Scenes from the Beach

The American trio split two rooms. Nancy Kirkwood and Kathy Peck together in one, Paul Lowery occupied the other. Their respective balconies looked over the Costa Garraf sand onto the Mediterranean Sea.

Viewed from the third floor, those slight waves purling upon the shore reminded Lowery of the shallow bight stretching from San Diego to Oceanside. On a calm day, the sort which fooled Easterners like himself into believing the Pacific perfectly tame.

A mutual friend had proposed the Costa Garraf beachfront to Kathy and Nancy. If one needed to be holed up somewhere, this semi-luxe Spanish hideout served as fine refuge.

Merely because they were intimates let Nancy ask Lowery to accompany them. His immediately agreeing likely vanished any doubts Nancy might've held about him or how he saw her relations with Kathy. Until her needy hour, Kathy only tolerated Lowery. Now that he stood beside her, she fully accepted him.

His gesture defined him. They weren't rivals, but equals for the sexually malleable Nancy. He could be trusted.

A woman problem required Lowery to abruptly request vacation time, interrupted Nancy's triathlete training, as well as forced Kathy's rumor-spouting sudden withdrawal from at least two golf tournaments. Lowery wondered if the other two understood that had Kathy been male and encountered the same difficulty, some badge of guy honor might've been awarded.

Yet that was the problem's crux: Kathy, a woman, troublingly entwined with another woman.

Before surrendering body and soul to Nancy, Kathy had involved herself in a previously truly, madly, deeply affair. Owing to the golfer's celebrity, and the American public's fossilized ideas concerning how its idols shall comport themselves, the pair consorted discreetly. So down low sponsors, who realized fortunes in exploiting the golfer's burnished gold wholesome female athleticism -- no absurd hairstyle, no frightening tattoos or piercing, muscular, yes, but not freakishly overdeveloped to the point of confusing her gender, beauty bland enough not to intimidate -- offered the kind of reassuring presence the right ad campaigns mined to sell galleries of consumer goods.

Not only was Kathy Peck a stalwart on the ladies pro golf tour, but, yes, she did sleep on these sheets, washed her long sorrel tresses with that shampoo and conditioner, drove this car, while also preferring to snack on those low calorie treats. America bought that Kathy Peck. That Kathy Peck appeared a proper female athlete.

Somehow the image of her eating or being serviced by another woman, using toys or having them used on her by a female intimate, and sensitive emails excruciatingly substantiated by that now jilted lover, eradicated an otherwise pitch-perfect, safe, antiseptic pitchwoman. Graphic as the sex might've been, it was with whom she indulged which would've lent the matter the most unsavory taste, an unpalatable reflux for the vast white bread market.

After a lengthy quiet period, the kind where the past wasn't buried or forgotten, but honed into needle-sharp revenge and waited ahead in ambush, Kathy's ex-lover presented an ultimatum. Her either/or meant loss. Nancy or privacy.

Thus the burrowing into an obscure part of Spain. There, Nancy and Lowery supported Kathy while she crept up on her big-girl decision. All three already suspected the judgment. Presentation remained the only question.

In this Costa Garraf idyll Kathy could fairly hide out openly. Moreover, the relatively somnambulant pace assured little distraction.

In August gays predominated this seaside redoubt. Had Kathy been a tennis player, and not a golfer, an American one at that, she might've earned more than brief glances. Unlike Lowery, who reaped long and lingering prize bull consideration. Such attention failed swelling either head.

The American friends occupied adjoining rooms. Those first few nights of the scheduled week intrigued Lowery. His imagination swirled around the couple next door.

Was Nancy as physical with Kathy as she was with him? How did Kathy sate the triathlete? Or did the pair achieve a more emotional compact? Better yet did they reenact sloppy scenes from girl-on-girl porno DVDs?

The last query made him laugh. However, once he truly thought about it, Lowery preferred her lover and his partner gained gratification through tenderness.

Would it be Nancy's long, hard, brown body constricting Kathy's rounder butterscotch form or the other way around? Who'd dominate between them? Who was the most ardent? Of course his was a straight man's view. As women, maybe they'd instinctively work out some mutual passive accommodation.

Lowery knew genuine sentiment would lard their little whispers. A man parroted what he believed further mollified women. On the other hand, women lacked this deception during sex. Women surrendered to lost restraint. Those secrets, those truths they intended keeping hidden invariably seeped to the surface. Admitted as it were, if not confessed. Often reluctantly yet with relief.

