Who wins? - Sex Stories

Who wins?

Carl knew the spot well. Many a hot summer day he trudged alone over and through the dunes to this secluded position, which was set back and almost hidden in the cliff overlooking the small horseshoe cove. This day, in the mid-afternoon, the burning sun was still high in the azure sky. Not even one fluffy white cloud punctured the blue. Carl, a solidly-framed six-footer whose fitness and shape denied his fifty years, stood erect and planted both feet firmly in the white sand and scanned the beach and ocean. Dark glasses shielded his deep-set hazel eyes but he automatically raised a hand to provide extra shade against the brilliance of the orange orb in the sky. Satisfied with what he saw below him on the beach, a sprinkling of naked bodies lazing about soaking up the rays, he relaxed his grip on the rolled blanket trapped in the crook of his left arm. He unfurled the roll on the soft sand, revealing a pale blue bath-towel wrapped within the blanket. He spread them both out, towel on top, and immediately peeled of his white T-shirt, quickly followed by his red cotton shorts. He folded them into a pillow shape and, finally, kicked of his lightweight deck shoes. Carl was naked. His skin, an all-over golden tan, glistened with liberally applied sun lotion. He dropped to his knees, sat back on to his heels and, once more, took in the view. He was in the far north end of the cove and most of the sunbathers were to his left, having not ventured far from the zig-zag path which led ...

... down to the beach at that end of the horseshoe. Carl quickly estimated no more than twenty people had apparently made their way down. Then he noticed, almost directly below him close to the cliff base, a lone multi-coloured beach towel. It was spread out alongside a small, fluttering parasol. Carl tried to identify the items dotted in the shade of the little umbrella: a paperback novel, a pair of dark glasses, bottle of water, a beach bag and what was probably a towel, scrunched up in a large messy lump. He was too far away to properly read the paperback cover but, squinting, it looked like Penny Vincenzi emblazoned in raised gold. A best-selling author. Carl looked again at the water bottle and ran his tongue over dry lips. Stupid, he thought, I should have brought a drink. After all the booze I sank last night I must be dehydrated. He ran fingers through his mass of greying hair. Should know better, be wiser at my age. Blame it on the drink! He scratched his head, sighed and, after a few seconds staring below, raised his sights to concentrate on the sea. A couple, slim and probably in their mid-twenties, walked hand-in-hand along the shoreline, barely ankle deep in the gently lapping ocean. Almost becalmed, the sea was so tranquil it struggled to create foam. She was blonde and he fair-haired. Both had white patches, starting to turn pink, where normally they would have worn trunks or bikini pants. Her small breasts were tanned. Carl assumed they were fresh to nude bathing. ...