It wasn’t long ago when you weren’t much older than some of the younger kids in youth group. You were about thirteen or fourteen, and you and the girl just became a couple. It was the Sunday when her mom first looked at you that way. The way that still makes you shiver when you think about it.
You sat in the youth group room with the other kids. She was beside you helping one of the younger kids color a picture of Jesus. Her mom stood in the front of the room at the podium trying to come up with another way to relate The Bible and real life. Like usual, her mother wore that long denim dress that buttons up the front with big brown buttons. She always leaves a few too many buttons undone. You daydreamed while waiting to get the Sunday lesson over with. You were too old to color, and didn’t care to help anyone else. You looked over at her mom. She leaned over the boy’s shoulder who was sitting across from you. The top of her dress spread a little bit, and her creamy colored, bare skinned cleavage stared at you. That was the closest you’d ever been to seeing a woman’s breast, and she caught you staring. You made eye contact with her; then quickly looked away. But you knew it was too late. She knew. You knew. Ever since that Sunday her mom always seems to look at you a little differently.
“Do you think my mom knows we fool around?” she asks.
“Of course not.” Actually, you think she probably does. But you don’t want to keep talking about sex and her mom at the same time.
“You really don’t think she knows,” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Well she’s blind then. She knows I’m crazy about you. Doesn’t being crazy about someone and sex go hand in hand?”
“Not to God it doesn’t.”
“Well my mom’s far from God.”
“You can say that again.” You used to think her mom was the closest thing to God. But now you see things differently. She’s nothing more than temptation. The Lord’s Prayer taught you that. You know the line, “And lead us not into temptation.” Her breasts lead you right to it. But her mom knew what she was doing. The peep show was no accident.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. We’re almost there.”
“Well we aren’t there yet. Tell me what you meant by that.”
“I was just stating that she’s far from God.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Yes, but I think your mom wants people to think she’s the closest person to God.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Just forget it. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Not long after the peep show her mom confronted you about it. Her mom pulled you into the living room while your girl set the table. Her mom is good at getting the answers she wants out of people.
“Is there something you’d like to talk to me about?” her mom asked you.
You did your best to not allow your eyes to bulge out of your head. At that moment you knew your prayers didn’t come true. You prayed every night after that Sunday that you and her really didn’t make eye contact after seeing what you saw. You thought you may have just imagined making eye contact. Maybe she really didn’t catch you. But this question threw all of those thoughts, hopes, wishes, and prayers out the window.
“No, I don’t think so. What makes you think I do?” you asked.
“I just thought maybe you’d like to talk to me about something.”
“Oh yeah. Your lesson on Sunday was great. Probably your best one yet.”
“Thank you. But you know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not sure what this is all about then,” you said.
“I think you do know, but we don’t have to talk about this anymore if you don’t want to.”
“Okay, thanks for letting me come over for dinner,” you said as you started to walk toward the kitchen.
“Hey, one more thing,” her mother said. “Just so we’re clear on something.”
“What’s that?” you asked trying not to shake.
“I’ve got my eye on you.”
When you got back to the kitchen the table was set, and you took a seat beside your girl. There were four chairs around the table, but only three of them were occupied that night. Your girl’s father was out of town on business. You grabbed the pitcher of ice tea and poured a glass for her, and then yourself. Her mother already had a half empty glass of red wine sitting at her table spot. The timer on the stove went off and her mother removed a casserole filled with chicken and vegetables. She sat the dish down on hot pads that sat in the middle of the table.
“Mom, can you grab the pepper while you’re up?”
“Sure, anything else?”
“No thanks,” you and your girl said in unison.
Her mother grabbed the shaker of pepper and a large wooden spoon to dip out the casserole. She came back to the table and stood behind your chair, and then reached over you to hand your girl the pepper. Her breasts brushed the back of your head, and you quickly moved forward away from them. Clearly, she could have walked around your chair to pass the pepper.
“I think we’ll be there in about ten minutes,” you say.
“Thank God. I can’t hold it much longer.”
You pull into the parking lot. Finally you can stretch your legs. The beach is within steps.
“It’s so beautiful,” she says.
The two of you sit in the truck in silence for a moment, and watch the tide wash up the beach. It’s a bit crowded with little boys running around in their Speedos, filling up blue and orange buckets with sand. Parents lie flat on their stomachs on top of colorful beach towels, and a brunette sits at the top of a lifeguard tower in her red one piece holding her orange flotation device in the center of it all.
“I’ve never been to the beach,” she says.
“I know. That’s why we’re here now.”
She leans over and kisses you. “Thank you, baby,” she pulls back. “I have to pee so bad!”
You laugh at her and open your door. She does the same. There’s a row of Porta-Johns on the backside of the parking lot. Her pink flip-flops smack the pavement as she runs toward them.
“I’ll wait for you right here!”
