Her Version: Three

The sand was cool and fine, and wriggled between my toes. Each little grain used to be part of a mountain, then a rock. Each had been here longer than mankind. Sand is primordially old, and has shifted and traveled around our globe more times than this crooked sphere has been circumnavigated by pirates and buccaneers, explorers and adventurers. Each grain, when struck in just the right way by a ray of light, can sparkle like the light from a distant star. And each grain, when combined with many of its fellows and subjected to heat, can transform into milky, clear or opaque glass - a gift to us from mountains.

I twirled to the music of the waves, this way and that, and I wanted to hear whales sing. Ahead, the moon's silver path shone on the water, and I marveled at how whenever I was gazing at a stretch of water at night, the moon extended her invitation straight to me. Lunar visits wouldn't be available in my lifetime, but if they were, would I go? Would I visit the windless rocks, undisturbed but for meteorites, and the giant, elongated steps of those intruders, Neil and Buzz? Of course I would. I'd sell my soul to pay for it.

Down to the water's edge I walked. It was on a night like this that a woman made love with a man on the beach, then waded into the water still naked. Floating and drifting and dreaming, she met a brutal and shockingly violent end, shredded by the razor teeth of the last megalodon. Was Jaws a megalodon? No, just huge. Jaws isn't real, that's a fiction, but shark attacks do happen. Always spooked by the sea, I watched for fins.

My toes loved the water though, just as they loved the sand. Beneath them the hard little ridges of the dune gave way, admitting me. Led by the moonpath, I was in up to my thighs now, having bunched my dress up and tucked it into the elastic of my panties.

"Hey!" a voice said suddenly, and right behind me a man's figure loomed, reaching for my arm.

I jumped back instinctively, and over-balanced, toppling just as he grabbed me. He toppled too, both of us going down.

Strong hands were groping for me then, and they brushed my breasts, but settled under my armpits, hauling me up.

"Jesus - are you all right? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like that," he said, completely flustered. In the silverlight I saw it was the boy-man who'd spoken to me at the festival. Edward. He'd been at the bonfire too, but I'd been so lost in watching the flames that I hadn't taken any notice of him.

"Sorry I - ah - touched you inappropriately. It was unintentional - I just saw that your face go under the water and I wanted to pull you out," he added. He still held me, and we were still in the lightly surging waves, lapping with their insistent push-me-pull-you's around our feet.

"I saw that you were smoking dope back at the bonfire, and so I followed you when you headed out here. It's dangerous to swim when you're stoned," he said.

"Are you stoned?" I asked, finding my voice.

"No. I didn't have any."

"You don't smoke?"

"Yeah. But I missed my ride home and I'll have to hitchhike, and I want to be alert."

"Alert. And water-logged?" I said.

He smiled and shook his head. "No, water-logged wasn't part of the hitch-hiking scheme, but the saturation is only partial. I hope nobody will mind. Anyway - shall we go a bit further up the sand?"

One of his hands slipped down to one of mine and he seemed quite determined to get me out of the water, so I allowed him to lead me.

"Do you know why whales beach themselves?" I asked.

"Sure - their navigational abilities get screwed up by ships' radars," he answered easily.

I sat down, and since he was still holding my hand he sat with me. "Oh, I don't think it's that prosaic," I told him. "I think it's something infinitely deeper and more profound. Life began in the sea, didn't it?"

Ordinarily I couldn't have said anything like this in front of a group of people, or even one on one, but I felt I could tell him. I cross my legs at the ankle, knees spread wide and dress almost up to my hips but he didn't look down, even though my panties were probably showing. He looked at my face, and his gaze was inquisitive and genuine.

"The scientific community seem to agree that point, yes," he nodded.

