It’s hard to resist the allure of the sun. In the early morning its rays beckon me to come to the beach, following my Adonis just as dawn announced itself, first with pink, then buttery orange colors. The slim sickle of the moon is disappearing, giving way to another hot day.
The air is full of smells, more pungent in the early hours of the day, of seaweed and little critters that lay scattered on the silvery sand, stranded over night by the receding tide. Sea gulls start their morning feed, parading down the beach in search of fish bits and sand fleas.
The chosen spot on the sand, flattened by our bodies, now feels smooth and warm under us. I stretch my exhausted limbs and reach for the tanned man beside me. His hands run the length of my body, caressing my curves, and placing one on my breast. His fingers feel the line of my lips, nose, and eyes. He places two featherweight kisses on my eyelids.
I open one lid, blinking against the sunlight. Waves are crashing on shore. Content with the world, I close my eye again. I don’t want to come back.
But it wasn’t the ocean; it was the rain outside that was banging on the windowpane. Drops splattered from the roof onto the windowsill. The room felt chilly and the only aromas permeating were those of Patrick frying bacon and eggs in the kitchen. I crawled out from my duvet.
The actual coastline was sunken in autumn fog. The seagulls had taken cover out of sight. Below my window, people in the little estate got in their cars to go to work. Reality was waking up.