


The Last Wave Goodbye

by slyc_willie



Category: Romance
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-05-02 23:17:00
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/the-last-wave-goodbye
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: Vincent finds unexpected romance at a tropical getaway.
Erotica Tags: Beach, Beach Sex, Hacienda, Interracial, Loss, Nudity, Oral Sex,
Romance, Tragedy, Tropical
Average Rating: 4.47






        The Last Wave Goodbye


_(Author's note: This story is an official entry into the 2013 Literotica
Summer Lovin' contest. If you enjoy this little romantic tale, please make
sure to vote and leave a comment if you wish. I also urge you to read all the
other contest submissions; there is a lot of great talent on this site.)_  
  
* * * *  
  
Heartbreak had faded, pain had ebbed. What had been the worst tragedy anyone
could be asked to endure was behind me now, after more than two years. What
lingered was the loneliness. And that was perhaps the worst of it all.  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
My mother's voice disturbed me from yet another self-pitying moment. I turned
away from the packing box in which lay the photographic record of a life now
gone and gave my aging mother a weak smile. "I'm fine."  
  
She cocked her head as she leaned upon the walker. "That's not what I was
going to ask," she said. "I think I've asked that question enough in the last
couple of years."  
  
"Sorry. I guess it's turned into a habit, you know, expecting everyone to ask
me how I'm doing."  
  
"People mean well," she said, in that sort of way that southern women say
'bless his heart.'  
  
"So . . . ." I prompted my mother.  
  
"Oh! Of course," she said as if jolted. She managed to let out a small laugh.
"I just wanted to ask if you finished the list for the auction. Mr. Haverty
sent me a message about it this morning."  
  
I nodded. "I'll email it to him this afternoon," I said, then glanced to the
small stack of boxes in the middle of the now-barren living room. "Although
it'd be easier to list what _isn't_ going to be auctioned off."  
  
"Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?"  
  
Again I nodded, more vehemently. "Yes," I told her firmly. I met my mother's
gaze. "The important things are in these boxes," I said, then tapped my
temple. "And up here. The rest is just . . . extra."  
  
Her head bobbed sadly. I hadn't been the only one to endure pain and loss,
after all. It seemed to have hit her harder, though; she relied upon the
walker more and more and had started smoking again. I couldn't blame her for
ignoring her doctor's advice in the face of overwhelming mortality. I had
spent a year as a self-pitying alcoholic, after all.  
  
"When is your flight leaving?"  
  
"Six-thirty tomorrow morning."  
  
She gave a wan smile. "Call me when you land."  
  
* * * *  
  
Friends and therapists had been telling me for more than a year I needed to
get away. "You need a fresh start," they told me. "You gotta get back out to
the world of the living."  
  
Pithy words, I had thought, but the idea grew and grew until it became part of
an obsession. When I finally made the decision to auction off the house and
just about everything in it, I planned a vacation as the culminating chapter
to the worst period of my life. Maybe it would be a fresh start. Or maybe I
could just let myself feel alive again, if only for a while.  
  
"So, where are we going?" my friends had asked, taking it as a matter of
course that I would bring them along. But they had been part of the ongoing
tragedy, if only by virtue of the fact that they reminded me of it through
looks, words, and deeds. As touching as their sympathy and support had been,
they only aggravated the situation.  
  
"_I'm_ going . . . somewhere," I told them cryptically. Some understood my
reticence; others didn't. Those who did agreed that I needed time to myself,
to reflect, to assess, to decide what was going to happen to me. Those who
didn't understand thought I was snubbing them. Melancholy, fortunately, didn't
allow me to care about the latter.  
  
Banishment of such distracting thoughts came, thankfully, as I stepped from
the taxi before the airport terminal. The cabbie had been a nice guy, just
talkative enough to make the ride pleasant without being intrusive. I saw no
reason not to share details with him that I wouldn't with even my mother.  
  
"Have fun in Mexico, man," he said after I'd awarded him a generous tip.
"Watch out for them senoritas, though. They know tourists when they see one."  
  
I managed a smile. "Where I'm going, not many tourists know about."  
  
"Private resort, huh?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
I bid the man farewell and headed into the terminal. Each step closer to the
gate seemed to echo the slowly-increasing beating of my heart.  
  
* * * *  
  
The little house was not much to look at, to be honest, but I had not expected
a four-star resort with servants in white suits offering complimentary
margaritas as soon as I walked in the door. In fact, no one greeted me after I
had pulled the rental car into the short driveway. That was fine; the less
pomposity, the better.  
  
The instructions in the email told me the key to the door would be under a
little clay flower pot covered by a sunset mosaic, and indeed, there it was. I
had to jiggle the lock a bit to get the door open.  
  
There were two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room and a single large, spacious
bathroom. Nothing too remarkable, until I stepped into the sunken living room
and realized the entire south-facing wall was a series of wooden shutters,
with slats open to reveal the generous lawn and, most importantly, the white
sand beach beyond.  
  
My cheeks suddenly hurt. I realized I was actually, honestly, smiling.  
  
I took in a deep breath of crisp salt air. The sounds of the Pacific ocean
drifted to me: lapping waves, seagulls, rustling palm fronds. Apparently, I
had stepped into a Hollywood beach movie . . . just without Frankie Valli and
all the annoying, giggling kids.  
  
Upon the dining room table was a basket of fresh fruit and an envelope,
addressed to _"Sr. Paterac."_ Within was a copy of my rental agreement with
the owner, as well as menus to a few local restaurants and the number for a
delivery service that would bring me fresh groceries if I desired.  
  
I took an apple from the basket. It was fresh, ripe, as good as any straight
off a tree in Washington. I was beginning to feel spoiled. A man could get
used to living with such simple luxuries.  
  
After getting settled in and calling home, I changed from casual dress to a
pair of brand new, rather loose-fitting nylon shorts and headed out the back.
The pleasant tropical air was delightfully free of the stench of city life.
There was no industry in this little Mexican town other than fishing,
agriculture, and some light tourism. There were a few cars here and there but
most of the locals seemed to get around on foot or on bicycle. Other than the
occasional satellite dish, none of the constructions looked to have changed in
over a century.  
  
The back yard of the hacienda which was to be my home for twenty-one days was
framed by tall palms and a number of thick tropical plants the names of which
I could not guess. The result was a noticeable sense of privacy, which had
been the main requirement for my getaway. And indeed, when speaking with
Hector, the owner of the property, he assured me my privacy was virtually
guaranteed. He even pointed out that the beach, while technically private, was
considered clothing optional.  
  
Hmm. Naked on a beach, I thought. I've never done that before.  
  
But I resisted going all out on my first foray across sand so fine and white
that a Zip-lock bag of it would probably get me arrested. It was hot, but not
scalding, and while my feet were tender from decades of easy living, I could
walk across it readily enough. With nothing more than a bottle of locally-
produced beer, I found a spot where the sand was a little damp and cool and
watched the tides roll back and forth.  
  