Nape of the neck, ears, elbow crooks, belly, bend of the knee, inside the thigh, tendons where they hollowed into the between legs crevice, which of them, Nancy or Kathy, excited these vulnerable spots with the best care and calculation?

Then again which one found herself in the most languid throes when soft lips and gentle fingers caressed these unlikely pleasure points? Despite the pretty pictures rampaging inside his head, Lowery conceded his ideal of Sapphic expression way off the mark.

There had to be some happy medium because skeletal pneumatic bottle blondes yelping in phony ecstasy from tongue tips barely tickling the other's pink or moaning lustily while an outrageous strap-on cored an asshole was lazy application as well as deceitful fantasy. Having bung-plowed, Lowery at least knew what noises the other end's mouth coughed.

Moaning was low on the list.

Nonetheless it was Kathy and Nancy wrinkling the sheets and heating up the room next door. The vision of those two hugging, stroking and lip-locking, perhaps even passing shy but transparent looks, aroused him. He'd never experienced heat from a woman's body like Nancy's. Was this manifestation caused by his male proximity or did she generate the same rise among women?

Contemplation of such produced some of the hardest boners in his life. Lowery promised himself that one day soon they must discuss relative sexual merits. Who knew? Maybe he'd learn something. Improve a technique, no?

A knock on the door startled Lowery. When he wasn't wondering how Kathy reflected in Nancy's copper eyes, or how Nancy shone in Kathy's gray irises, Lowery skimmed the Barcelona newspaper. Today he'd bought the correct edition, the Castilian one. Their first full day he'd mistakenly grabbed a Catalan copy. His Spanish couldn't bridge the regional dialect.

By the knock, Lowery knew his visitor wasn't a hotel employee. The rap sounded nowhere near deferential. Probably some fellow guest engaged in a process of elimination after having either forgotten or misplaced the particulars of an earlier casually made acquaintance. Or maybe somebody just out to get lucky.

Lowery rolled off the bed. He swiped his shorts off the writing table chair back an covered his thighs. Forgetting a basic rule, he went to the door, opening it without asking who stood outside.

Kathy looked up at him. She requested entry. He moved aside. Her short-sleeved blouse, culottes and espadrilles entered far enough to allow him to close the door.

Lowery never expected them to be together without Nancy. After all, Nancy was Kathy's crying shoulder, also her sounding board. He figured his role consisted of masculine presence so the women wouldn't suffer molestation. In the Spanish sense.

Kathy hoped she hadn't interrupted anything.

"No," Lowery said. "Just reading in the local paper how everything is going to hell and glad I don't live here to pay for any of it."

Kathy smiled thinly at his little drollery. It was her first unforced grin. He hoped it wasn't accidental.

She strode towards the sliding screen balcony door. After an idle moment, Kathy faced Lowery.

"No air conditioning?" she said.

He shook his head. "Once the sun goes down the breeze picks up. That's enough for me. Besides, when you can hear the waves over the music it's soothing."

"Nancy has the AC blasting," Kathy said. "I find it incredible she's unaffected by workouts that make her sweat like a mule, but insists on frigid rooms."

"I'm unfamiliar with that Nancy."

"Oh, yes, right," Kathy said, somewhat apologetically. "Anyway, you're right. The sea breeze is enough."

She began fidgeting. Never having the need previously, these two hadn't really ever spoken. Nancy explained to each how he or she fit in her life. Both parties obviously accepted her terms. Therefore, neither felt obliged to clarify it between themselves. Each respective relationship with Nancy filled divergent aspects. Until this trip those aspects never overlapped.

Lowery became a good host. He offered Kathy a drink and a seat. She took both.

Once he'd gotten his legs under him in Spain, Lowery found a liquor store and bought a fifth of bourbon. As a hotelier himself, the thought of forking over extortion prices for the room's mini-bar alcohol insulted him. Frugal as he was, the small refrigerator's soda forced him into one tough compromise.

Two fingers of "imported" spirits (all the way from that exotic oasis of Kentucky, America!), ice and cola enough to deepen the color though not appreciably dilute any tongue-loosening filled the heavy squat glass. After handing Kathy her drink, Lowery sat on the bed edge. The short gap between them permitted easy glass touching. He issued his usual toast:

"Happy times!"

