She covers the phone with her hand and says, "Thanks for letting me share the champagne with you, Henry."
I knew she wouldn't answer.
* * *
Friday. Mrs. Adderson's last full day on the beach. The week's vacationers have to check out at 11 a.m. on Saturday, so most have to spend all Saturday morning packing and cleaning up their condos with no time to hit the beach. Friday's the last fun day up and down the coast.
I had decided that after my lunch break, I would stop by her beach chair and ask her to dinner for that evening. I wanted to keep talking to her. I needed that connection with her. As perverted as it may seem, I wasn't so much thinking about having sex with her as I was just talking about sex. But when I returned from a quick bite at a raw bar down the block, her chair was empty. At 4:30, still no Mrs. Adderson. I knocked on her cottage door with no luck.
That night I was dejected, lost. I had waited too late. Who knows where she was or who she was with.
I hung out at The Viking's lounge, restless and edgy, drinking beer and, every hour, walking across the sand to her beach house, hoping she'd be there. Hoping we could continue our conversation. She wasn't there. The place was dark. It was getting late.
By 11 p.m., I walked out to the hotel's large patio, overlooking the ocean, and sat at one of the 20 or so tables, the only person out there that late. I stared at the dark waves, aimlessly.
How could I be utterly devastated over a woman as old as my mother, someone I had known only a few days? But I was. And at the moment, I didn't care much about college, getting laid by girls on the beach, or working toward some future I had set out for me. I was obsessed. Her walk, that quiet confidence, her body, and that surreal conversation on her deck. A desolateness invaded me. I was a mess.
After sitting a half hour in the darkness, her hand caressed my shoulder from behind, accompanied by that now familiar voice.
"Hello, Henry," she said rather quietly. "What keeps you out here so late -- and so alone?"
Instantaneously, I shifted from utter despair to high anxiety, my heart racing. I had no answer for her, but offered her a chair.
The black swimsuit had been replaced with a white cotton beach dress. It was strapless, hugging her snugly down to her waist, then flowing freely to just above her knees. She was barefoot. She had now morphed into a goddess.
"You look so forlorn. Whatever is wrong?"
For me, the moment had come. I had nothing left to lose. So I said, "I don't at all understand it, Mrs. Adderson, but I feel connected to you somehow. I'm embarrassed and it's silly. I mean I've known you for only a few days. And to you, I know I'm just a kid. But I don't want you to leave tomorrow."
"The age difference doesn't matter, Henry. I see us as fellow travelers, you and me. I believe we're on similar paths. You may not understand it yet. but I'm glad you see the connection between us."
I said nothing but wondered what she meant. We both were quiet awhile, our eyes cast out over the ocean, just luxuriating in the breeze at our faces. I hadn't the faintest clue of what else to say, or do.
Without speaking, she took hold of my hand and led me onto the beach and to her house. She turned on no lights, instead leaving the doors and windows wide open, the moonlight illuminating us and the room in a misty sheen of black and white. A steady, salty breeze flowed through the windows. I had no idea what to expect, but I was terrified.
She led me to a chair in the living room, then brought in a glass of red wine, just one, for us to share. Still in silence, Mrs. Adderson did an amazing thing. She straddled my legs, facing me, and sat down, her soft hips on my knees. We exchanged sips of wine before she put the glass down on a table beside us. She ran her fingers through my hair slowly, almost lovingly. She stroked my face. I could hardly breathe.
She cocked her head to one side, slightly, as if trying to figure me out. Then locked in on my eyes and spoke for the first time in 10 minutes. She said these words that I will never forget. Who could?
"Henry, would you like to see my pussy?"
It was matter-of-fact, no emotion. As if she had asked if I wanted another drink of wine.
I couldn't respond. I don't believe my mind comprehended what she was saying.
Not bothering for an answer, she reached down, took the hem of her sun dress, and slowly pulled it up to her waist, exposing her sex to me. She had on no panties. In the moon-illuminated room I could make out her ivory white thighs and a small, soft-looking bit of pubic hair. Not much, but enough to be magical. She kept looking at me, as I kept looking at "it," staring, really, in disbelief.
She leaned forward, very lightly brushing my lips with hers, for only a second. She whispered in my ear: "Touch me."
