Sydney Buckner. No kidding.

To say the least, it was not the conversation that I was expecting to have when I came over for dinner and I could only imagine how differently it would have gone if I hadn't brought the tequila over.

After helping clean up, offering some advice on a smelly dishwasher, and exchanging a goodbye hug - which was unexpectedly accompanied by a peck-of-a-kiss on the lips - I headed out for the short walk back home content in the warm air. Life was good.

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It was three weeks later and I found myself sitting back on the beach. Summer was coming to a close and, technically, the beach season was already over as it was no longer manned by lifeguards, but with the weather as nice as it was it seemed almost criminal not to take advantage of it.

"Papa!"

I hopped up from my chair like it had springs under it. I hadn't seen Sydney since the night she had invited me over to dinner yet we had shared a couple of texts - each text was on an innocuous enough topic though each exchange ended in slightly flirty tones - and I was thrilled at the prospect of being able to see her again. I could easily admit to myself that the feminine attention she paid me boosted my spirits to a level I had not felt since years before my wife had passed and simply felt good.

She was already nude and dropping what appeared to be a new chair, umbrella and cooler just next to me and we stepped into each other for a tighter-than-expected, though somehow non-energetic hug.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said with an exasperated sigh, still holding me tight

"Something up?"

"Just me, still broken."

Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but I could also sense there was something to her comments.

We got her settled, she confirmed that her gear was in-fact new, and we took the opportunity to get up-to-date with our sunscreen application, both helping one another and applying to ourselves.

Not much was said during the actual application of the sunscreen. Maybe a directive to the other to hold still or to check angles to make sure that no spots were missed, but in general, it was all utilitarian time. In fact, my brain started thinking about the lack of conversation when, each of us sitting down and applying the finishing touches to ourselves, Sydney broke the silence somewhat unexpectedly.

"So, I went on a date last night."

"Yeah?"

I looked up and at her for no other reason than to be engaged in the conversation and was, similar to the last time we were on the beach together, drawn into the visual.

She was on the edge of her chair and was applying the finishing touches of lotion to her legs. Though the leg she was not working on was positioned straight out in front of her - most likely for balance - the leg she was working on was bent at the knee and splayed out wide, giving her easy access to the inner-thigh she was finishing... and my eyes a straight, unobstructed view to her pussy.

I felt my jaw drop and my eyes go wide.

"What do you think of my bush?"

Shit. Busted.

"Ahem. Uhm, yeah. Sorry. I guess you caught me staring."

"Don't worry about it," she responded, "it isn't like I am sitting in a very lady-like position. Besides, this is one of the least graphic views you've had of me out here."

"Yeah," I responded, "there is a little bit of a history out here."

"Anyhow," she scooted her butt back into a normal sitting position, the action naturally closing her legs, and continued her train of thought. "I've decided that there is no point in me grooming anymore as I am going to end up alone."

"Sounds a bit alarmist," I responded in a flat tone.

"Nope, not at all. After last night's fiasco it is no longer an opinion, rather a statement of fact."

"Alright, out with it."

Sydney told me of getting together for the first time with someone she had met and had been chatting with for some time online. They got together for drinks and she said when she wasn't completely silent the only things that were able to come out of her mouth were bits of woe and misery. Topics included: the detailed deaths of her parents, her "loser-like" lack of social life under her grandparents, and a yeast infection that she had developed while in high school.

"A yeast infection?!" I couldn't contain my laughter. "How on earth could that possibly even come up in conversation?"

"It didn't. Not in the least. As I was unsuccessfully attempting to sleep last night I was trying to think of different topics of conversation that possibly would have gotten me to even think about having a yeast infection. Were we talking about high-school memories? No. Were we talking about gross medical conditions? No. Were we even talking about fucking bread making and needing yeast for the dough to rise?! No! I'm just a massive freak who has no idea how to act around the opposite sex."

