The Beach House
Copyright© 2024 by oyster50
Chapter 25
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 25 - Beach communities can be lonely in the off season. For Paul, that's good, because he's a writer. For Barb, it's good because she 'has issues'. It's all good until the two of them meet. Then it gets better.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Consensual Heterosexual Fiction First Oral Sex Small Breasts Geeks Slow
Paul’s turn:
A meeting with my sister actually turned out really good.
Yes, I was apprehensive. We just haven’t been close since Mom and Dad were gone, and I had announced my marriage to Barb as a done deal. That was true. Clarissa had seen me through a couple of abortive runs at discovering a mate, but my previous year was my celibate period as she consoled me after I broke up with the last one before Barb.
After Mom’s funeral it was easy to put distance between myself and Clarissa. She had a family to fall into. I had solitude. She got Mom and Dad’s old home. I got the summer camp. Truth be known, she came out on top in terms of dollar signs, but I didn’t care. I got the beach house.
It was just about the stereotypical writer’s hangout. I was by myself, but if I wanted, there was something going on every weekend from Easter until Halloween.
And then came Barb. And now I’m watching Barb’s slender little butt ahead of me on the stairs to our house, her hips working, her short hair bouncing in time with her steps and I’m thinking that a whole life of seeing the female form around me condenses down to this one, distilled into forming THIS perfection.
At the top of the stairs she turned, catching my expression. “You’re staring.”
“Not staring, just appreciating, and thinking, and little one, you are the color in my life.”
The wind whipping around the corner of the building caught her hair in an eddy, displacing it into a wreath. Too much for me to stand, I took her into my arms, ignored the squeal, kissed her.
“You know I feel the same way about you, don’t you?”
“I’m just a guy. You’re indescribably female, cute, beautiful, desirable, alluring...”
“I do love your vocabulary...”
“ ... angelic, sweet, charming...”
“Get us inside, buddy!”
Okay. One of ‘those’ evenings. I’m soooo lost.
December on the Gulf Coast. Weather changes almost daily. The north wind that was whipping around the building the previous evening was replaced with a soddenly moist southeast wind as a cold front stalled then backed up. Intermittent drizzle made it what the old folks termed ‘gumbo weather’.
We have chicken. We have sausage. We have rice, so while my little redheaded darling is tapping away on her keyboard I assemble the ultimate Cajun winter dish, a simmering pot of gumbo.
Once it’s on the stove simmering toward perfection, I am across the table from her typing on my own book.
“Donnabella’s getting ready to announce that she considers Jerry a suitable choice of mate.”
“Took her all of your first novel and into your second for her to figure that out,” I noted. “She didn’t come off as particularly slow on the uptake.”
Barb brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “She’s not slow. She’s just overcoming the morality ingrained into her from a previous life ... it’s a big deal. You can imagine...”
“You DO imagine. That’s why you’re writing about it.”
Giggle. “And I’m thinking of YOU when I do it.” Pause. “And Dragara’s not sure she should be making that move.”
“Dragara should look at Jerry as a hero. After all, Jerry stopped the BIG dragon that was going to toast him and Donnabella.”
“Part of his quandary.”
“Dragara’s? Or Jerry’s?”
“Jerry has accepted the girl and the dragon, at least superficially,” I said. “Dragara’s, for lack of another term, her familiar.”
“What’s that mean in Donnabella’s world?”
We started with the dictionary definition and tweaked it a bit to fit the glimpses from the first book. Dragara is evolving as he matures and becomes aware and he and Donnabella start to fit themselves into the modern world.
Her head tilted forward and a flurry keystrokes erupted.
“There!” she looked up at me. “This is fun. Teaching subtlety to a young dragon.”
I touched her head. “Tell me about it.”
“I have always been subtle.”
“Yeah. I remember that ‘This is attention’ remark.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I remember that one. Engraved in my brain. In context, it WAS subtle.” She stood. “Break time. I desire a view of endless water.”
“it’s a bit cool outside.”
She gave me a look I never have been able to resist. “So we sit on the balcony until we get too cold, then we come in and have soup. That’s what the soup is for and that’s what the balcony is for, and in a few days we’ll be back in west Texas and any more water will be coming out of a tap.”
“I’d be crazy to argue...”
“Stir the soup and turn the burner down.”
