Footprints in the Sand 1

Footprints in the Sand 1.

by Len Morgan

The moment I set eyes on her I was smitten!  It was pure unadulterated lust.  If I could have, I would have stripped her naked and ravished her on the spot, her eyes told me the feeling was mutual.

"This is the girl I intend to marry," said Clive, my brother. 

She offered me her hand, "I'm Valery McDonald," she said looking deep into my eyes.

"Hi, I'm Charlie Kane," I said.  

Now I want you to know that I do love my brother, so while she went to avail herself of the facilities I told him that she would not make good wife material.

"She is not the girl for you Clive, so don't get your hopes up."

He took it badly and called me a lot of unkind names.  finally, he stormed out slamming the door behind him. 

I watched from the window of the family seafront chalet, as he stomped off down the beach, leaving deep footprints in the sand.

 He was out of sight when her immaculately manicured hand came to rest beside mine on the windowsill.  I carefully placed my hand over hers and turned.  With trembling breath, I drew her to me.  Her eyes sparkled with desire; I noted fresh lip gloss and perfume had been applied. Her body was firm and warm, responsive to my embrace.  We kissed, not as friends, but as demanding sensual creatures driven by an insatiable hunger.  Our lips met, tongues fenced as we frantically struggled to divest ourselves of encumbering clothes, while still maintaining close physical contact.  I looked deep into those dark sienna eyes, as I undid her bra, cupping her petite breasts in my hands.  I gazed in admiration at her lean naked bronze body.  I nibbled her hard dark nipples, she moaned and planted her knee between my legs, tantalisingly massaging my inner thighs.  We had sex.

 Hunger slaked we showered and dressed in silence.  It had been good; so we exchanged numbers and promised to meet again.  We dallied, drank coffee and talked, she told me that Clive was a mistake she wouldn't be making again. Finally, she left and I waited alone for his return.  I sat in the dark sad at the way the day had turned out for him.  I wanted to hug him and tell him I love him and why I had been so sure.

Life has a way of changing us all in odd ways that we can never fathom. Life is a cynic, a comic, a mimic, a purveyor of sorrow.  It makes friends of foes and enemies of friends.  One certainty in life is uncertainty, the other is death.

 When next I gazed out the window some hours later, all the footprints had been washed away by the tide but Clive had still not returned.  So, before leaving, I placed a carefully worded note in a prominent position, tactfully explaining all; as any concerned big sister would do.

© Copywrite Len Morgan