Island – 4

Long legs stretched glinting with sun, his hand feeling the downy rising up, up till he found the sweet mound and yes, he knew there was no hair, this girl-mound situated between the legs of a woman, opened furtive touch dipping finger and patterns of sun and sand, black hair with specks of sand, an ant crawling to home, the breeze following the curve of his ass, sheltered, manic fingers wanting, pumping into her, wanting the green stem, the salad crunching new leaves memories of birth, the bloody pussy breaking out a head, an egg a baskeketball, opening to reveal wet wizened old man face stunned by flourescent light, doctor, nurse hands, then her knees over his shoulders, ballast, blue, simple, picking up weight, shifting, knees altered without perception, shimmering.  He didn’t know what to do with her feet, sandy, brushing off and slowly the toe in his mouth, her face a surprise, blue jewel eyes imploring, wild, heated with core magma, seance in brain shifting to spirits, eyes shut and listening to the quiet of rabbits on the lawn in early June, no roof, open sky, balsam wilderness beyond, it’s mixed and rich like soil, something could grow there but not today, not this day.  

Sand and pillows — not a pleasant, nor pleasing thought, the two together, at night, with me on top. Scratching through dreams, looking for raspberry water, for the line with the tuna on it, jerking back to sea, to its running life under the waves, just me kicking at the dunes in dream, carrying buckets of sand, shells I’ve collected. And she is there, dreamy, smoking, reading a large book, incomprehensible, slow, not beef but sturgeon, flounder, bass, marlin, all lines coming undone around the feet, inching up the ankles, there sticking, sticking until midnight when you fall on my pillow and wake me up.  

“Honey…hey…get up.”   His wife was pulling clothes from the end of the bed and tossing them in the general direction of the closet where the suitcases were stashed.  Hallie put her face right into his. “Da – ddy,” with a big smile, a bathing suit bottom perched on her head, “Mommy told me to get my suit on” and giggled, then ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

The light made his head hurt. He pulled himself out of bed. He would just go on.

About David

Prone to musing and to being prone. Father to two, writer, engineer.
This entry was posted in erotica, fiction, stories and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Island – 4

  1. kateflusty says:


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