Love Lessons at Pleasure Point 01

The wind howled as huge, grey clouds billowed above the vast expanse of blue-black water that was the Pacific Ocean.

A small group of locals gathered on the cliff overlooking the water. They clutched their jackets and leaned against the wooden railing, peering out at the whitecaps and scattering seagulls.

This was a standard evening ritual for them, convening on the cliffside walkway that paralleled the serpentine East Cliff Drive. They would gather at sunset, looking out at the ocean as the swells slowly crept towards shore, rose up, and crashed against the rocks.

Typically, these neighbors would be admiring the orange-tinged sky as a group of die-hard surfers bobbed up and down on their boards.

But tonight was different.

There was no sunset to admire, only a dark, threatening sky, and the roiling water had chased away even the most ardent surfers. The only view was of the advancing storm.

"It's a Pineapple Express," growled an old-timer. "Straight outta Hawaii."

"Hope it's not too bad," a middle-aged woman fretted. "Folks in Capitola are still digging out from the last one."

"Ocean temperatures are rising," a young surfer added. "That puts more moisture into storms."

For the folks living along the coast in Pleasure Point, California, a cliffside surf spot in the southernmost corner of Santa Cruz, these late-summer storms were a definite mixed bag.

After years of severe drought, they welcomed any rain at all. They just didn't want quite so much of it all at the same time.

These so-called atmospheric rivers brought so much rain and high wind, they left mudslides and downed trees in their wake.

A man in a parka joined them.

"Well, the power's officially out," he informed the group. "Looks like the whole neighborhood."

The group let out a collective groan.

"Not again," the woman sighed.

"Wish they'd fix the damn grid once and for all," muttered the old-timer.

An attractive, middle-aged woman wearing a shawl joined them.

"Evening All," she smiled.

"Hey Maddie," said the middle-aged woman. "Storm's already knocked out the power."

"Oh, dear," she answered.

"Now, I won't be able to watch my shows," sighed the woman.

The surfer nodded.

"No games for me tonight."

The pretty woman with the shawl leaned towards him.

"You know, Skeeter, a good book is always an option," she said, smiling.

He gave her a look of mock puzzlement.

"A book? You mean those paper things with words in 'em?"

"Very funny," she smiled, wryly.

He gave her a playful jab on the shoulder.

"I like to read, actually," he said, "but it's kinda hard to do in the dark."

She turned and looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

"Well, you do own a flashlight, don't you? Or a reading light?"

He shrugged and shook his head.

"Oh, Skeeter," she sighed. "OK, come on. I've got some extra candles I can give you."

"Aw, thanks Mrs. Engle. I appreciate it," he said.

"And I've told you before, you can call me Maddie."

She turned to the others.

"Well, have a good night, All!" she said, waving. "Stay dry!"

"G'night Maddie!" the others called.

The woman in the shawl and the young surfer started walking towards a row of bungalows.

The streets that crisscross Pleasure Point are lined with small cottages built in the early part of the last century as weekend getaways for well-heeled San Franciscans. Single-story bungalows, no sidewalks, and a laid back vibe gave the neighborhood its distinct character.

The people who chose to live there were a diverse group, but they shared one thing in common: they loved the ocean.

Maddie Engle had lived in one of these vintage cottages for the past three decades. She'd inherited the house from her mother when she was a young school teacher and had lived there ever since.

Now, she was three months into her retirement.

Elegant and beguiling, with intelligent blue-green eyes and long blond hair streaked with grey, Maddie was by all accounts a stunning woman. A bit curvier than in her youth perhaps, with full breasts and a regal bearing, she still turned a few heads when she strode along East Cliff Drive.

She loved her walks along the cliffs, looking out over the ocean and breathing the sea air, smiling and saying hi to her neighbors as they passed. With her graceful, flowing stride, she had the air of a matriarch, part aristocrat and part aging hippie. She didn't seem to be walking so much as gliding, like the brown pelicans that rode the updrafts along the sandstone cliffs.

She was striding purposefully now, with the tall, curly-haired young surfer following close behind her like a cheerful puppy.

Skeeter, born and bred in Santa Cruz, was a fixture in the neighborhood. An avid surfer since the age of five, he was 20 now and squatting at a friend's place nearby to be close to First Peak, the best of the local surf breaks.

