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I went to see the sea, and the shells, you see, and inquired if they would give themselves up, as almost presents, set there in sand, hidden, it seems, for, only, me…
I found red ones and blue ones and pink, and I treaded them on a string, and made a necklace for someone, I think?
In my search over the sands, I wandered along the coast, and along the shore, away from the main beach, away from the roar: Away from the town, away from the church and the steeple –through the door –far away from the people.
I climbed over rocks, where the sea came close, and clawed at my ankles, and rounded a bend in the beach; amazed to find a wondrous little cove, seagull and crab my only host, both dancing safely, clear beyond my reach.
The cove was tiny; the sand was fine, and it shone a bright gold, in the warm light –the sun being high. The grains washed and shuffled to one side, babbling, in a rip, that threatened my footing, with a vicious swill of its tide. I felt as if I was the only one to have ever found the secret sandy retreat; it was so hard to get to, and so cut-off from the rest of the seaside gum-shoed street — silicone detectives, searching for that perfect spot in the sun — well, I felt I had just found it. I whistled with joy — tweet, tweet…!
As I rested on the rocks, at one side, admiring the pristine sands, I was startled by a little dog that came running from out of sight; around a blind corner of the bluff, alright.
It was growling though a mouthful of clothes. I jumped down, as the dog ran off to the far end of the cove. I retraced its prints to see from whence it had come, and happened upon a second set. They were small and dainty: one with a shoe yet, the other not. They meandered up the blemish-free beach, and took a curve in the rock, disappearing around a large cold boulder, and I spotted a single sock. It was pink.
As I approached, hearing a little whimper, as if someone was crying — or was it just a simper? I quietly crept closer, and saw an eye and some blond hair, peeping out from the side. It was a lovely young woman, about the same age as me. She was very shy, as much as I could see.
I said, “Hello, miss…do you need any help?”
She said, “Oh, yes please, my doggie ran off with all of my clothes, and I have nothing to wear now. Please help me.” She sobbed.
I asked out of curiosity, “Excuse me asking miss, but why are you behind the big rock with no clothes on in the beginning?”
She said that she was taking her little doggie for a walk, and found this lovely cove, and it was so quiet, and isolated that she had taken off her bikini top to sunbathe.
She cried for a while, and then continued. She told me that she had gotten up very early that morning to take, Willie, her little doggie to the beach, and before setting out, she had eaten a very large breakfast, and drank too much coffee. She said she had eaten twice as much as usual, because she didn’t want to get hungry whilst at the sea-shore.
She, sobbed some more, and then continued saying, “After a while, as I lay on the beach, my full little tummy began to rumble. At first I thought it was just gas, after eating so much.” she said, with a hint of embarrassment in her voice, “…but after a while, of letting the gas out, I needed to go potty…” she muttered quietly.
“I tried and tried to hold it in, but after drinking all of that coffee…I just had to go…!” she wept, “…so, as been as it was so quiet here, I took off my bikini bottom and went potty behind this rock,” she said shyly, “…and…and…and as I hid behind the rock, my naughty little doggie ran off with my clothes.” she said in a pitiful, helpless sort of way.
I asked, again out of curiosity, “Well, how long were you behind the rock…?”
She said, “…I was quite some time?”
I said, “…But it only takes a few seconds to go pee-pee…? Why did you take so long, perhaps your little doggie thought that you had gone off and abandoned him, and forgot your clothes, and he is running all over the beach looking for you, trying to find you, and bring your bikini to you…?”
The beautiful young woman, shyly said, “I know…but I had eaten so much at breakfast…and all of those cups of coffee…and my little tummy was so, so swollen, that I had to do
…! I couldn’t help it. I had to go pee-pee and bong-bong…”
“But, again, it only takes a minute…?” I said, wondering.
She said, “No, I must have eaten too much, because it got stuck halfway out, and I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid, and it took over half an hour. It was almost like having a baby!” she exclaimed.
I moved closer. “Come, let me help you out from behind that rock, and then I will look for your naughty little Willie.” I said with a flash of a pun in the meaning.
The escort ataşehir lovely young little woman said giggling, “But I haven’t any clothes on.”
I said, “Oh, don’t worry, I have five sisters. It’s not as if I haven’t seen it all before. Come give me your hand, and be careful not to slip.”
