middle-aged princess into a full-on cougar.

He staggered back and fell into the waves, a look of blown-out bliss on his pretty face. Grinning, I hauled him up. I didn’t have to tell him I wanted his mouth on my pussy. Fair was fair. I considered standing over him and grinding my gash on his face, but then I decided on the crab position. Like him, I faced the beach. I squatted and braced my hands behind me, lying back on my palms and thrusting my gleaming pussy up at the bright sky.

He got the idea, going to his hands and knees between my spread thighs. The position put a fine strain on my body, but the exertion felt good, tightening every muscle. The dark-haired man’s tongue felt very good, too, as he jammed it into my needy hole.

Pleasure exploded through me. The waves raced underneath me, splashing around my ass and flecking his busy face with foam. I watched him lap hungrily at my slit, snuffling in my folds. A piece of seaweed striped my leg.

When he zeroed in on my aching clit, I put my head back and let the sea rake through my blonde hair. His eager tongue flicked and scoured my nub. My excitement became a rushing thing, racing at the speed of the tide.

His teeth softly grazed my clitoral bud, and that sent me into ecstasy. I jammed my pussy hard against his face and let out a fierce wail. No doubt he tasted my streaming juices along with the stray splashes of seawater.

I still had the warm residue of his cream in my mouth as he shifted position. He moved up, gripped me around my trim waist, and rubbed the head of his re-engorged cock against my freshly eaten pussy. Admiring his stamina and quick recovery time, I grinned. He slotted himself into me.

His cock filled me deliciously. My pussy clenched him. Pleasure radiated outward from his penetration, sending impulses into every part of me. Holding me by the waist took the strain off my legs. I sank back farther on my hands, letting my head dangle once again into the surf. Water streamed through my hair. The roar of the sea was in my ears.

“I bucked my hips, taking every inch of him. A look of joy overtook his face.”

Yet I still heard his grunts and the slap of our wet bodies. He fucked me half in, half out of the water, with the surf exploding around us. The waves felt stronger, the pulse of the ocean beating faster, accompanying our gathering mutual euphoria.

I couldn’t have conjured a happier sexual encounter if I’d taxed every iota of my imagination. I had wanted my first post-divorce sexual experience to be special, and this definitely was. It was fantasy made flesh. The only downside was that we were meeting on this vacation island. I might never see him again.

But that took away nothing from the fantastic pleasure of it. His cock slammed my pussy, his thrusts growing more urgent. I bucked my hips, taking every inch of him. A desperate look of joy overtook his face. Probably he couldn’t quite believe this was happening either.

Disbelief didn’t hold off his climax, however. Pleasure was pushing me over the line. The water frothed around us. My body churned. The hot blue sky and blazing yellow sunlight whirled. His cream spewed deep inside me. I came with a wild thrashing. My arms gave way, and I dropped backward into the waves. He fell on top of me, turning and bringing me instantly back up.

We lay and kissed as the ocean seemed to slow, the light to dim ever so slightly. He said his name was Dan. Eventually, we picked ourselves up and walked toward the scooters.

He had prepared better for this excursion. He had a towel strapped to his seat. As I dried myself, I noticed the Chicago Cubs baseball cap hanging from his handlebars.

“You jump on the bandwagon when they won the World Series?” I asked playfully, passing him his towel.

“No. Lifelong fan. You gotta root for your hometown team.”

Which was how I learned Dan lived in Chicago, too. Some lucky coincidence, huh?

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