The Beach House Read Free

from
expended energy, the pleasure heightened by the drubbing she had
given Paul. He might be a good swimmer, but Jenni swam at least an
hour every day of the year and only someone outstanding was going
to beat her, particularly on the long half mile route she had set.
She heard Paul trailing along behind, his breathing still coming
fast. She twirled back and laughed.
    “Don’t sweat it, honey; no-one’s beaten me
yet.”
    He grinned and she liked there was no rancor
in him. “Next year,” he said.
    “You coming back next year? Think you can
handle more humiliation?”
    “I’m coming back so I can beat you.” His
grin widened, eyes meeting Jenni’s, not as afraid of her as he had
been.
    At Kate’s house Jenni used the cold shower
out back to wash the salt off before changing in the lean-to shed.
She heard the shower running indoors, right next to the wall the
shed was built against. Her mind projected the few feet through the
shingles to imagine Paul standing under the shower, water cascading
over his lean body. She wondered if his cock was hard in the same
way as her nipples, wondered if he was rubbing himself and for a
moment lust filled her body, making her weak. She had dried but not
dressed, stood with one hand against the wall while the other crept
down, touched her belly and slid lower. Jenni adjusted her stance,
opening her legs to admit her fingers, touching herself, cold from
the sea but as she pushed her fingers inside they were met by
warmth and a smooth slickness.
    She gasped, aroused, her eyes fluttering
shut. Through the wall she sensed, or imagined she sensed, the
faint vibration made by the shower. The sound stopped. Jenni stood
alone, fingers thrust inside herself, ashamed of the thoughts in
her head. Paul might be about to turn eighteen, but still so young.
She withdrew her fingers and dressed, hoping to cover her
arousal.
    When she emerged carrying the two mismatched
parts of her wet bikini in her hand it was Jenni who avoided Paul’s
gaze as he came on the porch toweling his hair dry, dressed in blue
jeans and a sweatshirt.
    “Are you swimming tomorrow?” Paul’s eyes
locked on hers and a thrill coursed through Jenni. He had become
more adventurous, bolder.
    “I swim every day.”
    “I’ll probably catch you then, if you don’t
mind some company.”
    “Don’t mind company.”
    Jenni drove back over the island into town.
As she came down the hill a ferry was docking, bringing more
visitors, ready to return day-trippers to the mainland. The ferry,
regular as any clock, said a few minutes after five and Mark would
be home by six wanting his evening meal, would likely be out again
by seven drinking with his buddies. At least it meant he wouldn’t
be home. Jenni preferred it when she had the house to herself, ever
since Mark started taking his frustration at life out on her.
Nothing much to begin with, words and shouting at the start, then a
year ago the physical stuff began, a light slap, a punch to the
ribs. What worried her was the escalation. Sometimes Mark didn’t
seem aware just how hard he hit her.
    Had she allowed herself to imagine an
escape, had some feasible option existed, she was starting to think
she might take it, wondering how long it was going to be before any other option was better than the one she had
accepted.
     
    ***
    Sunday Jenni beat Paul, same again on Monday, but he
was catching on to her style, getting closer each day. Or perhaps
she was letting him get closer. Her resolution of Saturday not to
think about him sexually had blown to the winds; she couldn’t stop thinking about him, conjuring fantasies of his tight
young body, picturing him naked, picturing what she wanted to do
with him.
    Tuesday morning when Mark left for work
Jenni showered and after she dried stood naked in front of the tall
bathroom mirror. She leaned forward to wipe the steam stippled
surface, stared at her distorted body appearing slowly as the air
cooled and the mirror cleared.
    She