Today the surf was mild, the sun was warm. I don’t know about the water, but an eight-year-old boy wearing bright red bathing trunks was out testing the waves, teasing the sharks. JoJo limited her exposure to her toes and ankles. “This feels really good—you should try it,” she said to me as she stepped through the sea-moistened sand.

“You know me,” I told her. “I’m a dry land kind of guy.”

She smiled a teasing smile. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Oh?”

“Think of sticking your toes in a pretty girl’s about-to-come cunt.”

That got my attention. “When did you ever do that?”

“Ha ha, wouldn’t you like to know? I’m a girl of flexible mind and body, nimble and supple and extremely acrobatic.”

With that she leaned back, back, back until she was gripping her ankles from behind. “Oh, Joe,” she said, “wouldn’t you like to fuck me now?”

Oh, how I would, if I could figure out how. The beach was all but deserted; all but that boy and a few grandparents and a family of shore birds pecking at the surf.

“Missed your chance,” JoJo said, flipping herself to standing.

Her bikini top stretched, snapped, and fell free. “Now look what you made me do,” she accused me, and leaving me to pick up the broken garment, she set off down the beach. “Come look at this,” she called.

The sea had carved out a small, sinuous channel of sand. As fresh waves surged up the channel they smacked the retreating flow, and the slosh and suck and sparkle of sand and sun and sea swirled in a slow, rhythmic dance. “What’s this called?” JoJo asked.

“It’s sort of a sluice,” I said.

“A sluice,” JoJo said, contemplating it with her hands lightly on her slender hips. “I like that. When we get back, that’s how I’m going to fuck you.”

When we got back, she fucked me like that. It was wonderful. It was indescribable.