Athletic and strikingly handsome, he had deep brown eyes and a healthy crop of curly hair. He had a particularly fine physique, thanks to his passion for surfing and his years on the high school swim team. Broad shoulders, a well-developed chest, strong arms, and a narrow waist -- he had the classic swimmer's body.

There were no streetlights and the houses were all dark. Skeeter took out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it on the ground in front of her.

"Aw, thanks Skeet. That's very thoughtful."

She opened the door to her cottage and they went in. It was pitch black inside.

She took a match from a dish by the fireplace, struck it, and lit a candle on the mantle.

She used it to light a succession of other candles placed strategically around the room.

He turned off the light on his phone, leaving the room softly aglow in candlelight.

A small, red velvet couch on a woven rug faced the fireplace. A dining table and a simple kitchen occupied another corner. At the back of the cottage, a large bed with pillows was flanked by bookcases and a bank of windows.

Skeeter was slowly turning in a circle, taking it all in.

"Nice place, Mrs. Eng...er...Maddie. Dang it, I can't stop calling you Mrs. Engle! I guess 'cause you were my teacher."

"Well, you're not in my English class anymore, Skeeter, so you don't have to be so formal. You're an adult now, so you can call me by my given name."

"Whoa, look at all those books!"

Skeeter walked over to the two large bookcases and began perusing the titles.

"My library," she smiled. "They're like old friends. We've enjoyed many adventures together."

"You read all of 'em?"

"Yes, just about. Some I've read more than once."

"I remember we read this one in class," he said, holding up a book.

"Ah, yes. Kite Runner. I remember you gave a very good oral report on it."

Skeeter smiled.

"Let's see if I remember. Oh yeah. 'It may be unfair, but what happens in a few days, sometimes even a single day, can change the course of a whole lifetime.'"

"Not bad," she smiled. "Apparently, it made an impression on you."

He was back to scanning the book titles.

"Let's see if I can find those candles for you."

She started rummaging through a bureau.

"So, how's school going?" she asked. "You're in your second year at Cabrillo, right?"

He was pulling books from the shelf, looking at them, then putting them back.

"Yeah. I'm gonna transfer to a four-year school this Fall."

"Really? Which one?"

"Cal State Monterey."

"That's wonderful. Monterey's a terrific school. Do you know what you'll be majoring in?"

"Something in Environmental Studies. Oceanography. Climate Change Science. Not sure yet."

"Well, I think that's very exciting. I'm proud of you, Skeeter."

"Thanks."

Just then, a crack of thunder rumbled outside, followed by the sound of rain pelting the roof.

"And here comes the rain," she said.

She found the candles in the bottom drawer of the bureau. She approached Skeeter and handed them to him.

"Here you go. Though I'm loath to send you home now. In the middle of a downpour and all."

He shrugged, taking the candles.

"I'm happy hanging out, if you are. I got no place I gotta be."

"How about some tea? I was thinking about making a pot."

"Sounds great. I could use a warm up."

"Let's see, I'll have to use my camping stove."

She set about making some herbal tea, pulling a tin down from a shelf in the kitchen. He sat at the small table, making small talk.

"So, how long have you lived here, Mrs. Engle? I mean... Maddie."

She smiled.

"Nearly 30 years. My Mom lived here. I took it over when she died. I'd just gotten married and my husband and I decided we wanted to live near the ocean. Been living here ever since."

"It's a great place. Perfect for two people."

"Well, one person. My husband and I divorced a long time ago."

"Oh, I didn't know."

She nodded.

"I try to keep my private life private. From students, at any rate."

"Well, I'm not your student any more," he smiled.

"That's true."

She pulled two coffee mugs out of a cabinet.

"Are you and...um...your girlfriend..."

"Siobhan."

"Are you and Siobhan still seeing each other?"

He shook his head.

"No, she moved to San Diego for school. We tried to do the whole long distance thing. But it didn't work out."

Maddie gave him a sympathetic look.

"Long distance relationships are hard, I know. My husband's work took him away for weeks on end. I remember it was very difficult."

"Yeah," he nodded. "What'd your husband do?"

"He was a pilot. International routes mainly. He'd be away more than he was here. It was a challenge."

"Yeah, it sucks," he said, softly. "And you didn't even have sexting back then."

She let out a laugh.

"That's true. Texting hadn't been invented yet."

