BeachcombingChapter 2 free porn video

When I got back to my cottage, I grabbed a bucket, filled it with seawater, and dumped the clams — no, the quahogs — into it.

I stripped off my wet clothes, brushed my teeth, climbed into bed, and buried my embarrassment under my blankets. Sleep was a long time coming.

I rose the next morning and I was still a fool. More than anything else in life, I hated feeling like I was an idiot — worse, I hated actually being an idiot like I was the night before. I resolved to do something about it. The grocery in town was very nice. I bought fresh basil, plum tomatoes, saffron, garlic, fresh linguine, and other things I needed. I went to the fish market and bought lobster and haddock. I bought a very nice chardonnay to drink, and a good, but less expensive one, to cook with.

That afternoon, I shucked the clams, and cooked. I loved to cook. It was a simple pleasure that I rarely had time for when I was working. The house filled with the aroma of the spices.

I showered and put on casual slacks and blouse. I wrapped my hair and fixed it in place with a pair of lacquered chopsticks. Then I put on some oven mitts, picked up my pot, grabbed the bottle of wine under my arm, and walked next door to Phillip's cottage. I rang the bell. I heard some barking, and Phillip opened the door.

"Gail?" Phillip was clearly surprised. "What are you doing here?" He opened the door and I walked inside.

"Could you get the wine, please?" I asked. "I'm about to drop it."

He grabbed the wine. I could see where his kitchen was, so I walked into it. He followed me.

"I'm returning your quahogs," I said.

"They were a gift," he said. "You don't return a gift."

"No, but I'm hoping you'll share them with me. There's more than I can eat. Where are your plates? Do you have any large soup bowls?"

I set the pot onto his stove and peered into the cupboard he opened. "Perfect!" I said, picking up two plates and two bowls. "You do the wine and silverware: forks, knives, and soup spoons. Oh yeah, one large serving spoon. Maybe a ladle."

"How did you know my name?" I asked while setting the table.

"The same way you knew everything about me," he said, "I looked it up. I figured if you could do that to me, I could do it back."

"How? I don't own the house and I doubt you have the connections to get my name from the license plate on my car."

"Not your name, but I did learn you lived in Washington DC. Then I tried to figure out how you learned about me. You signed for the books in the town property office. That's where I learned your name. An Internet search told me everything else I learned. Well, I did use your license plates for one more thing. I called The Steamship Authority to find out when you were leaving. I'm afraid they may not treat you with too much respect. I told them my ditzy girlfriend forgot when her ferry reservation was. The guy was very sympathetic."

He poured the wine and I served us. I'd made one of my specialties, cioppino (pronounced chip-eeno). It's a sort of Italian bouillabaisse, a fragrant seafood stew served over pasta.

As I was scooping seafood bits over the linguine I put into the bowls, Phillip had a delighted grin. "Cioppino! My God, I can't believe how much better you are than I am at this spying stuff. I can't even begin to understand how you found out that I love cioppino."

I laughed. "I didn't. I had to do something with the clams, and cioppino is something I also love. It's really not that difficult to make."

"I don't believe that for a second," he replied. "I mean, yes, I do believe you didn't know I love cioppino, but I don't believe this was simple. It smells wonderful." When he took a bite of a clam, he said, "Gail, you soaked the quahogs overnight, didn't you?" I nodded. "They're perfect. No sand at all. You are a wonder."

I have to admit, that was probably the best cioppino I'd ever made. It was delicious.

We chatted through dinner about inconsequential things. He was easy to talk to, as long as I wasn't making a complete fool of myself. He seemed like a nice guy.

"Okay, I have to ask. I know I was an utter ass last night," I said, "but why were you clamming in the middle of the night?"

"When you do it at night," he replied, "you can sneak up on the clams while they're sleeping so they don't run away."

I knew absolutely nothing about clamming, but that sounded bogus. I gave him a skeptical look.

He laughed. He had a deep, rich laugh. "You caught me. That was bullshit. There's really no reason to do it at night except you can't get a sunburn. Everyone else does do it during the day."

"Do you just do it for fresh clams, or do you enjoy it?"

