Accidents

Oakley Samson strolled down to the water, the sound of the surf filling her ears. There was a little swell, but not enough for body surfing, she decided. She walked back to her beach umbrella and rummaged around in her bag. She pulled out a snorkel mask and some fins. She carried them over to the lagoon side and put them on. Easing into the cool water, she put her face in and swam for the reef. The fish were out in profusion, and she swam with the schools. A big crab was scuttling along and she teased it, careful to avoid the big pincher it had. She dove for an hour and swam back to the beach. There weren't many people there on a Tuesday, and she had the area pretty much to herself. She ate her sandwich and drank a bottle of water. The rest of the afternoon she spent with the fish or reading her book, and when she had enough she stood under the shower for a few minutes, rinsing off the salt.

She put her bag in the trunk and climbed in her Charger. She pulled onto the highway, winding along the shore. She felt something cold on her leg and looked down. She was holding her insolated cup between her thighs and it was leaking. She adjusted it so that it wasn't leaking. She felt a thump and heard a crash. She wasn't going very fast, maybe twenty five, but it was enough to send the bicycle and its rider flying into the grass at the side of the road. Oakley screeched to a stop on the shoulder, jumped out and ran back to where a young man lay on the grass holding his leg.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked. "I'm so sorry! Are you hurt badly?"

He looked up at her. The first thing she noticed were his intensely grey eyes. They had pain in them and his light eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. He was very good looking for a white boy, she thought.

"I'm not hurt bad," he said. "I think I may have a broken leg."

"Jesus, I'm so sorry," she said again.

"What were you doing?" he asked. "Tell me you weren't texting."

"No, I wasn't, I swear. I was holding a drink between my legs and it was spilling on me. I only looked down for a second. I'm so sorry."

"Yes, I know. You keep telling me. It's okay; I forgive you. It could happen to anyone. I've done that before. Help me up."

She put her hand out and he took it. His hand swallowed hers and when he stood up, he towered over her. She looked up at him.

"Well, you're very tall when you aren't lying on the ground," she said. "Can you walk?"

"Let's find out," he said. "Can I lean on you?"

She moved close and he put his arm around her shoulders. He resisted the impulse to stroke the silky skin of her bare shoulder. He put some weight on his leg and winced. "It's broken," he said. "It isn't badly broken, but I'm not going to walk home. Help me over to my bike."

The bike was a mess. It had a composite frame and it was broken. The rims were bent and it was obviously ruined.

"It looks like a nice bike," she told him. "Did you love it?"

"No, it's replaceable," he told her. "It was a good bike and I enjoyed riding it. I can get another bike. Is your car damaged?"

Oakley helped him hobble to the Charger and they looked at the hood. There were a couple of scratches that she thought would buff out easily.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Do you want to call the police?"

"Why? They would probably taze or shoot one of us. The only problem is my bike."

"What if I buy you another one?" she asked.

"Okay, that takes care of that problem. I have another one, though. I think I need to go to the hospital."

"I have insurance," she said. "I'll take you. We'll have to tell them I hit you, though."

"I don't want to do that," he said. "I have insurance, too. We'll just tell them I had a bike wreck. It has the virtue of being true. Do you know, I don't even know your name?"

"I'm sorry, I'm Oakley Sampson," she held out her hand.

He took it firmly. "Greyson Stokes," he said. "Hell of a first impression you make, Oakley." His smile that lit up those amazing gray eyes took the sting out the words.

She laughed, "This is how I get dates. I hit them with my car. Your bike is junk, Greyson. I'll put the back seats down and we'll throw it in. If you'll let me take you to a bike shop, I'll get you a new one."

"Hospital first, then bike shop," he said. "My leg is hurting like hell."

He held onto the car and hopped along to the door, letting himself in while she put the ruined bike in the trunk. She drove him to the nearest hospital and stayed with him in the emergency room. She found out that he was a marine biologist with the University of Hawaii. She told him that she was in international business and worked for Cisco. Neither one of them were married and they actually lived close to one another, in Waipahu. He didn't surf, but he did dive, both scuba and free diving.

"I'm surprised that you swim," he said.