You walk to the back of the old Chevy and open the tailgate. You grab your duffle bag, unzip it, and pull out your swim trunks. You unbutton your jean shorts and strip into your boxers. No one’s watching. You quickly unfold your trunks and slide into them. The lining of the trunks causes your boxers to bunch up. It’s uncomfortable. But, what can you do? You hear smacking on the pavement and turn around. She jumps into your arms and you catch her. She wraps her legs around your waist. You put your hands under her ass, and get in a few squeezes before she kisses you. The kiss is wet. Her tongue circles around yours. You pull away.
“Did you remember to pack your suit? Like I told you to do.”
“Of course,” she says.
“You really didn’t know where we were going? Even when I told you to bring a suit?”
“No. I had no idea.”
“Not even when I almost gave it away on the way here?”
“Well, I kind of considered the ocean when we kept driving and driving through California.”
“I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it a surprise the whole drive. Why don’t you get changed?”
“Where am I supposed to change?”
“How about the Porta-John?”
“That’s disgusting. There’s no way I’m changing in there.”
“Okay. Well there’s only one other option then.”
“What’s that?”
“Change right here. That’s what I did.”
“Yeah right. There are people around. I’ll change in the truck.”
“Can I watch?”
She giggles and unzips her bag. She pulls out a leopard print bikini.
“Where did you get that? I’ve never seen it before.”
“I got it last week.”
“Oh, so you bought a new bikini for our trip?”
“Yeah, you told me to bring a bathing suit. I wanted you to like it.”
She walks away and opens the passenger side door. You get in on your side. She slides her bikini bottoms on under her skirt, then pulls it off. Her creamy colored, clean-shaven legs stare at you. You reach over and put your hand on the inside of her leg.
“No, no. We can’t do that here,” she says.
“Why not?”
“I thought you wanted to get in the water.” She looks around before pulling off her shirt. Her purple push-up bra gives her some great cleavage. You lean over and put your head between her breasts. Your lips are like suction cups. You make a sucking sound as you latch onto one. She pulls you away from her chest by the ear.
“You’re bad,” she says.
“Let me help you with that.” You reach behind her and unsnap her bra with one hand.
“You’re getting pretty good at that,” she says. They are all out now. You lean in again but she’s ready. She puts the palm of her hand in your face and pushes you away. She quickly puts on her bikini top and opens her door. “Let’s go,” she says.
You follow her. You reach the beach and she stops. She bends down pushing out her ass. She takes off her flip flops and throws them on the hood of your truck. You do the same. You reach out and grab her hand. She looks so good in her bikini with her butt cheeks peeking out the sides of her bottoms, and her breasts nearly popping out. The ocean is the least of your wants right now.
“Did you bring a towel?” she asks.
“Yeah, I have one in my bag.”
“I forgot mine.”
“That’s okay. We can share.”
The warm sand swirls over your toes. It’s like a small maze trying to get to the water. People are everywhere lying on their beach towels. You try to avoid stepping anywhere near them. You reach the water and stop. The tide flows over your feet, and the water feels like a bath.
“Hold onto me,” she says. “I don’t want to go under.”
“Okay.” You walk forward and the water passes your knees. You step behind her and grab a hold of her waist with a hand on each side. “Just keep walking. I got you.”
“Ok. I hope so,” she says.
You walk a little further, and she stops. She turns around and puts her hand on your face; then reaches up to kiss you. You give her a quick peck and turn her back around.
“Let’s go out a bit more,” you say.
Once the water trickles her neck you stop.
“This is far enough,” she says.
“I agree.” The tide starts to become rougher, and you try to time it just right each time it comes. You pick her up by the waist every time to keep her head above water. The water moves you from left to right, and you step on something hard. The object is stuck in the wet sand beneath you. You dig it up with your foot, pinch it between your toes, and reach down to get it. A greenish brown sand dollar caked with sand. A perfect circle.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“It’s a sand dollar.”
“Can I keep it?”
“Sure. You’ll have to put it in the back of the truck though. They start to stink after a while.”
“I want to take it back to Mom. Do you think she’ll know what it is?”
“I’m sure she’s had her fair share of runaways to the ocean. Anyone who’s been here knows what a sand dollar is.” She grabs the sand dollar out of your hand. She rubs its rough edges and picks a clump of wet sand off it with her fingernail.
“I want to keep it for myself then,” she says.
“How will you keep it from smelling?”
“I don’t know. I’ll put it in a jar or something. I want to sit it on my nightstand. So I can think of you every night before I turn out the lights.”
“Won’t your mom see it?”
“I guess you’re right.”
You take the sand dollar out of her hand and hold it like a Frisbee. Then you launch it into the air.
“This is our day. She doesn’t need to know anything about it.”
“I’m so happy we’re here,” she says with a smile. “Isn’t this great?”
You reach down, kiss her on the neck, and whisper in her ear, “Best day of my life.”
Be You
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About the Author: Seth Hepner
Seth Hepner is George Mason University MFA Candidate who also teaches composition at Northern Virginia Community College; he loves beards, whiskey, the Cleveland Cavaliers, and a good dose of Charles Bukowski.