Part 3, Butterfly Cove
The week after my trip with Delilah and her children to the waterpark was one of the longest fucking weeks I've ever had to endure. It was almost like I was stuck in a time vortex. The workload at my job seemed to increase exponentially as we neared the deadline of a major construction and the pressure from the client was building. I spent my days in and out of meetings with clients and contractors, management and morons. The days were long enough as it was, but to have the lingering thought of getting to massage one of the sexiest women I had ever known, just made the week drag by.
It had been a while since I'd given a girl a massage but I was quite confident with the informal training I had been given a few years prior. Her name was Cari; a yoga instructor I had met through the social running group I was a part of. It was a motley collection of people that showed up every Saturday morning by the park on the lake to run circuits of a course set up by the club members.
Some people trained to reach personal goals and some just came along to socialise. I mainly did it to keep my fitness levels up after leaving the army, but I also wound up helping out others where I could.
The club was made up of people from almost every socio-economic background that you can imagine. There were teachers, mechanics, electricians, a couple of doctors of varying specialties, sales people, research scientists, a professional ballet dancer (with whom I'd had no luck flirting with when I met her) and almost every other job in between. There was even an old magistrate who ran with us every Saturday without fail.
On this particular Saturday there was a yoga teacher.
I didn't actually notice her when she arrived at the start of the session. She was introduced to me by the club president.
"Sean, I'd like you to meet Cari." He announced, walking towards me with her in tow. "She's the daughter of an old friend of mine and has just moved up from down south. I thought I'd introduce you since you seem to know quite a few people."
"Hey Cari," I said, and I shook her hand as she offered it to me. "It's nice to meet you."
"You too" she said with a wry smile. Her big green eyes were strikingly captivating.
I was actually surprised I didn't notice her when she had arrived. She didn't exactly stick out from the crowd, but she definitely had a certain energy and presence about her. She almost glowed. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a small ponytail but I could see that it hung in cute little curls, probably to just below her shoulder. A couple of stray ringlets framed her heart shaped face that was lightly peppered with small freckles, although still noticeable on her pale skin. Her lips were slight but not too thin and a subtle rose colour.
Tall and slender, she stood perhaps only a few inches shy of 6 feet, and whilst her bust was not overly prominent, she was shapely and proportionate. She had what I considered to be a very natural body. It was a refreshing change to all the immaculately sculpted figures I had seen at my local gym which, whilst pleasant to look at, still seemed a bit false and unnatural. I most certainly preferred toned to muscular.
Although her clothing was quite practical for running, it also complemented her quite well. The emerald green singlet brought out the green of her eyes and her coordinated running skirt really highlighted her long slender legs. Again, whilst not overly muscular, she was quite toned.
I also detected a slight accent but couldn't quite put my finger on it straight away. I was quite intrigued by it; a sexy accent was definitely a plus as far as I was concerned. There's nothing quite as sexy as a woman begging you to fuck her in her sexy foreign accent. Spanish is a particular favourite of mine. (Remind me to tell you about Gabrielle one day.)
We got talking on our run and discovered that we shared some common interests such as our fitness and health, as well as a love for hiking and the beach. She was quite intelligent and engaging, and after pressing her a bit, she revealed that she had actually trained formally as a physiotherapist but her work was less satisfying than she had thought. She had also trained as a yoga teacher as a means of paying her way through university but discovered that she quite enjoyed the natural aspects of yoga more than the work of her profession. Although she had only moved from overseas a couple of years ago, she had since established a respected trade combining the technical knowledge of physiotherapy with yoga as a means of preventive care. Massage, she informed me, was a critical aspect of the process.
"Your accent is quite interesting," I remarked as we arrived back at the club starting point. It had been bugging me throughout the run, but I was confident that I knew exactly where she was from.
We began walking straight to the water stand to get a drink. It was a warm morning and we were both sweating profusely.
"Can you pick it?" She enquired, coquettishly. "No man in this country has every guessed correctly." She added, partially raising an eyebrow.
"Ooh," I replied with mock insult, "That sounds like a challenge. Care to make it interesting?"
"Meaning?" She asked.
"Meaning that if I can correctly guess where you are from, you'll agree to go on a date with me." I answered.
"Ok, but if you're wrong...." She raised her hands to her shoulders, palms facing upwards, and shrugged, suggesting dire consequences if I wasn't correct.
I should perhaps explain that I am in no way a language expert. I just have a good ear for accents.
"Alright then," I said, and started to analyse her accent for her. "To start with, you definitely have the hint of the Northern American twang, but you're not American."
"That's a good start." She replied, and reached for a plastic cup from the trestle table already filled with water. "That's where most guys fail."
"And that's where I'll succeed," I thought to myself. I continued with my analysis.
"The thing that started to make it a bit clearer was when I really noticed was your pronunciation of the word 'start'. It had a bit of a rounded feel to it, very much like the Scottish."
She raised her eyebrow at me and a smirk escaped the corner of her mouth. I was definitely on the right track.
"But you're not Scottish."
Her grin widened. I knew I had this one in the bag.
"If I had a gun to my head, which in essence I do," I said with a grin, "I'd say you're from the Maritimes of Canada. My guess is that you're from Newfoundland."
She raised her eyebrow at me once more and smiled.
"Very impressive," she commented, flashing me a grin. "You win. I accept your invitation to dinner."
"I never mentioned dinner," I replied. "I said 'a date'. I have something much more fun in mind. Are you free tomorrow?"
"Sure."
"Ok, I'll meet you here tomorrow morning at 9am. Bring a bikini and a towel."
"Where are we going?" She enquired.
"A little place I know called Butterfly Cove." I replied, and winked at her.
There was no mistaking Cari when I turned into the parking area that morning.
She was wearing very short cut off denim shorts and a short white crocheted tank top revealed her toned midriff. A large floppy straw sun hat adorned her head, slightly shrouding her face. She presented an image of sophistication, style and class.
We drove to a secluded little beach not far from where I lived. I had heard about this beach through people I knew at work but I had never been to it myself. I just never had much opportunity or reason to go and I wasn't the kind of guy that frequented secluded beaches alone. That just seemed a bit creepy. From what I'd heard though, it was quite a beautiful beach and there was a good chance that it would be deserted.
We pulled into the car park and found a nice spot close to the track.
"It's only a short walk just beyond that small peninsular," I explained, pointing to an outcrop of land only a few hundred meters away. I followed the directions given to me by a work colleague and we began walking along the main path that led down to a major patrolled beach. At the first bend I noticed a smaller path heading off to the left away from the patrolled beach. This was definitely the path.
A small weather beaten sign warned of some indecipherable danger but it was apparent that many people had ignored it. The track was merely a thin beaten path through the dense scrub but it was the only one I could see. I stepped over the small log that had obviously been placed as a visual deterrent rather than a viable protective barrier across the thin path.
We had only been walking for a few minutes when the track began to widen and the path's solid foundation started giving way to soft golden sand. The vegetation was still quite dense but although we couldn't see the beach, we could hear the small rolling waves as they splashed up against the beach. We rounded a small bend and the beach magically unfolded before us. We both stood there for a moment and admired the scene.
It was spectacular.
The beach spread across a small bay nestled between two sizable outcrops of land, which stood as sentinels guarding the bay. At a slight angle from the prevailing [waves],
We had emerged towards one end of the beach.
We noticed quite quickly that we didn't have the beach to ourselves. About 100m to our left at the far northern end of the beach nestled up near the large protruding boulders was a sole sunbather. From where we stood, it was apparent that she was completely naked, although I couldn't see a great deal of detail. Cari looked back at me and smiled.
