10 comments/ 22617 views/ 4 favorites Along the Foamy Strand By: Lisa Summers I'll never leave you alone, I'll never leave just a memory. I'll never leave you alone in the garden Where nothing grows. – Harry Nilsson Amelia Thorn, 'Amy' to pretty much everyone except her daughter, looks across the Corian vanity top in the master bathroom, to the mirror fixed to the papered wall. The wall is patterned with small and large seashells, like an island beach arranged by an anal retentive decorator and then turned vertical, the pattern Sarah's choice when they first moved in. In the mirror, she idly gazes at her nude torso, considering the slight red glow of the skin above her breasts, and the slight itchiness she feels there, tiny red spots she thinks might just be signs of a moderate sun burn. Her breasts are modest in size, B cups, and unaffected by the dermal turmoil above them. They look even creamier than normal, due to the contrast with her reddened, exposed skin, and her pink nipples and areolae match the reddish glow of her upper chest. She's happy that her breasts are still quite proud and firm, but doesn't believe that is the most important concern in her world.The love of her family outweighs any minor issues of passing beauty. Sunburn is a new thing to her - she's now pretty much an indoor animal, her office job keeps her tied to a desk. She's trying to decide whether it might be better to let sunburned skin peel off on its own, or help it along. She thinks she might be in the help-it-along faction, as she's always been a tad impatient for most of her 34 years of life. She sees no reason to exclude overexposure to the sun from that general life view. She hopes that will be the toughest decision she faces in these last few days of vacation remaining to her. She inhales deeply, heaving her modest breasts upward , then, exhaling rapidly in exasperation, and her cute breasts move downward. Her nipples are small, but will grow when she's sexually excited. She sighs, and brushes her neatly manicured fingers through her short black hair. She thinks it looks like a birds nest, but it's a certainty that Sarah likes the look. That's good enough for Amy. She loves Sarah more than life, and almost as much as she loves Katy. The previous day, a Saturday, her small but cozy family - her wife Sarah, 30, and their small daughter Katy, just six years old, had gone on a beach outing to the Gulf of Mexico, at a tiny public beach in Port Lavaca, Texas. The beach day was typical for the area, with powdery, white sand, like refined sugar underfoot, gently lapping waves coming off the green water of the Gulf and speaking in small, murmuring voices as they lapped the shoreline, and a soft breeze blowing into shore at a steady pace, cooling the hot, sunny day, something like the experience of opening a refrigerator door after stirring a steamy pot of pasta, a brief respite from the heat, but appreciated nonetheless. "I'd better start wearing sun screen," Amy thinks. "The sun seems stronger than when I was a little girl." The thought of being a little girl again, sends her memory back to her life as part of a different family. She can remember pirouetting on the beach in New Jersey nearly nude, her long, glossy black hair tied in a ponytail, and whipping about recklessly, one of her first memories as a four-year old, giggling madly as her mother, Elizabeth (Beth to her friends), chased her and hugged her, once Amy let herself be caught. In the distance she could see her father looking on, trying to hold back a smile, but failing miserably, finally chuckling with love for his impetuous young daughter. The memory gives Amy a warm glow inside, to match her exterior glow, as she remembers her mother and father, both dead now for five years, victims of urban violence. Her mother and father, both long-tenured professors at nearby Towson University in Maryland, had been walking in downtown Baltimore on a cool, wet spring day, having just attended a Sunday seminar on "The Benefits of Long-Term Financial Planning." It was one of those scheduled meetings held at slightly seedy chain motels, that have tickets and 'limited seating', and seem as though they're exclusive to just you (and perhaps a friend), when in fact anybody at all can get in, even without a ticket, as long as they look as though they could afford the speaker's book. The book always coincidentally happens to be on sale in the back of the room, at a folding table watched over by the speaker's wife, who could probably tell us all something about 'Long Term Financial Planning', and why you don't really want to end up giving those kinds of seminars when you should already be retired somewhere in Arizona. Her father Michael, his newly purchased copy of the speaker's book in hand, had tried, perhaps foolishly, to come to the aid of a seemingly unconscious man lying on a sidewalk by the Baltimore street. The man was a drunken vagrant, and he was in the midst of delirium tremens, better known as 'the DTs'. Mistakenly seeing Amy's father as a nightmare out of some 50's 'B' sci-fi movie, the vagrant had abruptly knifed her father as he tried to pick the man up, thinking he was defending himself. The long, slightly rusted, blade of the man's knife severed her father's aorta expertly, though the assailant himself was only a drunken amateur at the art of breaking hearts. The police had come immediately, but as it turned out they were completely unable to help Michael Thorn, nor were they of much help a week later when her mother had died of a heart attack at the funeral of beloved husband and father Michael. The drunk's knife had mortally pierced two hearts, and done severe damage to Amy's - though, of course she had been nowhere near the scene. Becoming an orphan is never easy, no matter at what age it happens, and if it hadn't been for Sarah and Katy, Amy wondered if she, too, might not have succumbed to grief, as her mother did. The aging her mother went through in one week was startling, and taught Amy that, under the right (or rather, wrong), circumstances, even otherwise healthy people could find their life span abruptly cut short. Shaking her head slightly and blinking her blue eyes, as if to sift out the bad memories, while keeping the good, Amy returns to her musing on the present. She's taken a full week off from work, a vacation she thinks she richly deserves, as she's just been proclaimed Delco and Adams Associates' "Certified Public Accountant of the Month" for the Victoria, Texas metropolitan regional office. As people have often suspected, and I'm sure you will agree, the accounting business is riddled with tension. Certified public accountants rarely maintain their nerve and sanity for more than 40 or 50 years in the pressure cooker of adding numbers in the most advantageous ways for their clients. "Gosh," Amy had thought to herself, "There was that one accountant who had cracked under the unrelenting pressure of schmoozing clients, chatting up female comptrollers, and breakfasts with boards of directors, and massacred 3 tarpon on the deep sea fishing boat party the company had set up last year for the Gulf Coast office." Amy imagines that many varieties of fish still tell their spawn of the horrors of that day, as an object lesson. Of course, fishing wasn't really Amy's thing - she preferred to spend her time with Sarah and Katy. On this particular day of her vacation, the day after their beach visit, she had shopped for wood flooring for their sunroom, and had gathered color chips for the wall paint to show Sarah, to see if they might agree on a decorating scheme. She's musing over the humdrum nature of her life, and how she really couldn't imagine a better one, when Sarah walks over to Amy's comfy place on the love seat, holding a small glass of California chablis. Two thoughts occur to Amy in rapid succession: the first, that the wine is probably for her, since she drinks wine, and her lovely 30 year old partner favors Scotch. The second thought, hard on the heels of the first, is that Sarah probably wants something from her, and is commencing the 'butter-Amy-up' process. "Here, babe, you looked like you could use a nice glass of wine," Sarah says, with a smile, her beautifully white teeth flashing. Amy has already noticed that Sarah had chosen to wear her sheer blue halter top, which shows off the shape of her breasts nicely, and her shoulder-long ash blonde hair rests on it fetchingly. Her lips are newly refreshed with a particularly vibrant shade of rose lipstick, and shine alluringly, causing Amy's pulse to quicken slightly. Sarah's calves are smooth and pleasingly-shaped, and as her legs are demurely crossed, her long skirt pulls up slightly, exposing her tanned skin. Sarah's hips are broader than when they first met, her breasts are heavier and sagging just a little more. Sarah has gracefully accepted the inevitable weight gain after Katy's birth six years before, and she's shaped it to suit both herself and Amy. It's all part of quite a beautiful process to Amy, as