Beach of Wasted Wishes

St. Marteen
A nude beach in St. Marteen, taken by me.

She held a third gin and tonic in her left hand and a freshly lit cigarette in the other. My kinda girl. Collapsing in the sand she pressed into me with wanton desire and turned my skin to film.
“How long until the tide comes in?” she said. Her words were honey and I a humble bumblebee.
“Maybe a few hours.”
Inhale. Exhale. Smoke.
“I want the waves to take me somewhere. Anywhere but here.” A wasted wish since the water was smooth as ever. Chugging without constraint liquor spilled down her chin. Silently I willed her to drink me up with the same eagerness she drank that shot.

Her poison came best in triple doses; alcohol, smoke and I were the only medicine she cared to take. When we kissed she would take my head in her tobacco stained hands and I always pulled back a mouth of must, a chemical cocktail of haze and tang. This I found the most irresistible.

Her breasts failed to fill the space in her bra and a mismatched thong peaked from folds of scarred belly, legs spread wide and hands pressed back in the sand, she let the ocean wash over her thighs, stealing kisses before drawing back into itself. It was then that I knew I would gurgle sea and sand to give her all the kisses she needed to feel healed, if only she would let me.

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