She nodded, and smiled, and reached out her hand, and placed it in mine. As she tried to step out from behind the rock though, she trod on a piece of slippery seaweed, and fell. She cried out in pain, and I rushed to her aid.
As I came around the side of the rock, I saw a beautiful, young woman laying there over the pebbles, whimpering and crying from the fall.
She was beautiful. Her breasts were huge, but firm, and her nipples were brownish-red, and almost the size of tea-cup saucers, and they stuck out close to a full inch, probably because it was quiet chilly behind the rock, in the shade and shadow, of the cliff behind her.
Her skin was smooth and silky, and tanned, except for where her bikini top and bottom had been. Her breasts were way too big for her 21 inch waist, but her voluptuous buttocks matched them perfectly.
Her eyes were as blue as the trapped tepid waters of a crystal clear lagoon, and sparkled with hues of azure and chartreuse; her lips full and red ordained her fine sculpted features like two curly, ruby, wrist bracelets, laid across a coral colored velvet show-case mount, and as she lay there, on her back, I noticed that she had shaven herself clean of all womanly hair, beneath herself – between, her open muscular thighs – and a little frill of velvety pinkness spilled out from her vertical arc, which ran seductively from just below her distended belly-button, around and between her, and under and through her — thighs, toward the back of her, down there.
I pretended not to notice, but something started to swell in my groin, and it made its way through a hole in my trouser pocket, and almost stuck out the side. It was very big, and it got so hard that it ached. I put my hand in my pocket, and gasped, and it spit up the cuff of my shirt. I shuddered, and bit my lip, and pretended to cough, to mask a moan of bliss. The single spurt had taken the pressure off, and I pulled my hand out of my pocket, and the cream ran into my palm, and dripped from my ring finger. The young woman noticed, and sighed, involuntarily running her tongue over her glistening strings of rubies, until they glowed, and sparkled, and steamed.
I bent down to pick the young woman up from where she had fallen. I cupped her chin holding it to reassure her that she was safe and in good hands now. She took my wrist, and kissed my palm, and it almost felt as if she was lapping at it. I blushed remembering that it was the one that I had put in my pocket — the creamy one. Self-consciously, I gently pulled my hand away, and caught the scent of her breath, as she let out a little pant — it smelled like sunshine on a cool summer’s day.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw something long, and thick and coiled. I got a start! I jumped back, and yelled, “Look out — SNAKE…!”
There, roasting, coming out of the rocks was a huge tan looking snake! It was almost 2 feet long and very thick in the middle, almost as thick as my wrist — and it was steaming – and looked dangerous, its head rising up, menacingly, out from the center of the coil!
I told the young woman to stay very still, and that not to worry, I would save her.
I backed off slowly and to my right, there lay a piece of what looked like flotsam, but instead, it turned out to be a leafless stork of a large palm-tree frond. I slowly picked it up; it felt heavy at one end — like a wooden club, or a sheleighlee. I inched forward, the Irish coming out of me with each and every step, dripping like a plumber’s tap: Why, it’s a puzzle, alright? The Guinness goes in as black as the Devil’s arm-pit, but always comes out as clear and colorless as J.C.’s tunic, and as pure as Mary’s immaculate conception, to be sure. ” I wonder where the color went…? I have never used Pepsodent.” I hummed in my mind to calm myself, readying for the attack.
The young woman tried to say something, but I motioned for her to be very still and quiet, then I lunged forward, clubbing the menacing reptile, time and time again, like a good catholic priest, teaching the nuns how to demonstrate proper holy order, in a class of 40, all under the age of reasonable complaint.
When it seemed to be dazed, I dove headlong, and rolled around on the floor wrestling it into submission. Finally, I got at it with a firm strangle hold around its putrid neck, and reckoned, from watching Tarzan and the Apes on T.V., that the only way to ensure it safe to release, and that it isn’t just playing possum, is to cut the head off the slimy blighter.
So, kadıköy escort bayan I wrestled its steaming head up to my mouth, and bit it clean off, spitting the remnant, unceremoniously, into a dark, dank crevice, away from both myself, and the young woman. The marauding monster was a slithery little devil, and it was strange, because it felt quite warm, and snakes are usually cool to the touch?