"Well, first the arachnids came ashore - they could breathe air-born oxygen, and they slowly evolved into more complex creatures, and sometime, somehow, millions of years later, alongside dinosaurs, mammals came into being. And after the mass extinction of the dinosaurs, the mammals flourished, and inexplicably, animals arrived that wanted to go back to the ocean. They were feeding there anyway, and maybe they sought the lightness where they were quicker, and where their prey was to be found, so they returned. They lost their feet and legs, and even hair, and they gained blubber to warm them and streamline them, and for aeons they swam and dived, needing the sky every few minutes, or however long, depending on their species. But what if they weren't happy with that? What if they saw the sailors in their ships, and the children at the seashore, and they saw the myriad colors and sounds of the world above the waves, and they thought they'd made the wrong choice? What if the land-dwellers were unknowingly issuing a siren-call all this time, and the great whales wanted to renounce their fins and tails and walk anew on solid ground? They drive themselves up onto the shore, and even when they're forcibly turned and pushed back, or towed out, they're determined to strand themselves again. Maybe it's because land is really where they want to be. They have no sense of time out there in the ocean, they only know they've had enough, and they don't know they can't undergo the necessary changes in minutes. Maybe they don't know there are necessary changes - maybe they have a universal memory of walking."

His hand lay curled in mine, on my knee, heavy and real. A muscle in his jaw moved, his lips tightened and relaxed again. His eyes had the luster of pearl.

"That's one of the most original ideas I've ever heard," he said. "Bella? Your name's Bella, isn't it? Do you want me to take you to find your friends?"

Friends are people you want to be with. I didn't particularly want to be with any of those others, because around them I was uncomfortable. By definition, my best friend right then was him, goodness knows why. Maybe because he'd taken me seriously, and I hadn't felt ridiculous telling him something wacky. Besides, I didn't know which direction the gang from uni were in. Around me were sea and trees and infinity. This beach felt like an anomaly in space and time, a bubble inside the laws of physics. Even with a lighthouse and a map and co-ordinates I would still be floundering.

"Um, I don't know. I'm not sure where any friends of mine are. And I wouldn't have a clue which direction to start in to look for them," I said.

"We just take a perpendicular path back from the shoreline," he said.

"But once we're in the trees, how will we know?"

"I know which way to go," he told me.

We've all been told the sky spins, and we know the universe is expanding at an astonishing rate as constellations and galaxies hurtle from one another. Why would we assume north is always in the same direction? I was dubious.

"Do you know celestial navigation?" I asked, and a corner of his mouth turned up.

"No, I just have an internal compass."

"Are you sure we won't get lost?" I said, lost already.

"Positive."

I was completely disorientated even though his explanation made perfect sense, but his confidence was reassuring. I clutched his hand nervously as we made our way across the sand and into the belt of trees. Once there the heavens were nowhere near as easy to see, obscured by the canopy as they were.

"So are we going the right way?" I said, wondering if I should simply lie down on a bed of pine needles and wait for morning. The sound of the sea didn't appear to be coming from any direction, it seemed all around, and I really had no idea where we'd come from or where we should be going.

"It's okay," he said, like the Lone Ranger from an old movie - tall and sure and reliable. The trees seemed unnavigable and looking upwards offerred me no clues, and I could do nothing but place my trust in him. He didn't even stumble as much as I did, as though the twigs didn't rise to meet his feet the way they did mine.

It could have been minutes or hours later when we emerged from the shadows into the light thrown by the fire. The girl who'd persuaded me to come to this festival, Jessica, was sitting on a log off to one side locked in a passionate embrace with the boy she'd told me I'd really like, Michael. They made me think of two chameleons who'd tried to catch the same fly, only to find their tongues inextricably tangled. I felt no disappointment, as within a minute of meeting Mike he'd said two words that made me know I could never be interested in him - "I work in a sports store, and I study commerce." Edward hadn't said anything approaching either of those two things.

I was still a little stoned, although it had mostly worn off. I felt magnanimous, impulsive and trusting.

"You don't have to hitch back to town. Anyway, there won't be any traffic. You'd be out there on the road all night. Come and sleep on the couch in our chalet, instead," I invited.

"Thanks," he grinned, dark and moonlit and seaswept and beautiful.

