The Old Man and the Beach

But it was over-or should have been. I forced myself to settle in my recliner and take out my book and open it to continue following the herculean struggles of Old Man Sebastian-though the last thing I felt like doing at the moment was reading. I really felt like screaming, sobbing, throwing my duffel across the beach, and stomping up trail number three, the steep one-not bothering to get dressed. They could arrest me for public indecency for all I cared.

But I fought back my self-pity hissy fit and forced myself to start reading, though my eyes were on blind autopilot.

Eventually, somehow, I calmed down-though my knees were throbbing-and gradually got into the story. And Sebastian got his monster huge fish, then his fish almost got him, but the old fisherman prevailed-until the sharks robbed him of most of his prize. That sounded like my life...at least the recent part..but in the end the fellow got enough of the marlin to shore to salvage his reputation as a fisherman if not his pocketbook, and...but I'm not going to drop a spoiler. You'll have to read the classic tale yourself if your seventh grade English teacher didn't make you do so already. But I wondered how my tale would end

I read and dozed and peed, then dozed and read and peed some more. (My kidneys and bladder functioned just fine no matter my state of mind.) The hours passed. I desultorily people-watched a bit; but my heart and libido weren't really into it. The sun was settling in the western sky and turning golden-orange-fuschia when I decided to call it a day and trudge back to my car and go home.

A shadow fell across me. I peered up to see a darkened figure silhouetted by the sun, and squinted. I immediately recalled a similar beginning of a most unpleasant experience...the Amber Debacle...some months before. But that was unfair; this apparently female figure was tall and slender, nothing like Amber. So, shading my eyes the best I could I asked, "Can I help you?"

"Umm...I doubt you remember me..." She was correct, though there was something uncannily familiar about her.

"Well...I don't think I do. Though..."

"May I sit down beside you?"

Amberesque déjà vu was still haunting me, but this...young woman had asked...Amber hadn't, and I wasn't going to be rude, but I seized upon an excuse to decline.

"I don't have another towel..."

"That's okay. A little sand won't hurt my bum."

"Well...I guess so.." Definitely unenthused, but to save my eyesight from sun-blindness if for no other reason...

The young woman stepped to my side and lowered herself onto the sandy-pebbly surface. She was out of the sun now and...I recognized her. Oh God... She was Amber's lanky, flat-chested daughter... What was her name?-it sounded a lot like Amber... the one who had captured the red-headed fellow and seduced him in the rock-framed cavity ... She was a lot prettier than her mother, but if she were anything like her otherwise... My stomach clenched. Was I a victim once again of my pheromones?

The girl cleared her throat and extended a hand, "Hi! I'm Ambrosia." Oh, yeah... She had a nice voice, nearly subalto, huskily musical. She must have gotten her vocal genes from someone other than her strident soprano mother. I extended my hand and shook hers. Nice firm handshake. But I was still leery.

She continued. "Umm...I think you met my mother back some months ago...right here...on this spot..." She remembered. "I was..umm...down below...between those rocks over there...with a friend of mine..." Friend or submissive?

I interjected. "Yeah, I remember your mother...Amber was it?"

"Yeah. She tends to leave a lasting impression... She can be a bit overwhelming at times..." A bit? At times?

My thoughts must have shown on my face. Ambrosia's face darkened, "Well, more than a bit sometimes. She can really come on strong." No kidding.

Ambrosia looked away, out to sea. After a pause, she said, softly-I had to strain to hear her. "They say she's a really good teacher. Her students-those that survive her classes anyway-always do well on standardized tests and the AP exam. I think you know what that is."

"Umm...yes..." I responded.

Ambrosia continued. "Maybe she terrifies her students into working and learning. I suppose pain can be an effective motivator. Works for my mom at least."

She fell silent. I didn't know what to say, though I felt a sudden surge of...what?...sympathy?...pity?...for Ambrosia. Perhaps she had been the object of her mother's motivational strategy for much of her life. But I was still reluctant to engage with her-they say most abusers are themselves victims of earlier abuse who subconsciously model after their tormentors.

