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Summer on the Beach
The woman makes her way down the slopes of the dunes and comes onto the beach. She pauses a moment. A mild breeze brushes her hair, ruffling the golden strands. It's a mild day, the only clouds well to the north. The not-quite-noon sun beats down, glinting from the woman's jewelry: necklace, earrings, bracelets on her right wrist and left ankle, all glinting gold in the sun. Waves row in and break gently against the shore. A sporadic seabird glides across the pure blue sky. Otherwise nothing but bare white sand.
Now she strolls slowly, her flip-flops barely denting the firm sand. She's wearing a red bikini with top, and across her shoulder she carries a sling bag of a color similar to the azure sea. About midway between the dunes and the water she stops. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and flips off the flip-flops. She lifts a purple beach blanket from her bag and lets it fold onto the sand. She nudges it with her toes while unhooking her bikini top. Bare, her breasts lift to the sun.
The woman takes another deep breath, exhales, and sets her bag in the sand. She straightens the blanket, sets the bag on it, and squirms gracefully out of her bottoms. She sits cross-legged on the blanket. In addition to her bracelets, rings, and pendant, she has two other golden rings, one near the apex of her labia, the other piercing the hood of her clitoris.
She watches the sea, the swollen waves rolling in. From her bag she fishes a bottle of water, a bottle of sunscreen, and book, setting each on the blanket. She removes the cap from the sunscreen. She pours the thick liquid on her palm, and coats herself, taking care to cover even the plump petals of her inner labia.
Thoroughly oiled, she lies back and lets the sun have its way with her. It is some time later when she is awakened by something thumping her ribs. It is a soccer ball. She sees that off in the distance some boys are having a game. She stands up, nudges the ball off her beach blanket, nudges it further away, and then steps into it. Walloped, the ball jerks into the air, low at first and then rising, soaring, diving to the sand and skipping forward, one, two, three hops, right to the boys' feet. She waves.
One of them approaches. He seems slightly embarrassed. "Um," he says, obviously making an effort to look into her eyes. "Um, sorry. We were having a little game and my brother Nils got a little frustrated and took it out on the ball."
"Things not going your way?"
"Uh, no, actually, we're getting our asses kicked. It's just the two of us against the three of them. We were so sure we could take them, but it's not working out that way." His eyes have drifted to her breasts, to her belly, and he jerks them back to her face. He smiles sheepishly. "I'm Mat," he says. "You really kicked that ball. You've got a really fantastic leg."
"In fact I've got two of them," the woman says. They both laugh.
"Hey, you know what? Maybe you could play on our team? I mean if you want to."
"That might be fun," the woman says. "Sure, why not!"
"Great," Mat says. "Come on over and I'll introduce you."
"Just a second," she says. "A couple of things I've got to take care of. Could you turn around for just a second?"
"Oh, sure," Mat says, and he turns to face away.
"There," the woman says a few moments later. "All set."
Down the beach Mat introduces the others. "The guy with the beard is Nils. The bald guy is Blaine. Hanzo's wearing the funky flower shorts. And the big galoot is Gabe. Uh, sorry, I don't know your name."
"Summer," she says, and she smiles.
"Great, Summer. So here's the story. We're playing to ten and we're down seven-four. Between the shirts is a score, but you have to dribble it in. And we call off-sides."
"Got it," Summer says.
They begin to play. Gabe gets a pass from Hanzo, dribbles past Nils, only Summer to beat, and she slides into the tackle, flipping the ball right to the on-rushing Nils, who takes it in all the way for the easy score.
A moment later Summer steals the ball again, passes to Mat, and he scores.
"You try handling her," Gabe yells at Blaine. He can't. Summer eludes him, passes to Mat, gets a return pass, and scores the tying goal.
They try double-teaming Summer. It doesn't work. She feints and wheels and both Hanzo and Blaine sprawl to the sand. She takes the ball in unmolested.
The boys try harder, but they're no match for Summer's quickness and cunning. Eight minutes later they're vanquished and trudging down the beach.
"Wow!" Nils says, hands on hips.
"Double wow," Mat adds, as they watch the other team disappear into the dunes. "You can really handle the ball."
"I can handle more than one," Summer says with a smile. "You up for a little victory celebration?"
They are.
story and illustrations by Mat Twassel |