Lowery liked how Kathy nipped at her drink. Not that if she'd gulped he would've thought ill of her. It was just simply Lowery preferred women who exhibited certain lady-like traits. The manner of sipping a cocktail being one.

He asked if Nancy slept.

"Like a log," Kathy said. "All the walking around we did today, plus insisting on running a few miles in these hills, and she's dead to the world."

"Isn't strange that unlike most people asleep she doesn't seem at peace?" Lowery asked.

Grinning, Kathy bobbed her head. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks the same. I think her subconscious is upset that so much time needs to be devoted to absolute inactivity. There are some days where she does more than I do in a week."

"Well, this proves you two are a good match," Lowery said. "Two different people can always uncover new and interesting things in the other."

They nipped their drinks. While they exchanged appraisals only ice cubes tinkling in glasses and sea lapping upon sand filtered through the room's silence. Kathy spoke.

"For the longest time I took you for a rival. That was a mistake."

Lowery asked her current estimation of him.

"Since we're not competitors, we must be complementary," Kathy said. "We provide Nancy with different things. Take them, too. I mean in more than obvious ways."

He shrugged. "What can I say? The woman has an unlimited appetite."

"She's a glutton!" Kathy said. An awkward beat or two, she added, "Which, uh, is one of the reasons I knocked on your door."

"And here I was hoping you just came over to keep me company. You know, tuck me into bed."

She heard Lowery's facetiousness and smiled thinly. "Uh-huh. That's certainly on the list. Low. But on it. No, Paul, I, uh, hoped you'd indulge me."

Lowery raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Mirth in his voice compelled a grin from Kathy.

"In a charming way you're making this awful tough on me," she said. "You and Nancy certainly share that ability."

He suggested she start from the beginning. "You were born ... Okay. Maybe not from the very beginning. How about where the contention starts?"

Kathy's demeanor now thoughtful, she answered, "Contentious? Good word for the right point."

As she explained, their society only made grudging initial concessions to those whose sexuality deviated from form. To a man and a woman, every person joyously "out" needed to endure doubt and fright exceptionally few straights could imagine.

"I hate the word 'normal,'" Kathy said. " 'Normal' is right down there with average."

Perhaps in a congested urban area her tastes could've been anonymously explored and developed among a variety of similarly-minded people; she not so much lost in the swirl but rendered indistinct by the sheer number and activity.

Instead, Kathy Peck grew up in rural Oregon. A small town where white-picket fence friendliness and no-knock neighborliness infringed into intrusiveness.

"It's funny how lifelong friends and neighbors suddenly turn after they see you coloring outside the lines," she said.

Lowery nodded in agreement. He also knew about conformity. His own hometown, the people who mattered residing there, insisted upon it.

"Lucky I had golf," Kathy said. "Winning blurs a lot of scrutiny."

Habitual victories in local and regional high school and 18-under tournaments led to a pick of college scholarships. One of which provided escape. Or entry into less confining associations.

"As sure as I was of my game, is how uncomfortable I felt about myself," Kathy said. "It's a horrible thing to be conflicted in your own skin."

Kathy Peck endured those common first sexual fumblings with more anguish than confusion. Aroused by the distaff and indifferent to males complicated her girl-into-woman transformation. Such early recognition only perfected skills at masking true desire. However, these personal subterfuges failed miserably when time to perform her expected gender role.

"I knew early on who I liked," she said, "what I liked. None of that experimental bullshit. Then I was nowhere near sure of myself to display the label. You know, the old pink triangle. So I faked going after boys harder than if I were a sorority sister chasing a trust-funder's M.R.S."

On the whole, Kathy's "dating" was disastrous. Worse, dissatisfying. Seemed she had the misfortune of attracting eager fellows whose bedroom antics lacked touch.

"Even though I preferred women, I knew men could still be enjoyable," she said. "Physically at least. But, uh, every man disappointed me far more than the cock he was attached to."

"That's a bad connection, all right," Lowery said. "Naturally it was all their faults. The guys, I mean."

"Naturally," she chirped. "My ego wouldn't allow any conclusion otherwise."

They shared wry grins. Returning to seriousness, Kathy continued.

"We each do something for Nancy. We make her whole. I hope that doesn't sound incredibly immodest."

"If you're old enough to comprehend the Beatles, then you know the love you give matches the love you get," Lowery said. "Or something like that."

"I better confess then Nancy's the song that makes my heart skip," Kathy said. "Was that saccharin on the way to diabetes honest?"