* * * *  
  
I slept in late every day, decided not to shave, and didn't even bother to
make use of the bathtub. I ate when I felt like it, drank whatever I desired.
At times I enjoyed a bit too much of the local brew and succumbed to fits of
depression. Now and then I drunkenly considered going for a midnight swim and
let the sea take me away forever.  
  
But it wasn't time for that.  
  
On the fourth day of my voluntary exile, after accepting a delivery of shrimp,
flank steak, and a variety of vegetables from an extremely agreeable young
man, I decided to take advantage of my beach's "option" and venture out to the
surf in the buff. In the preceding days I had not seen a single other person
other than dark specks moving distantly down the beach. The haciendas flanking
mine were either unoccupied, or their tenants had no true love for the beach.  
  
All that meant, of course, that stepping boldly and gloriously nude to the
edge of the water was easy enough. The flow of salty air across my now-naked
genitals was, well, titillating, perhaps even a touch arousing. I almost felt
like swaggering. Like a naked Captain Morgan, I planted one of my feet upon a
piece of large driftwood and tilted the bottle of beer to my lips.  
  
I was lord of my domain. Vincent Paterac, King of Naked Beach.  
  
And in Mel Brooks' immortal words, it was good to be the king.  
  
A reckless, careless chuckle left my lips. I had never felt such freedom
before. For the first time in my life, I truly had no cares, no demands, no
deadlines to meet or fools to please. There was only I, the sea, and the wind.  
  
And the woman who inexplicably appeared in the corner of my vision.  
  
"Good afternoon," she said casually.  
  
In that instant, I was a twelve-year-old boy, suddenly foolish and
embarrassed. I settled my free hand over my crotch. "Uh . . . good afternoon,"
I replied.  
  
She chuckled, amused at my gesture. "Don't worry, you're not offending me.
I've seen naked men before."  
  
Now I felt even more embarrassed. Here I was, a man of forty-four years, naked
on a private beach where it had already been established that nudity was
kosher . . . and I'm covering my dick because a woman happened to be there.  
  
She was about twenty feet away, just at the imaginary dividing line between my
rental property and my easterly neighbor. She wore a stark white bikini with a
transparent wrap that fluttered around her legs like the tentative hands of a
doting masseuse.  
  
I could honestly say I had never seen a woman quite like her before. Her skin
was darker than that of any black woman I had previously seen. It wasn't just
chocolate dark, it was _dark chocolate_ dark, like the richest and most
alluring shade of pure ebony. Her eyes glowed in contrast, as if lit from
behind, as did her teeth when she spoke. The pale color of her garments looked
like purest ivory in contrast.  
  
At last, I found a voice to speak with. "I didn't think anyone else would be
on this beach."  
  
Her amused expression remained, even as she gave me a once-over. "I'm getting
that impression."  
  
I looked at her painfully. "I'm not a pervert."  
  
She just shrugged. "I didn't think you were." She took a few steps closer.
"It's okay. I'm not going to call the police, if that's what you're afraid of.
I don't think I could, to be honest. Anyway, I know this beach is clothing
optional. I might even strip down some time myself."  
  
I arched an eyebrow. That would be something to see, I had to admit. The woman
had a very nice figure, which was thankfully showcased by her scant attire.  
  
"My name's Nina," she said by way of introduction. "I'm guessing you're from
the States, too?"  
  
I nodded. "Chicago area."  
  
She smiled broadly. "No kidding! I grew up in Gary."  
  
"Small world."  
  
She looked behind me to my hacienda. "You rented from Hector, too?"  
  
"Yes. Four or five days ago. Something like that. I've already lost track of
time."  
  
She flashed those dazzling white teeth once more. "That just means you are
officially on vacation," she commented. "How long will you be my neighbor?"  
  
"Around two more weeks, a little more."  
  
She nodded with a purse of lush, soft-looking lips and started to turn away.
"I guess I'll be seeing you around."  
  
I watched her go, and for the first time in a very long time, I found myself
admiring the shape of a woman's behind. She wore a thong beneath the
transparent wrap, which vanished between a pair of nearly perfect spherical
buttocks. Despite my omnipresent somberness, I actually felt the stirrings of
arousal.  
  
"Wait!" I called.  
  
Nina stopped and gave me a quizzical look over her shoulder.  
  
"My name's Vincent."  
  
She smiled. "Nice to meet you, Vincent."  
  
* * * *  
  
My retreat included satellite TV, but after flipping through numerous
channels, I decided that all I wanted was some music. So I found a music
station playing the pop hits from the 80s that I still knew and loved as I
went about assembling my dinner. I fired up the gas stove, heated a pan,
boiled some water. Pan-seared flank steak with steamed broccoli was on the
menu for the night. I figured I would switch the 50-inch big screen TV to
something banal as I ate, then maybe order a movie and crack open a bottle of
tequila.  
  
The chime at the front door was not at all anticipated.  
  
I frowned at the sound of it and considered simply ignoring it. At just after
six in the early evening, it could have been someone trying to sell something.  
  
But it sounded again.  
  
I grumbled as I made my way to the door. Annoyance fueling my movements, I
jerked the portal open, ready to let loose an angry tirade upon whichever
hapless soul happened to be standing on the doorstep.  
  
Instead, however, there was no hapless soul. Just my beautiful, exotic, dark-
skinned neighbor, holding a small basket in her hands. She flinched and
stepped back before my less than amiable answering.  
  
For a long moment, we just stared at one another. My annoyance was gone in a
flash, replaced by admonishment.  
  
"Is this, um, a bad time?" Nina asked.  
  
I breathed out with an embarrassed laugh. "No," I said. "Sorry."  
  
She blinked, eyes round and wide and making her look even younger than she
already appeared. "I could, uh, come back . . . or, not at all . . . ."  
  
"No, it's fine, really," I said emphatically, even as I wondered why I felt I
needed to endear myself to this woman. Part of me, apparently, wanted to be a
good neighbor. "I'm sorry. I'm not the easiest person to get to know. It's
been a while since I was, well, social."  
  
Her features softened. A smile crept across her face. She had a very cute and
round nose, I noticed. Button-like. "Me, too, actually," she said. "But, maybe
it's because I'm on vacation, but I figured, what the hell. If there's any
excuse to step out of my shell, this would be it."  
  
Now a real smile came to me. "I can relate to that," I said. I pushed the door
open wide. "I was just about to make dinner. I could easily make it for two.
Would you care to join me?"  
  
Nina grinned. "I think I would."  
  
