#WankWednesday – #Tide

1st August. 28º C. No tide.
The beach, stretching and yawning, reflecting the mackerel sky.
I wander’d, amazed and saw the unmoving sea.
We met in the middle. First time.
Fucked on the sand.
He was confident,
I was awkward.

2nd August. 27º C. No tide.
Beneath the heavy lidded sun.
Centered, we looked at each other.
Lay on the ground and ran one slender finger along his cheek.
Broad palms spread my thighs
and we parted again.

3rd August. 24º C. No tide.
I took a shawl, stretched it over the sand
- so coarse and dry now -
lay in wait.
It was he who pounced.
In the middle.

4th August. 29º C. No tide.
Ran, open armed,
met in the middle.
And fucked. Fervent and
feverish.
Flicking tongues and probing fingers.

5th August. 32º C. No tide.
Swam and shook the beads of
sea from my darkened hair.
Saw him gaze, lost looks.
Smiled,
sea-nymph.
Siren.

6th August. 28º C. No tide.
Spoke our first words.
Didn’t sound the way I imagined.
Darker. And lighter.
Heavier.
Seduced me with his poetry,
and had me with his tongue.

7th August. 26º C. No tide.
Laid me softly,
took his time. Removed his watch.
And made love to me.
Opened me,
caressed me,
kissed me.
And did not let one grain of sand stick to my silken skin.

8th August. 27º. High tide: 10.13pm.
Watched the rising sea from my window,
- observed in the morning, and mourned in the evening -
and stayed behind the glass.
Looked all night.
For him.
But saw, as expected, nothing.
And wept – mermaid’s tears.

Written for #WankWednesday which is hosted every week by Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. This week’s prompt is #Tide.