I Could Be Anyone

I met him on the beach.

I'd managed to steal a couple of hours sleep on the sand in the narrow shadow of the sea wall and I still lay in that half-dazed place between sleep and waking. Lying supine in a black bikini, leaning back on my elbows, knees bent, toes digging into the soft, cool sand, I watched people swimming in the sea and baking in the afternoon sun.

A group of British men played soccer with a brightly colored beach ball, their taunts and shouts flattened by the low rumble of the waves and the traffic above the sea wall. A couple of children squealed as they battered their hands into the thin film of water from a receding wave, sending sand and spray above their heads.

The beach ball bounced past me and settled in the nook below the wall. One of the Brits came over to fetch it. He half-jogged, barefoot in the soft sand, his body browned by the sun and toned by countless hours in some soulless gym. He paused beside me, as if to catch his breath in the shade. He looked down on me and smiled. He had a strong jaw and his eyes glittered with warmth as easily as the sunlight reflected off the sea. He reminded me of California, a string of metal and shell beads at his throat, his hair spiked and dark with sea water.

I guessed that the ball didn't land behind me by chance, as rather than collect it, he started talking to me. His name was Hector, from Newquay. I smiled. I gave up my name, but I think he misheard and called me Pêtra. He assumed I was Dutch and I didn't correct him. For all his casual friendly banter I could see he was slightly nervous, I suppose not without reason. I smiled in the right places and said nothing.

His friends grew impatient; he found little excuse to stay and so he returned to them, although he almost forgot the ball. On his return his friends, in the way the British do, teased and taunted him. I guess they assumed that I couldn't hear them. They played on and I watched. Every few minutes his eyes would drift over to me; he tried to hide it, but it only served to telegraph his stolen glances.

It wasn't long before I became restless. I sipped some warm water from a plastic bottle and slipped it into my bag. I stood and dusted the dry sand from my legs. The beach curved round for over a mile in either direction, thronged with people and burning in the hard sun. The heat haze hung on the white sand, merging the surf with the shore, the shore with the sky.

I walked down to where the waves turned back to the sea, the compacted sand cool and wet. The breakers rolled in across the huge bay and wore away to a soft lapping that splashed my shins and tangled strands of kelp between my toes.

Hector caught up, falling in step beside me. Did I have some place I needed to be? No, not really. He offered me a drink, I accepted. We wandered up along the beachfront and found a café bar. He pretended not to gaze long the lines of my bikini. I pretended to be interested in his windsurfing story.

I glided through the small talk, smiling and quipping one line jokes, without ever saying a word about myself. He offered to buy me dinner. I paused, as if considering it. My stomach growled at me at just the idea of food, I'd not eaten much the last two days. I waited though. One second. I couldn't let him see how much I wanted it. Two seconds. Besides he'd be more pleased to take me if he thought he'd won against the odds, no need to be too easy. I bit my lip as though considering my options. Three seconds is a long time to wait, a long time for him to be left hanging, a long time for me to pretend I wasn't hungry. I'd go to dinner with anyone that asked me. I smiled. Sure, why not?

He needed to meet back with his friends and so we met again in the early evening. We'd both taken the opportunity to pull on some jeans. He'd spent a while messing up his hair to make it look like he'd not bothered to prepare. I could smell the tang of his aftershave hanging like bitter-sweet fruit in the air around him. He picked a restaurant on the north shore, up above the beach. The tiled terrace offered a view of the setting sun and we watched the lights flicker on along the beach as the day darkened.

I ate linguini and concentrated on not making a mess. My first hot food this week but I forced myself to eat slowly, casually, as though listening to Hector's soothing banter was more important than something as trivial as food. He ordered a bottle of wine and I probably drank most of it. He ordered another.

When pressed, I talked about the sea, about the stars, rather than talking about myself. I watched the way the candle on the table played in the reflections of his eyes. The way his smile spread over his face like sunlight. I said things to make him smile, and when he smiled, I found I smiled too.

He said he'd seen a nice looking bar, up on the hillside overlooking the bay. I said it sounded great and I finished the wine. We walked up in the darkness, his endless chatter about everything and nothing filled the spaces between the buildings like warm foam. The wine left me heady and light on my feet.

