I love to meditate on the beach. It is my day off, and I am in the Marina. I spend a half an hour sitting before the great Pacific chanting. The wind and sound of the surf make sure that my neighbors will not be bothered by it. After I am done, I float back to my car, and a beautiful tall man approaches me. He talks to me like we are picking up a conversation we started earlier.
“How have you been?,” he begins, “ What is there to do around here? Where should I go?” I like his style right away. He wears a grey t-shirt with black writing in French on it, slim fitting black jeans and very fancy sneakers in bright blue. He’s tall and broad shouldered, but thin at the waist and hips. He’s dark skinned and shaved bald with a full black beard. But even beyond his looks and fashion sense, I like his conversational style. He is funny and engaging. He carries a backpack full to overflowing and a plastic bag with two large succulent plants inside. He seems improbable. Very hot, yet unaware of his hotness or immune to it so much that he has developed a full personality, and a quirky, engaging one at that.
He tells me he is returning to Chicago in about four hours and has checked out of his hotel and doesn’t know where to go. He really hasn’t had any fun being in LA. He has stayed 2 days and went to an over priced bar downtown last night and so far today he has just been to the beach. Maybe I could enlighten him on where to go or what to do.
I ask if he has been to Venice yet. No, where is Venice? I consider my options for the rest of the day. I really have nothing concrete planned and here is someone in need of a liaison to the city of Los Angeles. How could I refuse this call to duty?
“I can show you around a little, if you want,” I say. Absolutely yes is his response, and if I smoke, he has a joint in his pocket. I do, and we smoke up as we walk up the boardwalk, past all the impossible beach houses, into Venice. He stops to take pictures of several large cacti. He is fascinated by them. The succulents in the plastic bag are for his mother; she has lots of plants. There’s nothing like these in Chicago, though.
He tells me he is an EMT in an ER in the city. He wanted to come to California, so he booked a ticket and came. He spent two days in San Francisco, two in Oakland, one in Joshua Tree, and two here. But so far meeting me and this walk we are on is his favorite part of Cali.
It is a Monday and there is a full cloud cover, but everyone is out on the boardwalk living it up. The basketball courts are active, the gym at muscle beach has it’s show going. People are walking dogs, and getting tattoos, playing bongos. Music is everywhere. Hip hop is blasting out of store fronts, while street musicians sing their hearts out to compete with it. Everything feels alive and electric, and we forget we have just met. We walk hand in hand, or his arm around my waist. We stop and smile at each other. We are instantly familiar. Instantly comfortable. He is sweet and kind, interested in everything, and so incredibly present in every moment.
He says he saw me from the pier and changed directions so he would meet me. He wanted to talk to me right away. It’s like a love affair in fast motion. He asks me about my past relationships. He tells me about his. He says he has only hung out with one other white girl in a romantic way. She is from Croatia though, so she isn’t, like, American white. Do I deal with black guys, at all or ever?
“This is LA,” I say, “everybody deals with everybody.”
We walk to the water and lay out my towel. We sit next to each other, the sides of our bodies touching, and look at the ocean. The Pacific is massive, and the breeze is cold, so we snuggle close together. He puts his arm around me and I nuzzle into his chest. It feels familiar like. Our conversation is so easy and our vibe is so natural, it seems like we know each other from somewhere. I feel happy. He does too. He pulls me on to his lap so we can hug, with my legs swung over his hips, and our chests and groins against each other. I feel a powerful energy emanating from our hearts. But we have just met, and he is leaving in 4 hours, and we simply do not have time for the evolution of what could be between us.
He kisses me. He is a wet, firm kisser, who instantly goes tongue to tongue and takes tiny bites from my lips. I love it. His lips are soft and full, but it is the playful nature of his style that is so wonderful. He kisses you into an odyssey. The moment never ends, it just twists and turns. And when both your eyes are closed you can feel the energy of the universe connecting at the tip of your tongues. We kiss for what seems like ages. I can feel he is getting an erection. I pulse against him with my groin. His hands are all over my ass. He likes to squeeze it and slap it and shake it. I like all of this, but our privacy level is nothing, and everyone on the beach (like 6-8 people) can see everything.
