## Archive-name: nautica

From: bn737@freenet.carleton.ca (Janet Coleman)

Subject: "Nautica"

Keywords: f-solo sf

Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica

X-Moderator-Review: 8: wonderful concept and well written

Nautica
by Janet E. Coleman

We lay back in tacit, rumpled agreement to rest awhile lest we become too exhausted to continue fucking, and he found and put on a cassette of ocean sounds. For the first few minutes it pleased me enormously -- the sleepy rushing, rushing, rushing soothed and inspired me. I lolled dreamily on the soft blankets, and in my mind I placed over me the moon, blaring down silver, scattering a luminous wide ribbon across the waves...a smooth-worn seawall to perch on, and me naked as life and twice as sexy...the cool breeze, the cool...smooth -- sand --

Wait. Wait a minute.

"That's not right," I said, propping up to my elbow, eyeing the tape player in slow puzzlement. "There's something *wrong* with that... where was it recorded? Where's the water I'm hearing?"

Bless him, he didn't argue. He reached for the cassette box on the floor, fumbled with it in the dim, shifting light, and dropped it into the tangle of the bedclothes. Helpfully I assisted in fishing it out, paying lingering attention to his right thigh, though the tape box was in fact nowhere near it.

He came up with it eventually, squinted. "Carmel," he said in a slightly deeper voice than usual. "California."

"Ahhh," I said in comprehension, and then said it again, for a slightly different reason . . .

No wonder it had sounded off. After all, I've never fucked the Pacific.

Last summer I went to a party. It was in one of the lesser Hamptons, at the house of someone I did not know, and by nightfall I was not having a good time of it. I had been tense and anxious when I arrived, enjoying the fallout of a bad relationship going "bang", and soon I was restless, gnawing on impatience. The two separate drunk buffoons attempting to plot a course into my panties were the penultimate and final straws, and abruptly I walked away from the house.

I sat awhile on the steps of the post office. I like steps. There seem to be few more excellent places to think than halfway up a flight of stairs, dreaming through the banister supports...but I disliked the setting. Street, sidewalk, lights, buildings...they were offensive with their rigid, imposed and imposing structure, and I vaulted off the steps again and began walking, very fast, toward the water, muttering.

I was coiled so tightly with bitter tension that the lovely bright half moon and blessed strong cool breeze could do nothing to soothe me, and they *always* work. No, it was no use; no matter how beautiful the night insisted on being, I was having none of it. I jammed my hands into my jeans pockets and kept muttering, glaring balefully at the rich houses sprawled one after another, insolent, boastful, irksome, along the beach road.

I was in an ugly state indeed by the time the air tasted of salt and moisture. I clambered out onto the beach, spraying sand through my sandals with every step, reached the tall metal lifeguard's chair and climbed to sit in it, crossing my arms and staring fiercely out over the Atlantic Ocean.

The wind was stronger here. And the sound of the surf was relentless, mesmerizing. I sat there high above the beach, feeling it, drinking it in despite myself, and eventually the beauty began to filter in through my haze of anger. A slow surge of lucid, predatory calm passed through me, tipping over smoothly into near-fiendish pleasure, and I grinned like a shark.

In this state, I paid closer attention to the sound of the water -- or, perhaps, it paid closer attention to me. Suddenly "attention" was all around and through me, an old, vast, rushing attention, water calling to water: this literal ocean calling to the microcosm ocean of my body. I trembled all over. The feeling was massive, but not oppressive: it boiled up from my toes, rising through my thighs, swirling like foam in my chest. My hair, I think, stood on end. How easy it could be, to rise up from where I sat, and surge through the salt-soaked air, effortless. I could do it. If I wanted to.

What I did instead was jump down to the beach, smile mockingly/ invitingly at the water, and strip.

My jeans were already heavy with spray and took some wrestling to remove, but I won out at last and left them crumpled on the sand with my shirt and shoes and panties.

The moon's light felt *normal* on my naked skin, and I could see my shoulders and arms glowing silvery-peach: the ideal illumination for my pale flesh which only burns in the sun and never tans. I stepped slowly, with grave joy, one foot carefully before the next. I stepped slowly forward to meet my elemental lover.

I reached the wide wet smooth expanse of sand where the waves come and go, felt them tease at my toes -- cajoling -- no, demanding. I looked up to the horizon, the broad indigo vista, smiling crookedly at this similarity to a human lover's presumption. Smiling more crookedly at my own inevitable response: *Yes*.

Sank to my knees, senses swirling and readjusting, felt the cool saturated sand malleable beneath my weight, perfect dimpled hollows accomodating me. A wave swirled around my knees and through my toes, and the *attention* feeling frothed through me again, wilder, more insistent, eddying between my parted thighs, boiling up my spine to my wide-open eyes. Felt that rhyme even then, a year into the future.

