Cream'D 2. Rashomon

Script by Dr Smith

She appeared again, my vision on the dunes.  Every afternoon since she first spread out her towel, and my heart pounded so hard I was sure she would hear.  On this day she chose a spot just a few feet away.

 

That fateful afternoon I peeked over my book at her dark blonde hair, pretty face, freckled nose and I dreamed that she would notice me.  She was close enough.  Close enough that I could smell the creamy lotion in the gentle breeze.

 

I imagined that I was exactly the man she wanted.  Not the skinny, shy, insecure college freshman I was to others.  I believed her gaze would transform me into the man inside.

 

When her smiling eyes turned my way I hid behind my book.  I felt hot and ashamed for looking at her.

 

She wouldn’t see me.  She would see through me.  There were other boys on the beach who needed no transformation.  Those boys had dates in high school.  Those boys had seen women naked, kissed them, touched them, been with them.

 

Those boys weren’t me.  She would see them.  She wouldn’t see me.  She wouldn’t judge me like the other girls did.  I would hide behind my book.

 

She must have turned away, I thought.  She must have covered those beautiful eyes in the big, round sun glasses.  If I didn’t see her eyes then she couldn’t see through me.

 

I peeked again, and suddenly my heart was in my throat, pounding so hard I couldn’t breathe.  The floral-patterned, brown bikini top she always wore was on the towel.

 

Her breasts.  Her…nipples…covered in cream.  Firm.  Perfect. 

 

I gasped for air as she took each flawless globe of feminine beauty and smoothed the thick, white protective coating over the pale triangles of untanned skin.  Over the dark, puffy nipples.

 

My head was swimming, I felt like I was outside myself.  I could hear the throbbing surge of blood in my ears over the sound of the pounding surf.

 

Firm.  Perfect.

 

She lay back.  Propped on one elbow, toward me. 

 

I was so hard.  Soon I’d burst through my swimsuit and expose myself to her.  My sex rushed through my body.  My sex controlled me. 

 

I couldn’t feel my arms, my fingers tingled.  I reached down to unsnarl my hardened flesh from the painful tangle of fabric between my legs.

 

And at that precise moment when my fingers grasped my throbbing, aching head, her finger pressed the plunger on the sunscreen and a jet of shimmering liquid splattered across her chest, a drop dangling from her stiff nipple.

 

And in that moment I gasped, and I felt myself tense and empty my own cream spurting jet after jet of my own white ointment into the pitifully thin lining of my suit.  I caught my pathetic moan in my throat and stifled it.

 

I looked up, horrified.  She caught my eye and smiled.  I froze, my hand still down where it should not be, fingers covered with my creamy release. 

 

I tried to smile in return, tried to draw attention away from the growing dark, wet spot that I imagined the whole world could see.  The shame contorted my attempted smile into an embarrassed grimace. 

 

Still smiling, she turned away, lay on her back, and closed her eyes.

 

Now I couldn’t smell her cream.  But I could smell mine.  Soon my vision would smell it too, and she would know she’d sat down next to the disgusting pervert that I was, not the man of her dreams that I knew I could be.

 

I wadded up my towel and book and shirt and holding it awkwardly over my guilty, still-hard crotch, snuck away before she detected who made the betraying odor of uncontrolled lust.

 

I didn’t tell my classmates of my shame, but I couldn’t keep from telling them about my vision.  As if telling it made it real.

 

The memory burned in my brain and screamed for release.  When I realized how bad a mistake I’d made it was too late to take it back.

 

“That’s not a nude beach, dummy.”

 

“No real girl would show you her tits, pervert.”

 

“Prove it.  You can’t.  Loser.”

 

The next day I wasn’t alone.  My new “mates” came with me.  I didn’t want them; I didn’t want to share my vision.  She was mine.  I saw her first.

 

But they insisted.  They thought I was lying.  They thought they would humiliate me, at best.  At worst, she would appear and they would see her and then I would disappear.

 

 Jimmy or Matt or Sean or any of the others were that type of boy in high school.  The type that I hadn’t been.  The type I still wasn’t.

 

As bad as it was that day when she wasn’t there, I still hoped that she wouldn’t come.  That way they wouldn’t see her.   That way they would lose interest and I could come back alone. 