they grow older together, looking forward to when they're both a couple of crotchety old dames, but still in love with each other. In any case, they know they have a long time together before they get to that point. "How was your day?" Amy says, looking into Sarah's sea-green eyes, though Sarah's blonde bangs partially hide them. Sarah's eyes still captivate Amy, even after being together for twelve years. Amy's hand idly caresses Sarah's cotton-covered thigh, the print pattern of her dress featuring small flowers of yellow and blue, her tanned calf extending down to a pair of Annie Devon sandals. "Oh, fine," Sarah says, swiveling her body slightly to more directly look into Amy's eyes, and to angle herself a little closer. Their legs touch, warmly and familiarly. "Katy was so cute." Sarah waits expectantly, part of their usual routine. Amy arches her right eyebrow. "What did she do?" Amy says patiently. Sometimes she feels as though she's losing touch with the pace of her stay-at-home partner, used as she is to the hectic office. As Sarah opens her mouth to tell her wife just that important news, Katy herself runs into the room, yelling "Mommy!" and leaps onto Amy's lap. With the timing of a practiced partner, Sarah smoothly takes Amy's glass, as Amy's arms go around their little daughter, hugging her fiercely. Amy throws Sarah a grateful look, just before she buries her face in the little girl's long brown hair, blowing noisily into the six year old's neck. Katy giggles uncontrollably, squirming on Amy's lap. "Mommy tells me that you were cute today, honey..." Amy says. Katy smiles broadly. "I listened to myself and I didn't know it was myself," Katy explains, her innocent blue eyes darting from Sarah back to Amy several times. Amy looks at Sarah questioningly. "She means she recorded herself on the MP3 player, and then didn't recognize her voice when she heard it through the speaker," Sarah explains. "Oh, my," Amy says. "Do you know why that is?" Amy asks the little girl. "Mommy says it's because I hear myself differently when I listen with my ears," Katy says. "Uh, okay," Amy replies, confused. "Well, what I said, Katy, is that your voice sounds different as you speak, because your ears hear it differently than if you're listening to it coming out of a speaker," Sarah reminds her. "Yeah," Katy says. "I didn't know it was me." "That IS funny, isn't it honey?" Amy says. "What did you say, that you didn't know was you?" "I love you, mommy," Katy says shyly. "I love you, too, baby, but what did you say?" Amy says, teasing, as Sarah, out of Katy's sight, smiles. "Mommy, 'I love you mommy'," Katy says, not getting the joke at first. "I know you do, baby, but what did you say?" Amy says again, then her smile gives the joke away. "Oh, mommy," Katy says, a look of pity on her face, haughtily dismissing the poor joke. Amy hugs the little girl, and kisses her again. Katy giggles, quickly forgiving Amy. Although Sarah is Katy's birth mother, Amy contributed the egg, and a med student friend the sperm to make the miracle that is Katy, and Sarah is the full time mom to the little girl. Katy calls them both 'Mommy', and everyone is very happy with the arrangements. The rest of the evening follows the normal routine, with Katy giggling at TIVO'ed cartoons from The Cartoon Channel, Yu-Gi-Oh! GX inexplicably being Katy's favorite. After her nightly bath, which Amy and Sarah take turns supervising, eventually Katy is nestled in her bed, fast asleep. Amy and Sarah are sitting together on the love seat once again. The TV drones on almost silently nearby, though neither woman watches as "The Ghost Whisperer" solves a decades-old unsolved murder. "Would you like another glass of chablis?" Sarah asks solicitously. Amy's antennae are up now. Sarah either has something she'd like Amy to do, or she's in the mood for an intimate evening. Amy knows her life partner well - she's definitely been here before. "Yes, I'd like that," Amy says slowly. Sarah throws her a smile as she gets up, then returning shortly with the glistening wine glass, with its pale golden contents, small beads of condensation already forming on the curved sides of the wine glass. The night is more humid than most, in spite of their air-conditioning running full blast. Watching Sarah's hips and bottom as she leaves, then returns, and the movement of her generous breasts, Amy feels those familiar sensations, the small electrical tingles centered on her clitoris, that Sarah can summon in her so easily. As Amy takes a sip, Sarah asks, "Is it cold enough?" Amy's spousal receptors are all aquiver now. She knows, with no hope or doubt, that Sarah has something major in mind. All the signs are there. The obligation-producing gift, the solicitude gambit. No hope at all, for Amy. She takes a quick, but deep, breath, then lets it out in a rush. "Yes, babe," she replies with a smile. "Just the way I like it." Since it appears inevitable to her that she'll be speared, and most likely in a fairly messy fashion, she decides to volunteer herself for whatever domestic horrors Sarah has in mind. "It's nice of you to do that," she says. There it is. She now lies quivering at her wife's feet, and the rest of the story is simply the reporting. "Amy, I was wondering..." Sarah throws out her bait, and it's clear that she, too, knows that the contest is already over. "What's that, babe?" Amy asks. Her hand nervously brushes her own leg under her twill Claiborne walking shorts. Sarah thrusts the domestic spear forward, making sure that her prey is firmly barbed. She doesn't want to lose it by careless retrieval, after all. "Katy told me this morning that she lost her 'Wonderland Barbie' watch on the beach. She thinks it was under the dock when we crossed over from the stretch of beach where that small amusement park is, to the other side where that young mother with the pink thong bikini was sitting. You know, the one that you noticed? I was really hoping you wouldn't mind looking, and..." Sarah paused. "...go look for it. What a great idea. Sarah, this IS my vacation," Amy finishes for her. She knows though, particularly with that 'young mother' reference, that it's really important to Katy, and thus to Sarah, that she find that particular watch, one so difficult to replace, since it was only sold at the Disney resorts in Florida and California. Sarah wouldn't resort to that one negative remark, unless she were worried that Amy might decline to help. "Please, Amy? Katy's going to be broken-hearted if you don't at least try." The Thorns had visited the Port Lavaca beach on the Gulf of Mexico the previous day, and after a full day of sun, surf, various animal and vegetable foods on sticks, a carousel with a tune Amy might never get out of her head and cheap junk from the boardwalk shops, Amy had thought the beach tour was finished for at least a month or two. Now, hearing that she'll have to head back, she girds herself for the trip. Not that it's all that tough, since they live 45 minutes away in Victoria, Texas, a modest-sized city in coastal bend Texas between Houston and San Antonio. What bothers Amy, more than the 'getting there', and the undoubtedly fruitless search, is coming up with an explanation for Katy that won't break her heart. Amy and Sarah would do just about anything to make sure Katy's happy. She'd had a rough time of it from birth, and was just now getting up to full strength, and speed. She was still a frequent visitor at their doctor's. She'd had a great time at the beach, and Amy would hate to spoil her memories. "Um, are you SURE she lost it at the beach, Sarah? Did you check the car, and the towels, the blankets-" Amy begins. She feels a frown forming on her face, and hates herself for it. But Sarah knows her Amy so very, very well. She changes the subject. "'The Long Adolescence of Jeanine' is on TV again, do you want to watch it?" Sarah asks, batting her green eyes comically at Amy. Amy stares at her disbelievingly, then smiles as Sarah grins. "It IS a sweet love story," Sarah adds innocently. "You know I hate that movie, Sarah. The 'deus ex machina' at the end is so ridiculous. The pirate captain, who's only mentioned once early in the movie and then declared dead, suddenly swoops down to save both Hector AND Jeanine from the blade of the Prince's pendulum? Ridiculous....Um, maybe there's something else we can do?" Sarah's grin widens. Amy's words are just music to Sarah's ears. Sarah smiles softly at Amy, then brings her face in to Amy's, her lips first pressing into Amy's earlobe, warmly and slowly breathing the words, "It IS a sweet love story," and then Sarah's plump, coral-colored lips meet perfectly with those of her wife's. Amy's world becomes the sensation of soft, full feminine lips pressing softly against hers, the almost imperceptible hint of Sarah's tongue moving, the whisper of Sarah's long lashes so near to the flesh of Amy's cheek. You've experienced no doubt, the recall of memory accompanying certain smells? Perhaps you associate a certain perfume