The beach was clean that morning, as it was every morning. Throughout the night, the caress of the surf had swept away all the sandcastles and pock marks left by the sunbathers and scampering children of yesterday. The broad expanse of sand was as smooth as a woman’s inner thigh. At the edge of the wave’s reach, a dark line of detritus had been deposited by those same waves.
Tiny crabs skittered through this line of seaweed and other flotsam thrown up by the sea in search of a morning meal, only to become the same for the hoards of screeching seagulls that hovered on the morning breeze.
I walked this beach every morning. In a way, the sea gives me life, just as it gives life to the crabs and seagulls. When I breathe the moist salt air, I feel the renewal, the invigoration of my being that I crave. The world is quiet, this early in the morning, except for the seagulls. We’ve reached an agreement, those sparkling white screechers and I. I leave the weed line to them and they leave the rest to me. Some would think that a strange relationship, but it seems to satisfy us both.
I bent down to retrieve one of my sought after treasures – the tiny, perfect shell of some unknown and unfortunate mollusk. The fragile shell, just as many others, would soon find itself encased in a layer of gold and dangling from a chain in my shop. The resulting baubles are purchased by tourists and spend their days gracing the warm cleft between soft breasts. I daresay I do this shell a favor. Nestled between those sensuous mounds, it will be treasured as a memory of a warm, summer day. If left on the beach, it would only disintegrate into the fine grit that clings to my bare feet.
As I wrapped the shell in a tissue for safekeeping, I saw another person in the distance. It was evident she was female, but the filmy white robe hid her body from any closer examination. The only detail I could make out was the long, beautiful waves of dark brown hair that brushed her shoulders as she walked. Why was she here, here on my beach, this fine morning? There were few people out this early, and I would know her if she’d been here before. Unconsciously, I quickened my pace and closed the distance between us.
She heard the quiet padding of my feet on the damp sand and turned. I saw both interest and alarm on her face. She evidently hadn’t been expecting company. I wondered how close I would be allowed to approach before she turned and strode away? Her beauty made the thought of her leaving before we met a horrible thing to contemplate. I smiled and said “Hi”, in hopes she would feel at ease and stay. My body tensed as I awaited her response.
She demurely said, “Hi”, and I caught my breath at the sight of her flashing smile. Her face beamed with the radiance of intelligence and confidence, and her features were innate beauty. I started to say something, some casual comment that would serve as a further introduction to continued conversation, when a small puff of wind blew the thin flowing robe against her skin and tossed a soft curl against her cheek. I couldn’t say anything for a while. The fabric molded itself to the svelte curves of her body, and I could see she had only thrown the robe over the loose shorts and clingy top that must have been her nightclothes. All I could do was stand there and stare. It had been a long time since I’d seen such a body, and even longer since I nestled in the embrace of one so lush. My thoughts raced from wanting to say something witty, to a quiet dinner at the small restaurant just up the beach, to warm, naked skin writhing against me in the throes of passion. But that was ridiculous. I could see her age, or rather, her lack of age, in those firm curves and captivating face. I knew I’d have to be satisfied to live for a moment in her presence and carry the memories with me after she left.
My senses returned to a somewhat normal state, but I feared my reply would seem the rushed babble of a man desperate to keep her here.
“I walk here every morning to collect shells for my shop. Would you mind some company?
“No, not at all. That would be nice.”
I started to breathe again. We began to walk the firm sand between the weed line and the lapping waves. She was quiet for a while, as if thinking about something, and I was again struck mute by this beauty who had interrupted my morning scavenging.
“So, you sell these shells from your shop, like that old tongue-twister – she sells sea shells down by the seashore?”
“Well, I sell them, but that’s after I plate them with gold. I sell them as necklaces or charms for bracelets.”
‘I thought you could only put gold on metal. How do you get it to stick to the shells?”
I began telling her the details of my craft. I was finishing my explanation of the process of copper flash plating, and had started telling her about the chemistry of the gold plating bath when it dawned on me that I was probably boring her to death. Here I was blabbering on about india ink and copper sulfate and various acid concentrations to a woman who was surely more interested in nearly anything else. If I didn’t do something quickly, she’d thank me for the walk and leave. I looked at her and managed a chuckle of apology.
“I’m sorry. I tend to get carried away when I talk about what I do for a living. You’re probably wishing I’d go away and leave you with the seagulls. At least they wouldn’t bore you.”
“No, it’s fascinating. I’m an engineer, and I understand what you’re talking about. I’ve seen pendants like you’re talking about, but I never knew how they were made.”
