It was warm in the back of the bus.
I was wearing a thin cotton
dress,
sitting by the window as the bus rolled and rocked down the highway -
going to New York City, but I can't remember why.
Silently, the man sitting beside me
unzipped his pants,
and pulled out his penis.
It stood up almost straight in the air,
and he moved his hands up and down on it as the bus swayed
on the highway.
I looked around, but there were no other seats on the bus.
The man moaned and came in his lap.
Out the window, cars streaked by on the Massachusetts turnpike.
Cathy: beached pervert
None of the beaches were that easy to get to: the coast was cliffy,
the beaches mostly rocks and rotting kelp. Flies swarmed.
We slipped and slid down the dirt path, Lynn and I,
the smell of wild anise strong on the ocean air.
It was the only nude beach for miles.
We brought a bottle of sweet wine with us, Night Train Express.
It'd wash the salt and dust from our mouths and give some meaning
to baking on the tiny crescent of coarse sand for hours.
I was pie-eyed in no time.
The naked man who landed his dinghy on the shore
must've spotted us from the yacht moored in the cove.
He made some preliminary remarks -- they couldn't have been
too unusual, for by now I've
forgotten what they were -- and began jerking off.
Through the haze of the wine I didn't even realize
what he was doing until he came onto the sand near Lynn's towel.
"That was so tacky." Lynn said, and began to laugh.
We were too drunk to climb back up the cliff.
"He looked familiar, didn't he?" I said as he got his fat ass
back into the rowboat and headed out to sea.