This December was like any other. It was the week before Christmas and the weather was cool and the humidity was high. The beach was virtually deserted because it was the off-season. In the winter about the only tourists here are RVers who are looking for a quiet place to escape the cold of the northern states. Beachcombing is a popular pastime for Crystal Beach visitors, especially in the winter. You never know what you’ll find on the beach. Seashells of various shapes and sizes, occasional sand dollars and shark’s teeth are among the treasures that most people look for. Personally, I’ve been trying to find a shark’s tooth for about a thousand years and I still haven’t found one. I think my best chances of getting one is to catch a shark and pull his teeth out! Not really. I’m not a big fisherman and I don’t know anything about dentistry.
It was around ten o’clock in the morning when I decided to go for a walk along the beach. I’m not really interested in seashell hunting but the beach is a good place to walk and think. Not that I do much thinking but if I did, this is where I would go to do it. A thick fog was beginning to roll in from offshore. We do get really thick fogs in the winter and early spring. The heavy mist can quickly enshroud the entire peninsula. I’ve seen days when the fog was so thick it almost completely shut out the sun, making a house not 100 feet away disappear entirely. I hadn’t walked more then maybe half a mile when I thought I spotted someone coming toward me, walking close at the water’s edge. At first it was no more than an undistinguishable figure coming in and out of sight as the fog drifted in in waves, first concealing and then revealing the image. As the figure came closer I could see that it was a female. She was walking, or actually, she was sort doing this weird dance as she came down the beach. What I mean is that she would take a step or two and then sort of skip a little. Just then I spotted what looked like a sand dollar buried in the sand so I bent down to take a closer look. As I mentioned, I’m not at all fascinated by seashells but sand dollars are a rare find. When I do find one it’s usually just after I’ve stepped on it! I carefully dug around the object with my fingers until I was able to determine that it was not a sand dollar at all but a broken shell that was half hidden in the sand. As I was wiping the sand off my fingers, a sandaled foot stepped close to my hand. The waves washed over two bare snowy-white ankles. I slowly raised my eyes to see the clear image that had been so illusive before. What I saw was almost mystical. Standing over me was a beautiful lady. Through the mist, she appeared almost ghostly, at times nearly disappearing in the fog. She was wearing a pair of loose-fitting shorts that barely covered what society demands should be covered. Her blouse was knitted with a wide stitch that almost, but didn’t quite mask what was underneath. She seemed unaffected by the cool, damp breeze. She was slim. Her hair was cut extremely short. Just then, the sun tried to break through the fog creating an angelic glow around her head. For a minute I could hardly catch my breath. She didn’t say a word. She just stood there looking down at me. No smile. No expression at all. I had this kind of weird feeling that I had seen her somewhere before but I couldn’t think where. I’m pretty forgetful for a young guy, probably the result of bad drugs and cheap liquor. I was pretty wild in college. Class was something we did between parties.
I slowly stood up and smiled. Still, she said nothing. She looked me over from head to toe. Suddenly, I was self-conscious about what I was wearing. Most people who live at the beach aren’t real particular about wardrobe. Dressing formal means wearing sandals instead of flip-flops. My old blue jeans had a couple of holes in one leg and my sweatshirt was showing its age. Funny, those things never bothered me before. But for some reason, right now they mattered.
I wanted to speak but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Usually I have too much to say and more often than not, it turns out to be the wrong thing! All I could do was stare at her. Then, slowly, she reached out and took my hand. Her touch was gentle. Her skin was soft. Without saying a word she led me over the dunes and up the stairs to a small beach house. My heart was beating so loud that I was sure she could hear it. I noticed a red sports car in the driveway. I heard the pounding of the waves on the shore. So many questions raced though my mind. Should I be following her? Why didn’t she speak? Where the hell were we going? Why hadn’t I put on clean underwear this morning?
Finally, after climbing what seemed to be an endless staircase we reached the top. All of the houses in Crystal Beach are built on stilts or pylons. There’s usually a wooden deck at the top of the stairs. The bigger the deck the better because that’s where most people spend their summers. However, today, I didn’t notice the deck at all. I was lost in the moment.