with one lover, and see her face when you smell that fragrance? That phenomenon is particularly well-honed between Sarah and Amy. Sarah moans softly in her throat, the soft, nearly silent expression of her desire for Amy. Amy breathes in sharply, as her heart does a double beat, and she inhales the warm perfume of she who is Sarah, a rich and complex potpourri of feminine aromas - the traces of her body splash, applied much earlier that day, after a steamy shower with her lover and wife Amy. Amy, stimulated now by that faint scent, is cast back in time, and recollects the soft curve of Sarah's hip as she stepped out of their shower, followed by the tantalizing inverse curve of her waist, then her breasts, droplets of water still clinging to their smooth undersides, and one particularly large droplet of water on her left nipple, bringing back memories from years before to Amy, of Sarah, lovely Sarah, nursing Katy, and then, lovingly, nursing Amy in turn. Amy groans with an immediate need, the inner surface of her pussy moistening with desire and lust for Sarah's touch. It's now Sarah's turn to experience Amy's unique fragrance, the combination of suntan lotion and Amy's unleashed desire, one that casts Sarah's memory back to their first time together, a college senior and lifeguard and the young college freshman and virginal beach-goer, alone together on a white-sheeted bed in an otherwise deserted beach house, their tanned bodies naked and lithe against the rough white percale, twisting together in so very many permutations, their passion and heat, and the soft, almost musical cries in two voices that sparked their growing commitment to each other, and later, to a little girl named Katy. Along the Foamy Strand Amy showed Sarah so much about herself, that windy, cool day, while their house mates were out shopping. Sarah became aware of her ability to truly love another female, and she knew immediately that her love would go only to one other, returning Amy's ardor with enthusiasm. Amy had begun their intimacy by suggesting that Sarah might enjoy a massage, as she'd been rather tense and abrupt with the others, but not Amy, for some reason... "I give a pretty mean back rub, Sarah," Amy had said. "I had a pretty good trainer on my high school swim team, and she showed me a few things. It's really good for relieving tension, " she finished with no hint of any but innocent intentions. "Um, I guess it couldn't hurt," Sarah said, her green eyes pure and free of guile. Amy had Sarah sit backwards on a straight backed, wooden kitchen chair, so that Amy could reach all of her back easily. "Hold onto the chair back, and rest your head in your arms," Amy suggested. "If you close your eyes, it's even better," she said. Sarah did as Amy suggested. "I'm going to massage you through your tee shirt, okay," Amy asked. Sarah nodded her assent. Amy's hands were indeed gifted, and the trainer had taught her well. As Amy's fingers glided over Sarah's stiff back, she could feel the tension flowing out of Sarah and into her fingers. A simple shake of her hands freshened them, but Amy knew that touching Sarah's slim build was having an effect on Amy herself, and she could feel her pussy wetting. It was no surprise to Amy, as she had set out to seduce the beautiful, young freshman. She'd been infatuated with her the moment she first saw her. Sarah groaned with pleasure as Amy's fingers traced their way along her muscle groups. Amy took her fingers off Sarah's back after a few minutes. Then she leaned forward, her lips inches from Sarah's ear, golden hair curled around it. "I could massage deeper, if you like," she hissed, "But it's better if your top is off." Sarah didn't reply, but languorously reached up, pulling her Boston Pops tee shirt up, over her head, her tanned back revealing itself to Amy's hungry eyes, light red marks tracing where Amy had pressed harder as she increased the depth of her massage. With a sigh, the shirt scraped over Sarah's neck, then her long hair fell back on her naked shoulders and back. Certainly the girls had seen each other naked before, and so both were at ease. Amy applied herself again, her magical fingers repairing Amy's psyche, but also stirring in Sarah, thoughts and feelings she had never consciously considered before, though Amy surmised they had been there, beneath Sarah's prim and proper patina. Sarah's sounds, and body movements, became more and more sensual as she came to the slow realization that Amy's touch was reaching her soul. Somewhere in the massage, the simple act of friendship became the sealing act of courtship, and when Amy leaned forward to whisper, "How does it feel?", instead of responding in words, Sarah leaned back, her head resting on Amy's shoulder, her response evident on her two, soft and glistening lips, slightly parted, and her shallow breathing. It was the most natural thing then, for Amy to lean forward and bring her lips to Sarah's, and from there it was a wondrous day and night of discovery for the two women. Returning to the present, back in their family home of the last ten years, as each experiences the pleasure of memory, they hug strongly, Sarah whispering fiercely in Amy's ear, "Please, I want you to make me cum tonight." Amy nods, then stands, looking down into the glowing beauty of Sarah, and offering her hand. Sarah takes it, compliant and submitting herself to Amy's need and strength, and Amy leads her to their bed, the soft yellow pastel bed sheets warmly feminine, and of a pale, almost imperceptible shade, counterpointed by a small, bright yellow pillow that looks like a small, blazing sun in the center of their larger, more subtly colored matched pillows. Betraying her almost primordial lust, wild and savage, Amy throws the pillows down off the bed, the small, bright yellow pillow flying across the room and crashing into a bust of Gaia that they had purchased at a street fair in Houston. Sarah giggles - she loves teasing Amy, knowing the reward for her wife's temporary sexual frustration will be memorable orgasms for them both. She lies back, her arms up by her head, her long blonde hair cast carelessly in a cloud of honey-ash around her face. Amy looks down at her, and instantaneously fixes the picture in her mind, her woman's beautiful face surrounded by ashen blonde hair, like a cloud of smoke, free and wild. Amy doubts that it could ever be possible for a woman to look more beautiful. Sarah smiles up at her wife and lover. "Don't you want me?" Sarah teases, then coos with delight as Amy lowers herself onto Sarah's warm and willing body. "More than you could ever know!" Amy whispers, bringing her lips to Sarah's once again, but fiercely this time. Both women writhe, the pleasure of feeling the other's heat and moistness so close. Amy's hand slips down Sarah's body, under her blouse so briefly, brushing against her supple skin to return to the fabric-covered waist of her dark blue skirt. Her nimble fingers, urged on by need, slip under it and along the outside of Sarah's cotton panties, her blonde bush billowing out the thin cloth, like a tiny, soft pillow above her sex. Amy's knowing fingers linger at Sarah's bush, then through it, tracing the nub of Sarah's clitoris lightly, causing the blonde to lift her hips upward with desire and need. Avoiding giving Sarah anything more than a fleeting thrill of pleasure, her finger continues downward, tracing through the thin fabric the wet surface of Sarah's labia, her touch bringing cotton and feminine moisture together, as Sarah moans with pleasure, her hips again, vainly lifting upward in search of complete ecstasy. Amy continues kissing Sarah, her lover's thoughts increasingly distracted, as might be expected. Their tongues lave each other lightly, not aggressively, merely one more point of contact these two women share in the spectrum of experience that is their love. "Please", Sarah begs. She knows that their communication need not occur through words. Amy's fingers slip under the thin elastic strip that follows the crease of Sarah's groin on the left side, and presses the swollen bulge that is her outer labia on that side. "Yes," Sarah sighs. She nods, unnecessary as that is, hoping that it will somehow hasten her orgasm. Amy's finger traces over the heat of Sarah's lips as they swell with her life fluid, and finds her moist and fragrant center. Beyond all words now, Sarah wriggles her hips and smiles with pleasure as she feels Amy's finger slip inside her. Their dance is a familiar one, each knowing her role. Sarah returns her consciousness and awareness to her wife's mouth, returning Amy's soft kisses with increasing passion, even as her own hand slips inside of Amy's shorts, loving the tactile sensation of her fingertips slipping over silky smooth flesh, while the back of her hand is pressed and scraped harshly by the rough fabric of the shorts. Eschewing subtlety for immediacy, Sarah slips her fingers under Amy's silken panties, the fabric of her intimate covering so feminine, and the flesh at Amy's