She sensed he was about to come, and she rocked back on her haunches and said, "That's a wrap. Scene Two. Wine, please."
Bud retrieved the bottle of wine.
She lay on her back and thrust her legs into the air and said, "A wife-tasting party." She spread her legs and said, "Pour."
Bud knelt between her legs and poured the wine, then without further stage direction, he buried his tongue in her.
Jill was breathing hard now, but managed to say, "I hope you have that camera pointed right."
Bud came up for air and glanced at the camera. "Yeah."
She took the bottle and poured the remainder of the wine over her body. "Lick."
He licked the wine from her hard belly and breasts and ran his tongue over her nipples.
After a few minutes, she sat up and said, "I'm sticky. Let's skinny-dip."
Bud stood and said, "I think we should go. We'll shower at the hotel."
She ignored him and climbed to the top of the sheltering dune and looked out at the ocean. "Come on. Set the camera up here and get us skinny-dipping."
Bud knew better than to argue, so he walked quickly to the video camera, stopped it, then carried it with the tripod to the top of the dune and set the legs into the sand.
Bud looked out over the sand, ocean, and sky. The horizon was still lit by the dying rays of the sun, but the sea and the water were dark blue and purple now. Overhead he could see stars appearing and noticed the blinking lights of high-flying aircraft and the glow of a big ship on the distant horizon. The breeze had picked up, and it cooled his sweaty, naked body.
Jill looked through the viewfinder and switched to a twilight setting, then set the autofocus on infinity and zoomed out for a wide shot. She pushed the Record button, and said, "This is so beautiful."
Bud replied, "Maybe we shouldn't go down to the beach naked. There could be people around."
"So what? As long as we don't know them, who cares?"
"Yeah, but let's take some clothes"
"Live dangerously, Bud."
She stepped off the dune, sliding and hopping all the way down the slope to the beach.
Bud watched her, marveling at her perfect naked body as she ran to the water.
She turned toward him and shouted, "Come on!"
He ran down the slope, across the flat beach. He felt silly running naked with his thing flapping in the breeze.
He caught up to her as she reached the water, and she turned him to the camera on the dune. She waved and shouted, "Bud and Jill swim with the sharks." She took his hand, and they splashed into the calm ocean.
The initial shock of the cool water gave way to a pleasant sense of cleansing. They stopped when the salty seawater reached their hips, and they washed each other front and back.
Jill looked out at the sea. "This is magic."
Bud stood beside her and together they stared, mesmerized by the glassy sea and the purple sky spread out before them.
To their right, Bud noticed the blinking lights of an aircraft, about eight or ten miles off Fire Island at an altitude of maybe ten or fifteen thousand feet. Bud watched the aircraft as it drew closer, the last rays of the setting sun reflecting off its wings. It left four white contrails in the deep blue sky, and Bud guessed it had taken off from Kennedy Airport about sixty miles to the west, and it was heading toward Europe. The moment called for romance, so he said, "I'd like to be on that plane with you, going to Paris or Rome."
She laughed. "You panic when you're gone for an hour in a hot-sheet motel. How are you going to explain Paris or Rome?"
Bud was annoyed and said, "I don't panic. I'm cautious. For your sake." He said, "Let's go."
"In a minute." She squeezed his butt and said, "This videotape is going to burn up the TV screen."
Copyright © 2004 by Nelson DeMille
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Southern Gothic fantasy with a contemporary flare set in Savannah
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