Chapter 4
Carla's self-pitying glower was worse than a temper tantrum. Her dark chocolate eyes studied the bottom of her coffee cup with the intensity of a psychic reading a crystal ball. Paul had tried to explain to her that he'd only awoken to relieve himself and, invigorated by the crisp morning fog, had gone for a walk along the beach at sunrise. He was entitled to a bit of solitude, wasn't he? he'd defended.
"An hour and a half ... ?" she'd returned coldly, backing her charges with, "Why didn't you wake me up and we could have gone together?"
"I thought you wanted to sleep, that's why. Besides, I just wanted to be alone. I'm with people twenty-four hours a day in LA ... give me a break!"
A break she gave him: stony silence. Every glance in her direction proved his suspicions; reproach in her dark brooding eyes spelled dejection and misery. He knew he should gather her up in her arms and alleviate her fears, but something within him stopped those efforts. To do so would admit guilt, the same guilt that gnawed at him deep within his soul, making him edgy and nervous. Now, as Carla was kicking into her shoes, sitting on the sleeping bag, his eyes lifted to the burgundy van and knew without a sliver of a doubt ' that his voluptuous ex-girl friend had won this first battle. Carla, the dejected, sulking loser; Mae, the victoriously vibrant winner. That old magic spell had been cast over him. Even now as he pulled on his wool sweater, he felt the stirring in his groin just thinking of her.
He built a fire in the pit and boiled water for morning coffee. Chet would need the caffeine; he needed the distraction. Deliberately Paul ignored Mae's blue eyed sparkle as they sat on the driftwood bench. She cupped I the steaming coffee cup in her hands, staring at him avidly through the rising steam as if injecting in his brain more thoughts of this morning's episode. Lusty thoughts of passion. Yet Paul knew he couldn't repeat the performance. That would give validity to Carla's fears and, after all, he did love Carla. He desired Mae, God forgive him, but he loved Carla.
"Lovely morning," he nodded in Chefs direction who sat slumped hunch-shouldered on the log. His eyes were red road maps of lingering inebriation. He spoke little, and looked far beyond his years.
That reticence added to Paul's discomfort, stoking paranoic fantasies. That he'd spent the morning screwing Mae half to death and getting his balls vacuumed behind a rock, naked in the sand, was forming in everyone's mind, he figured, blowing into his cup of instant coffee. Chet must have become suspicious when Mae disappeared for the equal amount of time. Hell, everybody knew but nobody was owning up to it.
Except of course for silent Carla who sat cross-legged on the ground, cuddling her warm cup in her hands. Snake-cold eyes caught his and snapped back a silent threat like the venomous hiss of a reptile.
Defensively, he stared back at the fires smoldering flames across from which sat Mae looking fresh as a spring daisy on next to no sleep. Her skin-tight Levi's molded her body in Hellenistic perfection. A purple knit sweater added a sparkle to her blue eyes. Next to her Chet sat sipping coffee, looking disgusted with himself.
The sky was clearing of fog and the high tide had abated. "What's up for today, Carla. Any plans?" The inquiry was business-like and direct, a fact which she noted with deepening aggravation.
"What's there to do on a beach?" She shrugged her lovely shoulders and shot him a bored look. "I'll probably just grease up and try for a tan."
"Don't you feel like taking a walk ..."He jerked his head in the direction of this morning's excesses.
Carla caught the subtle innuendo and stiffened. "No thanks ... I'm content right here."
Paul squinted steamy-eyed at his fianc'e. "If that's the way you want it, fine!" He was tiring of playing negotiator, agent, diplomat to two women. Shit, he should have come here alone with Chet, the way they had originally planned, instead of letting himself get enmeshed in everyone's insecurities.
Mae, who'd gathered up the coffee cups preparing to wash them in the van, caught threads of the conversation. A smirk creased her lips. She shot, Chet who'd collapsed back in bed, an angry glance and decided that nobody was going to ruin this weekend for her. If Carla wasn't secure in knowing she was going to marry Paul, nothing could make her secure. Anyway, she thought selfishly, it's only one day in a life. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Chet staring at her and knew from the flinty-eyed glance, that he'd caught wind of her infidelities. Well, damn it, she thought turning the water on in the small aluminum built-in sink, if he weren't drunk all the time, their relationship would be spontaneous enough to suit her.
