I took regular long walks after Rita left. Along river banks, around the bay, down country lanes, occasionally through the throngs of people in the city centre. For the first month my mind was closed to everything around me. But gradually the cry, "Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!" stopped running through my head. At work I buried myself in the copywriting for the advertising firm I worked for. Sometimes I could do this work at home and this gave my scope for daytime walks. Relaxing at home I either read or watched occasional television. In both cases I avoided love scenes.
In time my thinking became one of relief. Relief that, in spite of ten years together, we had never married or had children. It was bad enough that she had just upped and took off with a guy who had a bank balance that could have bought a battle fleet, but her final barb had taken a long time to throw off.
"It's not the money, Chris. Gordon makes me explode."
"Didn't I have that effect on you?"
"Only occasionally."
"So all those other bodily spasms were play acting?"
"It's different with Gordon."
I was angry enough to want to slap her. But I didn't. I'd always considered myself a considerate lover, once I'd learned the ropes. To be compared unfavourably hurts. So I was satisfied to put her betrayal down to the money..
Even when my initial wrath subsided I continued to take my long walks. So it was that sunny Thursday afternoon that I found myself on the promenade above the small bay I usually skirted..
It being such a fine day I was surprised to find the beach fairly quiet. A walk along the water's edge seemed appealing. So I started down the steps.
As I descended I picked out a couple of small family clusters, with kids running in and out of the sea, flicking water at each other. Why weren't those kids at school? Further away near the rocks a stout man in shorts was standing at the water's edge as though daring himself to plunge in. A couple of lovers were further back, he leaning against a rock, she in a bikini, with her bare back snuggled against his chest. Ah, yes, I remember it well!
More centrally a blonde haired lady in a bikini lay on her front, head to one side, and even from this distance I could see the large sunglasses she was wearing. As I reached the sand I also noticed that she had unhooked the bra to ensure an overall back tan.
My feet sank into the dry sand and I made a beeline for the tidal mark that was the beginning of the harder sand for easier strolling.
My route took me towards the prone blonde lady. Not deliberately, just chance. And such chances sometimes govern the events of our lives.
As I neared the blonde two of the kids playing in the sea, came racing up the beach yelling at each other. And I saw that the splashing they had been doing in the sea had been with water pistols.
I don't know whether it was by accident or on purpose but they stopped on either side of the blonde Wincing, I could see exactly what was going to happen. Maybe I could have called out a warning, but if I was wrong, my efforts could be misunderstood.
Sure enough the boys turned to each other, and opened fire. I wasn't surprised to see their ammunition fall well short of their respective targets, and splash across the bare back of the sunbather. I was only a couple of metres away as, with a cry, she lurched up from the shock of the cold water, without any immediate thought of cover. So, for a brief instant, I found myself viewing a neat pair of pink tipped breasts. The kids had raced away to the haven of the family group.
In spite of the sunglasses I knew she was aware that I had observed her revelations, and in an effort to be gallant, I smiled, shrugged and said, "If you've seen one you've seen them all."
Scrambling to refit her bikini top, she gasped, "Yes, but I've got two."
A cool response in the circumstances I thought, as she sat back with her legs tucked under her. I sensed, in spite of the massive eye-shades, that she was staring at me, and her next words startled me.
"Chris?--Is it--?" And as she spoke she removed the sunglasses revealing the light blue eyes, which along with the faint smile of recognition on those full lips, lit up her face in a way that the years had not disguised.
"Linda? My God, it is you." My mind was instantly churning up long dead images. I had actually stroked those breasts. But recalling the events of last time we met made me cringe a little. "You've hardly changed."
Okay. Maybe there were a couple of lines around those eyes, but nothing that impinged on the overall appeal of her appearance.
She came quickly to her feet, revealing her flat belly and curvaceous waist.
"Now stop the exaggeration. It was fourteen years ago. But you look good."
"What happened to America?" I asked.
"Long story," she said, her face darkening just a little, the eyes becoming more hooded.
Trying to untangle my meshing thoughts I said, indicating the café at the back of the beach, "Should we have a coffee?"
"Just let me get dressed," she said, reaching for a pair of jeans that lay on her towel.
"I'll go and order---latte, isn't it?"
Her smile was as welcome as the cooling breeze, "You remember!"
"Well, it was only fourteen years ago."
"Unsweetened," she added as she began stepping into her jeans.
"Ah, some things do change, then."
"Have to take care," she laughed, patting her midriff.
That kind of care was certainly working, I thought, as I hurried up the beach. Her figure was absolutely stunning. More shapely and curvaceous than I remembered it. And those lips. Oh, yes, those lips. The first lips to close, ever so briefly, around my erect penis.
Seated at a table overlooking the beach, I could watch Linda packing up her gear. Admiring her lithe movements, I unwillingly recalled the shame of that last time we had together.
We had begun seeing each other in the latter months of High School. Nervous dates, uncertain kisses. We were two virgins on the brink of a life's promise. In those first months we had built a close bonding. Our interests were similar. We went to movies, talked about books or sports, enjoyed walks in the country. Yet our physical intimacies were slow and tentative. She had informed me from our early days together that she was determined to keep her virginity until she was twenty one. She had no specific reason.
"It's just a whim," she had said. "When it happens it will be a big occasion"
