Driftwood

1. Clinging to rocks

“Are you there? Hello?”

“Yes, sweetness. I’m here. I’m right here. Can’t you see me?”

“No. It’s too dark.”

“It doesn’t matter. I see you perfectly. That’s what matters. Damn, sweet thing, you look just perfect. So elegant, so sweet, so sexy.”

“You’re just saying that…”

“Ha, like you don’t know it. Like you don’t love it. But as you wish, play coy, I don’t care, it doesn’t change a thing. I’m here, and I see every little detail. You are on display, sweetness. So come on, give a good show. You will give a good show, won’t you?”

“Yes. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask for. Let’s get to it. You’re almost all skin tonight. I like that. Let’s complete the picture. The panties, you don’t need them. Take them off. I want you naked, right now.”

“Like…this?”

“Is there any other ‘naked’ than just that one? Perfect. You are gorgeous, sweetness. Now, don’t keep me waiting. This is your show. So show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Show me what you like. Show me how you want it.”

—–

At the east Skagerrak coastline, west of Sweden and south of Norway, the busy intersection between the Baltic Sea and the North Sea, the Atlantic lures in the distance, but far off enough to make this vast bay feel like a universe of it’s own. Land meets the sea, not with wide stretched playas or majestic hills, but with ragged granite cliffs, ravine bedrock shores, twisted bizarre by ancient volcanic mayhem and polished agreeable by not as ancient ice ages. Gulls and ferns rule the air in a cacophony of white wings, and astute, cold darkness rules the world below the glittering surface.

Here is where you don’t come for cheap sangrias and bad beach pickup lines. It’s where you don’t work the tan or flash the pre bikini season achievements in sweat and tears from the gym. It’s where you don’t come home from with fuzzy memories and the STD of your choice. It’s where you go when all that is said and done, and it’s wearing you out. Another kind of bliss, that of quiet mornings and autumn storms, and small harbours built for both.

Here is where things wash up, when the world is done with them.

Things washed ashore were picked up by Trine. Sometimes. If they happened upon her small stretch of shoreline and if they glittered or were bent in curious shapes that caught her eye. Of course, she always picked up the litter, bleached shampoo bottles, beer cans, oil spill lumps, broken glass, assorted plastic junk and so on. But that’s just because she loved the rock and the sea, and wanted her little patch of it clean. She threw those uninvited intruders in black plastic bags and put it on the litter ferry to mainland on Tuesdays. Boring straight planks and beams were also left to their fate. They would dry and turn to dust or dirt in their own pace anyway. She sometimes hammered in a rusty nail so that curious gulls wouldn’t hurt themselves on them, but her own interests were in the more peculiar finds. Pretty little rocks polished smooth by ages of waves and sand, driftwood roots shaped like animals, faces or other things and rare objects of more human origin. Shoes, clothes, books or what’s left of them after weeks in the sea, anything out of the ordinary that the waves would bring. Some driftwood is for keeps.

With moss green rubber boots, army slacks and an oversized wool grey jumper, Trine blended right into the landscape. This is a landscape of distances, and she wilfully kept to herself and her patch of land as much as she could. But up close there was no escaping a distinct beauty. Her hair in salty disarray framed a face that even though it tried very hard not to, would capture a glance and make it grow into an adoring stare as sure as the rock she stood on. Her strong limbs bore the mark of youth and dedication, and her curves the full form of woman, although she made no effort to display it. Her voice was as clear as crystal and as rich as the ocean, but she used it rarely. There were not many here to speak to. But if you were lucky, and stood in the right direction, the wind might have carried a soft, melodic humming your way.

Now, Trine was no pariah, just a tired soul who lived too fast, and drifted ashore here at the right time in her life to embrace the silence. She woke up one morning, where she couldn’t even remember anymore, and realized that she was only years past twenty, and feeling old, run to the end of the rope, worse for wear. Too many bad calls and too much high ambition had left her bitten and bruised from a world that takes more than it gives, and to live for the next high, the next ecstasy, the next adrenaline ignited orgasm in the bed or backseat of whoever thrilled her the most, was not a cheap way to live. And now it had drained her to the point of exhaustion. When you try to burn that brightly, you never get what you give. And eventually there’s nothing left to sacrifice.

She left the clamour and headed for the only haven she knew, her grandfather’s old summer cabin on a secluded island in the Skagerrak peninsula. He’d passed away and left her the lot a year earlier, but she had been to busy getting high on life, substances and sex to notice. He’d left her a quiet life in a tiny peninsula surrounding a small fishing harbour, a place where time had stood still for decades. A handful of vacationing families populated the island in the summer and absolute solitude reigned from September to Easter. The perfect antithesis of the fast-lane world she’d clung to since she first broke off from her over-bearing parents at sixteen. Parties with friends her father would never approve of, concerts, clubs and beer to begin with. And later, through fairytale coincidences and shameless ambition, she ascended into a metropolis high life, jet set travels and white lines in exchange for trophy sex and ever increasing debaucheries. Being young, pretty and believing there’s nothing to lose makes it easy to be seduced by glamour zine ideals.

There was none of that here. So Trine traded shining like a nova for shining like a candle. It was just meant as a temporary respite, a place to sit through a hangover she’d postponed since her late teens. A week, a month maybe. Her latest sugar daddy had had a standing invitation for her to his London Docklands condo, king size bed and liquor cabinet. But June turned into July, which turned into autumn and winter and another June before she gave leaving a second thought. And now she just didn’t want to. Where she once collected broken hearts and heroin stained kisses, she now collected rocks and wood, where she had stared into the strobes of dance floors, she now stared into the pulse of breaking waves. She’d gradually grown to realise that there would never be enough life to experience everything, so she would always miss out. Experiencing the little things were just as valuable as experiencing the big things, and little things didn’t rub her sore in the process.

She missed men though. Or rather, what men could do with her body, and what they could do with her mind through her body, that otherworldly sensation that ran though her very being when intense physical pleasure clashed with the sharp thrill of breaking a lifetime of taught taboos. A loss of control and care, the balance on a knife’s edge between carefree and careless. The total exposure to hungry eyes, the touching, the licking, the pulling and pushing. Hands on sweaty skin, rough meat sliding over sensation nexuses, delicious pleasure jolts from a wet tongue flicking her nipple, the intense taste of cum shot into her mouth from a jerking gland at her lips, the frantic rhythm of a determined lover, and the certain knowledge that she was at the mercy of someone else and that she couldn’t possible will herself to stop until she was over the edge and another spine shaking climax has exploded from her loins.

