Hawaiian Loving

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[This story is similar to my “Meeting Leilani” story in that I wrote about experiences on the same Hawaiian vacation. However, unlike my Leilani story that was mostly true, this erotic story is mostly fantasy. You will have to share the fantasy and decide for yourself how much fun I had.

I wish to acknowledge proofreading help provided by volunteer editors who work without compensation. Improving the grammar and mechanics of this story were the efforts of MarieWriter and estragon. Then, when I needed some extra help making the characters work, MarieWriter showed the depth of her talent when she gave the extra effort that turned this story into the gem that I wanted it to be.

©Sandra Mustard 2012]

Walking from our plane through the terminal, glass doors slid open before us and we stepped out onto an open-air walkway, headed toward baggage claim. Warm, floral-scented, tropical air welcomed us to the islands of perpetual summer. Caramel-skinned girls in muumuus handed out leis to every arriving passenger. Despite the fragrant adornment, I did not feel connected to paradise yet, still constricted by the heavy clothing that I wore since leaving a different season behind that morning in the Midwest.

Aloha Tower said it was late afternoon but my body said it was nearly bedtime. Not yet suppertime on Oahu, my stomach would have anxiously sought nourishment if the airplane food didn’t still sit heavy in my gut. Despite the effects of jetlag, my spirits were beginning to respond to the seductive swishing of palm trees doing a hula in the wind. Family, job, almost life itself had been left at home and the fun-girl inside me was ready to cut loose for two weeks.

Riding the elevator to the 18th floor of our hotel on Waikiki, Woody pulled me close. “We’re gonna have a great time here, Babe,” he said and his lips covered mine with passionate sensations that have thrilled me since high school. Our bellhop discreetly kept his eyes on the floor indicator but I would not have minded if he watched us intently. I was in the mood for an audience. I looked the copper-skinned islander over; young and handsome, his floral shirt was open an extra button to show hairless pecs; he would do nicely.

Walking us ahead of the luggage cart, Woody opened the last door on the right. Heavy drapes enclosed the room, shutting out the sunny world we paid a hefty price to visit. I didn’t fly nine hours in a tin tube to sit in a cave so I headed toward the nearest drapes across from the foot of the bed. Pulling the heavy fabric wall aside, and a gauzy curtain likewise dispatched, I slid the glass panels apart to gaze at the city climbing up the side of a mountain until shrouded in clouds.

Woody and the bellhop with the smooth pecs were unloading our luggage from the cart when I opened a second set of drapes and doors on our corner room. I gasped; Diamond Head, framed outside our window, would be the backdrop for our bedroom antics for the next five days. I couldn’t wait to hang loose as the islanders encourage so I stepped over to the head of the bed just out of the bellhop’s sight and started to remove my pants. Woody noticed me undressing. Turning his back to me, he stood near the closet to increase my privacy while the young worker put our final bag away.

Meanwhile, I had pulled my blouse off over my head and stood in panties and bra. Woody patted his pockets in an obvious pantomime looking for his wallet and then, as if just remembering, he stepped toward his travel bag on the dresser and away from his position in front of the bellhop. We were an intuitive and well-rehearsed team. From where the surprised young man stood at the edge of the closet, he could see me now as I reached behind my back to unhook my bra. Excitement tickled the pit of my stomach and stiffened my nipples.

I looked downward at the bed as if unaware of the stranger in the room and pulled my bra off. Waiting long enough to convince him I wouldn’t look up, I peeked at him. His head was pointing at Woody but his eyes were looking toward me. Woody was stalling for me, struggling to find his wallet, then flipping through bills looking for denominations he wanted. Just as he pulled the money out of his wallet, I slipped my panties to the floor.

Woody stood motionless holding the money, letting the young man admire me undisturbed, although it seemed nothing would have distracted his focus. I turned to face the lad; this is what I crave and why I have become addicted to exhibitionism. Standing nude before a strange man, having him stare at my tits, my pussy, knowing he’s thinking sexual thoughts; it all turns me on more than you would believe.

His gaze never shifted away from my pussy, causing tingly sensations under my skin. I’m old school and never shave, so he saw what my husband calls my seashell hair pattern. Seconds ticked away with none of us moving. He showed an if-you’re-going-to-stand-there-naked-I’m-going-to-look attitude despite my very large husband in front of him. I started to get wet and worried it would leak visibly down my leg.