 

But my vision returned.  Farther away this time…with any luck she was far enough away that she couldn’t hear how they teased me when she finally arrived. 

 

Hopefully, she couldn’t make out the lewd comments about the two of us, about how she was too hot to be my girlfriend, about the things that they wanted to do to her as she spread out her towel and spread on her lotion, her bikini top still in place.

 

I optimistically imagined that the surf was so loud she couldn’t perceive their scorn for me when she rolled onto her stomach, her bikini still in place.

 

But when her top came off I almost cried as my japing friends silently beheld the beauty that had been mine alone.  My heart pounded now as much in jealousy as in excitement as I felt their dirty eyes all over her. 

 

I wanted to rush over and cover her up.  They didn’t see her the way I did.  They didn’t appreciate her the way I did.  They didn’t realize how lucky they were to share the beach with my vision.

 

“Damn.” Jimmy whispered.  She had untied the bottoms.  For an excruciating few seconds I hoped against hope that she just wanted to reposition and retie the strings.

 

And then her bottoms came off.  And just when I thought I would disappear, I didn’t. 

 

Everyone else did. 

 

Jimmy and Matt and Sean, and everyone else on the beach vanished and it was just my vision.

 

She spread her creamy lotion over her legs, and between them.  Unashamed she gave me a view of the most marvelous treasure.

 

And suddenly she was on her feet.  Naked and glorious she strode confidently into the surf.  Her hands kept cupping her breasts as the water swirled around her hips.  The sun sparkled off the droplets rushing down her curves.

 

She rose from the sea foam, Aphrodite Anaydomene, the goddess emerging from the waves, shining and pure.

 

Back at her towel she paused only a moment to retrieve her lotion, and stood while she carefully reapplied the creamy balm.  I thought she was going to lie down again when she had covered her breasts, her belly, her beautiful legs and in between.

 

But her sparkling blue eyes scanned the beach and found mine.  This time I didn’t shy away.  This time I let her see my gratitude, unashamed.  She smiled, and this time, I smiled back.

 

She stepped toward me and I didn’t flinch.  She walked right up to me, no more than a meter away, and her soft, sweet voice asked me for a favor as though I had it within my power to say anything but yes.

 

“Would you put some on my back?”

 

I accepted the offered lotion and she turned.  I stood behind her and sprayed the warm, viscous liquid onto my hands, then reached across the short distance between us to spread it onto her lustrous skin.  She trembled slightly at my touch, as though she were merely mortal, but I knew better.

 

When I had devotedly covered her from her soft shoulders to the delectable dimples of her lower back, she bade me go lower.  I knelt, only inches from the flower of paradise, and worshiped her femininity with my fingertips, respectfully avoiding personal boundaries that might cause her offense.

 

When I was done, she sighed, turned and smiled down at me.   “Mind if I join you?”

 

A strange voice replied confidently and appreciatively, inviting her to bring her towel.  The strange voice had arisen from my throat.

 

Watching her walk away was almost as great a pleasure as watching her return and spread her towel near mine, lying on her stomach. 

 

It seemed impudent to assume a position of equality to the goddess, shoulder to shoulder.  I located myself at her feet instead, and we continued to converse as though she considered me her equal. 

 

Though it seemed like we drifted in time for days, I am sure it was merely an hour or so that the two of us, alone on the beach, talked pleasantly about insignificant things. 

 

As the sun dipped below the horizon my vision put her bikini back on, packed her bags and drifted away on the ocean breeze.

 

After she had been gone for some time the rest of the world started to reappear.  The other boys who had accompanied me to the beach made their little rude noises, but I ignored them. 

 

I packed my own simple belongings and left the magical place without another word to anyone.

 

I planned to return soon, but my studies prevented me. 

 

There was something about that matchless encounter that changed me, though.  The next day as I ate my lunch alone in the cafeteria, at the same place and the same time as always, I was approached by a young woman.  While I would never compare her to my goddess, she was beautiful in her own right.

 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” she asked as though concerned I would deny her.

 

That strange voice came out of me again.  The confident one.  The one that knew he had something worthwhile inside of him.  “Not at all.  Please do.”

