Beach Boy

We met Beach Boy at a nudist beach. Paul and I have been going to this beach for years, mostly to chill but sometimes to scout for men for me to play with. Nudist beaches are full of swingers and people open to different experiences, so it can be a fertile catchment area.

Paul had sent me on assignment to chat to various men, but most of them were uninspiring - nice but not for me. Then I spotted a cute, young guy sitting by himself. Unlike most men at this beach, when I started talking to him from a distance, he didn't immediately jump up to join me but stayed put (turns out it was because he had a raging hard-on). Eventually he made his way down to the water and I wandered over to chat to him and invited him to join us. But time had slipped away and we had to go, so I got his number and suggested we meet up again.

A lot of texting followed and then a few days later we met again at the beach. Turns out Beach Boy is married and going down to the nudist beach without his wife's knowledge. His home life is complicated - including the fact that he is not getting any sex - but he is still very much into his wife. All this meant that he was horny but completely tortured about everything, so while he was very definitely amenable to being lead astray (slowly), he wasn't going to initiate anything himself. So, I was in charge...

We met fairly regularly at the beach and slowly built up an almost excruciating sexual tension. Paul joined us occasionally - sometimes sitting with us, sometimes not. We would play and flirt in the water, but barely touch. On the sand, there was a bit more action: we started with mutual sunscreen application which over time grew more daring, and eventually got to the situation where I was applying sunscreen as a slow massage to his front and cock. But we still had not kissed.

We talked a lot (once he finally let down his guard) - including about his constant erections when he is with me and what we have been fantasising about each other when we are masturbating at home. At various times I was so horny I thought I was going to burst, but at other times the spectre of his family complications spread a wearisome shadow over proceedings. Sometimes his personal struggle was immensely horny (and entertaining), sometimes it dragged the whole thing down.

[Note: I don't personally have such an issue if a guy is married or has a girlfriend, so long as if he is going to play with us, that I am never going to meet the wife/girlfriend. I am not a fan of cheating but I am not going to make judgement calls about another person's life. Having said that, a man in this situation who plays with us needs to take moral responsibility for the choices he is making, and even more important, any play that we do can not impact directly on his relationship (unless it is to make it better!).]

Skip forward a month and I am meeting him once again down at the beach after a bit of a break. It is windy and the water is choppy - hardly ideal conditions. But we are both up for it and after an even more exploratory application of sunscreen we brave the ocean. Despite, or perhaps because of, the waves, we have a horny time in the water. Past the point of waiting for things to happen, I decide to speed things along. I move in close and touch him. He is tall and lean and his body feels smooth and firm and very tempting; I encourage him to touch me. We are so close that kissing feels inevitable, but the waves make it difficult.

Out of the water, Beach Boy claims to be cold in the wind and suggests we move. The fact that he seems to be showing some initiative appeals to me so I let him decide on our new location. He chooses a spot further up the beach, on the edges of the dunes.

Now the dunes are generally the provence of gay cottagers and heterosexual perves and masturbators. They are an area that neither Paul nor I have entered, but it intrigues me that he has chosen a point of partial seclusion on the fringes of the badlands. It is a good sign, despite the sordidness of it all.

We sit close, side by side and touching. It is playful and flirtatious and sexually charged. His face tells me he is as turned on as me, but his body language is still closed and scared. (Keep in mind that we are completely naked...and his cock is constantly hard.) Eventually, I can't handle the wait any longer and lean across him to kiss. It is nice, later it gets more hurried and needy. Despite the sand blowing a gale directly into my eyes, I am totally up for it and want to jump him.

But the perves and masturbators had already circled. By the time we are full swing into kissing and petting, there are two men facing us wanking and one behind. Normally, I would be repulsed (they have not been invited to participate in the event) but I am so turned on - and strangely amused by the absurdity of it all - that I block them out and focus on Beach Boy.

Between the fools' gallery and Beach Boy's terrified body language, the possibility of properly taking hold of his cock is blocked. But we joke about his constant hard-on and I run my finger playfully around the tip of his penis and down along the shaft, smearing his pre-cum all over.

I am already plotting in my head about what is going to happen next time I see him. There is no way that I am going to meet him for progressive action in the dunes to be the masturbatory fodder for more random uninvited men. We talk about some of the things we would like to do to each other. I want to shower with him then take him, partially dried, to a bed and play. (Beach Boy is not a candidate for sex -  his personal situation makes that both undesirable and unlikely - but he is definitely a candidate for serious play.) He wants to watch me wank and make me cum - which sounds great to me.

Time and the elements were against us, so eventually we dress and make our way back to the car park. Clothed and tense, we kiss a hard and long goodbye, pressed and rubbing against each other, it is perhaps more horny than our naked romp at the beach.

Starting from the beginning (Bouncer Boy)

Ok, so we are not exactly starting from the beginning, we are starting from today. We are starting from the situation as it stands.

For a range of reasons Paul and I have been out of the business of playing outside the confines of monogamy for a few years, but over the past few months we have jumped back into the game and it has been a bit of a slow start. I have been out of practice flirting with guys and it took me a little while to realise that despite being in my late thirties I still look really hot - and guys really want to do me (which is great). I thought for a while I might be a cougar in the making, but I am just not sexually aggressive enough to carry this off (yet, trying to work on it!). But I definitely like young guys and I like that young guys like me.

