Hot And Sticky

We’d endured some wild weather over the past few days. Torrential rains followed by an afternoon that had been a blistering inferno. Water still flooded the streets and even with the sun setting I could tell that the night would be hot, humid, and sticky. The air hung there, stagnant, without even a hint of the slightest breeze. I’d had a rough day on the job and had headed down to a tavern on the waterfront for a few ice cold ones. I stepped out of the relative cool of the bar and the heat hit me like a blast furnace. I would have been drenched with sweat immediately, but the sweat evaporated before it could collect. I was bone dry and hotter than hell. And even in all that heat I felt the temperature rise when my eyes found her.

She was beautiful. Statuesque, curvy, and blond, with a breathtaking face. I was in love before my eyes had fully focused. I’d never been much of a ladies’ man, but some invisible force — call it destiny if you must — compelled me to approach her. Somehow, by some crazy, unimaginable alignment of the heavens, she professed to feel the same way. In spite of the heavy rains of the past few days, the Sound was calm, the waves gently lapping against the shore.

Nobody was around. The beach was deserted. It was still too hot and muggy to be outside, and we both wanted each other’s clothes of as soon as possible. A tangle of limbs and semi-drunken fumbling ended with two soft splashes as our bodies hit the water. Embracing we made hot, animalistic love. When we’d both achieved mind blowing, explosive orgasm, we kissed. I dove deep beneath the surface, filling my mouth with water, breaching the flat wet plane and spitting the water out like a fountain. She did the same and we were both giggling hysterically at our mindless game.

I awoke the next morning in the sand, fully clothed and alone. I wondered if I’d ever see her again or if I’d have to be content with one perfect night. I rose from the sand and started making my way up the beach and onto the pier. I stopped cold. I looked down from my perch on the pier into the water and for the first time noticed the floating “debris”. Turning my head and looking back and forth from the sign to the water, I could taste its musky earthen tone on my lips. Drunk, confused, and full of despair, I vomited down the front of my shirt and all over a group of tourists who were oblivious to my pain.

I’d been a shitsucker, luxurating in a steaming hot tub of fecal matter, urine, vomit, and general filth.  Was that a condom?  I vomited again.

Now, at the end of my days, I look back on that night and vividly picture the beautiful stranger who had shared a bath in sewage with me.  I’ve long forgotten her face, but I’ll never forget the taste in my mouth the next morning and the smell of feces being carried to shore by the gentle ocean breeze.


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