String-tied at Coney Island M/F

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calebtras
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String-tied at Coney Island M/F

Post by calebtras »

String-tied at Coney Island
Colleen and I got in the front car of the D train so we could stand at the window and watch Brooklyn roll by from the elevated tracks. I put my arm around her shoulders and held her as the car jolted us side to side and we watched the apartment buildings with graffitied walls and pizza joints, hustlers and greasers below us.
We got off at West 8th Street and walked the Boardwalk to the amusement park, where I bought us hot dogs, cotton candy, and a blue helium balloon I tied to Colleen's wrist. We got a car on the Wonderwheel all for ourselves, rocked our bodies in unison until it was swaying back and forth, then hugged, bouncing around the walls and laughing. When our car stopped at the top, we could see in every direction—Queens, Staten Island, and a freighter out on the gray Atlantic Ocean loaded with containers from all over the world.
We walked to the end of Brighton Beach, the balloon bouncing on the sea-breeze behind Colleen. It was late August and her skin was tanned and freckled, her brown hair sun-streaked with blonde. We climbed over the last jetty to a stony rip-rap wall and narrow strip of sand that was swallowed up at high tide. There were no other teens, just a woman lying on a beach towel, her little boy and girl building a sand castle at the water's edge. I took off my t-shirt and shorts to my blue bathing suit and Colleen undressed to a lavender bikini. Colleen untied the balloon from her wrist and I tied it to my Timex watch I'd bought off a junkie.
Colleen wasn't a talker, both a part of and alone in any group on our block. She wore a tough, hard to read expression much of the time. At the beginning of the summer I asked, “Colleen, are we going out?”
“Why you pushing that?”
“Just wanna know.”
“Okay, no.”
I didn't want to own Colleen, like a lot of other guys—I wanted to fall in love with her, but knew she could at any time take off for somewhere, never looking back. Since then, I'd settled for a silent understanding—she would never hurt me on purpose and I would take her to share the things I liked to do.
I'd bought suntan lotion for the first time as an excuse for us to touch each other. She lay on her towel and I rubbed lotion on her back, arms, and legs including her inner thighs. She flipped over, and I straddled her, painting lines on her face and belly, tickling her sides until she laughed. I lay first on my back as she spread lotion on me so that I could flip on my stomach just as I began to respond to her touch. She giggled, spanking a drumbeat on my butt, then lay on top of me. Her breath on my face and chest and hips pressed against me gave me opposite feelings, of intense excitement and security, as if we were in our own world.
We were leaning back watching the waves, when she leaped up as if uncoiling and ran toward the water. I walked behind, watching her lithe body, boyishly thin shoulders and hips, muscled thighs and calves. She ran through the shallows, leaped over the small breaking wave and did a half-twist back-flop in.
We splash fought, walked on our hands, and took turns riding on each other's shoulders. I cupped my hands and lifted her to dive over my shoulder. We competed to see who could swim farther under water. I swam between her legs then stood in a crouch so she could hop over my shoulders, and we leap-frogged down the shore. The little boy and girl laughed and pretended to copy us in shallow water.
We waded chest-deep. Colleen put her hands on my shoulders and wrapped her legs around my waist. I swung her from side to side, then we kissed.
“Hey, they're kissing!” the little boy yelled.
I ducked under water and we tongue kissed until Colleen giggled out a burst of bubbles. When I tried to kiss her again, she splashed my face until I grabbed her wrists, pinned them behind her and kissed her.
“Can I tie your hands?” I asked.
“Okay.” We'd done this before [see my stories “Captivated” and “Wrestling, a Leather Belt, and Colleen.”] Looking back, Colleen loved competing with me, playing games, kissing and petting, and tie-ups were part of our repertoire.
I waded to the beach, got the balloon, and ran back, evading the little boy who tried to tackle me. When I reached Colleen, she gripped my waist with her legs and leaned back, arms out and eyes closed, floating up and down with the waves. She looked so beautiful, her wet face shining in the sun, hair like a cloud swirling around her head.
When a large wave washed over her, pulling her out of her reverie, I lifted her. As we kissed, I took her wrists, crossed them behind her back, and tied the balloon string around them. I bounced with each wave as we kissed, feeling like we were alone in a tropical sea. Underwater, I stroked her back, caressing and squeezing her legs and butt, holding her bound hands as she bit my lip and kissed my face. I brushed the back of my hand against her breast, and while she didn't object, I didn't want to risk a disruption and returned to kissing her over and over again. When she was tied up she let me set the rules, and I carried her neck deep. A wave would wash over our heads, then I'd kiss her before the next wave hit.
“Come back here!” A woman's voice.
I looked up. The current had carried us to the rocky shore with no one else around, and the little boy and girl had followed, watching and laughing. Colleen unwrapped her legs from around me and we walked back in the water, the balloon bobbing behind us. When we were waist deep I stopped and picked at the balloon string knot at her wrists, now wet and taut.
“I'll get my house keys to cut it. Wait here,” I said, but she kept walking.
As we passed, the little boy asked Colleen, “Why are you tied up?”
“Because,” she said.
The mother gave us a hard stare from behind her sunglasses.
I dried Colleen's hair, face, down her body, taking my time. I gave her a last little kiss, then I sawed through the string around her wrists with my house keys. As soon as she was free she held the balloon up and let it go. It drifted up and inland, over the ferris wheel and toward the city.
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Flyingvulture
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Post by Flyingvulture »

I love how poetic this is. It's like reading about a beautiful love story with nice sprinkles here and there (like the balloon flying away).
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