I turned to the young woman, and said, “Are you okay? Don’t worry, I bit the head off the snake, it can’t harm you now — I saw it on T.V. …”
The young woman was speechless, her eyes wide open, and her hand held up to her open mouth in utter astonishment. Then she started to giggle and laugh.
I thought it was just shock, and nerves at first, but then she rolled over onto her back, and her tummy rippled, and heaved, as she doubled up laughing. Her shapely legs tucking up shamelessly, into her torso, her arms wrapping around her thighs and calves, her ringed fingers, clutching at her ankles, as she pulled her folded knees tight into her squashed breasts, then, as she bellowed, and guffawed, laying fully back, dragging her ankles along with her, opening her legs, pulling her thighs left and right, out to the side of her rolling upper body, until her under-carriage, was split wide open, and plumes of thick, musky scents billowed out from a dark central orifice, luxuriating, amid layers of deep red/purple labial sails, unfurled in the pink, wetness, of an open fleshy canoe: The tiller-man, sitting proud at the bow, presiding over his hot craft, peering out of the hooded foc’sle.
The steam from the open Cleave, drifted lazily over toward me, and as its smoky tendrils touché my flared nostrils, I greedily sucked them deep into the innards of my lungs; the pheromone molecules injected into my bloodstream, set my soul on fire, with unadulterated burning desire. I put my hand in my pocket, and several high powered spurts splashed halfway up the inside of my forearm. I shuddered, and writhed, and gasped and groaned, laying there, eyes agog, perched on my side, in the chilly gloom of the Oceanside boulder, watching incredulously, as hissing jets of golden rain, blasted out from just south of the foc’sle, and arced high into the sea breeze, clearly clearing the top of the massive boulder. The on-shore wind, catching the stream, atomized it.
Finding myself frozen with delight, I witnessed shards of sunlight machete their way through the fine mist of salty orange droplets, refracting, and projecting a perfect multi-colored arc into the drifting, billowing cloud blown back above our heads, so much so, that it almost appeared that she was wearing a wonderful, amorphous, brightly lit, ethereal rainbow-tiara.
I fell in love right there, behind that stone, under the torrential rain of her loins, writhing in the dampness of my stony bed. Gasping and soaking the inside of my shirt sleeve.
Listening to the surf crash relentlessly over the pebble-dashed sands: The roar of the Salt; drowning out the violent hiss of her canoe’s vent — enthralled!
The sound of her tummy contents being swished around her gut by the ripping abdominal muscles cramping in mirth like the repetitive, rhythmic, sloshing of a bilge-pump working away bravely; breaking the silence of the dark, with baby waves applauding, angularly, at the bow, of a quiet vessel’s night’s sailing; and struggling against its Oceanside quarreling row; the rudder clawing at the undertow; fish sleeping, safe, silent and deep, sweetly upon it passing — wind pulling it out, into the deep.
Jolted back into reality; recoiling at the foghorn of her rear port-hole, as it opens and shuts almost as if under a mind of its own; issuing out regular puffs of gaseous fume, condensing in the cool of their secluded granite palace, at the back of the lagoon, like the breath of a daemonic choo-choo, shunting her hairless ring into the Paddington station of her stinking Hell — and the racket from here pong-pong hole, could easily wake the dead itself…!
As saline vapors condensed over my brow, and streamlets of golden rain teamed down my open face — there — I fell in love, all over again, drinking of her honey-sweet urine from the upper ridge of my brimming lip, her yodeling laughter, worthy of an Alpine denizen, at least, rattled the very wax off my eardrum, with a timbre much akin of a trapped, angry, blue-bottle caught in a boy-scout’s lidded jam jar.
Finally, I asked, “Why are you laughing?”
In between giggles and rolling guffaws, she blurted out, “Oh, my God…hahahah…! Oh. My God…! Heehee: That wasn’t a snake…teehee… That was my chocolate pooh-pooh log from breakfast…hahahahah…!”
I stopped in utter disbelief, but remember wondering, as I wrestled earlier, with the monster, why escort bostancı the snake was warm and steaming, and tasted like ground coffee beans, and burnt toast…?