That was the one drug she couldn’t get out of her system. She’d managed to sweat out the booze and the cocaine before they took over her soul completely and went from bad habit to hard addiction. Other assorted pills were just as easy to kick. Trine never even knew their name, so all she could do was throw up and hallucinate for a week until her body adjusted to the new deal. But sex, that was primal. It was a part of her body, not shit she had added to it. She told herself that she was over it, that she was beyond physical pleasure and that no good could come from looking for it. And she almost had herself convinced.

Until the sun set and the night came, and she found herself tossing and turning, unable to drift off into sleep. Lonely, uneasy and restless she flipped a too warm pillow over and over and battled sticky sheets, fighting the urge to do what she knew she would eventually. With a grunt she kicked off the sheets, sat up on the bed and pulled the t-shirt she slept in, or had intended to sleep in, over her head. She leaned back on stretched arms, took a deep breath and felt the air move gently around her naked chest. A line of pale moonlight from the window was draped over the front of her panties and down along a thigh, as if indicating the direction it wanted them to go. They would. She’d be naked in the dark, she’d be wet, warm and delirious, moaning to the walls, crying for release, bucking her hips out at nothing and rubbing herself harder and harder. Soon enough she would. She closed her eyes and lay back on the mattress. The dream took over.

She woke up almost every morning naked, curled up on the side with ruffled hair, sticky fingers and a sheen of sweat all over that made her shiver in the chilly November air that seeped in through window frames and floorboards during the night. The sheets and shirt lay crumbled in a pile by the bed and her panties would either hang around an ankle or be kicked off too. It was a defeat every time. Not because she had any objections about touching herself. It felt good, got the job done, and was nobody’s business but her own. It made her sleep like a baby too, and the mess the morning after was a minor nuisance. She just didn’t want to depend on it so fucking badly.

—–

2. Stuff from the sea

Here is where things wash up, when the world is done with them.

Things washed ashore were picked up by Trine. Sometimes. If they were rare and shaped like her imagination, the not very plain girl hidden in the very plain clothes and green rubber boots would take them home, polish them pretty and keep them close, in a growing collection of Stuff From The Sea. It was a simple enough name for a simple enough hobby. But it gave her walks down to the shoreline a purpose other than fresh air and the soothing sound of rolling waves. Some days she still needed a purpose to even get out of bed, and even a silly and small purpose like that one seemed to do the trick.

It was a harsh day. The temperature had dropped from pleasant indian summer to nose-biting cold in just a day, and the wind had picked up pace to a brisk breeze that carried the dampness of the ocean several miles inland. Out here on the island, there was no way to escape it except warmer clothes and cranking up the heat indoors. Trine wrapped a scarf around her neck and pulled a cap over her head in addition to the usual seafront scavenging attire, and headed a familiar path toward the west side of the small island, just a little more than a rock in the water. She wondered, as always, what Stuff the sea would bring her today.

She followed the path down to sea level, but stopped astonished as she came to the bedrock beach that was her favourite spot for collecting driftwood. The sea had decided to bring something it never done before. It brought a man. Or at least Trine thought it was a man, at a distance it was merely a lean figure in short, dark hair, that sat propped up against a large boulder a few feet from the waterfront. He or she looked almost casually nonchalant, one leg stretched and the other supporting a resting arm, head leaning against the stone surface watching the waves foam at the ridges from there to the horizon. The carefree pose was just a fleeting impression though, as Trine walked closer she saw that the person’s clothes were soaked dark, the figure’s chest was breathing heavily and the whole body shivered. The white sock at the outstretched foot had turned red at the bottom of the ankle, which in itself was twisted in what must be an uncomfortable way. He was definitely hurt. And cold. And in serious need of help.

And yes it was definitely a man, his face was still turned away watching the sea, but the dark three-day shave on his cheek was a dead giveaway. He hadn’t heard her coming and made no reaction as she sneaked closer.

“Hallå? Vad gör du här? Behöver du hjälp?” Trine said when she was just a few feet behind him.

The man’s head jerked and he spun around to look at her. His wet face was pretty thin, and his eyes were dark around the edges from lost sleep. He looked pretty nice, Trine thought, beside the obvious need for soap, a shave and a comb. In his current condition, he could be anything from twenty to forty, there was really no way of telling. But what really caught her eye was the look he gave her, that of someone who’d just seen an angel.

“Thank god, there are people here,” he breathed and then louder. “I’m sorry. I haven’t the foggiest what you just said. Do you speak English?”

His accent was somehow British, but Trine couldn’t quite place it. Southern…Devon, maybe? It had a bit of the vowels. She nodded to his question. “I asked if you needed help. But I guess that’s obvious. What happened to your foot, is it broken?”

“No, just a twisted ankle, I think,” the man said with a wince. “And I cut myself on some sharp rocks getting out of the water. It looks worse than it is.”

“Let’s hope so, because you kind of look like crap right now.”

He laughed, but it came out more like a tired cough. “No surprise there. No surprises there. I’ve been knocking about on a rubber float since yesterday morning, gulping salt water and feeling sick. I hit land by the cliffs over there and the float got stuck,” he said with a nod in the direction of a set of jagged cliffs.

“We’ve got to get you out of here, you need to warm up or you’ll soon get–what’s the name–”

“Pneumonia?”

“Right. Or you’ll add pneumonia to your miseries. I’d go get more help, but for the next six months, there’s nobody here but me. We’ll have to manage. Got to get you inside and see to that foot. Can you stand up?”

“Barely. Help me up and we’ll see.”

Trine ducked forward and he put his arm around her shoulder. His hand took a surprisingly solid grip around her arm and she heaved him to his feet. Or foot. The injured ankle was impossible to lean on. So he leaned on Trine instead.

“Yeah, this works,” he said. “It stings a bit, but it works.”

Together they began an awkward three leg hop up towards the huddling trees where the path back to Trine’s cabin lay. The man was slightly taller than her, and she curiously noted how his pale skin with a careful tan clashed with his dark brown eyes and even darker hair. A mixed bag of genes, she guessed. Either way it worked well for him. His grip and upper body felt pretty strong, in a wiry kind of way, and the lack of balance and a leg to stand on made him dig his fingers solidly into her shoulder.