"Sure was," Lowery replied. "Sweet and undoubtedly true, too."

"Paul, in our beginning I didn't like sharing you with her. At the start you were an infringement. Never mind the conflicting schedules and travel. You were my biggest worry. I almost resented you."

"Now here we are having a heart-to-heart," Lowery said. "What happened? How did I become safe? Or are you imagining me neutered?"

Kathy laughed. "Spectators don't understand it but the best thing about being a competitor isn't the stakes. Giving and taking shit is. That's the quality, Paul. Has there ever been any life and death for you? ... You're so at ease. Nancy's intense. I've heard I'm robotic."

"Having seen you putt ..." Lowery said.

She ignored his jibe. "Nancy talks about you. About how you drive her. I thought about being jealous. Instead I got curious. Mentioning you as she does, she probably planted a bug. An unintentional subliminal thing."

"You think?" he asked. "What's Nancy selling?"

"You."

"Kathy, are you here to sacrifice yourself to envy or prove some depth of affection for Nancy? Either way we'd just be going through the motions. Good motions, but routine all the same."

"For me, Paul. I'd be doing it for me."

Lowery remained undecided.

"Are you going to make me beg, Paul? Is that part of what makes it so good?"

Her insistence cleared his mind. Lowery smiled and the shade across Kathy's face lifted. He reached out for her hand. She placed steady fingers on his palm. He clasped them. The pair stood and Lowery drew her to him. Willing as Kathy professed, he nonetheless felt her slightest resistance in their embrace.

He kissed her smooth forehead, nose, then lips. The luscious last spot responded cautiously. Anxiety vied with minor fright in her gray eyes. Oh-so perceptively Kathy tensed in his arms. Having known many women across many years, the possible challenge Kathy presented failed daunting Lowery.

Paul Lowery loosened his hold. Apart, hands free, he caressed her earlobes, stroked her neck and rubbed her shoulders. Despite the situation, Kathy smiled reflexively.

Lowery unhitched his shorts. They dropped and he stepped out of the cloth accordion circling his ankles. She received his nakedness silently. He retrieved their glasses then padded over to the bourbon. While gathering and disbursing ice and freshening their drinks with more cheer and soda, he spoke.

"While I'm doing this take your clothes off."

Lowery's command thawed Kathy. She heeled out of her espadrilles, then freed her body of blouse and culottes. Her panties surprised him. These clashed with her bra. Though both undergarments were white, two ample handfuls strained an artful, lacy, modern woven balcony; whereas old maid drawers bagged around her hips. He assumed the bra had been a gift. Those panties, though, she'd certainly bought them for comfort. After all the thigh-highs, thongs and tap pants he'd watched pulled down or removed himself, Lowery knew Kathy hadn't knocked on his door with a booty call firmly in mind. By her panties she'd apparently hedged her bet.

Nevertheless he smiled. She responded in kind. Laid bare her potential promised plenty. However, his current pleasure derived from memory. He hadn't seen bloomers like hers since high school.

His cock began stiffening.

Self-conscious from his staring, he supposed, Kathy turned away. Such modesty surprised him. Another something dredged up from long ago.

She unfastened her bra first, tossing it on the chair back. Her bloomers tented the same piece of furniture.

Kathy didn't face him immediately. She took a moment to build courage. Then turned. The reading lamp's low light further softened her contours. Fuller, curvier than Nancy, Kathy hewed closer to the womanly ideal. Although fit, her musculature lacked Nancy's exaggeration.

Kathy stood straight. Such good posture thrust her breasts forward. Obviously not a slave to crunches, a healthy unapologetic rim of fat circled her belly button. Between sturdy well-turned legs, the abrupt exclamation of a narrow pubic "V."

Lowery passed her a refreshed drink. He took one sip of his own then erased the gap between them. They stood pressed skin-to-skin. Lowery didn't embrace her. His fully erect wang was throbbing and heavy against her tummy. Their chests mashed. Lowery leaned downward to spackle little kisses on Kathy's face and neck.

Each kiss he landed shivered the ice in their glasses.

His care and consideration coaxed warming responses. For a time Kathy had remained one immobile recipient. He stirred her. Kathy shifted her head to ease his efforts as well as allow other spots to receive his lips. She only broke contact to set down her drink. Both hands free, Kathy seized Lowery's waist and pulled them tighter.