I had been in to swim twice under the July sun that day. By the time I'd dried off, the afternoon clouds had rolled in until the sky was like a lumpy quilt. I sat down on the beach towel and pulled a second, smaller towel over my shoulders to help ward off the cooling wind.

My friends Deena and Lindsey had just left for a walk to the snack bar, which was all the way at the other end of the beach. Needing a rest, I stretched out face down, feet toward the sea, adjusting the top towel to cover from my shoulders over my back to just above the backs of my knees. My only pillow was my forearm, so I cradled my head as comfortably as I could, closed my eyes, and listened to the roar of distant waves and the mewling of gulls.

The packed sand beneath the beach towel contoured to my curves as I shifted about restlessly. Before long it dawned on me that I was getting aroused. I needed no reason; I just was. Maybe it was the fault of all that tummy-down position self pleasure I’d indulged in so frequently. But that was almost always in bed, and always in complete privacy.

Damn, and we would be there for at least another hour. I looked about. Though the crowd had thinned, there were still plenty of people around. The nearest was about twenty five or thirty feet away, and the sounds of summer fun rose and fell in all directions.

The siren song of my clit coursed tantalizingly upward through my pressed-down belly. “You know what to do,” I could almost hear it croon.

Should I? I thought nervously.

Could I? It wouldn’t be possible to take anything off or spread my legs wide enough. I couldn’t help things along by moving my hips.

Would anyone really know, if I was discreet?

How discreet could I be?

I raised myself to glance around and make sure my top towel was in place. This time, as I lay back down, I made sure the towel was also covering my right arm, which angled beneath me until my hand reached my swimsuit leg band.

That’s another thing. I was wearing a one-piece that day instead of a bikini. Another method of access would need to be employed.

So my index finger tugged the nylon aside. Immediately I felt the coolness of a sea breeze as it caressed my heated lips. Clit contact was now possible. Instantly my middle fingertip played it lightly and made it surge even more.

Oh, yes. Felt so good. I buried my face in my left forearm and smelled the day’s sun lotion and sea salt.

My feet were about shoulder width, maybe. After a few minutes I was definitely missing the next phase, being able to open wide. I spread my thighs as much as I dared, which I hoped wasn’t a lot. Because of the slope of the tidal zone, it might have been possible for someone nearer to the water to see what was going on up the gap, I thought, and this made me rub more quickly. I had not yet met a boyfriend who, while watching me solo in my preferred pose, complained that he couldn’t see enough.

I heard the shrieking of late-day bathers cavorting in the surf, and pressed harder into myself. Ring and pinkie fingers had by then been drafted into assisting its index sibling in keeping my swimsuit pulled out of the way of Pleasure Central. The tingle escalated and spread through my groin, accentuated by the pleasantly intrusive breeze between my opened legs. My toes dug involuntarily into the damp sand.

So close... wish I could open more... so close...

The determination of my whirling, prodding fingertip overwhelmed the swollen button beneath it. The slippery lick of my eager drooling juices kept the motion fluid, so to speak. And oh, oh, ohhh! I felt the familiar rush explode in tunnel spasms and shooting stars ricocheting from my clit all the way up my body and down my legs.

I did my best to control the panting breath gusting from my nostrils. Other than that, I didn’t care. I was climaxing fiercely and nothing else mattered.

On the trip home, if I had an extra wet spot on my suit no one was the wiser.

To this day, I don’t know if anyone ever caught on or saw something that inspired them carnally at a future time, but the possibility still turns me on when I remember my singular outdoor experience.