“You’re an engineer? They didn’t grow engineers like that when I was in college. They were all guys who walked around with a pocket full of pencils and had slide rules hanging from their belts.”
She just laughed, and that laugh was a melody to the accompaniment of the surf, a breath of pure air in my solitary world, and I couldn’t help but grin. Her face beamed back a smile.
“Well, I carried my pencils in a backpack, and I used a calculator, but I’m an engineer – a mechanical engineer – and thank you.”
“For saying I don’t look like one. The men in my meetings are too busy trying to challenge my designs to notice, or at least, that’s how it seems. I love my job and the recognition of my abilities, but sometimes, it’s nice to just be a woman, too.”
“Yes, I’m here for a design meeting, or rather, for a week of them, about our new product. We’re supposed to be able to concentrate better here than back in the office, but after this morning, I’m afraid I’ll be thinking about the beach more than about bearing thrust and resultant forces.”
“Well, they can’t work you both day and night. You could come her after your meetings.”
I hoped that hadn’t sounded like I was begging to see her again, although I was.
“You’d think so, but after each day of meetings, there are always corrections that have to be made, and they insist on going out to eat together so we can continue our discussions. First, we had working lunches, and now, it seems, we have working dinners. The only time I have to myself is when I’m asleep, and early in the morning, like today.”
“That’s a shame. I mean, you’d think since they made you come here, they’d at least let you enjoy yourself some. Don’t you get even a little time to see the sights?”
“Yes, but only because of the way I arranged my flights. Our conference ends at noon, day after tomorrow, but I booked my return flight for the following morning. I have that afternoon and evening to see what’s here.”
“Well, at least you have a little time to yourself.”
I really wanted to say there’d be time for us to be together, but I didn’t. We’d only just met, but the thought of never seeing her again was excruciating. We walked for another half-hour before she looked at her watch.
“I have to go get ready. It was very nice talking with you.”
“I enjoyed talking with you too, uh… I – I’m sorry, I don’t think you told me your name.”
There was that devastating smile again.
“I’m Bridget, Bridget Palmer. And you…?
“Well, Joe Pennington, I’ll be here tomorrow morning, about the same time. Maybe you could tell me some more about your shop and what you do?”
I watched her go. Her hips swayed seductively beneath the flowing robe, and the occasional glimpse of her slender legs when the wind blew just right made me yearn to follow. I knew I must not, but I was comforted by her promise to meet me here tomorrow morning.
I almost stepped on the frail leaf of white shell because she still consumed my thoughts. The former owner was rare in these waters, and it was unusual to find an intact specimen. I calculate the profit this tiny chip would yield after being clad in gold and burnished to a warm yellow glow. Then I realized I couldn’t sell this treasure. There was only one woman who could match its unique beauty. I rushed back to my shop to begin the process.
The next morning I found her in the same place, in the same robe. I tried not to rush, but it seemed to take forever before I was finally walking at her side. Was it the wishful image brought on by my dreams of her, or was she truly nude beneath the robe? There was a faint outline of a dark triangle between her thighs, and the small bumps that graced the swell of her breasts had to be nipples made taut by the morning chill. Why would she dress so? Was this state merely an expression of the freedom she felt on this deserted strip of powdered shell and coral, or was she hinting at a desire for a more intimate relationship? My mind raced at that thought, but I couldn’t chance offending her with any proposition to that end.
Instead, we spent our half-hour wandering the shoreline and speaking the random thoughts that came to us. I loved being with her, and it seemed as if she enjoyed my company also. I could sense she was becoming more comfortable, because she punctuated her laughter by touching my arm. The first time she did this, my every sense became intensely alert. The second touch only fueled these fires, and by the time she turned back to her room, I was ready to explode from the pleasure of the tension. As she walked away, I marveled at the grace of her walk and the seductive sway of her hips.
Our last morning walk was much like the second. I was certain, now, that she dressed in such a manner for my benefit, and I sensed something else. I felt a bond growing between us. Perhaps it was only the temporary bond between two people of like mind or perhaps it was more. No, I thought, that is a bond of which I could only dream. Still, if only…
All too soon, she turned to go back to her conference room of stale air and empty words, back to the life she had chosen, and away from me. I struggled with myself. Should I dare to risk the rejection of one so wonderful, or should I be content to have known her for a few short, but exquisite, hours?
It is often said that the subconscious mind controls our actions in spite of our best attempts to push it into the background. I can only explain myself with this excuse.
“Bridget, could I show you to dinner tonight? I know this little restaurant not far from your hotel, and I thought…
It was useless to continue. I was shaking like a boy at his first school dance.
“Dinner would be nice. Would eight be all right? I want to do a little shopping in the afternoon.”