"Oh, come on. You aren't a MASSIVE freak," I joked in response. "And, besides, you are fine around me. I am sure it is just nerves. You are a fantastic young woman and would be a catch for anyone."

"We both know I wasn't fine around you last time we were here. Though I appreciate you continuing to be nice to me."

We sat in silence for some time, just taking in the sun and contemplating life. I admit I didn't particularly know what to say to Sydney. Afterall, on one hand most people do get nervous before a first date. On the other hand she seemed to have really botched her date beyond normal proportions. But, then again, what was I supposed to do about it?

...and so it began.

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"Papa? Can I ask you a personal question?"

It was still early in the day and the sun was high. Well past the commentary of her social woe's, we had been enjoying a really nice morning on the beach through shared conversation, walks, laughs and time in the water. We had been silent for probably close to 20 minutes at that point, sunning and listening to music and, though I could easily say the morning's conversation had pretty much already been forgotten by myself, it turned out that it was still very much on her mind.

"Sure. Any time. What's up?"

"Have you dated at all since your wife died?"

"Not much," I replied honestly. "Though Katie has really been pushing for me to 'get back out there,' I haven't done much more than go out to 2 or 3 dinners with different women and that's over the course of a couple of years. Nothing ever got past the first date."

"Didn't care for any of them? Did they make fools out of themselves like me?"

"No, nothing like that. Who knows though, maybe if any of them had shown me their butthole we would have made it to a second date," I said with a chuckle. "Plus, two out of three of them were very lovely women. It just somehow didn't feel right."

"Like you were cheating on your wife?"

"No, not that either. In fact, my wife told me as things were coming to an end that she wanted me to get on with my life as soon as possible. But, after her last few months being pretty rough, I wanted to just decompress and be alone for a bit."

"So, you just like being alone?"

She seemed to be pressing the topic a bit.

"No. Still not that. To be honest, I wouldn't mind having some companionship. It could be one of the reasons that I come here so often. Though you haven't met any of them, I really do have a couple groups of really good people that I often hang out with. And, I do think about having a spouse or significant other but then can't help but think that I would be doing that person a disservice. Afterall, what do I really have to offer them?"

"You're kidding, right?"

Her reply was met with a stare and an open jaw.

"I know, I know. Probably sounds like the pot calling the kettle black, right? Believe me, I can hear my own bit of hypocrisy when I talk to you about your relationship issues. But, you're forgetting a major point here."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I'm old. You're young and beautiful and talented and have an incredible future to look forward to. I am on the back 9 of life. I'm just so out of practice with being with a woman I am just not sure trying is worth it at this point."

"What? How old are you?!"

"53."

"Oh, my God! What is wrong with you? First off, while I admit the math doesn't add up since I know approximately how old Katrina is, my friends and I all thought you were at least 10 years younger. Second, 53 isn't even old! You make it sound like you are 90! Why are you already packing things in?"

"Why are you packing it in at 21?"

Sydney stopped talking. She knew I had a point and I knew she had a point. I wasn't lying when I told her that Katie was pushing me to get out more and start dating. While I don't think my daughter necessarily thought I was unhappy, I do think she was getting a bit tired of my somewhat constant requests for video calls with her and the grandkids. I had thought about moving closer to her, and after mentioning it to her she expressed some positivity to the idea, but in all reality I think the interest in being able to obtain some free babysitting and childcare was outweighed by her fear that my video calls would just be replaced by regular in-person visits and she simply didn't have time for that. She had her own life, she simply wanted me to have my own. Plus, it wasn't like I really wanted to move. The beach had become a significant part of my life and I didn't want to lose it. It may sound crazy to some and it may have been selfish, but it was still the reality.

Nothing was said for some time as Sydney and I simply reflected on the previous conversation and soaked in the last sun of the summer. Sure, we each shifted and moved - sitting up or laying down, in the sun or in the shade of the umbrellas - and there were more than a handful of times that I would peek over at her and find her returning her own curious gaze, yet we still stayed silent.