His Version: Four

She hadn't tried to take her hand back from me. She didn't try to stop and sit down with the other students. She kept walking, naturally and unquestioningly, as if we'd already agreed on it, and she took me to one of the cabins.

Without flicking a light switch, she led me inside, then I heard the soft strike of a match and she lit several candles. The fridge was stocked with beer and soft-drinks. The counter-tops were strewn with packets of snacks. Evidence of female occupation was everywhere, as if a girlish whirlwind had been through, depositing hairbrushes and sarongs and sandals and scent bottles. A lacy white bra was draped over a chair.

Without seeming the least embarrassed or self-conscious about any of it, Bella turned to me. "There's a washer-dryer in the bathroom. Do you want to get out of those clothes and I'll take care of them for you?"

I hesitated, because I had nothing else to put on.

"Oh. You have a predicament," she observed, and then reached for one of the sarongs, handing it to me. That was all very well - if I doubled it over and wrapped it around my hips it would be mid-calf length, which was one thing, but the fabric was pretty fine. The bulge of my crotch was going to be rather evident. Still, my jeans were wet and I couldn't get dressed again until they were dry. Figuring if Bella wasn't going to mind, I wasn't going to either, I nodded.

"You have first shower then," she suggested. "You'll find soap and shampoo in there. Towels are on a shelf in the cabinet."

The shower was bliss. It was such a warm evening that I didn't need the heat up very high, and I stood under the stream letting the cool jet rinse the day's sweat off me. The feminine whirlwind had been in here too, leaving tubes and bottles and jars, and even a pair of panties. I forced myself not to look, because it seemed far too pervy. I'd had to force myself for the last hour not to look at the way Bella's thin skirt was tucked into the elastic of her underwear, and how slim and pale her thighs were. I'd had to force myself not to look when we were sitting on the beach talking, and the strap of her singlet slipped down her shoulder at one point alerting me to the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Wet as she was, the singlet was clinging to her breasts and I could see that her nipples were erect. I hadn't looked at that either though, intent on paying to attention to what she'd been saying.

And she was by far the most interesting girl I'd ever spoken to. She expressed herself in terms that were both visual and poetic, making me envious of her easy way with words. And her ideas! They were a revelation. She was a revelation. Clever, thoughtful and individualistic. With a smooth milky throat I wanted to kiss, and breasts that looked perfectly shaped to fit my palms, and - shut up. If I kept on the train of thought I was currently on, I wouldn't be able to leave the bathroom with nothing but a flimsy piece of cloth wrapped around me. Or if I did, I would have to have taken care of business first. Shit - why hadn't I just attended to matters while I was in the shower? Too late to turn the taps back on now. Had I already taken too long? Bella was out there in soaked clothing, and must be uncomfortable.

Hanging the damp towel up on a rail, I looked at myself in the mirror. It was no good trying to get my hair to lie flat - it never did. I combed it roughly with my fingers, checked and double checked the way I'd knotted the sarong, and turned sideways on, inspecting my profile. My below-the-waist profile. If I so much as thought about getting a semi - never mind actually having one, it would be very evident. I hoped Bella wasn't going to be easily shocked, or offended, and I hoped she wouldn't think I had evil intentions.

Time to head back to the main room.

She offered me corn chips and cola and she lit sandalwood sticks. There was weird waterfall music coming from somewhere, and the tv was on with the sound down, emitting its blue flickers.

"Back soon," Bella promised, from the bathroom door.

Good as her word, she reappeared in ten minutes, wearing a tanktop and loose shorts. A figure-hugging tank top, and shorts that ended at upper thigh level. Her hair was wound in a tousled, messy pile on top of her head, secured by some gravity-defying method known only to women. It worked imperfectly, as a couple of wavy strands escaped to frame her cheek and jaw, dangling almost to her breasts. Not that I looked.

"Hey - a smoke before bed? Since you're not hitch-hiking?" she offered, and I would probably have said yes to anything.