I glanced out at the beach. It had completely disappeared in the fog. Suddenly, I felt as if I had left reality and entered a surreal world where this mysterious lady and I were the only two creatures that existed. Closed in by the fog, this cabin and the two of us were the only things that were real. I hadn’t felt like this since I had that powerful pot a few months ago. That’s it! Maybe I was having hallucinations! Maybe it was the result of some old bad drugs from my college days. This just couldn’t be happening. Not to me. I’m not the kind of guy who has this kind of experience. I’m the kind of guy who listens to other guys telling about having this kind of experience! You see, I’m not a real attractive fellow, I suppose, I mean by some people’s standards, although, I don’t look that bad to me. When I look in the mirror I see a guy that’s actually pretty handsome. I think we all have a kind of special vision that kicks in when we look in the mirror so we don’t look as bad as we really do. That’s a good thing. I guess when it comes down to it, everybody’s attractive to someone. That’s a good thing, too. Handsome or not, I couldn’t deny that I was here, hand in hand with one of the most beautiful and mysterious females that I had ever seen.
Without hesitation she opened the door to the cabin and led me in. The fog had almost completely shut out the sun and the day seemed more like evening. The room was illuminated by one small table light. The cabin was furnished like any other beach house. It smelled like roses or some kind of flower. It wasn’t an overwhelming scent. It was barely noticeable, just enough to be pleasant. She stopped in front of the couch. She turned and looked at me again with those dark, captivating eyes. It was if she was giving me time to take a good look at her--all of her, and I did. She was slim but not skinny. Some girls who want to look like a model starve themselves to death so they aren’t much more than skin and bones. You know, that bulimic look. There’s nothing there to hug or hold onto. You’re always afraid to give them a good squeeze for fear you’ll break something. This lady had the body of an athlete. You know, not a wrestler or anything like that, but maybe a swimmer or a tennis player. Her eyes were brown, big and round. Her lips were full, but not Botox full. I’ve seen some women on television who’ve had their lips blowup up so big it looked like they were about to explode! Man, that is gross! Nope, no medical enhancements here. This lady was real, all natural, flesh and blood perfection. Now I know perfection can be a subjective thing, but this doll left no room for debate. No matter what feminine shape a man considers attractive, I’d get no argument about this one!
Still holding my hand, she sat down and I did the same. Finally I had the nerve to speak.
“What’s your name?”
“Does it matter?” she whispered.
Her voice was exactly like I had imagined. It was soft but confident.
“I guess not,” I muttered.
She got up and went into the kitchen. I looked around the room to see if there was any indication of who my host was or if she had a family. There was nothing to identify her, nothing to shed light on the mystery. There was one photo on the wall across the room. She wasn’t in it.
A few minutes passed and she reappeared. I was reminded how gorgeous she was. As my granddad used to say about my grandmother, “Every wrinkle was in its place.” She carried two glasses of wine. I’m not a big wine drinker. I prefer the hard stuff but in this situation I decided that wine was a good choice. Shit, who am I kidding, by this time, I would have drunk this lady’s bathwater! She sat the glasses down on the table in front of me.
“Trying to get me drunk?” I said jokingly.
“Do I need to?” She took a sip of wine. Even the way her lips touched the glass was sensuous.
“No.” I sheepishly replied.
I started to reach for my wine but then realized that my hand was shaking so much that I’d probably spill it all over the couch. She began unbuttoning her woven blouse.
“Do you prefer large breasts?”
“I guess I never felt like I could be choosy,” I admitted.
She finished with the last button and let her blouse fall open. I tried my best not to pass out. However, my heavy breathing might have been audible. Now for those of you who don’t know the breast-to-fruit comparison let me explain. There are several types of breasts: peaches, pears, cantaloupes and watermelons. Peaches are round, very firm breasts. They are sometimes the smaller of the fruit family, but are tasty just the same. I really like peaches. Pears are little droopier but not necessarily larger than peaches. Like peaches, they are firm. The nipple points straight ahead ready for action. This might be my most favorite fruit. The cantaloupe is the larger version of the peach. I’m okay with cantaloupes. Finally, there is the watermelon. These are usually found on larger-boned women who were born to handle these whoppers. And, I guess I should mention the last one: the gourd. Most of the time you find these on older women who started out with peaches and pears but like all aged fruit, they eventually fall to the ground. My mysterious lady possessed the most gorgeous set of pears I had ever seen.
“Actually, I think those are about perfect,” I said, trying not to cry. “My friends say anything more than a mouthful is a waste.”
Okay, so I don’t say the most romantic things. At that moment I had shifted into autopilot. I had absolutely no idea what I was saying or what I was suppose to do. I was traveling in unchartered waters and I was just trying not to drown!
“Is that true about you?” she asked.
“What?”
“Are you more than a mouthful?”