I settled down against gravity, my ass resting on my heels, hands open on my thighs as if in meditation. My entire body felt taut, flexing, relaxed tension, tense relaxation. I felt infinitely patient. Another parallel to a human lover: Yes, I will...when I'm *ready*. And the Ocean grumbled, but allowed the delay: and I was aware in that moment that the spirit of the water was feminine. Mighty. Ancient. And indisputably feminine.

[Now,] She said. [Ready, now. Calling, calling. Little teardrop, lie down. Lie down, little one. Love you, little daughter. Love you NOW.]

Then

whOOOOSH! -- A big wave, sudden, strong, and the force of it toppled me backwards off my knees in the swirling chaos. My ass thumped down on the sand with a rude wet smack!, barely noticed against the violent contact with the warm/cold water. My pores sang in deep recognition at the all-over touch, sang so suddenly and loud it was almost pain and cold, but almost instantly the Ocean warmed to my body's temperature, or I cooled to Hers. (I'm not quite sure which, and didn't care when it mattered.) My nipples stood in points hard as coral, and the moonlight gleamed that silver peach on my taut wet breasts. I cried out, in surprise, in fierce delight at the old battle joined. Pleasure war. The vital combat.

I lay back, then, on my elbows, as the waters receded hissing around me: knees bent, soles firmly planted, I opened wide. The wind licked at my salty cunt, saturated with my juices and the Sea's. The breeze brought that scent to me, for just a moment, that salty-sweet combination in perfect complement. I opened my mouth to the scent, and the lips of my tingling pussy inhaled in unison.

Hours passed for me before the next wave: and when it finally reached me it was tentative, ineffectual, barely tickling past my feet to within an inch of my ass.

Cried out again, almost a sob. Lay trembling, open, arched, for the next wave: again She teased, just touching feather light against my anus like a delicate tongue. I convulsed, shaking wildly in desperate torment: I had presumed to make Her wait...now it was my turn.

The interval between waves this time was even longer. I whimpered, pawing my heels against the sand, thrashing my head, sand in my hair, didn't care, didn't care. "ahh, please, oh, my Lady, please, *please*, fuck me, *fuck me*, FUCK ME--" my voice rose out of control and

WHAMM!!

The Sea in my cunt! The power of it, the thunder of Her! Fucking me...withdrawing...undertow sucking the waters flooding my pussy back out into the Ocean. I wailed with the impossible intensity, aware acutely of every separate drop pulling away, pulling out of me. The sand beneath me slid in thin layers with the relentless receding, and I writhed there on the sliding sand in torment and ecstasy, moaning.

whooosh, WHAMMM! -- "Ahhhhhhh!" Yearning, spreading wider against the breaker, my clit beginning the familiar glow to white heat -- but not so familiar. A new dimension. New heights surging from the deeps.

Tendrils of my awareness hissing out with the undertow to spin crazily in the swells. Another wave broke on my cunt, another cry wrenched from my throat, my fingers clawing at the sand. Wider, wider, my legs must spread wider apart still, thighs straining but giving that crucial little bit more.

My heels beat a tattoo on the wet apron of the beach. Clit catching fire, shining like a star, casting a ribbon of light across Her waves, streaking in an arrow to meet the moon's path. Deep cries from far inside, my womb weeping with the fierce wild joy.

And I surged, ebbed and flowed, and rippled further and further out and in. Undertow again. The last time. I knew it. Pulling out and out and out, impossible now, it was surging all the way back to the heart of Her, some secret place in the Barrier Reef, out and out, back and back.

Yes. Sober joy. Total calm. It was coming. It was coming, and nothing in the Universe could stop it now. My hands lay palms up on the beach, my head resting back, eyes open, filled with the Moon in her half glory.

I heard and felt Her mighty return: heard the long slow building to a roar; felt in my every cell the rhythm of the tide. She was coming to me, she would come with me, I felt in that moment that it would kill me.

I laughed aloud. As fitting ways to die go, this was the mighty mother empress of them all.

. . . Tsunami! The World, water, the World, She, and Me! Because of course, I *was* Her, knew it completely then as she exploded against and inside me, a stroke of lightning in comparison would be like the wistful message of a lonely firefly! I was the Sea, coming and coming forever! I embraced the world, glistening, holding all life in my secret dream! Her ultimate wave, the violent caress, covered me and spun me bubbling against the sand, scraping my tender skin, pounding in my ears and mouth, black/green chaos in my wide open eyes. I shrieked with my coming, bubbles erupting from my mouth and my womb. The star in my clit went nova, detonating with the force of a newborn Universe.

[Yes, little daughter, little Self. You understand. Love you, speaking mirror. Love you always.]

She left me alive.

She left me *alive*.

"Change your shorts, change your life, change your life
Change into a nine-year-old Hindu boy,
get rid of your wife..." --TOM WAITS

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Last modified (12/24/96 14:26:34) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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