Then...Ambrosia heaved a deep sigh and swivelled about to face me. In a much more upbeat tone of voice she declared, "But that's not what I came to see you about, Professor McKean..." How...oh yeah, her mother must have told her my name... "...I've seen you around the San Patricio State campus and friends tell me you're a good teacher and I need to Yellow Card into your gen ed chem class-either section will work. I'm one of those infamous fifth year seniors and need a science class to graduate; I'm a French-slash-secondary ed major and completed my student teaching last spring but still need some gen ed credits to graduate in December. Really stupid of me: procrastinating so long I know, but I've been science-phobic and was hoping.."

So... my academic pheromones were hard at work still. Nevertheless I felt an irrational sense of relief (blended with irrational disappointment) that this girl hadn't come over to try to rape me-just pitch an all too familiar scholastic importunate entreaty. Okay...

Into professor mode. "You ARE aware that tomorrow-Tuesday-is the last day to add a class for this semester?"

"Yes...my procrastination genes at work again. But if you let me in one of your classes I'll work really hard to catch up and won't ask for any special help..."

Groan. I'd been teaching for almost forty years and had found, almost without exception, that students who added one of my classes more than one or two days late NEVER caught up, no matter how earnest their vows otherwise-and all too often blamed it on me and gave me poor teaching reviews. There was just something about the mindset of stragglers...procrastination genes as Ambrosia had said, perhaps.

But I DID have a couple of openings in my 7:30 a.m. class-drops who'd found the early hour intolerable, and even more spaces in my 10:30 am section (I preferred morning classes and as a part-time instructor was now in a position to insist on what I wanted-or I'd walk) due to some no-shows and drops.

"I'll show you no mercy, and procrastination and chemistry don't mix well... they tend to explode into failing grades..."

"Can I take that as a 'yes'? Letting me in, that is?" she said hopefully.

I groaned silently even louder. "I suppose...but you better be there at 7:30 am if not earlier tomorrow-or no va as the Spanish say." I wasn't going to tell her about the 10:30 am class... no mercy for the procrastinator-no matter how pretty she was or how impressive her bushy pussy. (I couldn't help but survey and evaluate her physique, regardless of anything else. I wondered if I'd recognize her in class with her clothes on-as the old joke goes about a porn actor and actress meeting at the grocery store and not recognizing each other when dressed.)

"I'll be there!"

"And right after class go directly to the Registrars' Office and enroll-I'll give you a Yellow Card. That part is beyond my control-and no registration, no grade!"

"Thank you, Professor McKean. You won't regret it!" I hoped not. And then she leaned over, embraced me and gave me a big, wet kiss on the mouth. I was quite... umm...surprised...but I noticed Marcus immediately responded. Groan again. I was doing that a lot.

Then she clambered to her feet and declared, "Sorry, but I gotta get going. I have an advanced French lit exam tomorrow to study for and it's getting late and..." Ah...procrastination...

Indeed the sun had become scarlet and almost set and shadows were rapidly deepening and the temperature falling. Time for old geezers to go home, whether or not they were helplessly disappointed not to have warm female flesh to keep them company for the night.

Ambrosia disappeared down the beach, probably heading to retrieve her towel and clothes (teeny-tiny blue-green bikini?) and stuff, and I struggled stiffly to my feet, did the same, and headed ungainly up trail number two. Another day at the nude beach; time to head back to the academic pit. Though as I trudged I thought of Ambrosia and for some reason really, really hoped she would pull it out in my class-even if I had to give her "special help." She couldn't help being under her mother's domination; maybe I could remediate it some.

That evening I had a very difficult time falling asleep as both Edward McKean and Marcus kept almost involuntarily fantasizing about a certain tall, slender girl with small boobs and big dark nipples. And until both Ed and Marcus were drained I couldn't relax. I was going to be comatose in the morning. Groan.

Chapter Nine

But morning came, unforgivingly, as it always does and I sleep-walked into my 7:30 to 8:55 lecture section of Chemistry 100. Good thing I had taught the same class so many times I could do it in my sleep-since it seemed I might have to do so. Nevertheless Professor Mode kicked in and my brain and mouth went on autopilot and I launched into my presentation prepared for the first class of the third week of the semester.

And, yes, Ambrosia did show up (and I did recognize her- dressed- in shorts and a halter top)-along with another last minute add, a rather heavy-set beetle-bowed fellow. He had the paperwork for a last minute add but she didn't of course, so I had to ask her name-first and last-to add to my roll. Ambrosia Pagliai...P-A-G-L-I-A-I. Italian, huh? Possibly her mom's first husband-the "Gold-plated Jerk?" That might explain Ambrosia's dark hair, olivish complexion...and chocolate nips. A vision of Ambrosia...nude...intruded into my thoughts. Get out of here! I admonished but Marcus stirred. Damn. It was going to be a very long semester if I couldn't control my thoughts-and hormones.