She guided my hand down and between ler legs. With one finger, I reached for the slit between her vagina's lips. I was trembling. Her moisture drenched my finger in a silkiness as I began sliding it ever so gently back and forth over her small opening. She was already practically dripping on the floor. I slid my finger inside and out, repeating that again and again, all the while her gaze still locked on my eyes. She began rocking her hips slowly back and forth.
With my finger still inside her, my thumb found her clit. She moved her arms behind her, grabbing my knees and arching her back, pushing her pussy closer to me. By now, my hand was cramping, but I was never going to stop, not unless she made me.
I could now begin to smell her sex. Though her pussy seemed small, it had a wonderful smell of the ocean at night -- clean and pure and the slight scent of sea air. I swear it was really her and not the beach I was smelling. And it all mixed in with some kind of exotic perfume on her neck.
She began breathing deeply, rapidly, rocking her body back and forth as I moved my fingers in and out. We were in a rhythm that began moving faster and faster, then faster still. And harder. She grabbed my hand, pulled my fingers out and crushed the palm of my hand hard against her mound, holding it there as she pushed her clit against me with all her might. Then froze still, as an orgasm swept across her in waves, one after another, then another -- I could feel them, sense each wave, like feeling her pulse -- until she was done.
She pulled down her dress and brought me a towel for my hand.
"Henry. Do you remember reading what Anais Nin's cousin once said to her: Abnormal pleasures kill the taste for normal ones."
I nodded, but not really getting her point.
"Do you have your car with you?" she asked.
"I don't have a car, just my motorcycle"
"Is it in the hotel parking lot?"
I nodded. "Then it will do," she said. "Come. Let's go."
* * *
We sped south out of town, past the hotels and restaurants, until there were no more street lights, just beaches and seaside homes. Mrs. Adderson sat behind me, arms around my waist as we rode along the two-lane blacktop in the dark. I swear I could feel the heat and wetness between her legs as she pressed up against my hips. We found the home she wanted and an attractive mid-30s woman let us in. I had no idea what we were up to.
The woman led us upstairs to a bedroom where another woman, an absolutely beautiful redhead, and a man were waiting. All three were wearing shorts and T-s, typical beach wear for nearly everyone on the islands. They seemed so normal as they turned off the overhead, leaving only two lamps by the bed still on. There was no talking.
Mrs. Adderson motioned me to sit in a stuffed chair, she sat on the arm. She looked at me with index finger to her lips, a warning not to talk. The three began undressing. We watched.
The redhead, now naked, lay on the bed, less than five feet in front of us. She was slender, with deep red hair and shaved pubic area, her pale skin just flawless. The other woman, more voluptuous with large breasts swinging back and forth, had black hair and was unshaved. The man was well built, with a hard erection already. All were probably in their 30s. I had no clue who they were.
The brunette and the man began stroking, caressing the beautiful redhead, both sitting cross-legged on the bed, one on each side of her. Mrs. Adderson scooted down into my lap, with one arm around my neck, her legs draped over the other arm of the stuffed chair, her face close enough to me that I could smell her skin and that strange perfume that hinted of some far-off paradise. She paid scant attention to me. She was fixated on them, completely mesmerized.
The three began making love, the brunette and the man each kissing, pinching, then sucking the redhead's nipples in an obvious mix of pain and pleasure, she on her right breast, he on her left. Her nipples became bright red and extended. She was sighing deeply, then moaning almost as soon as they moved down to between her legs. They each took turns licking her pussy, which was now opened, pink and glistening. From our chair we could smell the sex in the air.
The brunette was now on her knees on the bed, her beautiful ass up in the air toward us, affording us unmistakably raw views of each woman's pussy.
"Which do you think has the prettier sex?" Mrs. Adderson whispered in my ear.
I'm not sure why I chose the redhead, but Mrs. Adderson agreed. "Beautiful, so beautiful," she whispered. "God, she's got a cunt to fucking die for." Since it already was a night of unimaginable surprises, I shouldn't have been taken aback by her language, but I was.
Mrs. Adderson's eyes never left the three as the brunette began alternately licking the redhead's clitoris, then turning to suck the man's cock. I wondered if the guy was married to one of them.
Mrs. Adderson reached for the top of her sun dress and slowly pulled it down to her waist, completely freeing her breasts. They were delicate and soft, but with those large brown nipples and areolas I had seen through her swimsuit. She began gently and slowly brushing them with her fingers as she watched the man mount the redhead, letting the brunette reach behind him and hold his balls as he moved his dick in and out.
