Our sunglasses allowed us a certain kind of mutual voyeurism, we could both look longer than was polite, and we both knew the other’s gaze more intimately than expected. We both spent time on the shore that summer, watching, wading, working, swimming, and sunning ourselves like lizards. She was golden and colt-like, skin oiled, and peppered with sand, her toes varnished a rich coral; the quintessential sun-bathing beauty. She’d read, tap away at her tablet, sip from a silver flask, and if I was lucky, she’d stretch and arch and tip toe into the surf where I would watch the waves caress her body as only my imagination could fathom. The beach was often close to empty and my towel was never very near to hers but when she’d get up to swim she’d pass by me and I’d catch a whiff of coconut lotion and whiskey. Watching the water swirl around her legs, consuming her body as she waded deeper, I couldn’t help but press into myself through the soft smoothness of my swimsuit. The throbbing waves and the fringe of soft foam at the water’s edge took my mind to the private Baja between her legs, sunset pink and oyster-sweet was how I imagined it. She’d swim and I’d chew my lip in concentration, unable to wait until later, fingertips sliding into my bathing suit bottoms, coaxing myself to silent, sweaty orgasms as she bobbed in the tide, the mermaid of my dreams.
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