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The View from the Shore

6 Aug

The white sand on the beach wraps delicately around my feet as I stand at the edge of the shore, watching as the cerulean waves crash gently onto my legs. The only sounds that can be heard is the rush of the water running up the bank as the tide inches ever closer to where they’re all hanging out.

On the horizon there is a flash in the darkening sky. A deep guttural growl issues from the unknown miles away. There is a breeze that slaps gently across my face, reminding me of the storm that is threatening in the distance. I believe it smells like salt and water, but I question if the smell is real or just what I’ve been led to believe about the ocean. The others still have not noticed the storm coming in.

I lean back slowly, ever so slowly, until my butt smashes into the hot sand. An indentation emerges where my large frame has pushed heftily into the earth. The sand is only warm for an instant, as the water rushes up to wash the beach out of my hairy legs. It runs down into the hole my body has created and leaves my genitals and rear-end both wet and cool. I enjoy the touch as it feels intimate, a secret meeting between myself and the ocean. Behind me, I hear someone beginning to move.

I close my eyes and lean back, letting the sun begin to cook my porcelain skin. It has been awhile since my last endeavor into this setting and oh, how I missed it so. The heat from above turns my skin as red as an eighth grader sharing their feelings with a crush for the first time. The water rushes up and across my body again and I shudder with delight between the contrast of the hot dry air above and the cooling rush across the ground. Behind me, someone begins to cast a shadow over my head.

“Alright now, that’s enough Stewart,” I hear above me. I keep my eyes shut, ignoring the person harassing me. Behind them, I can hear everyone else leaving. I ignore them as well and listen as the waves crash against the shore and how, still in the distance, the crashing of thunder threatens those at sea.

“Stewart, let’s go!” A hairy arm as thick as a baseball bat reaches down and pulls at my hair. I let out a screech and kick out, which appears to have been the wrong decision. A whistle pierces the air as several more uniformed men run and begin grabbing at me as I continue to lash out.

My eyes open now and the room returns. There are showers everywhere, all turned off and men in towels staring at me. Above, fluorescent lights shine down on my wet and glistening body as a ceiling fan sends a chill into my bones. The uniformed guards are all angry, each trying to grab my naked frame and drag me from the floor. In the distance, outside of the barred windows, I can hear the crash of thunder. I look from my vantage point near the central drain in the room and see another flash of lightning. I smile as I feel the doctor with the round glasses tell me everything will be okay.

A slight sting in the side of my neck. I close my eyes. I am back at the beach.

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