Unlocking My Private Locker: The Beach Offering
I crack open my Private Locker. The mental vault where secrets rot sweet. Heart pounds. This one’s too heavy to hold. Time to spill. Raw. No filter. The beach. That day I let desire flood.
My feet hit sand first. Then legs. Thighs. Belly. Sea doesn’t touch. It claims. Gauges my calm’s temp.
The Opening
He’s waiting. Half-buried as ordered. Face skyward. Eyes half-shut. Hole shallow. Can’t budge without me.
I emerge dripping. Navel beads. Hair plastered. Eye him like sea eyes shore. Sure.
Close in. Chest heaves. Sand wrinkles ripple. I mount.
No twitch.
Wet feet plant on him. I speak. Not of him. Me. The between. Body terrain. Obsession map.
“Feet low? Wrong. I’m all underside. Clavicle stair. Belly border. Shoulder blades grips. Carry me? All. Desire. Unknown too.”
Spin. Ass on his crotch. Knees bent. Soles chest-high. Throne. Breath hitches on toes. Below, he wakes.
Sun dries me. I rise. Lips part. Cheeks glow.
Squat low. Suit soaks. Pointless veil. Hands pin shoulders. Thighs frame temples. Eyes flare. Skip face. Lock center.
“No own. Know. Under skin. Between thighs.”
Part slight. Shift forward. Fabric strains. Salty-warm sea-musk wafts. Tongue grazes my lower lip.
One graze.
He shifts. I’m no woman. Sleep-spot. Fade-place. No lick. Oath sworn by mouth.
Eyes shut. Think: Here, water me. Sand him.
Hold lucid. Seconds extra. Tongue maps like erase old ink. Shapes me pre-him. Mid-loss. Post-depart.
Rise slow. Quiet.
Eyes cling. Tug fabric. Cover. Seal. Book shut pre-sun fade.
Foot lifts. Lands wet sand.
He freezes. Obvious.
Wet finger traces forehead. Between brows.
“Received. No take.”
Fact. Rare.
Sea calls. Feet smear tracks.
Rinse. Water tongues thighs wider. No cleanse. Accentuates. Confirms. Gaze afar. Still sunk. Face up. Breeze temples. Upside tomb. Honors gift.
Suit on. Role reclaimed. Beach exit. World rights.
His eyes stay shut.
Her heat lingers mouth-thick. Hold it. No flavor. No fuck. Her. Inside. Mine now.
The Intimacy
Lids lift. Sky steady. Sand hums faint. I grip new. Molded. Built carry. Take.
Wet legs recall. Fabric-clung lips. Her turn-gift.
No tears. Laughs. Finger stirs slow. Sand fights. Perfect. Her weight ghosts. Ours.
“No pussy kissed. Her rule.”
Linger till prints blur. Taste stays.
Metro screeches. Chatter. Clean shirt. Charged phone. Badge swings. Normal.
Face half-unwashed. Brow-salt proof. Skip shave. No polish post-this.
Beach-since, all feather-light. Door knobs. Forks. Office leather. None her-mass.
Air fake-plastic.
Peers blind. Shop-window me. Kneel to see change.
Yesterday: torso under feet. Today: extra flesh in hollow city.
No sorrow. Deeper.
Hold event-secret. Passage. Nameless gift. Altar-man to standing goddess. Permanent.
Print flipped.
No text. No sign.
Mail slot: ivory envelope. Staple seal. Blank.
Plastic pouch. Real sand. Grit-damp. Center: brown curl. Pubic? Irrelevant.
Reseal thankful. Proof: I’m hers. She knows I hold.
Saw him street-morning. Chance? Neck droops. Step drags low.
Return? Sorry for deep stamp?
No.
He needs: I carry too.
Post-beach, steps measured. Feet scribe skin. No float. Filled. His void holds. My weight stays given.
Tuesday mail. Ivory. Staple.
Photo: my torso overhead-wide. Skin bears feet-prints. Toes sand-inked. Twin perfect. Remote brand.
Back blue-script: “Held me. Do. Walk. Feet beneath.”
No sob. No stiff. Rooted.
