1. West Coast Games - Part One: The Beach


    Date: 8/11/2015, Categories: Fiction, Author: LushStories, Rating: 92.1, Source: sexstories.com

    She was an enigma on the Pacific Coast Highway, a she-devil as I would later learn, but springtime in California evoked a lazy naiveté in me. The golden coast was full of the promise of summer love affairs and casual encounters. There are the mind-fucks too, but nobody is thinking about the pitfalls and risks while watching the swish of a short skirt over tanned thighs and the smiles that invite you down that gilded path of sexual adventure. I was hungry for it, thirsty for the taste of sweet pussy, but also on the cusp of wanting to make important changes in my life. I was looking for that that defining moment to make me want to put my trust and faith in a woman and stop playing games. Back then I was just as jaded as the next guy with a bit of emotional baggage in his closet. I was nearly thirty years old, with a laundry list of dead-end relationships and meaningless hookups behind me. A few more years at the pace I was going and I knew I’d be destined to become another Peter Pan guy on the player’s circuit, cruising bars, never growing up and always looking for the next big thing. In the meantime however, the closet romantic in me still held on to the boyish hope for something more. I guess you could say I was ripe for that crosshair collision with Roxy. I was looking for her just as much as she was gunning for me. And truth be told, I probably loved her at first sight. The fringes of Surfrider Beach in Malibu are always peppered with bright convertibles, Jeeps and ...
    SUVs. It’s been a mixed crowd for as long as I can remember, a playground for the beach bums and bunnies, the wannabes, the people-watchers and the hot-dogging shredders. Further down the beach, you’ll find the old school soul surfers like my dad, when he was still alive. There was an easy rhythm to the beach culture. I’d been going since I was a kid and was accustomed to the ebb and flow. Pretty girls were a dime a dozen on the coast, but she caught me completely off guard the first time I saw her that previous summer. There she was in that rusted out VW with faded aqua colored paint, worn just shy of being hipster cool again. She didn’t seem to care and that was part of her appeal. I was used to the kind of girls that were innately aware of the effect they had on men, while being completely self-conscious and insecure at the same time. She didn’t seem to pay any attention to the Barbies giving her jealous sidelong cut-eye or the LA tricksters trying to get her attention. She came with a single-minded purpose and that was riding the waves. Her board wasn’t anything fancy. It was as sun-bleached as her flaxen hair. In a way, I think I almost saw her in watercolors, like my mind was intentionally using a hazy Instagram filter. Everything is so much prettier through a filter though, isn’t it? It takes the edge off reality. It made me let my guard down. Instead of remembering to keep my game-face on, I let myself drink her in, day after day. I watched her lithe catlike form on the ...
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