“Pleased to meet you, by the way,” he said. “I’m Adam.”

“And I’m Trine. Welcome to my island.”

“Your very own island?”

“Believe me, it sounds cooler than it is.”

“Just one thing,” Adam said between winces of pain. “Where the hell are we?”

“Norway, as south as you can get. Look two miles to the south and it’s Swedish coast.”

“I went far on that rubber thing then. I fell off the boat that me and my mates sailed on north of Denmark. We missed a storm warning and ran into mean waves, and I was washed overboard. Thank god for a pool float that got tipped over at the same time. I’d be history otherwise.”

A seagull swooped down, landed on a nearby cliff and watched the two humans hopping away. It didn’t give the sight much thought though. It thought of fish. Seagulls rarely think of anything but fish.

—–

3. Playing house

Ten careful fingertips danced across alert skin, nerve ends waking up and singing signals of touch, humming of caress for a longing body. Fingertips slid over closed lids, parted lips, elegant curves, soft mounds and rigid knobs, smooth stretches and warm folds. She felt the slight tingles of tickled nerves when her digits passed by, and the cobweb delicacy of microscopic hairs under them when she brushed lightly by. If the shut her eyes and let her mind sink back, she couldn’t quite separate the feeling of touching and being touched. They became one and the same, and she would imagine it wasn’t her skin she touched and not her hands that touched her, but two lovers caressing each other, in perfect mirror sync.

“That’s it. Can you feel it? Tell me how it feels.”

“Yes. It’s…it’s nice.”

“Nice? Nice doesn’t cut it. Go on, you can do so much better than nice. Don’t hold back. You won’t in the end anyway.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sweetness, you don’t have to apologize to me. This is for you. Let yourself enjoy it. Is that so hard?”

“It’s just… Why can’t you… help me?”

“But I am, sweetness. I am.”

—–

“Lovely,” Adam said, scanning the room.

Trine groaned inwards. She’d half supported half carried the incapacitated man from the rocky shore to her cabin, a 300 metre stretch on tricky paths, through shrubbery and over cliffs. It was a stroll on the safe side of easy for any normal person, but for three working feet and one aching, it was a challenge. The narrow paths and passages were not meant for two side by side, so the short walk took its toll. The cabin was a small place, just a room with a small kitchen area at the short end and a fireplace at the other, a bed and some bookshelves and a sofa lined the walls in between. Pretty much all one person needed, but not much more. Well inside, she’d been in a carpal tunnel of concern. She’d propped up Adam in the sofa, carefully helped him remove his blood soaked shoe and sock, and was digging through drawers for whatever she could clean that ugly cut with, and something warm and dry for him to wear. That’s when she remembered the empty milk cartons, old magazines, piles of paperback books, the unmade bed, the dead plant and five days of dirty laundry tossed all over the place. Underwear and balled up socks especially. She felt a blush coming on and fought to keep it back.

“Oh damn, sorry about the mess. It’s not like I was expecting visitors. Pretty much ever.”

Adam laughed. A bit strained since he was still affected by the aching ankle and the cold. “Mess? Never mind that, I’ve got worse at home at any given time, even WHEN I’m playing the host. No, I meant the style. I like the whole maritime driftwoody thing.”

“Oh. Thanks. It’s mostly my grandfathers’ stuff. I used to come here in the summers when I was a kid, so I’ve tried to keep is as close to how I remember it from back then.”

“But I’ll bet your gramps didn’t hang knickers from the ceiling beams,” Adam said.

And the full scale blush was an undeniable fact. Shit. Only one thing to do. Time for a change of topic.

“Um–no. I guess not. Take off your clothes,” she said.

“What?”

“Or freeze your ass off. Here,” She said and tossed him a large t-shirt and an even larger sweater. “Those are big enough for two of me in them, so they shouldn’t be too small for you. I’m afraid I haven’t got anything in the way of pants that would fit you, but I’ll go get a towel that you can wrap around your–eh–”

“Arse?”

“Not the word I was looking for, but yes.” She picked up a towel from the drawer and gave it to Adam. “Here is one to dry you off with, I’ll go get a bigger one for your ‘skirt’.”

Adam pulled the soaked shirt over his head and began to gingerly rub his arms and chest dry. Trine couldn’t help but take in the sight. He was not exactly built, but instead lean in a pleasant kind of way, with a hint of abs and the same stubbornly strong wiriness to his arms that she had felt when she lead him from the shore. He was really cute, now that she had the chance to pause and look at him, and her eyes went from his face, to his chest and belly, and back. He didn’t seem to notice, just glad to finally get dry and a little warmer. Dreamily, she watched his muscles move, his skin flex, his chest heave with breaths. Whose chest it was, was only barely relevant. It was the body of another, in front of her, within range. She felt that immediate pull, a faint urge to reach out and put her palms on those shoulders, maybe lean into him and share a little of her own warmth. Nothing more than that. Just a little touch, a little company. It had been a peaceful year, a year of rest and survival. But it had also been a lonely year. So very lonely, she thought. Just a little closeness, just someone’s arms around her for a while, just a little…

She was almost about to take a step towards him, when he finally looked up and met her eyes. That snapped her back into reality and she thanked her lucky star she hadn’t been staring at his belly, or even lower, at the time. What the hell was she thinking? She didn’t know this man, for all she knew he could be a chauvinistic prick, or a mass murderer, or a country fan. Or gay. Did he look gay? Damn it, snap out of it. You’re staring again, Trine.

“Yeah, right, um, all dried and cosy now?” she quipped in panic, with a Shit! Did I just say cosy? added in her head. She wanted to run away and hide, and thought he must think she’s a babbling idiot. And he’d be right, she admitted to herself.

If Adam thought she was an idiot, he hid it well. He just gave her a grin and pointed at his chest. “This part anyway.”

“Oh. Yes. Towel. Yes. Sorry. I’ll be right back,” Trine said and fled out into the bathroom.

