The last couples had wandered off together, and the unattached guys and gals had drifted back to their respective beach houses... all except for the tall 'surfer dude' in knee shorts and slouch hat, who was (typically) the last to quit the scene.
"Goodnight, Deadhead!" Dolores had called back to him, as Frankie ushered her down the shoreline in the moonlight. It might have sounded mean in other places, but it was an affectionate nickname among the beach gang. And Dolores, as usual, was the kindest of the group. Deadhead wistfully watched her walk away, with Frankie's arm over her shoulders... and wished again that he could walk with her that way, someday. But he had no smooth words to say, no songs to sing, and was generally just the lunk his name implied.
Actually, beneath his goofball antics, Deadhead was a pretty rugged surfer. A sort of "guilty pleasure" for the girls in fact, as they would lounge on their blankets, and watch him handle an 8-foot, 80-pound board like a toothpick. Still, as they would say to each other after lights out, he was nobody's idea of boyfriend material.
Too restless to hit the sack, he meandered up the beach – in Dolores and Frankie's general direction, but angling inland. Towards the rocks and unexplored caves, below the cliffs. He picked his way among the crags, in the moonlight, with an agility surprising for his awkward appearance. For a minute, he thought he heard Dolores' laughter in the distance, on the breeze. But as he listened more closely, it faded.
Dolores. He would never let on (and be teased forever) that he was heartsick in love with her. And he was honest enough to admit that part of it was plain old "hots for." She simply had the most gorgeous, sexy figure he had ever seen (or seen in her rather modest 2-piece suit, at least). Her sleek legs, and curvy hips, and large, beautiful breasts, were in his heart and on his mind almost everyday. To hold that wonderful body in his arms, and kiss those lips, and make love all night long, was his dream of dreams. But her heart and mind, having no such desire for him, ruled it out.
This night he wandered further than usual – further than he ever had – and came upon a path that was just above the waterline, at this midnight hour of low tide. By dawn it would be submerged again. He was about to pass it by, when he heard a whisper in the direction it led... and thought he spied a glimmer of light in the cliff face. Intrigued, he followed the path, upward and landward.
At the trail head, he saw the glimmer was coming from inside a cave. He carefully entered, and found a surprisingly large cavern. The space was almost as big as Big Daddy's, the gang's favorite hangout, and had a sort of shiny, luminous coating on the walls and ceiling. Probably some kind of lichens or plankton that glowed that way naturally.
The floor was level, with patches of smooth sand. Around the sides were odd-shaped rocks and formations. He heard the whispers again, and now realized they were the sea breeze swishing through crevices in the walls. The same breeze that had carried Dolores' laughter.
Dolores... again he thought of her, and more keenly than ever. Along with the glow and the whispering breeze, he noticed a faint, sweet, musky fragrance in the air. From all the sea plants and creatures, and the ocean itself, that had swirled through here for hundreds of years. He inhaled it again, and the scent was actually quite... arousing. It made him think about Dolores all the more. The idea came to him about bringing her here. If she could smell the air, and hear the whispers... and see the strange, silvery glow... would it put her in the mood for...?
He shook off the crackpot notion. So silly. And dumb. "Deadhead" for sure. Then he took a final look around the cavern. Ready to head back, and call it a night. That was when he spotted the leather sack.
He walked over to the flattop rock, about waist high, that it was perched upon. He lifted the sack... and from it fell a sort of doll, along with an old parchment.
"Huh, whut is that?" he said aloud. The doll was maybe 8 inches tall, and looked like a Fiji warrior... with large eyes. Very large eyes. Deadhead glanced at it, then began reading the parchment. "Fiji... witch... doll," he read, slowly. "Whoever looks into his eyes, will become thy slave – to do with as ye will, until released" He laughed a little, then looked again at the weird doll. The eyes were certainly strange and fascinating. Yet he felt nothing in particular.
He laughed again. "Mebbe you can't be your own slave. So it'll only work to make somebody else..."– he paused for a second – "my slave." He glanced around the cave. Then looked at the doll again, and licked his lips. Do you suppose it... really could...?
He tucked the doll back into its leather sack, and hid it behind the rock. The next morning, he took an extra bedroll to the cave, and stashed it behind another rock. Then he did his usual 'surfer dude' stuff the rest of the day, while steering away from Dolores (for fear he might stare too much, or blurt out something).
During the clambake that night, he noticed that Frankie and Dolores were giving each other the cold shoulder. It was one of their occasional tiffs, which they would patch up soon enough. But for right now, Deadhead saw a chance. He sat down by her, and told her about the cave, with its glowing walls and strange whispers, and the sweet musky smell (although he kept mum about the magic doll). He asked her if she'd like to come see it.
