I looked out at the thrashing seas. It was really starting to churn out there, and the skies were darkening ominously. Any good riding waves were long gone. Maybe it would have been better to evacuate, I thought. There was no one else on the beach, and maybe no one on the whole peninsula, for all I knew. Then I saw the lone car coming toward me, its shape almost obscured by the blowing sand. I thought I knew who it was.
Sure enough, it was the police. The loudspeaker blared unreasonably loud. "You, there," it said. "You have been ordered to evacuate. Please exit the beach immediately, and head for the mainland."
I squinted at the windows, but I couldn't make out whether there was one officer in the car, or twenty. The salt spray had made them semi-obscure. I waved at the car and turned toward the approach, fighting to keep my surfboard from being blown out of my hands. As I glanced back, I saw the car slowly following me up the beach ramp. I walked back to it, and waited for the window to come down. It dropped an inch.
"I'm having a little trouble with the wind," I said to the officer, whose eyes peered at me from the tiny opening he had created. He looked at me like he didn't believe me. Suddenly, the wind reversed, and my board smacked the patrol car just behind his door.
"Get in," was all he said. I opened the rear door and fought to get the surfboard lined up to go in.
"HEY!"
I felt the nose of my board contact something, and a girl leaned across the seat toward me. "You trying to kill me with this thing?" she yelled, then took hold of the rails and pulled it in across her lap. I jumped in, and the wind slammed the door shut behind me.
"Sorry," I offered, and smiled at her. She smiled back, and I couldn't help but notice how cute she was. She was young, probably about 20, and had long sun-streaked blonde hair, loosely tied with a half dozen little scrunchies of various colors. Freckles on her cheeks, green eyes, and the whitest teeth I had ever seen completed the picture. My smile immediately increased. "What's your name?" I asked.
Before she could answer, the police officer in the front seat said, "Non-evacuee, just like yours." I rolled my eyes upward, and she giggled.
"Yep," she said. "That's me. Ol' Non-evacuee. Your parents run out of normal names, too?"
I liked her immediately. "No, my mom worked for FEMA," I deadpanned, "and that was the only name approved by the agency. That, and Catastrophic."
She giggled again, a child-like and yet somehow sexy little laugh. Then, seemingly embarrassed, she turned and looked pensively out her side window. I took the moment to look more closely at her.
She wasn't the snappiest dresser. She wore a pair of sweat- pants and a baggy military-style jacket. Not exactly the Hilfiger or ENYCE I would have expected someone of her age to be dressed in, but somehow it worked for her. Well, I had on just a pair of baggies and a torn long-sleeve t-shirt, so who was I to criticize?
"Where are you taking us?" she suddenly asked of our driver. He gave no immediate answer, and I realized he was listening to his police radio. The call was giving out information about some other people who apparently hadn't evacuated as ordered, but they were in the next community up the coast.
"The local hospital," he said, satisfied that he wouldn't have to take the call. "They're the designated shelter for this area. You ever think about listening to the radio when there's a hurricane approaching?"
"Cumberland, or Holy Trinity?" I asked. I hoped it wasn't Trinity. My mother had taken me there once when I broke my arm, years ago, and I had a bad reaction to the tetanus shot they had given me. I hadn't been back there in over 40 years. Superstitious, I guess.
"It'll be Cumberland," he informed us. "Trinity's evacuated." I thought about this for a moment. It must be a bad one, I realized, to evacuate a 150-bed hospital! Guess I should pay more attention to the news from now on. I glanced over at the girl, and she was looking at me, with a worried look in her eyes.
"Stacy," she said.
We were let out at the entrance to the hospital, and ordered to register at the front desk, in order to be given a place to sleep. As we entered, I was amazed at the sheer number of people inside. They lined both sides of the main corridor, most clutching pillows and bags of food and belongings. I was asked to leave my surfboard in a room behind the desk, which I reluctantly did. We registered, were shown into some kind of conference room with the chairs stacked against one wall, and chose a section of the floor upon which to sleep. Then we got these thin mattresses from a stack and laid them down.
"Well, I guess this is home," I said to Stacy, propping myself up on one arm on the mattress. It actually wasn't too bad; not as lumpy as the bed in my apartment.
Stacy settled onto her pallet with a skeptical look on her face. "I'd rather be home," she said, and she looked suddenly very young and scared. I asked her where home was, and she told me, "A long way from here." Then, after some gentle prompting, she began to talk, softly.
