Chapter 2

DAY TWO

I awakened shortly before dawn to feel Maria’s arms cradling me with the right leg hooked over my hip. I laid there waiting for my morning wood to subside, experiencing all of her: warm skin, the spongy sensation of a breast on my shoulder and unkept waves of natural brunette downy locks. Her body shifted as I tried to rise and roll her on to the back. As a kneeled to brush an unruly strand of hair, the first light of day arose like a spotlight, framing her face like an angel. The glowing white shirt illuminated her face contrasting dark features still hidden in the shade.

“Hello, hello,” I murmured quietly. The words brought her to the moment as she opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched her arms. “Let’s hurry to catch the sunrise.”

Maria held out a hand saying, “help me up.” She staggered for a moment as she arose, my left arm taking the full weight and feeling unrestricted natural boobs. They were heavy, soft yet firm. Maria never ceased to amaze me. Allowing me the luxury of an extra minute of contact, she grabbed my hand to pull me to the top of the bluff. The tiny nymph was strong.

She folded nicely into an embrace but placed my interlocked hands directly on her belly. I know you would love to explore them, but my Barenaked Ladies are off limits,” that giggle and raised register of her voice expressed a playful mood.

My tiny slip of a girl was really a mature woman, ripe in her sexuality, with dreamy brown eyes, luscious lips, wide hips, and flawless tits. It was difficult to connect this diva with the shy, intelligent funny writer I had come to know. Bringing my mind back to the present I broke the embrace, “I would love to stand here with you all day, let’s walk on the beach. We need to get you to Comicon on time. We’ll pick up breakfast on the way”

The crimson sky, blue sea and white sand looked like a technicolor cinema, the surf playing the score. We walked along the shore, tickling our toes in the water, when suddenly drenched by a large wave. The T-shirt was now wet and transparent. Her real breasts are unreal, “natural” shape—similar to the Venus de Milo—and nothing like the orb-like, fake boobs of yore. Maria moved quickly clinging to my back for cover. The fullness now splayed against me when she held on tight.

As we slowly made our way back to the house to replace the T-shirt I chided, “what did you say about bare-naked ladies?’

After sprinting to the shower, the bathroom door opened a crack, the wet T-shirt flew over my head, as she called “toss my swimsuits in here. I’ll be living in them without a washer or dryer. And don’t even think about joining me in here!”

As I smoothed out the shirt on kitchen table so it wouldn’t wrinkle, I moaned in pretend distress “Aww, shucks.” My private devil’s voice whispered inside my head, “did you see that ass and perfect hooters?” The angel on my other shoulder answered, “beyond expectations. Be on your best behavior.

Enjoy every moment but remember you don’t want to lose her by doing something stupid. She was already everything and more before you even set eyes on her.”

As Maria walked out brushing her hair she broke into a fit of laughter with my” now THAT’S what I’m talking about!”

After dropping her off at the convention, I had to park my car 10 blocks away. Using my investigative experience, it did not take long to find her. Comicon will filled with Marvel, sci-fi, fantasy and video game exhibitions, each held on a different street in the San Diego Gaslight District. I searched for the quietest road with the fewest traffickers before spotting her sitting in an outside venue in a park. One seat next to her was vacant. Flashing my wedding ring and pointing to her as I stepped over the retaining rope did the trick. No one bothered me except to say “shush.”

Ignoring her look of astonishment, I sat down to listen. The speaker was informative, engaging and kept the group captivated. Afterward I silently followed Maria down the center aisle as she made to way to speak to the presenter.

The two seemed to hit it off, carrying on a spirited discussion and even chuckling. Standing back five feet to avoid eavesdropping I spotted a hardcover book with a familiar cover. “Excuse me but is this a first edition?” I spoke while closing the distance to the table.

“Well, no, this is my annotated copy. It’s not for sale,” the lecturer replied as I picked up her new collection of short stories and opened my wallet for emphasis.

Seizing the opportunity, I pointed this time to my simple gold ring and then nodded to Maria, “Ms. Omolulu, I hope I didn’t butcher your name, this is Maria. ‘Dirty Little Secrets’ is her favorite, inspiring her to be an author. Do you carry a spare with you for your tour?”

Taking a moment to compose herself, “My friends call me CJ. You can have this one, don’t go selling it on eBay.”