To call it a bathroom was generous. It was more of a plastic shed attached to the outside of the small house, You actually had to walk outside to get to it. The makeshift room contained a sink, a shower head behind a curtain and an old washing machine. But it had radiators for the winter and running water. Warm even, if you turned on the pipe heater. In the warm summers, Trine settled for cold showers though. She needed a cold shower right about then. She leaned at the sink and took a few deep breaths. This was no good. She had to get a grip. It was just–a guy, this was not the time and place to get all hot and bothered over a cute smile and a bare chest. She’d had enough of that. She didn’t need men, they were part of what she’d left behind, what she’d escaped form. Focus, girl.

She grabbed a suitably huge towel from a hook on the wall and went back inside. With a mixture of regret and relief she saw that Adam had put on the sweater and was towelling his still damp hair. She gave him the larger towel and headed out into the bathroom again so that he could change in privacy. From a small cabinet under the sink she picked up a bottle of medical alcohol, a bag of cotton balls and a roll of surgical tape. Living alone on an island with a bi-weekly ferry as the only link to civilization means you’ll have to be ready for pretty much everything short of a comet strike. Maybe this wasn’t the time and place for her to moan with pleasure, but it was definitely the time and place for him to scream with pain. It was either that, or gangrene for the poor guy. Besides, digging around in a bleeding wound ought to take her mind off sex for at least an hour or two.

It did. For an hour and thirty-five minutes. It was plenty of time to clean out the cut on Adam’s ankle, along with aforementioned screaming, or at least loud grunts of discomfort, patch it up and wrap a bandage around his heel, light the fireplace, call the Danish coast guard and let them and Adam’s sailing buddies know that the guy who went floating about in the middle of the night had been found, get her own tired feet out of boots and into fresh socks, shuffle away the most embarrassing piles of laundry into a corner, and make sandwiches and coffee.

She sank down at the end of her bed and peered over the edge of her cup of Arabica at a slim face with dark eyes, a three day shave and short, almost pitch black hair that seemed to have a will of its own. Half the face was hidden behind a mug the size of a soup bowl, and he carefully blew the steam off the black pool, eager to devour its content. He looked up at her and flashed that cute smile, the one that had made her train of thought derail and crash gloriously an hour and thirty-six minutes earlier. She felt a faint jolt in her spine, and had to hold onto her coffee extra hard not to spill it.

“Thank you,” Adam said out of the blue. Trine raised her eyebrows in question and he continued. “For the coffee, for the food, for the clothes and–well–let’s call it a quilt for the sake of my manliness, for the hospitality, for carrying my sorry self over hills and ditches, and for sitting there right now, being a lovely end to an up until now terrible day. This morning I was vomiting salt water and clinging to a pink pool mattress in the middle of the sea, and now I’m having gourmet coffee by an open fire with a pretty girl. So yes, thank you and thank you again.”

There it was again. The jolt in her spine, the momentary flutter in her chest. Lovely. Pretty. It seemed to trigger a high in her that she couldn’t escape from. Not that she wanted to. It was a great feeling. Company. Not just conversation and a break-off from the loneliness of recent months. Merely that would have been great. But this was also company of a man, a nice and reasonably attractive man who seemed to think the same about her. A man that she could be a woman around, give a little smile to, toss a little hair for. Be a little, if only just a little, adored by. Right, she didn’t need this. She’d sworn off all those things that were bad for her. No sharp drinks, no fuzzy nights, no expensive clubs or cheap fucking at the drop of a pill. But was this it? She’d gotten off on attention in the past, to the point of spreading wide to get it. But this wasn’t the same, was it? She was just being a little nice to a guest. It wasn’t like she was on her knees with her head inside his skirt…quilt…towel. It was just a little harmless flirting, nothing else. This wasn’t about sex. Right?

Right, she decided. With the ferry two days off, Adam’s boat at least as far away and her own rowboat with a strapped on outboard being too small for the weather, they were stuck together for the next 40 or so hours. Two nights and almost two days. She couldn’t be an ice queen for two whole days just to cling to a principle. She returned his string of compliments with a tenacious smile and took a first sip of the coffee.

With warmth, bread and hot beverage in his system, Adam started to regain a little of the colour that had drained from him over the last day. The hue of his cheeks returned, the rings around his eyes disappeared, and his expression went from lightly tormented to confident and friendly. He was looking better by the minute, something that Trine was not late to notice. While they finished their coffee and chatted away the evening hours with nonsense and non-topics, the weather and whatever, her eyes rarely left his features.

And, she noticed, his eyes were fixed on her. The right kind of appreciative glance, with the right kind of peaks snuck down at her chest when he thought she wasn’t looking. Men are men after all, and Trine would have been insulted if he didn’t try to ogle a little. You can always count on some peeking. Unless maybe if you wear a burqa.

—–

4. Bed, breakfast and beyond

Her eyes were shut, her head arched back, her face a conflicted mask of intense pleasure, concentration and frustration. Her legs were spread wide, her breasts arched up high, her hips bucking, her ass clenching, her heels digging into the mattress. Her palm ran up and down her frantic body, gliding over sweaty skin, tugging at soft hair, stopping by her nipples to pinch, pull, twist, rub in an almost violent way. Two fingers on her other hand was deep in her pussy, plunging hard in, out, in, out with a speed that looked more like a shudder than a steady fuck rhythm. Her voice was saturated with lust and urgent on the verge of tears.

“Oh c-come here and touch me. Nngh…why won’t you touch me?”

“Because you look so fine like that. You handle yourself so beautifully. Go on sweetness, just a little while longer now.”

“But I want you, I want you so bad.”

“Baby, I’m right here.”

“But here, not there. On me, in me, please, I need you inside of me.”

“You’re almost here, keep it up.”

“Fuck me, please fuck me!”

“Next time, sweetness. Maybe next time.”

“Fuck me! Aaaaah!”

The orgasm hit like a storm, rolled over her in wave after wave, drowning out all sound, all sight, all reason. For a minute, she was a creature of pure ecstasy, a living, breathing climax. She moaned out wordlessly into the dark emptiness until her lungs were drained, and collapsed in a curled up ball with her hands still clamped around her pussy.

“Beautiful. So beautiful.” Then nothing for a while. Then, “Time for me to go. Until next time, be good, Trine. Be a good girl.”

She could barely breathe, let alone speak, but a faint “No…” managed to slip past her lips. “No, don’t leave me.”

But there was no reply. The whisper in the shadow was gone. Only her own voice remained.