lower belly equally feminine. Racing her fingers through Amy's thick pubic bush, they dive, without waiting, into Amy's molten pool, two fingers slipping inside her liquid silkiness, Sarah feeling the grasping heat of her lover's pussy, both women writhing now in ecstasy and passion. Together, they both cum, simultaneous explosions of delight, stars exploding in their brains, worlds dissolving in pleasure as they share their passion, and completeness. The electrical sensations trailing throughout their beings only decrease gradually, each and both content to feel the other inside her, and to be inside her, and they drift off to sleep in each other's arms. Before they drift away, each murmurs, "I love you', completing their oneness. Somehow during the night, they cover themselves with the warm yellow sheet, and dream countless, small, pleasant dreams. The next morning, though, reality intrudes. The matter of Katy's watch must be considered, and solved. "Amy, what we were talking about, before..." Sarah begins, somewhat timorously, standing by Amy, who's seated at their white maple kitchen table, toying with her lunch-time strawberry yogurt. After Amy has spent the morning and part of her Saturday afternoon working on some business-related paperwork, in spite of her vacation, Sarah's not sure if the magical, sensual spell she wove the night before, still enraptures Amy. A small quiet creeps stealthily through the room, like a cat hunting a small bird. "I thought about what you said," Amy fills the quiet space. "I'm going to go back and look for the watch. It's the least we can do for Katy." Sarah smiles gratefully, and leans down to give Amy a lingering kiss. "Thank you," Sarah says, and nothing more. Amy gathers a few things, then heads out to the car, Sarah following, as Katy plays with her doll house in the sunroom. Her slight voice pipes up as she talks to her dolls. "Now Ernestine, you behave yourself, and apologize to Donna," she says in a scolding voice. Amy smiles as she pictures Katy reprimanding a miniature floppy-eared stuffed grey terrycloth elephant. Amy starts up their SUV, the radio momentarily blaring with static. She turns it down as she looks over at Sarah, standing next to the red car door. "Maybe the lifeguards found it, or somebody turned it in. But please prepare Katy for the likelihood that I'm not going to find it, okay? I don't mind making this trip, but I can't bear to see Katy sad, too, if I don't find it," Amy says, her smile fleeting and not entirely hopeful. Sarah puts on a big smile, happy that Amy will at least make the effort. "Thanks, sweetheart! I love you, and I know you'll find it. Don't forget to ask the lifeguards. I thought I'd make a carrot souffle for dinner. Does that sound alright?" Segues aren't really her strong suit, but Sarah figures that Amy's favorite dinner might at least keep her from being too grumpy. Sarah throws her arms around Amy's neck. Amy can see that Sarah's nipples are erect, and realizes that her own nipples are just as hard, and aching just a little bit. Amy reflects that maybe it's not so bad being a kept woman. She visualizes Sarah, naked in their bed, her body lush and welcoming, her openings deliciously moist and sweet, and Amy mentally savors the luscious and tantalizing tongue bath she'll give Sarah, on her return. She calls out, "Love you!" as Sarah waves goodbye. Amy pulls the red Ford Explorer out of the sloping driveway, onto the street of their small Victoria subdivision. Sarah turns and walks back to the house on the red brick paver walk, lined with zinnias in brilliant shades of primary colors. She spies their neighbor three houses down mowing his postage stamp front lawn. Through the open window, she can hear Katy now advising an imaginary next door neighbor to her dollhouse, about her favorite cake recipe, and she, too, smiles. Amy and Katy are everything to Sarah. She doesn't know what she'd do if anything ever happened to them. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a presentiment of disaster claws silently, imperceptibly, at her, a small rodent burrowing. Amy negotiates her way out of their subdivision, and south onto State Rt 87. From there, it's a straight 45 minute drive past farm fields and pastures into Port Lavaca, a small commercial fishing and recreational town on the Gulf of Mexico. Unlike most Gulf Coast shore property in Florida, the Texas coast is still little-developed, outside of Galveston, Corpus Christi and South Padre Island. Few man-made structures pass her view, the landscape ornamentations still natural and wild. As the scattered oak trees flash by, she considers the changes that Sarah and Katy brought into her life. "Slow motion changes," she muses, but considerable for all that. "Never thought I'd be a family woman and a mother," she remarks, as an Aerosmith song about elevators as locations for lovemaking ends. Steven Tyler doesn't respond, so Amy returns to silence. The Saturday traffic on Rte 87 is moderately heavy, returning north from the shore, as Amy heads south into Port Lavaca. She pulls into the paved section of the public parking lot by the beach, the oleanders at the entrance flashing alternately red and white, and tries to remember where they'd parked the day before. "Might as well backtrack as much as possible," she thinks to herself, "even though it's a waste of time." She scouts out the area where they'd parked, recalling that they were next to a 6-pack of empty beer bottles inside a brown paper bag. Unsurprisingly, the paper bag is still there, and it's now accompanied by a flattened but apparently full, disposable diaper. A dun-colored slime oozes out of it. Ignoring the fragrant bouquet of the diaper, which has become robust during the sunny day, she searches gingerly in 'their' parking space, and those around it, with no immediate results. "That would have been way too much to expect," she thinks. She walks through the lot, approximately retracing their route as best she can, looking at the ground all the way, then steps over the concrete parking lot divider, and steps onto the beach, slip-sliding over the nearly liquid white sand, to the approximate area their blanket had been. "Goodness, I'll never find it here. I can't be sure I'm in the right place, and they clean the beach every night, anyway," she mutters to herself. The smells of beach food, rich in grease, are stronger here, as are the calliope sounds of the carousel on the weathered grey dock, elevated 8' above the beach and extending approximately 300 feet into the Gulf. The hot, white sand slipping under her feet, she crabwalks off to the white-painted lifeguard's shack to see if it had been turned in there. Amy sees a rugged-looking 20-something dark haired lifeguard at the elevated chair next to the station, wearing the distinctive red and blue suit of Coastal Bend Gulf Water Rescue, along with the universal zinc oxide white nose, worn by lifeguards everywhere. She asks him if anyone had turned in a watch, and describes it to the lifeguard. Beginning to speak, he stops and moves aside quickly, as a painter slopping fresh white paint on the guard chair splashes some near him. "Sorry, dude," the lanky, almost emaciated looking college-age painter grins in his direction. "It's a summer job. I'm no expert, although I AM an art history major. Rembrandt once said-" As Amy stands by, looking on at the small drama, the lifeguard frowns at the painter, and interrupts, "Just get it finished, okay? That paint you guys are using doesn't seem to hold up very long any more. I swear these were painted a month ago." The painter says, "Whatever, man. It's supposed to hold up for at least a year, but I can use the extra pay. It'll be all dry by tomorrow morning." His forehead furrowed, the handsome life guard turns his face to Amy. "I'm really sorry, ma'am. No one turned in anything like that, and to be honest with you, I'd be surprised if they did," he says. "A lot of people think that anything they find at the beach is theirs, even if it's sitting on someone else's blanket when they find it," he finishes, shaking his head slowly. "But we'll keep a lookout for it, if you'll leave your name and number." Amy thanks him, and leaves the requested information. As he stands by his elevated wooden lifeguard chair, his radio loudly crackling with static, Amy turns to walk back to the car, when she remembers what Sarah had said about the piece of Barbieana specifically being under the dock. She does remember Sarah and Katy walking over there shortly before they left, when Katy had gotten a little over-tired and bored, to check for any shells that might have washed up. She decides to give it a look, and hopes she won't run into any vagrants while she's there. The dock had originally been an extension of a structure built during World War II, to fuel small coastal defense craft. When it was deeded to the State of Texas after the war, the state in turn handed it over to the City of Port Lavaca, which let it rot for a few years. Finally, after