And it could go two ways.
A perfect setup with a great payout. Or a magnificent experience we all learn from. Or both.
So far, I’ve rocked the boat a few times. He never lost his cool. Well, maybe tonight… A little. I don’t know.
I’ll have to see.
He still thinks things are going as planned, and maybe they are. But maybe, just maybe, I see something they don’t see yet.
I lean back in my seat and relax, my fingers slowly stroking the smooth fabric of my dress.
The dress Francisco bought for me. The dress Alejandro ripped off so he could touch me.
My thighs clench. My core still throbbing. I can’t believe it. After all this time, I’m still aroused at the thought of them.
I truly enjoy it, getting lost in the view at the same time.
The more I relax, the sleepier I get.
I even close my eyes for a few moments, trying to think about nothing, while my head buzzes with sex and men.
And then the car slows down, and I snap my eyes open.
“We’re here,” the man says, the ocean caressing the shore not far from us.
The beach is empty.
I straighten up.
“I’ll leave my shoes and bag here,” I say, taking my heels off.
“Sure. I’ll be here, waiting.”
The morning breeze is cold when I step out.
“Are you going to be okay?” the driver asks, noticing that I’m hugging myself.
“Yes. It will get warmer. I think. Once the sun gets out.”
“Here. Take my jacket.”
He drapes it over my shoulders, and I instantly feel better.
Enveloped in the man’s warmth that’s still lodged in the lining of his jacket, I walk barefoot around the car, on the concrete, and straight on the sand.
Oh, that sensation… Tiny specks rolling over my skin like millions of fingers stroking my feet at once.
The ocean is, generally speaking, an experience in itself.
The ocean in the morning when the world awakes is almost a spiritual experience. The night still lingers over the sand as the morning rises from the ocean.
Waves roll against the shore, drawing me to the water. It’s only when my feet sink into the wet sand and the foamy water collars my ankles that I fully get immersed in the experience, and my mind chatter finally quiets down.
Broken seashells scratch my toes.
I lower myself and pick up a few before inspecting their intricate design, mesmerized by their timelessness.
How many times have they rolled against the shore?