The bar clung to the side of the cliff and we walked out onto a rickety balcony, supported only by narrow wooden uprights that leaned dramatically over the steep, stony descent. He bought drinks, vodka shots and beers, and we stood out on the edge of the balcony, defying the vertigo. I climbed out over the rail and leaned back out over the drop. He was terrified, but he hid it well.

He pleaded with me to get back on the safe side of the guard rail and I teased him by hooking my feet under it so that I could lean back over the drop with no hands. He looked like he might panic, so I climbed back over into the bar and finished my drink. I let him put his arm round me and we both giggled, him with relief, me just happy and drunk.

We danced to the music, pumped out from rough, tinny speakers and drank beer from the bottle. I tossed a bottle off the balcony and watched it spiral down to spray in brown glitter somewhere in the rocks below. He gave me a disapproving look and I laughed and kissed his cheek. His jaw was sharp with stubble and pricked at my skin. I breathed in his perfume and the underlying whispers of his sweat.

The dancing became little more than swaying, standing close together. I rested my head on his shoulder and let the music flow over me. He nuzzled against me and ran his fingers through my hair. I turned my face up to look at him and he gazed into my eyes. He leaned to kiss me and I let it happen. His lips pressed on mine gently, just for a second or so, and then he retreated again. He searched my face for a signal and I couldn't help but smile.

His hand came up to cup my jaw, tender and just a little bit hesitant, his fingers on one cheek, and his thumb on the other. He leaned in and kissed me again a bit harder; his lips parted just a fraction. I took a step back and he followed me, keeping close. I didn't pull away, but I moved backwards, leading him by the mouth until my ass hit the rail. I stopped dead and as he moved forward he found himself pressed right up against me. I took a breath and his tongue pushed into my mouth.

I took his face in my hands and kissed him back, licking and biting at his lip. His hand slipped down to my shoulder, a thumb pressing my throat. He moved his hips back away from me to avoid rubbing his hard-on against me, but his mouth continued to push at me, hungry and raw.

I put my hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him back hard enough that he stumbled a step or two to keep his balance. I put my hands on the top of the rail and caught my breath. His expression flickered between hope and loss, guilt and lust. Had he come on too strong and put me off? Was I teasing? Was I upset? I let it linger, the confusion in his eyes cut into me and I could have loved him then. I let the smile into my eyes, curling the corner of my lip. I stepped up to meet him and put a finger on his lips. Yes. But not here.

I left him waiting at the door while I fetched a car. He hesitated at the passenger door; he insisted that I was too drunk to be driving. I told him I was going and he could stay here if he was too chicken. After a moment of indecision, lust won out over caution and he slid in and put on a seatbelt.

We drove up out of the town on the coast road. He watched me drive like seeing me for the first time. I played with the car, letting the rear drift out on the corners and then snatching it back to rock him in his seat. If he was scared he didn't let it show. I changed gear and then took my hand from the gearstick and placed it between his legs. Driving one handed all the way along the cliff top thrilled me at least as much as it did him. He stroked my leg gently but avoided doing anything that might have put us both in a ditch.

I pulled the car up at a field gate on the top of the bluff and cut the engine. He looked over at me, unsure what to do next. I smiled and got out. He took a moment, but he followed. We stood on the grass close to the edge and looked out to sea. I took a long deep breath of the cool salt air and listened to the gulls keening out in the darkness.

He took my hand and kissed my fingers. I turned into him and pressed my mouth to his. His hands roamed over my body, cupping my breasts and pulling at my hips. I led him back to the car and leaned against the trunk while he pressed himself against me. I tugged at his shirt and ran my hands up inside, over his chest. He pulled it off over his head and threw it aside. I traced the lines of his chest and shoulders, pressing the firm muscles under my palms. I scratched my nails over his tiny little nipples.

He pulled the straps of my vest off my shoulders and I let it slide down my arms exposing my breasts in the starlight. He stood and gazed for a moment, as though in the presence of something holy. He cupped them reverently, running his thumbs on my nipples. I wondered if he expected to find scripture written in brail round my areolæ. I leaned up and kissed him roughly and put my hand up between his legs.

