Love Letters in the Sand

I encountered a closed door and the sound of water running beyond. I hesitated, looking at the clothes in my hands and wondering what to do. "Doc?" I called out. He couldn't hear me over the sound of the shower. I rapped at the door.

"Yeah!" he called back at last.

"I have to pee," I announced, now fully aware of my aching bladder. I began to shift from one foot to another.

"I can't hear you!"

I opened the door and stepped into the steam-filled room. "I said I have to pee," I repeated loudly as I tossed my clothes into the washer.

He poked his head from behind the curtain and his eyes opened wide. He cleared his throat and stared. "I was going to say I wouldn't look, but..."

"I have to pee whether you look or not," I said as I swept passed the curtain and headed for the toilet. Like a turtle, his head quickly withdrew behind the curtain again.

"I decided to get a shower. I hope you don't mind," he called out over the spraying water.

"Did you make coffee?" I asked.

"I... no. I wasn't sure. I didn't want to make myself too at home," he stammered.

I flushed the toilet, drew back the drape, and stepped into the back of the shower. He had his head back and his eyes closed while he rinsed soap from his hair.

"Did you find everything you needed?" I asked.

His eyes flew open and he looked somewhat shocked by my presence. He didn't answer despite his mouth opening as if he intended to say something.

"Turn around and I'll put conditioner in your hair," I offered as I retrieved the cream rinse. I think he was relieved to turn his back to me because he did so readily, bracing one hand against the wall for support. I ran my palms filled with the rinse over his scalp and began massaging it into his thick mane. "Hold your head back. I can't reach you," I instructed.

He tilted his head and I used my fingertips to massage his temples, working my way down to his neck. "Fuck, that feels good," he murmured with appreciation. I spent several long minutes working on his gorgeous hair, distributing the detangler through to the ends.

When I was satisfied that it was equally spread, I stepped back and said, "Turn around." The moment he was facing me, I placed my palms against his chest and leaned against him. "Thank you for staying last night." He closed his arms around me and let out a long breath.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. "You slept. I tried not to wake you when I got up."

"Do I make you nervous?" I asked looking up at him.

He smiled slightly. "Yeah. A little, I guess."

"Don't be," I said as I slid down to my knees in front of him.

"Oh, fuck..." he murmured as I ran my tongue over his cock. It rose slowly, proudly and I took him into my mouth. "Do you always wake your house-guests like this?" he asked breathlessly as his hands settled on the back of my head. I rolled my tongue over the head of his cock and sucked him into the back of my throat. He moaned softly and held his head back, closing his eyes and relishing the feel of my mouth carefully caressing him.

His hands guided me to begin a sensuous, steady rhythm of stroking him in and out of my lips, while taking him as far back in my throat as I could without actually swallowing him. I withdrew him and examined the first drop of clear fluid that appeared at the tip of his penis. I let it drip onto my tongue before I licked it away like a drop of morning dew. He growled low in his throat and pulled my head closer, sliding easily between my lips again.

I wanted to convey the intimacy I felt for this stranger, the trust and appreciation, through each pleasurable sensation I gave him. Sex is sex, but oral sex is an art form, like music, and it is the most intimate form of sex between any two individuals. Establishing that bond of trust was foremost in my thoughts when I went down on my knees for this man.

Every soft slither of my tongue along his shaft, the way I curved and closed my lips around him, protecting him from the edge of my teeth; my warm breath blowing against the curls of hair at the root of his staff, everything I did was carefully contrived for his pleasure. He moaned again when I alternated between gentle sweeps of my tongue and the steady pressure of my lips. I knew my message was getting through when his cock began to drool a constant stream of thick, slick moisture. It blended with my own saliva and filled my cheeks until I swallowed and began the process all over again.

I used the back of my hand to brush and fondle the precious jewels ensconced in the fleshy pouch between his thighs. He drew in a deep breath and stiffened and groaned at my delicate touch. I withdrew his organ from my lips and tenderly kissed and licked each in turn before taking him back into my mouth and coaxing him to relax again. "Trust me," my mouth said without speaking, and he did. His muscles uncoiled and he was open to any gesture, every overture I made from that point on.