 

That was fifteen years ago.  Sometimes when I am sitting at home quiet and alone, my wife and children off on errands or in bed asleep, I think about my vision and consider if her life was changed as wonderfully as mine on that amazing afternoon.

 

She appeared again, my vision on the dunes.  Every afternoon since she first spread out her towel, and my heart pounded so hard I was sure she would hear.  On this day she chose a spot just a few feet away.

That fateful afternoon I peeked over my book at her dark blonde hair, pretty face, freckled nose and I dreamed that she would notice me.  She was close enough.  Close enough that I could smell the creamy lotion in the gentle breeze.

I imagined that I was exactly the man she wanted.  Not the skinny, shy, insecure college freshman I was to others.  I believed her gaze would transform me into the man inside.

When her smiling eyes turned my way I hid behind my book.  I felt hot and ashamed for looking at her.

She wouldn’t see me.  She would see through me.  There were other boys on the beach who needed no transformation.  Those boys had dates in high school.  Those boys had seen women naked, kissed them, touched them, been with them.

Those boys weren’t me.  She would see them.  She wouldn’t see me.  She wouldn’t judge me like the other girls did.  I would hide behind my book.

She must have turned away, I thought.  She must have covered those beautiful eyes in the big, round sun glasses.  If I didn’t see her eyes then she couldn’t see through me.

I peeked again, and suddenly my heart was in my throat, pounding so hard I couldn’t breathe.  The floral-patterned, brown bikini top she always wore was on the towel.

Her breasts.  Her…nipples…covered in cream.  Firm.  Perfect. 

I gasped for air as she took each flawless globe of feminine beauty and smoothed the thick, white protective coating over the pale triangles of untanned skin.  Over the dark, puffy nipples.

My head was swimming, I felt like I was outside myself.  I could hear the throbbing surge of blood in my ears over the sound of the pounding surf.

Firm.  Perfect.

She lay back.  Propped on one elbow, toward me. 

I was so hard.  Soon I’d burst through my swimsuit and expose myself to her.  My sex rushed through my body.  My sex controlled me. 

I couldn’t feel my arms, my fingers tingled.  I reached down to unsnarl my hardened flesh from the painful tangle of fabric between my legs.

And at that precise moment when my fingers grasped my throbbing, aching head, her finger pressed the plunger on the sunscreen and a jet of shimmering liquid splattered across her chest, a drop dangling from her stiff nipple.

And in that moment I gasped, and I felt myself tense and empty my own cream spurting jet after jet of my own white ointment into the pitifully thin lining of my suit.  I caught my pathetic moan in my throat and stifled it.

I looked up, horrified.  She caught my eye and smiled.  I froze, my hand still down where it should not be, fingers covered with my creamy release. 

I tried to smile in return, tried to draw attention away from the growing dark, wet spot that I imagined the whole world could see.  The shame contorted my attempted smile into an embarrassed grimace. 

Still smiling, she turned away, lay on her back, and closed her eyes.

Now I couldn’t smell her cream.  But I could smell mine.  Soon my vision would smell it too, and she would know she’d sat down next to the disgusting pervert that I was, not the man of her dreams that I knew I could be.

I wadded up my towel and book and shirt and holding it awkwardly over my guilty, still-hard crotch, snuck away before she detected who made the betraying odor of uncontrolled lust.

I didn’t tell my classmates of my shame, but I couldn’t keep from telling them about my vision.  As if telling it made it real.

The memory burned in my brain and screamed for release.  When I realized how bad a mistake I’d made it was too late to take it back.

“That’s not a nude beach, dummy.”

“No real girl would show you her tits, pervert.”

“Prove it.  You can’t.  Loser.”

The next day I wasn’t alone.  My new “mates” came with me.  I didn’t want them; I didn’t want to share my vision.  She was mine.  I saw her first.

But they insisted.  They thought I was lying.  They thought they would humiliate me, at best.  At worst, she would appear and they would see her and then I would disappear.

 Jimmy or Matt or Sean or any of the others were that type of boy in high school.  The type that I hadn’t been.  The type I still wasn’t.

As bad as it was that day when she wasn’t there, I still hoped that she wouldn’t come.  That way they wouldn’t see her.   That way they would lose interest and I could come back alone. 

But my vision returned.  Farther away this time…with any luck she was far enough away that she couldn’t hear how they teased me when she finally arrived. 