It became a three-way orgy, hard to keep up with who was doing what to whom. If truth be known, I wasn't much interested as I witnessed my first threesome. After all, I was sitting with Mrs. Adderson in my lap, bare-breasted and watching her caress her own nipples.
"Henry," Mrs. Adderson whispered. "Pinch my nipples and pull on them." I did what I was told, but was reprimanded. "Gently, very gently," she said. Then later, "harder, much harder, pull." I pulled them outward until she winced, then she licked her lips and smiled to no one in particular.
Moments, no maybe a half hour, later -- I couldn't keep track of time -- the orgy ended as the man spurted his semen into the mouths of both women as they huddled their faces together in front of him. By my count, it must have been his third orgasm. And then it was over.
Mrs. Adderson pulled up the top of her dress and walked me to the door. The brunette grabbed a robe and led us downstairs. As she opened the door, Mrs. Adderson pulled a white envelope out of a pocket somewhere on her dress, handing it to the woman. I didn't want to venture a guess about its contents. We left and rode back into town. I somehow knew it best to ask no questions.
* * *
"Do you think I'm mad, Henry?"
She said this as we were once again back in her dark cottage, again with the night breeze flowing through the wide-open windows and doors, but now becoming stronger and louder.
"I don't know," I said. "I don't care. You make me forget about all other women, Mrs. Adderson."
"You're such a beautiful, beautiful boy," she said, just before lifting my T-shirt over my head, then undoing my shorts and helping me to step out of them. Then my boxers. She stood, her breasts against my chest, looking at my face -- and I think into my soul -- while one of her hands reached down to gently feel my dick, which mercifully was starting to get engorged and hard. The feeling of her soft hand on me is one I relive every day.
"Such a beautiful, beautiful boy," she said again, still standing and looking at me, as she massaged my balls.
Somehow I wound up on my back in her bed. She sat cross-legged and naked beside me with a bottle of scented oil that she began smoothing over my skin, starting with my face. It smelled like mangos.
"Do you like me naked?" she asked, as she moved down to my thighs, rubbing oil in, getting my body glisteningly slippery.
I could only nod a yes.
As she was massaging me, partly to keep from coming too quickly, I asked why she was so interested in Anais Nin? She continued caressing me.
"You have to marvel at her fierce desires, Henry. Such an appetite for lust. Didn't you love how she just swam in passion, devoured lovers. Took joy in masturbating all the time and luxuriously, and without remorse. Relished the unknown pleasures. She harbored this insatiable desire for the white, white heat -- this hunger."
She smoothed the oil back up my legs and to my dick, then my balls, caressing them gently but unceasingly, while I fought hard to not come all over her.
She leaned down, close to my face. And in a half-whisper said:
"You see, Henry, I have this hunger too."
"I'm drunk with lust, young man. Don't make love to me, Henry. Right now I need to be fucked. Ravaged. Vulgarized. For the here and now, I am yours to do with what you want. But do it now."
Already exhausted and feeling sensory overload from the night, I nonetheless desperately wanted her. I pulled her to me and began kissing her feverishly, our tongues pushing deep into our mouths, searching and searching. I never much liked kissing before. But now, we could hardly stop, taking only quick breaths, wanting to kiss forever, our mouths becoming sore.
I pulled back, rolled on top and began kissing her neck and shoulders, then nipping them and finally biting into her, leaving marks. She began clawing my arms and back.
I did the same to her breasts, loving the thickness of her hard nipples against such tender skin. I bit around her waist, moved down to her pussy and pulled her pubic hair with my teeth, causing her to jump in pain. She grabbed my dick, pulling it hard, daring me to come. I refused. She grabbed my balls, squeezing just enough to get my attention. But the look in her eyes told me she could hurt me if she wanted to.
I pushed her legs wide apart, then slid my tongue in her pussy. She was so wet, my tongue was practically swimming inside her. I pulled my tongue out and used the tip to rub and twirl her clit, not stopping until she came hard on my face minutes later, my nose, eyes and mouth covered in her liquid. Even my ears were wet.
