The Seaside Promenade

Chapter 1

He was one of those tall guys, towering above the other people on the promenade. The sun stood high, the waves crashed against the stone boulders below the low wall I was sitting on. It was hot but the breeze was refreshing enough not to be drenched in sweat, though I felt as if I might be getting sunburned, I should retreat into some shade somewhere, I glanced around for a suitable spot but came up with nothing. My gaze returned to him, strolling into my direction. He had two ice cream cones in his hand, I saw him licking alternately at both, probably to stop the ice cream from running over his fingers. A sticky thing, ice cream.

He had the sureness of one who knows his body well, an air to it that could have been perceived as arrogance, had he been aware of it. He was still quite some distance away and I enjoyed the view stealthily through my dark sunglasses and without turning my head directly in his direction, keeping my face carefully blank. Someone stopped him in his tracks, they knew each other, a broad grin spread over his face when he returned greetings and jest, it seemed. A breeze swept through is dark hair, the same that let my lofty skirt billow around me.

I saw drops of ice cream running down his hand, he felt it, too, and hurriedly managed to prevent further sticky accidents in connection with his white shirt by generously licking both ice cream cones alternately while the small group continued their talk. The white t-shirt, ah, yes. His skin had deepened into a darker brown over the summer and it was a stark contrast to the white shirt he was wearing. His upper arms were quite impressive, I admired the visible outline of the biceps, but I liked the fullness of it, too, yes there was muscle but also a generous softness to it. His t-shirt seemed a trifle too tight, but who was I to judge. My gaze traveled to his chest, from the distance I wasn’t at all positive that what I was seeing were his pecs or rather his manboobs, his nipples were pressing through the fabric of his – a trifle too tight, yes – t-shirt, I sincerely hoped it was the latter. I definitely appreciated pecs, sure, but a nice layer of softness on top, was that tiny bit more exciting. I felt a tingle between my legs, when my imagination complemented the picture with the sensation in my fingers of just how the two warm mounds of his chest would feel under my hands. My fingers itched but I kept my hands braced on each side of me on the sun warmed low stone wall.

Suddenly the man let out a booming laugh that drew some heads, apparently his acquaintances were very entertaining. The laughter shook his body, and I was fascinated by it going in ripples through is belly. I could feel my own mound between my legs pulsating while my gaze rested on his soft middle section. Most likely he had once been a trim guy, if not with a belly chiseled into a six pack. At least I deduced that by the way he carried himself, with an air of confidence of someone who can be sure of female (and male) attention to and appreciation for his body. And hell, I did appreciate his body. No six pack there anymore, to be sure, but a round, impressive gut, hanging over the waistband of his chino shorts. His belly was pressing against the stretched fabric of his white t-shirt, his belly button apparently quite deep, I could see the outline of the hollow pressed against the shirt. The shirt was definitely too small, I decided, at least two sizes, though if you asked me, it fitted just perfectly.

He turned when his acquaintances pointed at something at the sea and I held my breath when I saw his sagging belly in relief. From the distance I wasn’t a hundred percent sure but could it be that his t-shirt was not only too tight but also too short? Or – the much better question to ask – had his belly grown that big that it was peeking out under his t-shirt? He turned back and the sun shone now directly on his soft belly, and yes, I was sure, a tiny strip of light-brown skin contrasted with the oh so white shirt. The excitement between my legs grew wetter by the second. And with the ice cones in his handy he had no hands free to pull down the shirt front, what a pity (not). He didn’t seem distracted by this, I wondered whether he actually sensed it at all. I wondered only for a split second, then my eyes found a new sensory feast, his shirt stretched tightly around his love handles on either side of his drooping belly.

The ice cream kept on melting and he kept on eating more of it, there was no help, it seemed, his acquaintances were keeping him rooted were he was. At last he managed to bid farewell to them, and continued his way along the promenade into my direction. Fascinated I followed him with my gaze, his mass of a belly shifted with each step, and his soft man boobs rippled when he lifted one ice cream cone to his mouth while walking, then the other, is biceps visible, the movement made his t-shirt ride up a bit further. Yes, definitely too small, I liked it, his belly button was not yet exposed but a bit more of the smooth light brown skin of his hanging gut. I saw that one ice cream was gone by now, of the other was not much left either, though he had clearly meant to give one cone to someone else.

He picked his way through the people, weaving through into my direction and came to a halt directly in front of me, his belly level with my head. He smiled down at me, offered me the remnants of the remaining cone and shrugged apologetically. I laughed, dismissed it with a wave of a hand, he put the rest of the cone into his mouth with one hand while I stepped into his embrace, his incredibly soft belly pressed against my slim body, he planted a kiss on top of my head and I grabbed his love handles deftly on both sides. Finding shadow wasn’t at the top of my mental list anymore, some private spot though may come in handy, I thought, rearranging my priorities.