Title: Beach Fantasy

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Original

Pairing: Scribe/OMC

Rating: NC17

Summary: Just a PWP MarySue. Seduction on the beach. Y'all know me by now.

Archive: Yep, but ask me, give credit, give a feedback addy, and tell me where it is.

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

Status: WIP

Sequel/Series: Not really.

Disclaimer: Actually, this is ALL ORIGINAL AND COPYRIGHTED! Gawd, I loved saying that. I mention that one person looks a lot like a certain actor, but that's all it is. I don't claim he IS the actor.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Warnings: Not sure if any will be needed. I'll put them on the section if it comes up.

Notes: It's MarySue time again, folks, this time in an original PWP. :D I love my universe--I get all the good looking guys. This is hard-core fantasy, folks, so don't expect a compelling plot or a lot of character development. I really never intended to show this to anyone, but... eh, I'm bored.

Beach Fantasy
By Scribe

My real name isn't necessary--my nickname is Scribe, and that's my byline. It's pretty gender nonspecific, so I guess I should state for the record that I'm a woman. After some of my articles, I've gotten mail from both sexes interested in screwing my brains out, so I think it's best to make that clear up front. I don't use an author's photo, so they can indulge their little fantasies. I hardly think that a plump woman moving into middle age figures in many of them.

I got the nickname because I've been writing since I learned to form the alphabet. I'm of a literary
bent. My natural habitat is bookstores and libraries, so why was I preparing to spend a week in a three bedroom beach house with eleven near strangers?

Under normal circumstances, I never would have gone to the beach for my vacation, especially not for an entire week. To begin with, I'm not a beach person. I can't swim, I can't play volleyball or Frisbee, and I can't tan--nothing except for a faint apricot tint on my arms. Other than that, I practically glow in the dark. I also do not deal well with sand getting into uncomfortable places. Yes, generally I can only take beaches in very small doses. The second reason was financial. Even though I lived only about an hour away from the shore, actually STAYING on the beach was normally an expensive proposition.

The only reason I was there was because the accountant got a bright idea. They were going to completely renovate the offices, which would entail closing down for a week. The beancounter didn't like the idea of having to give the staff a week's paid leave, and he couldn't insist that we use it as our vacation time.

He came up with the idea of a 'retreat', one that could be chronicled for our readers. That meant that as long as we all attended and participated in group bull sessions, the company could claim our pay as a business expense. Clever, if it worked. But if we wanted to be paid, we had to attend. Everyone else seemed happy enough. After all, it amounted to a week's paid vacation at the shore. It was a real bonus for me. I was the new kid on the staff. I hadn't even been there the year needed to qualify for vacation time.

I wasn't really an outsider in the office, but I'm older than most of them. They tended to view me with a tolerant, amused attitude. It did make me want to shake them sometimes. I'm forty, they were mostly in their mid-to-late twenties, early thirties. I kept wanting to tell them that they would reach my ancient stage, too--if they were lucky.

I didn't realize till we got there, all crammed into one car and a truck, that I would be sleeping on the screened-in porch. I was assured that it used to be a very common practice. I'd even heard of 'sleeping porches'. In our subtropical Gulf Coast climate, it made sense. In pre-air conditioning days a breezy screened porch was the perfect place to sleep on sweltering nights. Of course that didn't pull much weight with me, since the place had central air and heat.

There were three official couples, so they got the three bedrooms. The foldout couch in the living room held two more, and three would have sleeping bags on the floor. Then there was the roll away bed on the back porch. I drew the short straw.

Maybe I should have explained before--I work for an erotic magazine. Notice I said erotic, not
pornographic. We're definitely adult material, but we seldom go into the graphic gynecological detail most people associate with 'mature' magazines. I write the 'Sex Through the Ages' column, and do book and movie reviews. It puts to use all the college credits I've earned in English and Lit. I cover anything from ancient sacred prostitutes to Victorian porn to Betty Page pin ups and 'French' postcards. It's interesting work, but I wasn't as fully involved in office machinations as most of them. There was almost as much sex going on among the staffers as there was in the magazine. I was just careful to knock before I went into the supply closet. You never knew what you might surprise.

The readers would be expecting a tale of seven days of debauchery, and most of the others were determined to give it to them. Conner and Janice were man and wife, and owner/editor and assistant editor, respectively. They were the experts on 'open relationships', and their relationship was as open as your average football field. There was Dan and Phillip, a committed gay couple. Isaac and Belinda weren't married, on paper. They were exclusive in their physical relations, except for the fact that they were both exhibitionists and voyeurs, and covered those aspects of sexuality for the mag. Then there were Charles (photographer), Boz (advertising), Lawrence
(copyboy and general office dogs-body), Melinda (office manager), and Bernice (layout). It was a
remarkably attractive bunch. It was almost as if Conner had hand picked them for looks as well as ability. I had to discard that notion, because I wouldn't have been there if it were entirely true. I
don't frighten babies, but they aren't lining up to offer centerfold opportunities.

Knowing that they would spend most of the time partying, I brought along a large supply of reading material. I would read, relax, and let the carnality flow around me. Maybe I could work up a comparison piece, something about the licentiousness that happened during the house parties of the nobility during the Edwardian era. I certainly wasn't planning on being seduced.

The house was up on piers, like all the ones that close to the water. You had to be prepared for storm surges. The house faced the road, with the back toward the beach. It consisted of two stories--two bedrooms and a bath on the second, living area, bedroom and kitchen on the first, with the small back porch behind the kitchen.

While everyone was milling about, unloading supplies and stowing their things, I went out on the back porch and surveyed my new domain. It could be worse, I supposed. It WAS screened, and it was clean. Besides the bed I had several padded deck chairs and a table. There was a long flight of steps leading down to the sand, and the water was only about fifty yards away. The surf would lull me to sleep at night. As I was looking around, Lawrence came out back and joined me. "Nice," he commented.

"Not too shabby," I agreed.

He was a handsome kid. Kid... Well, he was only about twenty, twenty one. But he'd been working for the publication since he was eighteen, fresh out of high school. Conner was grooming him as a junior editor.

Lawrence was big, about 6'2", more than half a foot taller than I, and must've weighed around 200 lb. He worked out regularly, usually spending most of his lunchtime at the gym. I was kind of looking forward to seeing him in a bathing suit. He had gold blonde hair that was probably going to bleach in the sun, and cat eyes. You never knew from one moment to the next what color they were going to be: blue, gray, green, hazel, or a combination of those. It all depended on what he was wearing, and his mood. Charles was the best looking of all the male staffers, nearly a Tom
Cruise clone, but Lawrence was a close second.

"At least you've got some privacy out here. I'm on the floor with Boz and Charlie. Bernice says Charlie snores like a chainsaw."

I laughed. "Then there is some justice in the world. He ISN'T perfect."

"Do YOU snore?"

"I don't think so."

"Would you mind if I spread my sleeping bag out here? I really can't sleep with someone who snores, and I didn't bring any earplugs."

"Sure, go ahead."

"Great." He went and fetched his bedroll, stashing it under my cot. I didn't think anything about it. Like I said, he was a kid. It kind of made me feel like a den mother.

I went back inside to find the place empty. There were clothes scattered everywhere. It looked like someone had bombed the luggage carousel at an airport. I went back to the porch and, sure enough, there they were. Bathing suit clad, every one of them was either basking in the sun or scampering through the waves.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen....

Lord, didn't they even have enough sense to put up the perishables before they took off? Looked like if I didn't want to get food poisoning, I'd better get busy. With a sigh I began to load the refrigerator and freezer with meat, eggs, milk, butter... Lawrence came in, took one look, and picked up a sack full of canned goods. Going into the open pantry, he began to load the shelves. "Sweetie, you don't have to do that. I can get it."

"Why should you? You're not here to do all the work. We share." Okay, fine by me. His mama raised a thoughtful boy.