Through the convex window she spied Paul and flapped a teasing hand in his direction. Instantly the sullen look faded from his face, replaced by curiosity. She turned off the water decisively and tore out of the van. Skipping towards him, her full breasts bounced joyously. Grabbing him by the arm, he offered no resistance as she flung her arms around his neck.
"What a bunch of dead heads, huh? Nobody wants to play ..."
He unpeeled her arms from around his neck. "Don't say nobody ... that's not true ... let's say some." He jerked his head toward Carla who'd turned her back on him, absorbing herself in a magazine.
"Just give me a minute to peel out of these clothes and into my suit. See ya in five!" Her blonde hair, shimmering in the morning sunlight, flapped about her shoulders and back as she skipped back to the van, emerging moments later in a terry cloth swim jacket under which Lord only knew what she wore-if anything, surmised Paul who'd changed into cut-offs and T-shirt. A towel was draped over his shoulder.
Far down the beach in the same direction where they'd spent the morning in each other's goose-bumped arms, they stopped to sit on a boulder and stare out over the Pacific. Fog dissipated, leaving blue striated streaks to widen in promise of a gorgeous California day.
"Somebody told me about this beach. Her father knows the guy who owns the land ... I don't know how." Mae's shoulders shivered. "Doesn't it seem odd that we're the only people camped here? It's nice to be alone ..." and here she grabbed his arm and rubbed her cheek against his upper arm.
Paul gave fleeting consideration to her statement, nodded his head in answer and let his eyes rivet on the fullness of her breasts cupped in a skimpy red bikini top visible through the open flap of her terry robe. For a moment, he remembered the slam of the car hood and envisioned the flicker of match light in the bushes the night before. Were they alone? "I'm not sure we are alone. Carla and I found somebody's backpack and cooler last night and later I saw a match light and heard somebody slam a car hood."
Mae's blonde head shot around. "Strange ... I thought I saw a man outside the van last night. I was stripping off my clothes, ready to climb into bed. I thought I saw a man's face ..." She shrugged her shoulders dismissingly. "My imagination again." As was her habit, she made light of the situation.
"Let's head around the cove. Maybe we can find a cave to explore ... better than the streets of LA!"
"Race ya!" she challenged and they took off like two deer, splashing through the low-tide waters, skipping over slippery rocks strewn with barnacles, mindlessly tromping sea anemones. Around the cove they came onto a wide sandy beach, untouched, it seemed.
"What'd I tell ya? There's a cave!" Grabbing her hand, they took off, bare toes digging into the sand.
The temperature dropped ten degrees as they started into the damp cave hewn by years of slapping salt water; over the years, the formation of the beach had changed, leaving the cave's mouth dry inside and out. A natural rock awning was left for the protection of lovers.
They collapsed down on the warm sand, laughing, breathless. Her lithe arms slunk around his neck, pulling him close to her, mashing her breasts against his muscular chest. "Do you still think of me once in a while?" she teased, nibbling at his earlobe with her even white teeth. She knew that always drove him crazy. "Hmmmm ... ?"
The answer came slowly. "Sure ... once in a while ..." he returned, nestling his nose in her fine blonde hair curtaining her shoulders.
"Just once in a while?" she wrinkled up her nose in disappointment.
"Hey! I'm a busy man! I'm engaged to be married. A guy can't dwell on memories forever ... they don't fill your stomach or get your rocks off, now do they?"
He didn't want her probing for his emotions. Should Carla or Chet come looking for them, he didn't want his private life exposed. He cringed at the thought of someone overhearing their conversation.
Mae's voice was knife-blade cold when she pulled her arms free of him and stared into his eyes. "You really love Carla, don't you? I've never had a guy give me up for another girl, you know." A tinge of bitterness clouded her sunny disposition.
Paul drew in a deep breath, feeling trapped, an emotion he didn't relish. Then, for the sake of her faltering ego, a weakness he was beginning to discover, he added: "You were too much woman for me, that's all." It wasn't true, but he couldn't handle another depressed woman on his hands this weekend. The music business was full of them, he needn't bring them along on his free time. The medicine worked. The smile returned to her rosebud lips, the sparkle to her blue eyes, and her hand descended to clamp his strong thigh.
"Ahhhh shit ..." moaned Chet, blinking against the noon sun peeking through the van window. Sweaty and dirty, with a throbbing head to crown it all. Growling, he rolled over and struggled up to sitting position. With the balls of his fists, he rubbed his eyes and staggered out of bed, wincing and scouring the campsite for signs of life. Damned deserted for a Big Sur beach he thought bracing his hands against the van's door before hopping out.
