From: bn737@freenet.carleton.ca (Janet Coleman)
Subject: "Nautica"
Keywords: f-solo sf
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
X-Moderator-Review: 8: wonderful concept and well written
Nautica
by Janet E. Coleman
We lay back in tacit, rumpled agreement to rest awhile lest
we become too exhausted to continue fucking, and he found and put on
a cassette of ocean sounds. For the first few minutes it pleased me
enormously -- the sleepy rushing, rushing, rushing soothed and inspired
me. I lolled dreamily on the soft blankets, and in my mind I placed over
me the moon, blaring down silver, scattering a luminous wide ribbon across
the waves...a smooth-worn seawall to perch on, and me naked as life
and twice as sexy...the cool breeze, the cool...smooth -- sand --
Wait. Wait a minute.
"That's not right," I said, propping up to my elbow, eyeing the
tape player in slow puzzlement. "There's something *wrong* with that...
where was it recorded? Where's the water I'm hearing?"
Bless him, he didn't argue. He reached for the cassette box on
the floor, fumbled with it in the dim, shifting light, and dropped it
into the tangle of the bedclothes. Helpfully I assisted in fishing it out,
paying lingering attention to his right thigh, though the tape box was
in fact nowhere near it.
He came up with it eventually, squinted. "Carmel," he said in a
slightly deeper voice than usual. "California."
"Ahhh," I said in comprehension, and then said it again, for a
slightly different reason . . .
No wonder it had sounded off. After all, I've never fucked the
Pacific.
Last summer I went to a party. It was in one of the lesser
Hamptons, at the house of someone I did not know, and by nightfall
I was not having a good time of it. I had been tense and anxious when
I arrived, enjoying the fallout of a bad relationship going "bang", and
soon I was restless, gnawing on impatience. The two separate drunk
buffoons attempting to plot a course into my panties were the penultimate
and final straws, and abruptly I walked away from the house.
I sat awhile on the steps of the post office. I like steps.
There seem to be few more excellent places to think than halfway up a
flight of stairs, dreaming through the banister supports...but I disliked
the setting. Street, sidewalk, lights, buildings...they were offensive
with their rigid, imposed and imposing structure, and I vaulted off the
steps again and began walking, very fast, toward the water, muttering.
I was coiled so tightly with bitter tension that the lovely
bright half moon and blessed strong cool breeze could do nothing to
soothe me, and they *always* work. No, it was no use; no matter how
beautiful the night insisted on being, I was having none of it. I
jammed my hands into my jeans pockets and kept muttering, glaring
balefully at the rich houses sprawled one after another, insolent,
boastful, irksome, along the beach road.
I was in an ugly state indeed by the time the air tasted of
salt and moisture. I clambered out onto the beach, spraying sand through
my sandals with every step, reached the tall metal lifeguard's chair and
climbed to sit in it, crossing my arms and staring fiercely out over
the Atlantic Ocean.
The wind was stronger here. And the sound of the surf was
relentless, mesmerizing. I sat there high above the beach, feeling it,
drinking it in despite myself, and eventually the beauty began to filter
in through my haze of anger. A slow surge of lucid, predatory calm
passed through me, tipping over smoothly into near-fiendish pleasure, and
I grinned like a shark.
In this state, I paid closer attention to the sound of the water --
or, perhaps, it paid closer attention to me. Suddenly "attention" was all
around and through me, an old, vast, rushing attention, water calling to
water: this literal ocean calling to the microcosm ocean of my body. I
trembled all over. The feeling was massive, but not oppressive: it boiled
up from my toes, rising through my thighs, swirling like foam in my chest.
My hair, I think, stood on end. How easy it could be, to rise up from
where I sat, and surge through the salt-soaked air, effortless. I could
do it. If I wanted to.
What I did instead was jump down to the beach, smile mockingly/
invitingly at the water, and strip.
My jeans were already heavy with spray and took some wrestling to
remove, but I won out at last and left them crumpled on the sand with my
shirt and shoes and panties.
The moon's light felt *normal* on my naked skin, and I could
see my shoulders and arms glowing silvery-peach: the ideal illumination
for my pale flesh which only burns in the sun and never tans. I stepped
slowly, with grave joy, one foot carefully before the next. I stepped
slowly forward to meet my elemental lover.
I reached the wide wet smooth expanse of sand where the waves
come and go, felt them tease at my toes -- cajoling -- no, demanding.
I looked up to the horizon, the broad indigo vista, smiling crookedly
at this similarity to a human lover's presumption. Smiling more crookedly
at my own inevitable response: *Yes*.
Sank to my knees, senses swirling and readjusting, felt the cool
saturated sand malleable beneath my weight, perfect dimpled hollows
accomodating me. A wave swirled around my knees and through my toes,
and the *attention* feeling frothed through me again, wilder, more
insistent, eddying between my parted thighs, boiling up my spine to my
wide-open eyes. Felt that rhyme even then, a year into the future.
