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Incest encounter goes wrong.
After a few minutes of kissing, we swam some more and then got out of the water to lie on my sarong. I wondered if he'd start touching me, but he didn't maul me in public. Again, that would've been an instant turn-off and an excuse to end whatever it was that was happening. Instead, he remained a gentleman, and we lay there, relaxing and talking, and soon he suggested that we could continue chatting in his room while having a cold beer or two from his fridge.
I was playing a dangerous game. I respected my marriage vows and still do, despite my two indiscretions. I was thirty years old and had been sexually active since my teens, so I wasn't na__ve. In other words, I'd been around enough to know what it means when a man invites you to his room for a drink. Nonetheless, I accepted his offer to go to his room.
We got up and I covered myself with my sarong. However, it was wet from us lying on it. Indeed, the sarong was soaked through where it covered my breasts, causing the fabric to cling to my tits. Furthermore, the wet cloth aroused my nipples, hardening and provoking them to poke against the material. Even Dieter noticed them, prompting him to ask if I was cold.
"No, just wet," I replied in innocence, and then realised the double meaning of my answer. Dieter looked at me with amusement while cocking one of his eyebrows. I laughed, playfully hit his shoulder, and told him to behave himself and that he knew what I meant.
Once we entered his room, Dieter said he was going to have a shower to wash off the salt and sand and that I was welcome to do the same. My better judgement said 'no', but I wanted to get the salt off my skin, so I decided to use the shower first.
In the bathroom, I unwrapped my wet sarong and hung it to dry. I then turned on the shower, got in, and let the water pour over me. After about a minute, I slipped out of my bikini bottom and was rinsing and squeezing it when the shower curtain opened. It was Dieter, nude and very casual. "I hope you don't mind," was all he said as he got in.
I was taken aback but didn't voice my concern. I was aware that nudity wasn't a big deal with many Europeans, especially those from the north, yet I'd caught him sneaking peeks at my breasts on the beach, and he'd kissed me in the water. I knew he was attracted to me.
However, if I was confused about Dieter's intentions, I was in a similar dilemma over mine. I'd be a liar if I said that I hadn't thought about sex with Dieter; he was handsome, sexy, and intelligent-my kind of man. I'd cheated on boyfriends when I was single and had never felt a twinge of guilt about it. But this was different; I was married. Despite this, I remained silent, said nothing about Dieter's entry, and continued showering with him.
As we showered, I kept expecting him to start touching and kissing me, but he didn't. Instead, we looked at each other as the water sprayed us. I watched him soap himself, covering his arms, torso, and legs in suds. The sight of Dieter washing his semi-hard cock, first all around his balls, then coating his penis in soap, excited me.
Although I was spellbound watching his beauty, all sorts of thoughts ran through my head. How did I get in this predicament? What should I do? I also knew that had this situation arisen before marriage, I'd have gone to my knees and taken his gorgeous cock in my mouth. A lot of time has passed since these events, but I recall fighting the urge to do just that. And in the end, I did nothing except stare at his soapy genitals.
Dieter smiled, handed me the soap, and started rinsing himself, stepping into the spray as I stepped back and out of it.