Posted by tina on November 02, 20011 at 06:35:14:
“A Day at the Beach”
(inspired by and in memory of Sherry)
By tina
The
picture of my secluded beach was finished. I thought the picture was
complete until she walked around the rock outcropping to my right. The
tall blond was gorgeous. She wore a simple black one piece which was
high cut in the hips making her legs seem impossibly long. The white
blouse she wore was unbuttoned and fluttered in the light sea breeze.
The sea side alcove I had painted was also beautiful but suddenly my
painting faded. This tall blond walked casually out onto my canvas and
my picture was undone. She had suddenly turned my beach into her beach.
I
watched almost mesmerized as she completed my canvas. Her routine was
always the same. She would spread a multi-colored beach towel on the
sand. The tall blond would walk slowly to the edge of the water and
stick her foot daintily into the light surf. And then she would dive
into the clear blue water and swim so far out that her head was a small
yellow dot barely visible on the horizon.
With great effort I painted
her into my picture. She sat on her towel tanned and blond and
beautiful on my beach. Finally our picture was done. I had thought our
picture was done until she brought pea pods for the sea turtles. I
guess I had not noticed but occasionally she would bring a brown paper
bag filled with pea pods. I watched her swim out but failed to see the
turtles that she fed except for an occasional slow moving shadow.
This
time our picture was completed. I watched her place the earplugs into
each ear and then select music from her IPod. She had not heard me as I
had moved slowly up behind her. Even without the music playing in her
ears the soft sound of the waves would have masked any sound my
footsteps might have made.
Sherry was indeed oblivious to the fact
she shared the beach with a painter or with anyone else for that matter.
She had spied the secluded semicircle of beach during a swim along the
rugged coastline. That was the first day of her vacation. She was
celebrating her recent business success with a much needed rest. This
little spit of sand had been perfect. The business woman was just sorry
this would her last day before she returned to the corporate jungle.
As she listened to Elvis admonish about wise men and fools something
passed in front of her face.
She opened her mouth wide to scream as I
dropped the sheer stocking over her head. Her scream was still born as
I pulled the nylon hard against her throat. My chest pressed against
the back of her head as I knelt behind the helpless blond.
No scream
escaped Sherry’s red lips as her airway was suddenly closed off. Her
fingers pried at the soft ligature but the strangler had the advantage.
“Being strangled,” Sherry realized as her fingers slid over the soft
band held hard against her throat. She reached back and tried to push
herself away from her attacker. But the powerful body just pressed
harder against her. Sherry was gasping for air as the ligature seemed
to tighten as she struggled in vain to break free.
I watched her
heels beat tiny craters into the sand underneath the blue and white
striped towel. The gorgeous lady had put up a valiant fight but I had
the advantage of size and surprise. After what seemed an eternity but
was probably little more than a minute she had lost control of her
movements. That was also when I was startled to hear Elvis Presley
singing “Blue Suede Shoes”. I kept the stocking tight as I looked
around wildly for the source of the music. Fear gripped me as I thought
I was about to be seen in my act of murder.
Sherry grabbed hold of
the loose wire and tugged. In the haze of asphyxiation she thought she
was loosening the ligature. The doomed woman pulled the ear buds loose
and the lovely music stopped. The sounds of Elvis disappeared as Sherry
had heard only the roar of the ocean. “Odd,” she had thought, “I don’t
remember the waves being this loud.” She had looked down at her wide
spread legs. Her arms rested limply on either thigh. “I have to get
loose.” That was when the sunlit beach went dark.
As her hands
dropped into her lap I saw that she had pulled her ear buds away. Elvis
continued to sing to us as I finished strangling the blond. The soft
sound of the lapping waves had been the only other noise as I held the
silky stocking tight under her chin.
When she was finished I gently
lowered her body down. I was surprised to see that her nipples had
become erect and stood out plainly under her dark swimsuit. I knelt
next to the body and pushed the crotch of the suite aside. My fingers
explored her dead pussy. Her final orgasm was the lovely lady’s final
surprise for me.
I left her on our beach with the stocking knotted
tight around her slender neck. I hung our picture in my foyer. Guests
always exclaim about what a marvelous work of art and then are amazed
that I painted the picture. Sometimes, but not often, someone will ask
me the name of the blond sitting peacefully near the edge of the stand
of mangrove trees. No one has ever noticed the faint shadow in the
water. I sometimes wonder if the sea turtles miss her and the pea pods.