"Mae! Mae! MAE! Where the hell are you?" he bellowed through cupped hands. Dejectedly he stomped towards the fire pit, deserted and empty.
They took off," he heard someone call out behind him.
Pivoting on his heel, he squinted against the sun to the pine trees under which Carla lay on the sleeping bag. She'd shed this morning's heavy clothes in favor of a pink polka-dot bikini that showed the luscious mounds of her breasts and the soft bowl of her belly. Chet blinked. Christ, he'd never noticed what a great body she had. Not as mature and full or tall as Mae, but damned close to perfection. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Took off for where?" he grumbled, his burly dark hair a mop of sweat-soaked curls. His reddened eyes lingered on the soft curves of her hips, centering on the jewel of her belly button. He licked his lips. "Mind if I join you? ... since we've been deserted."
Carla's eyes lifted above the rim of the Cosmopolitan Magazine she had purchased enroute from Los Angeles. Funny, she had never noticed how curly his eyelashes were. When he was rested, he was very good looking-very. She sat up, leaning against the tree trunk and backpack. And the dimples high on his cheeks, softening the rugged, biker look that dominated his features. The air of recklessness auraed his smile.
He settled down on the sleeping bag, unzipped and flapped open wide as a blanket. "Christ, I could go for a beer to wet my throat."
As if expecting to see a vending machine out there in the middle of nowhere, his dark eyes scoured the pine grove. Abruptly, he rose to his feet and left Car la to peruse the horoscope section of her magazine. "Taurus ... expect changes in relationships this month. Don't worry, Taurus, you're the sexpot of the skies. Perhaps you're not the impulsive type ... Venus adversely aspected. Jealousies could erupt this month, but remember that all things pass."
"Great!" snorted Carla, throwing down the magazine. That's all she needed was more affirmation of emotional upsets. She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering out at the ocean, when she heard a deep laugh and pop behind her.
"Would you believe it? Just found a beer in the middle of nowhere!" Chet threw back his head and took a grateful gulp from a pop-top Miller beer can.
"Where'd you find that?"
"Over there!" He pointed to the abandoned backpack with Coleman cooler under a tree. "You want some watermelon ... bologna sandwich?" he tittered. "That cooler's full of food."
A worried look creased Carla's brow. "That's odd. I heard someone slam a car door last night and I was positive it was the campers coming back to get their things. Wonder who that was?"
"Don't ask me, hon ... that Southern Comfort did me in. Somebody could have shot a bullet through my window and I wouldn't have heard a thing."
"Hmmm ... well, it's their loss."
"Where'd they go?"
"You tell me, she's your girl friend ..."
"And he's your fiance," quipped Chet a bit defensively.
Carla laughed bitterly. "Maybe ... maybe not ..." She retrieved the discarded magazine and feigned interest in the lingerie ads.
"Hey, don't get jealous over Mae. Paul knows a good thing when he's got it ... that's what I admire about the guy. He's no fool ... not like me," he added in a soft aside. An unfiltered cigarette dangled from his lips; he left it unlit and spoke around it. "Good to see you and Paul gettin' together. Nothin' wrong with marriage if ya got the right gal."
Carla contemplated those words for a moment, her eyes fixed on the white-cap waves slapping against the boulders. A light breeze tossed her auburn waves about her shoulders delicately, like the warm breath of a lover. Maybe it was cruelty that made her say it:
"When are you and Mae going to get married?"
Chet threw back his burly head and laughed bitterly. "Married to Mae? Are you insane? She can't be satisfied with one man, no matter how much he loves her. I can't stop her. She's a natural flirt."
A gush of sympathy rippled through Carla. Two peas in a pod-she and Chet. Two wronged lovers sitting drowning in self-pity while their lovers frolicked off into the sunrise, stealing kisses and Lord knew what else behind rocks. In the end, her reticence and defeatist attitude had only hurt herself.
"I wish she'd flirt with somebody besides Paul! I've had about enough of this!" She flipped a strand of auburn hair over her creamy shoulder glistening with baby oil and raised her eyes to catch the set expression on Chefs profile. Save for the crows feet etched around his eyes, he had a perfect Roman profile. Hurt and lack of self-respect was evident in the curve of his lip. In that instance, Carla was filled with dislike for Paul for cheating on his friend, just as Mae was cheating on her.
