|
Fantasy of the Month 3 (Beach)
20 October 1993 Sky to the east is sea-shell pink at the edges, glowing rose as sunrise approaches. The sky is clear, the weather generally calm, and the waves lap softly at the waterline as she stalks down the deserted beach, a faint cool breeze stirring grains of sand in her wake. She shades her eyes from the light, stares out to sea. Something is calling her, something that makes her want to run out into the water and throw herself into the waves. She pauses for a moment, then moves down to the waterline and kneels, her toes digging into dry sand, her knees in the water, waves lapping at her thighs, fingertips brushing the cool wetness. Her gaze is fixed on the horizon, her thoughts elsewhere. She leans over to one side slightly, supporting her weight on her left hand, swings her legs out before her and leans back, enjoying the feel as the waves sweep in along her legs and then back. As they retreat, the sand beneath her gives way slightly, and within moments she is sitting in a shallow behind-shaped depression. She leans back further and lies down, shoulder blades dipping into the bank of dry sand just above the waterline. The water rises, now; the waves are stronger, their motion insistent. Sighing, she spreads her legs and revels in the feeling as the water surges up to her, touches her and retreats, like a teasing, hesitant lover. She smiles, closes her eyes and digs her heels in; grains of sand scurry out from beneath her feet and she sinks further into the embrace of the beach. The waves are still rising; each one hits her body with a gentle impact, enough to push her out of the water a fraction. She isn't counting, but it seems that after every three or four waves comes one that is stronger than the others, one that almost feels like a slap. Just as she decides to start keeping count, they increase in frequency until every second wave arrives with a noticeable jolt. It's not unpleasant; in fact, the rhythm is reminiscent of - With this thought, she smiles to herself, spreads her legs a little wider; the next wave hits and she feels it from mid-thigh, swirls of water touching her, caressing her, the wave rising up to enter her and collapse on her belly. Eyes wide, her fingers dig into the sand as the following wave strikes, gentler, hinting at what is to come. She knows the pattern now; the first, milder wave which promises, the second wave which delivers, pressing against her, folding her flesh back and entering her, cool fingers stroking her legs and gently drawing her down into the embrace of the ocean. The waves strike, one, two, in quick succession, faster, the second now pushing harder, her eyes open wide in shock as she feels it, gasping as the ocean enters her, the waves now seeming to overlap, each stroke following the previous one faster, and suddenly she comes, heels digging tracks in the sand, fingers scattering shards of broken shell in all directions. The edge of the sun appears over the horizon. |
|
|
( top )
All work on this site is © Nikolai Kingsley unless otherwise stated. |