From somewhere she produced a small pipe, and she had a little foil which smelled suspiciously like skunk. We were going to be goners.

"You first," she offered, after packing the cone tightly, and she handed me the little cylinder. She even lit it for me, and waited as I inhaled, lungs expanding and lips locking tight so I could hold on to my indrawn breath as the smoke curled around within me. I pushed the pipe back towards her while the embers still glowed, and she took a deep draw on it. The hit was immediate - this was fucking good gear. My breath burst back out from me and I couldn't not laugh, suddenly finding my situation absurd. Really, if I was to list the components that added up to the perfect occasion, wouldn't they be a pretty girl, weed, beer, and music? Well, yeah, depending on the day of the week, ice-caving might make it in there, or jet-skiing, or rally-driving. They were all good, too. But right now, I was getting severely stoned with a gorgeous girl who wasn't wearing much, and everything was blurring around the edges. If nothing at all happened between us, I would remember how she looked with her eyes closed and lips pursed, dragging on the pipe, face all alive and shadowed, collarbones in relief, and the captivating swell of her small breasts rising gently as she inhaled.

"Jesus, Bella, this is really strong. I feel amazing. Are you okay?" I murmured, and she smiled in sheer contentment.

"I'm okay. I'm fucking great, actually. Who could ask for anything more?" she replied fuzzily.

We could have spoken - we could have talked one another's ears off, I'm sure of it, but for a while we just sat. I was so fucking out of it, it took ages for me to realize that my arm was around her, and my hand was on her shoulder. It took me even longer to understand that the weight pinning my legs to the couch was her thighs across me. When had that happened? Her long hair was everywhere, and I found myself stroking it and playing with it before I knew what was going on. And with a sudden jolt I realized that her fingertips were describing patterns across my bare chest with a touch like butterfly's feet. It was incredibly sensuous, but not sexy.

"What do these mean?" I asked huskily, touching the henna'd patterns on her hands. They were only just visible in the gentle light from the candles.

"Um, I think they're to do with fertility. Inappropriate, really," she said with a quite laugh. "No-one wants to get pregnant at a festival."

"No," I agreed, without adding that a lot of attendees would be pretty happy to get some sex, though. Fuck, if I even had it in me to string two words together, I might ask her if she was in the mood. But, that would make me an opportunistic dickhead. Just because we were both right off our faces didn't mean I could indulge my ever-hopeful, ever-ready dick, and make him Mr Happy. Right now I had no idea where all my blood was, and presumed it was evenly distributed.

But then Bella shifted. She turned more towards me, looped her arms around my neck and repositioned her thighs further up on mine.

"Are you feeling nice?" she asked, softly. "You feel nice to me."

Yes, I felt nice. The initial stupor from the very strong weed was wearing off, and I thought we'd probably been prone for fifteen or twenty minutes. I needed to move my legs too, to ease the muscles that hadn't moved in a while, but Mr Happy was wide awake. If she moved any further towards my lap she'd be an inch or two away from discovering quite how happy he was.

"Um, bathroom," I mumbled, and she scooted away without comment, while I got up, keeping my back to her, and went to splash cold water on my face. Since becoming sexually active five years ago at eighteen, I'd been thankful my dick had never let me down, but right now I didn't welcome its obtrusive willing-and-ableness.

"Christ - you're debauched!" I hissed at my reflection, dick stubbornly up and waving. I couldn't beat off in the couple of minutes it would take before it would seem I'd been in the bathroom for too long - but shit! - I couldn't go back out and face the girl who'd invited me to sleep on her couch in all innocence and trust. And fuck, I was so stoned. I couldn't help a fond grin at Mr Reliable, alongside the scowl. You optimistic bastard.

But, hello. Bella was a grown girl. I'd just say, "Ignore this. I'm sorry," and gesture in the general direction of my lower abdomen, and she'd be cool, and everything would be relaxed and fine. Yep.

She wouldn't think I was a dickhead and an asshat. Here's hoping.