Over the course of the next hour, she told me about how she came to leave home, how she met up with some other girls, and how together they shared an apartment. The others had fled back to their homes and their parents when the evacuation order came out, but Stacy had burned that bridge, so she decided to ride the storm out.
"Then that cop saw me outside, and ordered me into the car," she said. "I knew I shouldn't have gone out, but I wanted to watch the ocean."
I told her I had wanted to ride the storm surf, so I hid out in the dunes until all the traffic had gone. Then I snuck down the beach a ways, looking for a good place to go out, but the waves kept getting more and more angry, and I began to realize I was too old to do battle with that kind of ocean.
"In fact, I think I aged a couple of years, just looking at those waves," I laughed. "I never was a big-wave rider."
I noticed she was studying my face thoughtfully. "How old are you?" she asked. "And by the way, just what is your name?"
"Oh, sorry, it's Brad," I answered. "And I'm old enough to be your father." Damn, I thought, that was a stupid thing to say!"
She smiled, however, and said, "I doubt that."
This girl knew just what to say! And suddenly I felt younger again, just as I did when out riding the waves. Young girls, I thought, and the sea: Now, that was a formula that could keep you young forever!
We talked into the evening, me telling her about my breakup with my former wife and my subsequent life as a nomadic carpenter, making just enough money to live, and living to surf; she telling me about her own life since leaving home, how she had been living with two card-carrying lesbians and one religious fanatic, and more. As she talked, it seemed to me that she was really struggling with her sexuality as of late. She haltingly told me about having become sexually intimate with each of the two lesbians. They had at first fought over her, until she decided she was in love with each of them, and convinced them of the fact that they could share her. It had progressed from there, until she had become something that they used now, more than loved. She admitted that she still actually kind of enjoyed it, and yet she had the same old sexual urges she had always had, and wished for a steady boyfriend.
"But you're so cute," I offered. "You must have guys standing in line outside your door." I know I would have gladly stood in that line!
"Yeah, guys," she said slowly. "But, decent guys, guys you want to spend more than one night with…" She seemed lost in thought. Finally she said, "Guys like you, who will listen, and who seem to care about what I think, those are hard to find."
I cracked a smile. "Hey," I joked, "I just want to hear more about what those girls have been doing to you!"
She laughed out loud at that, and shook her head. "I may tell you one day, but for now I prefer to let you use your imagination." I didn't tell her, but my mind had been quite active, lately! I had already imagined her in half a dozen different scenarios. Nothing like the thought of two women going at it, to fire up a man's lust! Well, her mood had brightened considerably lately, as if she were glad to have that particular burden off her shoulders. We talked until mealtime.
After we ate, they told us were free to use the resident's showers, and gave us towels. I joined the men in the west wing, and Stacy traipsed off with a bunch of the females to the showers at the far end of the main building. I was clean, shaven, and feeling alive again when she got back. As she entered the conference room, though, every eye went to her.
She had evidently been wearing only a tiny blue bikini under those baggy sweats and camo jacket, and that was all she wore when she returned, cradling her other clothes in her arms. Her long blonde hair had been shampooed, and was now loose. It fell in wild damp waves across her shoulders and down her back. She looked at me and smiled, and those teeth shone like pearls against her tanned face. All conversation had stopped, and someone at the far end of the room whistled softly.
"Oh my god," she gushed, dropping her clothes onto her bedding and lowering herself to her knees on the mattress. "I feel so much better!"
I tried to keep my eyes off her lean, tanned body, but it was no use. "You certainly look great," I said, stating the obvious. I was once again imagining her with her two lesbian roommates. In my mind at the moment, she was caught in a tug-of-war between two expertly-wielded strap-on cocks, the blue bikini top rolled up over those perky breasts, the bottoms stretched tightly between her knees. I could see her face, contorted in pleasure.
Whoa, I told myself. Let's keep some control, here!
We immediately renewed our conversation from before, this time focusing on my younger days, and we talked until someone came and turned off the lights.
"Well, goodnight," I said, as she pulled a sheet up over her shoulders, and she smiled over at me.
"No kiss?"
I didn't know if she was joking or not, but I leaned over her, and she opened her mouth as I placed mine over hers. Her tongue lightly touched my lips, and she sighed. Then she rolled over, saying, "Don't let the bedbugs bite." I drifted off, smiling smugly to myself. Of course, I dreamed about her.