* * * *  
  
We ate, we drank, we spoke of banal things the likes of which two strangers
would casually reveal. I learned that Nina was a professor of communication,
who taught at a university in Memphis, Tennessee. I shared with her some basic
details of my career in real estate. Interspersed with that was the usual
banter about popular culture, a few vague references to politics, and other
topics. My initial assumption about Nina's age -- which I figured, based on
her appearance and energy, to be in the late-20s range -- was challenged by
some of her remarks.  
  
". . . sometimes I think I'm beating my head against the wall when I try to
explain things like irony to my students," she said at one point, as we sat in
the living room of the hacienda, sipping from glasses filled with wine.  
  
I chuckled. "I love a good dose of irony," I said. "Reminds me of one of my
favorite movies. 'I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates, who said,
_I drank what?_'"  
  
Nina laughed, tossing her head back as she reclined upon the couch beside the
chair in which I sat. "Oh my God! _Real Genius_! I love that movie!"  
  
I shot her a look. "I saw it in the theater," I said pointedly.  
  
She gave me a look of her own. "So did I," she shot back.  
  
That surprised me. I looked her over once more, trying to assess whether or
not this woman was pulling my leg. She was clad in loose khaki shorts and a
yellow tank that showed off both the smooth dark tone of her skin as well as
the apparently youthful muscles beneath. There was no way this woman was more
than thirty, I figured, but her comments suggested otherwise.  
  
"You look surprised," she said.  
  
"That's because I am."  
  
Nina tittered and sipped her wine, then eased forward to set the glass upon
the low coffee table before her. Her gaze drifted out through the open doors
and windows of the living room to the grounds beyond and the dark, rolling
waves of the sea.  
  
"I've always wanted to take a tropical vacation," she said absently. She
dipped her head, looking down. "But we always ended up spending our vacation
time on Superbowl and things like that."  
  
"'We,'" I echoed.  
  
Nina nodded. "My husband was a big sports fan," she said ruefully. But then
she laughed and leaned back, falling into the cushions of the couch. Her
breasts bounced beneath the single layer of fabric covering them, nipples
making outlines against the cotton. "But this vacation . . . this is all
mine." She smiled broadly.  
  
"So . . . I'm guessing the husband is now an _ex-_husband," I ventured.  
  
Her head rolled toward me with a smile. "He sure is," she said, dark eyes
boring into mine.  
  
And there it was. A meaningful look. I had not been privy to too many of those
in my lifetime. A few during my collegiate days, when I was foolish enough to
be part of a ridiculous fraternity, then more later, after the wedding. My
wife had been exceedingly adept when it came to conveying desires and
intimations with her eyes.  
  
Suddenly, here was another woman who seemed to possess the same talent. Or
perhaps that was ego, wishful thinking, or simple maladroitness on my part.
Regardless of the reasons, I felt Nina was sending me a message, one for which
I was not yet ready.  
  
I sat up, looking away, seeking a diversion. "Why don't we go to the patio?
It's a nice night."  
  
I did not look to her as I stepped to the wide-open portal -- I had not
bothered to close it during the last few days -- but I gave her an amiable
smile as I stood aside and allowed her through. She smiled back, somewhat
reserved, I thought.  
  
"How long were you married?" I asked her as we took our seats at the round
wooden table overlooking the lawn and sea beyond.  
  
"Seventeen years," she said wistfully. "I met him in my junior year. He was a
teacher's aide . . . and star running back for the football team."  
  
I chuckled. "Brains and brawn?" I asked.  
  
"Sure seemed that way," she answered, and I could tell she was a little
perturbed by the turn in conversation. "Fooled me enough to make me want to
marry him and put up with his shit for longer than I should have."  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up anything painful."  
  
She turned her face toward me, and for a moment, there was a hard, biting look
in her eyes, the sort of look which would have been the inspiration for the
phrase _'shooting daggers.'_ But quickly enough, her dark orbs softened and
the warm, friendly, casually flirtatious smile returned. "What about you? How
long were you married?"  
  
I automatically glanced to the ring that still adorned my finger. After more
than two years, I still couldn't take it off. "Twelve," I said. "Almost
thirteen."  
  
"Second marriage?" she asked. "Or . . . you were just waiting?"  
  
A smile borne of nostalgia tugged at my lips. "I had a few near misses before
I met Jessica," I said. "But she was the only woman I'll ever be married to."  
  
Nina's eyes darted as she tried to read my face. "Once is enough?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
Thankfully, the conversation turned to more light-hearted fare after that. We
talked about music, television shows, books. Nina, though she never directly
came out and told me her age, was obviously a good decade older than I figured
her for. I commended her on maintaining her youth.  
  
By midnight, I was feeling tired, and announced my intention to get some
sleep. Nina at first gave me a somewhat hopeful look, as if I was suggesting
she stay the night and let whatever passions we may feel run their course. But
by that point, the possibility of sex had already come and gone, if it had
ever existed at all. So I led her to the door, thanked her for the basket, and
sent her on her way.  

I finished the rest of the wine by myself and went to bed.  
  
* * * *  
  
Over the following couple of days, I did not hear from Nina. I honestly was
not surprised. If she had come over with the intention of seeking sex, and
having clearly not found it, I could not blame her for not wanting to waste
her time with me again.  
  
With little else to do, I took to morning swims in the ocean, followed by
minimalist meals. Abandoning the "ruffian" look I sported, I shaved off the
beginnings of my beard and refrained from drinking, considering the tumultuous
nightmares I suffered following my evening with Nina. Those I attributed to
too much alcohol.  
  
I called my mother. She was being cared for by a live-in nurse provided by her
insurance and my additional financial support, so I had little reason to worry
for her day-to-day well being. As the only real remaining member of my family,
my mother was the last anchor attached to the world in which I lived.  
  
"Are you doing alright?" I asked her.  
  
"I'm fine," she said, following a barrage of bronchial coughing. "Lily's
taking good care of me, as always. How's your vacation? Met anyone?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "I've met a neighbor," I said, indulging a little white lie.
"He's old and fat and doesn't speak English. Not my type."  
  
My mother laughed. "No pretty young beach girls?" she asked teasingly.  
  
"No, none of those."  
  
"Maybe that's just as well, they might talk you into staying there."  
  
"Don't worry, mom," I told her. "I promise I'll see you soon."  
  
* * * *  
  
Being something of a fair swimmer, I made it all the way out toward a sandbar
which lay a good two hundred yards or so from the beach. The water beyond was
dark and cool, in contrast with the warmer, lighter-hued body swirling lazily
between the bar and the beach. The edge of the continental shelf, I assumed.
Even standing on the sandbar in less than two feet of water, I could feel the
insistent pull of a powerful current, as gently nefarious as a siren's call.  
  
One step over the edge would be enough to do it, I realized, and backed away.
I plunged back into the warmer, safer embrace of the lagoon and headed back to
shore.  
  
