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This is a sweet and sexy story of two lonely strangers, one age 25 and one 40, who overcome a series of miscues and misunderstandings to become friends on a crowded beach. Tender feelings lead to an impetuous public kiss, which leads to much more intense and deliberate exchanges behind closed doors . . .
Jen was depressed. She had straightened the kitchen after making coffee, toast and a poached egg, and now had nothing to do. For another six weeks she couldn’t work, couldn’t drive, could only do light exercise, etc. Couldn’t have fun, to put it plainly, and more important, couldn’t make any money, either.
Plus, she looked like hell, and couldn’t stand to see in the mirror the complete disaster that was her hair after the accident and injury. She told herself for the zillionth time, “Jen girl, you’re lucky to be alive, you should count your blessings,” but couldn’t help finishing the refrain out loud with a sarcastic, “blah blah, yadda yadda.”
“Alright, alright,” she told herself — she was lucky to be alive. She still couldn’t believe how minor the accident seemed at the time. Skating with friends on a visit out east, she had fallen and hit her head. She wasn’t even doing anything fancy — no rails or jumps, none of her usual gonzo skateboard stuff that turned heads when being done by a cute 25-year-old girl.
Nope, she’d just been cruising along on a smooth, flat piece of sidewalk, and just like that she was on her back and seeing stars. Except she didn’t. See stars, that is. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. She didn’t pass out, wasn’t cut, nothing. Just a nasty bump on the head.
Only an hour later did she realize that something was not right. She told her friends she should probably go to the emergency room, and someone took her right over, but she didn’t stay. Jen had no insurance, and left when she found out how much it was going to cost.
Big mistake, as it turned out. That was the last thing she remembered until almost three weeks later. They told her that she had semi-passed out, and an ambulance had taken her to the hospital, and surgery. It still gave her the willies to think about the procedures they told her had been done to relieve pressure from a — gulp – swollen brain.
Jen had no memory of any of it, but that’s when they butchered her hair. Her beautiful long, dark hair that was now in some east coast landfill, she imagined, and she hated the way she looked. “You’re lucky to be alive,” she told herself again — yeah, yeah.
After the — gulp – pressure-relieving thing, they decided to — gulp – put her in an artificial coma to “turn off her brain” so it could heal. And then she caught pneumonia, while in the coma. She was told that it was touch-and-go for almost a week, but for all she remembered it might have happened to another person.
Her main regret — other than having her entire life put on hold just when things were really picking up, career-wise — was how horrible it must have been for her mom during those days. Jen choked up at the thought, just like she always did. Her mom had rushed east when she got the news, and sat by her bedside the whole time.
Jen sighed, and tried to put it all out of her mind — it was too depressing. She decided to go to the beach. It was about the only fun thing she could do, if you could call it that with no swimming, no volleyball, none of the usual active things that she loved to do. Still, it was better than nothing, and fortunately it was just a 10 minute ride on the bus that passed near her L.A. apartment. She gathered her stuff together and headed down to the bus stop a block away.
As she approached the stop Jen carefully checked out the other people waiting. Her neighborhood wasn’t bad, but with public transportation you had to be careful, and she’d walked right on by a few times because she didn’t like the look of some of the people waiting.
It looked OK this time, though: No one scary, and one good looking lady somewhat older than herself, dressed nicely too, in white capri-pants and a casual, pink short-sleeve blouse. Jen admired her thick, chestnut-colored hair. Long and thick, she though jealously. The woman was carrying a large fiber beach-bag — Jen suspected that she had the same destination as herself. Jen set down her own bag-o-gear and waited.
Taking the bus reminded her once again of her inability to drive, which made her angry and depressed all over again. Can’t drive? in L.A.? Why not can’t breathe or can’t eat, while they’re at it? She had the same thought every time she came down to the bus stop, and like all the other times she rolled her eyes at the non sequitor — even when she could drive taking this bus was the best way to get to the beach, because it was impossible to park there. It was just the “principle” of the thing.
