As with all my stories, this one stands alone and can be enjoyed alone. But, if you want some backstory on these ladies, try "Miss Vickie's Favorite Customer" and "The Morning After." I'm entering this story in competition for Lit's Summer Lovin' Contest, so please read all the excellent entries and vote on your favorite. Enjoy!
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All I was looking forward to now was a shower.
Of course, I might as well have already taken one: I was completely drenched, every bit as wet as though I'd put on my running clothes, sprinted directly into the ocean, and soaked for a minute or two before emerging. My dark hair was plastered to my head, sweat running out of the ridiculous little beard my wife insisted I should keep; I'd long since lost my sodden running shirt, now balled up in my hand like a rag at a carwash.
Today's effort was a considerable one, a long-ish beach run in mid-August, just two weeks before the new school year. I frowned to myself and wondered whether I should add a mile, despite my discomfort: the alternative was to go home to three kids who were, at this point in the summer, bouncing off the walls. I took every opportunity to get out of my house and and stay out.
School couldn't start soon enough.
I gritted my teeth and forced my feet through the soft sands, angling toward the water for better footing while I dodged among the beachgoers. Beach runs take awhile, but they're very...
scenic
. Especially here, at Piers Beach near the State College, with young ladies lounging everywhere in the last days of the dying summer. Far, far ahead of me stood the tall condos on the southern edge of Seaborne, where I taught; I could see this same kind of scenery at Seaborne Beach, I knew, but the bodies there would belong to my students, the juniors and seniors of Seaborne High, and I didn't need to be seen shirtless in that particular crowd.
Not that I had anything much to be embarrassed about, I knew. I'm hardly a bodybuilder, but I don't look bad at all for my 42 years. Where my wife had gone one way after our kids were born, toward long afternoon naps on the couch and piles of cheap novels, I'd gone the other. A day here and there went by with no exercise, but not many. I needed to burn at least 1200 calories a day to maintain my fitness, not to mention my sanity; three kids, I often thought, was two too many.
I love my family, but I need the break.
Ahead of me stood one of the big WPA pavilions they built along the seashore during the late 1930s, so grand and clean from a distance; step inside, though, and the crumbling concrete and aging water fountains made you want to leave. But I needed a drink, so I weaved in that direction, my shoes quickly bogging down in the thicker, looser sand. I swerved automatically to avoid a group of young women on a series of towels.
"Oh my God!" one of them cried, and in the split second I looked down at her I caught massive sunglasses above a mouth wide open in an O of delight. "Mr Wolfe?" She girl beside her sat bolt upright, two bold flashes of purple drawing my eyes immediately to a massive pair of breasts, and then everything happened with painful slow-motion horror:
Distracted by the tanned, firm young tits, I lost my concentration.
The sand shifted beneath my foot, leaving me treacherously off-balance.
I lunged sideways, desperately, blindly throwing my other foot down to keep myself from falling.
Only to land that lunging foot squarely on an oily, slim set of abs possessed by a third young lady, who immediately doubled over with a very unladylike "
Oof!"
I ended up sprawled in the hot August sand, my breath gone and my sunglasses flying aside, one of my legs still lying over the offended midsection of the third girl, who now looked over at me less in pain than in surprise. She blinked behind small, sleek shades. "You stepped on me," she observed with a sense of wonder.
"Jesus, Mr Wolfe!" The girl with the violet boobs had scrambled to her feet and now stood over her friend, looking back and forth between us with undisguised amusement; her friend, the one with the big sungalsses, remained on her belly on the towel, the wide mouth now in a delighted grin. "Fuck, Vickie, are you okay?"
The girl with the little sunglasses was rubbing at a pink-red footprint squarely on her belly. "You stepped on me," she repeated, but she didn't sound like she was in any pain. "You okay?"
I spat out sand, the whole left side of me covered with it, sticking to my sweaty skin like grim death. I got my foot off her body and tried to get it under me. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" I crouched on the sand and looked her over. "Are you hurt?"
She was a pale girl, long and lean and looking like a runner herself. Tight, muscled legs, small breasts, a wide mouth in a faceful of freckles. She was smiling, confused. "I'm fine," she insisted, studying her abs. She was folded into a long-limbed ball, poking tentatively at her belly in a sensible striped two-piece. "You?"
"Sure." I was very embarrassed, scraping at the stucco of sand all over my arm, trying in vain to get it out of my chest hair. A shadow fell across me and I looked up into a mass of tan skin and violet fabric and dark red hair flowing thickly down from a grinning face. I blinked. "Uh, Kaylen?"
Jesus Christ, Kaylen Rapp. She'd graduated three years ago? Two? I could never keep track. I swallowed and brought my scrambled brain desperately into the present, trying hard to adjust from "hard-core runner" mode to "humiliated former teacher" mode. It was not easy, but then any attempt to organize my thoughts in the face of Kaylen's bludgeoning sexuality, never far away and now magnified tenfold by her swimsuit, would have probably gone very badly.