receiving a grant from the federal government, the city demolished most of the structure, but renovated the dock out into Lavaca Bay, widening and extending it, and leasing out space on it for retail businesses. The usual sunglasses-fast food-arcade crowd had moved in, and populated the strip along part of the beachfront, as well as the original buildings on the dock. Now the beach had become a magnet for day-tripper families from the Victoria area, but it would likely never be confused with Galveston or Corpus Christi, which is fine with Amy. Like Amy and her family, the beach in Port Lavaca is middle class and quiet. As Amy walks along the water line, approaching the dock, in the shade of the overhanging wood and concrete structure the temperature cools dramatically, and the lighting worsens significantly. Amy feels a chill, unusual in the midst of a midsummer warm spell, and squints into the deep shade under the dock. She wonders if she'll be able to see much of anything there, and thinks about the old joke about the drunk looking for his lost wallet a block from where he lost it, because 'the light is better over here.' She can hear the susurrant whisper of the surf gently rising up on the packed wet sand, the faint music of the carousel running riderless overhead, and the distant, isolated cries of the seagulls and terns swooping over each roll of the surf, as they wait for the water to inevitably turn over a treat, whether dead fish or hot dog remnant. The sea foam makes a garland along the strand, stretching into infinity, with here and there a pendant of seaweed or broken shell to ornament itself. Since Amy hadn't walked under the dock with Sarah and Katy yesterday, she really has no idea where to look, but figures her best bet would be somewhere within the area bounded by the cool, green surf on one side, and probably no more than five feet or so up beach, since Katy was fascinated by the gentle surf. She would have stayed right at the surf line, unless ordered otherwise by Sarah. Amy realizes that the surf might have been at a higher or lower level yesterday, but since there's nothing she can do about that, she decides to just disregard that variable and do the best she can. She's gotten about thirty feet in under the dock, halfway in, when she hears a woman's voice gasp. Amy lifts up her head, looking around, to identify where it came from, but she can't make out the source. She pauses to see if there's more, but hears nothing. She continues on searching, finding nothing but stray pieces of cloudy sea glass, and hasn't gone more than 10 feet along the beach, when she hears another gasp, followed by a faint voice whispering, "-light-". "Who's that?" Amy calls. "Are you hurt?" Amy hears no reply, but thinks that someone might be hurt, the voice is so strained. She starts up towards where the sound came from, kicking up small sheets of sand with her sneakers as she goes. She knows that she should be careful in this area hidden from the lifeguards, and the others on the beach. "Hey, who's there? Where are you?" She hears a kind of whimpering sound, and a woman's voice, saying, "...the light...watch...the light." Amy is stunned. The words, much clearer this time, are coming from directly in front of her, no more than five feet away. Yet there is nothing at all there, not a body, not a pillar, or piece of trash that might conceal someone, not even a speaker that might be casting the sound. Only rumpled and tossed sand. Along the Foamy Strand "The white light, so bright...", the voice, again. Clearer now, the words distinct over the soft sound of the waves rolling in, the source still a complete mystery. "Who are you?" Amy asks. "Heck, WHERE are you?" "Watch... the light..." the voice fades out. "Hello, where are you? I want to help you, but..." Amy's voice, too, trails off as she receives no reply, nor does she want to go on sounding like an escaped mental patient to any stray passers-by. "It's the damnedest thing," she thinks to herself. "Either I'm going crazy, or I just talked to a ghost." She decides to curtail her search for Katy's lost jewelry, since visibility isn't getting any better, the sun now deep red and flaming as it sinks into the western horizon. Amy wants to think about her just-concluded experience with the disembodied voice. She quickly crosses over the white sand beach, cooler now and blood-colored from the setting sun, the lifeguard and painter both gone now, having completed their work for the day. The smell of paint is strong by the life guard station. She gingerly steps over the still fragrant diaper in the parking lot, starts her car and drives back home. When she arrives she tells Sarah that she'll return to the beach tomorrow and do a more thorough search. Sarah thanks her warmly, and by the look in her eyes, Amy thinks there'll be a special present under her sheets tonight. During dinner, she brings up the subject of ghosts with Sarah. She asks, "What do you know about ghosts, Sarah?" "What do you mean?" "Well, I was wondering if you've ever seen a ghost, or like, heard a ghost..." she says. "What brought that up?" Sarah asks. "Nothing, I was just wondering," Amy says. "Well, I haven't ever seen a ghost, I don't think, but my mother used to tell me and my sister of a cousin who drowned when he was a teenager. She swore that sometimes she could hear his voice when she walked near the pond where he drowned. She said it was the creepiest thing, and so she usually avoided going back there, if at all possible," Sarah says. "What did he say?" Amy asks. "Hmm, if I recall, nothing much. It wasn't like she had conversations with him or anything. At most, all she heard was a word or two. She just noticed that it sounded an awful lot like his voice, and there was never anyone else around when she heard it." "Was there anything else? Did she like, see anything or smell anything?" "No, just the few words. Now, why are you so interested in a ghost from some thirty years ago?" Sarah finishes. She feels that strange scratching again, something gnawing at the back of her mind. "It was the strangest thing back at the beach this afternoon. I had hunted around for that watch, you know, in the parking lot, and where we lay on the beach, and didn't see anything," Amy says as she idly scratches at her itching, still red skin. She had put cream on it earlier in the day, but it didn't seem to have made much difference. "Then I remembered what you said about the area under the dock, and went to look there. I think I heard a ghost there." Amy pauses then. Sarah puts down her magazine and stares at her. "Well don't leave me hanging, Amy," she says, "What happened?" "Hmm, interested?" Amy teases. "I should say!" Sarah says. "Okay, so I went under the dock. It was really hard to see with the shadows and all, but I was looking around for Katy's Barbie thing, when I heard this woman, it was a woman's voice, say 'Watch the light,' or 'Look at the light,' or something like that. I know she said something about 'the light,' anyway. I looked around, and there was nobody there, not hiding or anything. Nobody. I offered to help her, if she was hurt or something, but she didn't respond." Amy looks up at Sarah, and her face is white, under the slight sunburn. "What's the matter, babe?" Amy asks. Sarah's expression is thoughtful. She looks as though she's going to say something, then pauses, finally saying, "Umm, Katy and I heard a woman under the dock, too. I think she was talking about lights, but I thought maybe it was somebody on the dock above. I certainly never thought it might be a, a...ghost," she finishes with a shudder. Amy senses that wasn't what Sarah was first going to say. She dismisses the thought, and returns to her story. "I wish there had been somebody up above," Amy says, "but the dock was closed when I was there, and there was nobody under the dock, except me." Amy gets up to fetch herself a glass of wine from the refrigerator, then sits down. Taking a big gulp of the chablis, she looks at Sarah. "Maybe I'll check up on it a little later. For sure, I'm not going to abandon the search for Katy's Barbie jewelry now." "Maybe you should, honey," Sarah says, concern in her eyes. "You've done enough." Amy dismisses the proffered 'way out'. "No, I'll give it one more look. And this voice thing is intriguing." The following morning, Monday, after a fairly poor night of sleep populated by ghosts carrying flashlights and telling her to look at the light, Amy decides to do a little Internet surfing, to see what her experience of the day before might mean. When she types in the word "ghost" into the search engine, she gets a number of hits directing her to various pornographic spiritualist sites, along with some more useful ones. She finds herself with a number that are concerned with specific ghostly events, then, a site that discusses paranormal activity in general. Reading, she finds the following: "... the literature on ghosts, and apparitions tends to be very similar in certain basic 'traits' of these manifestations. Paranormal experts say that 'spirits' tend to stay in one location. They never roam about the countryside. So, a tragically drowned man, to use one of the more common alleged fates of those who become spirits, would tend to hang right around the shore near where he drowned..." the site states. "I don't suppose it would do him much good to haunt the middle of the lake. Nobody to commiserate with him, and all that," Amy thinks. "... the likelihood exists that if a spirit is haunting an area, that it died in that area..." Amy reads on. In another section she reads, "...there have been cases where a ghost, or spirit, is claimed to be haunting a building for hundreds of years, but no one can say for sure if ghosts "disappear" after a period of time. There are no known cases of 'cavemen' haunting anyone, so possibly time eventually attenuates the spirit's energy. In any case, no one can really say." Further on, in a section titled, 'The Ghostly Light', Amy reads that "...many observers reporting material manifestations of spirits, report the involvement of a light of some sort. 