“Please don’t leave me alone, please love me, please take me, please fuck me, please fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”

With that mantra repeating on her lips, she slipped away into deep and dark sleep.

—–

She woke up naked, curled up on the side with ruffled hair, sticky fingers and a sheen of sweat all over that made her shiver in the chilly air. The fireplace was a few dots of powerless embers that didn’t manage to keep anything warm but themselves, and the cold outside had seeped in steadily through the night. It didn’t bother Trine much, crisp mornings was part of her routine, a good way to get started. It wasn’t until she sat up at the edge of the bed and rubbed sleep out of her eyes that reality hit her. She was stark naked. She had, beyond reason and self control, done what she’d done many times before. Kicked off her covers, stripped down to nothing and fingered herself into an erotic frenzy.

Nothing wrong with that, she did it all the time, and what a girl does by herself is her business. But that was the problem. She hadn’t been by herself.

Adam. The driftwood, the stranded guy, her latest Stuff From The Sea, was sleeping on the couch right in front of her. She must have masturbated…in her sleep? Unaware in dream-like half-consciousness that she had company? Totally naked…legs spread… With a guy just a few feet away. In plain sight. Oh fuck. Oh hell. Oh fucking hell. Beelzebub on a bicycle, what if he’d seen her? What if she’d made noises, unashamed, undeniable noises, panting, moaning…what if she woke him up? Did she give him a midnight show without even knowing it? Did he watch her shove her fingers straight up… Shit, this couldn’t be happening!

In panic, she picked up the pile that was her sheet from the floor and wrapped it around her body, before finally daring to look in the direction of the couch. Adam was sound asleep, lying on his side with the back against the room. His breath was slow and deep, but other than that he didn’t move a muscle. So he sure as sunshine didn’t see her in the buff right now, at least.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d slept through the whole thing. She quietly moved over to a drawer and took out a clean top and panties, put them on with some effort under the sheet, and wore the pair of sweatpants she’d hung over the end of the bed when she went to sleep. Then she snuck outside to collect her thoughts. The chilly wind splashed her in the face like a sharp, fresh caffeine overdose. It was a never failing method to wake up, and all the mental cobwebs of sleep were blown away. The mean little spider of possible disaster was, however, not. She considered her options, and realized that she had pretty much none. Short of throwing herself to he waves, all she could do was pretend like nothing happened, go about her business and wait the day out, praying to whatever deity that cared that Adam had been in too deep a coma to notice. He was pretty exhausted after all. Yeah, that’s it, he probably didn’t see anything. Maybe. Pleasejesusmakeitso…

“Good morning, love.”

Trine spun around. There he stood in the door behind her, looking wonderful. Unshaved, a little morning weary and with a hair that had given up on looking proper long ago, but that smile, those eyes, a neck that looked perfect for nuzzling up against… and a very undressed body beneath it. A bare, tanned chest, and only a towel that hung loosely around his waist and was held up by hand. His tall figure leaned against the doorpost and smiled at her. Smiled. The same smile as yesterday, as far as Trine could tell. What was it again? Oh yes, act normal.

“God, you scared me. Wait, did you just call me love? Are we that kind of friendly now?”

He laughed. “It’s just a tag. My mum calls me that for goodness…. Is miss better? How about ma’am? Does ma’am work for you?”

The ma’am came out with such a fake Texan drawl that Trine couldn’t help but laugh.

“No way! Ma’am makes me feel like I should wear an apron, three layers of skirts and have hips like a rhino.”

“I say, if I knew being properly polite was this difficult…”

Polite would be to not walk around naked in my house, Trine thought. But she let that pass. She was not sure what she’d do if he replied “But you didn’t seem to mind nudity last night.” She’d probably die on the spot. And, she had to admit, he was a sight that she most definitely enjoyed, and he did cover up all the no-no bits.

“I’ve got a name, you know,” she said. “We’re not big on titles in this corner of the world.”

“Ok then. Trine, can I please use the shower? I’ve got salt everywhere and a plankton zoo in places I don’t want to talk about.”

“Oh. Of course. Wait here.”

She brushed past him in the door. For a moment, her whole vision was filled with his torso, her hand rested lightly on his chest, her arm brushed against his side, the smell of salt and sweat filled her nostrils… It was just half a second, but that was enough to make her heart pound, and her balance played tricks on her as she went inside. Cursing her inability to focus, she staggered into the room and found an extension cord hanging on a hook, She plugged it into the wall socket and went outside where she handed the other end to Adam.

“Here. It’s for the–um–water. Plug it in to the thing by the sink and give it a minute, then it should be warm enough.”

“The ‘thing by the sink’? I love it when you get all technical on me.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. I don’t know the English word for it, ok? Just shove it in and enjoy the heat.”

She started to blush even as she said it. Quickly, she fled inside and left Adam standing by the door, holding a dangling power plug and looking more than a little amused.

Amusement was not a feeling on Trine’s mind though. One part of her was worried sick that he knew everything and that his behaviour was just as much an acting-normal charade as hers, and that the big, terrible joke was on her. Another part kept on ranting “There’s a naked man in my shower, there’s a naked man in my shower. There’s. A. Naked. Man. In. My. Shower!” A third, much smaller part said “Yes, there’s a naked man in my shower. A hot naked man. Wet, probably soaped up nice and slippery. I hope he saw me naked and is jerking off to the memory right now. Why don’t I strip and join him?”, but the other two parts kept telling it to shut up.

A fourth part looked at the other three parts and shook it’s proverbial head. “I’m an idiot,” it said. “Just start with the damn breakfast already.”

—–

5. Wresting an hourglass

She awoke with a blink, a shudder, sometimes a shout. The world spun, she felt drained, paralyzed. Was she there or just dreaming that she woke up? What was the difference? Did it matter? The room was pitch black, save for a faint patch of moonlight that had moved from her thigh to the wall. The whisper was not there, and the hum of satisfaction from pleasuring herself long gone. A sinking, empty feeling of loneliness had taken its place. A vacuum to fill the vacuum? How ironic, she thought.

Deep, cold dreams tugged her back before she could think anything else.

