PRISMATIST

A visit to a public beach in Calabria by the author leads

to witnessing a woman's encounter with the god of the sea

 

Today on a gorgeous beach set between two ancient rocky outcroppings on the western coast of Calabria in Italy, I saw a woman fuck the Tyrrhenean Sea.

 

Lithe, of average height, maybe in her early forties, she strode lightly down the narrow beach to the water’s edge. Her sparkly, multicolored, strapless top splintered the southern Italian sunlight into prismatic specks of rainbows. 

 

She stepped into the water only up to the tops of her feet. It was warm and it pleased her. She ventured in another tiny step, paused, and then advanced up to her ankles. She bent down and with her cupped hands borrowed some of the sea to splash onto her shoulders. She shuddered as the water snatched away the heat on her sun-drenched skin. Then she splashed herself again.

 

She walked in to the edge of the surf and in a delicately athletic motion, without using her hands or her arms, she softly sat herself down in the water facing the azure horizon. She dowsed herself with the sea, which brought her an ever fresh supply of body cooling blueness.

 

The surf broke all around her. She opened her legs to the sea and the surf reached up and caressed around and under the small black triangle of fabric which barely covered her intimate regions. The surf sought her out again and again retreating via the creases at the tops of her thighs. 

 

With the tide coming in, the surf now broke directly onto the tiny black triangle and rushed over her entire body. She leaned back onto her elbows and the surf danced up over her head soaking her stylishly dyed blond hair. She threw her head back and her hair stretched out behind her, tossing beads of water toward the beach.

 

The rhythmic pulse of the surf grew stronger as the waves broke over her again and again. Her elbows gave way and she fell onto her back. The surf struck her black triangle and swirled around and around her multi-colored top. Her body arched out of the sea and her head flew back. She steadied herself with her arms. The surf continued its relentless approach and retreat. Her body stiffened and stretched, fell back into the water and then arched up once more, and then again. She collapsed into the water, covered momentarily from toe to head.

 

She sat up, her soft, relaxed muscles hardly able to lift her out of the water. She gently wiped the salt water from her eyes. For a long time she stared dreamily, then intently, at the sea.

 

She didn’t move until her tall, well-built male companion strode into the water holding a smartphone in his right hand. He spoke something to her. Her reverie broken, she looked up at him without responding. He took a few steps further into the water, moved in front of her and aimed his smartphone camera at her. As she looked up at him, her face adorned with a lovely smile, she gently crossed her left leg over her right, discretely covering her black triangle, as if to say, “This one wasn’t for you. This one was for Neptune.”

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-THE END -