Dolores was a bit surprised that Deadhead, of all people, would make such an obvious pass at her. But the cave story actually intrigued her. And when she spotted Frankie eyeing them with a huffy expression, she said to Deadhead, "Sure, let's take a look." There was nothing to worry about; nobody would think there was anything between them. And she'd deflect him if he did try something, of course. So she shouldered her big beach handbag, and they set out.
As they walked along, Dolores made small talk about that day's surfing, and her spring break trip to Washington ("We saw President Kennedy walking to his helicopter, by the White House. Shelley shouted, and he waved to us!") Deadhead nodded, and tried to hold up his end. But when his mind drifted back to her and Frankie the night before, he absently draped his arm over Dolores the same way.
She said nothing for a minute. Then she stopped walking. Deadhead, though not the sharpest knife in the drawer, sensed that he had overstepped, and drew back. She turned to him, earnestly but tenderly. "Deadhead, we really aren't right for each other. Not... as a couple. Just as friends. As very good friends." She reached up, and put a hand on his brawny shoulder. "Is that okay?"
"Waal, sure," Deadhead answered, with his bashful demeanor. She smiled. "Uhh, the cave is right up there," he went on. Now or never, he figured. "Would you still like to see it? For just a minute?"
She thought a moment, then smiled again. "Sure, Deadhead. Let's see it."
He led the way up the narrow, sandy trace, through the rocks, to the cave entrance. They ducked their heads, and went inside.
"Pretty neat, huh?" he said, as they stood in the glow of the shiny walls. The whispers of the sea breeze flitted around them.
Dolores was sincerely impressed. "This is quite a discovery!" she complimented him, as she stepped forward, and took it in. "We need to show the gang. It's big enough for a party!" She walked slowly in a circle, on the sandy floor, gazing up and down and around. "How did you find it? Why were you out here?"
He didn't want to let on that he was mooning over her. So he said, "I guess sometimes, guys like to do secret things," which was true enough.
She didn't mention the musky fragrance; but she unconsciously breathed it in, deeply. Deadhead watched as she moved about the cave, innocently exploring, and he savored her chest rising and falling in the pink 2-piece swimsuit. The musk apparently blurred her own consciousness, or she would have taken note of his close, not-so-innocent attention. To hold that wonderful body in his arms, and kiss those lips, and... and...
"And you gotta see this other crazy thing I found," he said. He went over to the rock, and plucked the leather bag from its hiding place. He set it up on top, still concealing the doll inside. Then he guided Dolores over, and positioned her right in front of the perch. "That's right, Dolores. Now watch this...!"
She smiled gamely, and directed her attention forward. When he was sure she was looking, he lifted the bag up and off... to display the doll. The large eyes seemed to glisten, and to catch all the light from the glowing walls, to reflect it back at the viewer. At Dolores. She breathed the word "Wow..." and her own eyes widened. After a few seconds, they widened more, as the doll's eyes seemed to be gazing back into hers. Her lips opened a fraction of an inch, as she continued to stare. The eyes were all she could look at, all she could think about, as she gazed at them. And into them. Deeply, deeply, into them. Losing track of the cave, and Deadhead, and everything else. All she wanted to do, was look into those incredible eyes. And in a minute, less than a minute, she was hypnotized.
Deadhead came up behind her, and traced his fingers over her face, on either side. He looked at her in profile; at her mesmerized face, and voluptuous figure. So innocent, yet so gorgeous. Like a gentle, yet irresistible, sex kitten. He slipped her handbag over her head, and set it aside. Then he gently held her shoulders, as he had for that fleeting minute on the walk over.
Finally he slid his hands lower, and slipped them under her dangling arms... and embraced her large, heavenly breasts through the swimsuit top. Their shape, their softness, their size, were awesomely thrilling. In her trance, Dolores was dimly aware of nothing but a tingling, physical sensation. She caught her breath, and sighed, as she continued to stare into the Fiji's eyes.
He whispered in her ear, with a quaver in his voice, "I love you, Dolores" – although he knew she wouldn't really hear (and he'd be scared if she did) "All summer, and last summer. Ever since I saw you. But I knew I didn't have a chance."
He paused a minute. Searching for words.
"I promise I won't hurt you. And I'll never tell anybody." He had to laugh at himself for that last part. "Tell ya the truth, I wouldn't dare. I'd probably get clobbered... and deserve it. And you'd hate me. That'd be even worse... "
Then Deadhead drew back his hands, and unsnapped the bra top. He doffed it from her shoulders, it fell to the cave floor, and he took her full breasts into his bare hands. Flesh on flesh. The fulfillment of so many dreams of so many nights. He cradled and caressed them, and stroked his fingers over their contours, as he indulged his fantasy completely... yet not completely.