—–

The rest of Trine’s day was crossfire of doubt, fear, what-ifs and a constant struggle to keep her blooming lust under wraps. The four way debate in her head kept bouncing illogic arguments, wild guesses and slippery slopes at the walls of her skull. And that was pretty much all the voices could do, because Adam didn’t reveal whether he knew her dirty little secret or not with as much as a wink or a waver on his voice. Not that that made Trine any more confident. Because he had changed. He was pleasant and charming as before, but with a new glimpse of interest in his voice. He was leaning a little closer, his eyes lingering a little longer, a little more compliments and innocent flirting weaved into what he said. And more of those heart-stopping smiles that simply couldn’t be healthy in too large doses. But that could mean anything, really. He was a guy and she was a girl who seemed to be having that effect on males now and then, so it could be the little head pulling him along even without her accidental nocturnal inspiration.

Whatever caused it, it didn’t help her keep her head cool. There were, on any given day, chores to be done and routines to follow. The fireplace didn’t light itself, especially without chopped wood, there was laundry to do, groceries to order out with tomorrow’s ferry, a well to check, a small patch of vegetables to weed out… Stuff that didn’t nearly fill her day normally, but that took twice the time now, since Adam, foot healed enough to walk around, insisted on doing his share and helping her with everything. So he tagged along like a puppy, and although he dug in ambitiously, Trine – who was the one supposed to know where things went and how they worked – was so distracted by his presence that she fumbled like a clown, forgot the most basic things and generally made an ass of herself.

Ferns hovered up ahead, swept back and forth in the grey sky, opening their beaks in gleeful yapping over her embarrassment. Or not really, but when she managed to ungracefully trip over her own feet right in front of Adam, and heard a spiteful “Hya-hya-hya-hya-hya!” From above, she wanted to grab a shotgun and blow the stupid bird’s tail feathers into confetti.

The gnawing uncertainty in her pit of Trine’s stomach about last night’s grand show was one thing. It was what it was, which wasn’t cheerful, but there was nothing she could do to affect it. But the man himself, that was something else. When he touched her, when he breathed in her direction, when he said something appreciative about her or when he smiled that god damn smile, she went putty like an adoring teenager. When she did, she had to drop whatever she had at hand, tense up her body not to stagger and focus hard on breathing not to show her excitement.

“Get it together, silly girl,” she told herself. “Just stay cool for a little longer, and he’ll be on a ferry and your life can return to normal.”

“Or I could just jump his bones and get it over with,” she small and horny pixie in the back of her head said. “End of problem. I know I wanna.”

“Shut. The fuck. UpI”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“Well, don’t!”

To add to the distress, Adam’s timing was impeccable. He managed to cause little eruptions of lustful tingles and fluttering nerves just at the very moments when she thought she’d start to gain control of herself and function like a regular person. She could actually suppress the weirdness of her situation and imagine that she was on top of things for five minutes now and then. Then a pair of dark eyes would stare at her so intently it burned, a strong hand would land conspicuously on her wrist, or lips in a wonderful smile would utter just the right words to make her legs tremble. Nothing wanton or even semantically sexual, just the right kind of syllables that sounded gorgeous together. It wasn’t by design, it couldn’t be, he couldn’t possibly know all about the turmoil inside of her, and exactly the things that pushed her buttons… could he? She wasn’t even sure if he was trying to turn her on, or if all of this was just her reaction to a year starved of physical and social attention. Maybe she was just one big button, and anything that stumbled close enough could trigger it. Trine could just be happy Adam’s pants had dried up well after breakfast already, so he didn’t walk around a towel-snatch away from full frontal goodness. She would have been a nervous wreck. Or ok, more of a nervous wreck than she already was.

The constant lack of emotional balance kept her mind busy though, and somehow it was easier to struggle with the impracticalities of infatuation than with the bizarre uncertainties of the night before. It wasn’t until they were dozing off after dinner, the low sun was casting a red glow outside through a rare opening in the clouds, and the glowing wood of the fireplace was bringing a red tint to their faces, that the real horror hit her like a bucket of icy water. Icy water full of piranhas.

Yes, the trials were far from over. The real battle was still ahead of her. Bedtime was a looming, dark cloud on the horizon. The very word filled her with dread. She just couldn’t allow herself to sleep. What if she went all x-rated again? There was no way she was going to risk that, whether Adam was unaware or anticipating a sequel. But neither could she find any believable reason for staying up all night.

So she played merrily along. She made her bed, brushed her teeth, found sheets and blankets for Adam’s couch, slipped into bed, said goodnight and turned off the light. She turned against the wall…and pretended to fall asleep, straining her ears to hear if Adam was sleeping. After maybe fifteen minutes of excruciating silence, she turned slowly in bed, and looked at him. To her relief, he was turned towards the room, and she looked into a face with closed eyes and totally relaxed features. Either he was a quality actor, or he was truly asleep. She coughed faintly. No reaction. She sat up in bed. Not the slightest stir. A little more confident now, Trine stood up and sneaked across the room, carefully avoiding the creakiest floorboards. She picked up a pair or extra socks, her warmest woolly jumper, and a long jacket by the door, grabbed her rubber boots, a big, knitted cap, and carefully opened the door. Cold air rushed in, and she snuck out as fast as she could and closed the door behind her. Once outside, in nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt, the bite of the night hit her with full force. She quickly assembled the clothes she’d taken with her, and also added her baggy army pants that hung dried in the shower shed. Now she was fully prepared to last hours out in the open. At least physically.

The problem wasn’t her body though. It was her brain. It had been running on triple speed all day, feeding on worry and wanton in equal amounts, sprinkled with confusion and anger at herself for allowing this loss of control. It couldn’t take much more, and was in aching need to just shut down and re-boot. After all the commotion of the day, boredom was something it just didn’t know how to handle.

And there was absolutely nothing to do. Not a damn thing but wait. The sky was heavy with clouds and the only source of light within miles was the faint glow of the fireplace inside. If she got up and walked more than ten steps, she’d lose her bearings. She sat down on a small wooden bench by the door and stared out into the darkness. She cursed to herself for not bringing a flashlight, but it was too late now. The wind slapped her softly in the face and she heard waves roar in the distance, but even this became a monotonous, irrelevant hum after a while.

Her only point of reference was a wrist watch with a backlight lcd panel, which she now and then checked for progress. But when she thought she’d shown god-like patience and surely must have wasted an hour or two, the digital arms had ticked on ten minutes. Trine groaned and stifled a yawn. This was going to suck.