Not even on autopilot could I answer that question! I just sat there trying to think of something clever to say. Clever was never my strong suit. As I said before, thinking was never my strong suit! I mumbled something unintelligible.
“Let’s find out,” she said as she took my hand.
We stood up and she pulled the sweatshirt over my head. She tossed it on the couch. Then she led me into another room. Much to my delight it was the bedroom. My hands were sweating and my heart was palpitating. In fact, I might even have been trembling a little. You have to understand that this was not a situation I was accustomed to. Even when something like this occurred in a wild fantasy I always woke up way before I got this far! She gently pulled me onto the edge of the bed, softly took me by the shoulders and laid me across the mattress. I watched as she unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans. I looked up at the ceiling. It needed a coat of paint.
She romantically pulled my clothes down. For a brief second I thought it was over, an eruption seemed inevitable. Fortunately, I was able to regain my composure. One leg and foot was freed. Now she moved to the other. But here she hit a snag. My jeans must have caught on my heel. Forcefully, she pulled a little harder. The jeans came off but so did a toenail! Evidently, something inside the pants must have caught on a toenail and off it came! Now, I’ve never had salt poured into an open wound or had dental surgery without an anesthetic but the pain of having a toenail ripped off has got to rank right up there with the worst of them! Even in such pain, I was able not to scream. Unfortunately, there was an instantaneous reaction that I couldn’t prevent. My knee jerked and my foot shot up like a field-goal kicker going for a 50 yarder! My leg was extended straight up toward the ceiling. Fortunately, it didn’t hit anything on the way up. However, with all of that intense pain and sudden reflex, there was another unexpected and undesirable reaction. At that very instant, with one leg sticking straight up and my dream girl in the line of fire, I let go a fart that must have sounded like the launching of a ballistic missile! It bounced off the walls, reverberating like a gunshot in a cave! Unfortunately, to make matters worse, the sound was a precursor to a hideous odor that smelled like someone had taken a dump in the corner. It hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity. My manhood, that only seconds before had become like steel with the anticipation of what was to come, quickly deflated. Embarrassed, hurt and defeated I laid with my eyes closed tight. I wanted to cry but I realized that it would only add to my embarrassment so I was silent, waiting for her to make the next move.
I heard her as she walked away. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. All I could think about was how I’d messed up the most exciting fantasy of my life! Why me? How could something like this have happened? It was gone in an instant. Gone with the wind, so to speak. What now?
It was as quiet as death. I was on the verge of sobbing when I heard soft footsteps. I didn’t open my eyes. I felt her touch as she nursed my wounded toe with a warm, damp cloth. Then she moved the cloth slowly up to my thigh. Hesitantly, I looked down at her. Her eyes were locked on mine. Her face was expressionless. She stood up. The dim light painted her naked body with a sensuous glow. I had never witnessed such perfection! She turned her back to lay the cloth on a small table by the bed. There it was! An ass so beautiful and flawless that any man would have felt like a king just to be able to hold such a treasure! Suddenly, I was a man again consumed with desire. She seductively laid her warm body on top of mine. I no longer felt embarrassed or hurt or defeated. Passion has a way of overwhelming all other emotions. Once again I was lost in the fantasy.
I’m not sure if we made love or just had sex. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. For now it really didn’t matter. Our embrace seemed to fuse our bodies together, making us one--a single soul consumed by the same uncontrollable, enormous passion. Intuition has a way of taking control. We moved in harmony, our bodies pleasing themselves while at the same time satisfying the other. We were lost in a surreal world of carnal pleasure. Not a word was spoken. Finally, emotion gave way to exhaustion. As I laid there wanting the day to go on forever, she tenderly began moving her soft hand over my chest, back and forth. I fell asleep.
When I awoke it was almost four o’clock in the afternoon. The day was gone and so was she. This bird had flown. I got up and dressed. She was nowhere in the house. The wine glasses had been washed and put away. There was no sign that anyone had been here. I found a note that she had taped to the front door. It read:
Make the bed and lock the door when you leave. The owners will be here about seven o’clock this evening. I suggest you leave before then.
I did.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs I noticed that the little red sports car was gone. The fog had burned off and it was a bright sunny day. I took a deep breath of the fresh salt air. Some people claim it has healing powers. I walked down to the beach to see if she might be there wading in the water. She wasn’t. The tide had washed away her footprints. They had vanished just as she had. I never saw her again. I still walk along the shore every morning. After all, you never know what you’ll find on the beach.
