All of my writing is fiction, and the characters are products of my imagination. All characters that need to be are 18 years of age or older. Comments are always very welcome and carefully reviewed.
Dirty Sheets doesn't sound very romantic, but they, along with Lisa's words, turn out to be a key to opening Eric's mind and allowing all his doubts to escape
* * * * *
The white BMW X5 slowed, stopped to wait for the traffic to clear, then quickly turned left onto the short causeway that led to Whitworth Island. Slowing again, it turned right into the gravel parking area and pulled into the first available spot closest to the dune. It stopped, and the engine shut off.
Inside, Wilma carefully picked up the rather large canvas bag she had brought, checked the surprisingly modest bikini she had worn, which didn't matter that much anyway, slipped off the very gauzy and nearly transparent cover-up she had worn while driving, and stepped out of the car. She locked the doors and put the car keys, as she still called them even though they were annoyingly all electronic, carefully into the little pocket with the zipper that was on the inside of the bag. It annoyed her to have to keep reaching into the bag and undoing the zipper, so she left it unzipped. She crunched through the gravel till she reached the steps that carried her up over the dune. Her flip-flop caught on the top step, throwing her forward, and her frantic grab of the handrail was the only thing that saved her from a rather embarrassing tumble down the far side. Luckily, the flying bag had not spewed out any of its contents and she was able to go down the steps on that far side, gather up the bag and hope her plight had been a private one.
'
But the incident pissed her off no end since the people who owned the island should realize that people would be wearing flip-flops and climbing steps in them wasn't easy. It was just simple common sense -- she hated the lack of common sense in anyone, and particularly in a business. She made a mental note to contact them during the next week about doing something to fix that if only cutting a notch through the dune, which she suspected might be illegal. Just something so you didn't have to use the steps. Ramps, maybe, anything! She hated to have her day ruined, or nearly ruined at least, by plain stupidity.
At the small kiosk, still slightly shaken, she paused, took a small plastic card from the unzipped pocket, and angrily jammed it into the card reader. In an instant, it buzzed, a green light turned on, and she could hear the gate unlatch. She jerked the card out of the reader and stuck it back in the little pocket.
She pushed the gate open, hoping what had happened wasn't a bad omen for her Saturday, stepped inside, and bent to take off her offending flip-flops, as she loved walking barefoot through the soft sand, even though it was a little hot already today. She would have to step lively to keep from burning her feet. She passed the concession stand and forced a smile at the girl behind the counter, knowing she'd almost certainly be back to see her a little later. Ahead of her stretched a lot of soft sand, and, further down toward the ocean, the now bare and hard sand of the low-tide exposed beach. And, there were people, of course. Not as many people as were there some Saturdays which was fine with her, although sometimes she actually enjoyed the larger crowd. A short walk and she selected a spot, took her towel from the bag and spread it carefully on the sand, and sat down. She sighed, and reached around behind her, untying the straps holding the bikini top in place. She let the two shoulder straps slide down her arms, then took the top and folded it neatly before stowing it carefully in the bag.
Wilma was on WI1, as it was called, the first section of Whitworth Island and beach. It was generally referred to as "clothing optional," but that was a little bit of a euphemism as what it actually meant was women were allowed to be topless there. Actually, there was really no "clothing optional" area as WI2 was totally nude as was, of course, WI3, where she had never been. But she was content right here for a while, letting the sun beat down on her body, and particularly her breasts.
Since it was a sweltering day, she didn't want her shoulder-length, fairly dark brunette hair touching her shoulders, so she gathered it together high up on the back of her head, took the elastic band from the bag, and snugged it around the hair making a cute little ponytail. Next came the sunscreen, which she applied fairly liberally to every bit of skin that showed, particularly to her breasts which she knew were nice but certainly not spectacular. However they were, they didn't get quite as much time out in the light as most of the rest of her. Despite her trying to be as careful as possible, as she brushed over her nipples, they immediately sprang to life, as they often did. Here, that was okay, but other times she had to be a little more careful as they could almost have a mind of their own. When she was at work, that could be a problem for sure. She also hated smelling like coconut, so her sunscreen was odorless and didn't mask the aroma of the cologne she loved to wear. And, sitting there glistening like she knew she was doing only made her more watchable, and she did like being watched. Later she was sure she'd move to WI2, where she'd have to use a little more sunscreen, but she was satisfied just to relax here now. She might get a snack and something to drink before she'd move. So, best to stay put for a while. She tightened the band on the ponytail one more time.