What a mess, she thought, hugging her knees. If there was a bus back to Los Angeles, she'd hop it right now and let them all play out their pathetic games.
Chet had struck a match to the cigarette dangling between his lips, when Carla's ears honed to the sound of twigs snapping through the thicket of low-hanging pine boughs. The noontime sun caught the glimmer of something shiny, metallic. Her breath caught in her chest; she shot a wide-eyed glance in Chefs direction.
"Did you hear that?"
Chet, ears buzzing from a horrendous hangover, threw back his head and laughed. "You're imagination's going berserk, lady. Settle down and take it easy." He shoved the beer can under her nose. "Here, this'll calm you right down."
They lay in the sand, their naked bodies protected from the grainy sand by a spread-out beach towel. Together they stared up into the blue sky, watching the fog disappear like breath on a dewy morn. The mouth of the cave was hidden and dark as a lover's womb. Mae's head was filled with lusty promises and Paul's, filled with Carla, reticent and pouting. Glimpsing the sullen look in his dark eyes, she broke the spell. She pumped his swelling organ in the warmth of her fist. Her fingers couldn't quite close around it.
"You look so serious, Paul. How come?" She gave him a tight squeeze, forcing a pearl of pre-cum from the oozing tip of his cock. His response was not satisfactory, and to get her way, she bent over him, her blonde hair softly brushing his chest, and kissed the tip with her swirling tongue, tasting, licking, savoring. She lifted her head, tossed her blonde mane of honey hair behind an ear and studied him with laughing, mocking eyes. "Does Carla suck you?"
"Huh?" His forehead furrowed, hearing such filthy words spew from such a beautiful woman. Something didn't add up there. He shook his head.
"Is she good in bed?"
He nodded this time, a twinge of guilt seeping into his lust-filled thoughts.
"Then why won't she give you head?"
"You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" It was more a statement than a question. He wished she would stop interrogating him and putting Carla on the spot in her kangaroo court of sexual do's and don'ts.
"Maybe I should start giving lessons in giving head. God, I love to eat cock! I love to suck it, I love the taste and when my lover cums, I like to hold it in my mouth for a long time and swallow it drop by drop."
"Mae, you don't have to be so descriptive ..." This morning she had been an angel, sensitive and almost compassionate, shedding her characteristic narcissistic cloak that made Mae a difficult person to be around-especially if you were a woman or an attached male. But Mae was a game player all the way, always would be, and he and Carla, he was beginning to suspect, were her pawns.
"Should I eat your cock now?" she gave it a possessive squeeze. She ran a hot tongue over her rosebud lips. "Can I taste it?" Those baby blue eyes boring into his deep ones again. What could he say?
He leaned back on the sand, arranged the towel under his head, and lay back, a willing victim to her wiles.
Winking, she lowered her blonde head, opened her mouth and slowly drew the full length of his bulging, veiny cock into her mouth, twisting drew the full length of his bulging, veiny cock into her mouth, twisting her tongue around it and sucking steadily, pulling at it with her lips, making it grow.
She noted the sudden glint of dissident in his eye. "Are you tired of this? Maybe we would try something else."
Paul's mind was glued on Carla. Somehow this morning's enraptured magic had dissipated with the afternoon sunshine. The moodiness had brightened into a lucid image of right and wrong. Yet here he was on a beach, safely tucked away from prying eyes in a cave ... with a gorgeous hunk of a female, crawling over his body, her fingers marching over his flesh like army ants.
Mae took his hands in hers and guided them to the sleek crease of her buttocks. She slipped easily out of her bikini bottoms and unpeeled the tiny bikini top covering her breasts.
"Wanna try something different, honey?"
Paul blinked. "You mean you want to ... naw ... come on ... that's for faggots!"
"Oh, don't be so square!" she tutted, beginning to suckle his bulging penis again, wetting it from tip to base in long, licking strokes. "How long have you lived in LA, anyway?" she mocked.
Maneuvering on her sleek belly, her trembling buttocks high in the air, she spread her legs wide and rose to a half-kneeling position.
