Beau
It’s late.Two in the morning to be exact. I’m sitting on a blanket in the middle of the sand, staring out into the black water. My mood is equally dark and my soul is empty. It’s been three years and the grief engulfs me like the water that took away my wife. Right here, on this very beach, one drunken decision changed our lives forever—hers because it’s over, and mine, because of regret and sorrow.
This is my first time back. I’d continued to pay for the house but couldn’t bring myself to visit. I still haven’t found the courage to go inside. My therapist believes I should face my anguish and move through the pain. I need to do what I’ve been putting off since her memorial service; I need to mourn her loss. So, here I am in the dead of night with nothing but the ocean and the full moon to comfort me. I take another sip of my drink. I’m not drunk; I haven’t been since that night. Besides, I need to feel every bit of this soul-crushing pain.
I swipe an errant tear with the back of my hand. I want to cry, but I can’t. I’ve shed some tears over the last three years, yet that cleansing cry has evaded me. I need to navigate my heart through the mess. I’m too young to give up on love—or so I’ve heard. At thirty, I have plenty of time to start a family—or so I was told. All I want is to undo that fatal night. If I could go back, I’d refuse to go swimming. I would tell her to stay inside. I would know the tide was too strong and the ocean was too black. I would… I choke back another sob. You cannot rewrite the past. You can only accept it and move forward. My therapist tells me this almost weekly; it has yet to take root in my brain.
We were inseparable since we were fifteen—my high school sweetheart. I slide my thumb over my ring finger but the metal band that unified us is missing. I’d removed it this morning. My ring rests on Dr. Janowitz’s desk to ensure I don’t try to slip it back onto its rightful place. The gentle breeze from the water ruffles my hair but I’m too numb to feel the temperature. I look up into the black sky dotted with shining stars and beg for mercy. There has to be more in store for me beyond feeling this devastating loss.
I stare at the waves. I blink a few times when the water parts uncharacteristic of its usual ebb and flow. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I survey the water. Is that a head? I get confirmation when I see shoulders rise then…breasts? A woman is emerging from the dark water with only moonlight to guide her. I should be scared but something deep down calms me and roots me into place. Her near-naked torso appears just before her scantily clad hips. Her bare legs tell me she’s either wearing a bikini or her bra and panties. Either way, I have no idea how she got to me.
I don’t have time to live in a delusion that the water is giving me back my wife because she didn’t have an hour-glass figure.
The woman walks like she’s tired, or her limbs are heavy from over-exertion, but there is still something sensual about her movement. I’m dead if she’s dangerous or an assassin because I’m so mesmerized by her sudden appearance that I cannot move. I must find out what happens next. The moonlight guides her to me. She kneels in front of me between my bent legs.
I have enough light to make out her features: medium and slightly rounded nose, high cheekbones, and full, pouty lips—a black woman. I cannot guess the exact shade of her skin. It doesn’t matter; what I can see is beautiful.
“Water?” she rasps her question while eyeballing my cup.
I thrust my cup into her trembling fingers. This is all so surreal. I feel as if I’ve entered an alternate universe.
“Whiskey,” I correct.
With a subtle shrug, she takes the proffered cup and chugs the remainder. I watch her cute features scrunch up as the heat from the alcohol forces her to cough a few times. I don’t move or say anything, lest I break the spell. I’m still confused by her arrival; still, I need a break from my thoughts.
“Towel,” she commands, pushing some of her soaked hair out of her face. I pick up the soft pile next to me with another counter.
“Blanket.”
I wrap it around her shoulders and withhold my surprise when she folds into me. She rests her head on my shoulder and tucks her forehead under my chin. Instinctively, I band my arms around her and pull her into my warmth. I’m aware enough to notice the coolness of her skin and the small shivers her body emits. Her wet hair sticks to my skin, but I silently hold her for a few moments before deciding I should take her inside. She stops shivering before I could suggest we change venues. The heat starts to return to her skin.
I feel a sexual stirring I haven’t felt in years spread through my body. I begin to wonder if Poseidon does exist. If he does, maybe he heard my cries and decided to be generous and send me a nymph or a mermaid to distract me by offering her body to me. I’m seconds from laughing off that notion when I feel her lips peck my shoulder, my collarbone, then my neck.
