“Parasols are for the weak…”, came to mind as I walked down the steps which led to the beach front, regretting immediately “Well, or for people with children or not wanting to tan themselves as much…”, nodding while I buried my nastier self in the sand.
It was a spectacular day and everyone, including myself, took advantage of the delicious sun rays. However, the beach didn’t seem as busy as it was a few days before. I dragged myself along the sand, lifting small sandstorms with my feet, which didn’t get burnt as it was still early.
I arrived at my spot, not because it was special, but because there was no one around to bother me. I stretched my sarong out in the sand and took my sandals and my dress off showing the sea my bikini as I put my sunglasses away so I wouldn’t get white marks.
I smiled as I rummaged in my beach basket and found my oil. Smelling quite distinctly but incomparable I began to spray it over my legs, I spread it out forming a burnished layer making my skin glow.
I led facing up, on my elbows, playfully looking at the sea through my legs, opening them to get a wider view of the landscape, feeling my labia separating under my bikini, then closing them to feel how they kissed.
I just didn’t know what to do with myself; I never came to a beach by myself. I began picturing whether Marta would have already run into the water, or if Brenda would be reading, or if Tania would be doing yoga under the supervision of our prying eyes, or if my boy would be caressing my knee as he always does. But today, all by myself, the conversation was sparse, so, learning newer things, I got up and headed into the water, changing my mind as I gathered how cold it was and began to wander along the shore to avoid laughing at how chicken I was.