Summer Romance Never Forgotten #06

With his heart beating louder and his pulse racing faster, he quickened his step to catch up to her before someone else did. Even at this early hour of the morning, the beach was filled with lecherous, old men and horny, young men. Yet, he didn't want to walk too fast that he'd be out of breath and sweating when he reached her. As if he was Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke or Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, he wanted to play it cool. He wanted to seem aloof and detached. He didn't want her to know that he knew that she was beautiful. Wanting to act disinterested even though he was very interested in knowing who she was and who she could be in his life, as if guided by the hand of fate, he wanted their first meeting to appear serendipitous.

He needed to come up with a line but not just any line. He needed the perfect line. He needed to say something special. He needed to do something unforgettable. For him to get and maintain her attention, he needed to say to her what she had never heard anyone say before. Not only so much as what he should say but also how he should say it was as important too. His first impression may be his only impression and his last impression to make her notice him. The only chance he might have, he needed her to notice him.

* * * * *

Remembering that first time meeting her, never thinking he'd ever feel this way, now he wished that she had not responded to him. He wished she had ignored him. With him knowing what it felt like to hold her, to kiss her, and to make love to her, he wished he had never experienced the pure pleasure and the lustful love of her.

Hard to believe but true, he wished she had not invited him home. He wished their first interaction had ended after a minute while walking the beach. She would have saved him from forty years of sadness and sexual frustration. She would have saved him from a broken heart. She would have freed him to love Lorraine in the way she wanted, needed, and deserved to be loved. Then he thought of what Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all." Always believing that before, in the lovesick way she still felt after four decades, he surely didn't believe that now.

In the way that too many women are quick to judge men by their covers and/or by their first lines, how does a man meet a beautiful woman without seeming phony? How does a man greet a beautiful woman without her thinking that he only wants her because she's beautiful and he only wants her for sex? In the way he already felt about her without even seeing her up close and without even talking to her, just as he knew she'd be right for him, he knew she'd see right through him. Only, she didn't see right through him or maybe she did. Instead of rejecting him, she invited him home.

He couldn't believe it. Not only did she notice him but she invited him home. Maybe she just wanted to talk to him in private. Maybe she just wanted to show him her house. Maybe she was just as smitten with him as he was with her. Maybe she wanted him to give her hot sex. Only, knowing better than expecting someone like her to give someone like him sex, maybe she was just lonely and enjoyed talking to him.

Having stumbled over women not as good looking as her and being rejected by women who weren't nearly as beautiful as she was, no doubt, someone who looked like her would never want someone who looked like him. It was just a fluke that she kissed him and had sex with him that fateful day. Not that he was homely, disfigured, or deformed but, definitely he was no movie star, he was no Robert Conrad, James Garner, or Lee Majors.

With him lacking the self-confidence that he needed to win her heart, he didn't stand a chance with her. Yet with him alone with her on a fairly deserted beach, he may have a better chance of winning her heart than if he was in a bar loaded with other men. With nothing better to do, and with the saying of nothing ventured, nothing gained in mind, it was worth a try to strike up a conversation with her. If nothing else, he'd take the sound of her voice to bed with him. If nothing else, maybe she'd tell him her name and later than night, he could masturbate while saying her name over and again. If nothing else, while imagining her naked, and having sex with her naked body, he could imagine that his hand is her hand.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, not knowing how to act when in the presence of a beautiful woman, he suddenly became not only tongue-tied but also brain dead. Dumbstruck, he couldn't think of anything to say. As if meeting a runway model or a Playboy Bunny, with him always so horny, he'd be unable to stop himself from staring at her or saying the wrong thing and ruining everything before it even started. Yet, unlike meeting a girl in a bar, with her not seeing him approaching, with the cool ocean breeze cooling him, and with the sound of the ocean soothing him, he had time to think of something compelling to say but what? What could he possibly say to her that would turn her head and make her remember him?

'You remind me of one of Homer's sirens in the Odyssey,' he thought of saying. 'Nah, that's dumb. What if she doesn't know what a siren is? What if she's never read Homer's Odyssey? What if she thinks he's insulting her? What if she thinks he's being smug by showing off his college education?'

Maybe he should just say, "Hi."

Only, wanting to say something more than just that, something that would impress her enough to not only notice him but also remember him, he tried to think of a sincere opening line, a line that's fresh and has never been used. But what? What can he possibly say to her that hasn't been said before by some better looking hunk of a guy?

Getting closer and more nervous now, he was nearly close enough to smell her perfume, if she was wearing any but she wasn't, and for her to hear his heart beating in his chest. Unable to think of anything else to say, and about to give her his Homer Odyssey siren line, he thought of Erich Segal's Love Story. Sure, all women loved reading that book and watching the movie. He could quote her a line from that, but what? He racked his brain trying to think what the most famous quote was in that movie. Finally, he remembered.

"Love means never say you're sorry."

Only, sorry? Sorry for what? He didn't do anything. He wasn't sorry for anything. Sorry that he was bothering her? Sorry that he wasn't better looking or rich? He had no idea what the Hell else to say to her for her to notice him and remember him.