"You want to be careful about going past the sandbar," a voice called as I
trudged through the roiling surf at the edge of the beach. I lifted my head to
see Nina standing in her stark white bikini . . . or, just the skimpy bottom,
anyway. Her dark breasts hung free upon an athletic chest, nipples a shade
darker even than the skin surrounding them. Based on the almost perfect
roundness of the fleshy globes, I surmised they were implants. Not that the
fact made her any less sexy.  
  
"Yeah, I could feel the tide pulling at my legs," I said as I slapped wet feet
upon the sand. "Don't think I'll be swimming that far out any time soon."  
  
She cocked her head, assessing me as if we had just met. "Hector didn't tell
you about the _ultima ola_?"  
  
I frowned. "The what?"  
  
"_Ultima Ola_," she repeated. "The Last Wave. According to local legends, the
souls of drowned sailors swim just past the sandbar, waiting to drag people to
their death."  
  
I arched a brow. "I guess I'd better be careful, then. Wouldn't want any dead
souls pulling me under."  
  
For several heartbeats, neither one of us spoke a word. We stood just a few
paces apart, me naked and uncaring, she topless and otherwise nearly nude. In
any other context, the moment could have been the prelude to some torrid _From
Here To Eternity_ scene of reckless passion.  
  
"I'm sorry I offended you," I said at last.  
  
Her brow furrowed. "You didn't offend me," she said.  
  
I nodded as I stepped past, toward my beach chair and towel. "Yes I did." I
took up the towel and dabbed my face before turning back to her. "I turned you
down."  
  
Her eyes narrowed cattily. "Turned me down?"  
  
I fixed her a look. "Nina," I said, almost patronizingly. "While we may not be
old, we're both too old to play games. You wanted the other night to end a
certain way. But I wasn't quite ready for that."  
  
She faced me fully, in an almost challenging way. "Wait a sec. You think I
came over because I wanted a _booty call?_"  
  
I stared back. "Yes."  
  
She started to glare, body language indicating the imminent release of a
powerful vocal tirade. But then she softened, and actually smiled. I had been
right, she knew it, and there was no reason to be coy about the matter. "Why
aren't you ready?"  
  
I smiled back, sheepishly. "I haven't had sex in over two years, Nina," I told
her. "I haven't even masturbated. Hell, I can't remember the last time I
actually had an erection. Truth is, I might be impotent, but I haven't even
bothered to check."  
  
She looked sympathetic. "What happened, Vincent?" she asked in a way that went
beyond the immediate application of those words. It wasn't a 'what happened
the other night' question. It was a 'what happened to you' question.  
  
I sighed, averting my eyes. "That would be a very long conversation, and one
that I don't think I want to have right now."  
  
Nina's eyes dipped. "You're not divorced, are you?"  
  
"No," I said flatly. "I'm not."  
  
Her breasts rose and fell as she heaved a sigh. "Vincent, I'm sorry. I came
down here to let loose and get away from some bad memories and just . . . feel
alive again. I thought anonymous sex with a complete stranger would be a good
way to do all that. Guess I was just being selfish."  
  
I chuckled wryly. "You have no reason to apologize," I said. "You're an
incredibly beautiful woman. I still can't believe we're pretty much the same
age, because to look at you, I'd think you weren't even thirty. You just had
the misfortune of taking a vacation next door a guy with a lot of baggage."  
  
Her brow furrowed quizzically. "I think that's the strangest compliment I've
ever gotten."  
  
"As long as you take it as a compliment," I said.  
  
She watched me as I toweled off and slipped my shorts on. "Vincent," she said
at last.  
  
I gave her a questioning look.  
  
"You want to grab something to eat? You know, just two friends getting lunch
together?"  
  
I nodded with a smile. "Honestly, that sounds really good right now."  
  
* * * *  
  
We opted to walk to the little grocery down the street rather than drive. The
air was warm and flavored by the sea, the sun glowing but not unpleasant. The
grocery sold _barbacoa_ tacos and had a few old weather-warped tables sitting
out front. We ordered our lunch along with a couple of Mexican Cokes (made
with real sugar, as opposed to the crap made in the states with corn syrup)
and sat at the table, sharing anecdotes about our lives without getting too
personal.  
  
Afterward, we strolled through a local market and I bought Nina a straw hat
with pink hearts painted upon it. She smiled demurely at the gesture and gave
me a quick peck on the cheek. It was the closest gesture to intimacy we had
shared yet.  
  
I could not help but notice the ogles and almost outright lustful stares Nina
in her skimpy white bikini earned. Men young and old stared at the exotic
beauty walking beside me, and I could not help but think some of them were
envious of our perceived intimacy. I could not deny that I enjoyed expounding
upon the illusion, even going as far as to hold Nina's hand now and then, or
touch her casually upon the arm or shoulder. Her presence was doing wonders
for my ego.  
  
We returned to my hacienda, mainly to get into some shade and relax before the
TV. I cracked open a bottle of tequila and mixed it with orange juice and
splashes of grenadine. Classic tequila sunrises.  
  
"What did you want to be when you grew up?" Nina asked me as we sat on the
broad couch facing the television.  
  
I laughed. "Where did that come from?"  
  
She shrugged. "I'm curious. What did little Vincent want to be when he was
seven years old?"  
  
"Oh, man . . ." I trailed off, thinking. "Well, I remember wanting to be Steve
Austin," I said. "_The Six Million Dollar Man_ was my favorite show. But I
also wanted to be a race car driver, like _Speed Racer._"  
  
Nina looked amused. "And then you ended up going into real estate."  
  
"More like an accident of fortune that turned into a career," I said. "After
six years in college, I ended up with a degree in marketing. I had no clue
what to do with it. Then a friend suggested I join up with a guy he knew who
had a little real estate business . . . turns out I was pretty good at
flipping properties."  
  
"Not exactly Steve Austin," she remarked.  
  
"No, not exactly," I agreed. "What about you?"  
  
"I . . . wanted to be a Playboy Centerfold," Nina declared.  
  
I stared, surprised. "As a kid? That's what you wanted to be?"  
  
She laughed. "Well, not exactly. But I did want to be a model. I was a tall,
skinny kid in middle school. I remember being taller than all the boys in my
class, even in seventh grade, and my teacher telling me I could be a model.
The idea just sort of stuck."  
  
"But . . . a Playboy Centerfold," I prompted.  
  
She chuckled. "When I was a teenager, I found my dad's stash of Playboys. Not
a single one of them was a black girl, and I thought, 'I could be the first
black Playmate!' Of course, that didn't happen."  
  
"Did you ever try modeling?"  
  
Nina nodded. "After I turned eighteen, I auditioned for some local
commercials, stuff like that. Made it onto a couple of of them, even did some
print work. Had some, um, interesting experiences with a few less than
reputable agencies."  
  
"Let me guess: 'take your clothes off, baby, we'll make you a star!'"  
  