I pulled my shoulders escort kartal back to lift ‘the girls’ the way I have all my life, marched along the bed, and then straight toward our startled voyeur. He looked as though he would pop like a balloon if I touched him. I took the cash-tip from Woody’s hand, raised the bellhop’s hand, and slapped the money into his palm. “There you go, sweetie. Excuse us now, we have things to do.”

Placing my hand on his elbow hanging at his side, I drew close until my nipple pressed against his arm. I escorted him toward the still open door; his dangling hand bounced against my striding thigh; his eyes cast sideways, drinking in my nakedness. At the doorway, I stopped to peer down the hall when suddenly, the nervy lad’s hand cupped my pussy. His middle finger shimmied between my labia to stroke my wet inner flesh. Such audacity demonstrated by this employee, touching a hotel guest sexually! I stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, time enough for him to collect my scent for jerk material before I pushed him away. “You better go now.”

Turning back into our room and closing the door, I watched for a moment as Woody franticly pulled off his clothes. It had been a great flash for me, up close and personal, leaving me excited and wet. When I saw Woody’s engorged cock flop out, I knew my exhibition had filled my lover with desire too. Watching me perform and the bellhop’s reactions were things that never failed to make my hubby hell-bent on dick dipping but after nine hours sardined in the plane, I wanted to freshen up first.

Woody grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the bed. My hand anchored on the doorjamb and I pulled him back toward the bathroom. He wanted to fuck. I wanted to shower. We compromised; we fucked in the shower.

I imagined the hand eagerly washing my vulva belonged to the young bellhop and shuddered through a quick orgasm. My husband is 6’2″; I’m only 5’6″; standing flat-footed, we just don’t line up; so, we reverted to an old trick. Standing with one foot on each side of the tub rim, I squatted down to lower my honey pot onto his love-pole. Grabbing the water control handle for support as if it were a bridle, I rode my lover like a jockey on a racehorse, bouncing myself on one hell of a saddle horn toward the finish line and a semen-douche. I had arrived in paradise!

Woody lingered on the balcony while I dressed. I slipped a light sundress over matching underwear but then Woody came striding toward me, shaking his head while clicking his tongue. “No, no, no. Let me show you how I want you to dress.” He pulled the dress straps off my shoulders and removed my bra. Squatting in front of me, he reached under the sundress and yanked my panties down. Lifting the hem just an inch or two, he looked at my pussy. “Yeah, that’s what I wanna see.” His breath brushed my clit; his deep voice registering on excited nerves. I wanted his tongue to ravage me but he gave my slit one little curled-tongue lick as if sampling an ice cream cone and then abruptly stood up; damn, he is such a tease! “Remember your promise, Babe, the whole vacation.” Why did I even bring underwear?

Partaking of the hotel’s buffet, we sat in an open lanai with a panoramic view of the sun edging down toward the ocean horizon. The low angle sunlight glared like a spotlight up my legs but the only persons in a position to see my sex was a seventy-ish couple. The man was still a dashing specimen with a fatherly smile that made me want to sit in his lap and have him tell me stories. The blue-haired biddy looked like she chased kids away with a broomstick.

She spotted my game first and tossed a dinner roll down on her plate in disgust. She spoke to her husband and he turned to take an obvious gander up my gams. His smile countered her scowl. That he appreciated the view worsened her mood. “C’mon, Bill. I’m leaving!” she snapped, arose from their table, and walked past me with what she intended to be a withering glare.

Bill dallied like a sailor enjoying a bit of shore leave. He left a tip for the cleanup crew and then turned to take one last look at my exposed vulva. As he passed our table, I stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Bill, I’m sorry my attire spoiled your wife’s supper,” I told him, boldly admitting my exposure and awareness.

“Don’t worry about Sally. She doesn’t enjoy anything anymore. I still enjoy coming to the islands to take in the beautiful scenery. I must say it was extra beautiful today. Thank you.” He took hold of my hand and raised it to his lips for a gallant kiss. As he let my arm lower, my dress strap slid off my shoulder, exposing most of my right breast. I used my left hand to grab my dress but instead of pulling it up, I pulled it away from my chest to show him my nipple for about three seconds.

“Bill!” Sally screeched from a doorway far away.

“You have a beautiful wife, young man,” Bill said to my husband and then walked away in a sea dog’s rolling gait, an old sailor going back to his tired old ship and a salty life.