We worked together companionably. I hadn't had all that much to do with Lawrence during the ten months I'd worked for the magazine. I was good at proofing my own copy (all those damn theme papers finally paid off), and he was kept pretty busy with the others' work.

We soon had everything stowed away neatly. You could tell this house was built to party--there was a separate refrigerator just for beer and drink mixers. Lawrence mentioned that Boz claimed that the only greens he ever got were olives and lime twists in his drinks. "That gives me evil ideas, Lawrence." I wouldn't tell him what I meant by that. I was just thinking how easy it was to convince someone that well made zucchini nut bread was just nut bread.

Lawrence clapped his hands and said, "Okay, beach! I'll take the upstairs bathroom." He was pounding up the stairs before I had a chance to say anything. I shrugged, went back out on the porch, and selected my first reading project--something with absolutely no brainwork required, sheer glitz. I could do a review of it for the magazine later. I settled into one of the deck chairs and immersed myself in the world of transgender runway supermodels.

I heard Lawrence come down, and the bang of the screen door as he exited. I watched till he passed under the house, between the piers, and appeared, headed for the crowd on the beach. I'll admit it--I leaned a little forward for a better look. Ooh, those were a teeny, tiny pair of Speedos he was wearing. I'd have to try to get a closer look at that later. Once again I settled into my read. I had high hopes for it. The author seemed to have a light comic touch, so that it was a spoof of the conventional view of high fashion.

I can pretty much enter my own zone when I read. I won't say the world could blow up without my noticing, but someone could definitely sneak up on me if they'd a mind to. "Hey!" I jumped almost dropping the book, and turned to berate whoever had just taken a year off my life. I found myself at eye level with a teeny, tiny pair of black Speedos that were covering a definitely not teeny, tiny basket.

Wow.

At that level I also noted that fists were planted firmly on narrow hips, and that the hair that swirled around a perfect innie bellybutton and descended in a fuzzy line below the suit waistband was so fine as to be not much more than a shimmer. Said bellybutton resided on an abdomen that could be used as a visual aid to illustrate the term 'six pack' in body building vernacular. Above that was a broad chest with well-defined pectorals (which did not go over the edge into what I considered the male equivalent of looking like there had been a boob job) decorated with nice little flat brown nipples, and...

Oh, that was too much. I couldn't sit there and contemplate the nipples of a man young enough to be my son. I snapped my eyes up to his face. Uh oh, he looked annoyed. He must not appreciate the dirty old lady ogling. Now I'd get some sort of snappish remark. Instead, he said, "What are you doing up here? I was looking for you out on the beach."

He was? "You were?"

The eyes, not having a predominant color to reflect at present, had settled on being gray, and he rolled them. "Of course! I thought you were going to get into your suit and come out. We could even out the volleyball teams."

"A--I do not play volleyball. B--I did not bring a suit."

His mouth actually dropped open. Lovely teeth the boy had. "You didn't bring a suit to the beach?"

"No."

"But why not?" I slapped my hands to my hips, then my belly in silent explanation. He looked at me. I mean, he LOOKED at me. I don't think anyone in the office, male or female, had really looked at me since I'd been there. Lawrence didn't just look, he SCOPED. The silver eyes returned to my face. "So?"

"I'm not inflicting this on anyone. I have too much pride."

"You don't look so bad."

I sighed. Backhanded compliments, gotta love 'em. "To quote Oscar Wilde, nothing is quite so bad as not so bad. Like I want total strangers discussing how big my butt looks."

"One should never listen. To listen is a sign of indifference to one's hearers." I blinked. He'd
tossed a rather obscure Oscar Wilde quote right back at me. Then he said, "There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about." More Wilde.

Oh ho. "Vulgarity is the conduct of others."

He came right back with, "Life is too important to be taken seriously."

"I have nothing to declare but my genius."

He cocked his head. "Women are made to be loved, not to be understood."

Damn, he was good. I was running low on quotes. "Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes."

"Life is one fool thing after another, whereas love is two fool things after each other." I searched my mind, but couldn't come up with anything right away. "I can resist anything except temptation." He waited.

I threw up my hands. "You win."

"Good." He opened my duffle bag and began digging through it.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Finding you something to wear on the beach."

"Now wait a minute..." He pulled out a pair of shorts and a ragged sweatshirt I'd cut the arms off with an eye toward sleeping in it, and dropped them in my lap.

"You said I won. Well, this is what I won." He looked at me expectantly.

I sighed. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I'll sit here and stare at you." He demonstrated.

"Sheesh. All right, but only for a little while. I don't tan, I burn."

He waited while I went in the bathroom and changed. I didn't feel too conspicuous when I came out. Maybe I wasn't wearing a bra, but I was pretty well covered from the neck almost to my knees. "That'll do."

"I'm so glad I meet your approval."

"You always meet my approval. C'mon."

We went out the back way, down to the sand. I hung back, letting him get ahead. It didn't work. He backtracked, grabbed my hand, and hustled me along till we reached the area where the others were amusing themselves.

Charlie spotted us and started snapping pictures. *Ah, geez. Now my cellulite will be admired by
thousands. There's gonna be a lot of disappointed readers out there. Oh, well, maybe the mash notes will taper off.* I had been planning on quietly avoiding the lens. I should have known that wouldn't be possible. Charles did a booming sideline as a paparazzi, selling hideously candid photos of reluctant celebrities to the tabloids. He was a pro.

"Okay, Tugboat, you got me here. Lemme have my hand back." He kissed it (and Charles got a shot of that, too), then let it go. "Thanks, Galahad."

I looked around, trying to decide what to do now. After a moment's thought I walked down to where the sand was moistened by the surf, plopped down, and began to make a sand castle. I'd forgotten how much fun it was. The sand was the right consistency to pack well, but I just couldn't get the forms as smooth as I wanted. I was startled when a couple of Tupperware bowls and a highball glass landed beside me. Lawrence squatted down next to me. "I thought you might like something to use as molds." He touched the highball glass. "This'll be good for towers. Now
I'll go find some seashells for decoration." I stared after him.

It turned out to be a pretty decent sand castle. Lawrence found a couple of little spiral shells I used on the turrets, and a big scallop for the door. Everyone eventually wandered over to look at it, and Conner and Janice started discussing having a sand sculpture contest. I wondered if anyone would refrain from sculpting body parts.

No one felt like cooking the first night, so there were pizzas and mammoth buckets of chicken, washed down with lots of wine--except for me. I stuck with my soda. Various staff members tried to tease me into taking some wine throughout the evening. I told them, "Look, I don't like the taste. It's a waste of perfectly good grapes. No, I'm not a prohibitionist. I'll suck down a vodka Collins in a minute, but I have to have the alcohol disguised. Otherwise, ech."

By eleven everyone was pretty sloshed, except me. It was decided to use one of the empty wine bottles to play Truth or Dare. They would take turns spinning the bottle, and the one it pointed to had to choose truth, or dare. I sat off to the side--I saw how those dares were going. Flash the room. Grope your neighbor. Choose someone of the same sex (or opposite sex if you were gay) to tongue kiss, kiss to last at least ten seconds. Most of them picked dares, but the truths were pretty hairy, too. I'd had no idea that Charlie was so fond of cunnilingus.

I was kind of squeezed back between Lawrence and Conner, when someone yelled, "Hah! Scribe, finally!"

"What? Huh? No way, I wasn't playing."

"Yes, you were," Conner insisted. "I'm your boss, I say so."

I rolled my eyes. "Who's the spinner?"

Charlie wiggled his fingers, grinning drunkenly. "Me!"

I regarded him. "God knows what sort of stunt you'd want performed, so truth."

"Awright. Describe the first time you made looooove." There were hoots and whistles. "And we want details."

I cocked my head. "If I can't answer, do I still have to do the dare?"

"You can't back down." Conner patted my knee encouragingly. "Bite the bullet and go for it."

I shook my head. "No, honestly, I can't."

"C'mon, Scribe," called Bernice. "Time to open up and spill it."

"Look, it's not that I WON'T, it's that I CAN'T."

