The hand stayed steady. Freeze-framed against the moving backdrop, which seemed on repeat. The concentration it garnered seemed out of touch. Out here, nothing seemed to make much sense. The endless miles of red dirt and scrubby bushes that survived despite their best efforts. Forever semi-surrendered to the relentless glare, heat, and the fucking flies.
Taylah was attempting to catch the wind, then changed her hand’s angle to allow it to pass with as little effort as possible. She’d angle her hand up, seeing if she could recreate an airplane’s wing, then turn it down to create a race car’s downforce.
The red miles clocked up, but no one was watching.
The same backdrop came and went. The only difference was the sun’s angle. When it was low, the heat haze reflected off everything. Like the kettle was spewing steam from every turn. The afternoons were the worst. Every bug on the windshield told a story, but into the sun, they were all highlighted. Sometimes we needed to pull over and scrape their remains off just to be able to carry on. Ironically, theirs was the only real sign of life out here—all smudges and blotches.
She wore a white tank top—still new and vibrant and fresh from the shop—with a simple ponytail out the back under a trucker hat and sunglasses. Her legs were stretched. The kind that only a proper road trip will allow. Bare feet, sitting on the carpeted mat, an anklet of wooden beads wrapped around her tanned legs.
I’d given up trying to hurry along ages ago. What was the purpose? At best, we’d save half an hour a day and probably argue because of it. Nope, there was no need. Window down, take in the scenery, feel the air.
I couldn’t help but pass my arm around the back of her neck and rest it on her far side. She tucked her chin down, squeezed my hand against her shoulder and held it for a moment.
As another straggly Gamble oak went by, half reaching for the ground, she pulled her arm in. Wound the window up. The salt bush and porcupine grass made up the bulk of anything out here. They paled in comparison to the sheer width of the horizon. The coral bells were the biggest of anything. Pitiful attempt, I thought, to fill in the landscape.
The desolate immensity and remoteness sharpened the sense of the sheer mockery of it all. What was normal back east wasn’t even close out here.
Here we were, in our tiny piece of civilization amongst this vast eternity of red soil and rolling plains. with dotted trees doing their best to survive, challenging Mother Nature to a staring contest. We poked along in our little camper, windows down, sitting at 45, or windows up, sitting at 60 with the AC embracing our skin, and some days, maintaining some sanity.
Our bed behind us, boards, bikes, and books around us, it was our time. And fuck, that white tank top looked good.
The Mojave Desert, we promised, would be done at our pace. A stepping stone from the almost-knowns of Los Angeles and the south to the tantalizing brochures and stories of the west, and what we’d heard was up north of the west coast. Nothing. Fuck it all, actually. Boards, bikes, and books were our plan.
But that tank top.
She filled it perfectly. It sat on her like it was designed with her in mind. A spray-on garment devoid of creases, folds, or wrinkles. Sat upon her body, with her long wavy hair cascading over both shoulders as she sat quietly, taking in Emily Henry’s “Funny Story.” A romantic comedy, apparently—”Two couples’ exes hook up, so they do as well.” She was good at summarizing for me. A twenty-word budget was what I gave her. Done at ten. Ruthlessly efficient.
I like it when she reads. Hair out, sunglasses on. Simple pleasures that meant to me that she was finally relaxing. Quiet hour here and there; another chapter finished as we poke along the sandy expanse and the straits. Shit, they’d drive you insane if you’d seen them before. No wonder the explorers were fucked. They were probably bored to death.
At Lamar we stopped for fuel. The gas station, all peeling paint and creaks and rattles, was everything we needed. The ice cream was cold and the attendant, friendly. Diesel round here is a lifeblood. No point looking at the pump. If we cared, it would have hurt.
The dust crept up and over everything. The old sign above us swung in the breeze—some long-forgotten oil brand, now rusted and derelict. The attendant, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, looked out of place. Too fresh.
We were looking forward to the long straight but still had 800-odd miles to go. Amarillo, Tucumcari, and Santa Rosa were between us.
