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Beach Story

It was shortly after noon. She was older--like me. Maybe forty-eight.  A very attractive forty-eight if, indeed, that was her age.  Anyway, I had to be close.  I had some of those tell-tale signs myself.  Her body was in good shape though, so, her bikini didn’t at all look foolish.  Maybe I was dreaming, I thought.  Would wake up or something shortly.


I shrugged.  “Okay, don’t mind if I do.”


“Name’s Rita,” she said as I moved my things over closer to her towel where she was sitting.


“Gerard,” I said. “Gerard O’Neal.  Gerry for short.”


“One is pepperoni and the other is prune and bacon.  Your choice Gerry,” she offered.


“Prune and bacon, definitely,” I replied.  “You don’t see it much around these parts, but I love it.  First ate it in Sydney.”


“I have it cause I made it,” she said with pride.  “I first ate it in Milan.”


We began eating.  “I’ve got cold Cokes if you want one,” I offered.


“Thanks, but I’ve got lemonade.  Enough for you if you want.”


“I’ll have a Coke Rita, but thanks,” I said.  “Here alone?”


“Here alone,” she answered.  “Called in sick today.  Now I feel bad cause I told a lie.  This morning I felt funny so I asked myself, ‘What do you really want to do?’  Well, going to work wasn’t it.  It was going to the beach, to get away from it all for a day.  A whole day!  Alone at the beach.”


“But now you’re not alone,” I said with a grin.


“No, but I spoke first,” she said.


“Were you feeling lonely?”  I asked.


She hesitated.  “I guess I was a little,” she said.  Her eyes were mischievous.  “Then, you’re not exactly Mick Jagger either.”


I laughed.  “I wouldn’t mind having his voice, a few other things,” I said.  “And I wouldn’t call you ‘Ugly Betty’ either.”


There was a relaxing freshness between us.  It seemed as if we had known each other for some considerable length of time.  As neither of us spoke for a few moments, the screams of the gulls far away could be heard.  A small plane was in the sky.  The shouts of one or two kids, for some reason not in school, could be heard.


“Married?” I asked.


“Not anymore,” she said.  “Married?”


“Was,” I answered.


“Complete truth? Scout’s honor?” she asked.


“Complete truth,” I said then added, “Would you like to have dinner together this evening?”


“I think I like that idea,” she answered.  “What time would that be?”   - By Randall D Barfield 
When your alarm is a favorite song
[HOT VIDEO] When your alarm is a favorite song

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