She heard the voice before she saw the speaker and was annoyed even before she turned her head.
"Hey, babe. You here by yourself?"
When she looked, there were two of them, smug smiles on both faces, each looking too predatorial for her Saturday morning.
She looked from one to the other.
"Yep, and going to stay that way too." The cold look in her eyes left no doubt as to the seriousness of her response.
"Bitch," one snapped at her as they walked away.
She'd been called a bitch before, but it was usually in her work environment. She had to smile when they were out of sight. She had wanted to say "assholes" in her response but had managed to hold back.
Sighing, she lay back on the towel, her arms straight out from her sides, her legs spread just enough to be a little alluring without actually showing anything just yet. The warmth of the sun, the feel of the gentle sea-breeze, and the faint murmur of voices were very relaxing, something she needed on her Saturdays, particularly after her brief "incident."
She lay that way for maybe 10 minutes before she decided to sit up and do a little people watching herself. It was always interesting to see the topless women and, of course, compare a little but mostly just fantasize about who and what they were and why they were here. She'd always enjoyed trying to figure out and understand people and had found, over time, that she was pretty good at it. Here, all she had was what she could see, but she still enjoyed the speculating. She did the same at airports, just here, there were a lot fewer clothes, and it was a lot more fun.
Still amused by her game, she tightened the band on the ponytail one more time when she became aware of a male figure that seemed to be heading straight for her. Her body tensed, and "not again" echoed in her brain. She didn't need two incidents on the same day, and "asshole" was still resting on the tip of her tongue. She was here to be seen and not to be bothered, damn it. But continue on, he had, and now he was stopped right in front of her.
"Hi," he said, a huge smile on his face. A smile that not only took in his whole face but that came at her from his eyes as well.
Despite what her brain was telling her and that word that was on the tip of her tongue, she actually couldn't help being drawn to the smile as it was surprisingly warm and just friendly looking.
"Hi," she replied, a lot brighter than she had intended to.
"I noticed you over here," he began and kind of half-chuckled since obviously she was here to be noticed.
She smiled in acknowledgment. This was much better than the "Hey babe" she had gotten before. Still wary, but now curious as well.
He continued, "and you're by yourself, and I waited a while to see if anyone was going to join you." Then he put his hands up in that "I didn't do it" gesture. "I'm here by myself too and . . . ," he stammered slightly, "I just, you know, thought it might be fun to sit and maybe talk some, and stuff." He raised his eyebrows in a question.
And stuff? What was "and stuff"? She felt a little more comfortable, but her antennae were still up and operating. Of course, she couldn't help but be curious as to why a guy, by himself, was at a topless beach, but the answer seemed fairly obvious. If they were on WI2, he would have had no bathing suit, and his reasons might have been a little more obvious. She left him wondering for a few moments as she checked him out as best she could.
He sure wasn't a dazzling, handsome kind of a dude, just a, well, pleasant face. Not at all like the few guys she had dated in college and after, all of whom she had to admit had been pretty good-looking guys. Mostly she had been and still was way too busy to be bothered with guys and dating. But this one did have that wonderful smile that was hard not to like. Plus, that slight stammer told her a lot. If she wanted to be watched, here was someone who could watch from up close, and, surprisingly, she thought, he had been and still was looking her straight in the eye and hadn't dropped his gaze to her tits once. That was puzzling, and she needed to change that if he was going to hang around.
It was her turn to smile. "Sure, why not," she said, twisting a little so that her breasts were thrust forward fairly prominently. No luck as his eyes still held hers. She had initially been very wary as he approached, but, already, that had changed and, without her even thinking about it, she was becoming the aggressive one.