I had his attention, his concentration, and his trust; his excitement began to build upward from that foundation. I encouraged him to take the lead in demonstrating what pleased him best by moving one hand to support and guide his cock, while keeping the other on the back of my head still. My tongue and his penis began to spar with regular strokes, one against the other until his breathing became fast and shallow. It was no contest; his cock was larger and more powerful than my tongue. It more than filled my mouth and threatened to slide down my throat should he forget himself and press too deep.

He maintained that conscious control, at least for the moment, until he groaned and growled in earnest, heralding his impending climax. He suddenly pressed the back of my head forward, and his cock throbbed and twitched in my mouth. My tongue arched, blocking the back of my throat, creating a natural dam against the flood of ejaculate that gushed and filled my mouth completely, leaving no room for more until I swallowed once. He both gasped and grunted at the same time. The source of his quickening did not abate until his cock pulsed twice more, replenishing the pool on my tongue and only then did the river dwindled to a mere trickle.

His eyes opened slowly and came into focus as he stroked my dripping hair with the palm of his hand. The water was cool and growing colder when I let him slip from between my lips. He seemed lost in a world of his own for a while before I rose upright on my knees and planted a soft kiss on his lower stomach.

*****

"Good evening! How are you folks tonight?" a man in a suit asked as he leaned over the table to greet us.

I clasped my hands together and leaned them against the edge of the table as I stared up at him. "Hello, Howard. Remember me?"

He looked puzzled for a moment before clarity prevailed. "I thought I recognized you! Cindy, isn't it?" he asked. I nodded. "How is your mother? Is she coming down for the season?"

I shook my head and said, "I'm not sure. If she does, it will be late season. Maybe even in October."

"Well, you know we always look forward to seeing her. Give her our regards when you talk to her again, will you?"

"Of course. Howard, this is a friend of mine, Doctor..." my voice trailed away.

"Just Doc," he said as he stood and exchanged pleasantries.

When he was seated again, I addressed the owner once more. "Howard, I have a favor to ask."

"What can I do for you, Cindy?"

"I did a bit of bragging on your food. Would it be possible to order off menu?" I asked tilting my head at him.

"I think so. What did you have in mind?"

"Seafood, of course. I was hoping for a combination of sea scallops and calamari," I explained.

"Certainly. That's no problem at all," he smiled. "Let me get someone to take your order." He snapped his fingers and a waiter appeared with pad in hand.

Howard explained my choice of entrée to him.

"We'll start with gulf oysters on the half-shell and crab dainties. Dry white wine with dinner, please," I interjected.

Howard gave me a suspicious look. "Are you twenty-one yet?"

"You know better!" I laughed. "I'm an almost-divorced, almost-twenty-year-old."

"Serve the gentleman the wine with two glasses," Howard said frowning at the waiter.

"Thank you, Howard," I said with a slight wink and a broad smile.

"I'll be so glad when you finally grow up," he sighed and shook his head. "In the meantime, you two enjoy your dinner."

As Howard walked away, Doc suddenly seemed uneasy.

"You're nineteen?" he asked. I nodded and smiled. "Somehow, I thought you were older," he muttered.

"Uh-oh...I've seenthat look before," I said with a frown of dismay. I sat back and waited as the waiter approached with our wine and appetizers.

Doc glanced up briefly as the waiter set two glasses in front of him and uncorked the bottle. He displayed the label for Doc's approval. "That's fine. Just leave it, please. I'll pour."

"I didn't think to ask you if you liked white wine," I half apologized as I began squeezing lemon over the oysters.

"That's okay. I didn't think to ask you if you were of age, either," he retorted as he set a glass of wine in front of me and gave me a look that said he was disturbed by the revelation. "I've never eaten raw oysters before. The idea never appealed to me. You'll have to show me how."

I looked up at him now concerned with my selections for dinner. "Do you like fried oysters?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not one of my favorites, but I can eat them. They have a strong flavor."

"That's precisely why I don't eat them cooked," I admitted. "Raw oysters are an acquired texture. The taste is mild; it's the texture that puts people off. Should I have them bring you something else instead?"

"No. I'll try them," he said looking a bit doubtful. "This isn't your idea of getting revenge on me for calling you 'fish-bait', is it?" he asked warily.

