Chapter 1 – They Meet
Authors Note:
There is no sex in this chapter. As of this posting, chapter 2 hasn't been written. I want to hear from you, my goal is to become a better writer. Help Me! Specifics are great, you liked this passage or I lost you in that passage etc. I hope you enjoy the story.
The sun touches the horizon setting a flattering rosy glow on the swim-suited beach crowd as they fold chairs, shake towels and prepare to leave with the sun. Sitting atop my surfboard, I rise gently with an ocean swell. I turn my attention back out to sea looking for the wave that will be the last ride of the day.
I spot a pod of dolphins lazily swimming past; occasionally they come to the surface with a puff. I tap my board and sing Marvin Gaye – their favorite artist.
"Woa-oh, mercy, mercy me. Ah, things ain't what they used to be. No. Oil wasted on the ocean and upon our seas, fish full of mercury."
Dolphins being curious are attracted to sound and I've attracted a big one. He swims within ten feet and gives me the one-eye. A one-eye is when they roll slightly to one side and get one big black eye out of the water for a peek.
"Hey bud!" I smile and wave.
One of the other dolphins tosses a cannonball jellyfish five feet in the air with its beak. It hits the water - kerplunk. Apparently, nobody likes jellyfish. I believe this behavior is an aberration, but another dolphin tosses the same jellyfish. Dolphins have a wicked sense of humor.
Besides Marvin Gaye being their artist of choice, Dolphins also herald the approach of a nice set (of waves). My logical mind rebels against such preposterous notions. How can I know what artists dolphins like and how could they possibly predict the approach of good waves? But the gentle sea breeze in my face, the setting sun coloring high cirrus clouds in pinks, reds, and oranges and the impossible grace of swimming dolphins, lull my cold logic to slumber. In warm belief I prepare for the set I can't see yet.
And it comes. Mother (ocean) has been very playful today. The sea breeze gives the waves a slight chop, so I intend to let the first wave pass. This will clear out the mess and give the subsequent wave a deeper drop. Up I float to crest the first swell and get a gander at the second rolling swell.
I say stupid things to myself when I surf. When I choose a wave to go for, I say, 'That's my baby, don't say maybe.' I say this to the coming wave. I face the shore and lean forward lying down on the board. I start to stroke slowly and when I feel the board rise with the swell, I thrust the water back powerfully one-two-three; she has me.
'Pop.' I do a push-up and throw my legs underneath. 'Down-down-down.' Down the wave I charge, accelerating quickly while I peruse the situation - turn toward the break - 'Cut.' I lean heavily into a bottom turn, sending a sheet of water off the edge of the board.
'Up, up, up' I travel up the wave toward the breaking wave shoulder, losing speed all the way. I crest the wave just as it breaks. 'STOMP!' My back foot presses heavily, while the front foot lets up and the board turns on a dime. I feel and hear the breaking wave tap the bottom of my board. I speed away from the breaking shoulder, wind in my hair and the fins slicing through the water sounds like a muffled zipper. 'WOO HOO!'
I ride up and down the wave, pumping it for speed. 'Down in front.' I aim straight toward shore and get out in front of the wave. 'Lay down,' I lie down on the board with my hands stretched out in front clutching the tip. 'Oh take me home baby.' I ride the white water to shore.
I stand in shallow water and tear the Velcro strap that connects the board leash to my ankle. I look out at mother ocean, grinning contentedly while I wrap the leash. I've been playing, exerting - writing in graceful arcs with a trail of bubbles left by fins swiftly slicing through blue-green sea - all day long, and there is absolutely no evidence I've been there at all. I love that! Well, no evidence except what I feel. My joy has swelled pushing the limits of my skin, like if I open my mouth, hysterical laughter will gush out.
Board in hand, I turn from the ocean and notice a woman walking purposefully toward me. She has grace and poise, a certain confidence in her step. She has an even tan that gives her a healthy glow, mind you, not enough to damage skin. There are no lines at the corners of her eyes, unlike me. Mine are caused by a constant sun smile, but her tan didn't come from the sun. She wears a flattering peach two-piece bathing suit that stylishly bridges the gap between sensuality and modesty. Peach sandals casually dangle from two fingers of her right hand. This woman is on societies 'A' list, of which I am not a member.
These A list meetings usually don't bode well for me. It means I've gone and done something utterly thoughtless, like parking my heap near their Shih-tzu's toilet, frightening the dog so badly it can't even piss on my car. Whatever the issue, I wouldn't be approached unless it was perceived as an emergency. These meetings tend to put me on guard. However, my mood is such that I could address a joint session of Congress. I would stand at the podium in my dripping bathing suit bellowing,
"Ladies and gentlemen you're lookin' a bit pasty out there, how 'bout a nice surf session?"
As I walk from the water, she halts just in front of the line of foam left by the last wave. I stop on the other side of the line. I smile warmly and say,
"Hello." I have the board under my arm. She smiles indulgently.
