Across the lot, I caught a glimpse of a woman getting into a car. There was something about the way she’d swept her hair up into a careless bun, tendrils escaping down the bare nape of her neck. And the way she moved, fluid, graceful, languid. It re
minded me of Sophie so hard I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.
But there was almost no chance it was actually her. Sophie hadn’t been back to Naugatuck at all in the past seven years, at least not to my knowledge. That had nearly driven me crazy the first summer without her, the thought that she might be on island and I just didn’t know. I’d hardly slept at night knowing she might only be a mere mile away. But as far as I knew she hadn’t come back, then or since.
The woman was inside her car now and the flow of traffic was moving so I could finally exit and, no, I was sure that couldn’t have actually been Sophie Douglas in the parking lot at the grocery store. But something about that woman made me think of her. It had been years, but I could still picture Sophie so clearly, laughing in the sunshine the way only I could make her laugh. Dancing in the waves like a water nymph come up to land for a brief, enchanted moment. Having an orgasm for the first time, blinking and looking at me like I was a god. And that was exactly how she’d made me feel.
I remembered the first time I’d seen her dance. It had been at the end of the summer before we’d gotten together, when she was 17 and I was 19. I’d known who she was through her brother Ian, but she’d always just been his younger sister, a cute and sweet little kid. But that all changed in an instant.
Some guy I’d known had asked me to lend a hand throwing together the set for a show. Sophie had been talked into doing a performance with a local youth dance group, even then like a star gracing the stage of armatures. I’d headed down to the local theater with my tool belt. When I’d walked in, she’d been up on stage rehearsing, so absorbed in dancing that she wasn’t aware I’d entered.
Without making a conscious decision, I’d slipped into a seat in the back row and watched her. I’d never seen anything like it. She moved with such fluidity and purpose, such clarity and yet subtle grace. It was like sunlight had touched down and taken shape as a girl. I’d known nothing about dance, and I still didn’t, but I knew magic when I saw it. There was something about her when she moved, something you couldn’t take your eyes off of. When she’d stopped, panting with effort and taking a long swig of water, I’d managed to slip out before she realized I was there.
She’d come back the following summer. I’d made sure our paths crossed straight away and we never looked back. Until she left at the end of that summer, never looking back at me to pursue her dance career. Which was wildly successful, so I’d heard. I made sure to never look her up. I didn’t want to see photos of her on the internet. That day I’d seen her dance, mesmerized as I’d been, I hadn’t even gone back later to watch the performance. I hadn’t wanted to share the experience of watching her with other people. I wanted it private, just between the two of us.
I could practically hear my father’s voice making fun of me. “She left your ass seven years ago.” He’d told me I’d been a fool to think of Sophie as more than a summer fling. Only he hadn’t minced words, he’d said summer fuck. If he were in my truck right now he’d knock me upside the head. The thought made me ball my hand into a fist.
A passing car beeped and waved. On autopilot once again, I smiled and waved back. I thought I recognized the girls in the car, but I couldn’t be sure.
It didn’t matter anyway. I turned the music up. Maybe I’d hit the gym, lift some weights before I headed out for the night. I had energy pumping through me and I needed release. Too bad I’d already gone for a run. That would hit the spot. Maybe I could go for a swim. That was something Chase and I had always had in common, relentless energy we channeled into physical exercise. I guess we still had it in common. Only he had another daily outlet now.
I didn’t actually feel jealous or envious of Chase for being married. I was happy for him and I enjoyed my single life. At 27 I was in prime health and got more female attention than any one man deserved. I lived oceanfront on an exclusive island. I worked with some of the best guys around, loved what I did, and still found time for a couple other side businesses, helping with town fire inspections and doing custom carpentry.
I liked being alone and routinely chose it over random hook ups back at my place. That feeling of waking up next to someone you barely knew and didn’t particularly want to see again? Not a good one. But lately I found myself wondering what it would be like to wake up next to someone I actually wanted to be with.
But how, exactly, would that work? This imaginary love of my life and future mother of my children would have to be a sweetheart, kind and considerate, someone I could trust and laugh with, sometimes talking, sometimes enjoying an easy silence as we sat together and watched the ocean. And she’d also need to enjoy getting spanked until her ass turned red and her moans shifted from pain to pleasure. Those two sides definitely existed within me. But how, exactly, was I supposed to go about finding the woman who fit the first half of that description, never mind the second? The combo seemed like a tall order, one I shouldn’t even bother wasting my time trying to find.