I’m shocked to find that I like it and don’t want her to stop. I hum my satisfaction low in my throat when her lips connect with my jaw. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I want this to happen. The day after the three-year-anniversary of my wife’s death, I’m finding the desire to have sex with another woman—a stranger.
She pulls back, her big eyes search mine in the dark. Her dainty hands cup my face. Eyes never leaving mine, she descends slowly, giving me time to protest. I don’t. Our lips touch and the rest of my latent sexual desire surfaces. I deepen the kiss, learning everything I can in the process. She tastes like whiskey, the salt from the water, and her own unique sweetness.
I moan into her mouth, drunk off her ambrosia. I know it’s crazy, but I’m all in. My dormant hands spring to life, cupping her naked sides underneath the blanket. I lose my shirt when she pushes it down my shoulders—I am too enthralled to know when she unbuttoned it. I follow her lead by pushing the blanket off her shoulders and removing her bra. My legs straighten to allow her to straddle me. I hiss against her mouth when she grinds on my erection. My once lightweight shorts now feel like a nuisance. My cock wants to nestle itself inside her heat.
First, I must appreciate her lovely breasts; I cup the perky, cocoa globes of perfection without breaking the kiss. I squeeze the velvet-smooth skin enough to work my thumbs around to tease the nipples. It’s her turn to hiss. Mmm, real breasts. I can’t get enough of her mouth. I roll my hips to add friction. We both pant; her head falls back to give me access to her neck and throat's sensitive skin. I take full advantage. I lick, suck, tease, and nip at her like it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do until her raspy voice takes it to another level.
“Condom.”
I’m sad for a moment before I remember that my best friend packed the bag sitting next to me. Knowing him, he would have put condoms inside of it since he’s been encouraging this type of behavior. My dig through the bag is frantic because I feel her untying and opening my board shorts. I’m victorious in my quest when my fingers feel the familiar crinkle of the condom wrappers. I wield them like a great trophy the moment she wraps a soft hand around my swollen head. I moan hard and buck a little, trying to recreate that sensation.
I want—no—need her now. My hands shake with urgency as I roll the latex into place. I pull her panties to the side, and the blunt head of my cock nudges her center. Anticipation shoots through my body. It’s bittersweet. I haven’t been intimate with anyone other than my wife; she was my first and only. Now, I’m consumed with desire for a stranger, moments after believing I’d never feel it again.
Her body quivers as she lowers herself onto me, slowly engulfing my cock into her heat. She stops shy of taking all of me and retreats before coming back down again. Her slick walls clench me as she moves; the shock of desire steals my breath. My blood is buzzing with eagerness, and I want all of her. This time, prepared for her down stroke, I sink my fingers into her supple ass cheeks as I pump my hips upward to bury myself to the hilt.
My grunt of satisfaction mingles with her shocked gasp; her center pulsates around me as she adjusts to my size. Her eyes flutter closed. Her breasts tease me with the excited rise and fall of her chest. This moment is a testament to the uncertainty of life. We’ve never met. We probably live completely different lives, yet we end up on my little slice of private beach at the same time, willing to screw a stranger with barely any words exchanged. I still don’t know her name, but I feel she needs this just as much as I do. We need each other.
I fear she’s cold when her delicate body shivers; her moan tells me that’s not the case. Her body starts to move slowly. I allow her to control the pace while I control the intensity. My hands grip her hips, silently telling her how hard I want it. She’s a fast learner. I become hotter as I imagine all of the ways we could learn to find pleasure in each other’s bodies. Her aroused sighs drive me crazy, and now that she’s grinding on me at the perfect pace, my hands are free to explore the rest of her for a moment.
First, I choose to feast on her breasts. I press them together for efficiency. I love their pliability. My eager mouth kisses and nips them as I circle in on her nipples. Her excited moans make my heart race.
“So big, so deep, soooo good,” she coos. “More.”
She jumps when I bite her nipple hard enough to introduce a little pain before I suck it into my mouth to soothe it with my tongue. Her nails dig into my shoulders as I show her other nipple the same attention. The vibration of my moans on her pebbled peaks motivates bolder strokes. She grinds me harder, and I’m in heaven.