"It's very relaxing. Sort of a Zen moment, when your mind is completely empty. If I didn't love to eat them, I'd do it for the sport: catch and release clamming."

We continued chatting while we finished dinner. Then Phillip cleared the table. He'd asked me to call him Phil, but I hadn't completely wrapped my mind around that yet since I'd been thinking of him as Phillip for almost two months. Phil washed the dishes while I dried.

While Phillip was washing, I noticed that he was very amused about something.

"Okay, what's up?" I asked. "What's so funny?"

"I was thinking that more people should spy on each other," he said chuckling. "It's a great icebreaker. With everyone else I've ever met I had to learn about them by talking to them. How old fashioned. We already know most of the basics about each other."

After that evening, I resolved to do a more through, really professional job of ferreting out Phillip's past. He's an interesting guy, I thought, Maybe there really is a newsworthy human-interest story here somewhere. I knew there wasn't, but it was easy to kid myself into a rationalization for destroying his privacy. I spent several hours, made a few less-than-honest phone calls over the next few days, and assembled a pretty good picture of the life of Phillip Seigel. I didn't learn anything really surprising, but found that he seemed to be a nice, regular guy — at least as much as possible for someone with a Ph.D in Physics.

I left my house to start a hike up the beach a few days later when I saw Phillip rooting around in the shed behind his house. I walked up to say hello. There was a green plastic kayak lying at his feet and he was pulling out a large oar with paddles on both ends. He appeared to be a little startled to see me, but just looked at me a bit without saying anything. Then he pulled out a flotation vest, looked down and just stared at it. Then he handed it to me, almost as if he was a little reluctant, and said, "Here, you'll need this."

That surprised me. I took the vest.

"Do you have a floppy hat?" he asked. "You have fair skin. A hat would really help."

I was so flustered by this odd exchange, I carried the vest back to my cottage, grabbed a baseball cap, and walked back to him. He'd hauled another kayak and paddle out of the shed.

"Grab that end," he said when I approached. For some reason I really can't explain, I grabbed the end of the kayak and we carried it down to the beach. It was surprisingly light, and he really carried most of the weight, but I helped. Then he walked back to get the other kayak. I just stood there looking uncomprehendingly at this kayak paddle in my hand. I knew you held the middle and the ends went into the water, but that's about the extent of my kayak knowledge.

A few minutes later, Phillip hauled the other kayak over to where I was standing. "Have you ever kayaked before?" he asked.

Kayaked before? What the hell made him think that I'd be kayaking now?

I shook my head, no. Phillip helped me into the vest, adjusting it for me.

"Do you have sun block on?" I nodded yes because I'd put some on for my walk. Then he frowned. "This won't do. You'll still get burned." He rooted around inside my kayak and pulled out a tube of zinc oxide, that white stuff that lifeguards wear. He stood very close to me and I looked up at him while he carefully put it on my nose. I'm fairly short, he's taller, so I was looking up at him. I noticed I was breathing a little harder than usual.

What the hell am I doing? I asked myself. I was not nature-girl, not at all. My idea of camping was to stay at a cheap motel, rather than a Hyatt or better. Don't get me wrong, I loved the wilderness, but I'd get my fill of it looking at landscape paintings at the National Gallery or the Met.

Phillip gave me a few minutes of instructions which seemed to boil down to: First, try to go straight into the waves so they don't knock you over and second, paddle like hell. I listened to him with a rising sense of panic hoping that somewhere in his introduction to the science of kayaking he'd cover the topic I was desperate to understand — why on earth would anyone in their right mind do this?

Somehow in the middle of his lecture, I found myself being stuffed into a kayak with a sort of rubber diaphragm snapped around me to keep water from flooding the kayak. This was a little amusing. At the beginning of my marriage, I'd used a diaphragm rather than the pill. So I've put a diaphragm inside me thousands of times, but I've never been put inside a diaphragm before. If it kept water out, it would probably keep sperm out, too. So I was safe. Funny, I didn't feel safe at all.

Once I was tucked into the kayak, Phillip pushed me out into the surf. Then he took off in his own kayak.