We had both been on our bellies for a bit, getting some sun on our backs and back-sides, when I realized that I had gotten pretty hot and probably needed to reapply my sunscreen. Looking at her - seemingly asleep on her towel - I could tell that Sydney's skin was starting to pick up a bit of color and figured I should do the right thing. Grabbing the sunscreen bottle, I squirted a liberal amount directly onto her back, confident that the lotion inside had warmed under the sun. Her head popped up at the feeling of the first shot to her back and I realized that it was possible she had been asleep.

"You're starting to burn," I said in a gentle voice and with a calming hand on her back, immediately addressing the lotion. "Just give me a minute to get you covered."

She sighed under the touch of my hand, seemingly happy to be pampered, and I took it as a sign of acceptance. The validation made me a bit more bold and utilitarian, and I took the opportunity to cover her entire backside, including her arms, shapely legs and butt. I admit it didn't necessarily make sense for me to do any of them, afterall, I know that I personally find it easier to apply sunscreen to my entire arm or entire leg as opposed to just one side of it, though I realized that the more I applied and the more she purred, the action had transitioned from utilitarian to somewhat sensual.

Sydney flipped over when it was obvious that I had finished her back and handed the bottle of lotion back to me.

"Finish the job?"

I looked around at the mostly empty beach and the closest person had to be at least 50 meters away from us.

Hell, why not?

I evenly spread a large dollop of lotion across my palms and went to work. Of course, I wanted to just immediately apply to her breasts and, truth be told, I think she might have even let out a slight disappointed sigh when I first started to work on her legs, but I figured anticipation was part of whatever game we were playing and I admittedly wanted to win.

While the fact that we were still on a public beach was not lost on me, and I was steadfast against actions that would challenge the beach's ability to stay clothing optional, I do admit that I pushed the boundaries of what I would normally consider appropriate.

...Like when I spread her legs open wide and pulled the leg that I was working on over my shoulder, exposing her sex to the sun and my welcoming eyes.

...And when I applied the lotion in style more of an erotic massage as opposed to platonic utility, paying extra attention to her high inner thighs and finely tracing the borders of her pubic hair.

...And when I used both hands to cover and massage each lovely breast, paying special attention to each nipple, eliciting shudders in her breath.

Sydney's body was like jello as I finished up, working through her arms and fingers, stretching and pulling each just enough to make her ever so more relaxed.

In fact, Sydney was so relaxed when I finished that I simply sat and admired her for a bit - her beauty and her body - while I waited for her reaction. A reaction that included a cat-like stretch and a single question.

"Papa, when was the last time you had sex?"

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We got together at my house a few nights later for dinner. I decided to make a light pasta and salad and Sydney promised she would bring a bottle of wine.

"I'm surprised you like red wine," I commented when she got to my house and presented the wine and a loaf of bread.

"I don't," she replied. "At least I don't think I do. I honestly haven't had it since I was a kid and my parents let me have sips at the table. Then again, I used to hate white wine and liquor too yet a couple of college parties got me over that."

She was dressed in yoga pants and a light sweatshirt and had her hair up in a pony-tail.

She looked young.

She looked good.

"Smells good," she said as we made our way to the kitchen.

"Garlic," I replied. "My sauce is made of 5 ingredients: tomatoes,olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic. Throw a bunch of fresh-cut basil and freshly grated Pecorino Romano on there at the end and you have a heck of a simple and delicious meal."

"My grandmother would be mad at you," she responded as she sat on one of the island stools, "she said that nobody in their right minds would ever choose Romano over Parmesan."

"Sounds like your grandmother and I are going to have to fight then," I replied with a wink as I handed her a glass of wine.

I sliced some bread and prepared some dipping oil while Sydney took her first sip of wine.

"What do you think?"

"Not bad. I didn't know what to buy so I just told the guy at the store that I was having pasta with red sauce."

"He had a good recommendation in my opinion. There are a lot of good blends these days and this is one of them."