I grabbed him by the hair at the nape of his neck and kept kissing as I pulled his fly open with the other hand. He grabbed at me ineffectually while I closed my fingers round his cock and eased it out of his briefs and then I pushed him away from me to make a little space.

He stood watching me, his jeans open and half off his hips, his cock erect and bobbing gently as he moved. I unbuttoned my fly and put my hand down inside. I bit my lower lip and watched him watching me. I tested along the front of my pussy, dipped my fingertip inside. Then I turned to face the back of the car and pulled down both my jeans and panties to my knees.

I stood still, legs parted as far as I could manage, the jeans taught between my calves. He hesitated. Time hung still and I felt a twinge of nerves. I closed my eyes, as I couldn't see him anyway. I could hear only the wind in the grass, the air moving over my all but naked body. My vest bunched in a band round my hips, my jeans tangling my legs. Come on. Do it.

His feet moved, brushing in the grass. I felt the tip of his cock touch my ass. His hands rubbed round hips and explored up between my legs. I rested my arms on the trunk lid and splayed my fingers out on the rear window. I felt him brush his tip up against my lips, steadying it with his hand. Do it.

He pushed just the tip into me and I arched my back, gasping more from the touch of the cold metalwork on my thighs than his entry. Each thrust came a little deeper as he worked his cock into me. I let my forehead rest on the window and I rocked with him as he got into his rhythm. My tits like ballast, out of time with my hips, my knees tapping on the license plate.

My body knew what to do and so I gave it over to his care. On some level I was aware that I used my legs to push harder against him, arching my back and flicking my hair as he fucked me, but for now, my body was his. I could let it go, no need to worry about it, feed it, clothe it. It was just a body, and I didn't need it.

He'd almost forgotten I was there, I could have been anyone. My face down on the trunk I could have been beautiful, I could have been ugly as sin, and he wouldn't have cared. So long as my pussy was tight about his cock I could have been anyone at all. And so for a while I was truly free; my mind wandered.

I thought of you. I remembered that time you cried after we made love. The look in your eyes as the tears glittered along the edges. You couldn't tell me why and I fell in love with you so hard that I still can't breathe when I think of it.

Behind me, Hector was losing his stroke; he bucked and grabbed at my hips. I wiggled and pressed him, encouraging him to finish. I couldn't say it, but I thought it. Don't wait for me, I'm not coming. Men would like to believe that they can give a girl an orgasm just by going harder and faster. I knew that letting him think he was really pleasing me was the best way to finish him quickly.

He grabbed my hips hard, digging his fingers into my flesh as he pushed in one last time. He twitched as he shot into me, little jerks of his body against my ass. He hung on for few seconds and then slowly released his grip like a dead crab, pried from a rock. Moving real slowly, I slid up and down him a couple of times before I let him withdraw completely.

I turned around and rested back on the trunk. He leaned in and kissed my face, still in a daze. He told me I was so fucking amazing. I thought for a second that he might try to propose. Men say some plenty stupid stuff after sex. I wondered if his sperm carried half his IQ. Not that it'd do me any good, no matter where I take it, I never seem to get any smarter.

He leaned close, his cock, still mostly erect, pressed on my stomach leaving little snail trails on my skin. I rocked my pussy up against it a little, just because it felt good. He rested his forehead on mine and looked into my eyes. I gave him a quick kiss and pushed him off.

I pulled up my jeans and walked to the edge of the cliff. He managed to do his jeans up without getting his cock stuck in the zipper and joined me on the lip of the world. We stood, both topless in jeans, and the night air swept in off the sea, cold and wet, to raise chicken skin on my chest.

I found my vest still looped about my waist and pulled it up onto my shoulders. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over my own throat while pretending it was you. I could feel the pull of the drop below, urging me forward. A hook in the centre of my chest seemed attached to a line that flew a kite out in the darkness, over the waves, tugging at me with every gust of wind. With my eyes closed I could just follow it, step forwards into nothing.