Nina tossed her head back with a laugh. "You know, I think I actually heard
those exact words, once." She shook her head ruefully. "Funny thing is, I
think back now and wonder, if I had gone through with it, I could have been a
killer porn star."  
  
"You would have had a much different life," I said.  
  
She nodded. "No shit," she agreed, then sighed wistfully. "Instead, I met Mr.
Athlete and thought I was in love." She sipped her drink. "But I can't really
regret it. Not all of it. I have two beautiful children that I love more than
life. At least he could do that right."  
  
A nostalgic wave of emotion passed through me. "Nothing better than being a
parent," I said.  
  
"You have kids, too?"  
  
I held her gaze with my own for a moment, considering how much I should
reveal. "A boy and a girl," I said. "Madison, then a couple of years later,
Vinnie Jr."  
  
Nina grinned broadly with a display of her perfectly white teeth. "Aw, a
little boy to carry on your name."  
  
I nodded somberly. "Yeah."  
  
"Do you still see them?"  
  
  
I sighed. "Every night when I close my eyes."  
  
I stared at the TV, sipped my drink. I was peripherally aware of Nina looking
to me. I could almost hear the unspoken question just behind her lips.
Thankfully, however, she did not speak it.  
  
Instead, she rolled forward on the couch and stood, setting her glass upon the
little coffee table. She stepped around so that her lithe, dark-skinned form
blocked my view of the television.  
  
"Vincent."  
  
  
I breathed in, feeling more than a little intimidated. "Yeah?"  
  
She reached back to the trailing straps of her bikini top. Her dark, glowing
eyes stabbed into mine. "I think I want to be a star."  
  
I cradled my drink, but did not sip from it. A thick slug of something formed
in the back of my throat, making me swallow thickly. "Right now?"  
  
Nina nodded. "Yes. Right now."  
  
First removed was the top, which fell to the ground with barely a flutter of
cloth. Nina's breasts stood out firm and proud, glowing with a light sheen of
sweat and arousal. Then she slipped her fingers beneath the straps of the
bikini, and stooped over as she slid the garment down lean, athletic legs. Now
fully nude -- she even stepped out of her sandals -- she straightened, arms
dangling at her sides.  
  
I would have been a consummate idiot if I did not allow myself the luxury of
drinking in Nina's beautiful, exotic nudity. Ripe round breasts floated above
a trim stomach, which sat upon hips that flared out nicely before flowing into
strong, long legs. Her thighs were toned, not at all fleshy, and between them
lay the most incredible, smooth-shaved edifice of ebony sexuality I could ever
hope to see.  
  
The sight of Nina in her delectable nudity was enough to make me lick my lips.
More than that, but I felt a sincere and insistent stirring in my groin.  
  
Giving me a look of abject lust, she pushed the coffee table out of the way
and lowered herself to her hands and knees. Her eyes glowed like those of a
feral cat's as she crawled toward me. "Put your drink down, Vincent," she
whispered sultrily.  
  
I numbly complied, setting the glass upon the small table beside the couch. I
flinched as I felt Nina's hands gliding across the tops of my thighs. Her
fingertips slipped beneath the edge of my shorts.  
  
"Nina, I'm not sure--" I began.  
  
"Shh," she responded, cutting me off. "If it happens, it happens."  
  
I felt like I was suddenly a third my age, completely unsure of myself and
woefully unprepared for anything that might happen next. At the same time, the
unknowable future was tantalizing, and Nina certainly knew how to turn a man
on.  
  
"Lift up," she whispered. "So I can take these off."  
  
I complied quickly, almost drunkenly, though I had not imbibed nearly enough
alcohol to dull my senses. No, I was fully sober, yet at the same time utterly
intoxicated.  
  
My shorts slid down and vanished as Nina tore them from my feet and tossed
them away. She was like an impish nymph, grinning from between my legs, the
half-swollen tube of my erection laying between us. Her eyes remained on mine
until my feet had settled to the floor.  
  
"Oh, my," she whispered heatedly, lips spreading with an approving smile.
"What have we here? Is this all for me?"  
  
I could not respond. I was caught between two worlds, one dominated by guilt,
the other by passion. The latter won out.  
  
"What a beautiful cock," Nina murmured, just before she pressed her lips to
the base of my shaft, sucking gently. I arched my back, gasping at the
sensation. Sexual nerves which had long lain dormant were now suddenly brought
back to life.  
  
Eyes heavy and mouth slack, Nina lovingly licked up and down my stiffening
penis, bathing it with the heat and wetness of her mouth. Tendrils of saliva
stretched from my shaft to her tongue before she lapped them away. Finally,
she lifted my erection and pointed it toward her mouth. Lush, thick pink lips
parted wetly. She flickered her tongue out to tease the tip.  
  
"I want to fuck you, Vincent," she said breathily.  
  
I trembled with a heartfelt sigh. "I don't think I could stop you if I tried."  
  
Nina grinned, then her features became almost feral, almost predatory as she
sunk her mouth down my engorged cock. I gasped at the heat, the sucking,
pulling, swallowing motions of her mouth and throat. She took me to the root
with ease, pressing her chin to my balls, her nose against my abdomen.  
  
_Oh, God in Heaven,_ I thought in stupefaction.  
  
But then she slipped her mouth from my cock, sucking up her own saliva. She
gave me a wicked smile as she moved up and straddled me, one hand keeping my
glistening wet penis pointed upward. Her face grew progressively slack as she
rubbed the head along her fleshy dark lips, exposing the inner pink of her
delectable sex. Her clitoris was thick, bulbous, peeking from beneath a fleshy
dark hood.  
  
"Push me down," she whispered hoarsely, heavy eyes staring at me.  
  
It was the most erotic challenge I had ever been issued. If I complied, it
signaled my desire for her, turning what would otherwise have been a one-sided
erotic attack into a shared expression of sexual desire. If I did not . . . .  
  
My thoughts never got that far. I slapped my hands to Nina's hips and pulled
her down, while pushing up with my own. Regardless of the inner conflict
raging in my heart and mind, at the moment I wanted nothing more than carnal
satisfaction.  
  
Nina sighed long and deep as my cock eased deep within her. Slick from her
mouth, and with her pussy all but dripping, I had little trouble burying my
penis to hilt inside her. Heat scorched through me as if I had never before
felt such a thing, rekindling ancient memories which tortured me with thoughts
of _why did you wait so long?_  
  
For a long moment, Nina settled atop me, shifting back and forth a little,
smiling with her eyes closed to savor the sensations trickling up from her
sex. Her pussy pulsed and squeezed my dick like a hand adjusting its grip,
looking for that perfect hold.  
  
Hands braced upon my chest, Nina finally opened her eyes and gazed upon me
with an expression that combined abject lust with abject grace. "I don't want
to think about anything but what's happening right now," she stated heatedly.
She leaned over, settling her body atop mine, and ran her hands down the sides
of my face. "This is just us. Just what we want."  
  