That was the moment I realized that I was going to sleep with him. I would be dammed if I would schlep a stupid kayak across the sand and then paddle across the Nantucket Sound for some guy I wasn't fucking. It really pissed me off that I was going to fuck him and he wasn't making the slightest effort to seduce me. That was good. I needed that anger to help me paddle like hell so I could keep up with him. He better be really, really good, I thought, for me to put up with this.

I wasn't carrying a watch (which was good, or I'd have ruined it), so it's only my guess that we paddled about an hour before we reached the town. We pulled the kayaks ashore and took a break. I sat down, sweaty and exhausted on the dock while Phillip went into a store on the pier and came back with a couple of iced teas. Ambrosia. It was the best drink I'd ever had. I looked over at the expensive luxury yachts moored further down. I pointed at one worth millions and said, "Next time you take me boating, it better be in a boat like that."

"That's a ship," he said. "See the boat on the top, next to the helicopter? Well, that's the ship's boat. The yacht is a ship. And this is probably the closest I'll ever be to a ship like that."

For all my whining, I have to admit that kayaking was pretty fun. While we didn't go particularly fast on the way to town, we took a more leisurely pace back. The slower pace gave us some time to chat rather than simply gasp for breath. Actually, this was just my problem. Phillip, damn him, never broke a sweat.

"You're a reporter, right?" Phillip asked.

"Yeah," I gasped. I said I had some breath for speaking. That doesn't mean I was relaxed. I was still paddling my ass off.

"So I suppose you do a lot of snooping," he continued. "It must be a big part of your job."

"Yes," I replied. I coasted a while, so I could make a decent answer. "Writing is also a big part, but you've got to get information to write about, and you've got to verify that it's accurate. The more newsworthy the story, the less likely people are to tell you everything voluntarily, so you've got to snoop."

"Well, you've gotten very good at it."

"You've no idea," I said.

He didn't reply immediately, but gave me an appraising sidelong look and started paddling again. After a while, he said "You spied on me. Why? Why'd you bother?"

"Does it bother you?"

"No. Yes. Well, it's both disturbing, and maybe a little flattering."

I wouldn't have thought so, but kayaking was good for conversation. I remember when I was a little girl, my grandfather smoked a pipe. When I'd ask him a question that he wanted to think about before giving me an answer, he had this ritual where he'd tamp the tobacco and puff on it a bit to keep it lit. It had the effect of making his comments seem deeper, more considered. Kayaking was like that. We'd negotiate a wave, paddle a bit, and then answer.

"I understand." I replied. "It's kind of like when we were carrying the kayak down to the beach when you were staring at my butt. There's a disturbing loss of privacy, but at the same time it's a little flattering that someone wants to pay attention to me."

He blushed a bit, then said, "I don't think that's really the same. I suppose there is a lack of politeness when a guy appraises a woman, but I don't think it's in the same league as this loss of privacy. I mean, the man is just looking at what's already there to see."

"So the feeling that my tits and ass are private is an illusion because they're really right there to look at for anyone who's interested?"

He frowned, "Well, I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but I'd have to say yes."

"Right," I said. "That's exactly what I was getting at. There really is no such thing as privacy, there's only the illusion of privacy. Just about everything about a person is there to see. There's no privacy, just indifference and laziness."

"Oh come on," he scoffed. "You can't be serious."

"Okay, let's think about privacy for a bit," I replied. "For you to have actual privacy, there'd have to be nobody around, you'd have to leave no records. How many things do you do that are like that? When you walk along the beach? When we kayak? When you buy groceries? There are almost always people who see you walking. We passed people on the beach as we paddled here. Do you always pay cash? In any case, the cashier at your grocery sees you and what you buy. If you use one of those 'supersaver' cards, what you buy is tracked."

"People still have quite a bit of privacy," Phillip maintained. "We spend more time in our bedroom than anywhere else. That's private."

"Only if you're alone. Otherwise there's someone who can tell anyone exactly what you did and said."

"Technically, that's true, but really, how often does that happen?"