I turned her over, pulled her up on her knees with her ass in my face and began licking her anus. I had no idea why. I'd never done that before, never even thought about it. But I had to have Mrs. Adderson, couldn't get enough of her. I think I wanted to know her soul. I plunged my tongue mercilessly into the small hole, pushing as deep as I could, opening it up. I couldn't believe myself.
"Yes," she said in a muffled voice, her face buried into the bedsheets. "Yes."
I reached around her ass and found her clit, massaging it gently, then hard, then gently again until she came again, my tongue still in her asshole, searching for something deep within her.
I pushed her back on the bed, this time on her back, doing it as roughly as I could. Then I rammed myself inside her, hard and fast, not giving her small pussy any time to accommodate my dick, which felt as hard and thick as concrete. I began fucking her as hard as possible. She wrapped her long legs around me and squeezed me in a vice until it hurt. She even laughed a little.
I stayed in her as long as I could, pumping, endlessly pumping, slamming into her clit again and again, her hands pulling my hair and scratching my face. The night breeze, now a 20 mph wind, drowned out her scream as she came, followed by me coming, and screaming too. I was dazed by our savagery, our white hot fever. We were cannibals.
Then we lay sweating onto the sheets, gasping for breath. As the moments passed and a calmness came over us, she said in that quiet voice: "In the morning, Henry, I want you to make love to me, sweet gentle love. Will you do that?"
I don't know if I ever replied. Exhaustion probably made it impossible. I slept.
Sometime before dawn, I awakened briefly to find myself spooning with her, her hips pushed up against my dick, the back of her legs resting against the front of mine. It was an exquisite feeling. Her eyes were open.
"Such a beautiful, beautiful boy," she said softly. "A fellow traveler, I believe." I fell back asleep, blissfully in love.
* * *
It wasn't the morning sun that awakened me finally. It was the chatter of a colony of gulls outside as they glided by in their V-formation, low over the beach, a daily ritual on the Outer Banks.
Mrs. Adderson wasn't in the bed, and I didn't see her anywhere in the cottage. I suspected that she was sitting on the deck or, like thousands of tourists, walking the beach before the sun grew too hot. I headed to the bathroom to take a leak and noticed in the mirror the bite marks and scars on my shoulders and neck. Only some of them did I remember getting.
I looked on the floor of the bedroom to find my boxers -- I was still naked -- when I noticed none of her clothes were around. I did a 360-turn in slow motion, dreadfully realizing that all of her clothes, toiletries and luggage were gone. She had left without so much as a goodbye.
Frantically, I dressed, headed to my motorcycle and then 10 blocks down the street to the cottage's leasing agency, hoping to get there before she checked out. I was too late. Worse yet, they had no information on her. She had paid everything, including her deposit, in cash, so they didn't bother with license plate numbers or credit card information.
Back at the beach house, I went through all the drawers and closets, hoping to find something, anything. I ended up sitting on the bed, head in hands, crying for half an hour.
* * *
With the fall semester looming, I had only two weeks left until Labor Day, the end of the lifeguard season. Most of it I spent on the tower, repeatedly looking over my shoulder at the beach house. It was a senseless gesture, because just a day after Mrs. Adderson disappeared, a family with kids moved in for the next week. My heart was truly broken.
I went back to Syracuse but picked up my lifeguard duties at Kill Devil Hills for the next three summers before graduating. No sign of her. And, believe me, I looked. In time, I guess you could say I got my life back on track. From there it was on to law school and afterward joining a startup law firm with five other young attorneys in Baltimore, where I am now.
Along the way, I grew up, filled out, lost the freckles and some of the awkwardness, and I guess became decent enough to attract several serious girlfriends, actually three. Each was very pretty, smart and as my mother would often say: "came from good stock." Each was the kind of girl to settle down with. But in each relationship, I would find myself lying in bed after making love, staring into the darkness, wondering why I was so dissatisfied. Each romance from there just wound down in a slow, sad death.
That brings us to last week when I came to work at 8 am on Friday and, with coffee in hand, signed on to look at my emails. More than 20 had added up over night, so I began looking down the list for the important ones.
And there, coming in at 3:20 am, was one listed from "A Fellow Traveler."
It was a shattering moment. Before opening it, I sat back in my chair, waiting for my heart to quit pounding. Then I clicked on the email. There was no message, just an attached video. Clicking it brought up a small screen. The video began.