Distracted by her beauty and by her nearly naked, bikini clad body, he couldn't think. He needed to say something that didn't sound cliché, lame, or stupid. He needed to say something for her to give him her phone number. He needed to say something that would make her want to go out on a date with him.

The closer he walked to her the better she looked. He thought all of the beautiful women who lived in California or New York but not in Boston and certainly not in Revere. With her focused on collecting her seashells, she never turned her beautiful head to look his way.

The deep, hot sand didn't announce his approach in the way that the sidewalk or a wooden floor would. Besides, trying his best to come up with something in a hurry, he'd rather surprise her with something witty to say for her to remember him. Rejecting all of his lines that came to his mind as cliché and/or phony, he needed to come up with something uniquely different to get her attention. Obviously someone who looked like her must have men hitting on her all the time. She must have heard every line under the sun. He needed to say something very special and memorable to someone like her.

Closer and closer he walked until he walked close enough to appreciate more of her bikini clad body. A gross understatement, she had a nice ass. Better than nice, she had the perfect ass. Definitely, she had the best ass he's ever seen that wasn't a glossy photo in a men's magazine.

As if each cheek was beating for him as she walked, she had a perfect heart shaped ass. Syncopated in its rhythmic movement, with him more of a breast man that he was an ass man, he couldn't stop staring at round, shapely her ass. Suddenly, rejecting her breasts in favor of her ass, he became an ass man until he noticed her round, full breasts when she turned to the side.

'Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking and when she passes, I smile, but she doesn't see. She just doesn't see. No, she just doesn't...see me,' silently he sang the Girl from Ipanema song to himself while hoping that she'd notice him.

Walking closer and closer, he came right up behind her.

'Wow! Oh, my God. I can't believe how beautiful she is, even more beautiful the closer I walk'

Just when he was about to walk beside her, just when he was about to deliver his line from Homer's Odyssey or Segal's Love Story, he still hadn't decided which, she stopped short to bend at the waist to pick up a seashell. Rather than humping her ass with his hips, and grab her ass to break his fall, he threw himself on the sand beside her.

"Shit, sorry," he said nearly crashing into her. "Sorry," he said again this time with a laugh. "Actually love means never having to say you're sorry."

She laughed too.

"You have no reason to apologize to me," she said with a laugh.

She had an awesome voice, a voice better than he expected her to have. Reminiscent of Ava Gardner's voice, her voice was so feminine, so full of life, and so sexy.

"I, um, was looking out at the water, while wondering, um about Homer and his sirens, you know, um, from the Odyssey."

Shit came out all wrong. He sounded like an idiot.

"The Odyssey? Someone's a romantic. Most men don't read Homer," she said with another laugh. "Hi," she said laughing at him while offering him a hand up. She gave him a look that melted his soul. "You're right though, love does mean never having to say you're sorry."

Good thing he was already down in the sand because she gave him a look that made him weak kneed.

'Huh? What did she just say? She just quoted him.'

He took her hand that was so soft and yet so strong. She helped pull him up to a standing position. Talk about first impressions, maybe she'll never forget that he literally fell for her.

"I loved that book," he said. "I'm not ashamed to say that I cried in the movie when Ali McGraw died and Ryan O'Neal lost his one true love."

She laughed when he stood beside her and brushed the sand from his clothes. Then, she laughed again while staring at him. She noticed him. He couldn't believe she was staring at him in the way he had been staring at her. Her stare made him feel special, until she said what she said next.

"You remind me of Buster Keaton on Candid Camera," she said. "He did a lot of those prat falls. He was really funny and you are too."

'Funny? Buster Keaton? That old guy? Gee, thanks a lot,' he said to himself.

Yet, better that she noticed him than not. He'll take that as a compliment. If he couldn't get her with his looks or with his line, he was happy to get her with his humor. As long as he got her, he really didn't care how he got her.

* * * * *

Forty years later, Robert sat on the bench that overlooked the length of the beach where he first saw her while thinking of Emma. Forty years ago today, on this very day, he saw her for the first time and for the last time. Then, as if he was seeing things, as if he was imagining her as he remembered her, there in the distance was a tall, striking, young woman with long, blue black hair and wearing a blue bikini.

'Oh, my God. No way!' His heart was beating out of his chest. 'Fuck me! That can't be her but it looks just like her. There's just no way that's her. How could she look the same forty years later? Maybe she's a witch who haunts this section of the beach. Maybe I imagined the whole thing as I'm imagining it all now. Only, I don't care if it's my imagination or if she's a witch, it's Emma. I'm seeing Emma again.'

Then, the woman waved to him. He couldn't believe she waved to him but how could she recognize him forty years later. He's aged so much in forty years. More importantly and unbelievably, how could she look the same forty years later? Just as he was about to return her wave, he heard a voice behind him.

"You're funny. You make me laugh. You remind me of Buster Keaton," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said turning to address the voice behind him. "Pardon?" Filled with excitement and disbelief, as if he was seeing things before and hearing things now, he turned completely around to the voice that emanated from behind him.

She was a tall, beautiful, and mature woman with blue black hair. She had that smile that he'd recognize anywhere and those eyes that he'd never forget and that still haunt him whenever he thinks of her. Emma stood behind him beaming.

"Love means never having to say sorry," she said.

To be continued...

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