"Are you serious?" It was my turn to scoff. "You read the papers, watch the news?" He shrugged. Well, I suppose over the past few years he had reasons to separate himself from the rest of the world. I'd have to let that slide. "In any case, a great deal of what's reported came from someone who told someone about something in their bedroom — not just the scandal sheets, but the political news, world events, anything. You see, people like to talk to other people about their lives and things they find interesting. It's the human version of monkeys grooming each other for bugs. We tell each other the interesting things in our lives as a social ritual. It's really, really hard to keep significant secrets. They're always there if you know how and where to look."

"Like physics," he observed.

"Physics? How so?"

"We're trying to understand the rules about how the universe works. If you know how and where to look, you'll see the laws of nature in action."

"I never thought of it that way before, but yeah, I suppose you're right."

"In any case," he said, "the information may be there, but it's the act of gathering it and using it that violates someone's privacy."

"No," I said. "You're confusing privacy with anonymity. You never had any privacy because someone knows about what you did. The act of sifting the information about you means you're no longer an anonymous cow in the herd."

"You've thought about this a lot."

I had drifted a bit too close to shore for my comfort and had to paddle hard to avoid having the waves knock me over and wash me ashore. "You bet your ass," I puffed. "I think about this kind of thing a lot. It's why I'm different from the dirtbags working for tabloids who live their lives trying to get a fuzzy photo of Britteny's boobs."

"Even if it's anonymity rather than privacy," objected Phillip, "it still doesn't feel right that people I don't know can use personal information about me. It seems like it's so easy to abuse."

"Yeah, I agree with you," I panted as I caught up with him again. "Abuse of information is a big problem. A growing problem, too. I'm not really sure what should be done about it, but I think it's something to be concerned about."

"But isn't that just what you do?"

"No, it's not," I asserted. "It's not an abuse of power when a policeman gets a warrant and checks up on a suspected criminal. And it's not an abuse when a reporter searches for information for a story."

"What about me?" he said. "You searched though information about me and I'm just a guy minding his own business."

I laughed. "Everyone's just a guy minding his own business. I thought you might be an interesting human-interest story, so I decided to find out about you." This was both true, and a little white lie. I did think he might be an interesting story at first, but I couldn't really explain the second round of much more thorough snooping, even to myself. Other than people associated with stories I was working on, I'd never felt the need to learn everything about someone before.

We reached our area of beach and Phillip gracefully rode a wave to shore. Then he got out of his kayak and helped me up as I'd fallen over and swallowed a few gallons of seawater when I tried to follow him.

We were hauling the kayaks back to his house when Phillip turned to me. "Bluefish?" he asked without any particular context.

"No, I think I have begun to flounder," I replied.

Phillip groaned at the lame pun. "Would you like grilled bluefish for dinner?" Phillip said. "I was surfcasting early this morning and caught one. The filets are marinating in my fridge."

I agreed. He was good company and I was too exhausted to fix dinner for myself, anyway. After helping Phillip hose down the kayaks, paddles, and vests, I flopped down gracelessly on Phillip's couch while he started to prepare dinner. After sitting for a few minutes, my arm and back muscles were starting to stiffen and ache.

"Do you have any aspirin or Tylenol?" I asked.

He left the room for a moment and came back with a couple of pills and a glass of water.

"I know what would help even more," he said. He led me into his bedroom and had me lie down on a towel on the bed.

Aha! I thought. This is exactly where I wanted to wind up tonight.

I hadn't slept with a man since well before my divorce, but I'd thought about it a lot. Toward the end of the marriage, the sex had gotten boring and perfunctory. It might seem childish or vain, but I felt like I had something to prove. The next time I had sex, I wanted to blow the guy's mind. I'd be wild and uninhibited and completely sexy. It was going to be great.

I was lying on my stomach on Phillip's bed when he started rubbing my shoulders. He had very good hands, they seemed to be reaching in between my muscles and pressing the ache out. It hurt a bit where he rubbed, but it was a good hurt. I reached down and pulled my shirt off. I wasn't wearing a bra. He probably didn't get to see anything as I had my back to him and I immediately laid back down again. That should give Phillip something to think about, While he couldn't really see anything, he knew I was lying there topless on his bed while he massaged and caressed me.

I'm such a tease, I thought. I knew it was affecting him, too because when he'd lean over me I'd occasionally feel his erection brush against my ass. After warming it in his hands a bit, he started rubbing some lotion onto my sore back muscles. I moaned appreciatively.