We’d been on the road for six weeks and were finding our feet. The reality of this lifestyle was there was no reality. If you missed it, you missed it. It had to be written down and photographed, or it would all blend into the blur. We’d started off heading south, then into the capital, down further, through Chicago, up and around them—Cascade was the best. Down through Astoria to take in the coastline, then along to South Point before getting to the city.
From Chicago we headed to Galena, spent a few days in the Appalachians, then crossed into Missouri on our way to Kansas City.
Los Angeles was the real start line. Where our adventure really started. We were excited for the west but wanted to take our time. Essentially, hurry up and slow down. The west had always held a sense of the frontier. The wild, desolate plains, the endless empty beaches. Wildflower fields as far as the horizon, framed with sandstone cliffs and coral coves along the coastline. Yep. Here, we were going to put endless dreams and conversations into reality. First, the Pacific Coast Highway. Then Interstate 15 out into the Mojave.
A quick decision had us going south to Cannon Beach, rather than north to the more traditional route to San Diego. The opportunity to see the southern coast was too great a temptation. We’d become accustomed to salt water and its therapeutic magic. Besides, Taylah looked amazing in a bikini. Her full bust and taut ass. Her wavy hair wafting in the breeze under the shade of a beachside Monterey Cypress tree. Her book had changed—Holly Bourne’s ‘So Thrilled for You.’ A baby shower in a heat wave for long-lost friends whose lives have dragged them in all directions.
I’d taken to life on the road. Shirts are rare; flip-flops are plenty. Sometimes I’d glimpse a bikini top acting as a bra under her tank top. Ripped denim shorts sitting high, revealing a smooth brown thigh and defined calf in her usual unassuming way.
After a taste of the saltwater and the sun on our skin, we continued to San Diego along the southern coast road. More desolate than even US Route 50. Fewer cars with more abstract landscapes than what we’d seen already.
One heaven-sent day, we happened across a small beach, wrapped on either side by towering sandstone cliffs. The highway was a few clicks back—we’d turn off, looking for a lunch spot off the highway, and take an unmarked road that sat unassumingly off the highway. No merge lanes, no signs, just a dusty track. Out of interest, we followed it and came out on a sweeping view south over the Pacific Ocean. Rocky outcrops lined the road, but a gap wide and flat enough for our camper led us down the shale-based road to an opening to a tiny bay. The sand looked untouched. A natural car park was set above the high tide marks that had a grassy covering and led to the blonde sand. On either side were ceanothus and cottonwoods with saltbush undergrowth.
The natural protection from almost all wind, combined with the afternoon sun and the soft sand on our feet, meant that our campsite for at least one night was found. The cliffs offered privacy, and the trees gave us a shade to set up and bask in, while the grass and sand were a blessing to our tanned feet.
Lunch on the grill—down low to cook slow and a quick change into a swimsuit. Being alone meant Taylah was brave enough to wear her bikini. Blue top and white bottoms with trim of the opposite color. A blessing for me. I wore my speedos and sunglasses. The water, crisp to touch in the afternoon heat, was a blessing for the soul. No rip to speak of, but no real waves either. The board would have to wait. As she emerged from the water, the sandstone cliffs dappled the light, which bent and contorted to her shape, softening the edge and giving her a natural glow as she strolled up the sand, all hips swaying and bust teasing. As she swept her wet hair over one shoulder, the water dripped between her breasts and ran down deep into her cleavage. She knew it. I fucking knew it as well.
After lunch, it was chill time—back to the book for the wife, and I decided to go for an exploration around the bay. There were plenty of rockpools at either end that had piqued my interest. She changed into a summery white dress with a light floral print. No underwear and a wide-brimmed hat. A shady tree was her destination, overlooking the beach below.
I grabbed my cell and towel and was off down to the water’s edge. I took a different route this time, angling to come out to the far side of the bay rather than walk down the middle. It offered more shade on the way and had deep foliage under the huge ceanothus and cottonwoods that stood back from the edge of the sand. Midway down, I spotted another vehicle parked behind one of the girthy tree trunks. Another camper. This one was older than ours but looked to be deeply loved. As I continued, I could make out that the inside was wood-lined—a light beech color that had been lightly stained to still be bright enough but offer the warmth of timber. Inside were a string of festoon lights, white bed linen, and a range of pillows set up to almost be a lounge. Below the bed was a large store, with a couple of larger surfboards neatly packed in; a large fridge slide finished off the underbed. In front of the bed was a separate cooking area, a lounge, and a large array of cabinets mounted to the upper section of the internal cabin.