With tears in her eyes Maria took the masterpiece and held it to her bosom, “Never! I won’t part with it and will cherish this moment all my life.”

“There, there, I’m glad my baby will be in good hands,” CJ

“How much do I owe you?” I asked before she changed her mind.

“Twenty dollars for the collection, the novel is a gift. Sorry folks I don’t have any more” CJ announced as she turned and mouthed the words to me, “clever boy.”

After hugs and thanks, I pulled Maria away from the author, “let’s go get some delicious street tacos,” I announced. CJ shook her head ‘no’ as we continued. “You must be starved.”

“I certainly owe you one,” Maria quipped after downing another mouthful of authentic American Mexican food, “but ‘The Ladies’ are still off limits. I gotta run; the next program is several streets away. And don’t flash your magic ring again, you can’t come. Meet me at Horton Plaza, three sharp.”

When I picked her up Maria asked, “have you heard of Shelter Island? A few of my new friends are meeting there and I want my old friend to join me.”

“There must be a local included in that group. It’s one of the best places for a beach bonfire,” I was impressed that Maria was making friends. In that outfit she would be fighting off the guys with a stick and the girls would be jealous. She had always seemed introverted.

After dinner on the boardwalk, I drove us to Shelter Island. It wasn’t much of an island, mostly hotel property connected to the highway. “This way,” I led her away from the parking lot. She carried the blanket while I brought my trusty acoustic guitar. Isn’t that what you did at a bonfire, sing songs and strum the guitar? We made a second trip for driftwood, as I handed Mary a copy of Craig Johnson’s ‘Waiting for Signs’ Walt Longmire story collection from the back pocket.

“When I signal you later, hand me the paperback. Don’t forget now,” I instructed.

“What is this for?” she asked.

“For when I get tired of playing, I’ll switch off to reading. I would ask you, but you wouldn’t make a convincing old coot with that pretty voice of yours.”

Darkness fell and the fire blazed. After accompanying Beach Boy and classic campfire songs I announced in a loud voice, “listen up! Stand and stretch. Let your feet move to the music. You can dance on the hard sand next to the water.”

I turned a metal trash can over as a surfer dude readied himself. I shouted “Jackie Wilson Said” as I played the intro with chords and muted strings. The beat came in with a nod, and people joined in with the repetition of the backup chorus “da, da, da, da, da” Any good busker knew Van Morrison. He was the Beethoven of Bee Bop.

I drifted over to Maria to regale her with, “Jackie Wilson Said ... you’re ‘Reet Petite’ ... gotta love you baby ... knock me off my feet,” then as a came back to my place to sing and play, “let it all hang out, sweetest girl in town.” She flashed a smile, but broke contact, brushing off the compliment.

Giving her a safe space, I returned to face the crowd. I raised my hands and got people going again. “da, da, da, da, da” up and “da, da, da, da, da, da”.

I tried again to draw her out, “You know ... I’m so wound up ... don’t need no coffee in my cup ... let it all hang down, sweetest girl in town.” Once again, she retreated from the spotlight.

I encouraged everyone to blast the chorus acapella, “I’m in heaven, I’m in heaven, When You Smile” Afterward, spontaneous dancing swept across the group, like the wave at a baseball game.

“And when you walk ... across the room, ... make my heart go BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, let it all hang out, let it all hang out.”

By this time, Maria was dancing and laughing aloud, men and boys taking cuts and swirling her around. Surfer boys and beach bunnies joined book nerds, Maria clearly the ‘Belle at the Ball. They continued through the next chorus of “I’m in heaven when you smile,” and even let me finish the next stanza.

“Every time ... you look that way ... honey child ... you make my day, let it all hang out, sweetest girl in town.”

I lost control of the frolicking and stopped playing while the buzz carried on without me. I could see Maria changing partners through the firelight. After one too many da, da, da,, do, do, do, do,” voices dropped out as the song came to an end with the last “I’m in heaven, I’m in heaven, I’m in heaven, when you smile.”

People cried for another song, so I played, and we sang ‘I Wish I Knew You When I Was Young,” one of Maria’s favorites. I took a break from playing to twirl my tiny dancer. The steady beat carried the tune without me.

“One more. You don’t know the lyrics but sing along to the sha, la, la’s,” as I played an oldy but goody, ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison.