On the day that Harvey Owlman’s son was accepted to Princeton, Harvey’s wife of 17 years left him. Harvey would not have said it was a bad marriage, though maybe never a passionate one. A shy underclassman, he’d barely known Pamela in high school, and it was she who asked him to the prom, and it was she who initiated their first-date sex in the wee hours of after prom morning, and it was she who proposed to him some minutes after that first intercourse, letting him know that she was almost three months pregnant by someone she wouldn’t name.

“No hard feelings,” she said to Harvey on her way out to the cab. A few weeks later he learned via one of the couple’s former friends that she’d taken up with Freddie Bass. “Makes sense since they were such lovebirds in high school and all,” the former friend told him with a smirk. “You can’t keep a good horse down.”

Harvey had no idea what the horse comment meant. Who was the horse? Who was the rider? What should he do now?

He went on vacation to Florida. Perhaps a mistake as it was spring break week. The beaches were jammed with kids. Harvey felt wildly out of place. But he couldn’t very well keep to his hotel room. Shy again after all these years, he mostly kept to his hotel room.

On the last day of his vacation, he gathered his courage and tried the beach again. So many beautiful young bodies. Harvey tried not to stare. He willed his boner to subside. He walked far up the beach, almost beyond all the people.

Some kids were batting a volleyball over a net. Getting closer, Harvey realized it wasn’t a volleyball, it was a beach ball. Getting closer yet, he realized the kids weren’t wearing swimming suits. So much for controlling his boner. He was just about to turn and walk back to his hotel room when someone cried out: Little help, Mister.

He managed to stop the runaway beach ball from skittering further down the sand. He picked it up, and standing in front of him, barely ten feet away, was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Harvey, never much of an athlete, did a sort of underhand serve to spank the ball back to the girl.

A solid smack—the ball arched into the air. And exploded. The shriveled carcass fell to the sand. The girl and Harvey looked at.

“Holy fuck!” the girl exclaimed. “Wha’d you do to it?”

Harvey shrugged.

“You’re not wearing a sharp ring or anything?” the girl asked.

Harvey looked at his hand. His wedding band, aged but smooth, gleamed in the Florida sun. The girl was now right next to him. She looked down at the ring, then up into Harvey’s eyes, then down to the substantial bow in Harvey’s swim trunks. Helpless to do anything else, Harvey handed her the ring.

“Seriously?” she said. “You want to marry me?”

Harvey gulped. He couldn’t form a reply.

“Hey guys,” the girl sang out to her friends, who were now gathered round. “This guy asked me to marry him. We’re just gonna go over there to consummate the marriage.” She took Harvey’s hand and led him toward the dunes.

It was by far the best fuck Harvey’d ever had. Afterwards, they dusted themselves off, Harvey pulled up his shorts, and the girl gave him a big hug. “Whew, you ride good,” she said. “And good news, we’re going to have a kid.”