"Why?" Charlie snickered. "Was it with a government agent, and it's classified?"

"No, ditz. It's because it hasn't happened yet." There was complete silence. "Don't act so fucking
shocked, people. Y'all WERE aware that there was such a thing as virgins, weren't you?"

Boz looked awed. "Yes, but we were unaware that they walked among us."

"Well, now you know."

Charlie was staring at me like he'd never seen me before. "Okay," he said in a clogged voice. "You can't do the truth, gotta take the dare. I choose we go upstairs and fuck."

I almost sprayed a mouthful of Coke. I looked at him in shock. He'd never come on to me before, aside from the generally flirtatious manner he used on all females, be they toddlers or grandmas. "Ha ha, Charlie."

"No, I'm serious." He lurched to his feet and lunged toward me. I flinched back in my seat, but he grabbed my wrists and pulled me upright.

"Charlie, quit it. Joke's over." I said, trying to keep my voice mild. There was laughter. It might
have been funny from their side, but his grip on my wrists was anything except humorous. It was hard, and felt determined. He pulled me against his body, and I felt an erection. "That's enough!"

"C'mon." He pulled me toward the stairs.

"Wait! What are you doing?"

"I SAID I wanna fuck. You. C'mon." He was drunk, but he was strong.

"Stop it. Guys? Charlie, I don't want to go with you!"

"Charlie, let her go." Lawrence stood up and followed us. He was more sober than the others.

"Don't wanna." Charlie wrapped his arms around me from behind, and nuzzled my neck. "Wanna pop her cherry."

"She doesn't want that, Charlie."

"Why not?"

"You're drunk." I said.

"So? I can still fuck."

"Charlie, you bastard, I don't want to sleep with anybody!" I jerked hard, and managed to get out of his grasp. He lost his balance, and sat down hard.

He started to try to get up, but Lawrence put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. "Maybe you should just sit for a while, Charlie."

Charlie shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Awright, for a little while, but I'm gonna fuck her
later on." He slumped on the stairs, closing his eyes, and was snoring in a minute.

Lawrence looked at me. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I hope he wakes up with a headache like an atomic bomb went off in his skull." I glared at the others. "Thanks for the support, people."

Boz shrugged. "He wouldn't have really done anything."

"You didn't have his cock pressed up against your butt." Boz peered at Charlie. His hard on was still there, clearly visible.

"Oh. Um..."

"Right. Good night, all. Please zip him into his sleeping bag, so he doesn't wander around in the
dark."

Part Two

I went out to the porch for my things and started back for the restroom, then figured screw it--there wasn't anyone down on the beach. I started to change on the porch. I'd gotten into the shorts, and was just pulling the t-shirt over my head when the back door opened. "I wanted to see if... Oh, geez!"

Lawrence spun around quickly, and I jerked the shirt down. "It's okay now. You won't go blind."

He was blushing when he turned back. "I know that. I was just..."

"I know. Humor, Lawrence, humor--life sucks without it." I sat on my cot.

"Yeah, but you shouldn't make such mean fun of yourself." I was a little surprised when he sat down beside me. "So, are you really all right?"

"Yeah. He didn't hurt me. He just startled me--bad. Charlie's never acted like that before. Of course, I don't think I've ever seen him that drunk before, either."

"At least not that drunk in the presence of a virgin."

I groaned. "I should have lied about that. I could have made something up."

"Then it wouldn't have been a truth."

I stared at him. "And you assume everyone is going to tell the absolute truth during that sort of game? Gah, you little innocent." I decided to change the subject, and looked out at the ocean. "It's pretty out tonight, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

"It won't be so bad, sleeping out here."

"Nope. Scribe, can I kiss you?"

I looked at him. *Hello? Can we say 'abrupt shift of subject'?* "What?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Why?"

He sighed. "To put an end to world hunger." Then he leaned over quickly and pressed his lips to mine.

After a second, I pulled back. "Okay, you kissed me. Satisfied?"

"Not by a long shot." He took my face in his hands firmly, and did it again. This time his lips moved on mine, nibbling a little. I felt kind of a little physical sparkle, like a light static electricity charge was passing over me. I felt his tongue dab at my lips. It felt very hot, soft, and moist. I wondered what he'd taste like, but I kept my lips pressed closed. At last he pulled back, and said wryly, "Do you not know how to kiss, or do you just not like me?"

"It isn't that I don't like you, Lawrence. You..."

"Ah, then it is inexperience. Just relax, and open your mouth a little."

"Lawrence, I..."

My mouth was open when his covered it, and his tongue slid deftly in. My eyes opened wide. I noticed that he had his open, too, and we stared at each other as his tongue stroked across mine. Oh, wow. This was different. I made a mumbled sound, something like, "Mmph." He pushed his tongue in deeper, licking at my teeth and palate.

I swallowed, and ended up sucking on his tongue. He made a whining sound, and I felt his hand on my breast. I jerked my head back, gasping, "That wasn't on purpose!"

"Then do it on purpose!" He kissed me again, and the hand moved to slip under my shirt.

I pulled back and caught his wrist before he could reach anywhere that might embarrass either one of us. "Hold up, Speedy. What brought this on all of a sudden?"

He frowned at me. "I have to define a specific trigger point?"

"It's the virgin thing, isn't it?"

He didn't look the least bit sheepish. "I won't deny that's part of it." I rolled my eyes. "But why do you think I wanted to sleep out here in the first place?"

"Charlie Chainsaw?"

"Oh, hell, Scribe! Like I couldn't go down the road to the store and get a set of earplugs for a couple of bucks."

"You mean that you asked to sleep out here with an eye toward putting the moves on me?"

"I'd say 'seducing', but that's basically the idea, yeah."

The blatant admission just left me blinking. "Lawrence, how old are you?"

"I'm legal, if that's what you're worried about."

"That is a valid issue, but that isn't what I was getting at."

"What are you getting at?"

"I could be your mother."

"No you couldn't--you never met my father."

"Smart ass. You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. Are you worried that you're too old for me, or that I'm too young for you?"

"Same difference."

"Not really. If you're thinking that I'm too young for you, I could very happily show you that I'm a man. If you think you're too old for me..." He blew a raspberry.

"How rude," I said mildly.

"I mean it. Anyway, older women/younger men are the hot new trend these days. Remember? We did a feature article about it two months ago."

"When was the last time you noticed me trying to be trendy?"

"Excuses, excuses. You like me."

"You aren't half full of yourself. Yeah, I like you--but I don't automatically sleep with people I like."

He held up a finger, as if making a point. "Ah, but do you eliminate people from your list of possible partners because you like them? That's the question."

"I don't have a 'people I'd like to do' list!" I paused. "Well, I do. I suppose everyone does, but I'm hardly likely to run into Jean Claude Van Damme or Prince William of England any time soon."

"Hah! William isn't any older than I am, and I've had Brit friends tell me I look just as cute. Now you don't have an excuse."

"Lawrence? Am I going to have to go down and sleep in the car?"

"You don't have to worry about waking up with me on top of you, if that's what's worrying you."

"It had begun to creep around the back of my mind."

Lawrence shook his head. "If the girl isn't interested, I'm not interested. But you're interested--you just haven't made up your mind yet."

"I'd have to kick you in the nuts to convince you otherwise, wouldn't I?"

"Pretty much."

I laughed. "I ought to be really pissed with you, but for some reason I'm not. Get in your sleeping bag so I can get some rest."

"I warn you--I sleep in my boxers."

"Here's a shocking revelation--I've seen men in their underwear. I regularly read the International Male catalogue."

He leaned toward me till our shoulders brushed. "Yeah, but there's a difference between flesh n' blood and paper." He stood up and started to undress.

Ooo... You know, he was right. Three-dimensional has it all the way over two-dimensional. I surprised myself (but not him, I think) by not looking away. He got down to his boxers and just stood there for a minute, watching me. "I'm not changing my mind, Lawrence. Go to bed."