Two hours later, she was close to tears. It was like having a stare-down with an hourglass, shaming it to stop dropping grains. Her consciousness was the ever diminishing cone at the top, being relentlessly drained. Sleep was more than a mere seductive suggestion now, it was a physical pull that tugged at her brain with random intervals, and she had to shake her head and breathe deeply to keep paying attention to her sensory input. But of course it was a fight made for losing, and after only a few more minutes, Trine’s head dropped forward and her body sagged in a sleep that not even the sharp winds could wake her from.

She dreamed of a towel. That towel. It was not wrapped around a lean man’s waist, but spread out in the sand on a wide stretched, sunny beach. She was spread out on the towel. Naked, relaxed and warm under a tropical sun. And although there were people there, a handful in shorts and bikinis, a few fully dressed, at various spots along the beach, she didn’t care enough to cover up, but only felt mildly annoyed that she’d forgotten to put on clothes that morning. She stood up without any embarrassment and strolled aimlessly through the sand.

Sleeping and balance are not bedmates, and having given in to the former, there was none of the latter to keep her upright on the bench. With a soft thud, she tipped over and fell to the ground. Not even that woke her up. Behind the veil of dreams, her body registered the impact and the light pain, but folded it neatly and plausibly into the scenery. In her dream, she had for no apparent reason, walked into the side of a suddenly materialized cherry coloured Toyota mini-van. On the beach. As if that was the most normal thing in the world. She apologized to the upset automobile but it kept honking angrily and roared its engine at her. Suddenly scared, she backed away. The brain is a wondrous thing, so critical of senses when awake, so eager for non-sequitur explanations when we sleep.

Creaking hinges found no place in her current dream though, so they shook her out of the depths, away from the beach and the threatening car, into a light and blurry slumber, the no mans land between awake and asleep that is heaven on a lazy Sunday morning, when dream and day-dream are one and the same. A worrying coldness and a mildly hurting shoulder intruded on her peace though. She was vaguely aware of someone talking softly, of arms pulling her up, cradling and lifting her, hands pulling her towards a lean chest under a shirt that smelled of soap and man, and she moved without thinking, threw her arms around her rescuer’s neck and snuggled her face up against his shoulder. Who the arms belonged to, she had no idea, and neither did she ask the question. In her state, only the most basic things mattered. They were Arms, she was being Held, it felt Safe.

She was carried a few steps, there was the creaking again, and the chill melted away. She was carefully lowered and her heavy outdoor clothes removed. She obediently held up her arms to have the jumper pulled off and held out her legs so her boots and pants could come off, just like she’d done when she was a little girl. She was tipped back from where she sat into a soft mattress, a blanket with a familiar smell was tucked around her and she felt a pillow shaping itself after her head. She squirmed happily in place and felt the soft fabric embrace her. Somebody kissed her lightly on the forehead and walked away with quiet steps. With a sense of being Home and that all was Good in the world, Trine slept.

—–

5. Stuff of dreams

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Of course, sweetness. I always am. Where else would I be?”

“Yes, you always are. But who are you?”

“Why do you ask?” came the reply out of the shadow.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Then you shouldn’t. No matter, I see you’re as ready as ever. Remove your clothes and let me see you.”

The last of the sheet slid down to a pile on the floor, and her hands moved as if on puppet strings to her t-shirt, tugging it up, tearing it off. Her pants and panties were yanked down and kicked off in a hurry, now dangling inside out, stuck at her feet. She didn’t care. She threw herself back on the mattress, stark naked, and stared at the ceiling.

“This can’t go like it used to. I need a change,” she announced to the darkness.

“A change, sweetness? What change?”

“This time…you must touch me.”

“But why? You’re doing so splendidly on your own.”

“I am? I don’t feel like I do. All I feel is alone and unwanted. Is that what you want? It’s dark and cold and you don’t want me. Not really. Is that how it should be?”

“Sweetness, that’s not you, that’s just a state of mind. It can be overcome. Don’t you enjoy our times together? You sure seem to love what I do to you..”

“But you don’t do anything! I lie here and beg…and you just hide over there..”

“I don’t hide. I watch. I’m here for you, am I not?”

“Shut up! No excuses, no tricks. I’m tired of this. You take me for real, or you go away! Come here and put your hands on me! I need you on me, around me, inside of me, right fucking now!”

Her shout died away. There was silence. Dead and utter silence. She thought the whisper might have actually left her, but then came a soft reply.

“Trine, you know I can’t. I’m not really here.”

But somebody was. Somebody was touching her. A hand laid on her shoulder, gently moving down her arm, she could feel the fingers, the palm, the wonderful sensory sparkle of lean caress shooting up from nerve ends and blooming in her brain. But the room was empty. She saw no hand.

—–

She saw no hand. Then she saw a ghostly outline, a double exposure, the idea of a hand. She saw a hand, an arm, a man, as the room in her dream caught up with the room her eyes registered. With a final gasp, she broke through the surface from real-like dream to dream-like reality.

It was the same room, the same shapes and angles. But the darkness in the corners were much less tangible, there was rustling of wind outside, and an orange light from the fireplace. There was Trine, naked, exposed down to the soft trousers stuck inside-out at her ankles, breath trembling, hair spread out like a tangled halo around her head, big eyes staring in confused wonder at the hand stroking her bare arm. And there was Adam, kneeling by the bed, his eyes shifting in silent amazement between where his hand met her skin, up at her face, and down along her exposed body, glowing red in the ember light.

Thoughts erupted for milliseconds in Trine’s head, collided with other thoughts and died down. She tried to speak, but found that she had no idea what to say, or which body parts were used for talking. She tried to move, but couldn’t quite reach out to her limbs and let them know. The sensation of his touch was a roaring rush of pleasure, with a side order of panic. The sensation of his gaze on her breasts, belly, legs, labia, almost felt like a physical presence. The realization that she was beyond any hope of keeping her personal sphere to herself, that she was truly opened and exposed in every sense of the word, became the rope that tied her motionless, she simply had no idea how to react, where to go from there. She didn’t even know if she wanted to go anywhere. She felt her body bathe in the attention, she felt her flesh swoon, her nipples and pussy tingle as if already caressed, her mouth water with the prospect of kissing, licking, sucking, tasting the man by her side. And at the same time, her spine trickled cold with terror. She wanted to run and hide, she wanted to grab and kiss, she wanted to kick and scream, she wanted to laugh and sing. All at once, and succeeding with nothing.