Phillip's touch felt absolutely heavenly. I was aroused at least as much as he was.

I planned to roll over and let Phillip look at me. I didn't have really huge breasts, but they were taut and firm, and at that moment my nipples were in danger of punching holes in his bedspread. Then, when he'd almost gotten over his surprise seeing me topless, I'd reach behind his head and pull him into a deep, sensual kiss. Then I'd explore his body with my hands and mouth until he couldn't take it any more. I'd drive him insane.

If Phillip is even half as good with his tongue as he is with his hands, I thought, then this would really be the start of something wonderful.

The massage was much more sensual than sexual, but I could tell that Phillip would know where and how to touch me in just the right places. I wondered if I should give him a blowjob, or just pounce on his dick. I was so wet, I didn't need any foreplay. I could take him quickly, then take my time arousing him for another round. I would be just the sexiest woman he'd ever seen.

That's about when I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes to the morning light sneaking through the cracks in the blinds.

Suddenly it hit me. I'd fallen asleep — even worse than that, I'd drooled on Phillip's pillowcase. Yep, I was just the sexiest woman he'd ever seen.

Still, it was nice and cozy. Phillip must have thrown a sheet over us. Sometime during the night, he must have scooted over until he was spooning against my back. He'd thrown an arm over me, his large hand was pressing against my belly, pulling me to him. He wasn't wearing a shirt. His shoulders looked rather nice. I peeked under the sheet and saw that he was wearing a pair of boxers. I was still wearing my shorts from yesterday.

Slowly, carefully, I unsnapped and wriggled out of my shorts and panties, trying not to wake him. My arms and shoulders twinged in pain from all the paddling yesterday. I had more important things in mind, so I ignored my protesting shoulders. Then I turned around and started kissing Phillip's neck and chest. He moaned incoherently as I licked and lightly nibbled on his nipples.

I doubt if he was completely awake when I started, but he began responding, kissing me back, rubbing his hands down my back and sides. He kissed up and down my neck, causing me to arch my back and moan. I pulled his boxers down and he kicked them off.

Pulling him to me, I reached down and guided him into me. "Oh, Phillip," I gasped as he filled me.

It didn't take long until he stiffened, groaned, and thrust inside me. I could feel spurt after spurt. Phillip lay there with his head on my shoulder, breathing hard. He was very tense, not relaxed as I'd expect after what was undoubtedly his first non-self-induced orgasm in years.

He slid off and rolled away from me. He was clearly upset.

"Phillip?"

"I'm so sorry, Gail. I don't mean to be such an idiot. I know I'm not being rational; I know that Carol would want me to enjoy my life. Hell, I'll bet that she'd even like you. I know all that, I really do. But I still feel horrible."

"Guilty?"

He snorted, "That seems to be my main emotion. I know it's dumb, but for the first year or so, I even felt guilty for being alive while they're not. And, well... "

"What?"

"Well, it wasn't very good for you. Too fast, you know..."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "You haven't had sex for years."

"How could you know that?" he said.

"I don't know it, but I'd bet quite a bit that's the case. It took you minutes before you could even hand me Carol's old flotation vest."

"What makes you think it was hers?"

"Okay, it wasn't. It's just a piece of nylon and foam that you're emotionally attached to. You must be one of those guys with a flotation fetish."

Phillip chuckled. "You're making it very hard for me to wallow in my guilt, you know."

"I don't suppose there's anything we can do to stop you from feeling guilty," I said in my best seductive voice, "so maybe we should work on doing something that's actually worth feeling guilty about..."

His chuckles turned into low moans as I kissed my way down his chest and stomach. I took his, already-erect, cock into my mouth and slid down it while I rubbed my tongue along the underside. I only got to do that a couple of times before I found myself pulled up to the top of the bed. Phillip kissed me passionately and slid his dick back inside me. There was none of the frantic thrusts and quick explosion like last time. Phillip was stroking deeply and confidently into me.