I settled down against gravity, my ass resting on my heels,
hands open on my thighs as if in meditation. My entire body felt taut,
flexing, relaxed tension, tense relaxation. I felt infinitely patient.
Another parallel to a human lover: Yes, I will...when I'm *ready*. And
the Ocean grumbled, but allowed the delay: and I was aware in that moment
that the spirit of the water was feminine. Mighty. Ancient. And
indisputably feminine.
[Now,] She said. [Ready, now. Calling, calling. Little teardrop,
lie down. Lie down, little one. Love you, little daughter. Love you NOW.]
Then
whOOOOSH! -- A big wave, sudden, strong, and the force of it
toppled me backwards off my knees in the swirling chaos. My ass thumped
down on the sand with a rude wet smack!, barely noticed against the
violent contact with the warm/cold water. My pores sang in deep
recognition at the all-over touch, sang so suddenly and loud it was
almost pain and cold, but almost instantly the Ocean warmed to my body's
temperature, or I cooled to Hers. (I'm not quite sure which, and didn't
care when it mattered.) My nipples stood in points hard as coral, and
the moonlight gleamed that silver peach on my taut wet breasts. I cried
out, in surprise, in fierce delight at the old battle joined. Pleasure
war. The vital combat.
I lay back, then, on my elbows, as the waters receded hissing
around me: knees bent, soles firmly planted, I opened wide. The wind
licked at my salty cunt, saturated with my juices and the Sea's. The
breeze brought that scent to me, for just a moment, that salty-sweet
combination in perfect complement. I opened my mouth to the scent, and
the lips of my tingling pussy inhaled in unison.
Hours passed for me before the next wave: and when it finally
reached me it was tentative, ineffectual, barely tickling past my feet
to within an inch of my ass.
Cried out again, almost a sob. Lay trembling, open, arched,
for the next wave: again She teased, just touching feather light
against my anus like a delicate tongue. I convulsed, shaking wildly
in desperate torment: I had presumed to make Her wait...now it was
my turn.
The interval between waves this time was even longer. I
whimpered, pawing my heels against the sand, thrashing my head, sand
in my hair, didn't care, didn't care. "ahh, please, oh, my Lady, please,
*please*, fuck me, *fuck me*, FUCK ME--" my voice rose out of control
and
WHAMM!!
The Sea in my cunt! The power of it, the thunder of Her! Fucking
me...withdrawing...undertow sucking the waters flooding my pussy back
out into the Ocean. I wailed with the impossible intensity, aware acutely
of every separate drop pulling away, pulling out of me. The sand beneath
me slid in thin layers with the relentless receding, and I writhed there
on the sliding sand in torment and ecstasy, moaning.
whooosh, WHAMMM! -- "Ahhhhhhh!" Yearning, spreading wider
against the breaker, my clit beginning the familiar glow to white heat
-- but not so familiar. A new dimension. New heights surging from
the deeps.
Tendrils of my awareness hissing out with the undertow to
spin crazily in the swells. Another wave broke on my cunt, another cry
wrenched from my throat, my fingers clawing at the sand. Wider, wider,
my legs must spread wider apart still, thighs straining but giving that
crucial little bit more.
My heels beat a tattoo on the wet apron of the beach. Clit
catching fire, shining like a star, casting a ribbon of light across
Her waves, streaking in an arrow to meet the moon's path. Deep cries
from far inside, my womb weeping with the fierce wild joy.
And I surged, ebbed and flowed, and rippled further and
further out and in. Undertow again. The last time. I knew it. Pulling
out and out and out, impossible now, it was surging all the way back
to the heart of Her, some secret place in the Barrier Reef, out and out,
back and back.
Yes. Sober joy. Total calm. It was coming. It was coming, and
nothing in the Universe could stop it now. My hands lay palms up on
the beach, my head resting back, eyes open, filled with the Moon in
her half glory.
I heard and felt Her mighty return: heard the long slow
building to a roar; felt in my every cell the rhythm of the tide. She
was coming to me, she would come with me, I felt in that moment that
it would kill me.
I laughed aloud. As fitting ways to die go, this was the mighty
mother empress of them all.
. . . Tsunami! The World, water, the World, She, and Me! Because
of course, I *was* Her, knew it completely then as she exploded against
and inside me, a stroke of lightning in comparison would be like the
wistful message of a lonely firefly! I was the Sea, coming and coming
forever! I embraced the world, glistening, holding all life in my secret
dream! Her ultimate wave, the violent caress, covered me and spun me
bubbling against the sand, scraping my tender skin, pounding in my ears
and mouth, black/green chaos in my wide open eyes. I shrieked with my
coming, bubbles erupting from my mouth and my womb. The star in my clit
went nova, detonating with the force of a newborn Universe.
[Yes, little daughter, little Self. You understand. Love you,
speaking mirror. Love you always.]
She left me alive.
She left me *alive*.
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