He shrugged good-naturedly and slipped into his sleeping bag. "Just remember, if you get cold, or lonesome, that cot may be narrow, but this sleeping bag can hold two."

I laid down and pulled the covers up to my chin. "You know, if you're just this persistent in your career, you should end up with a greater media empire than Rupert Murdock."

*

Perhaps it won't come as a total shock that I was the first one up the next morning. I'd surprised myself by sleeping well--the sound of the waves was a real sedative. Lawrence was sprawled in his bag, taking up most of the floor space on the sleeping porch. I got a change of clothes and started to pick my way over him so that I could get to the bathroom. His eyes closed, he said, "You don't have to leave on my account."

"Isaac and Melinda are the exhibitionists."

I changed quickly, then went back into the kitchen, and started breakfast. I guess I was a little mean, frying bacon, when I considered the sort of head most of them were likely to wake up with. Shall I just say that I was feeling a tad unsympathetic? Once I had the bacon going, I put on another skillet and tossed some butter in it, then got the eggs out of the refrigerator. I was cracking a couple of eggs when the rest of the group (minus Conner--because the boss slept late--and Charlie--probably because of his hangover) trickled in.

Boz said, "I'll have mine over easy."

"Unless you intend to take over after I finish fixing my own, you'll take scrambled," I gave the assemblage an arched eyebrow, "like everyone else."

There were mutters of agreement. Boz shuffled over to the coffee maker, picked up the empty carafe and stared into it, then gave me a hurt look. "How the hell can you operate without caffeine?" I pointed to the Diet Coke I'd opened first thing. "Coke? At this time of day? It's too early."

"I forgot, Boz--what part of the North are you from?"

"Minnesota." He frowned. "I didn't think I'd told anyone that. Not that I'm trying to hide it--it's just that coming from Minnesota doesn't work its way into many conversations."

"I knew you were a Yankee A, from your accent, and B, you find drinking a soda before eight am to be odd. It's a perfectly legitimate source of caffeine."

He scratched his head, then began to root in a cabinet. "Yeah, I think I read an article about how that was the new thing--Coke for caffeine in the morning."

"New? How long has Coke been around--since the 1890s? Make that about... five, six generations." Boz had managed to fit a filter into the coffee machine basket, and was trying to open a can off coffee. "For God's sake, someone take than can opener away from him before he removes a finger. And make the coffee--I don't drink it, so I'm awful on proportions. And why is it that the people who most need coffee in the morning are the ones least capable of making coffee without having some coffee first?"

Boz sat down, holding his head while Janice started the coffee. "Please don't discuss the mysteries of the universe with me. My head hurts."

Lawrence came in and took over the bacon. I was happy enough to give up the chore--I've lost enough skin off my hands during this lifetime. I started cracking eggs into a mixing bowl, and one of the other girls laid out bread under the broiler for toast. I had just dumped the eggs into the frying pan when Charlie staggered in, moving rather like one of the extras from George Romero's Dawn of the Dead.

He went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice and a bottle of vodka. Ah, so he was going for 'hair of the dog that bit you'. I decided a little revenge was in order. I leaned over and forked a piece of bacon up out of the pan, slapping it on a saucer. Lawrence protested, "Scribe, that isn't even half done yet."

"I know." Charlie had snagged a plastic cup off the top of the refrigerator and was trying to pour juice in it without spilling any. Have I mentioned that he has green eyes? Well, he was very Christmassy, what with the redness, too. I held the saucer up near his nose and chirped, "Good morning! How about some nice, juicy, salty bacon?" Charlie looked down. The strip wasn't even half cooked. The fat had just begun to turn translucent, the little bit of lean was deep pink--it looked shiny and gelid, and there was a nice little puddle of grease around it.

He turned green, gave me a stricken look, and muttered, "You are an evil woman," before he turned and headed rapidly for the bathroom.

"I try," I said with satisfaction. I returned the bacon to the pan. "Cook that puppy crisp."

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," said Lawrence wryly.

The food was piled on platters, and disappeared like a crowd of locust had descended. I managed to get a good helping myself, but only after slapping several hands away from the little remaining in the dishes. "I'm serving notice--don't expect this on a regular basis. Unless someone wants to trade off, or offer me big favors, I will fix my own food and eat in front of you all. This is supposed to be a vacation, and acting as default group chef does not come under that heading for me. I may be the oldest one here, but I am not wearing a Den Mother badge."

Charlie came back in, looking a little better. He'd apparently taken a shower, and perhaps found some Pepto Bismal or Alka-Seltzer in the bathroom. He nibbled toast and sipped the screwdriver he'd finished making, while eyeing me. I waited. I wasn't sure exactly how much he remembered of last night.

Finally he said, "Well, I thought I'd been drunk in my life, but last night takes the prize, I guess." He laughed. "I dreamed that Scribe told everyone she was a virgin."

I folded my arms. "Don't put that in past tense."

He blinked. "You're shitting me. That really happened?" There was a murmur of agreement. He looked interest. "So, did I actually... um..."

I waited. I wasn't going to make it easy on him. Bernice said, "You grabbed her, humped her ass, and tried to drag her upstairs to change her status."

"Oh." He didn't look the least embarrassed. "I guess I didn't succeed, huh? I think I would have remembered that."

I got up and put my dishes in the sink. "No, you didn't. I'm not cleaning up, either."

Conner sighed, pulling a notebook out of his shirt pocket. "I guess we'd better draw up a chore list." People suddenly realized they had things to do. "Sit! The boss has spoken. "Scribe, you and Lawrence have done first duty, so you can take off, if you like. I'll post this on the corkboard when it's worked out."

"Great!" said Lawrence. "Get in your suit, Scribe, and we'll have the beach to ourselves for a little while."

*What? Sun and sand this early?* "I was thinking about driving in and looking at some of the historical houses in Galveston."

"Fine," he said cheerfully. "We can have lunch in town." He picked a set of keys off a hook by the door.

"Hey," protested Melinda. "You mean you're going off with the car?"

"You'll still have one vehicle," he pointed out. He started to herd me toward the door. "Anyone else want to come along? Oh, that's right--you all have to stay here and have chores assigned, what a shame, bye."

He had us out the door and was urging me down the steps. "What--which--huh?"

"I love it when you're inarticulate."

"Lawrence, it probably wouldn't have taken them fifteen minutes. Why didn't you wait?"

"Have you ever attended one of Conner's planning meetings that didn't last at least two hours?"

"Well, no."

"Besides," we were in the car, and he was starting the engine. "I don't want them along on our date."

"Date?"

He reached over and buckled my seatbelt, flashing me a blinding grin. "Don't want a ticket." We pulled out.

Why the hell was I thinking about that article we'd run on bondage a few months back? And why was I smiling?

Part Three

"Why do I get the feeling that I've been hijacked?"

"You have."

"Then why don't you have a moustache and a Cuban accent?" Lawrence laughed. "I can't help it, when I was growing up, if someone hijacked a plane, it went to Cuba."

"Maybe they have a Cuban restaurant, if you're really desperate. So, is there any particular route we need to take? Some sort of tour thingy?"

"I expect there ARE guided tours, but I have no desire to shell out cash when I can just be chauffeured around."

"Just drive?"

"Just drive. I used to do this when I was a kid. We'd do the run between Christmas and Thanksgiving, of course, looking for yard displays and elaborate lights. But sometimes my mother would just drive through nice neighborhoods any old time, and we'd look at all the big houses. I'd always point to something about the size of a small hotel and say, 'Wouldn't you like to live there?' Mom would always answer, 'Only if I have someone else to clean it.' I had to grow up to understand that, but yeah, buddy, she was right. Never get anything bigger than you have to unless you can at least afford day help. Therefore I will probably live in efficiency apartments till the day I die."

There wasn't much traffic, so there was no one to honk horns behind us if we took our time going down a street. Lawrence wove a path through residential areas, and we gazed at houses that had once lodged the cream of Galveston society. We cruised slowly past the Bishop's Palace, which was the closest thing to a Cinderella type castle I'd ever seen. Then there was the Moody Mansion, and the Ashton Villa--both of which looked to me like they could have housed a small town comfortably. There were a good number of brick buildings, but most of them had wooden siding ("I hate to think of how often that has to be replaced or painted with all this humidity and salt in the air, but bless them for not slapping on vinyl," I told Lawrence.) There were cupolas, bay windows, and enough gingerbread trim to satisfy the witch from Hansel and Gretel. There were a few colors that made me shake my head, but hey--if you can afford a house that size in a place where land is at such a premium, you can jolly well paint it with peppermint stripes, as far as I'm concerned.

After awhile we parked and strolled down along Seawall Boulevard, looking out at the beach and peeking in store windows. "Have you ever been to The Strand during the Christmas events?" he asked.

"Sure. I came in costume. I make a very plausible Victorian governess. They're great because they weren't expected to be fashionable, so I didn't have to mess with bustles, petticoats, padding, and such. I wore a wig, though. Respectable women back then didn't cut their hair unless they were sick."

"Really?" Lawrence studied me. "I wonder what you'd look like with long hair?"

I have dark reddish-brown hair. When I can afford it, there's a little more red in it than Mother Nature originally intended. It's very curly--only about a half-step away from poodle fluff. I usually keep it quite short. In fact, if I can grip a strand of hair at my hairline and pull it down, and the tip touches anywhere past the top of my nose, it's past time for me to get a haircut. "I grew it long--once. I got bored and curious, and just didn't cut it for about three years."

"What did it look like?"

"Well, for the first year or so, I looked like a dandelion most of the time. Then the weight started to pull some of the curl out of it."

We were passing a store called Dolphin World, and Lawrence said, "Let's go in here."

"Has it got tacky, touristy souvenirs? I love those." "It has everything to do with the beach."

"Suits me. I'm ready to get into some air conditioning, anyway."

"What about after the first year?"

I wandered up and down the crowded aisles, looking at lurid satin throw pillows emblazoned with risqué sayings, seashell novelties, and sunglasses that would have cost me lunch for a week. "After that it did hang down more than it bushed out. Eventually it got to where if it was wet, it reached the middle of my back. However, when it was dry the curl still kept it around the bottom of my shoulder blades. I wore it in a ponytail all the time, and that sucker was as thick as a Coke can at the base. Do you remember Topsy-Tails?"

"Should I?"

"Maybe not, since you're a guy, and you don't wear your hair long enough to use one. They were sort of plastic loops on the end of a stick that were supposed to enable you to fix your hair in all kinds of fancy dos with the greatest of ease."

"Oh, yeah, I remember seeing an ad for those. They claimed that it would work on any hair."

"They <IL--I--E--D."

"Why didn't you keep your hair long?"

"I got sick of it. I was working food service then, so I had to keep it bundled up. It was hot, it made the back of my neck itch, and I kept shedding. I shed worse than my cats. And I can't abide finding a hair in my food, so it had to go. I went to a beauty shop and asked for a cut. When the girl asked how much I wanted taken off, I told her all of it. She almost had kittens in the middle of the salon. I ended up swearing in front of witnesses that I wouldn't hold her accountable if I changed my mind later. Like I told her, though--it's hair--it'll grow back." I rubbed a hand over my head, enjoying the springy feel of the curls. "I didn't let it, though. Besides, I'm too old for that long-flowing-hair-down-around-your-shoulders nonsense."

"I wish you'd quit talking about yourself like that."

"Like how?"

"Like you're over the hill."

I shot him a skeptical look, but there wasn't a smirk in sight. "Yeah, well, I just don't want to be mutton dressed as lamb. Or perhaps more accurately, matron dressed as maiden."

"But you are a maiden. You said so quite clearly last night."

Ever been able to feel the blush creeping up your face? "I still think I should have lied. I sincerely doubt that crew back at the beach house is going to let me forget that any time soon."

We'd reached a section that resembled part of a clothing store, but I'd never before seen clothing rails with that little fabric dangling from them. "I wonder how much business they do on bathing suits?" I thought out loud. "I mean, most people come to Galveston expecting to swim, or live here and already have a suit, so how many impulsive tourists do they get buying?" I pulled an iridescent green thong off the rack and checked the price tag. It made me suck my teeth. "Mother of pearl! It wouldn't take many of them to turn a profit at these prices."

Lawrence checked the tag. "It isn't all that bad for designer swimwear. Go try it on."

I stared at him. "I don't think I've ever been this close to a genuine crazy person before."

"Oh, go on."

"No! There's enough blackmail material on me already from last night." I held up the so-called article of clothing. "I've worn scarves that had more fabric than this, and I've seen Kleenex that was more opaque. As a matter of fact, I think that job on the cover of Sports Illustrated that consisted of a gauze strip and two strategically placed scallop shells looks dignified next to this one."

"Then try another--like this one." He pulled out a candy apple red job that did use about three times the material as the first one. That meant that a six year old would still be in danger of violating decency codes.

"Are you kidding? I'd look like a marshmallow with two rubber bands around it."

"Stop it! You're not fat--you're just not thin."

"Have it your way, Sir Gallant. I am that pale, though. I'm so pale that I'm surprised I don't glow in the dark. You saw my legs yesterday."

He grinned. "Sure did." He offered the suit. "Like to see more of 'em."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, and it damn sure won't get me into one of those tourniquets. Charlie has a camera. It could be recorded for posterity."

He glanced around. "Miss?" The perky blonde (naturally) sales girl bustled over, smiling expectantly. He pointed at me. "She's being stubborn. What size would you say she wears?"

The girl studied me critically. "Careful," I said.

She walked down the aisle a few feet and pointed. "I think these would fit her nicely."

"Yeah, they look about right." He started sorting through the hangers. "What sort of color do you think would look good on her?"

"Lawrence?"

"Well," said the girl. "I wouldn't recommend pastels with that hair. Something dark and dramatic. How about this royal purple with white trim?"

"Those are my high school colors, and I haven't willing worn them for more years than I care to remember," I snapped. "This is ridiculous." I started pointedly examining the sand castle sculpting tools that were displayed on top of the rack.

"Scratch the purple," said Lawrence. "Hey, I like this dark green." Actually, it was a pretty nice suit. A lot more conservative than most of them, but it still managed not to look like something my grandmother would wear, despite the little skirt at the front.

"The yellow accents keep it from being too somber," the girl agreed.

I couldn't take it any more. "Hello? I'm right here. I am not buying a swimsuit, Lawrence."

"We'll take this one."

"Hey!"

"You're not buying it--I am." He pulled out his wallet and extracted a credit card.

I stood there for a moment, opening and closing my mouth while the sales girl gleefully rang up a sale that was going to do nice things for her commission. Finally I said, "Well, all I can say is that you're going to look damn funny wearing it, but I can't recall us having done a story on cross-dressing for the beach, so maybe it'll keep Charlie busy with that devil box of his." I stalked out of the store.

He caught up with me a few minutes later (damn, he had long legs), and fell into step beside me. "Don't be like that."

"You know, that's one of the most irritating things a man can say to a woman. It's interpreted as 'You're being totally unreasonable, but I'm willing to forgive you if you'll just see things my way'. Lawrence, in case you haven't noticed, I am not a Barbie Doll. I don't have the figure, and I do have a brain. No one has picked my clothes since I got enough allowance to buy them myself."

He shrugged. "It wasn't meant to be disrespectful, but you do need a bathing suit, and I didn't get you anything for your birthday."

"My birthday is next month, and I wasn't with the magazine on my last birthday."

"I just wanted to give you something. Is that a crime?"

"No, but it's suspect. My mother told me that there were two things a girl didn't accept from a man unless they were practically engaged--clothing or jewelry."

"I bought you a cover-up to go with it." I looked away. "It has a cat on it."

Ooo.

He was good--I have to give him that. I'm feline dependent--I had two currently being pissed with me because I'd left them with a neighbor instead of bringing them along. "Let's see it." He pulled it out of the bag. It was white terrycloth, and looked sort of like a very loose bathrobe. It would reach almost to my knees, and there was, indeed, a cat on it. He was sprawled in a beach chair, all four legs raised in the 'dead cat' position, and was wearing shades. The inscription said So there is another reason for sand...

I wanted that cover-up. I won't go so far as to say that I lusted for it, but I came close. Let's say I coveted it. But I knew that the only way to get it was to take the bathing suit, too, and the only way to keep it would be to wear it--over the bathing suit.

I took the bag. "Why aren't you the head of this magazine, Lawrence? You're a master manipulator."

He smiled at me and took my free hand as we walked back to the car. "Give me time."

Part 4

"Okay, lunch time," said Lawrence. "Any ideas?"

"Food is usually nice."

We'd gotten into the car. He leaned over and did a Groucho Marx eyebrow wiggle. "I could suggest something else to eat."

"If you want to get your face slapped, you could."

He smiled, sitting back and turning on the engine. "I'm gonna wear you down. Seriously, anywhere particular you'd like to go?"

"Somewhere that doesn't have a drive-thu. Maybe even somewhere that has actual cloth napkins, and you don't have to walk through a serving line."

"Would seafood be all right?"

"Considering where we are, it bloody well BETTER be, but that's usually kind of expensive. Let me check my purse, and..."

He pulled over to the side and put the car in park. Then he reached over and put his hand in my hair, holding my head steady so that I was looking at him. "Repeat after me: I'm out with Lawrence, this is a date--he pays."

"He pays with bruises and a bloody nose if he doesn't let go of my hair." Lawrence let go. I smoothed my hair back (yeah, right, stop laughing. It HAS happened--occasionally). "All right, if you insist on seeing this as a date--fine. But I'm going to warn you--I haven't had a hell of a lot of opportunities, so I'm not going to feel obligated to play by fifties dating ettiquette and spare your wallet."

There was a nice seafood restaurant nearby (what a shock). Lawrence once again managed to surprise me by holding my chair for me. He pulled one out, and I started to reach for the other. He grabbed my wrist and said, "Uh, Scribe? Notice that I'm standing beind this chair."

I eyed him. "Understand this Lawrence--in my life a situation like this might end with the chair being jerked away."

"Trust me."

"Mom always said to run when a man said that to me, but here goes." I sat, and the chair was gently tucked under and moved up. "I feel like I should be snapping a fan."

I ended up being glad that he was paying, because the place was NOT cheap. In fact, I wondered how he could afford it on the sort of salary I figured Conner was paying him. I made a note to find out what his favorite kind of cookie or cake was and fix it before the week was out.

We shared an order of fried mushrooms, after I flatly refused to try calimari. "I know what that stuff IS, Lawrence. I'd rather not try to eat anything that would normally give me nightmares in its living state. That's why I don't eat alligator, rattlesnake, gar fish, or escargot. It took me years to overcome my food prejudices and eat oysters, and they still have to be fried."

"Is it going to bother you if I have some raw?"

"You're not going to chew, are you?"

"Lord, no! You just let 'em slide down."

"It won't bother me, then."

He leaned an elbow on the table, rested his chin in his hand, and said slyly, "They're considered an aphrodisiac, you know."

I snorted. "So is chocolate, and I don't go jump someone after I have a Hershey bar." I pretended to think. "Godiva might be a different story."

"I wonder if they have an outlet on the island?" I fanned him with the menu.

I had the Admiral's Feast--an overflowing platter of french fries, fried fish, crawfish, shrimp, oysters, barbequed crab, broiled scallops, and seafood jambalaya, with a cup of shrimp gumbo instead of a salad. Lawrence had a whole lobster, along with the oysters. It was a hoot, seeing him wearing a bib. I started to say something, but he'd caught me eyeing it, and shook a lobster claw at me. "Not a word about 'junior', or anything like that."

"Moi?"

"Vou. And don't you like barbequed crab? You haven't touched yours."

"I can't eat them right--I'm too much of a klutz. I can't get the meat out, and I end up just sucking on them for the flavor."

He grinned at me. "Go ahead."

"Somehow I don't think you need any encouragement, you dog."

"Woof."

I was just the right side of uncomfortably full when we left. As we got in the car, I sighed, "I hope they've assigned cooks for tonight, because I'm not gonna want to mess with food for some time to come."

"We should be safe as long as it's anyone but Boz, and if it's him, hopefully he'll have enough sense to go pick something up. Where to now?"

"Back to the cabin. Screw that walking around to settle lunch nonsense."

"Sure. The meeting should be safely over by now."

The others were all back out on the sand when we returned. I shook my head. "They're all going to look like mahogany sculptures by the time this is over, and I'm going to be the only alabaster one."

"I'm going to try to work you up to a nice, oh, say, oak tone."

"Dreeeeam, dream. Dream, dream, dream..." I sang, to the tune of 'All I Have to Do Is Dream'. "I'm lucky I didn't end up a lobster after yesterday. I don't tan--I burn and peel, burn and peel."

"We'll have to be careful. There's a canvas cabana in one of the closets--you know, an open fronted tent affair? I'll get some of the others to help me put it up--you go put on your new outfit."

"My new... Oh, no you don't!"

"Scribe."

"No. You're not supposed to go in the water for an hour after you eat. Everyone knows that."

"You won't be in the water. You'll be lounging comfortably in the shade."

"No."

"I'll take back the cover-up."

I clutched the bag as we started up the stairs. "I'll tell the world you're an Indian giver."

He stuck his tongue out at me. "Whose side do you think they'll be on?"

"You're an evil, wicked, demanding thing, and I don't like you one little bit. Okay. Just stop threatening my cat stuff."

"Mwha ha ha! I love it when I find a button."

He was dragging a large roll of candy-striped canvas out of the downstairs closet. "Just see if you can't get that camera away from Charlie, will you?"

"I promise nothing." He was pulling out brace poles. "Charlie would get me on film if I tried anything, and I don't attempt mischief if there's a chance of photographic evidence."

"Coward." I went into the bathroom and got into the bathing suit. It had been a long time since I'd worn one, and it was more comfortable than I remembered. There wasn't a full length mirror (I should probably have been grateful for that--I doubt I'd have had enough courage to go out in it if I'd seen myself), but from what I could see, it didn't look too bad. *Anyway, it's not like anyone is going to see it,* I thought in satisfaction as I put on the cover-up.

They were putting the finishing touches on the canvas cabana by the time I got down to the beach. Lawrence had dragooned the entire group onto working on construction. Well... almost all of them. Boz was 'supervising', and Charlie was, of course, recording it on film for posterity.

Lawrence was pounding a final stake into the sand (they'd had to dig away a lot of loose sand to reach anything firm enough to actually hold a stake). He glanced up as I approached, and grinned, then called, "Are you wearing the suit under that?"

"I'd damn sure better be," I answered. "This isn't a nude beach."

Charlie approached with his camera. "New wardrobe! Let's see, Scribe."

I clutched the robe tighter. "Go shoot the seagulls, Charlie."

"Their legs are too skinny. C'mon, this is significant for the issue we'll do about this trip.
The sort of beachware our staff buys."

I turned, looking back over my shoulder so he could have a good shot of the cat graphic. "You sure this is the image we want to project to our readers? Cat kitsch?"

He laughed, snapping away. "Quirky staff members. They'll love it. Now, let's see the suit."

"Dream on."

"Lawrence," Charlie called, "You slept with her--any blackmail material?"

I squeaked, "He occupied the porch with me--and he slept. That's it!"

Charlie lowered the camera, grinning, his eyes glinting. "That's all I wanted to know. You're still cherry."

I threw up my hands. "I'm being haunted!"

"We all are," said Conner wryly. "Look, we're all doing our bit, giving the readers their little beach fantasy, so you have to kick in with a few visuals, too." He crossed his arms. "The boss has spoken."