Even though I'd tried to be understanding, I had been frustrated by the quick ejaculation. This was exactly what I needed. When he bottomed out, he ground against my clitoris sending sparks upward. His dick seemed to rub just the right places. I'd been nice, but I had wondered if he might be one of those inept, clueless guys. Nope, he certainly knew what he was doing. As his dick made me gasp, he nibbled and licked my neck and ears making me moan.

I felt the pressure, building, moving outward until it rolled over me as I lost control. I gasped and held him as tightly as I could. I think I bit his shoulder. It was too much for me.

I was surprised that Phillip seemed to be really in tune with me. After an amazingly strong orgasm, I collapsed. He hadn't come again, but he stopped too. He'd somehow figured out that I was really sensitive after that huge climax. He pulled out of me and gently began a much more sensual massage than the one the night before. In addition to his strong, sensitive hands, he used his mouth and tongue to nip and kiss.

I worried that I'd fall asleep on him again, but this time it wasn't a relaxing massage, it was completely erotic. He started at my feet, nibbling, licking, and rubbing. He slowly worked his way up my legs, finding sensitive areas that made me gasp and shudder. I spread my legs, giving him easy access as I mentally urged him to hurry up and reach my clit with his tongue. I moaned with disappointment when he skipped over my pussy and started on my shoulders.

I almost laughed between my moans as I had the oddest thought; I thought about Thelonious Monk. Phillip caressed me the way Thelonious Monk played piano, striking two discordant keys that made the listener think of the note in the middle that Monk didn't play. Phillip kissed and rubbed along my collarbone down my sides and upper arms, and under my breasts in a way that made my nipples ache in a way that anticipated him caressing them.

Part of me wanted to shake him and ask him why he didn't know that foreplay took place before intercourse. He was hard, I was wet, he needed to stick it in me and fuck me hard. The part of me that had control over my mouth was too busy gasping and whispering his name between sighs.

Someone else had control over my body. When Phillip finally reached my nipples, I realized that as he was suckling and teasing them, I had my legs wrapped tightly around his torso while I was running my hands through his hair and rubbing his back. My mind fractured as I held him to my breasts and wanted him to stay there forever while simultaneously wanting him to fuck me right away.

He kissed his way down my stomach as I arched my back. And finally, finally, he plunged his tongue onto my pussy. I thought the first orgasm was strong, but second one drove me out of my mind. Maybe even literally out of my mind, because it seemed like one moment I had both fists wrapped in his hair as he assaulted my clit. Every muscle in my body was rigid with tension as the climax started to take control of me. The next thing I remember, I found myself riding another orgasm with my legs on Phillip's shoulders as he pounded into me. I heard my voice screaming, "Fuck me, Phillip! FUCK me FUUUCK MEEE!"

I'd hardly come down from my climax when Phillip groaned and I felt his cock pulse inside me. That pushed me over the edge again into a climax that made my stomach muscles ache deliciously.

I held him and nuzzled him until he fell asleep in my arms. I felt so content and at peace that I didn't want to move, didn't want to sleep, didn't want anything to change.

I fell asleep anyway.

My bladder woke me a couple of hours later. I could tell by the light streaming through the windows, that it wasn't early morning anymore, but closer to noon. I eased out of the bed as slowly as I could and crept quietly into the bathroom. After a much needed pee, I took a fast shower.

This is a fine day to spend in bed, I thought. So I tiptoed into the kitchen and made the quickest, quietest platter of food I could find. Some apples, grapes, a couple of sandwiches, and two big glasses of juice. I crept back into the bedroom and was pleased to see that Phillip was still asleep. Good, now I can wake him myself.

My clever seduction the night before hadn't worked out quite the way I'd intended. While we had some really astounding sex, I still wanted to rid myself of the boring prude my ex-husband complained about and amaze Phillip with my wanton sexiness. I thought that waking him up with a blowjob would do the job nicely.

I pulled the sheet covering him very slowly until he was naked beneath me. He grumbled a little in his sleep, but didn't wake up. I bent over his flaccid penis and began soft little kitten licks to try to get him erect before he was awake. I didn't get the reaction I was expecting. Phillip muttered something incomprehensible, rolled over, and smacked the snooze button on the alarm clock on the table next to his bed.