* * *

Two drinks at the hotel uğur mumcu escort bar facilitated a nap to help adjust our body clocks. I awoke to an empty bed and spotted Woody out on the balcony peering around with his compact binoculars. He was naked; his creamy buttocks beckoning me like a tropical moon. Although it was nearly midnight, the bright lights of Honolulu beamed from below. A waist-high cement wall hid his penis from all but those on higher floors of other hotels.

Noise from the streets below cloaked my approach so I spoke from the doorway to avoid startling my hubby. “See anything exciting, Darlin’?” I asked as I padded outside in my birthday suit.

His eyes scanned me up and down; his smile told me I had provided that very thing. “There are lots of people unashamed to be seen. But right now, I’m watching the hookers working the street down there.” Together, we watched two working girls march up and down the block, stopping to lean into cars that pulled to the curb. A stretch-limo pulled over and after a brief negotiation, both women climbed into the vehicle. Well, somebody was getting some action!

Woody handed me the binoculars and I began scanning nearby hotel rooms for free sex shows. I looked into one room with two naked bodies thrashing on the bed and waited for a chance to see their identities. Suddenly, hands on my ass pulled my sex against Woody’s bearded face and his tongue wiggled on my clit. I almost dropped the binoculars over the wall. I looked down to see him sitting in front of me, lapping my love juices with ecstatic abandon.

Spotting movement, I lifted the glasses to my eyes and looked for the lovers again. They were standing now, a short thin man with a lengthy cock that was hanging heavy. At first, I mistook the other person for a big, heavy woman until I realized it was another male with man-boobs and a negligible penis under a hefty gut. Although tolerant of what consenting adults choose to do, they no longer provided voyeuristic entertainment for me. Besides, Woody was making my legs quiver, so I put the binoculars down on a table and held onto the balcony railing for dear life.

I know most women take a while to cook up a good orgasm but not me. When Woody gives me face, I can cum in less than a minute and this night was no exception. The first wave of passion burning inside my blood weakened my legs until I was falling backwards. Woody’s arms helped me land gently on my bottom and we swiveled around so he could stretch out between my legs. His attack was relentless. Lying on the hard concrete balcony, looking up at a full moon, I squirmed and moaned as I chain-orgasmed to oblivion.

* * *

I awoke in the morning, uncertain what happened after the balcony sex. Woody does that to me on occasion, makes me orgasm so often and so furiously that I pass out. A dozen men could have had me during the night and I would not have known. I checked myself but didn’t find evidence of semen inside or out, so even Woody hadn’t taken a plunge. Anyway, he says fucking me when I’m unconscious is like putting his prick into pudding.

After a breakfast of more fruit than I normally consume in a month, we showered and groomed for our first full day on Oahu. We planned to buy new swimsuits and snorkeling gear to use throughout our vacation. A little scissor trim made sure I could be as boldly skimpy as my nerve would allow. At home and around people who know me, I appear mature and modest in one-piece swimwear. Here, where everyone was a stranger, I wanted a colorful bikini that showed a body I was proud to display. Woody needed a new suit too. His white suit was getting threadbare and the mesh liner was … missing, he claimed, tongue-in-cheek. It was great for teasing interested ladies and me but not for beaches full of families.

Walking to the market area that parallels the beach we began our shopping. We entered a store that looked like it had expanded to swallow adjacent stores. The end section that contained the swimwear was farthest away from the cash registers. The building structure, narrower but deeper than the others, created an alcove at the back wall where two curtained changing rooms were positioned along the short inner wall.

Woody walked up to a rack of suits, found his size, and grabbed two, then headed for the changing room. Honestly, the way men shop is comical, making selections based on as much thought processing as ordering from a fast-food menu. I spent nearly fifteen minutes finding one suit I liked enough to try on, a white bikini emblazoned with bright tropical flowers. ‘Trikini’ would be more accurate because it was three tiny triangles of cloth with more connective string surface area than fabric. When I approached the dressing rooms, both curtains appeared closed so I called out, “Woody?”

“In here, Babe,” his voice came from the one farthest back. I stepped to the curtain that gapped open nearly six inches and saw my naked husband pulling on his penis. He was ‘fluffing’ which is to say, he was making his penis longer and fatter than çavuşoğlu escort his pure flaccid state, hoping some lucky woman would see him exposed through the open curtain. I looked around but could see no shoppers of either sex so I conveyed the situation with a shake of my head.