"No."

"Do it, or I'll make you cover politics for the magazine."

Everyone knows that I avoid the mere mention of politics like the plague. "And risk the believability of your fine publication?"

"I'll label it humor."

"You're a hard, cruel man. If anyone dares to start singing 'The Stripper', I'll call down a Baptist curse on your heads--you'll go on the visitation list of every Latter Day Saint and Jehovah's Witness withing a thousand mile radius."

"Watch it, friends," said Dan. "She's serious. I had an aunt who was a hellfire-and-brimstone Baptist, and believe me, when it comes to curses, the pagans have NOTHING on them."

"Very well." I loosened the sash of the coverup. "In honor of Isaac and Belinda," I gripped the edges of the robe and whipped it open. "FLASH!"

*Flash*

"DAMN, Charlie, do you NEED that flash attachment on such a sunny day?" I blinked specs out of my eyes, temporarily blinded.

"Oops, sorry. Have that in case it becomes overcast. They're predicting rain soon." Someone was flipping the skirt of the bathing suit. "You wearing bottoms under that?"

I still couldn't see entirely clearly, but he was close enough that I wasn't going to miss. I was charitable, and didn't slap his face--I just smacked him upside the head, at about third power. "Ow!" He stepped back and started snapping again. "Staff hellcat!" I threw up my hands in resignation.

I felt hands on my shoulders. Before I could whip around and administer another attitude adjustment, Lawrence said, "Allow me to help you with your wrap, m'lady."

I grabbed at the terrycloth. "You said I could keep it!"

"You can, but it's not meant as a permanent part of your wardrobe. It's supposed to be used only periodically. Now turn loose. I wouldn't mind wrestling with you, but not in public."

"Crap." I let my arms drop, and he took the robe. Charlie got after it again with the camera. "I'm going to have to buy every single copy of the damned 'Beach Retreat' issue. You're all welcome to attend the bonfire."

Lawrence draped the robe over one crooked arm, then bowed and gestured with the other, like a maitre de. "This way to your seat, madam. I have procurred for your comfort a blanket of the finest, least moth-eaten wool blend that was available in our closets."

The blanket, spread to its fullest, covered the floor of the cabana neatly, with scarcely an inch of sand showing all the way around. It looked nice and shady inside--pretty comfortable, actually. I bowed to Lawrence. "I consent to occupy this canvas contraption." I went in and sat down.

"Get comfy. I have to go change, and I'll be right back."

As he trotted off, I called, "Bring me a book!"

"Fat chance!"

"Snot." I settled back to gaze out at the ocean.

Charlie stepped in front of the cabana and snapped a picture. "Scribe-in-a-box."

"When was the last time someone punched you in the nose, Charlie?"

"Oh, I missed the hey-day of Sean Penn and Roseanne and Tom Arnold. Besides, I'm fast." He entered the cabana, and sprawled on the blanket beside me. "Have a nice time in town?"

"Nice enough, when you consider the fact that I'm being blackmailed with the threat of with holding of cat merchandise unless I embarrass myself in this green spandex."

"You look good in it. Did Lawrence pick it out?"

"Charlie, you saw MY idea of swimwear yesterday."

He smiled slyly. "Did he help you fit it?"

"Could you go five minutes without mentioning sex in any way if I gave you five dollars?"

"No." He cocked his head. "But if you have it tucked down your cleavage, I'LL give YOU five bucks to let me fish for it."

"Charlie, what is it with you? There's a clutch of good looking, available, interested girls out there. If Phil and Dan are in a swinging mood, you could explore your bi tendencies, or if Connor and Janice feel frisky, you could whip up a menage. Why aren't you out there leering at one of them?"

"They aren't virgins."

"Oh, CHRIST!" I flopped back on the blanket, arms outstretched. "It's a scrap of tissue! I might not even have it, after all the bicycle riding I did when I was a teenager. And there was that time I slipped on the balance beam and fell straddling the beam."

"It's not so much the physical reality, Scribe. It's the whole CONCEPT of virginity. The very idea of unexplored territory. You are unexplored, aren't you?" He reached over, hand drifting toward my breasts. "Any grope sessions?"

"If that hand lands, you lose it." He grinned, and leaned back on his elbows. "Aside from you grabbing me and humping my behind last night--no. Um, well... One kiss, with tongue."

"Oo!" He sat up. "Tell, tell!"

"Charlie, I'm not Catholic, and you sure aren't a priest..."

"You damn BETCHA I'm not!"

"...so confession just isn't going to happen."

He smirked. "That's all right. I think I can pretty well guess who it was. So, you only go for blondes?"

"Basing attraction strictly on hair color or body type is more a male characteristic, Charlie, and I'm not interested in getting in touch with my inner guy."

"I'd like to get in touch with your inner woman." I glared at him. "Then about my getting in touch with your OUTER woman?"

"Will you stop it? You're not obligated to try to make it with every female."

"I can't help it. It's a biological imperitive for a man to spread his seed."

"I have news for you--the human race is not in danger of extinction. Do you use protection when you have sex?"

"Of course!" He started digging in his pocket. "Don't worry, I have a selection."

"How thoughtful. If you use a rubber, then the 'sowing the seeds' bit pretty much goes by the wayside, doesn't it? If you want to spread your seed, go jerk off, Charlie. In fact, go fuck yourself."

"I love a fiesty woman."

I sighed deeply. "I'm beginning to think that all a woman needs to attract you is XX chromosomes."

He shrugged. "Not always. I once dated a really hot transexual..."

Lawrence appeared in the cabana entrance. He took in the scene, then planted his hands on his hips. "Charlie, you're parked in the wrong space. Haul it."

"C'mon, Larry, you had her all day." He smiled at Lawrence. "Or rather you DIDN'T have her all day. I understand she's still pris-teen."

"And she isn't interested in having you grub her up, so scoot."

"There's room on the other side." Charlie batted his eyelashes at me (and the booger had eyelashes just as good as mine.) "How about it, Scribe? Wanna be between two men?"

I stood up. "You know, ususally you have to go as far as a drunken frat party to find such sophisticated patter. I'm going to go gather shells." I cast a jaundice eye on a grinning, unrepentant Charlie. "Maybe I can find one with a sharp edge to keep under my pillow."

Chapter Six

I chatted for a little longer with Phil and Dan, then gave them each a peck on the cheek (and I'll admit it was mostly to stir up whoever was watching, but I WANTED to, too. I LIKE gay guys, and this was a cute pair), stood up, and walked down to where the waves were breaking on the beach. I haven't ever cared much for the beach, but I've always enjoyed walking just where the salt water could wash over my feet. It felt as if the liquid sand was being sucked out from under my toes, and gave me a slightly off-kilter feeling--rather like when I was a child, and had to step onto an escalator. It just didn't feel right for the ground you were standing on to be MOVING.

I found a couple of nice enough clamshells, which I collected. I remembered shell hunting as a child, and wondering why I never found those cool conch, scallop, or nautilus shells that I saw in the encyclopedias. I didn't realize then that I'd have to hit more tropical sands to find them. I had heard SE Texas called semi-tropical, and with the heat and humidity I'd grown up with, I had little desire to find out what tropical felt like.

The rhythmic waves didn't quite mask the sound of footsteps coming up behind me. I could even tell how they were approaching by the sound. First there was the rapid, muffled thud of someone trotting on dry sand, then the slower, grittier squish-slush of them slowing to a walk in the same wave-washed area I was walking. The only question was who it was--and I had two good guesses. I was hoping for one, and ready to get downright catty if it was the other one, and he got on my nerves.

"I bet you did this when you were a little girl."

*Looks like I won't have to be scratching eyes out for at least a few more hours.* "Hi, Lawrence. Yeah. I also collected rocks, and all of them were just as undistinguished as these. I didn't classify, label, and display--I just sort of arranged them in a pleasing manner."