She looked around. Was that woman staring at her? She was! The stranger noticed that Jen had caught her eye, and quickly looked away. “Oh great,” bahis firmaları Jen thought, “I look like such a freak with this hair that the ‘normal people’ stare at me at bus stops. If I had been here first she probably would have walked past.” Jen’s melancholy came roaring back, and she almost decided to go home, but realized that would be stupid. She waited.
“She’s doing it again!” Jen exclaimed to herself a couple minutes later. Her well-tuned city-girl survival habits hadn’t disappeared with the accident. She knew that she was a good looking, sexy young woman — despite looking like a freak at the moment with this obscene “haircut” — and when out and about it was automatic to regularly scan her surroundings for two-legged predators. She had just done so, and “caught” that woman staring at her again. “Alright, that’s just rude,” she thought, “I may look like a crazy person who forgot their meds, but haven’t started drooling and talking to myself yet.”
Her irritation was cut short by the sound of a diesel engine. “Thank goodness,” she thought – the bus had come around a corner and was slowing to a stop. Jen could see it was nearly empty so she hung back, making sure the woman got on first. When it was her turn she took a seat as far away from the rude stranger as possible.
Ten minutes later the bus slowed to unload at the stop near the beach. Jen had seen the woman gathering her stuff — she was going to the beach — and got up early to make sure she was the first one out the door. When it opened Jen was off like a rocket. Partly to get away from that woman, and partly to waste no time finding a good spot. She had slept late — why not when she couldn’t work, couldn’t drive, couldn’t have fun – and the closer it got to noon the more crowded the place became. It would already be pretty packed on such a nice day, but Jen knew there’s still be some space.
Jen found a spot and efficiently ran thorough a practiced routine of setting up, unobtrusively removing her long gauzy peasant skirt and tee shirt in a way that didn’t look like a strip-tease with the tiny bikini she wore underneath, spreading out her towel, putting on some sunscreen, etc.
She was starting to relax and settle in for some peaceful people-watching when — damn it! — there was that woman, crossing the sand, coming in her direction, looking around for spot. She was getting close, but hadn’t yet noticed the girl from the bus stop. Jen looked away, and thought about relocating, but this was a good spot and — damn it! — she didn’t want to move. Maybe the woman would keep going.
Nope. Jen groaned inwardly. Sure enough the woman was setting up not more than 20 feet away. She had spread out her towel and was taking off her own slacks and blouse to reveal a more conservative two-piece than the one Jen wore, appropriate for a woman closer to 40 than 30.
Not that she couldn’t get away with an itsy-bitsy number, Jen couldn’t help thinking. In addition to a having a very attractive face — “handsome” was the word that came to mind but she was better than that – the woman had a fantastic body: A wide pelvis and firm butt, just like Jen herself, but with much larger breasts than her own B-cups.
Jen was not a lesbian, but she still loved to check out and admire other chicks, as well as cute boys. Her attention usually was drawn to members of either sex closer to her own age, but she would have noticed this one even without the unfortunate circumstances.
Oh hell! – the woman “caught” Jen staring, turning the tables from the bus stop. The stranger froze, obviously confused at what to do about the second accidental meeting. Damn it! again — she was approaching.
“Hello! I’m Nicole. I’m sorry I was staring at you earlier.”
Jen was embarrassed at being “busted” for staring herself, and extremely uncomfortable at having to meet the woman who thinks she looks like a freak. She responded minimally with a cool, “Hello.”
Nicole stood there for a moment, also uncomfortable and unsure. The girl’s underwhelmed response made her think that she had offended somehow, but she couldn’t understand why. OK, so she’d been staring — the girl was a knock-out, and would turn heads wherever she went. She mentally shrugged and decided to just be completely frank.
“I don’t usually stare at strangers. I’ll be honest – I could hardly take my eyes off you because you may be the beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“What?” Jen thought. “Is she taunting me?” The woman seemed sincere, and her manner was not that of a deliberately cruel person, even to freaks who looked like a crazy person. The woman was looking uncomfortable, and Jen realized that now she was being rude. She forced herself to respond, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you.”
Nicole realized that somehow her compliment had miscarried. She pressed forward. “I’m sorry, I also don’t usually go around telling young women how beautiful they are either – I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just — you’re kaçak iddaa not just beautiful, there’s something special about you. Some kind of spark or glow. And something else – you seem sad, which just doesn’t seem right in someone so exceptional in other ways.”