Hopefully, she couldn’t make out the lewd comments about the two of us, about how she was too hot to be my girlfriend, about the things that they wanted to do to her as she spread out her towel and spread on her lotion, her bikini top still in place.

 

I optimistically imagined that the surf was so loud she couldn’t perceive their scorn for me when she rolled onto her stomach, her bikini still in place.

 

But when her top came off I almost cried as my japing friends silently beheld the beauty that had been mine alone.  My heart pounded now as much in jealousy as in excitement as I felt their dirty eyes all over her. 

 

I wanted to rush over and cover her up.  They didn’t see her the way I did.  They didn’t appreciate her the way I did.  They didn’t realize how lucky they were to share the beach with my vision.

 

“Damn.” Jimmy whispered.  She had untied the bottoms.  For an excruciating few seconds I hoped against hope that she just wanted to reposition and retie the strings.

 

And then her bottoms came off.  And just when I thought I would disappear, I didn’t. 

 

Everyone else did. 

 

Jimmy and Matt and Sean, and everyone else on the beach vanished and it was just my vision.

 

She spread her creamy lotion over her legs, and between them.  Unashamed she gave me a view of the most marvelous treasure.

 

And suddenly she was on her feet.  Naked and glorious she strode confidently into the surf.  Her hands kept cupping her breasts as the water swirled around her hips.  The sun sparkled off the droplets rushing down her curves.

 

She rose from the sea foam, Aphrodite Anaydomene, the goddess emerging from the waves, shining and pure.

 

Back at her towel she paused only a moment to retrieve her lotion, and stood while she carefully reapplied the creamy balm.  I thought she was going to lie down again when she had covered her breasts, her belly, her beautiful legs and in between.

 

But her sparkling blue eyes scanned the beach and found mine.  This time I didn’t shy away.  This time I let her see my gratitude, unashamed.  She smiled, and this time, I smiled back.

 

She stepped toward me and I didn’t flinch.  She walked right up to me, no more than a meter away, and her soft, sweet voice asked me for a favor as though I had it within my power to say anything but yes.

 

“Would you put some on my back?”

 

I accepted the offered lotion and she turned.  I stood behind her and sprayed the warm, viscous liquid onto my hands, then reached across the short distance between us to spread it onto her lustrous skin.  She trembled slightly at my touch, as though she were merely mortal, but I knew better.

 

When I had devotedly covered her from her soft shoulders to the delectable dimples of her lower back, she bade me go lower.  I knelt, only inches from the flower of paradise, and worshiped her femininity with my fingertips, respectfully avoiding personal boundaries that might cause her offense.

 

When I was done, she sighed, turned and smiled down at me.   “Mind if I join you?”

 

A strange voice replied confidently and appreciatively, inviting her to bring her towel.  The strange voice had arisen from my throat.

 

Watching her walk away was almost as great a pleasure as watching her return and spread her towel near mine, lying on her stomach. 

 

It seemed impudent to assume a position of equality to the goddess, shoulder to shoulder.  I located myself at her feet instead, and we continued to converse as though she considered me her equal. 

 

Though it seemed like we drifted in time for days, I am sure it was merely an hour or so that the two of us, alone on the beach, talked pleasantly about insignificant things. 

 

As the sun dipped below the horizon my vision put her bikini back on, packed her bags and drifted away on the ocean breeze.

 

After she had been gone for some time the rest of the world started to reappear.  The other boys who had accompanied me to the beach made their little rude noises, but I ignored them. 

 

I packed my own simple belongings and left the magical place without another word to anyone.

 

I planned to return soon, but my studies prevented me. 

 

There was something about that matchless encounter that changed me, though.  The next day as I ate my lunch alone in the cafeteria, at the same place and the same time as always, I was approached by a young woman.  While I would never compare her to my goddess, she was beautiful in her own right.

 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” she asked as though concerned I would deny her.

 

That strange voice came out of me again.  The confident one.  The one that knew he had something worthwhile inside of him.  “Not at all.  Please do.”

 

That was fifteen years ago.  Sometimes when I am sitting at home quiet and alone, my wife and children off on errands or in bed asleep, I think about my vision and consider if her life was changed as wonderfully as mine on that amazing afternoon.