Car parked, they hurried down narrow streets of closed cafes and kiosks, hands clasped and elbows locked, pulling close and enjoying the feel of each other’s body pressing in. The drive over hadn’t taken long, no holdups but steady traffic, heavy inner-thigh hand traffic both directions, light a joint to avoid getting carried away. Across flat fields the seafront tower erection was clearly visible, an irresistible everse lighthouse magnet for fun-seekers.
Waiting to cross to the promenade they strong-tongue kissed. Cheap music drifted by from the half-opened funfair as they reached the balustrade and looked into the wind at the vast flat low tide beach stretching to meet the blanket of cloud at the thin strip of water on the horizon. Pulling woolly hats well down they skipped down stone steps onto the cold hard sand. The tide would be back soon, and when it came it would be flat-sand fast.
From their top deck front row seats of the cold rattling seafront tram, all the way and back, they took their eyes and hands off each other long enough to enjoy the view, and the ride, late afternoon dark skies twinkling the distant lights for their return.
At the tram stop they lit the second joint in the shelter, sharing blow-back kisses, then crossed the empty road to the big red brick pub. Sipped pints and brandy-macs in the bright nicotine- stained half-empty light, glowing cheeks squeezed tight on the bench seat, enjoying the pickled eggs, tide back in.
Heavy inner-thigh hand traffic on the drive “home”, her parents’ place, she was back for the weekend.
Polite dinner, then rampant naked living room everything sex after parents safely snoring.
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