Jen was flabbergasted. OK, she wasn’t one for false modesty — she knew she was a hottie when she was at her best, but that hardly described her current state. Could it be that she wasn’t as much a basket case as she thought? Although skeptical she couldn’t help but feel a little better at the thought. Again she mumbled a response, to both the compliment and the sadness. “Thank you again. No, it’s nothing important.”
“I keep apologizing — I’m sorry if this is embarrassing. You know, what I said about being beautiful and being sad not going together, of course that’s just a superficial notion. Beautiful people have bad things happen to them just as much as anyone else. It’s kind of unfair when everyone expects them to always be on top of the world just because of their good looks.”
“Wow!” Jen thought — that’s pretty insightful. Not that she went around thinking of herself as “beautiful” — “not bad” is how she thought of her face, and “pretty good” when the whole package was considered. But she knew what the woman meant, which was true enough even if she didn’t think it quite applied to herself. Plus, she was pretty sure now that the woman was sincere.
And sympathetic, too. Jen was surprised at how much better she felt as a result of both the compliments and the sympathy. Her mental state must have been even worse than she thought, and she decided to open up a bit.
“And I keep thanking you for the compliments – thank you again. I can’t imagine how you think I’m beautiful though – I was in a bad accident and in the hospital they did a complete botch-job on my hair.”
“Ahh, so that’s it. A head injury?”
“Yeah. Skateboarding. I was in a coma. They told me I almost died. Now I can’t work and can’t drive and I look – horrible.”
Nicole smiled in a way that was caring, not callous. “You’re wrong – you don’t look horrible. If you had any idea . . .” she paused and looked at Jen appraisingly. When she spoke again there’s a little catch in her throat. “Believe me – you are magnificent. I really am not the kind of person who goes around staring at strangers and giving them false compliments. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever done so. But you really are special.”
Nicole stopped, and changed course. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about your accident. That must be terrifying to wake up from a coma like that, not knowing what happened, and afterwards all the uncertainly about whether you’re really OK. My brother had something similar when I was a teenager – a motorcycle accident – so I know a little about it. You poor darling – all this just happened recently?”
Warming to the sympathy and genuineness, Jen started going into the story. She stopped, remembering that Nicole hadn’t finished up setting up her towel and beach gear, and suddenly realized that she would love to hang out with this woman.
“Nicole, would you like to bring your stuff over and sit together?”
Nicole’s beaming smile eliminated any remaining doubt about whether she was somehow “messing” with Jen. “I’d love to, thank you. You can tell me all about your accident, and more. I’ll bet we’re neighbors too, if you live near that bus stop.”
They were neighbors, with apartments in buildings just two blocks from each other. Jen told Nicole all about her accident, and about her life and unusual career in a small corner of the entertainment industry — a career now on hold due to the accident. In turn, Nicole described her life and work — divorced, no kids, an entrepreneur who started her own growing business, one that left her precious little time for days at the beach or anything else, for that matter. Jen was impressed at Nicole’s courage and dedication.
They talked about other things, and played a bit of “do you know.” It turned out that both were fairly new to their almost too-expensive neighborhood, and in addition to being half-a-generation apart in age, did not have any mutual acquaintances — hardly an unusual phenomenon in dynamic L.A., filled with people coming-and-going.
Notwithstanding the age difference the two women shared an immediate and strong rapport, and they also had something in common: As the founder and CEO of a growing business, Nicole was subject to constant demands from staff and customers, a balancing act that was exhausting, and somewhat isolating. As an especially vibrant personality in a small corner of the entertainment industry — she had a minor role as a “neighbor’s slutty daughter” in a soap opera, and also was learning to operate cameras for the studio – Jen also experienced the kind of loneliness that comes from everyone wanting a piece of her, and the uncertainty of having to choose when to say yes or no.
So both women were kaçak bahis excited and happy to be entering what gave every sign of being a potentially significant friendship. That wasn’t the only thing: Each also found the other very attractive. Neither was a lesbian, but both appreciated the appeal and excitement of girls doing things with each other. Sexually, that is. Each was aware that parts of their conversation had a flirtatious undercurrent, and neither found that unwelcome.