God help me, but I can't resist this woman! Later he would suffer the guilt; right now he wanted to feel her velvety cunt on his lips. Rolling her over, he knelt between her legs. His tongue flicked out and he began to lick the satiny flesh of her thighs, tasting salty from frolicking in the ocean's waves. He swiveled his head from one to the other as he moved slowly toward the bush of honey pubic curls. The ragged pink line of her slit showed through it, pulsing, swelling and opening around his tongue as the tip made the first luscious lick. Mae squeezed her slender thighs together tight for a languid moment against his face, then slowly parted the coral hole. He could smell the hot, musky heat of her body as she opened her legs wide in invitation.
The flat of his warm, velvety tongue swept between the ragged, tasty lips and brought a rising gasp of appreciation from her throat. Her hand shot behind her head and she tilted herself up so she could watch. His warm mouth glued to the ragged lips and he sucked hard, letting his tongue curl deep into her moistening cuntal hole and then twitched as her cuntal muscles closed around it like a sea anemone. He worked it around and then out, searching, licking for the tip of her clitoris and teasing it, then nipping lightly, expertly with his teeth, grabbing the oily nub and giving it a babyish nip. She squealed with delight.
"God, you eat pussy ..." she mumbled, tossing her head wildly, thrusting her pelvis up to his demanding mouth. "Nobody ever ate me out like you do ... not even another woman ..."
He let that comment pass. What was she telling him? That she'd turned bisexual? "Hmmm ..."
He lifted his head from her steaming genitals and stared at her. "Oh, don't get so serious, Paul. They make us models do some pretty crazy things for those magazines. You wouldn't believe the things I've learned!" she stated.
He let that pass too. Dimly the words registered in his mind as he continued to lick and suck, driving her wild with his thrusting tongue, exulting in her silken thighs clenched around his flushed face smeared with her tasty juices. "Mmmmm ..."
"Ahhhhhh!" she hissed.
Her raspberry-red fingertips clawed at his head, pulling him tight against the wet forest between her golden thighs and she started to buck, back arched, screaming, cumming hard, gushing over his face, clamping him tight with her strong legs, holding him captive until the final spasm ebbed. Then, while she was still trying to catch her breath, he rolled her over onto her belly, over onto the thick clump of wadded up discarded clothes beneath them and spread her legs wide.
If she wanted to play whore, he would play the game! He dipped a finger into the secretions of her milking vaginal hole and spread it around the small, tightly puckered button of her anus, feeling her tremble in anticipation as, with his thumbs, he spread the smoothly curved half-moons of her buttocks wide. She raised her tail high in back, wriggling, taking her weight on her knees and elbows digging into the sand as the throbbing head of his steely cock touched the sensitive, cringing hole of her anus. He grasped her trembling hips in his big hands and held her tight as he pressed forward, clenching his teeth with the effort.
"Ugggghhhh!" she gasped softly, accepting the pain, as the blood-engorged knob bored past the fleshy outer lips of her tightly clenched anal sphincter. But she gritted her teeth bravely and jerked back toward him, offering herself, and the head popped all the way up inside the warm, rubbery opening.
"Ummmmmm ... go in slow ... honey ... very slow ..."
Gritting his teeth, beads of sweat pearling on his forehead, Paul held back the urge to ram the entire length of his cock into her with one powerful lunge. She rotated her hips and pressed slowly. A fraction of an inch at a time, his heavily pulsating cock sank deeper into the hot, moist tunnel of her ass. Her face contorted with a mixture of pain and pleasure, her eyes looking directly out on to the ocean, watching waves slap against the boulders, the frothy, briny water trickling up to wet the sand and recede again.
Mae's lips were drawn back tight against her even white teeth, and her breath was slow and deep as, with each manipulation of her body, she absorbed more of his meaty prick. Each slow stroke measured only a fraction of an inch, but his progress was determinable, and her taut, nakedly curved buttocks swayed from side to side and up and down in perfect rhythm, helping him, urging him on, leading him. Finally he was entirely inside of her, his hairy balls mashed tight against the softly curling hair of her pussy below. She sighted softly, relaxing, and sank down onto the ground. Her anal sphincter tightened hungrily around the base of his penis and she started to work her rectal muscles, clenching her buttocks back tighter against his naked penis. She squeezed him, she sucked him with muscles she didn't know she had!
She made a soft, humming sound. He couldn't see that her body was moving, but Paul felt as if a hundred tiny fingers were milking his prick, running its full length, squeezing him.
"God, you've got a beautiful ass!" he gasped.