As she walked across the sand, my mind filled with impossible possibilities.
I closed my shop early that afternoon. I was anxious for our evening to begin, but the extra time only meant I had longer to wait. I arrived at the restaurant a half-hour before eight. Apparently, she liked to be early also, because it was only a few more minutes until she walked through the door. There were few diners in the place, but all eyes were on her as she smiled and walked to me. It was no wonder. The short black skirt, snug sweater, nylon-clad legs and heels would have been enough to wake a dead man. The woman next to our table punched her husband in the ribs, and he grudgingly turned back to talk with her. I heard the soft swish of nylon on fake leather as she slid onto the chair, and I smiled, knowing every man in the place was cursing me for my good fortune, and every woman was fuming in jealousy.
The food was good, the wine was better, and her company was marvelous. If only I could have slowed time to a crawl. It seemed as if we’d only just begun eating when we were finished. I paid the check, and we walked out the door. She slipped her arm in mine as we walked in the direction of her room. It seemed as if each of us was trying to go slower than the other.
Our conversation was pleasant, but somehow forced. Halfway there, she slipped her arm around my waist, and I returned the gesture. She felt as good as she looked. I let my hand slip to her hip and she didn’t resist. She only looked into my eyes and smiled.
The single bulb beside the door of her beach front room cast a warm glow over her face when she turned. I’d been dreading saying goodbye since she walked into the restaurant, but the time had come.
“Joe, would you like to come in for a little while? They have these little coffeepots in the rooms, and, well, it’s not very good coffee, but I thought we might…
“Are you sure? I’d like nothing better, but…
She put her arms around my neck. Her voice was faltering.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Our first kiss, there in the dim light, was an exquisite exchange of passion. She fell into my embrace and molded her body to mine.
Once inside, I took her in my arms again, and kissed her as she deserved to be kissed – slowly, and softly, and passionately. I softly stroked her back, her waist, then her hips, and I relished the soft pressure of her breasts against my chest. Our lips parted, and we smiled at each other. She lifted the hem of her sweater and slowly pulled it over her head. The black lace bra was beautiful against her pale, milky skin. She slid the zipper of her skirt open and let it fall into a soft pile at her feet. The black garter belt, hose and panties, her only remaining clothing, were incredibly arousing. As she began unclipping the garters from her hose, I slipped out of my clothes.
Bridget stood before me, a goddess in black lace and nylon. Her hair fell in soft waves against satin shoulders. She was a fragile doll created in the purest of porcelain, the perfect vision of erotic femininity, and a delicious feast for the eyes. She kissed me again. I fumbled for a second with the hooks of her bra band, then felt her full breasts lower slightly against my chest. I slipped the straps from her shoulders and let the garment fall between us. Taut nipples grazed the hair on my chest and then mashed against me.
I unhooked the garter belt and it joined the soft mound of sensuous silk at our feet. Only the panties remained to cover the most wondrous of her treasures, and I slowly rolled them over her firm hips before sinking to my knees and gently pulling them over her thighs. They caught in the small valley below her sex, then popped free, and I slipped them over her nylon-clad legs.
Her scent was intoxicating and spoke to me of intense passion and the warm wetness of the passage beneath the glistening dark curls. I stood, walked with her to the bed, and pulled back the covers.
Bridget lay upon the white sheets, a vision of beauty in black, lace-topped stockings. I lay beside her, took her in my arms, and kissed her again. My tongue searched her lips for an opening and slipped inside. She arched against me as I stoked down her back to cup her hip and squeeze gently. Her body was warm satin that made my palm tingle. I slipped up her side, cupped her breast , and lightly caressed her nipple. I felt the surface rise and tighten. The dark circle around the taut nipple became wrinkled and I felt tiny bumps rise on its surface. Bridget moaned into my mouth.
I moved to kiss that tight nipple and caressed the inside of her thighs. My fingers slipped up slowly into the tight curls that hid her sex, then carefully parted them. Her lips were full and sensuous to my touch and when she opened her thighs slightly more, those lips opened as would the petals of some fragrant tropical flower. I slipped my fingertip between them and found the deliciously soft, satiny surface of her inner lips. They were warm and wet to my touch, and I couldn’t stop myself from slipping my fingertip past them and into her inviting passage.
I brought my hand to cup her breast again, and to inhale her scent. It was the scent of passion unbridled, of un-sated lust, of womanhood ripe for loving. I was entranced by her beauty and by the sensuality of her body, but I was blinded by that scent. I moved to kneel between her thighs that I might taste of this beauty.