Chairs side by side on the balcony a dozen feet in the air, in the lee of a north breeze, clear skies. Not much surf. Any north breeze tends to lay the waves down.
She folded her arms on the rail, resting her chin on them. I thought I was stealing a glimpse.
“You’re staring.”
“Not staring, but you’re always worth appreciating.”
“You mean it.”
“I certainly do. Irresistible.”
“I guess that’s part of us, you know, love at first sight.”
“I didn’t believe in it, and I fought hard. told myself that you are an impossibility.”
She smiled. “It’s our story. I love it and I’m keeping it in my heart and in my mind.”
“I’m good with it.”
Silence.
Out in the distance halfway to the horizon a shrimp boat was working. She was too far away to hear her engine, but her outriggers were out, pulling a trawl. “Tough way to make a living,” I commented.
“I can imagine. I’ve seen ‘em at the docks. Not the kind of boat I want.”
I caught her look. “You’re looking at me and I’m looking at the water. West Texas has broken something in me, Paul.”
Okay, serious now. “What broke?”
“I’m a child of the coast,” she announced firmly. “I need the water.”
I laughed a bit. “I’ll remember that next August when the humidity is at saturation levels.”
“You know I’m not in love with that part,” she smirked. “Although walking out the door before the sun starts scorching things, you have to admit that cool moist air feels good to breathe.”
“Up until you have to start working and sweat won’t evaporate.”
“There is that.”
“Where’s this going?”
“Just looking down the road to see what we might wanna try. Travel.”
“I thought you just said you were a child of the coast, I believe.”
“I did,” she smiled. “But we’re not gonna be confined to this house. There are places to explore. I mean, we already HAVE a travel trailer.”
“True,” I said. “That’s one avenue...”
“But look at that boat out there,,, “
“You wanna be a shrimper?” I queried. I was sure that wasn’t her point, but I enjoy letting her get her thoughts together. “It’s December and that water’s cold and shrimping is wet work.”
“No, but a boat ... We wouldn’t be doing it for a living. Wouldn’t hardly ever get wet unless it was on purpose.”
My turn to push her into her own head. “We have the kayak.”
“I was thinking of the marine equivalent of our travel trailer.”
“Oh, a BIGGER boat.”
“Just a thought. Between writing and loving YOU,” she said, swinging sideways to put her arm around my waist.
“Little redhead,” I said, “I’d run through Hell wearing gasoline skivvies if YOU wanted it.”
She giggled. “Oh, I’d NEVER do that. Too many important parts might get singed.”
I laughed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t thank god that you’re in my life.”
“Sure, drag the deity into this. Let’s walk down to the water.”
“Good idea. Before I end up first mate on a shrimp boat.”
Giggle. “Heavy on that ‘mate’ part.”
“Honestly, though...” I started.
“Always honest, you and me.”
“You’re right. There were days I thought about a boat to go with the lifestyle of this house, but then I’d think about how sad that would be, solitary, besides the fact that any boat big enough to spend much time on would be hard to single-hand.”
“Well, that’s one of the many reasons that the universe shoved us together. We become a team.”
“Already are, Barb baby. Writing...”
“Yeah, I’m thinking about Donnabella and Dragara. What if he had some powers like telekinesis? He already does that invisibility thing and of course dragons have fire.”
“Sounds like a development for your second book.”
“I think so, but seriously? Not too far out?”
“Darlin’, you’re writing young adult fantasy. It’s already got a dragon in it, and NOW you’re concerned about ‘too far’? Somebody made a gazillion bucks writing about freakin’ sparkly VAMPIRES and you’re worried about your dragon?”
She smiled. “You do have a point.” She backed away from the balcony rail and sat on a chair. “Sit,” she instructed.
So we stayed out for a while longer, talking writing and characters and plot while watching the placid gulf.
“Okay, so the first book introduces Donnabella and Jerry and Dragara. In it, we have middle teen girl and very young dragon. So what if, as they mature, they start discovering that they have a bit of magic for each of them?”
“Sounds interesting. Right now all Dragara can do is disappear and belch fire, not necessarily in that order,” I said. “You can introduce magic in little surprises to all concerned.”
“Dragons hoard gold,” she said. “Now exactly where would a dragon find gold in a contemporary setting?”
“Without incurring penalties or disturbing people? I don’t know.”
“He must have a hoard of gold. It’s a cultural imperative.”