Sand Hill Sleepers
story codes: MF

Sand Hill Sleepers
by Sam Whitlow.

It was late September when we pulled into Rocky Craig, the resort at
the end of the cape.  I’d spent summer vacations there as a kid,
swimming around the old lighthouse, diving off the rocks and camping out in
the dunes.

Now that I was coming of age, had found a mate and wanted to prove my
spunk, I chose to spend a weekend doing what I’d always been told was
taboo: sleeping in the sand hills is against the law.

When we stopped at the liquor store, I was met by the U.S. Fish and
Wildlife manager.  Joanie was in buying wine.

“Well, if it isn’t one of the sand hill sleepers.”

“Oh, I’m not one of them guys,” I said.

“Consequenses for tresspassin’ in them dunes is a hundred dollars
and thirty days behind Rocky Craig bars.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, Sir.”

Just then, Joanie came out.  The Fish and Wildlife manager tipped his
grey felt hat to her, checking out her bod.

“Evenin’ Ma’am.”

As she passed, he admired her ass.

She got in the car and we raced out to the darkness of the dunes.  The
lighthouse beam scanned the sea’s horizon.  We laid out our sleeping
bag on the highest dune.  Sea breeze blew steady as we shared the
bottle.  Soon, she was laughing and talking and not making much sense –
the sparkling burgundy had gone to her head.

I took off all my clothes; Joanie stripped down to her panties.  Dark
as it was, the night was clear and her flanks reflected.  As we,
together, climbed into the bag, I humped her once or twice.  It didn’t take
much for me to cum.  Her panties absorbed my gush.  Lifting her knees,
she pulled off the panties and we fucked till sunrise.

Then we slept a little and woke to have some coffee Joanie’d brought
in a thermos.  Staring out on the dreamy blue, she said she’d like
to take a dip.  Snatching her rolled-up panties from the dune, I grabbed
her hand, we walked down to the ocean and took a birthday suit dip.
Real quick, I washed her panties in the salty water, then we ran back up
to the dune’s top.  I hung her panties on the branch of a wind-blown

We fucked the morning away and slept past four.  When we woke again
and rolled out of the sleeping bag, Joanie rode atop me in a sexual
extravaganza witnessed by the pilot of a private plane who kept circling
low, keeping an eye on the main thrust.  Joanie let loose a maniacal
laugh,, as if being caught fornicating in the leeward breeze is the greatest
thrill on earth.

Gazing up, it looked as if the plane’s pilot was none other than the
Fish and Wildlife manager.  My hard-on was insatiable, though, and
thoughts of anything other than Joanie soon vanished.

Once Joanie’s love machine came to a halt, we got up and dressed.
Beginning our walk to town, we passed the wind-blown bush upon which her
undies gently fluttered.

“Oh, look,” she cried.

“Yes, I washed them.”

“You’re so sweet.”  She kissed me on the cheek.

In town, at the seafood restaurant, our feast included scallops,
lobster tail, shrimp and conch.  Only the finest white wine and the best
conversation made for the time of our lives..

As we were leaving the man from Fish and Wildlife stepped up, tipped
his hat, zeroed his gaze toward my girl and said, “Oh, I just wanted
to make sure you have everything, Ma’am.”

Although he seemed harmless, I was beginning to take a strange dislike
toward him.  I didn’t care for his uniform or his nosiness.  His
general presence was bad enough.  Joanie was polite to him and have a
respectful tone.  I rushed her out of there and we stopped for some soft
drinks and chips before walking back to our bedroll.  Telling her it’d
be better if we camped in a hollow of sand hills, I began collecting
driftwood for a fire.  Joanie ran to the car for a bag of marshmallows.

She returned with a puzzled look on her face, saying the car was
unlocked – and that she distinctly remembered locking it.  I laughed,
saying maybe it was me; maybe I’d left my side unlocked.  Her head shook,
doubtfully, as if she just didn’t understand.

Our fire burned low, the dry wood crackling fast.  Our marshmallows
were gooey, our tongue-swapping delicious.  As the embers of the fire
cooled, our love-making heated up and we got sixty-nine beneath the
umbrella of stars.  Thinking back, as a kid, it was all I’d ever wanted.
In fact, I never thought it could be this good – my pecker was in
seventh heaven, my tongue was working the overtime swing-shift.

Just then, our little hollow was assaulted with bright white electric
light.  Gumball machines flichered.  Sirens blared and engines roared.
“Just want to make sure you have everything,” a loudspeaker voice
cackled.  “Consequence time has arrived.”

“Run,” I screamed.  Grabbing our clothes, I jumped up, took hold
of her hand and ran to the top of the hill.  A dune buggy from the
county sheriff’s cut us off and separated us.  I ran toward the
ocean-side.  A sedan turned on its lights and chased me for close to a mile.  But
they cornered Joanie, corralling her, throwing a sheet over her and
threatening her with bogus lies.

Knowing she was in trouble, I tried to back-track along the surf-side
but the sedan ran me sideways into the water.  The officer in the car
laughed,  “Are you really willing to die for pussy?”

His question was a redundancy.  I ran around the other way, toward the
lighthouse parking lot.  When I got there, some thug was trying to
hotwire the car.  He was bent under the hood trying to connect a wire to
the starter-box.  I ran up and let the hood down on the back of his
neck.  Then, hopping inside, turning the ignition and peeling out with the
dangling thug screaming and kicking, I put it in reverse and let him
drop to the asphalt.  Gearing into overdrive, the car flew into the dunes
causing sand and dust to choke the sedan close behind – trying to
climb up my ass.

By the time I reached Joanie, the Fish and Wildlife guy stood holding
her panties.

“These belong to you?”

“Yes,” she cried

I glided up alongside him.  He cocked an eyebrow, saying, “Well,
isn’t that a surprise?”

“A consequence,” I yelled.  “C’mon, Honey – get in!”

She jumped up, the sheet fell.  She hopped in and  I floored it across
the dunes, through town and onto the main road.  We picked up speed,
the two of us naked as birth.  I reached over to pet her furry crotch.

“Not now,” she said, “there isn’t time.”

© 2008 Sam Whitlow.

Sam sailed in the Merchant Marine before settling down to write.  He
once traveled many a mile to sleep in the dunes.