All the doors were open, and gentle music wafted out. No song in particular, just a gentle beat that thoroughly matched our surroundings.
Not wanting to surprise or scare anyone, I made a U-turn and went my way to the beach, the same way I had previously. Surely, I’d come across whoever this was down at the water. As the fine sand slid between my toes as I walked up the pristine water line. The nearer I got to the sandstone edges, the more I decided I loved this place. Water curled and contoured to the rock outcrops; crustaceans clung to the deeper sections of each as the sand filtered in and out. The water was clear enough to see ten feet down at the edge of the breaking surf, and in close, it magnified the sunlight, such was its mirror finish.
As I rounded the first of two rocky outcrops between the sandy beach and the cliffs surrounding, I became aware of a towel sprawled across the soft sand on the far side. A light pink beach towel, with tassels either end. Next to it was a black-and-white folded towel sitting like it was hastily dropped. The edge had folded over and had a sprinkling of sand sprayed on the opposite corner.
A couple more steps and I could see out to the water’s edge—there were a couple of bodies splashing around in the water. Sitting on the knee-deep shoreline. I hesitated only a moment before continuing on my way—I wanted to get to the edge of the bay before turning around. Taking another look, I decided that this was a couple, probably ten years younger than us. Both had black hair and tanned skin, olive to start with, then an added shade thanks to the Southwest desert light.
I waved a distant wave and kept on my way. Both heads turned my way, looked at each other, and then returned the wave with added enthusiasm.
What a strange place to find others. I guess out here, you find or lose your way based on how you feel at the time. In many ways, time and accepted norms just don’t count. Ants off the trail probably have the best adventures, and so here we were. Ants off our trail.
I continued my way to the tall bank at the end of the bay. Up close, the sandstone told a story of a million years as each layer’s shade varied slightly from the previous or next. A thousand years here, a thousand there. Small plants and grasses took up residence in the small cracks and shelves that had formed into natural pots.
On my way back, the couple had moved. He was out deeper, diving under the swell and taking in the view out towards the lowering sun over the ocean vista. She had come back and was lying on her towel. Naked. Book in hand. I tried not to linger as I made my way back past. She lay on her stomach, facing the water, lying on the pink towel. Large sunglasses sat squarely on her nose, stifling the glare off the glassy water.
Her hips were fine, her waist narrow. Her back was shapely and curved. Her ass sat proudly in the air, as tanned as the ocean sands that lazed around her.
From the water, he saw me wandering across the beach. An arm shot into the air and waved enthusiastically from his place in the depths. I hesitated, then returned the gesture with half the effort he’d gone to. Not sure whether to feel awkward or friendly, I continued on my way. She saw his gesturing and turned her head, lowering her book as she did so. As she looked across in my direction, over her tanned shoulder and naked skin, she smiled and waved as he had. I returned the wave and continued on my way.
As I returned to the camper, Taylah was deep in her next chapter.
“We have company down the side of the bay. A couple are swimming. Well, she’s reading while he swims.”
“Oh, wow,” Taylah replied, “all the way out here. “Do they look local?”
“Nope. They look like tourists. She’s reading a book. Naked. I’m not sure about him, but they look a bit younger than us.”
“Oh right…hot?”
“Nah.”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah. Their camper is parked down there.” I nodded my head in the direction. “We’ll just leave them to themselves.”
“Okay.” The reply was stunted.
I got on with erecting a clothesline, strung between two Monterey Cypresses, with their large smooth bark sections crackling as I looped the line and tied it off.
I hung up our wet clothing and towels, and then we ate lunch that had been slowly cooking away all this time.
After we’d cleaned up after lunch, it was nap time. The regimented pleasure of a sunny afternoon when you’re set up in such a vista. The ocean noise wafted up; the salt air blessed the senses. A nap was a cosmic necessity—or so it felt as the ocean softly rocked us to sleep up here overlooking her.