I said, in a faltering voice, “…But…but…but it was so, so huge! How could such a huge monster come out of such a petite little –?” I didn’t finish what I was saying, and watched in awe, as she rolled over onto her side, facing away from me and lifted her leg up high above her head, locking her ankle behind her neck, she peeked through her legs, and smiled as she pointed to where the snake had come from.
“Look…!” she said, as she let out a little grunt — pushing hard with her abdominal muscles, “Look, what my ex boyfriend did to me…” she sighed, “…It used to be so, so tight, and tiny.” She lamented with a hint of insincere regret about her tone.
I watched in awe, as the sweet, helpless, petite young woman, lying on her side with her back facing me, her upper-most leg, raised fully up her slender side, her ankle locked between the shoulder-blade, and the nape of her thin, mannequin, neck; peeping at me through her legs, from over the top of her stretched-open, shaved vulva; looking intently into my eyes, through the meandering strands of thick, white steam, that rose, curling and eddying, through the chill of the stilled air, amid our open rock cave, of our own making: A thick, translucent sort of vapor, it was, resembling the sensual plumes that drift, lazily, out of the tip of a loosely-packed, Turkish, clove-scented cigarette, dangling seductively from the corner-grip, of well painted lips, set serenely, in the cool face of a sultry femme de la femme, as she works relentlessly, and imperceptivity, from the inside, on one’s weaknesses and dark desires: An able seductress, lounging, and luxuriating with high crossed legs, working her wiles, partially obscured from view, glancing out, in feigned reluctance, from beneath the armor, of the black netted spun-web, draped nonchalantly across her steely blue piercing eyes, dangling from the slanted rim of her, tilted, stylish, pillar-box hat…
The young woman: A subtle demure grin, cut, almost mockingly, into the edges of her quivering lips, stared at me, with cold detachment, and hungry preditorial eyes. Her eyebrows seemed to be dancing wildly, in well manicured arcs, which crested in perfect Engel hyperbolic-paraboloid-saddles, over a wrinkle-free, sheer forehead, a little too deep for her cramped, highly chiseled features – betraying possible abnormally high frontal-lob development, and thus, a greater predisposition toward innate narcissism.
She maneuvered her beautiful, angelic face, into a relative position, where her eyes, looking like two tawny moons, rising off the humid horizon of her frilly, red and pink, glistening labial lips; the fuming tips of which — tinted with subtle hues of brown and purple – filled the tight mound of her package, resembling hot pastrami, served open style, on a split, French, baggett – with all the trimmings on.
My eyeballs almost popped out of my head as I stared at the red ring. It was massive!
It opened up, under her — under her perfect insistence! It blossomed out much akin a sea anemone; flowing bravely from its tunneled Mother-of-Pearl flute, in a crowded coral reef. It was red and pink, and blue; with veins running about its inner rim; and I had the feeling she liked it, not only in the pink, but similarly — ‘in the stink’ – now and again!
As she struggled, and grunted, and pushed; the blaring full-bloom of the tulip-head, flaunting itself in a way, spewing out from her bung-hole, much as a rose would, in a time-lapsed film; opening, effortlessly, to the warmth of the sun’s golden rays. I was captivated, and as I looked, in seconds, I was devoured by the sight; the burning, burning sight, of the distended ring: Red and pink and blue; inviting the very length, and girth of you. — Wahoo! fruit –but of course, you knew…?
The young woman, smiled again, as all of her – pink frill – fell out of her fuzz-less peach. She asked, in a low, sultry whisper, “Do you like hot peach pie… Yes you — yes you — you, my guy?”
I nodded profusely, and she offered me a plateful. I ate it greedily, and she loved it. We made lots of noise behind the rock, and I filled her peach and banana split pie-hole, with, hot, thick, whipped cream.
Later we went swimming in the sea, and washed everything between us. I caught her doggie, and gave her back her bikini, and we sat there kissing for a while, worrying about babies names.
Just before the sun went down, she wanted more cream for her peach, and we made lots of noise behind the rock again, next to the dead snake.
I gave her the shell necklace that I had made during the day before I met her, as we parted on the main beach.
We never saw each other again. I often go to the cove. I look behind the rock, but she is never there, only the snake is there, and the searing memory of weeks of burning, as my body, along with antibiotics, fought off a rather virulent strain of gonorrhea — I miss her.
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