Every Part of Me

[All characters in this work of fiction are (still) over 18. I should go on to emphasize that this story and its prequel are, as stated, fiction, not a personal experience. Believe me, I wish.]

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I would take that yearly trip to Ocean City with my family one more time before I went off to college in Montana, and time proved me wise; I did not have the lunatic inclination to stride naked down the beach at night once more. That was behind me.

I told you that story to tell you this one.

I grew up. I came back with a career and a life of my own, and one summer, I spent another week in Ocean City. It was with some friends this time, and my boyfriend of the day. I was normal.

We were two days into our week-long stay, I think, when my mind lingered on the memory of that night so long ago. How adventurous I was. It also dawned on me that my mind lingered on it every time I went on vacation to the beach. That night, I decided I missed the old me.

Things are different when you have a career, a relationship, a reputation. I wasn't going to do anything crazy this time. But I did need some time by myself. It was about 1:00 am and I was still awake. Waiting. The time was right and I slipped out from under Calvin, my aforementioned boyfriend, and changed into my swimsuit. I didn't intend to do anything perverted, but I did intend to do some living. No sandals this time, either, I didn't own any then. But I did wear a watch this time.

The beach at night is enough of an excuse for anyone to slip out alone, and it was just as majestic on that night as it ever was. I stood on the shingle, in a one-piece once again, black this time, letting the warm wind blow my hair and the sound of the ocean welcome me back. I skipped sideways down the steep embankment to the sand and made my way out onto the beach.

I still loved it all. I sat on the dark shore and let some waves hit me, walked in defiance of sharp seashells by the water where the sand is firm, and above the tide line where it is soft and tiring to trek. It had been too long. I was out there for hours.

There it was. I realized after walking past it. I approached it, climbed onto it and sat in it. The same lifeguard chair from years before.

Okay, not the same one, they'd probably replaced it at least once or twice since then, but it was outside the hotel I'd been staying at when I'd taken my...stroll. I was so foolish then. I shouldn't have been under it. I should have been sitting on it, watching the moon reflecting on the sea. Or at the very least, storing my clothes in the hatch under the seat, not burying them in the sand. Oh well. I rested my head back.

I'd been sleeping. My watch said it was 3:23 when I looked at it. What a wonderful nap, very zen, but my neck was killing me. The wooden garrett wasn't exactly a Lay-Z-Boy. So I climbed down.

It had gotten cloudy. I found myself watching for holes in the clouds, smiling. I also found myself crossing those alleys of light from the deck of the hotel I'd passed when I'd taken my long walk the first time. My heart jumped each time then too. I'd had enough excitement for one night.

The lights had killed my night vision. So it wasn't until I was in the fourth "alley," the middle out of nine, when I saw there was someone else on the beach with me. She had just stepped into the first lane.

We stood, staring at each other for, oh, I don't know how long. She was slim, a little younger than me. Short blond hair. And from where I was standing, she seemed to be wearing nothing but an anklet.

My heart began racing in a very familiar way. My eyes must have been huge. You'd think it was me being caught. Her mouth was hanging open a little, meeting my gaze, neither of us moving. Until I blinked.

I think it was at that point that I turned and ran. I think she also ran at that point.

I didn't sleep that night. The following morning my boyfriend caught me with my swimsuit still on. I told him where I was (but not what I saw), and of course I was believed. But still. Evidence that my mind was not operating properly.

Everything was wrong. My whole body felt the way it did when I'd gone walking for the first time that overcast night years ago. Stuck that way, every switch active. Heart pounding, sweating, occasionally shivering. Horny. Down to my spine. I was wet the whole day and at all times, but I jumped when anyone touched me, including Calvin. I needed to be alone. I told them I was sick and went back to the hotel while they were still at the beach. I WAS sick. I lay sick to my stomach and bathed in sweat for over an hour before I couldn't take it anymore. I went into the bathroom and stripped my clothes off, looking at myself in the mirror.