I stared into her dark brown eyes, finding a sense of loss, a sense of
wanting, that mirrored my own. Nina, I realized, was just as tragic a soul as
I was.  
  
I nodded, touched her cheek. A smile drifted across my lips. "Just us," I
mimicked, then kissed her, tenderly. She whimpered, body shuddering. My
response had been what she had needed to hear.  
  
We made the rounds that night. It would have been impossible to tell who was
the more desperate between us. There were times when our coupling was as
romantic and tender as anything penned in a romance novel, and times when we
rutted and fucked like professional porn stars. We gave to each other all the
energy, all the yearning, all the fierceness we could garner.  
  
She leaned back with hands upon my knees, her legs lifted and splayed wide to
afford me the incredible erotic contrast of her dark skin against my pale hue.
She came with a series of shuddering cries and convulsive, jolting wracks of
her body. Then I lifted up and took command, laying her upon one of the
chairs. I held her lean legs wide apart and hammered deep, making her grunt,
growl, and glare at me. She raked my skin with her nails, nearly bit my lip
when we kissed.  
  
I bent her over the coffee table and clutched her firm buttocks, spreading
them apart to watch my slickened, pale-skinned cock plunging into her ebony-
framed depths. I grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her head back, making
her gasp and grunt as I pounded into her again and again and again and . . . .  
  
And then, at last, came that incredible rush, the culmination of years of
pent-up need and desire, that indescribable explosion of physical and
emotional catharsis. It actually surprised me how fervently it tore through
me, like a beast made to both destroy and remake me in the same moment. With
each pulsing jet I spent inside Nina, I felt my strength ebb in the most
delicious way possible, until I could do nothing more than collapse.  
  
I found myself floundering on the carpet, numb, spent, incoherent. Nina
giggled and cooed and curled up beside me, head upon my chest, and arm draped
across my body as we recovered. She kissed my skin, hugged me close.  
  
"Damn," she breathed at last. "Best. Sex. Ever."  
  
I laughed ridiculously. "I can't even think."  
  
She chuckled, warm body rubbing against mine. "Don't think. Just say you'll do
it again."  
  
* * * *  
  
Hours later, as a sky unpolluted by man let me see the stars in all their
glory, when the moon hovered above the horizon, I sat out upon the steps of
the rear patio, sipping the cocktail I had set aside before.  
  
I felt no guilt for my dalliance, as I had dreaded I would. Instead, there was
a strange sort of acceptance, even approval. My departed wife, in her eternal
wisdom, would understand that I, a mortal man, could not be expected to
continue without certain simple physical satisfactions.  
  
So I smiled, both from what I had enjoyed with Nina, and what I felt -- _knew_
\-- from my wife.  
  
"There you are."  
  
My smile remained as I responded to Nina behind me. I did not turn to look at
her. "Here I am."  

She stepped up behind me and settled down, wrapping naked arms and legs about
my body. She was still sleepy, I could tell, by the way she lay her head
against the back of my shoulder. "I woke up and you weren't there," she said.
"I almost panicked. Didn't know where I was."  
  
I touched one of her arms, kissed it. "Sorry," I said. "Just doing some soul-
searching."  
  
"Did you find it?" she asked dreamily.  
  
I smiled. "Yeah. I think I did."  
  
* * * *  
  
"Vincent! How's paradise?"  
  
I chuckled into the phone. "Still nice, Mom. In fact, it's gotten a little
nicer."  
  
"Oh? Did you meet someone?"  
  
"In fact, I have."  
  
"Oh, good for you," she sighed raggedly. "You've gone too long without. So,
what's her name? Is she Mexican, American, what?"  
  
I gave my mother the basics on what I knew of Nina. I knew she would have been
happy for me that I had found someone to spend time with. It was what my
mother needed to hear, I knew.  
  
We had to cut the conversation short because of yet another coughing fit on
her behalf. She was sounding worse and worse. I hung up feeling a slight sense
of dread. There was something telling me I would never hear from my mother
again. Not in this life, at any rate.  
  
* * * *  
  
Nina and I spent every day together following that splendidly satisfying
evening. It was as if all we needed was that first consummation to allow us to
be open, free, and honest with one another. Now that we had given ourselves to
each other, we were like a honeymooning couple. Everything we did seemed
centered around the idea of "how can we have sex while . . .?"  
  
As an example, I rented a small sailing boat for the day. Nina climbed aboard
clad in nothing more than a long T-shirt, such as that which she might wear to
bed. Not even a hundred yards from the dock, and the shirt came off, revealing
her beautiful, ebony body. She applied some sunscreen as I watched and hitched
the sail, giving me coquettish looks of promise.  
  
Once far enough out that we were in no danger of drifting into sand bars,
reefs, or other vessels, I crawled across the boat and pushed her legs apart.
Nina gave me a sultry grin, telling me with her eyes that I was free to do
whatever I wished.  
  
"You like me like this?" she asked.  
  
I smiled up at her as I settled between her toned thighs. The aroma of her
excited sex wafted to my senses. "I think I'd like you any way you want to
give me," I said.  
  
Her eyes blazed with a mixture of arousal and . . . something else. "God,
everything you do to me makes me feel so good," she whispered hoarsely as she
cupped and squeezed her breasts. Her dark nipples were like thick baubles of
chocolate between her fingers.  
  
I kissed along her inner thigh, from just above the knee to just inches from
her pussy, before doing the same to the other. Nina squirmed, watching me,
eyes heavy with passion, dark skin glimmering. The lips of her sex swelled and
parted, opening to reveal the brilliant pink just beyond her dark labia. Her
aroma intensified.  
  
"Everything?" I asked teasingly, as I brushed my lips against her swollen
pussy.  
  
She hissed, pushing her hips toward me. "Oh, God, now you're teasing," she
bemoaned. "Just do it, baby."  
  
I grinned from between her spread thighs, my mouth poised over her smooth-
shaved pussy. "Do what?" I asked with feigned innocence.  
  
She expelled a sigh of sexual frustration, but even with that her face glowed
with appreciation for my antics. "Do _me_," she responded heatedly. "Eat me.
Eat my pussy."  
  
I nipped at the juncture of her thigh and pelvis, keeping my eyes on hers.
"Oh, well, since you put it that way . . ." I punctuated my words by finally
and fully pressing my mouth to Nina's delectable, succulent sex. I drew her
lips into my mouth, along with her engorged, needy clit, and sucked deeply,
swirling my tongue all around the sensitive nerve bundles there. Nina gasped
loudly and arched her back, grinding against my mouth as I gave her, at last,
the sensation she desired.  
  
