Timothy Lea - Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions

I wander amongst the pines and find a path which winds down towards the sea. It is cool and dark under the trees with only occasional shafts of sunlight breaking through the thick foliage. Soon I can see patches of blue dodging behind the trunks and when I emerge it is to gaze down on an endless jumble of rocks looking like an upturned box of kids’ building bricks. Half the height of a house some of them are, and they start piling up right at the water’s edge. At first this leads me to think that there can’t be any beach, but as I walk along I can see the occasional tiny cove – and I don’t mean Wee Georgie Wood – nestling amongst the rocks with its own private beach, empty and inviting.

But not always empty. In the middle of one patch of sand a young woman wearing a bikini is lying on her stomach and reaching behind her back to release the catch of her bra. I hate to see her risking pulling a muscle when I would be only too ready to offer my services. Especially as the young lady in question is the lovely Marcia. She unhooks her bra, arranges each strap neatly on either side of her and rests her head on her hands. Very methodical girl, Miss Trimbody. I find her cool, self-contained style very appealing after some of the ravers I have been struggling with lately. I continue to watch her slim, lithe body dozing in the sunshine and ponder my next move. Any bloke with a spark of decency in him would of course tiptoe quietly away and go home to catalogue his stamp collection.

Unfortunately, though I can on occasions strike sparks, not one of them has ever had decency stamped on it. My first reaction is the one that is still with me ten minutes and a fair dose of eye-strain later: how can I get the rest of her costume off? I could ask her to take it off nicely, or bash her over the nut with a rock, but neither of these methods seems quite right. In the end, I settle for my normal approach: the one foot in front of the other, followed by the nervous pause while I wait to hear what I am going to say.

In this case it is “sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you” because just as I am drawing up beside her and about to cough discreetly, she suddenly sits up and starts to wriggle out of her bikini bottom. She has got it down to the knees when for some reason she turns and sees me gawping at her. Quick as a flash, she crosses her legs and drops her hands over her pubes.

“What do you want? What do you want?” she shrills.

Of course, I could tell her, but again, I don’t think it is the right moment.

“I’ll look the other way,” I say, turning my back on her and holding before me like a photograph the memory of her shapely little breasts and upturned nipples. “I am sorry.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for Grunwald and doing a bit of exploring at the same time. It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

“Not if you’re being spied on when you’re sunbathing.”

“I wasn’t spying. I saw you from up there and you were lying so still I thought something might be wrong. Can I turn round now?”

I whip round but she has everything on again and is flicking the sand off her bra. Grrrh!

“You could have shouted.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But I didn’t want to frighten you.”

“It was a jolly sight more frightening turning round and suddenly seeing you standing there.”

“Yes—er—do you mind if I sit down?”

“Be my guest. It’s a free beach. What there is of it.”

“There’s not a lot of sand, is there?”

“For what is supposed to be a Mediterranean holiday island, I think it’s incredible.”

“Sidney wouldn’t like to hear you say that.”

“I’ve already said it to him. I told him that the whole place was a disaster. I don’t see how any sane person could disagree with me.”

“Well, I hope it goes alright for Sidney’s sake.”

“Don’t worry about Sidney. He’s one of nature’s survivors. He’ll be alright.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“About six months, I think. The length of time he’s been Promotions Manager.”

“What’s he like to work for?”

“We have our ups and downs—” she sees me looking at her when she says that, and blushes. “He’s a very volatile man. Lots of drive, impatient, reckless, his assessment of situations can be terribly wrong sometimes – but I don’t have to tell you all this. You’re his brother-in-law, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You sound as if you like him.”

“I do. I like brash, aggressive men. Maybe I want to be dominated. It’s probably all very Freudian.”

She looks out to sea and lets a handful of sand trickle through her fingers. This is quite a class bird, I think to myself.

“Are you lobbying on behalf of your sister? I haven’t got anything big going with Sidney.”

I pick up some sand and pour it gently on to her pile.

“I wasn’t thinking about that. I was concentrating on number one, as usual.”

Our hands brush against each other and she makes no great effort to snatch hers away. I am lying on my back and she looks down at me and smiles.

“How long were you watching from up there?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Wondering if I was dead?”

“That kind of thing.”

“You’re a liar.”

“That’s right.”

She looks out to sea again and slowly releases a hand full of sand on to my stomach.

“It’s a pity,” she says slowly.

“What is?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Go on.”

“I have a favourite fantasy in which I’m lying on a small, secluded beach and the sun is shining and the sea is sparkling and—”

“And what?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Go on.”

“And a beautiful man appears from nowhere and …”

“And?”

The sky is very blue above me and there is a solitary seagull circling lazily as if keeping a watchful eye on us. Marcia’s face appearing above mine blocks it out and I refocus on her blue eyes.

“—we make love.”

“I’m not beautiful.”

“You’ll do.”

I raise my head as if her mouth is the lowest of a bunch of grapes dangling above me and we kiss gently. It is very pleasant that kiss, so we do it again, putting a little more feeling into it. Her back is warm and I dust the sand from it, pulling her down so that we are lying side by side and I can smell her hair and run my tongue along her eyelids. She tugs at my T-shirt and starts to knead the flesh around my waist.

“Ouch,” I say. “That hurts.”

“You look as if you can take it.”

Her hand moves smoothly down to my thigh and she pushes it up the leg of my shorts.

She is biting her lip just as she was when we were watching Grunwald and the girls.

“That’s nice,” she says. “Oh, that is nice.”

And quick as a flash she rolls away, arches her back and slips down her bikini bottom. I don’t have time to help, she does it so fast. I kick off my sandals and do the same and her hand comes back immediately, inquisitive and greedy.

“Take off your shirt,” she hisses. “I want to look at all of you.”

By the time I have pulled it over my head, she has shaken off her bra and starts running her fingers over me and darting her mouth down so that her kisses fall on me like isolated drops of rain heralding a storm. Her head taxis down my body and—o-o-o-o-o-h! I dig my hands into the sand and screw up my eyes against the sunlight and the ecstasy.

Far above me through the haze I can see a man standing on the rocks watching us. He has a beard and a hairy chest and a fat hairy belly and he is naked. The expression on his face could be a smile. Grunwald. O-o-o-o-h!! Good luck to him. I close my eyes momentarily and draw Marcia’s quivering body underneath my own.