She turned her face to the side so that he could see the lusty effect he was having on her. "I love to cum with you fucking me hard up inside my ass like this. I go crazy with you fucking into me fast ... I get so damned wild!" He got the hint and started boring into her with faster strokes. "No ... not yet ... just lie there and let me do the moving ... ummm ... Paul ... you should fuck Carla in the ass like this." She laughed mockingly then, knowing that would never happen.
Paul reassured that suspicion. "Forget it ..." he whispered in her ear. "She doesn't like oral sex either."
"That's nobody's fault but your own ..."
"Wh-what?"
"You should have fucked her the first night to set the pattern."
"How did you know that?"
"Hollywood's a small place sometimes. Word gets around ... nobody could believe it when you gave me up for her," she added a bit bitterly.
"Women ... asses and mouths ..."
"Don't make fun of my ass, sweetheart," she said, giving it a twitch that sent waves of sensation along his cock. "You'll never be faithful to Carla and you know it. You find another one like me who loves to suck you off and feel your prick up her ass, and you'd be leaving poor Carla in the dust. Come on," she urged, "move it a little."
She ground her ass against his deeply embedded cock and he drew back and fucked hard up into her rectal hole, bringing a soft little grunt of mixed pain and pleasure from her rosebud lips. She raised slightly up onto her dimpled knees and writhed as he drove deep into her upturned asshole again.
"Aaaagghhh ... Gawd! Work it around a little up there ... deep, hard ... HARD ... oh, yeah, baby, like that ... like that!" she mewled, hissing through clenched teeth.
Beneath him she began to heave and pant, thrusting her openly clenching anal mouth upward, moving it in tiny circular motions with each growing stroke of his long, unbending rod of steely flesh that made one body of them. Her face, and then her entire, lusciously curved body flushed with her exertions and pain and her breathing was fast and ragged. With each withdrawal, the clutching anus drew back like a fish's mouth, and she gasped as the heavily fucking cock plunged deep into her again, churning in the hot, wet depths of her back passage.
She raised herself higher, on hands and knees and met each punishing stroke with a backward thrusting that took all of his huge length. His balls slapped wetly down against the opening thrashing lips of her cunt as he drove viciously into her to the hilt, then withdrew with just a fraction of his meaty girth in the briny air. Only the bulging head remained up inside the warm, spongy walls of her rectum. His hands held her thrashing hips, leaving cruel red welts, and, with each massive stroke, she cried out, her screams of joy mingling with the ocean's roar. Her blonde hair flailed wild as the wind with the tossing of her head, and her mouth was drawn in a wide grimace of passion as a series of orgasms each stronger than the last, wracked her eagerly working young body.
"God, you can fuck!" she cried, clenching her buttocks, holding him tight as the spasm of churning cum gave way to the words: "My ass ... fuck my ass ... fuck ... fuck ... fuck!"
She was gyrating so wildly he could hardly hold her still and finally, as he felt the cum amass in his testicles, he threw his full weight into her, crushing her to the sand, grasping her hard by the shoulders as he skewered into her with a vengeance. Insanely, violently, the great load of semen gushed into her hotly thrashing hole and they cried out together in a wild, cataclysmic climax.
For a long while he lay on her naked back, feeling her heavy breathing, until his penis became soft and limp up inside her semen-drenched rectal channel.
"I should have married you ..." she gasped.
Paul knew better. He didn't want a whore for a wife ... he wanted a lady, maybe even someone who thought ass fucking was perverted. "Why, because I throw you a hunk of meat?" His guts knotted when he thought of her earlier comments about making love with other women. A cold shiver snaked up and down his spine. Sure, Mae was a good lover, but she'd never be a good wife. He thought of Chet ... poor Chet ... living in a bottle to escape the horrendous jealousy and insecurities he must feel watching his girl friend trying to make everything that had a cock.
Paul raised up on his elbows and let his eyes roam over the floor of the cave. The barnacles polka-dotting the cave wall, the sea anemones the ...
His head shot up and he pulled himself loose from Mae's quivering body. His feet dug into the loose sand; he bent over. It was cold and sharp. Now in the sunlight he could make out its form decisively. It was a knife, a sharp machete, the kind used by the military. Deeper inside the cave he found a woman's hiking boot.
He kept these discoveries to himself. Yet an emotion he could not gauge rippled through him. The car hood slamming, the match light, now this.
"Let's get dressed and out of here."