"What'd you guys do? Write letters? Or, like, have phone sex?"

"Oh, we tried all sorts of things. But it just seemed to make things worse. All that stimulation and not enough gratification."

"Tell me about it. It drove me nuts."

"I can imagine. What are you now, 19? 20?"

"20."

"Well, that makes sense then. You're right in your sexual prime. The hormone that fuels your sex drive -- testosterone -- is surging through your body. It's no wonder you found it hard. It's perfectly normal."

"Perfectly sucky, you mean."

She gave him a sympathetic look.

"Come on, let's take our tea on the couch, shall we?"

She carried the tea pot and mugs to the coffee table in front of the velvet loveseat. She kicked off her shoes and sat with her knees folded under her. He sat next to her, his long frame making the loveseat look small.

"You know, my husband and I had the same issue. We were in our 20's and our sex drives were raging but we couldn't be together. We weren't even in the same country most of the time."

"How'd you guys deal with it?"

She poured the tea into the mugs.

"Well, we ended up coming to an arrangement."

"What kind of arrangement?"

She handed a mug to him.

"We had, what we called back then, an open marriage. When we were apart, we were free to experience other people. No questions. No guilt. And when we were together...we were together."

"Whoa. That was pretty liberal for way back then."

"C'mon, I'm not that old," she chuckled.

"I didn't mean..."

"No, I know. But you're right, it was a unique time. It was the late '70s, so it was between the free love era of the 60's and the AIDS era of the 80's. The human potential movement was in full force. People were experimenting with new forms of relationships."

"Sounds like an amazing time."

"It was. And living right here by the beach. All by myself. Surrounded by attractive young people. It was very exciting."

She took a sip of tea.

"What was it like back then?" he asked. "Pleasure Point, I mean."

"Well, surfing had really taken off so this whole area was teeming with surfers. And lifeguards. And beachgoers. It was quite the scene. I remember young people would be walking up and down 41st St. in their bikinis and bathing suits. It was quite a time to be here."

"Sounds fun."

"It was fun. And I became very drawn to the surfing sub-culture."

He looked at her, cocking his head.

"What do you mean?"

She paused, wondering how much to say.

"Well...I discovered I felt a certain affinity for surfers and the surfing lifestyle."

"How so?"

"I became very attracted to their whole sensibility. Their love of the ocean. Their sense of freedom. And I enjoyed getting to know them personally."

"Surfers."

She gazed out at the rainstorm, a far-away look in her eyes.

"We'd hang out together. On the beach, I'd watch them riding the waves. And then, afterwards, we'd spend time together. I was living right here, in this very cottage, a half block from the beach, so it was all so easy. They'd spend the day surfing, and then come back and spend time here with me. We'd eat. And talk. Listen to music."

"Like, parties and stuff?"

"No, no. I preferred one-on-one encounters. Like we're having right now. We'd sit and talk. And get to know each other."

He was trying to imagine it.

"How old were they?"

"Around your age. 19, 20."

"And how old were you?"

She thought a moment.

"Well, let's see, this was before I got my credential so I must have been in my mid-20s. I was just figuring out that I wanted to be a teacher. I guess I was sharing my knowledge with them."

He thought about this for a moment.

"So, it was like you were practicing to be a teacher."

"In a way. Yes."

"Like, what kind of things would you teach them?"

"Oh...just things about life. And books. And love. You name it. Listen, I don't want to bore you with my old stories. You know, I was thinking about making myself something to eat. Are you hungry? Can I interest you in something?"

She stood up.

"Um, sure. That'd be great."

She thought for a moment.

"Let's see. We can't use the stove. I've got some sandwich makings in the fridge. A turkey and Swiss sandwich with mayo, Dijon mustard, lettuce and pickles. How's that sound?"

"Sounds great."

He got up and followed her to the kitchen.

"Now, the key during a blackout is not to keep the refrigerator door open for too long. So the food stays cold. Let's see how fast I can be."

Her hand was poised next to the refrigerator handle. She opened it and quickly pulled out the things she'd mentioned. She also grabbed two bottles of beer and placed them on the counter.

She shut the refrigerator door with her foot and threw her hands up in the air.

"There! How was that?"

"Super fast! A new record, definitely."

She arranged the ingredients on the counter and started the process of sandwich making.

