Holding Back the Tide

Holding Back the Tide

by
Steven Hunley

"Let all men know how empty and worthless is the power of kings. For there is none worthy of the name but God, whom heaven, earth and sea obey." ----King Canute


Every modern man is Canute when he makes love to a beautiful woman. A woman, due to her nature, is free to express climax after climax, a complete trusting and vulnerable surrender of her body and soul. That’s why it’s easy to be a woman.

A man, due to his nature, must know his limitations and be more measured. A man must learn to control his tides of love. That’s why it’s hard to be a man.

She was blond, a surfer girl, and married at nineteen. A wicked combination. Besides those three things, I could completely describe her with only five more words. They are, as Nickleback once sang,

“Are we having fun yet?”

So, as the Beatles once crooned,

“I shoulda known better with a girl like you.”

But I didn’t.

‘Cause I was a chump, the thick and blunt end of anything.

I met her through a mutual friend Marc, when he said,

“You wanna go over to Jim’s house and smoke a joint? He’s got a wife named Tina and kid now.”

“Wow,” I thought, “We’re only a year out of high school.”

So, like the right-guy-smoker I was, I answered “Yes,” and my fate was sealed.

When we got to the door, I tripped on the rug walking in. But instead of having an embarrassed kind of feeling, I felt like I stepped on a roller coaster that was already moving.

Was that weird or what?

So here was the dude I hadn’t seen in over a year, his attractive blond wife, their baby upstairs asleep, all real domestic-like. Just the kind of situation you don’t mess with outta respect.

We smoked a few, laughed a bit, and said goodnight. The next week we were over playing board games far into the night. Jim had to work; he was a mailman, went to sleep early.

Uh-oh, now I was trouble. I shoulda seen it coming. Someone shoulda hollered,

“Red flag!”

But we didn’t have that phrase back in the days of yore.

She had a girlfriend, that was good; it made someone for my friend Marc to hook up with. But after her old man crashed, that left me with her. I had every intent to keep my distance. So we made it a foursome.

One night we crawled into a storm drain to smoke a joint. It was the hippie days. We smoked joints in the hippie days. And it wasn’t legal. Outlaw hippies anyway. Another night it was the beach. By this time we’d been partying for weeks and were pretty close.

We drove to the jetty at Ocean Beach, O.B. Jetty. It was deserted, but we searched for an even more remote spot to smoke. Police were tough in those days. Finally Marc and friend wandered off leaving us sitting on the sand alone. She sat real close, ‘cause there was an on-shore breeze, and cuddled up for warmth. The fog and darkness were conspiring to hand us an invitation to exchange secrets.

Our confessions were freely exchanged using doublespeak and innuendos, but the meanings slipped out when nobody was looking.

“I can’t understand,” she said, “why you don’t get close.”

“It’s just that…” but words failed me, like a toddler, I stumbled.

The moon appeared from behind the gathering clouds, a luminous silver disc.

I had a stick in my hand, nervously drawing a circle in the sand like a four year old child.
.
“It’s just that you’re…”

She grabbed the stick from me, and scratched a jagged line through the ring, breaking it in two. Grasping me by the collar with both hands, she drew me closer, only a heartbeat away.

“That’s just it,” she said with serious longing in her eyes. “It’s not working out.”

I had good news in my life and recognized it when I saw it.

At this point her lips crossed into my danger zone, so close I couldn’t resist.
I believe what happened next was the best kiss on the beach I’d ever had. After that …let’s just say sex and a moonlit beach… there was nothing like it.

The summer night worked its magic. Black velvet darkness gently caressed and enveloped her breasts. Sudden moonlight, ice-blue moonlight, revealed both her smooth white belly and her secret dark-shadowed clefts. She felt pounding surf effortlessly invading her freely abandoned southern shores, leaving my hard-earned pearls scattered carelessly on the sand, puddling the tide-pool depression of her naval. Crashing waves broke over her, provided deafening white noise, and allowed Kristina to concentrate on what really mattered; herself.

Let’s face it; there was nothing artificial or false here. It was Hemingway’s Moment of Truth.

There is nothing as precious as our secrets, nor anything so terrible.

Two weeks later she moved to an apartment, filed for divorce, and was on her own. That put a whole different spin on the situation.

But that was O.K. My gyroscope was already turning. I wasn't about to lose my balance. To quote Pete Townsend, I had gained “A Heart to Hang Onto.”

©Steven Hunley2011

I think I have read this before. I think you do subtle well here. Your description of the sex, or lack of inner orgasm (for the guy) is moving. Loving Hemingway's moment of truth. I think the sand in the pants cheapens the "philosophy" a bit. Otherwise I think it's pacing is well done.

I'm in complete agreement and yes, it was an older piece. Adjustments have been made. Nothing like a perceptive critique. It's one of the reasons I post here. To improve, make adjustments, and get the kinks out. As usual, your critique has proved invaluable. Thank you, I needed that.

It was just a minor line and didn't detract from the overall story. I am always glad to read your stuff.

Have a nice weekend!

Jersea

Hi Steven. This is an engaging little tale and fun to read. I am however, a little unsure about the opening quote and the comment on it. It's unclear whether you are referring to the physical act of love or the emotional commitment of it. You may be talking about both. Likewise, the closing five sentences, which should be in one paragraph by the way, are again ambiguous. Does the narrator want to continue the relationship or not? Where you say, "...filed for divorce and was on her own." it isolates the girl from the narrator. But the narrator concludes with, "I had a heart to hang onto." Presumably his own, which sort of implies that he's in danger of losing it to the girl, but might also mean he wants to hang on to hers. So, is he really OK?

If you want to hang on to the opening quote and comment (and I can see why you'd want to) then you should swap the order of paragraphs 2 and 3. This way you talk about a man first, then talk about a woman and it will then lead to the specific woman of the story. By going woman - man - woman it disrupts the flow of the narrative, isolates the quote and comment.

The song quotes you use don't need to be given their own lines and should be included in the relevent parargraph. You could delimit them with apostrophes. I don't think you need to put dialogue quotes around Red Flag either. It's not dialogue spoken by a character.

You keep switching tenses. It could be the idiom of the narration, but if so, is it necessary?

"I have every intent to keep my distance. So we make it a foursome," doesn't read well.

"I have every intention of keeping my distance, but we make it a foursome." would be better.

"One night we crawl up into a storm drain to smoke a joint. It was the hippie days. We smoked joints in the hippie days. And it wasn’t legal. Outlaw hippies anyway."

This is a bit fragmented. "Those were hippy days." would help. but why put in the next two short sentences? Is it now legal to smoke joints? You haven't stated you were hippies anyway, so why specify them as outlaws? It just needs tidying up I think.

Regardless of my quibbles, you have created a neatly packaged and atmospheric tale. Always a pleasure to read your posts.

Live and be well - H