"Hello. I just thought I'd tell you, I love to watch surfers, I find them fascinating." This is all said slowly with just the barest hint of sarcasm. She smiles yet her arresting blue eyes seem hard and cold. She has shiny black hair hanging stylishly to her shoulders. She hasn't been in the water; she doesn't go to the beach to swim in the filthy ocean.
She raises her slender arm and glances at her wrist, but her watch is absent.
"Really, what do you like about surfing?" I ask casually.
"Nothing. I said I like to watch surfers." Her tone mildly scolds, like she is a border collie trying to keep me, the sheep, from wandering off topic. She's mistaken my silly grin for stupidity. I am about to beg off, I don't need to waste my mood on a woman with a stick up her butt. I look into her eyes to speak, and notice a three-inch scar on her forehead above her right eye. It's the mirror image of a three inch scar on my forehead above my left eye. There's just something about that scar marring her perfectly accoutered appearance, 'That's my baby, don't say maybe.'
"What?" She asks shaking her head – rejecting the lunacy spilling from my mouth.
"Nothing," I look deeply into her eyes seeking clues about the source of our scar connection.
"Are you clean?"
"I just got out of the ocean..."
"I mean do you have STDs or anything?" I chuckle, man I got great eye contact.
"Is there some reason you need to know?" I ask.
"That should be obvious." She replies in exasperation.
"No... no STDs. As a matter of fact, with my last check-up I got a bumper sticker that reads 'Penis So Clean, You Can Eat Off It.'" I smile at her thinking surely she'll grin or blush perhaps. Stonily she replies,
"You're funny..."
"Look, do you want to fuck?" She asks belligerently and before I can answer.
"I didn't think it would be difficult to get a man to fuck me. Come on, I have to be a huge step up from the women you've been with. Are you gay or..."
"Yeah, I'll fuck you." I answer shocked but amused.
"Oh, thank you" she says sarcastically and looks at her watch arm again.
"Ya know, I'm startin' to like you." I mean it; she surprises me. She answers with a derisive snort.
"Give it a rest, you don't have to woo me, I already said I'd fuck you."
I chuckle shaking my head.
"I'm glad you think this is funny, but I really don't have that much time. Can we get going?"
"My car is right up here," I say pointing.
"I'll take you to my place, if that's okay with you." She considers only a moment.
"Alright."
Boisterous talk, laughter and the distant applause of crashing waves accompany our walk across the packed sand to my car. We arrive at my rusting '91 Corolla. I sling the board on the roof rack and cinch the straps. She stares at me in disbelief.
"This is your car?"
"Uh huh" I say falling into the towel covered driver's seat. The springs groan in protest. She opens the passenger door, skreeeek, and peers in with wrinkled nose.
"Get in." I say in exasperation.
"Do I need a tetanus shot?" she asks while gingerly seating herself, trying to touch as little as possible.
"Of course not... just don't touch anything metal."
I wiggle the gear shift, pump the gas twice and turn the ignition. She starts right up like always. I put her in gear and she glides over the sand.
Moments later, "I think I made a mistake... let me out." She says frowning at her surroundings. I slow the car. I've been thinking about her motivation for picking me up. I sense she sees the world in black and white. People like that make me wary, as they take one giant leap over all sorts of pesky details. Details like a surfer with a silly grin may not be an idiot.
Nevertheless, she wants to bed me and she doesn't seem the sort to suffer idiots. I don't want to lose her now; I feel tied to her through our mutual scars. I can only think of one motivation that fits the bill, and it's my only card to play. "If you get out now, you won't be able to scratch Payback-Cheatin'-Boyfriend from your to-do list."
I don't take my eyes from the sand; I don't want to get stuck in a soft patch. She doesn't say another word about it, but her intense scrutiny singes the side of my head. I turn onto the access ramp cut through crumbling dunes topped with sea oats, and up onto the paved street.
My logical mind pokes me, dolphin's favorite artist, dolphin's heralding a good set and scars connecting me and...
"What's your name?"
"Ah... Jane."
"How unusual." I grin.
"What's yours?"
"Ah... Matt."
"Very exotic." She says dryly.
"I'm takin' a wild stab here, but is your last name Doe?"
"Wow, are you a mind reader?" She says with mock enthusiasm.
"Yes." I say without hesitation.
"What am I thinking now?" She replies with a smirk.
"It's too insulting to repeat."
"You ARE a mind reader."
I pull into my busy garage: kayaks and surfboards hang from the rafters, Tools spread over benches and plastic bins filled with assorted oddities. She gets out of the car and looks around.
"I hope the rest of your house isn't like this."
"It is."
"Cleanliness is next to Godliness," she says looking at her watch-less arm.
"I haven't heard that before."
"Well it's true," I stop at the door from the garage to kitchen and peruse her skeptically.
"Have you been to a God's house?"
"Don't be stupid."
"That's what I was gonna say, then I decided to be more polite." I say in consternation.