'Ghost lights' are a well-known phenomenon, as are the reports of a 'bright light' or 'white light' by many who have had 'near death' experiences." Finding a section on "ghostly locations", Amy reads, "...spirits are tied quite closely in space, that is, when they seem determined to stay, nothing seems to move them out except for total destruction of the site of their death. Demolition of a haunted medieval castle, for example, might be said to eliminate a ghost's presence. On the other hand, they seem to be quite free to roam through time, perhaps independent of it. As the literature shows, they may show up hundreds of years after their death, so long as the structure or area they died in remain..." she reads. Further on Amy finds, "...there's often some terrible loss involved in generating the appearance of a spirit, such as a violent death, or the death of loved ones...." "So, I guess what this is saying," Amy thinks, "is if a ghost is generated through some violent or tragic event, they really HAVE to stick around at a specific site, but they could show up somewhere else in time, maybe years later." She shrugs her shoulders, thinking that she could probably find another web site that would say just the opposite. That is, if she could manage to wade through the sludge of the porno sites first. On a hunch, Amy decides to do a little historical search of the Port Lavaca beach area, too. She combines search terms, including 'Port Lavaca', 'World War II', and 'death,' to see what shows up. To her great surprise, she hits on a newspaper article from her local paper, the 'Victoria Advocate', which was publishing back during the Second World War and is still publishing today. The article reports that one Felicia Devoreaux, a 24-year old 'Rosie the Riveter' from New Orleans, was crushed to death during the construction of the Port Lavaca refueling station in June of 1942, when a piling slipped off its crane. According to the article, she left only her elderly parents back in Louisiana. There's little more detail, and Amy logs off. She files away the information, but sees no real use for it. She's certainly never heard of a ghost haunting the dock area before, but supposes that Devoreaux's spirit could have been wandering around for over 60 years, and only recently had decided to go to work. "Still," she muses, "what if it WERE Felicia's ghost?" Later, after Katy has her bath and is snug in bed, Amy smiles wryly to herself, next to Sarah on the love seat. Sarah snuggles under her arm. "Thank you SO much for looking, Amy. Even though you didn't find it, Katy appreciates what you did. You're her heroine. And mine, too." "Well, that's what a mother's supposed to do, isn't it?" Amy replies, grinning. To be honest, Amy had been wondering if her dedication to her work had made her slip a bit in both Sarah and Katy's eyes. Sarah's words mean more to Amy than she is willing to admit, and leave her with a warm feeling inside. "I'll finish up one way or another tomorrow while you and Katy are at the doctor's." Sarah looks intently into Amy's clear blue eyes, suddenly serious. "Can we go to bed now? I know it's early but-" Sarah begins. "Absolutely," Amy gasps, suddenly excited, Sarah's passion contagious. She takes Sarah's hand as she herself rises from the plush furniture. Sarah begins brushing her skirt even as Amy pulls her insistently towards their bedroom. Sarah giggles at the haste in Amy's actions. As they enter the warmly appointed room, with its feminine window appointments and its welcoming bedspread, a Fallert quilt across the foot of the bed, Amy takes Sarah strongly into her arms, feeling Sarah's presence deep within her own being. Sarah's slight gasp is replaced by a moan of pleasure as Amy's arms encircle her. She leans upward, needing her wife's firm touch and the feel of her lips. "I love you...so much," Sarah whispers. Amy once again presses her lips to Sarah's, her heart beating a mile a minute, nearly threatening to burst out of her chest. Sarah's full, warm, soft breasts press into Amy's, and she groans with the need to consume her wife and lover. Amy breaks their kiss, and nuzzles Sarah's soft throat, her pulse beating strongly under Amy's lips, and her gently nipping teeth. Amy moans again, strong tingles of pleasure coursing through her, all converging on her rapidly moistening pussy, and her erect clit. Amy's left hand is busy snaking between them, in the warm valley between their breasts, searching for, and finding, the small buttons that separate her from her soul mate. As each button gives up the ghost, more of Sarah's scent is released - a natural scent, far more Sarah than anything else. Her perspiration, salty and moist, faintly tangy, combined with her musk, as her pussy is flowing freely now. Dimly, Sarah feels a trickle of her fluids down an inner thigh, as she moistens for her lover and mistress. Sarah's scent overwhelms Amy. Her left hand, temporarily at loose ends since Sarah has run out of buttons to be undone, dives down between Sarah's thighs on the outside of her thin skirt. Amy cups Sarah's mons in her grip, the heel of her hand pressing on Sarah's sensitive clitoris through her skirt and panties. Sarah's groin involuntarily arches up, to better provide access to Amy. That makes Sarah's upper body lean back more, and though she is in no danger of falling, as Amy's right hand and arm grip her firmly, it accentuates even more who is dominating their love play, as Amy's face is nearly parallel above Sarah's, as though they were entwined already on the bed. Amy presses Sarah's warm mons several times, knowing that she's sending pleasure through her palm into Sarah's molten furnace of a pussy, but taking nearly as much pleasure from knowing she's stimulating her wife to near madness. She reluctantly pulls her left hand from Sarah's cunt, as Sarah sighs, then begins stripping Sarah's print blouse off her shoulders, returning Sarah to a more upright position so that she can make short work of the impeding blouse, and subsequently, her bra. As the two pieces of fabric slip to the floor, Sarah's full, plump breasts, not perfect perhaps in our eyes, but most definitely perfection in Amy's blue eyes, eyes which see more clearly than ours, stand undulant and teardrop-shaped, her brown nipples stiffly erect and long, her areolas wide and goose-pimpled. Amy's eyes sparkle as she sees Sarah's excitement, and she dips her head once, twice, in turn taking a hard nipple into her warm, moist mouth, gently stressing each with the pressure of her lips, then, nearly imperceptibly, nipping each with her white teeth. As Amy's tongue alternately licks and then lashes Sarah's increasingly sensitive nipples, a low growl sounds deep in her throat. "Nnnnnhhhh," Sarah subvocalizes, more a vibration than a sound at first, then becoming louder as her excitement grows. "Lick me, Amy, lick my nipples...yes, yes, ohh yes....God, that's SO good, your mouth is so warm and wet, ohhh...it's like your wet pussy is rubbing on my nipples...so sweet....mmmmm," she continues. Her hands caress Amy's short black hair, a babe at her breast, but what an erotic babe! Amy continues sucking and licking Sarah's taut nipples, as her hands go to Sarah's broad hips, forcing her skirt and then her panties down, off her hips, over her round bottom, her generous blonde bush coming into view, but only to us, as Sarah is looking up at the ceiling, ecstatic jolts streaming through her, and Amy has her eyes closed as she mouths her lover's breasts. But she smells Sarah's arousal mingled with perspiration, and as Sarah's clothes fall in a tangled, damp clump to the floor, Sarah steps out of them. Amy gently pushes Sarah back on the bed. "The quilt-" Sarah whispers, not wanting to stain it with her excitement. "Fuck it," Amy growls. Sarah giggles, and lies back and down on the bed in front of her horny wife, her legs spread, her very wet pussy streaming her slick fluid onto