Hector broke my thoughts with a gentle touch on my arm. I looked at him and wondered what he'd do if I jumped. I put my hand on his bare chest and asked him if I could use his shower. He seemed puzzled. I asked him again. All he could really see was that I was inviting myself back to his hotel room. He smiled.

Back at the car, I pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboro Red from my back pocket and tucked one in the corner of my mouth. I stood by the open driver's door; Hector came up by the passenger side. I offered up the pack with a raise of my brows. He shrugged to accept. Perhaps he didn't usually smoke but felt now was a good a time as any to try. I deliberately threw the pack too hard so that it flew past him into the grass. While he was distracted by hunting about for the cigarettes in the dark, I ducked under the steering column and got the car started. Sometimes it's useful to throw like a girl.

I lit the smoke and handed him the lighter as he got in. He put the packet of cigarettes on the dashboard and without actually getting one out for himself. We drove back down along the coast road, he tried to give directions but it became clear that he didn't really know the route. We circled the town while he regained his bearings and then struck out west.

His hotel formed part of the older resorts a couple of miles along the coast from the main beachfront, one of the cheap high-rise block places built at least twenty years ago and aging unromantically. As a group holiday, Hector and his friends had booked four twin rooms, three on the second floor and one on the first. He insisted that he needed to go inside first, presumably to cajole his roommate into one of the other rooms for the night; he didn't want to share me. Or perhaps he'd left his underpants on the floor.

I parked up the car a couple of streets away and wandered back to the hotel where I waited in the lobby for him. The inside of the hotel was much like the exterior, the carpet flattened and balding by the elevator door, the skirting uneven where some electrician replaced them badly. The hallway lights were clear plastic made to look like cut glass tumblers. They had yellowed in the corners.

He returned to the lobby and we went up to his room in silence. He seemed apologetic about the state of the hotel, maybe he assumed that I'd be used to something better. His room was small, enough room for the two single beds and a narrow side table made from pressed woodchip wrapped in vinyl, printed with wood grain. The dim bedside light colored the room like sepia and a single, square window in the far wall was covered by a thin, slate grey roller blind to keep out the glare of a streetlight.

The bathroom door was by the foot of the closest bed and opened into a small cubicle wet-room, a little less than half the size of the bedroom. I held up a finger to indicate that I'd not be long and closed myself inside.

The shower was little more than a metal nozzle set into the tile wall. The floor sloped slightly towards a plastic drain in the middle of the room. I turned on the water, delighted to find that it was both powerful and hot.

I stripped down and got under the water as quickly as I could. The heat of the flow was glorious, washing away days of grime and sweat. I leaned my head back and let the water run over me, almost scalding, raising a flush to my skin, pulling at my hair, and working the knots from my muscles.

Once the initial bliss had subsided, I rummaged through the toiletries that the men had left in the bathroom. I selected a shower gel and spent a few minutes getting properly clean. I washed my hair until the water ran clear. I found a razor and shaved my legs and underarms.

The hotel had supplied small white towels and I used a couple to dry off. The mirror was cracked, made me look gaunt in the yellowed light. I absently wished for a little make up, maybe just some eye shadow and mascara. It's funny how once you start using that stuff you look so terribly human without it. I smoothed the line of my eyebrows with a wet finger.

I stood on one hip and folded my arms over my stomach. I used my upper arms to press my tits together and I gave the mirror a little pout. Hell, I'd fuck me. But then, maybe I'm just not fussy enough. I rolled my shoulders and wiggled my toes. It felt good to be clean and fresh. I hooked the towel over the basin and, leaving my clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor, I walked naked out into the bedroom.

Hector, now wearing a fresh, dragon print shirt, sat on the end of the bed, prodding his cell phone. He glanced up and his body froze. A couple of steps took me right up to him and I plucked the phone from his hand. He watched me with wide, round eyes as I unclipped the back of the phone case and removed the battery with my thumb nail. I dropped the handset one side of the bed, the battery down the other side.

He sat as if dumbfounded, leaning back on his hands, wanting to touch me but not daring to try. He licked his lower lip and remembered to breathe. Sometimes guys are easy to please; just turn up naked.