She looked up at him and saw that he was grinning at her. "Ha, ha, so funny," she said. "You mean on account of how black people can't swim?" She laughed.

"I'm glad you laugh about stuff like that," he said.

"Why? Why would you give a damn what I think?"

"Well, we are going on a date," he said.

"Hell, we are," she looked at him. "What made you think that?"

"You hit me with your car," he said. "That's the way you get dates. That's what you told me."

Oakley laughed for a long time. "You're a clown, dude. You make me laugh. Thanks for not being a tool about me hitting you. I'm really so sorry about that."

"You can tell me more about it on our date," he said.

"I'm not going on a date with you," she told him.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Well, let's see, I have a boyfriend, I don't know you, I don't date white boys and you don't surf. I'm sure I'll think of more in a minute. Why would I?"

"Well, I'm young, relatively well off, single, I have no hideous disfigurements. I have an extensive knowledge of local hotspots, I'm not a racist like some I could mention and you did hit me with your car."

"I'm not a racist," she said. "I can't believe you said that."

"Let's see, one of the reasons you won't go out with me is because I'm 'a white boy'. That seems at least eccentric to me. I would understand if some white guy walked up to you on the street and asked you out. You might he had some kind of twisted thing for black girls. Or, he might just think you're beautiful, interesting, have a fantastic laugh, beautiful eyes, a propensity to hit people with your car and not care at all if you're a little green girl from Mars."

That made her laugh again. "There it is," he said. "I just want to say something funny so I can listen to you laugh."

"Jesus, you know how to turn on the charm, Greyson. Okay, I guess I owe you. I did break your leg and smash your bike. I'll go out with you, once."

"Bike shop first, then go out," he said. "Well, actually cast first."

They were in the emergency room for four hours before they actually got the cast on and checked out.

"I'm just glad I wasn't having a heart attack," he said. "If it takes that long for people that have real emergencies, they're pruning the population pretty quickly. I'm sorry you had to wait so long, Oakley. The bike shop is closed. Maybe we should wait for another day for the date, too. My leg hurts like hell and I'm sore all over. I feel like I've been mugged. I don't think I'm cut out for a job as a crash dummy."

"That might be best. I still don't know how I'm going to explain you to my boyfriend."

"Do you live together?"

"No, but he wants to."

"I understand; why mention me at all? It's one date. If we go on three, you should mention me. Otherwise, it's just a laugh, right?"

"I guess. I'll drive you home, Greyson. You can call me when you're feeling better and we'll talk about the other stuff."

She drove him home and found out where he lived. "Jesus, Greyson, is that your car?" she asked when they pulled up. "What is it?"

"Same thing you're driving," he said, "but from 1968. It's a Charger RT. Mine's not quite as quick as your RTS8 but it's a blast to drive and it sounds better than yours."

"Can we take it when we go out?" she asked. "I love old muscle cars."

"You're an unusual girl, Oakley," he said. "You'll have to drive it. It's a four speed and I won't be able to shift very well."

"I'm so sorry, Greyson," she told him again. "I've just screwed up your life for a while. How will you get around?"

"Stop, apologizing, Oakley," he said. "It was an accident. I'll be fine. I have a Mini with the British wheel. Give me your number and I'll call."

Oakley watched as he went up the sidewalk on his crutches. He unlocked the door and turned to wave at her. She lifted her hand and backed out.

Oakley was feeling very confused as she drove away. Very few people she had ever met had affected her like Greyson had in the short time she had been with him. She hadn't wanted to go out with him, but now she did, very badly. They had talked more in the half a day they had been together than she had with Marcus in the last six months. She had been feeling less and less satisfied with her boyfriend for a while. His inability to keep a job worried her. He had half a dozen in the eight months she had known him. She had gotten him three of them, and he always got fired. It was never his fault, according to him. He wouldn't show up for work on time, called in sick constantly and hung out with his boys, and did a bare minimum when he was there. His lack of interest in all the things she loved and his drug use were becoming huge in her mind. The sex was great, but it was hard to get motivated to have sex with someone who wouldn't talk about anything but sex, drugs and music. At twenty-five, she was well on her way to realizing dreams she had cherished ever since she was a little girl. The problem was, she was leaving behind most of the cultural things that had been such an important part of her life for years.