the hand-crafted quilt already. She'll figure something out...later. Much later. Amy attends to her wife's most intimate part, giving it all of her attention. Her tongue licks along the outer edges of Sarah's labia, a thick, creamy coating of Sarah's love for her. Her fingers move Sarah's lips apart, exposing the pink interior of her vagina, darkening as more blood rushes to swell the area, a result of Sarah's excitement. Amy's mouth hovers over Sarah's opening, feeling her heat and humidity, just before Amy's tongue stabs deeply inside her most feminine opening. Sarah's legs reflexively pull closer to her chest, her favorite position as Amy fucks her. The change in position opens Sarah's pussy even wider, and a small pulse of her clear cream spurts out onto Amy's waiting tongue. Amy laps at her wife's pussy slowly at first, her rough tongue penetrating deeply into the silky, wet opening of her pussy. Sarah's heat, moisture and perfumed musk arouse Amy, already well-excited, her own pussy lubricating generously in sympathy and excitement. Amy's nose slips inside the wet slit, just under Sarah's clitoris, swollen with blood and desire. Sarah's creamy, feminine fluid generously coats Amy's cheeks, mouth, chin and nose, as she licks upward to gather as much of Sarah's love cream as she can. Ever upward, Amy pulls her tongue back into her mouth as she nears Sarah's quivering clit. She tenderly swirls the tip of her tongue around the small pearl, just avoiding the sensitive organ. Sarah coos with pleasure, her passion increasing as Amy explores her so intimately. Her hands are under her knees holding her thighs against her full, flushed breasts, her pussy lips pulsing with her desire. "I love you so much, Amy," she murmurs. "I love how you lick me there, I love the touch of your mouth on me there, lick me, love me, ohhh..." Then Amy suddenly slathers the flat of her tongue, taste buds firing off at the salty and sweet taste of Sarah's liquid excitement, over the tiny, bulbous shape of Sarah's clitoris. Immediately, a sensation her body translates visually as fireworks, and tactilely as an intense electric shock centered on her clit, infuses the woman, and she begins shaking with an intense excitement, moaning and thrashing her head from side to side, a full blown orgasm tormenting and pleasuring her to the depths of her soul. She has trouble catching her breath, as all of her voluntary and involuntary reflexes are caught up in her sweet agony. Sarah tries to vocalize her intense pleasure, but finds herself unable to, until at some point, years later it seems, she regains a whispery rendition of her own voice, expressing softly and lovingly, her love for Amy, and the fulfillment of all her desires. Amy has recognized Sarah's orgasm, and has adjusted the movements of her tongue across Sarah's increasingly tender labia, and of course not touching again the woman's clit. She recognizes that a touch of that small prominence would be painful for Sarah, and that is not her intention. For a few moments, Amy softly kisses Sarah's inner thighs, warm and smooth, flushed with the residue of Sarah's re-directed blood flow, as her body slowly allocates blood back to the rest of Sarah's body, allowing her center to recover. Sarah's whispery voice caresses Amy's ears. "That was wonderful, Amy. I think I'm in heaven," Sarah murmurs. Amy says nothing, but continues slowly and softly kissing her lover's thighs and outer lips. "Come up, kiss me, I want you," Sarah says, louder now. Amy takes her time leaving Sarah's pussy, and who wouldn't? She rests back on her heels, squatting, looking at Sarah's beautiful slit. Her blonde bush, a dark blonde, rests above her still visible clit, pink and glistening, soon to recede under its fleshy hood. Sarah's labia are nearly non-existent, thin and giving her nearly the appearance of a young girl. Amy imagines that, if Sarah ever were to shave herself completely there, she would look much like a young girl, although there is no doubt about her being a fully developed woman. The fragrance of Sarah's pussy fills Amy's nose, and she inhales the scent of her woman deeply. Sarah's legs slip down to the bed, and she lifts herself up on her elbows. Her eyes are slightly unfocused, a residue of the explosion of pleasure that had torn through her, scattering her consciousness momentarily to all parts of the universe. "C'mere, lover," she smiles, beckoning Amy upwards, and onto her willing and eager body. Amy stands, and quickly unbuttons her own blouse, stripping it off, then reaching back and unsnapping and stretching out of her bra, tossing them both onto the floor. She loosens the belt of her khaki shorts, unbuttoning the small wooden button at the waist, and slipping the fabric to the floor. She's just about to slip off her panties, when Sarah, eyes fixed on Amy's barely covered crotch, exclaims and giggles. "You're SO wet!" Amy says, sitting up further on the edge of the bed. Her eyes are set on a large wet spot at the crotch of Amy's cotton panties, darkening the random flower pattern in that area of the fabric, so dark with fluid that it almost seems to be a different flower from the others on her panties. Sarah presses forward, still delightfully naked to Amy as she looks down on her lover. Sarah's breasts and upper chest are still deeply flushed from her passion, and her light brown nipples are still intensely long and erect. Along the Foamy Strand Sarah brings her nose to the slight bulge at Amy's wet panties, her smaller bush pushing out the cloth. She sniffs deeply at Amy's crotch, feeding off the lovely flavor of Amy's own juices, and rebuilding her own excitement. Sarah tenderly presses her lips against the moist fabric, tasting a tantalizing whisper of Amy's own salty, sweet and creamy essence, her tongue reflexively lapping against the smooth, wet fabric. Sarah's hands slip under the elastic bands of the panties at each leg hole, sliding upwards, silky fabric against the back of her hands, smooth, firm, warm feminine flesh against her palms, to cup Amy's butt cheeks, one full globe firmly grasped in each hand. With her new leverage, Sarah presses her face harder and deeper into Amy's crotch, now aggressively pressing into and teasing Amy's pussy and clit, as she stimulates Amy's unslaked lust. Her hands warmly and firmly caress her wife's hot ass - Amy's bottom has always been a tremendous turn on for Sarah, and she feels her excitement mounting once again. But now is for Amy... "Lick me, please..." Amy whispers, her voice faint but steady against the rhythmic clicking of the ceiling fan above them. It leaves a cool flush on her faintly perspiring upper body, then on her face as she throws her head back with pleasure and need. Sarah ignores Amy's very naked desire to have a long, feminine tongue inside her puss, preferring to tease, and increase the ultimate rewards for them both. Her tongue and lips play small melodies across Amy's sensitive labia. The scratching of the soft, wet cotton over her increasingly sensitive clitoris drives spikes of pleasure through Amy's groin, her legs nearly buckling from the jolts of ecstasy. Her hands reflexively go to the back of Sarah's head. Sarah, in her turn, insinuates her fingers farther around Amy's full and round buttocks, to seek out the heat, and moistness, and deep intimacy of her rear opening, the touch of her fingertips leaving trails of fire on Amy's butt. She groans in ecstasy. "Yes, please....back there, I want it, I want you there..." she moans, close to begging. Sarah's practiced fingers find Amy's tight anus, her hot, puckered opening so moist with perspiration, her opening so shy, but desirous of invasion by her lover. Sarah dips the index finger of her right hand in the slick pool of Amy's fluid collecting inside her panties, the creamy, musky and randy essence of Amy's desire coating Sarah's finger easily. Sarah brings the dripping, long finger back to Amy's quivering rear opening, as her sphincter alternates between tightly closed and shyly open, her anus reflecting her deep desires. "Fuck me," she sighs to no one in particular. Sarah's slim finger presses inward into the hot, tight puckered opening, slipping slowly but smoothly into Amy's eager anus. She sighs with pleasure above Sarah, and arches her back, streams of joy running down her legs. She pushes her pussy forward, and Sarah bites down gently on Amy's mound, her bush, swollen and wet labia, sparking clitoris. Her cum is unexpected, a small squeak escaping her as lightning shoots through her hot, pearlescent button. Sarah's mouth, in conjunction with her thrilling finger deep inside Amy's ass, has pushed Amy over the edge. Amy rips her panties down, over and off her hips, her need to bare her sweet pussy for Sarah's loving mouth and tongue too strong to put off. The sheer panties get hung up on Sarah's hands at her smooth, round ass, but Sarah takes pity, and withdraws first her left hand which has been cupping the moist inside of Amy's full, left butt cheek, then returning