"Maddie, could I use your bathroom? I need to wash my hands. I still got the ocean all over me from my afternoon sesh."

"Of course. It's right through there. Help yourself. Take a candle from the living room."

Her bathroom was small with an old-fashioned, standalone bathtub, complete with clawed feet.

"Great tub!" he called out while washing his hands. "I love your place, Maddie. You've got really great taste."

She smiled. She had always liked Skeeter. He was one of her favorite students, even though he'd occasionally skip class when the surf was up. He was smart, sensitive, and she found his earnestness endearing.

And he sure wasn't bad to look at.

She'd known him since he was a little kid. She'd see him, carrying a surfboard that was bigger than he was, on his way to and from the beach.

It was amazing how much he'd grown in the intervening years. Over six-feet tall. Strapping. He was a young man now, no doubt about it.

Maddie felt a little extra spring in her step. She'd been in sort of a funk since she retired from teaching in June. The whole 'loss of a sense of purpose' thing. She found her herself staving off the feeling that her best years were behind her.

Now, having Skeeter over, and thinking about her younger years, she felt a charge she hadn't felt in a while.

It was fun to think about the old days. She'd been quite the looker in her 20's, with a beautiful face, a voluptuous body, and long blond hair. Her breasts were large and well-shaped, and she looked amazing in a bikini.

Needless to say, she got a lot of male attention. Especially, from the young surfers.

It didn't matter to her that they were younger than she was. They were willing and able, and so was she.

They were some of the best years of her life.

And having Skeeter there was bringing all those memories creeping back into her consciousness.

They enjoyed their sandwiches and beer sitting at the small kitchen table. They talked about long-distance relationships, college, and experiencing new people.

Their conversation became more relaxed and casual. More like two adults shooting the breeze than a teacher and her former student.

Skeeter seemed eager to bring the subject back to her early years.

"I'm curious. Why'd you want to hang out with 20-year-olds? I mean, you were older, right?"

"Yes, I was several years older. I don't know, I just enjoyed being around their energy, their... joie de vivre."

"Their what?"

"Oh, that's French for 'the joy of living'. I don't know, I just found that surfers that age had a kind of 'live in the moment' ethos that appealed to me. They had this intense passion for the natural world, for the adrenaline rush that comes from a peak physical experience. I craved those things as well."

"I get it. I crave them too. For sure."

She gently ran her finger over the contour of the beer bottle, looking pensive.

"You see, my husband was a good deal older than me. Over time, we began to grow apart."

"Because you were separated so much?"

"Partly. But even when we were together, I realized I wasn't getting what I needed to be happy. Instead of counting the days until he'd be coming home, I was counting the days until he'd leave."

Her voice was softer now. Almost confessional.

"The fact is, I've always enjoyed spending time with young men that age. I just find it to be the most stimulating age. I still do."

She snapped out of her reverie and glanced at Skeeter. He was just staring at her mouth.

She suddenly stood up, and started to carry their plates to the sink.

"And, after all, I was thinking seriously about becoming a teacher. I felt like I'd found my calling. So, I was filled with this desire to help them grow and develop into young men. I wanted to take all that youthful energy -- that wonderful, boundless energy -- and teach them how to harness it and use it. And, in the process, teach them skills they could use throughout their lives."

"Like, what kind of skills?"

"Whatever they needed. If they needed to learn how to cook, I taught them that. If they needed to develop their analytic skills, we'd work on those. Or, if they needed to learn more adult skills, sometimes we'd do that too."

"Adult skills?"

She suddenly realized she was telling him more than she intended.

"Well, I wouldn't do that with everyone. Just young men that I felt a special connection with."

"Wait, so, what exactly were you teaching them? The ones you felt a special connection with?"

She suddenly felt like she'd been caught in an undertow, and was being pulled out to sea. Maybe it was the beer, or the presence of this hunky young man next to her, but she threw caution to the wind.

"I taught them about love. Relationships. Intimacy. That sort of thing."

"Like psychology?"

"A little. And more physical things too."

"What kind of physical things?"

She sighed.

"I taught them about sex."

He looked at her, speechless. She quickly tried to explain.

"If it was someone I felt a strong connection with, and I felt they'd benefit from it, I'd teach them how to... truly satisfy a woman. Sexually. How to give her an experience that fulfills her totally. One that she'll never, ever forget."