Added: Rina Bordner - Date: 05.02.2022 05:55 - Views: 13783 - Clicks: 6270
Sunday, February 16, Somehow, our plates and silverware had fine coatings of sand too, even after we had diligently washed everything. The shower had more of the black and brown variety of sand on the bottom. I guess the golden grains didn't show up as well against the white tile of the shower.
We did clean, really we did, or at least we meant too. Perhaps it was more of an aspirational goal, but the thought was truly there.
We were both at our wits end with the endless computer work. Pacific sunlight streamed into the apartment, making the computer work a form of torture. Sometimes, I felt that way too, but I just said nothing. Without her help, the statements would not go out, and the rent would not be paid. Words of wisdom there. That should be the dictionary definition of a lawyer: a person who can't pass organic chemistry, but who likes suits.
I thought that probably most of the judges I had appeared in front of also couldn't handle calculus or physics either, but the whole legal profession was filled with people who couldn't cut it as scientists or engineers.
No wonder cases took so long to resolve. A lot of dead weight couldn't figure out common sense. The one motion most lawyers knew was a motion for continuance. However, I did not want to feed Sandi's frustration. She could be so unpredictable. Finally, I heard an animal sound of acute distress and frustration. She tore the thumb drive out of the computer, and I was now alarmed.
Sandi said nothing, but her eyes smoldered with anger. Any sort of legal work does that to a sane and normal person, and Sandi was very sane, very normal, and extremely gorgeous, with a Wet look stories narrow, beautiful, feminine face. Sandi wore no makeup, and I loved that and everything else about her. It'll clear our he. Sandi just slammed the laptop shut, got up from the table and ran out the front door of the apartment.
I was caught off guard. I had left the apartment door open to pull in the ocean air from the window. I got up to chase her, but lost time looking in vain for the keys. Finally, I just slammed the front door of the apartment behind me, without locking it, and chased Sandi down the hall. She was already down the stairs and out the front door of the apartment building before I could catch up.
Sandi was a fast runner, and I could hear her bare feet slapping the pavement on the street parallel to the ocean. Then she turned left down the short drive down to the sand. Her arms were pumping, and her beautiful loose, long, abundant brown hair flowed in the gentle breeze behind her. I could see, hear and smell the beautiful Pacific Ocean panorama spread out before us. At the bottom of the hill, she did not break stride, but leaped from the Wet look stories of the sidewalk onto the sand.
It was an unseasonably warm day in February, and the tide was high. In our little town, the beach was narrow at high tide, there was only a short distance from the beginning of the sand to the ocean. Like a person possessed, Sandi just kept going.
She loved the ocean, just as I did, and she raced at full tilt toward the water's edge.
Without breaking stride, her feet hit the water. However, the Pacific Ocean at high tide has some rollers that break right near the shore. Sandi was still in her favorite new jeans and denim blouse. That did not stop her for a moment.
A large wave reared up close in to shore, and Sandi just launched herself airborne, head first into the wave. Complete abandon and complete recklessness. For a moment she disappeared into the surf, and I could just see her legs and feet going into the wave. Then she reappeared. Her formerly nice flowing clean hair, now soaked and plastered to her head and shoulders, laughing like a person possessed.
She got back up, water streaming from her body and drenched hair, and half ran, half skipped forward to meet Wet look stories next wall of surf. This one was a larger true Pacific roller coming right over the top. Surfers love these. Sandi did not hesitate even one Wet look stories. She plunged into the wave just beneath the whitish-blue wall of water curling over the top. Then, almost impossibly, she was out the other side, yelling at me to just dive in. Or at least I think she said that. The Pacific was very loud at high tide with large surf, and Sandi was bobbing beyond the surf close in to the beach, fully clothed in her new jeans, waiting for the next mega wave to come in.
She was a great swimmer, sort of like a dolphin, and she just could not stay out of the water. Neither could I, especially with her bobbing in the ocean like that. What choice did I have? I loved her like crazy, so I plunged in too. Just as I reached her, a massive roller crashed over both of us. I was not positioned just right, so the wave tumbled me as though I were in a dryer, but filled with water. My butt hit the sandy bottom, and I came up sputtering, sand in my teeth, having swallowed some of the ocean. In front of me, five pelicans in single file flew low over the crest of the waves, like crazy dive bombers intent on a suicidal fishing mission.
We were so lucky to live here!! Surprisingly, Sandi was right next to me, drenched and soaked as I was. I looked at her wet face, water droplets dappling her cheeks and running off the tip of her beautiful nose, dripping from her chin, her denim blouse soaked and glued tightly to her breasts, her wet hair plastered wildly to her face, and I kissed her, until a slightly smaller wave crashed over us again, pulling us apart.
The water was very cold, but neither of us minded.
Then we got up and dove in again and again. Sandi kind of skipped into the waves, and then did a looping dive into the next one. In between the sets, we floated on our backs, going up and down, until the up and down motion got inside my head, like the effect from being on a small boat tossed in the waves. We dove in over and over, until the idea of a hot shower beckoned. As we waded out of the surf, Sandi kicked up a steady spray of water with her bare feet.
Then she kicked water on me. I splashed her back, and then tackled her wet body into the surf. Then we ran up onto the beach, where I tackled her again, into the sand. The sand here is a mixture of gray, brown and black fine grains, with some golden grains mixed in, although the golden grains showed up better at low tide. The fineness of the sand grains meant that sand got everywhere, inside shirts, pants and pockets. It stuck to your skin, especially your feet. Bringing half the beach home with you was unavoidable.
I rolled on top of Sandi in the sand, and she came up with dark sand coating her wet Wet look stories hair, and all over her blouse and blue jeans. She looked attractive Wet look stories that, and I could not help kissing her again and again. She kissed me back, and we rolled over in the sand, both of us getting an even more thorough coating of gray, brown and black grains of sand. Then we got up and ran back into the surf to wash off. The tide was beginning to recede, so the breakers were just a little farther out.
The tidal swing was so incremental, that you could not see it from moment to moment. Sandi skipped into the smaller surf, and then picked a medium sized wave and dove back in, her luxurious long brown hair spreading out like a soaked hood behind her.
She got to her feet, water gushing and streaming from her soaked clothing and body, and she dove underneath a larger wave, coming up laughing and thoroughly enjoying her fully clothed swim. Then we ran back up onto the beach, shivering in the morning coolness. Sandi had a fresh coating of dark gray sand covering her toes and the bottoms and sides of her feet, like a pair of impromptu sand shoes.
The cold shower that is a fixture at so many California beaches was not working. We hit the shower button again and again, but nothing came out. That was no problem with the apartment fewer than two blocks away. Neither of us had towels, shoes or keys to worry about, so we raced back up the hill to our apartment. Sandi was a faster runner, so I watched from behind as the water streamed off her brown hair, her blouse and her now very dark jeans. Her jeans were almost glued to her butt, with a fine coating of sand on top.
Her wet footprints lined the sidewalk as I followed up the hill. Fortunately, the front door of the apartment complex was ajar. Luckily, the landlady was nowhere in sight, because we were both a wet, sandy, drenched, dripping, sloppy mess. We raced up the stairs, leaving our wet footprints as we ran, and sprinted into our apartment. Sandi shrieked and ran through the living room, leaving a foot trail of water and sand on the carpet, and raced into the bathroom.
She impatiently threw into the dining room the damp and sandy towel hanging over the shower entrance, and turned on the hot water, full blast. This was one of the great showers of our time. The water came out hot and steamy at the outset.Wet look stories
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