her hand to Amy's luscious bottom over the panties. She slowly withdraws her long index finger from Amy's tight hole, but immediately replaces that moist, now-wrinkled finger with the index finger of her left hand, slowly inserting the cool digit deep inside her favorite orifice. With Sarah's right hand withdrawn from under Amy's panties, there's nothing to hold them up other than the friction of Amy's slim hips. A slight shake of her hips, and Amy is free of the last confining scrap of cloth. The cloth whispers as it slides down her smooth thighs and calves, to puddle at her feet. Sarah presses forward, any excuses for not impaling Amy's creamy furrow now demolished. Her tongue laps at Amy's swollen labia. Sarah can feel the beat of Amy's strong, loving heart through the blood-swollen lips. Amy is lost in the frenzy of her need and love for Sarah. "Unnhh, fuck me, Sarah," she moans, even as Sarah's finger fucks in and out of Amy's sweet, tight bottom simultaneous with her long, rough tongue spearing deeply into Amy's molten cavern, and her lips fasten on Amy's swollen clit. Amy shrieks with pleasure and falls forward, cumming, pushing Sarah onto her back. Their legs scissor, their pussies meld, hot wetness meeting moist heat. Amy tries to push the overwhelming pleasure filling her pussy back into Sarah beneath her, grinding her pussy deep, deep, deep, so hard hard hard clits touching lips kissing wetnesses mixing bodies dissolving into one another complete total love mouths meeting orgasms together complete one...together. Amy's last words before losing her mind completely are, "I love you Sarah, I love you so much." Their eyes are locked on each other's as they orgasm together. The fierceness of their lovemaking surprises them both. They drift off to sleep, and their sleep seems to last forever, until they wake in each other's arms in the morning light. As the two lie together in their bed the next morning, Sarah whispers, "Please, be careful." Her expression is troubled, but she has no idea what is causing her concern, only that something feels... wrong. She almost decides to cancel Katy's doctor's appointment so that they can go with Amy, but the little girl can't afford to miss this medical checkup. Amy kisses Sarah gently. "I'm certain it won't take long. We'll get it settled one way or another," Amy says comfortingly. After finishing up her coffee, as Sarah is dressing Katy, Amy heads back to the beach to see what she can find, both ghostly and material. The traffic is much heavier, the usual Monday business traffic, but since she's at the tail end of the rush hour, really closer to noon, it's not overly irritating. Soon, she arrives at the beach, but has to park at the far end of the lot, since the Port Lavaca Parks Department has apparently decided to resurface the portion of the lot closest to the beach. Amy wonders if they'll clean it, or simply tar over the filthy baby diaper. Getting out of her car, she squints, the sky being cloudless, and the sun appears unusually bright. Sunbeams raining down around her, Amy walks around the closed part of the lot. She sees the diaper and the debris of the 6-pack, and shakes her head at the sloppy work habits of the maintenance crew. She passes by the life guard shack and the male lifeguard in his wooden elevated chair with its peeling white paint, and nods at the lifeguard as he desultorily scratches at his arm. A cute teenaged girl in a bikini is standing by the chair. It's clear that they had been conversing. She looks upset, swinging her long brown hair angrily, as he looks bored. Perhaps a lover's disagreement? Amy says, "Hi, remember me? I'm the lady looking for that Barbie watch?" He smiles at her, and says, "Yes ma'am, I do. Unfortunately, nobody's turned it in yet, sorry." He flicks at the paint on the armrest, and frowns momentarily, then scratches his arm again. Amy smiles back and says, "Well, thanks for keeping an eye out, anyway," nods at the girl, and heads straight over to the sand under the dock, avoiding the colorful blankets and sand chairs sprawled around the beach, and squints into the darkness in the shadows. "Golly, I've got to get some sunglasses," she thinks to herself. "I'll go blind before I'm 40 otherwise." Approaching the dank shadows, she listens for the voice from yesterday, while keeping an eye on the sand before her. As she gets about 10 feet into the shade of the dock, she hears the voice again, "...light...watch...the light...". Simultaneously, she sees a bright color in the sand near the water. Walking over to it, she sees the pink plastic band of a child's watch sticking out of the ground. She bends over, and feels a small thrill of triumph as it reveals itself to be Katy's Barbie Wonderland watch. She holds it up, shaking the sand off it, and in a victory gesture she remembers from one of the "Rocky" movies, grins, yelling "The watch!" and holds it up over her head. As she looks up at the planks of the dock over her head, she sees the thin daylight suddenly blaze through the cracks, as though the planks were dissolving under the rays of light. "The light-" she begins saying, in a wondering voice... ...the wave front of the supernova of Earth's sun, an uncountable number of charged electrons, x-rays, gamma rays and other detritus of a suicidal star, after an eight and one-half minute start, the distance from the sun to the earth at the speed of light, strikes the bored young male lifeguard and his upset girlfriend an infinitesimal instant before it strikes Amy and the billions of other humans on the side of the Earth facing the sun, possibly due to some quirk of quantum physics, but the difference is really irrelevant to those involved. In any case, neither of the couple at the lifeguard chair utters a sound, they have no chance at all to utter a sound, but instead explode into two instantaneously disintegrating clouds of radioactive smoke, quickly mixing with the smoke of everything else around them. No one comments, of course, since by the time their two bodies have dissolved, everyone else within a radius of 8,000 miles or so have too, or nearly so. Amy's family, Sarah and Katy, on their way through Victoria's traffic to see Katy's doctor, are gone at about that same time, give or take a nanosecond, and their demise is similar, painless, but quite, quite final, as is the destruction of the traffic and buildings around them. Katy's medical tests are rendered moot, Sarah's concern for her daughter's health is no longer a relevancy, and the firmly forged links of the Thorn family chain are shattered. All of the houses, and buildings of all kinds on earth simply become large puffs of smoke, followed by even larger clouds of debris as the ground and the Earth itself dissolve under the immeasurable power and energy of a star releasing the fuel that should have lasted a billion years, in less than one second. No clock is really necessary to time the event, and it's certain that Katy's Barbie Wonderland watch, so recently rescued, could not handle the task as Amy herself dissolves in an elemental firestorm, along with everything she had ever known or dreamed...or loved. Blasted into oblivion, the last thoughts in her disintegrating brain cells are of Sarah and Katy, and to a lesser extent, a wondrously bright light and a cheap plastic Barbie watch. The dissolution of the rest of the planet, that part experiencing a sleepy night, follows in a longer, more perceptible period, but still consumes only a few milliseconds. Along with Amy, Sarah, and Katy, all of mankind's known and unknown achievements, every significant or small, unnoticed gesture, every work of art and every piece of junk, every meaningful and meaningless glance from one human being to another, all love and all hate, all of the long, endless parade of life on earth, are lost within seconds into irradiated dust, rapidly dispersing through the emptiness of Earth's former orbital path. With no present and no future in which to seek shelter from the horror, Amy's dying consciousness experiences one last, tortured yet beautiful vision, that of Sarah's face surrounded by the color of smoky ash, as it had been on their bed on the last nights they made love. With a cry audible to no one and no thing, not even herself, Amy's suddenly tortured soul escapes into the only reality it can find, that of her immediate past. With her soul go the frayed dreams of her life and her loves, her hopes and her expectations. In this present there are only blasted, stripped atoms in a vacant space where Earth once existed. Slipping into the past as a thin refuge of memory, Amy Thorn's spirit is left to, however briefly, speak of The Watch and The Light, to any passerby under a dock on the foamy shore of the Gulf of Mexico, by a small town in Texas, located in the already forgotten past of a now vanished Earth. Perhaps that spirit hopes to encounter a young mother walking with her daughter, hand in hand along that foamy strand, under that dock somewhere in that forgotten past. Perhaps she will....