Kaylen Rapp, captain of the field hockey team that had almost won the state championship. Kaylen Rapp, the hottest young woman in her graduating class. Kaylen Rapp, now tucking her auburn hair behind her ear while she held my fallen sunglasses out toward me. "Hi, Mr Wolfe."
If anything, I noticed at once, she'd gotten even more beautiful in the past few years. Her strong body, proportioned perfectly and almost completely visible just a few inches away from me, stood squarely with her usual well-remembered air of pride in how she looked. She was all breathtaking curves and healthy jiggles, glistening with sweat and suntan lotion. Her suit fit her perfectly, showing her off while not looking too slutty, the purple fabric drawn tightly over breasts and crotch. God, but she was sexy.
On top of all that, as if she'd ever actually needed it, was her attitude. She'd always been forceful, even blunt, a woman of sublime confidence and absolute self-possession. She smiled down at me now. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Run here often?" The first girl, the one with the huge shades, was now lying on her side, propped up on her elbow in an image of casual female beauty, the curves of waist and hip and leg looking like a magazine cover in her simple black bikini. She smiled warmly at me, no longer very concerned about the friend I'd stepped on. She winked, moving her shades down on her nose. "Remember me, Mr Wolfe?" she purred.
My fuzzy brain, now slowly recovering, grudgingly sent up a likely last name, though not a first one. I remembered a confident and very intelligent girl, an excellent writer who'd sat in the second row behind Pedro Ruiz. "Um, yes." Still crouched beside the third girl, I accepted my sunglasses while trying not to look at Kaylen's body. "You were in AP. Your last name is Romano, I think..." I'd had her and her older sister, and I didn't want to guess the wrong name. "Alison?"
She chuckled. "That's my sister, Mr Wolfe," she kidded me lightly. I put my sunglasses on gratefully, knowing I'd be unable to avoid watching her sideways body as her boob threatened to slide down her chest, barely restrained by the top of her suit. She trailed a finger in the sand. "Guess again."
I scowled and continued brushing at myself, now very conscious of the fact that I was shirtless and sweaty with two former students. Not the way I liked to be. I glanced back at the new girl, the one I didn't know, now flexing her body gingerly and prodding at her abs again. "What're you doing here, Mr Wolfe?" That was Kaylen again, still awkwardly close to me. "I'll bet he saw us and then came over to say hi," she told the Romano girl in a stage whisper.
"Uh, no." I straightened up slowly, wondering where I'd dropped my shirt. Not that I could put it on, of course, a soaked running shirt over sandy skin; I'd be itchy for days. "I was heading over to the pavilion to get some water." I glanced back down at the girl I'd stepped on. "You sure you're okay? I'm really sorry."
"No, I'm okay." She sounded surprised about that herself, but shrugged. "Must be my abs of steel; I don't know." She was looking up at me all of a sudden, up and down. It had been awhile since I'd been checked out so blatantly, but what she said next was even worse than that. "You look like you're doing just fine, yourself." Christ, a flirt. In front of two former students, the last thing I needed was to be flirted with.
But, naturally, I can't say I minded it at all. It had been awhile. I felt myself straightening my back, standing taller, and forced myself to stop scowling. The girl in the sand was very, very attractive.
A smiling Kaylen was standing very close to me now, holding out a plastic bottle of water. It was the kind with the little nozzle on the top, where you bite it and suck the water in. Traces of lipstick clung faintly to the mouthpiece. "Take some, Mr Wolfe," she urged quietly. "I don't have cooties."
"Oh! Thanks, Kaylen." I ignored the lipstick and sucked down a generous wash of the cool water, swishing it through my mouth. It tasted delicious.
"No prob. You look like you're working hard," she offered, totally lacking in self-consciousness as she stood there in her bikini. Not that she had anything to be ashamed about, and obviously she knew it. Her feet were shoulder-width apart with her hands balled on her hips, her whole body model-perfect and smoothly balanced. "So this is what you do during the summers," she mused; by now, she was eyeing me too. I tried hard to avoid looking at her, but then remembered I had my shades on now. So I did the normal male thing: I glanced over for the standard sweep, seeking nipples and cameltoe and finding both.
My God, what a woman. I hoped she hadn't seen my eyes move behind my glasses.
The Romano girl hiked herself up, sinuous and lithe. "You're lucky, Kaylen," she said lightly. "At least he remembers your name. While I? I must be completely forgettable, a nonentity in his eyes." She was smiling at me as she said it, and I felt obscurely pleased; I was very, very quickly getting used to being flirted with.
"That's not fair." I handed the bottle back to Kaylen, whose hair had escaped in the hot breeze. "It's been, what, two years? I knew your last name."
She adjusted her top in that unconsciously sexy way women have, resettling her boobs. "Three years, Mr Wolfe. And you guessed my last name."
