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After I came back up, she grabbed my face and started tongue kissing me. She grabbed my newly re-hardened penis and gave it a few strokes before pressing it inside of her. I stood up and grabbed her knees while thrusting my long penis inside of her. She now moaned more than ever, and soon grabbed my pillow and started screaming into it. I stopped for a quick moment to catch my breath and change position. I laid down beside of her, turned her on her side and lifted her leg. I pushed myself back into her, feeling her pulsing tightness graciously accept. I got myself into a rhythm, and moved myself in and out, gradually picking up speed. She motioned for me to stop for a second and rolled me onto my back. She climbed on top and lowered herself onto my throbbing erection. She moved up and down on top of me, moaning and rubbing her nipples. By this time, I was close to ejaculating a second time. She must have known somehow, for she suddenly climaxed all over me, then got down on her. December 25 I finally got through shoveling all that mud from behind the beach house. I hosed it off and when I got done it looked almost normal again. I may have to scrub it with a brush. But I was exhausted–hot, sweaty, muddy. I went down to the water and stripped off my shorts, jumped in and let the ocean roll over me for a while. It felt wonderful. When I finally headed back in I saw that something had washed up on the shore. It was a wine bottle, a Cline Zinfandel 2002, with a cork still stuck in the top. I love the Cline Zinfandel, but there wasn’t any left in the bottle. There was a rolled-up note, cliché as it sounds, and on it the words ‘Blessed Christmas.’ December 26 I kept wondering where that bottle had come from. On Christmas night I slept out on the sleeping platform and could have sworn that I saw a light on the horizon. A boat? Would that explain it? Some well-wishing sailor with a preference for Cline Zinfandel who had steered near enough to my island to toss a.
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