"Sounds good to me. I've always thought that some hobbies seemed an awful lot like hard work." We walked quietly for a few yards. When he stopped and squatted down, I paused, too, and watched him dig something out of the sand. He rinsed it in the next wave, then offered it to me.

I examined it. It was a small, perfectly formed sand dollar. "Cool. Thanks."

"You're welcome." We started walking again. His tone was elaborately casual. "So, what did Philip and Dan want?"

"A threesome." He actually jerked to a stop. "Joke, Laurey, joke. To jerk my chain, the two fey snots. If they weren't so darn cute together, I'd smack them both."

"Oh."

We resumed walking, and I noticed a slightly smug look on his face. "Don't look so pleased. You're capable of engendering the same feeling--barely escaping a richly deserved smack through cuteness."

"But you admit you think I'm cute."

I swatted him on the shoulder sharply. "You just stepped over the line."

"It was worth it."

"I don't think I want to be on the lonely end of the beach while you're being smug. Turning around now."

I turned and started back up the beach toward the others, with Lawrence following again. The booger was singing under his breath, "She liiikes me, she liiikes me, she reeealy, reeealy liiikes me." I would have found that obnoxious in a teenage boy. Lawrence was only a few years older than that, so why did it strike me as sexy?

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Like many beach houses, ours was provided with a stash of box games. We played Trivial Pursuit, 60s version, that evening. I kicked much ass. I was partnered with Lawrence, and he could answer the science and sports questions, while I took care of the people and cultural. There was some muttering about unfair advantages, since I had actually LIVED through the sixties, so we switched to Movies Trivia. I, again, kicked ass. When Boz sulked, I asked him why. After all, all it proved was that I had a head stuffed full of information that was useless, unless I ever got on Who Wants to be a Millionaire, or Jeopardy.

Winning puts me in a good mood, and when someone mixed up a huge batch of Tom Collins, I jumped on it. I hate the taste of alcohol, but these tasted like lemonade. They were also, as I found out half-way into the evening, deceptive as to alcohol content. Whoever mixed those puppies did it like a frat boy rather than a pro bartender. Every one of them I drank hoisted one more sheet to the wind, so around ten o'clock I had raised three sheets and a pillowcase, and was working on the bedspread.

Now, I've never gotten really, REALLY drunk. I've been tipsy as hell, but I've never reached the 'what the HELL happened after that last tequila?' state. You know--I've never awakened anywhere other than my own bed, never been surprised to find someone snoring beside me, never had to wonder how I got a new tattoo or piercing when they're not supposed to do that for drunk people...

Anyway, that night I still didn't hit really, REALLY drunk, but I DID manage really. I suppose that accounts for the exhibition. No, I kept all my clothes on. I told you--I wasn't THAT drunk. But some fool had to turn on the radio. I'm a musical drunk. I think I sing better when I'm sloshed. Mind you I can't be sure--I've never heard a recording, or anything, but I damn sure THINK I sound better--but I'm drunk at the time. You get the idea. Anyway, it was just my luck that they hit 'Man, I Feel Like a Woman' by Shania Twain.

All right, I haven't got the bod, or the face, but that night, by God, I had the ATTITUDE. When those first few sly bars started, and Shania did that little 'yeah' thing, I was up on my feet. I think I managed to boot Lawrence in the leg, but he never complained. "Ahm going out tonight, I'm feelin' all right! Gonna let it all hang oooout." My arms were over my head, and I twitched my hips. Charlie clutched his chest and fell over backwards. Surrounded by clowns. Fine. I was in a Ringling Brothers sort of mood, anyway.

"Wanna make some noise, really raise my voice..." Melinda and Bernice leaped up, getting on either side of me, and suddenly they were the Supremes and I was Diana Ross as we all warbled (loudly), "Yeah, I wanna scream and shout!"

Belinda and Janice had been exchanging looks, now they jumped up, too, joining our group. "No inhibitions, make no conditions..." We started pushing each other good-naturedly. "Get a little outta line. I ain't gonna act politically correct..." And I went a little nuts. I grabbed Bernice and laid a fast lip lock on her. The guys yelled, Philip and Dan clutching at each other in delight. "I only wanna have a good time!" Okay, you may think I'm making the next part up, but it's true. Dan and Philip jumped up and joined us as we started to sing, "The best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun..." I don't think I've been that silly since my last junior high sleepover. Of course back then I did it without benefit of alcohol.

Well, the group sing led to a bit of karaoke, except that it was the old fashioned kind of taking potluck and singing along with what you could find on the radio. Isaac and Belinda did a really raunchy version of Do Ya Think I'm Sexy. Hey--they're exhibitionists--it's to be expected. I threatened to strangle Boz when he tried to do an elevator music version of Hooked on a Feeling. I'm a firm believer that the man responsible for that should be hunted down and executed. Imagine--not a single 'ooga-chaka'. He made up for it with a spastic version of Do Ya Love Me (Now That I Can Dance?).

When a Billy Joel song started, Charlie tried to get up and perform to it, but Lawrence grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back into his chair, saying, "Uh-uh. This one is MINE."

Have you ever heard Only the Good Die Young, by Billy Joel? It's basically every horny boy who ever existed trying to convince every 'good girl' who ever lived to quit 'saving it'. Lawrence was singing it to me, and the boy was GOOD. I've never seen Billy in concert (dammit), but if he moves half as nice as Lawrence does... I really shouldn't finish that thought. Let's say that Christie was a damn fool to leave him if he does.

There are a couple of lines in the song where it gets real intense. "You say your mother told you all that I could give you was a reputation..." Not true. She also mentioned babies. Of course the ironic thing is that as I left my twenties behind, the mention of babies became more wistful than warning. Can't have it both ways, Ma.

Anyway, he WAS singing it to me. No subtlety here, friends and neighbors. I might as well have been getting a solo show. That last chorus he put the authentic begging note into, "Come out, come out--Virginia, don't let me wait. You Catholic girls start much too late..." I managed to refrain from singing most of the song with him, but I joined in on the 'ooo ooos' at the end.

When it was done, he was a little breathless. I stood up, looped my arms around his neck, and kissed him--not hard, not fast, not slow--just medium, then stepped back and batted my eyelashes at him. "I'm Southern Baptist, Lawrence." Then I turned, glanced over my shoulder at him, and walked through surprised silence back to the sleeping porch.

And don't ask me WHAT the fuck I meant by that last statement, because to this day, I honest to God DON'T KNOW!

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Only the good die young
Sung by Billy Joel

Come out Virginia, don’t let me wait
You catholic girls start much too late
Aw but sooner or later it comes down to fate
I might as well be the one

They showed you a statue, told you to pray
They built you a temple and locked you away
But they never told you the price that you pay
For things that you might have done.....
Only the good die young
That's what I said
Only the good die young x2

You might have heard I run with a dangerous crowd
We ain’t too pretty we ain’t too proud
We might be laughing a bit too loud
Aw but that never hurt no one

Come on Virginia show me a sign
Send up a signal I’ll throw you the line
The stained-glass curtain you’re hiding behind
Never lets in the sun
Darlin’ only the good die young
(woah x5 )
I tell ya
Only the good die young x2

You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation
You got a brand new soul
Mmmm, and a cross of gold
But Virginia they didn’t give you quite enough information
You didn’t count on me
When you were counting on your rosary
(oh woah woah)

They say there’s a heaven for those who will wait
Some say it’s better but I say it ain’t
I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints
The sinners are much more fun...

You know that only the good die young
Oh woah baby
I tell ya
Only the good die young, x2

(just music here, saxophone? )

You say your mother told you all that I could give you was a reputation
Aww she never cared for me
But did she ever say a prayer for me? oh woah woah

Come out come out Virginia don’t let me wait,
The catholic girls start much too late
Sooner or later it comes down to fate
I might as well be the one,
You know that only the good die young

I'm telling you baby
Only the good die young x2
Only the gooooooooooooooood
Only the good die young
Only the gooooooooooooooood
Only the good die young
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooo oooooooooo...

END PART 6