When my tongue slipped between her lips, I felt her hips rock slightly. I gently savored the ripples of her inner lips against my tongue, and then licked slowly up over the little mound that covered her clit. I licked beside it, above it, and beneath it, but never contacted it directly. That touch would come when I had teased it from it little nook. I slipped my arms beneath her hips and covered her large breasts with my palms. The firm mounds yielded to my gentle squeeze and seemed to swell when I brushed her nipples. I was rewarded by another soft moan and the feeling of her mound pressing against my face.
Her little clit soon grew from its satin sheath and begged for my attention. I made only a soft lick at first, then another, then closed my lips around it and sucked gently. Bridget cried out quietly and arched off the bed. I sucked gently again and rasped my tongue over the small tip causing her to cry out again and pull my head tight against her. My fingers tugged gently at her nipples and I sucked harder, once, twice, three times. Each time brought her closer to the abyss of climax. I rolled her nipples between my fingers and began licking her clit in long, slow strokes. Bridget was almost at the point of no return. I again closed my lips around the little button. This time I sucked hard and tugged firmly at her nipples. She began to buck against me, then murmured quietly. Her body arched high, her breath came in gasps, and with a final cry, Bridget pressed my face tight into her mound and shuddered out the waves of her release.
I let her recover for a while, but continued slowly licking the length of her lips. I wanted that night to be a night she would cherish for the rest of her life, and this peak was only to prepare her for the next.
My lips enclosed her nipple, and I rubbed the head of my cock over her curls. Bridget lifted her hips to meet me, so I slipped my cock lower until it is brushed her wet lips. I move lower still until I felt the entrance to her inviting passage. The wet warmth engulfed me, pulled at me, clasped me. She tried to drive me deeper, and whimpered when I pulled back. I teased her for a while by penetrating only a little way inside, and then slowly withdrawing. When she begin to push back every time, I slipped deeper and deeper until I could enter her no further.
I began to slowly stroke in and out of her wonderful softness. Bridget’s inner lips curled inside her when I stroked in and their soft, clasping caress pulled at my cock when I withdrew. I knew she would be as smooth as silk and she was even mores so. It was difficult to keep myself from plunging into her depths quickly to relieve the growing throb in my loins, but I resisted. This night was for her, this sweet flower of a woman who had come into my life, and was now about to leave.
My tongue gently rolled around her nipple, feeling every taut ridge and wrinkle. I dwelt on the slight indentation at the very tip, then sucked gently. I felt the ripple that raced through her belly at that sensation, pinched the rigid flesh between my lips and gently rolled. Another ripple flashed against my stiff cock and Bridget lunged up to drive me deeper. Soft resistance pressed against the head of my cock and I could barely restrain myself. I slipped my hand between us and began massaging her swollen clit. Her cry told me she was riding the wave of another climax. My strokes increased in speed, and Bridget matched the rhythm with thrusts of her hips. Each stroke pushed me deeply inside her and joined us into one body straining for the release we knew would come in an explosion of sensation and wetness. I felt her hands on my back; her nails lightly raked me and excited me even more.
I rubbed her clit a little faster, and sucked hard on her nipple. Bridget started over the edge with a tremble that ran all through her body. The tremble turned into a rapid rocking of her hips that carried me along on the wave. I felt the sensation of seed racing through my cock just as Bridget dug her nails into my hips, cried out, and arched high off the bed. Again and again she thrust up against me, and again and again I felt my seed spurting deep inside her. Slowly, our shaking bodies relaxed. When I slipped from the satin embrace of her sex, I laid beside her and cradled her in my arms.
The next morning, I drove her to the airport. As we said our good-byes at the passenger checkpoint, I gave her the special shell I found that first morning.
The glittering gold shell with its delicate details reminded me of her. It was beautiful and polished on the outside, and wonderful to look at. Inside was the even greater beauty I had seen on our one night together. I hung it around her neck, and watched as it nestled between the breasts that I had caressed and fondled only a few hours before.
There were tears in Bridget’s eyes when she said “Thank you”. Those eyes spoke more to me than a thousand words, and I saw in them the promise we’d made that morning. I kissed her softly and held her close. The PA system announced her flight, and I reluctantly let her walk down the corridor.
Bridget told me she made this trip every year, and that next year, she’d arrange a whole day for us. Between now and then, we agreed to stay in touch by phone and email. The emails will be nice, but nothing will compare to hearing her voice again. I can barely stand the thought of waiting, but sometimes, the waiting makes everything much better. In the meantime, I think I’ll go walk the beach again. Perhaps I’ll find another special shell. If not, I’ll just remember the brown haired beauty I met there, and think of next year. With a whole day together… well, I can dream about that for a long time.