However much the care of George and the spa bath had restored Jennifer, she was still partially drunk and shaken from her experience earlier in the night. Lying wide awake in the luxurious bed, she stared up at the ceiling, at the encased rail running from the ceiling’s centre to over the bed. It occurred to Jennifer that this room was meant for an invalid or paraplegic. But the pulley and steel hook was not over the bed, as she had seen in the hospital when she visited Brian.
The contraption made Jennifer’s mind wandered off - for the first time after years - into thinking of Brian. He had been her golden boy surfer, the one lover that had fucked her – the first time ever - into blinding sexual bliss. Then his spine was shattered on the rocks, now – when was it – more than thirty years ago. And she, his champion Beachgirl, proved to be a heel and a coward. She never went back to the hospital, and their town was just big enough to avoid seeing her broken lover ever again!
Suddenly, back in the dark trance of her past, Jennifer believed she heard the voice of Mr Hempel, her nerdy Form 6 English teacher, reciting his fucking Shakespeare: “Golden lads and girls all must, like chimney sweepers come to dust.” Yes, this was her: an aging Milf, now an opportunistic charity-fuck for golden lads like Steve, like Brian – she counted – thirty-seven years ago had been.
Jennifer began to cry and sank into the pit of grey despair. As then with Brian, finally, her time had come too. All that was left now was to be picked up from the floor and taken into care by an almost elderly George!
And the day had begun so well. In her yellow, the newest of her eleven bikinis, Jennifer had locked the door of her unit. With her Chilli Surfboard under her arm and beach bag shouldered, she had strolled down to her favourite beach. It was a fab day, not too burning hot, with just enough of a breeze and enough of a swell to please her five-foot-six Chilli.
By one-o-clock, her usual mob – including the hard-partying late sleepers and a few short-time adopted backpackers – had arrived. The afternoon passed with surfing and the usual horseplay in the waves and on the sand. Jennifer was in her element. Although so much younger than her in her well-preserved fifties, this mob were her kind of people.
Jennifer had already invited most of them, once or twice, for a pizza or pie night to her unit. Therefore, she had expected to be included in their farewell party tonight. Three of their backpacker friends, two German girls and a Danish boy, were leaving for home. Flush with money from their last jobs and the flight home to their affluent parents paid, they stayed for their final days in the luxury of the Esplanade, Banks Inlet’s largest hotel.
As the night progressed, their party in one of the hotel’s smaller function rooms got lively. Most of the boys stuck to beer, while the girls, Jennifer included, followed the local tradition. They were drowning their inhibitions – if any - in Bundy-and-Coke. And as the hours passed, in the mix in their glasses, the golden glow of the Bundaberg rum prevailed more and more over the sobering brown of the Yankee Cola.
The boys, as usual in their parties, outnumbered the girls by about two to one. Therefore, they soon divided into one matey group of serious drinkers and the boys on the make. The latter either had a girlfriend or were in hope for a fuck of the night. And Jennifer thought, after her third glass of Bundy-and-Coke, cunningly mixed for her by Steve, that she might be in unforeseen luck.
Although only twenty-one Steve was, in Jennifer’s Beachgirl judgement, the Alpha male in their mob. Well on the way to becoming a top-competition surfer, Steve, with his blond mane, athletic body, and ready smile, was the type of man/boy Jennifer had lusted after since her early teens, back then on the beach in Ballina.
And tonight, Steve has fastened on her, always on her side, laughing and joking. His hand cupped more and more often one of her bra-sheltered boobs or came to rest on her thigh. It was, Jennifer was sure, a seductive caress and not just a grope in passing. And God, did she know the difference, after her thirty-plus Beachgirl years!
So, when Steve – Jennifer thought – finally decided to catch the wave and asked her to fuck, she readily agreed. And the familiar hot flash welled readily up in her pussy. Being a nice boy, Steve had not, of course, been so crudely blunt in asking her. True, his hand had gripped her thigh precariously close to pussy as he propositioned her: “God, Jenny, I wish I could make love to a sexy Milf like you!”
In her eagerness, Jennifer swallowed the insult of being seen as a Milf. Without dislodging Steve’s hand already fingering her dampening crotch, Jennifer giggled drunkenly and said, “Great idea. But where and when?” The question was for her rhetorical; she had pretty much made up her mind to take Steve home tonight to her condo.
However, Steve had other ideas. He got up and walked across the room to the drinkers. There, Steve leaned affectionately over Karl, the gay Danish backpacker. Jennifer watched him smiling up at Steve as he reached in his pocket for his room card.
On returning to Jennifer, Steve waved the plastic before her face and grinned, “This is the ‘where.’ Holding out one hand, inviting her to stand up, he asked with a sly grin, “Why not now, Jennifer? Karl’s room is only one floor up.” Jennifer dismissed with a why-not shrug her twinge of reluctance and rose. Steve grabbed the Bundy bottle from the table and, with his arm slung possession-taking around Jennifer’s bare midriff, dragged her away.
Once they were in Karl’s room, Jennifer’s unease mounted. As the door clicked shut and Steve switched on the light, she had turned towards him to press her needy body against his. Lifting her face, she expected his kiss, and Steve reluctantly put his closed lips on hers. Then he mumbled, “We didn’t come for a smooch, did we, Jennifer?” Grabbing her hair, he pushed her down on her knees. Pressing her face on his crotch, he chuckled, “You came for this! You are a cock-hungry Milf, aren’t you, Jennifer? Come on, show me!”
Although Jennifer’s unease was mounting, the Bundy and lust prevailed over sense. Her practised fingers found the zip and unwrapped her trophy. When Jennifer looked up, Steve’s face was turned sideways, and his expression gave nothing away. For a moment, Jennifer wondered whether Steve meant the Milf word to insult her or was it a clumsy tease to begin their sexy frolics? As her lips closed over Steve’s semi-limp prick, Jennifer was determined to either teach the boy a lesson or turn her Adonis into the lover a Beachgirl, like her, still deserved.