Our little boat rocked upon the water as Nina and I made waves within. I
devoured her ceaselessly, coaxing her to first one orgasm, then another, and
finally a third. Each climactic eruption made her shudder and shake and groan
and cry in increasing volume and sexual joy, until she all but screamed for
the third time and pushed my head away.  
  
She doubled up, rolling forward upon the hard planks of the sailboat's seat to
cup my face and kiss and suck her own essence from my lips. She whispered
things like "oh God" and "incredible" as she did so, and other praises which
were much more jumbled and chaotic.  
  
Afterward, as we held one another upon the boat, Nina stroked her fingers
through my hair and gave me blissful, wondering smiles.  
  
"This is going to be over soon, isn't it?" she asked at last, as clarity
returned to her mind.  
  
I nodded. "Vacations can't last forever."  
  
"True, but there can be more," she said, giving me a heartfelt look. "It would
be easy as hell for me to arrange a trip back to Chicago. My kids have cousins
they haven't seen in years. They'd love to go back. So would I . . . now."  
  
I shushed her with a finger to her lips, giving her a placating look. "Let's
not get ahead of ourselves," I cautioned.  
  
Nina studied my face a moment, fingers passing over my cheeks, my lips. "I
told myself I'd never rush into anything ever again," she declared. Her face
blossomed with a smile. "But, Jesus, Vincent, every day with you is like a
fantasy. I don't want to stop wondering what you'll do to me tomorrow. Or what
I can do for you. It goes both ways, you know."  
  
I pulled back, gently pushing her hands down. "This has been the most
incredible vacation I could ever hope for," I said to her. "But when life goes
back to being normal, things change."  
  
Her brow furrowed. "You saying you wouldn't be like this once we got back to
the real world?"  
  
I laughed wanly. "It just wouldn't be the same," I said. "We're living out
fantasies here."  
  
Her eyes dipped, and some of the elation fled. But she gave me a hopeful
smile. "I wouldn't mind living out a few more."  
  
I smiled back. "Neither would I."  
  
* * * *  
  
The phone call came just two days before I was due to fly back home, in the
late morning. I was making breakfast for Nina and I, while my lover languished
in post-coital bliss in the bed of my hacienda. The air was filled with the
scents of pan-seared chorizo, pineapple, and scrambled eggs when I heard the
trill of my phone.  
  
The little device told me it was my mother calling, but I knew she was not on
the other end. "Hello," I said.  
  
"Mr. Paterac?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
There was a long pause on the other end. I could hear strained breathing, of
the sort people make when they aren't sure what to say. "It's me, Lily. You
know, your mother's nurse?"  
  
I nodded into the phone and stepped away from the stove. "She's passed away,
hasn't she?"  
  
The response was a choked sob. ". . . yes."  
  
I chewed my lip, staring out through the hacienda's windows at a beautiful,
calm tropical ocean. "Did she die in her sleep?"  
  
I heard Lily sniffle on the other end. "I'm pretty sure she did. I went in
this morning, and she was just lying there, eyes closed. She was holding her
bible."  
  
I managed a smile. "She always wanted to die in her sleep," I said. "I'm glad
she got that wish fulfilled."  
  
Lily sniffled again. "Mr. Paterac, I'm not sure who to call, or--"  
  
"Look in the drawer by her bed," In instructed. "There's an envelope with
everything you need to know. It's just a matter of making a few phone calls."  
  
The nurse's next words were tinted with incredulity. "Did she know this was
going to happen?"  
  
I held the phone for a moment, considering my words. "I think we both did," I
answered.  
  
". . . when will you be coming home?"  
  
I hesitated before answering. "I'll be with my mother soon," I said.  
  
* * * *  
  
I didn't immediately tell Nina about my mother's passing. Truth be told, I was
not particularly depressed. We had both known the end was coming, ever since
the initial diagnosis of cancer which revealed how far it had already spread.
It was just a matter of time before my mother succumbed to the body-wracking
disease. It did not dawn on me, not until I had come to terms with my own
grief, that my mother had simply been waiting for me to be happy again. And
now that I was . . . .  
  
Well, it was just one more chapter over.  
  
So, instead of mourning my mother's passing -- and feeling more relieved than
anything else, as I knew she was, as well -- after breakfast, I took Nina down
to the market and bought her a new bikini and sarong. Upon returning to the
beach outside our haciendas, she proceeded to strip out of her clothing to don
the new attire, much to my enjoyment, before dashing off into the lightly-
rolling surf. I chased after, feeling half my age -- a common feeling, I had
come to realize since meeting Nina -- and we played and frolicked in the water
before our "play" became more intimate and lustful.  
  
As we had never seen another soul upon the beach, Nina and I had no qualms
about stripping down and settling upon the beach blanket in a sixty-nine.  
  
"I'm not going to stop sucking you until you come," she declared as she swung
her leg over my head, presenting her moist and and ready pussy to me. "That's
if I stop at all . . . ."  
  
We whole-heartedly devoured each other until the air rang with Nina's hoarse
orgasmic cries and I ejaculated like a canon within her mouth. As she had
implied, Nina did not release me, extending the exquisite torture in a way
that only a mature lover could, keeping me erect with her lips and tongue and
fingers so that I was swiftly -- for my age, anyway -- ready yet again.  
  
It had been quite a few years since I had enjoyed more than a single orgasm
during lovemaking. But Nina's sexual insistence could not be denied, and she
stroked and sucked me to yet another eruption, this time pulling her mouth off
my cock just as I began to spasm, pumping me furiously with her hand. I shook
and convulsed beneath her as if in the throes of a seizure.  
  
Finally, she lifted off me and turned about, giving me an almost demure look
as rivulets of semen dribbled down her face. Globs of my fluid clung to her
cheeks and chin; one dollop had even landed on her forehead.  
  
"What do you think?" she asked.  
  
I laughed. "You look like you lost a fight with a can of whipped cream," I
said.  
  
She chuckled and touched her face, wiping off a smear of fluid. "Forty-one
years old, and this is the first time I have ever let a man come on my face,"
she declared.  
  
"I'm honored," I said flippantly.  
  
She gave me a look. "And I need to wash up," she announced, before hopping up
to run, naked, down to the water.  
  
I propped myself up on my elbows, watching her in the surf as she splashed her
face. There was a part of me that felt I could have been happy to spend more
time with Nina. Crazy, simplistic extrapolations had me thinking of sharing
the next several decades with her. Perhaps her children would accept me,
perhaps they wouldn't. And what would my friends think? Would they accept her?
Would it matter?  
  
Nina returned, face and body glowing and glistening in the Mexican sun. Damn,
but she was truly beautiful, a suitably exotic beauty for such an exotic
place.  
  
She stopped a few paces away, giving me a curious look. "What are you
thinking?"  
  
I smiled and shook my head. "Nothing. Just looking at you," I said. "And the
water. Put it all together and I think I've found my particular version of
paradise."  
  