After more talk they fell into a companionable silence, sitting on their towels and both looking out to sea. Nicole turned her head and looked at Jen’s profile, marveling again at the girl’s beauty. Jen felt the gaze and turned, looking into Nicole’s eyes, smiling warmly.
Nicole experienced an emotional surge from the growing affection. Impulsively she raised her hand and placed it on Jen’s cheek, gently stroking the smooth, soft skin. Jen leaned into the caress and closed her eyes in pleasure. She opened them and again looked into Nicole’s eyes, this time invitingly. Nicole’s hand was still on Jen’s cheek, and slowly she leaned closer, until her face was just inches from Jen’s.
She paused, an inquiry in her eyes. The look Jen returned said, “Yes, do it.” Nicole did – she leaned in the rest of the way and placed a soft, chaste kiss on Jen’s lips.
For a moment the two women were lost in their own private world, forgetting that they were surrounded by thousands of people on a crowded L.A. beach.
Awareness returned, and the reaction of both was — irritated frustration. Why couldn’t this be happening on a remote, deserted beach? Neither women wanted to stop at that one kiss. Both would have loved nothing more than to just “make out” right then and there — one kiss was just a tease. Each realized that, notwithstanding L.A.’s tolerant attitudes on sexuality, acting impulsively would turn a special, private moment into a public spectacle.
Nicole, the practical businesswoman for whom a day free from the voracious demands of her career was a rare and precious luxury not to be wasted, decided to take charge. “Jen, would you like to come back to my apartment?”
Jen was feeling the same strong, swirling emotions that had driven Nicole to that first gentle caress, and wasn’t about to play coy. “Yes Nicole, I would like that very much.”
Nicole responded by gathering things into her beach bag. “Lets go.” Jen gathered up her own gear, both women put on their street clothes over their bathing suits, and in minutes they were picking their way through the bodies on the crowded beach, resisting the urge to hold hands as they walked. A short wait for the bus, and just half an hour after that first kiss Nicole was unlocking her front door and leading Jen into a neat, casually but comfortably furnished apartment.
As soon as the door closed behind them Nicole set down her beach bag, put her arms around Jen, and kissed her, warmly and gently. Jen dropped her own bag and eagerly returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around Nicole in turn and pulling her close.
The kiss was romantic, and she felt waves of strong emotion welling up from deep inside. She hated that “girl-crush” term, it sounded so patronizing and dismissive, but she supposed that it was a reasonable characterization of what she was feeling — such a glowing warmth and tenderness for her new friend that it almost brought a tear to her eye. Nicole felt the same thing, and the kiss became more passionate as these wonderful feelings welled up inside each.
With passion came awareness of how sexy it all was, too. Jen was thrilled by the feel of Nicole’s full breasts against her own. Her emotional response was being joined by a growing physical one. She placed her hands squarely upon Nicole’s butt cheeks, squeezed, and pulled the older woman’s pelvis in tight against her own.
Nicole felt it too, and adjusted her position slightly so that Jen’s pubic mound and her own were pressing against each other. Jen responded, coordinating her movements so that gentle motions paid the most sensation dividends, rather than robust grinding. The thermometer on the wall hadn’t budged since the women entered the apartment, but the temperature was rising quickly.
Suddenly, Nicole broke the kiss, and the body-to-body contact. She took a deep breath, and smiled warmly at Jen. Jen smiled back — she understood: Nicole wanted to pace herself and make this last, drawing out every moment of the deliciously sexy and romantic experience.
“I want to take a shower,” Nicole said. “I feel grungy after that hot sun, and need to wash the sunscreen off.”
“OK,” Jen said.
“You too,” Nicole said.
Nicole took Jen’s hand and led her to a roomy bathroom as neat as the rest of the rest of the apartment. She spun around and pressed her body against Jen’s, pinning the girl against the vanity console, pausing for a quick kiss-break before advancing to more exotic pleasures. Jen responded, and the pair took turns using their tongues to mount gentle invasions of the other’s mouth, interspersed with loving “targeted” kisses upon the other’s lower lip.
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