Now she knew Greyson, and she felt like she had never met anyone to whom she was so strongly attracted. She had a lot of trouble falling asleep that night as her mind raced. She got up and drank a glass of wine. A comedy routine on TV diverted her thoughts, and she fell asleep quickly when she went back to bed.

The next morning he texted her. "Hope your day is as good as mine is going to be thinking about Saturday."

Oakley was thrilled and she didn't want to be. Her fingers were moving before she knew it and she sent him back a smiley face. She flew to Seattle on Wednesday and didn't get back home until Friday afternoon. Greyson had texted her every day, only once a day, and kept her thinking about him. She had kept him informed of her schedule and she hadn't been home thirty minutes when the doorbell rang. It was a delivery man and he had a package for her. When she opened it, she laughed. He had gotten her three t-shirts. They all had something funny about surfing on them. There was a note that said, "I wish I was there to hear you laugh."

This was a hugely romantic guy, she thought. She couldn't remember looking forward to anything more than their date the next day. He picked her up at two-thirty in the afternoon, and he was driving the Charger. He could shift awkwardly, but he slid over and she drove. He brought her a big candy bar and she gave him a quick hug. He thought she was stunning. Her hair was a mass of shining ringlets and she had on a red top and black pants. He took her to a coffee shop and they played Scrabble together, arguing like children over made-up words. It was the most fun on a date she could ever remember. It was dinner time when they left, and he took her to a culinary school where they learned to cook paella using chicken and rabbit. They sat at a small table off the kitchen and ate their creation. Oakley thought it was very good.

After dinner she drove to the famous waterfall and pool, and they sat in folding chairs he had in the trunk. He took out two sketch books and pencils. They drew the waterfall and he got two strangers to look at their sketches and tell them which was best. They both chose Oakley's and he laughed.

"You're just more beautiful than me," he chuckled. "There was no way they were going to pick mine after they saw you."

He took her to a psychic and they had their tarot cards read. They got a kick out of discussing their reading on the way home and telling each other why they were wrong all the way back. When they pulled up in her driveway she didn't want it to end.

"We didn't go to the bike shop," she said.

"No," he said. "I've decided to give up biking and take up surfing. I live in Hawaii and it would be a waste to never learn to surf. I need lessons and I know this beautiful little girl I'm hoping will give me a lesson. I'm going to need a board, though, and I have no idea what to buy."

Oakley was touched. "Okay, Greyson; I'll help you buy a board."

"Next Saturday?" he asked.

"Okay, next Saturday. How are you going to surf with a cast on your leg?"

"I can't, but I can get a board and I can watch you. I'll get some ideas about the theory. Pick you up at two-thirty?"

Oakley wanted him to kiss her. He didn't show any signs of wanting to come in, so she waited. He came around on his crutches and opened her door. When she stood up he wrapped her in his arms and squeezed her. "I had fun, Oakley," he told her. "You're a great girl."

He tilted her head up and she offered him her lips. He kissed her deeply, but didn't press her. "Thanks, Greyson," she told him. "I had a great time. This was the best date I've ever been on. You've got imagination. Most guys take me to dinner and a movie. I like that, but this was better. Keep asking me, okay?"

He watched her walk up the sidewalk, her slender firm butt moving under the black slacks. She looked back and smiled at him. He lifted his hand and she waved as she went inside.

Oakley didn't return any of Marcus' calls or texts that week. He was angry and called her a bitch and a hoe on voice mails. She sent him a text telling him she was moving on and he shouldn't call her anymore. He left one more profanity-laced message, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he was out of her life. Her week passed quickly and she found herself thinking about Greyson every morning when she awakened. He texted her every day, just some funny little message, and she looked forward to getting them. She called him three times and they talked on the phone for hours. On Friday, she got another package. This time it was a pair of Tory Burch, miller's sandals. Oakley knew how much those costm and she loved them. She was wearing them, along with a bikini and a semi-transparent, tie-dyed wrap-around when he picked her up on Saturday.

She slipped behind the wheel and he gave her directions. They pulled up in front of a large used book store. He gave her fifty dollars. "I want you to buy a book for me that you think I should read," he told her. "I'm going to get one for you, too."