I wasn't the same. I'd filled out more. I didn't see myself as particularly attractive before, and now I was approaching my thirties. I was fat now. Old. Decrepit. Was that a gray hair? My hand wasn't listening to my mind's feminine insecurities as it reached for my friend's bikini razor. I couldn't believe what I was doing, but I couldn't stop myself from cleaning up the landscape, trimming it perfectly, like someone who wants to be looked at. I didn't want to be looked at. I'm only 27, but at the time my mind was trying to defend me by making me think I was an old granny. And it wasn't working. I'd soon carved out a fine patch, arrow shaped, pointing the way. I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time.

I think it was then I really gave in. I knew what I had to do. I think I always had. Part of me knew and believed this was a bad idea. But today it had switched places with what had been lying in wait all my life and was now in control. I was going to the beach.

I'd been there for hours. I had gone down to the boardwalk and bought myself a tiny two-piece, the kind that would fly off in a stiff breeze. I wore it down to the water, and lay on a towel with my sunglasses on for the whole world to look at, which they would have, I'm sure. But there was no sun that day. A storm was brewing, and except for a few occasional beach walkers, the place had largely cleared due to the closing of the water. That was fine. Fewer people to wait on when night fell.

By the time it did, there were occasional rolls of thunder. It cleared the beach early. By the time the lifeguards knocked off (and abandoned those lovely chairs of theirs), I was almost completely alone. I'd brought food. I enjoyed it while I waited for night to fall after a long summer day. I didn't even wait for it to get completely dark. I just opened the grocery bag.

I know I said that hiding my bundle inside the lifeguard chair rather than under it would be a good idea. But I felt that to bury it was ceremonial. My towel and meager swimsuit went under the sand. And I started another long walk.

The rush was there again. I was more in control of it this time. Less of it was fear. That was a problem, so I walked more slowly. I knew what I needed. I needed to be seen. I needed to get caught. The girl I saw last night was the object of my deepest envy right now. Realistically she'd never be back to repeat her stunt after last night, but part of me hoped. Even if she did show up, I needed someone to see me. So I glided down the beach in full view of the deserted boardwalk. I was a naked love goddess drifting in the night.

There they were. Some college girls at the rail of the boardwalk, probably drunk. I'm straight, but that didn't matter. I forced myself to slow down. They could surely see something moving in the night. Whether they'd see it was me in my state of undress I wasn't sure, but when I got close enough, I heard one giggle...an excited and hushed exchange...maybe about me? I had to know. I'd been forcing myself to keep my eyes forward, but I slowly hazarded a glance.

They saw me. I could tell they weren't sure what they were seeing, but that some part of them expected the impossible as they squinted in my direction. I gave them a smile. Astonished giggles broke out behind me as I continued.

Oh god yes. It was exactly what I needed. I closed my eyes and savored the feel of their eyes. I wanted to go back. Do things for them, let them see me debase myself with lewd acts for them...but no. One step at a time.

I was already so wet it was running down my thighs, the humidity keeping it from evaporating as it mixed with my sweat. So when I finally saw someone coming the other way, right for me, I could hardly breathe. I tried not to dash to meet them. But I certainly quickened my step. They were coming right for me. My heart beat against my ribs as they came toward me. A woman.

It was her.

We slowed, and slowed some more. We cautiously stopped just far enough apart that if we reached out our hands we could touch fingers. But we didn't.

We looked at each other. I could tell we were having the same feeling. Looking each other over. Being looked over. Both so wet it was covering our inner thighs.

I looked at her short blond hair. Her round breasts and quarter-sized areolae. Her hourglass form, her long legs, painted toenails and hemp anklet. Her erect nipples, parted lips, her shaved pubis and wet, shining thighs.

I displayed my large breasts, pale skin, and long black ponytail. My big brown eyes and D-cup breasts. My erect nipples, parted lips, trimmed pubis and wet, shining thighs.

I'd never considered having sex with a woman. I wasn't considering it now. I didn't know anything about this girl, and she knew nothing of me. We only knew the one trait we were sharing right now.

It started raining. We enjoyed each other's bodies as our skin became slick with rain, savored being seen in such a way. Watching. Watched.