Instead it was Adam that took action. He continued to stroke her arm, up to her neck, over her shoulder, down to her fingertips and back up, while he spoke in a hushed voice.

“I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamed of the beautiful girl who saved me from a storm and invited me to her house. I dreamed she was…naked, with her hands between her legs. She was…touching herself, panting, moaning, and murmuring things I couldn’t hear. Not until the very end, when she told me to touch her, to take her, to…well…fuck her, was the word she used. But I didn’t. I didn’t dare to move. I was sure that as soon as I did, I’d wake up, and it was just a too amazing dream to lose. But I guess I was wrong. It seems it wasn’t a dream after all?”

Not really in control of her voice, but realizing that there was no point in denying it, Trine shook her head. Adam ceased the stroking and looked into her eyes. He smiled. Oh god, he smiled, and Trine knew she was done resisting. She wouldn’t crow away, wouldn’t hesitate. If he wanted her, she would be his. This would go where it went, and it was out of her hands. As soon as that thought had settled, nothing else mattered. There was no embarrassment, no feeling of intrusion, no fear of anything.

“I’ve been a wreck all day,” Adam continued. “I looked at you and all I could think about was those images. I tried like crazy to figure you out, to find a sign that you were that woman from my dream, that it could possibly be real. But you’ve messed me up more than any girl ever before. Everything about you is so lovely. From your sweet laughter to your big heart to your funny rock collection. And I know this sound like a Big Dumb Male thing, but I stand by it: I could hardly tear my eyes away from your body. You make my knees shake. I couldn’t think straight around you.”

Trine stared. She made his knees shake? He couldn’t think straight around her? Oh boy, if only he knew. She’d tell him, she made a mental note that she’d tell him of her ordeals. Maybe they could compare notes? But not now. It was too long a story for too short a night.

“So…have you figured me out now?” she simply said, amazed of how easy it was to speak all of a sudden.

Adam blinked, then a smile spread across his face.

“I think I just might have.”

Not quite, Trine thought. But close enough.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she said, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her for a long, sincere kiss. The tip of her tongue touched his, and the aching need for sleep that betrayed her in the first place became a moot point. She was suddenly not the least bit weary.

It was an exquisite feeling, the shape of a body over her, the feel of muscles flexing against her, like a long lost love coming home. She held on tight and tugged Adam closer and closer, while sucking on his tongue, pressing her lips hard against his. He lost his support and fell down upon her with full weight, his torso pushing down at her breasts, mauling her shape into the mattress. She let out a short grunt, which seemed to worry Adam, who broke the kiss and tried to speak. He didn’t get very far though, before Trine tightened her grip around his neck and plunged her tongue into his mouth again. Her whole body spoke to him in pleasurable groans and content squirms when her lips were busy. “I’m okay,” she wanted to say. “Go on, don’t hesitate. Don’t be afraid, I won’t break.”

Her picture of Adam as careful and nervous was soon put to shame though. He bore down on her with springy enthusiasm, licked at her lips and tasted her tongue just as fiercely as she did, matched her firm grip around her neck by slipping his hands around her naked body and closing in in a tight embrace under her back. She felt his hands pressing into her where she lay, his arms wrapped close and the fabric of his t-shirt rubbing against her nipples. But that was all. He was still sitting on the ground, and as much as Trine swooned in the delight of a kiss long, long overdue and at the blooming wonder of sexual attention, she began to feel the itch from below. Small shivers of pleasure pulsed from within her pussy, letting her know that it was feeling left out. Damn greedy thing, Trine thought.

That was soon to be taken care of though. Holding her tight, Adam leaned backwards and sat her up in bed, he tore his mouth away from hers and ended a kiss that seemed to have gone n for hours, leaving little black dots dancing in front of Trine’s eyes. He stood up and she meekly followed, still clinging to his neck and licking salt from the windy day off his cheeks and leaving little butterfly kisses all over his face. Upright, she disengaged and leaned back a little, taking a tiny step back. She was so close to him that she could feel small hairs on her forearm brush against him, and her nipples still trailed softly against the cotton fabric covering Adam. She looked up into his eyes. Dark, gentle, loving, but hungry on an epic scale at the same time. And with a glimmer, a knowing little shine of playfulness. His hands slid down her back to her buttocks, and he squeezed them, resting the tip of a finger between the round cheeks. They just stood there for almost a minute, looking into each others’ eyes trading smiles and quite little giggles, a whole conversation of signals not represented by any words in a human tongue. Just lust drunk giddy moods in anticipation of what was yet to come.

When Trine finally made a move, it was with the precision and force of a cruise missile. She knew what she wanted now. More than anything to get beyond any last barrier of privacy. As fast as possible. She had noticed the bulge in his pants, it almost reached out to where she stood, and she had made up her mind right then. This was going all the way, and right now. Before Adam had time to react, she had dropped to her knees with a wooden thump from the floorboards, and pulled his pants and shorts down with her to a pile by his ankles. His cock sprung out and hit her on the nose, and with a joyful laugh she gripped she shaft, pulled back the foreskin and gave the tip of the gland a long, wet lick.

The musky taste spread like wildfire in her mouth, another thing she didn’t even remember how much she’d missed. And it had been one of her favourite pastimes. Not for her pleasure, but as the prefect way to make a guy worship her if she did it right. And she always did it right. She had thrived on worship once, sipped adoration like another drug, and every way of getting there was tuned to perfection. But it was different this time. She didn’t have to, there was no way for this man to adore her any more without bursting his heart. Usually, this was a commodity for barter, but there was nothing Adam could give her that she knew in her heart she wouldn’t get anyway. This time, she gave pleasure merely for the sheer joy or giving. She had to take a second to digest the thought. There really was no other motive. Just pure and giddy happiness from knowing what pleasure her actions gave this man.

She took another lick and ended it with a small but strong sucking kiss right over the little slit. She was rewarded with a drawn out groan from above, and responded by smiling up at him and tugging at the shaft with her hand. She heard a soft rustle behind her. Adam had pulled off his shirt, and was now as naked from the ankles and up as she was. There, now we’re even, she thought. As if that would matter anymore. Suddenly the whole silly situation caught up with her, and she couldn’t help but laughing a little.