Right now, Paul and I are moving house, so as a means of distracting myself from the ever-present challenges that come with a move, I have been working on two separate projects: let's call them Beach Boy (next post) and Bouncer Boy.

Bouncer Boy is hot and he smiles, which is comforting. He works weekends as part of the security team at our local pub. I clocked him the first time we went there this summer. He is about 25, tall, dark-haired and solid in a fit, pumping-iron kind of way - which is usually not my type, I tend to prefer them lean. But I digress...

We had been going fairly regularly to this pub in search of boys for me to locate and play with and, despite the unusually generous selection of good-looking guys, I had not had much luck, mostly because I was not being proactive in my hunting. My fault entirely.

One night, maybe two months ago, after a couple of hours of unproductive scouting I said to Paul that this was all very well but the person I am most interested in doing from the available pickings (besides him, of course) was the bouncer.

"So tell him," Paul said to me.

With two glasses of wine in my system, this sounded like a plan. I marched over to Bouncer Boy in a determined kind of way and sidled up next to him. It wasn't an elegant sidle; in fact, I misjudged the wall behind me and tottered a little, which was nice, because he put out his hot bouncer arm to steady me. My cool cover was already blown, but I was resolute: this had to be done.

"Hi," I said. "I just wanted to come over here and tell you that I think you are really cute ...and that even though I am married, I would do you."

He laughed in a pleased and embarrassed kind of way. Now, if I was an accomplished Hot Wife, I probably would have moved into phase two and got his number or given him mine, or made some conversation that would have developed into an arrangement to meet up. Sadly, I am not. I may be cute, but I am still better at give green lights than at moving in for the kill (if you will pardon the cliches). Instead, what I did was smile and walk away.

By the time I got back to Paul, my adrenalin rush was evolving into humorous mortification. We joked about it for a while but eventually conceded it was time to go. On the way out, I gave Bouncer Boy a big smile, rubbed his hot bouncer biceps, and said sorry. What was fantastic was that he smiled back in an 'I want you' kind of way. That was it for me: I was now incredibly turned on and Bouncer Boy became a definite project.

So the next night we came back with a girlfriend who is one of the few people in the world who knows about our secret life. We were only there for an hour, but in that time Bouncer Boy clocked me and clocked me and clocked me again. It was so sexy and I was totally up for it with him.

Unfortunately, Paul was flying overseas a few days later and life got in the way of going back to the pub in search of progress with Bouncer Boy. Two Saturday nights later and I scrounged a couple of hours to be able to go to the pub by myself. The plan I had agreed with Paul was that I would give Bouncer Boy my number and then meet up with him over the course of the following week in order to have a hot story for Paul when he returned.

The plan failed. I got sprung by one of his colleagues (it is too embarrassing to provide the details on how this happened, needless to say, I am so lame) and I left without really interacting with Bouncer Boy, and certainly without handing over my number. I was appalled with myself and then spent all night having the most hard-core erotic dreams about him.

Paul came back and I made him come with me regularly to the pub for the following weekends, but Bouncer Boy was not there! After a couple of weeks of this going on, I asked one of the other bouncers what had happened to him (although I didn't know his name) and was told some of the guys were away on holiday. Ho hum.

Last Saturday night we had our going away drinks at the same pub and of course he wasn't there. By now, I had resigned myself to the inevitable. I had got myself so worked up about this guy and he was beginning no longer to exist in our reality. Paul had conceptually moved on, I was starting to accept that maybe I should (but it's not easy to forget the hot bouncer 'I want you' looks).

Naturally, on Sunday night we happened to be driving past the pub. And, of course, he was standing there, by himself, ready for the plucking. But I was so focussed on the reason we were out that night (functional stuff) that I wasn't psychologically ready to stop and seize the moment (pathetic). Then, of course, half an hour later I was as primed as hell, but the timing was all out.

Now, Paul has left for Sydney. I am flying out next week. Paul has definitely moved on, Bouncer Boy exists again, but I have to sort everything out for the move. Still up for it (really!) but may have to put this one down to the cost of not acting when the moment presents itself. Crap. Or maybe not (sorry Paul)...there is always this Saturday night ;)

Welcome to Hot Wife Diaries

Welcome to the first post of Hot Wife Diaries, a blog run by Mandy and Paul for the purposes of recording a journey of hotwifing adventures - both for our own titillation and for the pleasure of anyone who maybe interested in coming along for the ride. This is Mandy right now, but Paul will no doubt get involved in the narrative over time.

This blog will not simply be a collection of steamy confessions (although hopefully there will be many posts fitting this bill) but rather a candid account of the successes and failures or a Hot Wife, all written with humour and fun. The aim is also eventually to have a collection of fictional erotic stories (with a Hot Wife theme, of course) when time and enthusiasm allow either Paul or myself to write them.

If you want to know more about me/us, read the profile. If you want to join us on our adventures, stay tuned: I hope you enjoy!