Oakley was enchanted with the idea and spent an hour finding the perfect book. It was hard to choose, but she finally settled on Soul on Ice, by Eldridge Cleaver. "I think this is essential reading to realize what being black in America is like," she told him. "My experience is better than that, but it's a microcosm I want you to understand, Greyson. I want you to understand me."

"I want to understand you, Oakley. I'll read it this week."

He bought her Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand. "I just think it's a great read," he said, "and it starts to explain my philosophy of life. It all starts with Ayn Rand."

She promised to start it Monday. "I'm flying to LA," she said. "I'll read the whole way on the plane."

She took him to the Surf Garage to look at boards. They knew Oakley there, and they got Greyson hooked up with a beautiful board from Chris Christenson. He loved it and Oakley bought it for him.

"I know this didn't cost as much as your bike," she told him. "I still owe you."

"You're going to give me surfing lessons," he told her. "We'll call it good."

She drove them to Diamond Head Lighthouse and they walked down to the beach. Oakley carried her board and a folding chair. She got him sitting in the chair and went back to get her bag. He was handicapped by his crutches, but he put them by his chair and watched her. She wasn't really thinking about it when she handed him her wrap. She put sunblock on and he watched in fascination as she smoothed the lotion into her long caramel colored legs.

"Why do you wear sunblock?" he asked her.

She laughed. "I may be brown, but I'd be charcoal if I didn't. Black people burn and tan just like white people. I like my skin without melanoma, thanks."

She had on a yellow string bikini and he thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He could see all that firm toned flesh, and her ass was something out of fever dreams. Her hips were slender and those small firm round cheeks made him want to reach out and squeeze one. Oakley glanced over at him and she felt shy, like a high school girl going to prom. She felt her nipples stiffen and she knew he could see them in profile as she rubbed the sunblock into her tummy.

"Stop staring, Greyson; you're embarrassing me," she said.

"I can't help it," he said. "God you're gorgeous, Oakley. If you come and stand in front of me, can I touch you?"

"No!" she said. "I mean, you can touch me, but I'm not going to do that. I'm not a stuffed toy."

He thought her bikini was pretty well stuffed. Her breasts weren't huge, but he could tell they were full and heavy. Her nipples were visibly erect and he wanted to pinch one between his fingers. She picked up her board and walked to the water. Her hips rolled and her ass jiggled as she walked. She could feel his eyes on her and felt her pussy moisten at the thought that he found her beautiful. She pushed the thought aside as she paddled out to the break. When she got the break timed she rode it in. It was a long one and she had a great time. She caught a dozen more and then paddled back in to him. She put her board down and he offered her a beer. When she came close he caught her and pulled her down on his lap. She stiffened up a little and then relaxed, snuggling into his arms.

"You were amazing, Oakley," he told her. "Do you compete?"

"No, I'm not interested in that. I am pretty good, but I don't do the extreme stuff. I want to have fun, not break my neck out on the Pipeline. If you're going to do crazy stuff, I won't teach you."

"I'm going to do crazy stuff, but it doesn't involve surfing," he told her.

She looked up at him and he drowned in those big brown eyes. They had flecks of amber in them and sparkled in the sun. "What crazy stuff are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to keep asking you out," he told her. "I'm going to take you sailing to Lanai, I'm going to climb the volcano on the big island with you and I'm going to take you wind surfing. After every one of those I'm going to take you home with me. Do you know what we're going to do there?"

"Tell me," she whispered; her eyelids heavy and half closed.

"I'm going to take you to bed and it's going to be the most spiritual and erotic thing I've ever done," he said.

His hand was on the bare skin of her tummy and he was tracing designs around her little navel. She watched, paralyzed, as it moved up over her ribs and onto the material of her bikini, the contrast between his tanned white hand and her dark caramel skin made her shiver. His finger traced around one prominent nipple and she shuddered. His touch was so gentle and loving, like nothing she had ever experienced before. She was very horny and it had been a long time since she wanted someone like she did Greyson. She wanted him to fuck her! The desire washed over her and she pressed her hand on his, pulling it firmly into the breast he was teasing.