The Turk

It was the last foreign holiday I was to go on with my family. I was already away at university and had flown the coop, but a free holiday is a free holiday.
We were staying near a party town, busy enough to keep us all occupied but no sleepless nights. We started to frequent a restaurant in town where all the waiters wore English football shirts. This sounds terrible but they all just supported Man United or Liverpool and wanted to improve their English. It was quite sweet, and they started to pay us a lot of attention.
I didn’t notice him at first. There were others who were cockier, more talkative and with better English. One who looked like Eric Cantona stays in my mind. We practiced our Turkish and they tried out English phrases on us.
The food was good and we always had a laugh there. It became a daily ritual.
I remember the loo was through one of those cheesy plastic ribbon curtains. Hidden away at the back of the restaurant.
I just remember coming out of it and he was there, looking at me. And then he kissed me. Still behind the curtain, out of sight. Exciting. And dangerous. He held my face and kissed me and my head swam. At the time I actually had a boyfriend. But this was something else. Something forbidden. He tasted exotic. Different. Naughty.
We began a bizarre courtship. He could not speak English at all – I hardly any Turkish. For some unknown reason my parents let me go off with him unattended.
I recall the first time I saw his body naked. He took me back to his place which was rudimentary at best. He stood in the bathroom and undid his trousers, beckoning me to get closer. He had absolutely no hair on his cock, it was completely shaven. I had never seen anything like it. It was hot.
The second time I think he borrowed a place from his friend which actually had a bed. I can’t remember what we did or even if it was good or bad. I remember the light streaming through the stripes curtains and the heat. I remember lying next to him and feeling wonderful.
The final time we met he took me out for the day along the coast to a different set of beaches. We swam in the sea, ate a picnic and despite the lack of conversation we had a ball.
As the sun started to set, he led me by the hand across a rocky outcrop to a deserted cove looking out onto the sea. The tide was coming in and water was already seeping into my pumps. I was wearing a long blue and white gypsy style skirt which he lifted up with all the ceremony of a newlywed lifting his bride’s veil.
I steadied myself against the rocks with both hands and he pulled aside my knickers, feeling my pussy and working me quickly with his fingers. I looked back at him – he was silhouetted by the sunset and undoing his fly ready to unleash his cock.
I bent over a little farther and he plunged into me. The water was around my feet and I pushed back against his cock, driving him further inside. He pulled up my top and grabbed my tits, beginning to pump harder and work up a rhythm.
I was being fucked on a beach and I was loving it. My arse was bare for all the world to see and I didn’t give a fuck.
He started to come and pulled out quickly, wiping himself off. Miraculously my knickers were still dry and I pulled myself together and started to climb back over the rocks with him.
As we made our way back, he beckoned to me to pass my camera to him – and he took a photo of me.
That photo sits on my parents mantelpiece. The cove is behind me, framed by beautiful blue skies. I’m grinning from ear to ear, my tits look huge and the wind is blowing my hair.
The post-sex look is a good look. But I’m the only one that knows why I’m grinning.

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