We started walking.

We never touched. When I looked at her, she looked away, surrendering to my eyes. When she looked I also looked away in turn, letting my nudity be hers, loving the way she watched me.

It was in this way we led each other to the lifeguard chair. It was there we had our meeting.

I climbed in under it and sat on one side. She sat on the other.

With sweet relief, I opened my legs for her. In awe, she spread her thighs for me. She touched her breasts. I lifted mine. She gazed into my eyes, mouth open in ecstasy, waiting for consent. My breasts heaved in anticipation as I watched her reach down and gently tease her clit.

I wanted so badly to let her see me masturbating, full on and wanton, show her how I use my fingers on myself. But I let her start. She let out a sound, and I leaned forward, rapt. Then she parted her lips and watched me. It was my turn.

I perched my toes up on either side of the framework, and held my vagina open. I let her look it over and then I began expertly tapping my clitoris, showing her without a doubt that I was, that I am, a perverted woman who loves to masturbate a lot.

She slid two fingers inside herself.

This woman didn't know what I did for a living or how old I was. She didn't know my name or where I grew up. But as the rain thundered on the seat of the chair above us, she learned all the ways I masturbate and orgasm, that I love to stimulate my clitoris, all the sounds I make and how much I squirt. I learned that she likes to put her fingers deep inside her, and that she can't control her legs when she cums. All the things we learn last, if ever, were all we knew. It was what I'd wanted all my life, and it lasted over an hour and a half.

We were sitting on the lifeguard chair for another half hour with the rain pattering lightly on our skin before she spoke. Just hearing her speak made my blood chill, as if it was all going to end then and there just because I knew what words she formed sentences with.

"There's something you should know about me," she said. She absently massaged the rainwater over her breasts.

"I don't...want..." I stammered.

"I know," she said softly. "No names."

I couldn't look her in the eye, but I was listening.

"Please just listen," she said. "It was almost a decade ago, maybe eight years my friends and I came out here on vacation. One night, I couldn't sleep. I looked out my window, and I saw someone."

Impossible. My heart was racing again.

"I was captivated by her. She was beautiful, as she stood there alone on the beach, and she was free in all the ways I wanted to be. And right then I knew what I was. I was like her. And the following night, I took the walk myself."

I was staring out at the ocean, but all I could think of was how close we came.

"And again the next year," she went on. "And several times since then. But after about the third time, I'd given up hope of ever finding you."

We sat in silence for a long time, except for the pounding of my heart and the blood buzzing in my ears.

"...really?" I said at last. She nodded slowly.

It was another long while before I climbed off the chair, and down to the wet sand. I walked out toward the water, a distance comparable to the one she must have been from me when she saw me for the first time, and turned around. I stood with my legs apart, ran my hands through my hair, and let her see. I ran my hands over myself, turned this way and that, showing her everything. She was a dark silhouette in the overcast night, but eventually I could see her legs twitching and hear the noises she made. I teased myself a little, too. I knew it was going to be my turn soon.

Daylight approached. We'd been taking turns enjoying each other, but if we didn't want to go from deviants into criminals, it was time for it to be over. For now.

Maurice Dillonwelder. It was a ridiculous name, but that was the idea. It was the name she gave me to look for on Facebook, a page she'd invent just for me. A false name so I'd never have to learn the real one. I liked that idea. I told her to look for a Graeme Spurious. That was how we'd arrange it. It could be another year. But at least it could still be.

We walked back as dawn approached, and parted ways without a word as the sun broke the horizon.

I'm sure we were seen more than a few times.

I forgot the name.

Within two days of having gotten home, I forgot the name. I think I cried all night.

And it would be six months later before I had the dream. I don't remember what the dream was. But I awoke with the name on dry lips. Maurice. Maurice Dillonwelder. I think I rolled out of bed right on top of my laptop.

Would you believe there's more than one Murice Dillonwelder? I examined them both. One was an obscure band in Bavaria. Their profile picture was an album cover.

The other picture was a lifeguard chair.