Arriving home, I could already sense a long night ahead of me. With my messed up sleep pattern, I might not fall asleep until close to dawn. I knew I’d manage to keep myself busy. I’d visit that waitress and head to the kegger. But it would all just be a diversion, a distraction, a way to pass time.
Nothing matched the high I got in my role as a dom. Focusing, devoting all of my attention and energy, narrowing everything down into laser-like precision, I could make a woman cum so hard she’d black out from her punishment. But it was more enjoyable to force her not to cum, to hold back, denying her release until, finally, under the palm of my hand I commanded her to let go.
But that wasn’t going to happen tonight. So I put on a clean shirt and a smile and headed out to keep myself busy. That way I wouldn’t waste any more time wondering if that actually had been Sophie Douglas I’d seen in that parking lot.
3
Sophie
“Teach me to dance!” Eloise called out, spinning and twirling along the sand. We’d been having a patch of perfect June weather, with bright blue skies and only a smattering of white cotton ball clouds scuttling past. Today I’d taken her down to the beach on our property.
“You’re doing a great job on your own,” I told her honestly. Though sadly I could still hear the harsh critique of my teachers like background noise in my head. One of her knees had a slight curve to it and her neck wasn’t quite long enough for perfectly classical lines. See how evil all those years of instruction could be, turning a child’s delight into shortcomings?
I shook off those critical thoughts honing in on our good time. Standing up, I dusted off my bum. “You want to know how to pirouette?”
“Yes!” She jumped up and down.
“Most people think it’s all about what’s happening down here.” I gestured below my waist. “With your legs and toes and all that. But the most important thing is to maintain a single point of focus.” She looked at me with confusion and I elaborated, pointing to a blade of grass in the dunes.
“There. I’m going to stare at that as I move.” I fixed my point, grounded myself in a balanced pose and began to spin, and spin, and spin again. Eloise clapped and cheered.
“Auntie Sophie! I love you!”
“I love you, too, bunny.” I stopped and gave her a hug. For a child who’d only been given sporadic love, she sure gave it with generosity.
“Do you think I could be a ballerina like you one day?” she asked, hopeful and expectant as she fell out of a clumsy twirl. “I want to be Clara in the Nutcracker just like you.”
I remembered the first time I’d performed as Clara at 12 years old. I’d sprained my wrist but kept on dancing, night after night. It was probably phantom pain, but my right wrist ached at the memory.
“I think you can do anything you set your mind to,” I answered her honestly and yet avoided the direct question. It wasn’t that I wanted to discourage her from dance all together. But I wouldn’t wish the joyless, relentless path of a professional ballerina on her.
/> “OK, then you’ll have to start giving me lessons,” Eloise declared, leaving her pirouetting in favor of chasing a bird. “You’ll open your own dance school and I can be your first student.”
I watched her weave in and out of the sand, chasing, twirling, then flinging herself down on the warm sand to lie on her back and watch the clouds. So carefree even though she’d already seen too much in her five years. She thought I should be her teacher, but the way I saw it I had a lot to learn from Eloise.
What had I been like at five years old on that same beach? Had I danced and flopped and watched clouds? Growing up, I’d never spent as much time on the island as my brother and sister. Even as a child my summers had been filled with competition, securing coveted slots in preparatory programs and academies. But whenever I’d been able to spend a couple of weeks on Naugatuck, I remembered them as heavenly.
I’d always loved the ocean, the quaint downtown and the slower pace of life. Then in my preteen years what I remembered most was being in absolute awe of my older brother and his group of friends on the island, Chase, Jax and Liam. They were all larger than life, handsome and funny, and I had to admit I’d followed them around like a puppy. It had always been Liam who took a minute to say hello to his friend’s younger sister. He didn’t tease me like Ian or Jax. He’d ask how my dancing was going and whether I was enjoying it. I remember that striking me, even at 12. No one else ever asked if I was enjoying ballet. That didn’t seem to factor into the equation. They cared about how far I was advancing with it, which roles I’d secured, whose notice I’d attracted.
It had been enough for a 12-year-old to develop a massive crush on a 14-year-old. But then the accident had happened. Ian had been rushed to an intensive burn care unit at a specialty hospital in Boston and I didn’t manage to head back to the island for years.
“I’m hungry, Auntie.” Eloise plopped her sandy self down next to me. “What do you have to eat?”