"Sure," she responded, seemingly not impressed with the topic or direction of conversation.

We picked at the bread for a bit in silence, each sipping our wine, neither of us really saying anything. It was the silence that got to Sydney first.

"So, I want to bring up what we talked about on the beach again."

I knew it was coming. There was something about the way things ended that I just knew the conversation was not complete.

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When she asked me the last time I had sex, I told her in all honesty that it was with my late wife, many years prior. I explained that my lack of partners was an extension of my not dating in that at first I wasn't there mentally and then I just didn't bother anymore. The exchange we had was warm and heartfelt, with Sydney reiterating she could empathize with the way that I felt. On one hand it felt nice to talk to someone about it and to air out the bit of a gap that I felt in my life since my wife's passing, but on the other hand it did feel a bit wrong to be talking to her about it. Afterall, there was a significant age gap between us and neither of us was a therapist. The topics seemed to be more appropriate for a professional. But, then again, maybe I was just old fashioned.

When Sydney timidly asked me what I would think about the prospect of us figuring out things together, I immediately put a stop to the line of conversation, explaining the reasons I was just running through my own head, emphasizing the age difference.

"I get it," she had told me, still laying on the sand. She didn't press, she didn't argue, she just stayed silent.

But I knew there would be more.

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"I think we should have sex and I want you to hear me out," she continued, setting aside a piece of bread and pulling a piece of paper from her pocket. "I made a list of pro's and con's. I seriously think that this could be a good thing for both of us."

She slowly read through her list of positives that she figured made the situation ideal. First was that we both needed a safe space to figure out their likes and dislikes. Second was that we were both comfortable in front of the other nude. Third was that she found me attractive and figured that I found her attractive as well as it was demonstrated by my erection the one day. Fourth was the cost effectiveness of it as we were so close geographically and didn't feel the need to impress one another with fancy restaurants and dates. And, finally, there was the fact that it could potentially be a lot of fun.

By the end of the "pro" list, we had easily gulped through our first couple glasses of wine and were almost each through a third. And, while I verbally agreed in principle with each of the points she made, I still kept repeating - with admittedly less and less conviction - that it was a bad idea... and that I felt it was getting really hot in the room.

We had just cracked open a second bottle of wine I pulled from my stock - with Sydney proclaiming her newfound love of red - when I realized that I really had to actually make our pasta before the sauce reduced too much and was ruined. By this point I was literally sweating, not just from the conversation - which I admit had made me a bit nervous at the beginning but now, most likely alcohol induced, was somewhat fun - but from the booze and literal temperature in the room, which had raised considerably from the constantly fired range burners and lack of airflow in the small kitchen. Sydney was feeling the effects as well and had removed her sweatshirt, leaving her sitting in an extremely thin cotton tank top, her tanned areola clearly visible through the fabric, a fact that she kept drawing my visual attention to as she marveled at the supposedly unexpected discovery.

"Look," I said, my inhibitions toward continuing the conversation gone, "I'm not saying that it's a big deal that the shape and size of your nipples is very evident, or that you aren't wearing a bra, I'm just saying that you had to have known that the tank top was thin enough to see through."

"Maybe," she said with a giggle, "but I swear I didn't realize that the shirt was quite so translucent."

"Translucent? Are you trying out for a spelling bee?"

She stuck out her tongue at me as I handed her a plate of pasta and topped off our glasses. We ate at the counter of the island, casually and comfortably, with Sydney maintaining her seat at one of the bar stools and me standing across from her.

"You know," I pointed out after a few satisfactory bites of food, "you never did read your 'con' list. And I suspect it must be quite substantial."

She said nothing, rather simply slid the paper across the countertop toward me. Indeed, it was a formal listing, with two columns neatly drawn, headers written in a bold, all-upper-case text, and the five clearly listed points we had previously covered bulleted on the left side of the page. On the right side, much to my surprise, was a single entry.