So he leaned in again, and whispered, "Dolores... you love having sex. Anything goes. All the way."
"I love having sex..." she repeated, as she stared into the Fiji's eyes. "Anything goes. All the way..."
He continued to fondle her gorgeous breasts, as if coaxing her deeper. "You go wild in bed. You do anything, everything."
"I go wild in bed. I do anything... everything..." Even deep in hypnosis, a glint came to her eyes – as she said again, "...everything."
He nuzzled into her neck, and murmured closer to her ear, "When you have sex, you go out of your mind. You can't hold back."
"I go out of my mind. I can't hold back..."
"And you want it now, more than anything in the world."
"I want it now... want it now... more than anything in the world..."
He pulled himself away from her, and quickly retrieved the bedroll. He spread it in the softest, sandiest spot he could find, near the opposite side of the cave. Then he came back to Dolores, standing topless. Still gazing at the doll, wide-eyed and blank, and indescribably beautiful. He saw that her eyes were glassy; that she was totally hypnotized. So he covered the doll with the leather sack, turned her towards himself, and kissed her deeply. He felt her shiver in his arms. When he drew back, her eyes blinked, and were glazed as ever. He would have to "release" her before they left – and after this.
Bending down, he scooped her into his arms, and carried her to their bed. He gently laid her there, and touched her hair... and whispered again, "I love you, Dolores."
"I love you..." she said in response – giving Deadhead a shiver of his own (although she was just repeating his words) Then he kissed her again, and began to live his dream.
From that first kiss, he was amazed at how she threw herself into it. The passion, the abandon, like she was completely free at last. Like she was finally living and loving all the way. Using her fingers, her hands; her lips, her tongue; her legs, her breasts; her most seductive curves, and most intimate depths; her whole body and heart and soul. Giving and doing and being everything, with no restraint. Anything goes. All the way. She was incredible; dazzling. Unbelievable. At that moment, he knew he'd give everything he had, vow his whole life, to stay here with her forever.
The feel of her hair, the smoothness of her skin, the scent of her arousal, the taste of her lips, her nude beauty, all drove him crazy. The tingle of her breath in his ear, as she teased it with her tongue, and whispered the sweetest, nastiest promises and temptations, and then fulfilled them all. She had a lush, alluring body, but was also so modest and nice, that her unbridled lust was more than he'd ever imagined. Doing anything, offering everything, to pleasure him and herself.
To have Dolores, of all people, so wanton like this... it was beyond his wildest dreams. Like a tigress in her was loosed. It drove him out of his own mind. He was madly in love with her, 10 times over. More enthralled by her sexual ardor than she ever was by a mere doll. He couldn't conceive of her doing anything else, ever, in her life or in the world, except being this goddess of love.
After three times around, four times around, and he could hardly believe it, but five times around, they finally rested in each other's arms. Wonderfully, incredibly spent. As Dolores nestled into him, with her eyes closed, a trill came from her throat; almost a purring. The tigress, now a kitten again. Satisfied at last. (As for Deadhead's satisfaction, they were way, way past that.)
As he held her, he felt the greatest joy of his life – and a pang of despair, at knowing this was all artificial; only a spell. She wasn't herself. She had no idea what she was doing. It all had to be erased, and had to end.
So he drew on his surfer shorts, put on his hat, and had her put on her swimsuit again. Just as they had entered. Then he folded and stashed the bedroll, and walked her to a low rock nearby, so she could sit. He knelt in front of her, and looked at her glassy eyes. It was time.
"Okay, Dolores, I'm going to release you. When I do, you won't remember anything we did together. No doll, no sex, or any of that. We came in just now, and you were looking around, and talking about a party."
She nodded, her face still entranced. "We came in just now... looking around. Talking about a party..."
"Right." He patted her knee, almost for luck, and settled his nerves. "Here we go..." – and he snapped his fingers. "You're released."
She blinked twice, and shook her head slightly, as the fog cleared from her eyes.
"How do you feel?" he asked, after she seemed herself again.
"I feel –" and for a moment she hesitated, as if pondering the question. But she finished gamely, "I feel fine."
"Good, good," Deadhead said, trying to sound cheerful. "I'm fine, too. Did you... like coming here?"
"Oh yes!" she affirmed, as she looked around the cave, in the light of the glowing walls. "This place is really something. Perfect for a party. The gang will love it!"
Deadhead nodded – with relief. "Great! Well, I guess we'd better get back. See if they got any clams left!"
"Umm," she said, with a slightly embarrassed fidget, "before we start... I think I need to find a place to go...?"
"Oh! Oh sure." He glanced around the cave. There were lots of side places, and out-of-the-way spots for her. "Y'know, I do too," he added (and it was true, he just realized). "I'll be right out here."