But somehow I survived and didn't make a total fool of myself, though I was sure it wasn't the finest lecture I'd ever delivered, and I dismissed the class, reminding them that labs began on Wednesday afternoon and to be sure to attend the lab section to which they'd been assigned and pay their lab fees at the bookstore and pick up a lab coat and goggles-they had to buy their own and wouldn't be permitted in lab without them...and asked Ambrosia and the husky fellow who'd added late to stay after for a few minutes; I had some materials to go over with them and... I felt like collapsing and taking a l-o-n-g nap.

I handed Ambrosia and the fellow-Thomas Denton, a sculpture major-copies of the class syllabus, went over it hastily, asked them to come to my office hours that afternoon if they had any questions, and sent them on their ways-the teacher whose class was to use the lecture hall next was standing inside the door, fidgeting ostentatiously. Yeah, yeah...

I survived my 10:30-11:55 section of Chem 100 also-don't ask me how-and fled for my office, locking my door behind me and setting my alarm clock for one-fifty since my office hour was supposed to start at two. I would be missing department meeting from noon to one-thirty (some sadist must have chosen the time) and that would annoy the department head, but I was officially retired and couldn't really be compelled to attend, and I was so...o...o... tired...and just didn't care. I unfolded a patio lounge chair I covertly kept tucked (folded up) in a back corner of my cluttered office, positioned a pillow, lay down and was snookered out in minutes.

I was awakened by a soft but persistent knocking on my office door. Groggily I arose and moved over to my desk. Couldn't students wait at least until my office hour started? But then I glanced at the digital clock on my wall; it read 2:11. What the heck!? I seized my alarm clock and examined its back, I had set the time, 1:50, correctly- but a.m. not p.m. !!! Oh, shit...! Panicked, I arose and opened my office door. There stood Ambrosia. Groan. Again.

I wordlessly gestured for her to come in and moved back behind my desk. I was almost too embarrassed for words. But I managed to get out, "Umm... have a seat...that chair there. I'm sorry but...that I...umm..."

Ambrosia smiled a sly little smile, "Have a rough night, Professor? Sorry to interrupt your beauty rest..."

I felt like crawling under my desk and curling up in a fetal position and never coming out.

"Well..umm...yes... I did have a hard time sleeping..."

"What a coincidence! Me, too. I kept having weird dreams about an old white haired naked codger ogling my tits and pussy. The worst was I ogled him back. How strange... You ever have dreams like that?" She was grinning, her eyes twinkling.

I decided I wouldn't crawl under my desk; I'd swallow double-edged razor blades.

"Uh... well..."

She tittered. "Of course not!" and winked broadly, then sobered. "But what I've really come for is answers to some questions I have about the syllabus and some stuff in class."

Whew! Saved by...what?...the syllabus? But sooner or later I wouldn't be saved and then what?

I answered her questions about the syllabus, especially her use of the chemical element-Xenon, Element Number 54-that she'd been assigned as her pseudonym in class, and which lab section she should attend, et cetera. And she handed me the quadruplicate "Late Add Form" she'd picked up after class but before coming to my office and I signed it and kept the pink copy for my files, and then saw the other late add fellow-Thomas somebody-or-another-hovering outside my door, and showed Ambrosia out. But as we reached the door she turned and murmured, "Sometime we should get together, Professor, and share our dreams. It might be most...stimulating! And I have to say that you look really nice with clothes on...as well as otherwise. See you in lab tomorrow!" and left.

I showed Thomas in. I hoped he didn't notice the tentpole straining at the crotch of my pants.

Chapter Ten

But the next several weeks of Fall Semester proceeded relatively unremarkably-for better or worse. Since September to mid-October in central coastal California is still usually warm, sometimes even hot, I did visit Sunbody most Mondays-but didn't encounter Ambrosia there. Perhaps she was too busy trying to finish up her last semester of college, especially coping with that sadistic taskmaster Chemistry Professor McKean-or advanced French lit. But I was horrendously busy, too-I had more than the usual quota of "problem students" in Chem 100 (Ambrosia wasn't one of them. She was actually keeping up with the class-mostly-and averaging a solid "B".) and an exceptional number of especially bright and engaged students in my signature specialty course Geochemistry / Chem 556 (almost as challenging as subpar students) and was in Hyperprofessor Mode most of the time. And my cat died and my truck broke down and ...