Before I shared his room to try on my suit, I decided to confirm someone occupied the other room. Moving my head slightly, I looked through a slim opening and saw a tall young man. Well, eventually I saw he was young and tall, but what I looked at first was his hand slowly stroking his long cock. Was he ten inches maybe? Without a tape measure handy, ten is guessing but he was a lot longer than my husband who I have measured at six.

Ducking my head into Woody’s cubicle, I pointed at the other room, made a male masturbation gesture, and then held my hands two feet apart. Woody grabbed his shorts and started to dress. Perhaps he needed to see this alleged two-foot cock first hand.

I looked back through the slit to find slender fingers rubbing a full erection, definitely double-digit length, but skinny like a pool stick with a pointy glans. He seemed to be putting on a show for me but I couldn’t tell how he knew I was watching. From observing and assisting my exhibitionist husband, I knew two things: the guy had to know I was watching … and he wanted me to watch. When I moved sideways, I realized he could see my face at the slit by watching in the mirror. I leaned forward, pushing my whole head inside his curtain.

Just as our bellhop had done yesterday, the naked man with a cock in his hand turned to face me with a surprised expression, not sure what I would do next. Pre-cum was hanging like fishing line off his willow-stick. I reached in with my hand to collect the seminal drool and rubbed it on his cockhead. His rod was slender enough for my fingers to reach around easily. His gasp-like sounds of sexual torment suggested that my touch nearly set him off. Woody can launch ropes of cum several feet. As close as I stood, I feared getting spunk on my dress so I backed away to stand again behind the curtain. “Come on, sweetie. Stroke that snake for me. Show me your cum,” I urged. He was close to eruption; after just a few violent jerks, he leaned his hips forward with a deep groan … and dribbled pathetic globs straight down.

Damn! If I had known that, I could have been holding him. I like to feel the semen pump through the shaft. I reached into my beach bag to pull out napkins leftover from breakfast. Cooing about his manhood while bending over him until my nose was inches from his penis, I held his softening cock up to wipe the glans clean, the acrid smell of semen filling my nostrils.

I backed out of the cubicle and bumped into Woody who had been peering over my back. I dragged him some distance away to talk to him while I waited for the young man to come out. “Did you see the size of him?”

“Yeah, but a real pencil-dick. Ya know, you’re getting pretty wild, reaching in to touch another man’s cock. Did you enjoy that?”

Touching or being touched had always been our de facto boundary of fooling around with others but rarely happened. “I’m surprised I did that too.”

“Did you want to do more?”

“Yeah.” I learned a long time ago to be honest with my mate; ‘no’ would have been a lie.

“Really? What?”

Well, now I had to admit what ‘what’ was but I’ve never been afraid to share my thoughts and desires with my lover. “I thought about sucking him.” I just never expected my husband’s response.

“Well, go back and do it!”

“Are you serious?” I asked and studied his eyes.

“Dead serious. Any sex you want.” To us, sex is any orgasm: masturbation, handjobs, blowjobs, and of course, intercourse. His eyes told me I had carte blanche. Pillow talk had explored the fantasies of an open marriage but never had we dabbled before now. Without time to discuss openness again, Woody let me know that he was done talking and ready for acting.

I didn’t have time to ponder my sexual opportunity because I saw the willowy young man and his obvious trouser snake come out of the dressing room. He took a step up our aisle and then recognized me but stopped dead when he saw the large man standing with me. I briskly approached him before he could escape up another aisle. Pulling his arm to get his attention, I said, “It’s your turn to watch me.” As I turned away, my hand slid down to his crotch and cupped his package.

He was either still nervous about my husband or suffering from post-ejaculation remorse because he ignored my invitation and remained rooted in place when I entered the cubicle Woody had used. Neither did he approach as I slipped off my dress. With no voyeur to please, I put on the bikini and then stepped out. At least he hadn’t bolted.

I stood in front of the mirror on the back wall. Asking for opinions, I drew both men close behind me. I looked like a kitten that had tumbled in a sewing basket, wrapped in string and bits of cloth. The bikini bottoms were miniscule, allowing a tuft of pubic hair to peek out over the top. I pulled the material out away from my mons as I tugged it up, giving my observers clear views of my full bush. The tiny triangles on top barely covered my nipples too, and I managed to expose both nubs to them during repeated adjustments.

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