I roused first. I’d wondered what lay beyond the safety of the little bay we were in. Grabbing my largest board, I wanted to paddle halfway out and see what lay beyond. I didn’t anticipate catching any waves or the sort—I was a shit surfer in any case, but the bay offered little in the way of breaking surf.
I wriggled into a pair of board shorts, grabbed the larger board, and was off. As the board slapped against the water, a spray shot up, covering my hot skin with its cooling therapy. I reminded myself again how lucky it was that we were on this adventure. Lying on the board, I scooted out beyond comfortable standing depth and paddled out towards the mouth. I didn’t want to leave the bay—fuck knows where I’d end up. Even halfway out, I could see that the shoreline looked like a broken dinner plate. Jagged headlands wound their way in both directions. The sun hit the same side of each one, lighting them up with the bright earthy tones of remote Californian sandstone.
I sat in a semi-trance, legs resting in the cool water on either side of the board, taking in the view and the feast for the other senses. The movement of the water turned the board parallel to the beach. I became aware of a figure on the beach.
Taylah.
She’d gotten into her swimwear—that lovely black one-piece with the low-cut top that I loved. She knew it as well.
Spotting me, she walked into the gentle break, jumping over a few waves as she acclimatized to the temperature before taking the plunge and diving under. Looking up at me, she seemingly took her bearings before she started freestyling her way towards me. Looked like she was going to swim out to meet me. She’d always been a great swimmer.
Three strokes, breathe. Three strokes, breathe; three strokes, breathe, and look forward. So the pattern continued as she made her way out. She was out to me in about two minutes, or ten waves. Impressive.
“Hi there!” I greeted her as she grabbed onto the side of the board.
“Hey! The water’s nice, hey.” She stayed next to me, clinging to the side.
“The coast is so jagged—look out there.” I nodded towards the sandstone coastline.
“Nothing like the East Coast, hey.” She put both hands on the board and hoisted herself up.
“Jesus!” I muttered out loud as she leaned forward in front of me to get herself up.
She sat facing me, legs slung over each side.
“Hi!” She said again as she leaned in and kissed me before turning around to lie up against me. She felt cool to touch as she rested up against my chest. We stared out into the expanse of blue, taking time to say nothing as we floated.
The tide took us around as its seemingly random movements steered us here and then there. I was bracing us using my arms behind us. I took one and wrapped it around her waist to pull her closer. When again would we be floating in a private bay in CA?
The tide made one more turn, twisting us to face the beach.
“Oh shit!” Taylah sounded panicked.
“What’s wrong?”
“Is that them—just on the other side of those rocks?” She nodded towards the outcrop I’d seen the other couple behind earlier. Apparently, we’d been drifting down the bay towards the far side.
I looked in towards the shore. All of a sudden, I understood her tone.
The pink towel was visible on the rocks—sitting on a shelf on the ocean side. Sitting on the towel was a guy—clearly. His rather substantial penis was visible from here as it sat inside his partner who was straddled on top of him. I recognized that narrow back and firm ass.
Because she was facing him, neither could see us.
“Fuck!” Taylah exclaimed. “Look at him!”
I could see what she meant. His shaft seemed half as wide as her ass. She sat up off it before slowly lowering herself all the way to the base.
“Christ!” I exasperated. She’s going to choke on that. She sat up off him by about a foot before slowly lowering herself back down on him. His girth slowly disappeared deep inside her. She’d wiggle her ass a few times, seemingly enjoying the sensation before raising herself up again.
He brought his hands around and rested them on her ass cheeks, helping her as she lifted up then lowered herself slowly but forcefully back down on him.
“Uh, we should probably not be seen right now,” I muttered. We both started to paddle back towards the center. As we disappeared out of sight, we saw him lean forward and stand while holding her around him. As he stood, their rhythm increased. His hands around her ass, holding her up. His manhood was disappearing to a depth it had no right to, at a pace that it had no right to.
They disappeared as we rounded to the far side of the rocky outcrop, back to where we’d started, and made our way onto the shore.