His question made me try to hide a smile of amusement. "You're going to feel pretty stupid when you taste this," I said as I placed an oyster dripping with lemon and cocktail sauce in the center of a cracker. I handed it carefully across the table and said, "Now, don't try to eat just the oyster. Bite the cracker with it. Put the entire thing in your mouth at one time."

He waited until I prepared one for myself and placed it in my mouth. He watched to see my reaction before he took a deep breath and mimicked my actions. On the second chew, his eyes lit up and he grunted. "Um...this is good," he declared as he finally managed to swallow it down and clear his palate with a sip of wine.

"Now, aren't you ashamed for calling me 'fish-bait' to begin with?" I chided him.

"Absolutely...I think 'jail-bait' would have been much more appropriate, don't you?" he murmured as he reached for another cracker. I kicked him lightly under the table with the toe of my shoe and his eyes sparkled with humor.

We enjoyed the rest of our dinner at a leisurely pace, making small talk mostly, and killing several bottles of good wine together.

We'd spent most of the day doing odd things. When his clothes were dry, he'd dressed and returned to his condo for a couple of hours while I did some light housekeeping. He returned just after lunchtime, carrying a small overnight bag. There was no discussion and no doubt he would be staying another night with me.

In the heat of the afternoon, I suggested going scalloping in the bay. He was completely bewildered but agreeable. He watched me crouch in the murky brackish water of the bay and feel about the bottom before pulling up several small dark shells from the mud. I tossed them in a pail and began searching for more.

He sat down on the rocks, removed his boots and socks, and rolled up his jeans above the knee. Then he waded in alongside me. "Ouch!" he snarled and grabbed for one foot.

"That is a scallop!" I declared. "Try not to cut your feet on them. The shells can be pretty sharp and the cuts can turn toxic," I warned.

"Like stepping on a catfish fin?" he asked warily.

"Something like that," I murmured as I tossed another handful of the living creatures in our bucket. "Just try not to step on them. Shuffle your feet in the mud."

We had taken our harvest of bay scallops home, and he watched as I demonstrated how to shuck them from the shells. By the time I had cleaned up the ensuing mess of shells, sand and debris from the deck, we were both starved. It gave me the idea of going out to eat at Howard's restaurant. I agreed to cook our fresh scallops the following day instead.

It was late when we made the drive along the strip towards home. We were among the last of the dinner-guests to leave the restaurant, having stayed to finish our wine and then coffee.

"Would you like to stop for a drink somewhere?" he called over the wind rushing past the car. I glanced over at his hair whipping about and had to smile.

"I'd rather stop at the store and grab a few things tonight so we don't have to go shopping in the heat of the day tomorrow," I replied. "I'd like to be finished cooking before dark."

"Tell me where to stop," he called back. "Hey! We should come to the amusement park this weekend," he suggested as we drove past the now dark theme park. It occurred to me that we were both taking a lot for granted by making plans on a more long-range basis.

"You said you like to fish. My uncle owns a charter boat down at the marina. Would you like to go deep-sea fishing one day?" I asked. "Red snapper would be delicious for dinner one night."

"Sure! Why not?" he called back. "You're extremely self-sufficient, aren't you?" he asked glancing over at me.

"I grew up on the gulf, and I like fresh seafood. It's so much better than what you can buy in the stores. I guess old habits die hard," I shrugged.

"I don't blame you. If dinner last night was any indication, I could get used to it," he agreed with a grin.

Twenty minutes later, we emerged from a late-night grocery store, our arms loaded with bags of various edibles, mostly fresh fruits, nuts and cheeses, along with a few daily necessities. He carried the bags inside while I unpacked and put away the groceries. I quickly brewed a pot of coffee and threw together a tray of snack foods. I laced the coffee with liqueur and set it, along with the tray, on the coffee table.

"What's this?" he asked as he sniffed the steaming coffee.

"Try it," I suggested as I turned my back to him. "Could you, please? I've got to come out of these clothes."

I felt his fingers tug at the zipper and the bodice of my dress loosened. I held it in place with one arm across my breasts as I turned to face him again.

"Do you like it?" I asked tilting my head at him.

He eyed the dress for a moment before he nodded and said, "I do. There's not much to it though. Kind of like your bikini."