“Isn’t there somewhere we could go?” He asks. I would love to go somewhere with him. My apartment is 30 minutes away, but there is a greater caveat to be dealt with.
“I have my period,” I have to confess. I am just as devastated to tell him as he is to hear this news. But we continue kissing and grinding anyhow.
“Like what day?” He asks. It is day two. It is not manageable. Just because we cannot fuck, doesn’t mean we can’t act like we are going to, however, and this show keeps going for the people in eyeshot. But even when we are resting, we are hugging each other as tightly as we can. Knowing we are lost to each other after this, we hold on for dear life. Our hearts connect, and we both know this is real.
“You feel so good,” he says to me over and over again in my ear (the wind is so strong we can only hear if we talk in each other’s ears). He feels good too. The energy that lluminates out of him and I together is palpable. It feels like there is a sun shining in our chests.
He takes down one of the straps of my shirt and pulls my breast out, putting the nipple in his mouth. He sucks on it hard and bites a little, just like he does when he kisses. Then he sucks in the entire breast. He sucks so hard on my little tit, it feels like it might come off completely. I sigh out and look toward the sky. All the while he is still griping my buttocks and shaking it in his hand. This is more than I can bare in this setting. I want to come so badly, and know I won’t. I have to crawl off of him and take a break.
We sit next to each other again. I am cold without him pressed against me. He finally takes his hands off of my butt and thighs and leans back to proudly show me the bulge in his stylish jeans. I laugh appreciatively. We kiss quickly on the lips. He wants me to touch it. He begins to undo his belt, and I stop him. Not here. This is not safe. I want to see it, trust me, but I do not feel good about this location. We decide to go to my car and see if we can’t find somewhere that seems friendly.
We walk back the whole way we came. Through Venice and all the freaks. We have memories already. We are laughing and kissing 20 minutes later when we reach my car. I have a Chevy Spark and he is 6’4 so I push the seat all the way back for him so he can get in. We start making out right away. He wants his dick out of his pants, badly, and my hand instinctively goes for it. I begin stroking his cock back to life, but this is not a good location either. There are people walking to and from their cars to the beach. He says there is a parking lot across the street from the hotel he was staying at that might have a good spot. We head over, and I am still jerking him off as I am driving.
After avoiding no less than two accidents, we find the parking lot and I see a corner with shrubs on two sides and no one else parked around it. I put the car in park, and we are back into it. He is squeezing my tits and shaking my ass, and digging his fingers into my pants. He starts to pull them down, and I get nervous. I am in no condition to be revealed. I whine a little, but he assures me he won’t pull them down too far. He moves me so I am kneeling on the seat, and he can shimmy them halfway down my ass. He let’s his fingers luxuriate in my flesh and then moves the middle one down my crack and puts the tip of it in my asshole. I cry out, shocked, but turned on. I like it. I shake my ass against his finger and grab hold of his cock like it’s made of gold and I’m running through the city of thieves. He puts that same finger in his mouth and wets it, then he heads right to it again and slides the whole tip of it into my rear. I’m whining and grinding into him, and we get in a quick rhythm. He’s moving the finger in my ass at the same rate that I am jerking him off. The universe comes back to us and we rise in crescendo. I look over to see him whisper that he is going to come, just as he lets go a rope of giant iridescent pearls. We both sigh out to heaven and collapse into the seats. His hands are reaching out for me over the emergency brake. Then he pulls a small towel from his stuffed backpack, and first offers it to me, then when I am finished, he cleans up his stomach with it. We are both grinning and talking in soft voices, saying sweet things to each other. I am so glad we met, he says over and over.
I drop him off at the hotel where his bags are, and I get out of the car; we hug and kiss.
“Bye, beautiful,” he says.
“Bye, beautiful,” I say back.
I drive home through 6 o’clock traffic, smiling, bemused. He is texting me already; I can see my screen light up, but I don’t check it. I just tilt my head back, sitting in gridlock, playing the day over in my mind.