Suffice it to say I was more than ready for Mid-Semester Break when it rolled around the second week of October.

But autumn-mid-coastal California style-had finally arrived and Monday and Tuesday of Break Week were overcast and rainy and chilly....though I'm sure Midwesterners or New Englanders wouldn't have been impressed. But the forecast for Wednesday was sunny and warmer-though still a bit on the cool side-and I decided to gird up my loins and visit Sunbody once more...possibly for the last time that season.

But the beach was sparsely populated and though I had no trouble staking claim to my preferred vantage spot I considered that people-watching would be rather unprofitable that day and resigned myself to profitable reading-I was slogging through Solzhenitsyn's massive magnum opus The Gulag Archipelago. A real literary supermarathon, though horrifyingly fascinating-or fascinatingly horrifying. Take your pick.

Then...about noon...

"Hi, Professor B! [Element Boron, symbol B, number 5, was my chem class moniker...to be consistent with the required chemical element pseudonyms for students] Remember me?" Did I remember her? She was jesting.

But this time I was prepared. :I folded down the corner of the page, closed my book and gestured to the spot besides me. "Yes I do, Xenon, number 54, though you look different without your lab coat and goggles. But I have an extra towel." I said.

"Thanks. But I brought my own." And she spread out a blue-and-white oversized beach towel, smoothed it, and settled down, sitting cross-legged. I tried not to stare at her impressive black pubic bush.

We reclined there together for some time wordlessly, apparently surveying the goings-on . It seemed as a number of the beach habitues were attempting to cram in as much frenzied sexual activity as possible before the impending end of the season, and the scene was reminiscent of a Roman orgy, seaside style. I wondered how many STDs and unintended pregnancies would result from that day's festivities.

Finally, Xenon/Ambrosia spoke. "Quite a place isn't it?"

Me. "A definite understatement. Umm... Why did you invite your mother here? For that matter, how did you come to...umm...frequent here?"

She, after a long moment. "My mom? I knew she liked...craved... sex and had felt rather...make that 'quite'... deprived during the years she was married to Bob. However I guess I underestimated how far she would go to the other extreme given the chance...but you can't stuff the genie...or the nymphomaniac...back in the bottle, can you?" She gave me an appraising look, then continued. "Me? I came here a few times when I was a sophomore and junior with Richard, that red-headed guy I was fucking the day my mother ambushed you here. He was my fuckbuddy back then and we got along great-generally. But apparently he got along even better with my best friend and eventually we parted ways. They got married a few days after you saw us together here."

I was a bit...surprised. "You got together with your ex-boyfriend for a fuckathon just days before he married your ex-best girlfriend?"

Ambrosia smiled wanly. "Sounds kind of weird, doesn't it? But we're still friends and it was really sort of a celebrating old times thing. Besides, my girlfriend and I are still besties; I was a bridesmaid at their wedding...Richard and Julia's. I hope they had a really hot honeymoon though I worry how long the marriage will last-I doubt Julia can remain faithful to one man for long. She's something of a closet nymphomaniac and unless Richard can get it up every few hours 24/7, which he can't...."

I shook my head in amazement. I guessed it took all sorts but I would never have conceptualized such a situation...

But Ambrosia broke into my reverie. "How about you, Professor? What brings you to this Sodom-by-the-Sea? Terminal horniness? A closet sexual predator? Or you just like roasting your geriatric genitalia in the sun while reading heavy books?"

What DID bring me there? It was certainly out of character from my earlier life. So...why? I pondered.

"Earth to Professor Boron! Come in, Element Five! You still here?" Ambrosia.

I started and stage-coughed. "That's a hard question. I don't have a good answer. Most of my friends and relatives would be shocked to know I started coming here after my wife's death. I guess it just served as a tonic to pull me out of depression-nothing like a surge of dopamine to get one going. And I got addicted. Maybe I've always had subliminal voyeur inclinations and just didn't know it. I guess...I just...enjoy it... whyever."