I rolled my eyes at him and laughed. "I meant the coffee."

"I like that, too, but I like the dress better," he replied smoothly. "I just realized you've got nothing on under that thing," he said as he poked a finger through the slits up sides. The warmth of his fingers made me flinch.

The dress was split from the floor to the thighs on either side. Up the sides of the bodice there were small straps along the hips and the torso which left bare skin exposed as well. It made wearing a bra, panties or pantyhose impossible.

"Not a damned stitch..." he muttered and shook his head as he opened one slit and gave my legs a quick look.

I reached and plucked a piece of fruit from the bowl in front of him. "Try a strawberry with your coffee," I suggested as I held it close to his lips.

He grabbed my wrist in one hand and cautiously bit the tip of the berry before taking it from me with his other hand. He held what was left of the strawberry out to me. I ducked my head and nibbled it from his fingers.

His voice was husky when he said, "Let it go."

"The drapes are still open."

"I'll close them...in a minute. Let it go."

I dropped my arm from across my chest and the dress crumpled around my ankles. There was an immediate spark in his eyes. His grip on my wrist tightened slightly.

"Fuck...I was trying so hardnot to look at you this morning. Now, all I want to do is look at you."

"The curtains," I reminded him.

He sighed and released my wrist. "You never seemed too worried about the drapes being open before," he complained as he stood and walked to the patio doors. He locked them for the night and pulled the curtains shut. "I've never seen anyone so completely unaware that they're being watched," he went on. "Do you know that when you sleep..." his voice trailed away when he turned to look at me again.

My gaze traveled between him and the sofa and back again. The complete reality of exactly what he might have seen dawned upon me like the sun suddenly going super-nova.

"You werewatching me!" I hissed in disbelief. He began to stammer and avert his gaze. "I don't mean you werelooking at me...you werewatching me," I repeated with my eyes blazing in anger.

He drew himself up defiantly and met my gaze. "Yes. Yes, I was," he admitted. "You were so beautiful to watch." He softened his tone and asked, "Would you like me to go?"

The idea was more than just embarrassing; it was horrifying, mortifying, completely unacceptable and a violation of my personal privacy. My mind began to race while I tried to think back and remember exactly what he did see. How many times had he been there, taking in every intimate detail...my thoughts were interrupted.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked again.

"Right now, I'm thinking I might want you to go to jail," I snapped as I turned my head to confront him.

Slowly a small smile curved his lips. "That would indicate you're considering forgiving me," he said sounding almost smug. "It would also indicate you may want me to stay," he added.

"Don't youdare start twisting my words," I stormed angrily. I flung myself down on the couch and stared sullenly at him.

He took a tentative step towards me. "I'm not trying to twist your words. I just don't think you are as angry as you think you should be," he astutely observed. "You knew I was watching you from the first day I left you that message in the sand. You hinted you might call the police then, but you didn't."

His tone wasn't accusing; it was simply factual. He leaned down and plucked my dress from the floor. He took another step closer and offered it to me. I snatched it from his hand still looking at him in reproach.

"You're avoyeur!" I spat at him with renewed anger as I tossed the dress over the arm of the sofa.

"I guess I am," he stated almost nonchalantly. "I didn't know that about myself until I began watching you." He paused for a moment and then asked, "Can I sit down and at least try to explain?"

I eyed him for a moment before I sighed and moved over slightly to make room for him on the couch beside me. He sat down and began to speak.

"The first time I saw you, it was quite by accident. I couldn't sleep and the sun was coming up. I saw something in the water, but I couldn't tell what it was at first. I was curious, so I got my binoculars. It was you, and you were swimming with those porpoises."

"Dolphins," I sniffed at him. He ignored me and went on.

"I was going to come down and talk to you, but by the time I got there, you were asleep. I couldn't bring myself to wake you. It was an insidious idea maybe, but I left the message in the sand. When I went back and saw you had answered it, I was intrigued.

"I left another and waited to see if you would come again...it became sort of a game, watching you come and go each day. I knew you must be staying somewhere nearby. It was simple to watch you leave the beach and come here. You leaving the curtains open all the time made it easy for me to see when you were here, or when you went out.