Her eyes smoldered. "There you go again," she said.  
  
I frowned. "There I go again what?"  
  
She dropped onto the blanket beside me. "Nothing," she said. "It's just . . .
sometimes you say some really romantic things. Things that make a girl
wonder."  
  
"Wonder about what?"  
  
She tilted her head with a placating smile. I liked the fact that she had no
problem being casually naked. "Don't read too much into it, baby. Let a girl
have her fantasies."  
  
I decided not to push the subject. I didn't want to spoil the mood, nor did I
want to give Nina any false hopes. So we lay in comfortable silence, watching
the sea lick the sandy shore. My eyes were drawn to the way the _ultima ola_
smacked against the distant sandbar, resulting in some impressive displays of
salty spray.  
  
"You're staring at the water like you want to go out there," Nina remarked.  
  
I smiled blushingly. "I've always loved the water. Maybe I should have been in
the Navy or something. You know, I was born at sea."  
  
"What?"  
  
I chuckled at her response. "Seriously. I was born on a boat."  
  
"Now _that_ is a story I've got hear."  
  
I sighed nostalgically, sitting up. "I don't know how many times I heard the
story," I said, staring out at the waves. "My parents were living in Virginia
Beach. The due date for my arrival to the world had already come and gone by a
week. There was no telling when I would decide to come out. Anyway, my father
had a friend, who had a boat, and they sometimes went deep-sea fishing. On
this particular day, my mother decided to come along."  
  
"Could have been a bad choice," Nina remarked.  
  
I nodded. "Could have been," I agreed. "Anyway, they were only supposed to be
out for a few hours. But, the motor died."  
  
"Uh-oh."  
  
I chuckled. "Yep. But that wasn't it. Not only did the motor die, but a storm
was coming in. The sea was getting choppy. Thankfully, the boat was a fairly
good size, with a cabin in the front. Well, with all the rocking back and
forth, and my mother getting panicked because she had never been in a storm at
sea . . . ."  
  
Nina looked amused. "Poof! Instant labor?"  
  
"Yup," I confirmed. "The way my mother tells it, I made a great big mess
coming into the world. But everything turned out fine in the end. They got the
boat back to shore, drove to a hospital, and voila! Vincent Eugene Paterac!"  
  
Nina arched an eyebrow as she looked at me. "'Eugene?'" she asked.  
  
I shot a look back. "It's a family name," I said. "Anyway, as soon as all the
documents were signed, my mother was ready to go home. Walked out of the
hospital carrying me."  
  
Nina laughed. "A real trooper," she said. "I think I'd like to meet your
mother."  
  
I sighed again, but this time, the mirth drained away from my face. I could
actually feel it. "That would take some doing."  
  
"Why? Where does she live?"  
  
My head fell. I stared at the sand. "She doesn't."  
  
Nina was silent for a moment. Then she rolled up beside me, sliding an arm
across my torso. "I'm sorry, Vincent," she said softly.  
  
I shrugged with a sad smile. "Don't be. She had cancer. The best thing that
could have happened was when she passed away."  
  
Nina kissed my neck tenderly. "I don't know what that's like," she said. "Both
my parents are alive. Grandparents, too. Longevity runs in my family, I guess.
But you . . . Jesus. You've lost your mother . . . and your wife."  
  
Those last words were spoken in a very pointed tone. I pulled back just enough
to see Nina's face. It was full of compassion. I studied her eyes, assessing
her, making up my mind about how she would handle the truth of my life.  
  
She reared back slightly, obviously noting something different about the way I
looked at her. "What's wrong?" she asked.  
  
I shook my head with a small smile. "Nothing."  
  
Her brow furrowed. "You look so serious."  
  
I didn't respond right away. I carefully organized my thoughts, coalescing
them into a form that I could share with Nina. I pushed back, folded my legs
together. Nina sat up as well, apparently understanding that I was about to
share something of personal importance. She gave me all of her attention.  
  
"I'd been having a hell of a day," I said. As I spoke, memories more than two
years old flashed disjointedly in my mind. "I was in for twenty-five thousand
on a business property I had picked up, and had finally lined up a buyer. I
had to close the deal, so I wined and dined them, gave them my best spiel. I
tried my damnedest not look desperate. But I was.  
  
"And up through the middle of it, my wife was texting me. 'When are you going
to be home?' _Soon_, I told her, over and over and over. She finally got fed
up. The kids were hungry. It was after six when they decided to go for
burgers.  
  
"Anyway, I closed the deal, after playing games with the bank's loan officer.
By the time the whole thing was over and done with, it was after seven. I sent
a text to Jesse saying I was on my way home."  
  
I met Nina's eyes with my own. "They weren't home when I got there."  
  
She swallowed thickly, looking fearful. But she didn't speak.  
  
I glanced away, my eyes drifting across the beach and looking at nothing in
particular. I watched the Last Wave crash against the distant breach. "Maybe
five minutes after I walked through the door, I got a call from the emergency
dispatch service. I don't really remember much after that. I think I've
blocked it out, or something."  
  
Nina tentatively reached a hand to touch me. "Oh, God, Vincent."  
  
I managed an unconvincing smile. "At least the accident hadn't been her
fault," I said. "They got rear-ended by a truck going way too fast. It . . .
shoved my wife's car against the back of a dump truck. They all died pretty
much instantly. At least, I hope so, anyway."  
  
There was a long silence between us. I could just make out the constrained
sobbing sounds Nina made. They clashed with the roiling surf.  
  
She touched my knee. "I'm so sorry, Vincent," she said at last, voice choked.  
  
I looked to her. "So am I."  
  
* * * *  
  
Nina did not object when I told her I wanted to be alone for the night. We
kissed, we hugged, but the actions were almost automatic, as if made for
effect only. She gathered up the scattered scraps of the bikini I had
purchased for her and strode down the beach to her bungalow. I watched her
until she stepped out of sight, a smile on my face the entire time.  
  
Then I stood and headed to my hacienda, and to the laptop within, to pen the
last chapter of my life, a story which you have been reading.  
  
There is no grater love in my life than that which I harbor for my wife and
children. Nothing could ever take their place in my heart. That simple and
mortal realization was what compelled me to come to this place, this little
tropical hideaway. I had been born at sea, and to the sea I shall return.  
  
So, early tomorrow morning, when the retreating tide is at its strongest, I
will wade out to the ocean, and step onto the sandbar against which the Last
Wave buffets. I will jump in, and let the tide carry me away to the sea
forevermore.  
  
And I will finally be with my family once again.  
  
_\--fin--_  
  
_(Thanks for reading this romantic little fantasy. Don't forget to vote, and
if you wish, leave me a comment to let me know what you think. Please make
sure to read all the other contest entries as well. There's some serious
talent on Literotica.)_




End file.