She smiled gratefully, and he went out the cave, and around by the cliffs. He relieved himself there, and then sat down on a rock ledge.
As he looked at the stars, and listened to the distant surf, he thought about all the other girls, and other things, he could use the doll for. This could be the greatest deal ever! And what a start tonight was, with Dolores. At least another night with her, for sure. Then anything goes!
In a couple more minutes, he heard from inside the cave, "Okay, Deadhead...!" He came back in, and she was standing to the side, with her big handbag slung over her shoulder, ready to go.
She came over to him. "Thanks, Deadhead." She paused for a second, and added, "You know, I think you are way smarter, and more mature, than anybody gives you credit for. I've seen it the last couple summers, here at the beach." She stretched up, and kissed his cheek. "I'm proud of you."
Deadhead gulped. "Shucks, Dolores. I know I'm not a smooth guy. I'm just me." Then he clapped his hands. "Okay, let's roll! Lemme grab something I left here yesterday, and we'll get outta here."
He ambled across the cave floor, to the flattop rock, and picked up the leather bag with the doll. And the bag... was just leather. He quickly opened it, shook it, and turned it inside out. Empty. "What the hey?!" He looked around the rock, and behind it, and all around the whole area. Just sand and footprints. He took a moment to think. He was sure the doll was ON the rock, IN the bag. Of course it was! He hadn't moved it. It was on the rock, for Dolores to see, and he had covered it right there.
"Is anything the matter?" Dolores asked. He had no answer to give her.
He sat down, bewildered. What could have possibly...? Then it dawned on him. The doll was here by magic. So when the magic was done, the doll went back where it came from. And that was that. Yep. That had to be what happened.
"Ready to go?" she asked now, with a quizzical look. Deadhead looked at her, standing so still, and beautiful; framed by the stars visible outside the cave entrance. Her gorgeous figure back in her swimsuit again; the handbag still over her shoulder. Waiting for him.
He looked at the empty sack in his hand, and dropped it. "Yeah, I guess so."
They retraced their steps through the rocks, and down the shore, towards the beach houses. Dolores was quieter this time, with less small talk than before. She seemed to be thinking. Deadhead felt thoughtful, too – more so than he ever had, in fact, in his rather thought-free life.
Dolores' words echoed in his mind. He reflected, now, that maybe it was good the doll was gone. If he had kept using it with other girls, or for other things, something might go wrong... crazy wrong... the next time, or the next.
And another, deeper, concern had begun to stir. He looked at Dolores, walking beside him in the moonlight – completely innocent and unknowing – as the breakers glided up the sand, and slipped back again to the vast ocean. I promise I won't hurt you, he had said. And he didn't think he had. Still, did that make it okay?
He'd have to work it out later.
Anyway, even a second time with Dolores could never be as great as tonight was. He rubbed his neck, with a wry sort of grin. Well, if the magic could only work once, at least it wasn't wasted. There was nobody in the world he had wanted more; and no way it could have been better.
He looked around at the stars, and the high bluffs, and out to sea, as if for the first time. He was so lucky, he understood now, to even get this one night with Dolores – and neither her nor anyone else the wiser. Maybe it was a chance to shape up... and more than his biceps.
Still lost in thought, he unconsciously lifted his arm like before, to put around her shoulder. Then he remembered, and pulled back. Without looking up, Dolores said softly, "Go ahead..." And he gently placed his arm over her, for the final hundred yards to her cabana.
At her doorstep she turned to face him, and took each of his hands in each of hers. She squeezed them, and looked up at him, and smiled. "Goodnight, Deadhead. It was fun. I'll see you tomorrow." Then she slipped inside. He stood a moment, and sighed. Then he headed for the men's bunkhouse.
In her room, she set her handbag on a table by the window. Without turning on the light, she raised the bamboo shade, and watched as Deadhead walked across the sandy commons area, past the still-smoldering fire pit, and sat down on the steps of the rickety front porch. After a minute, he took off his slouch hat. He turned it over, twice, in his hands; looking at it. Then set it aside.
She sighed herself, maybe more heavily than he – and couldn't help smiling. So that's how love really was, and really could be. How it is, when you won't be held responsible for anything you do. No concerns; no consequences. Just the amazing, wonderful moment.
She reached in her handbag, and took out the Fiji doll and the parchment. In the slanting moonlight, she read again, "Whoever looks into his eyes, will become thy slave – to do with as ye will, until released"– then she turned over the page, as Deadhead hadn't, and continued, "by covering the eyes once more."
She gazed across the distance at her brief, passionate love – remarkably handsome now, in the half shadows, as he sat thinking (about her, she knew). Then she touched the doll with her fingertips, and whispered to Deadhead and herself, "Girls like to do secret things, too..."