The rinse

The outdoor showers at the bathhouse are for sand. Water, soap if you brought it, a towel on a hook, and that is the whole invention. I had the navy rash guard on and the board shorts, hair soaked, sun-brown shoulders shining, standing in the open stall while the spray took the beach off me. Hal was on the next hook, forty-four, a man I had met on the sand well after the adults I teach had gone home. He was not a student. He had never been in my lesson. I had asked, and he had said he was on a weekend by himself and did not know my name until the bar. Good.

He watched me rinse and asked if the stall locked. I said the door bolts from the inside, and if he wanted to fuck he had to say so where I could refuse. He said he wanted to. I said yes. I wanted his cock, and I wanted the water to stay what it was, a wash, nothing else. I hung the towel, checked the bolt, and left the rash guard on. The photo of me is that minute, dressed, wet, the hook and the concrete and the daylight through the slats.

I pushed the board shorts down and kicked them onto the dry bench. He got his cock out, already hard, and I stroked it under the spray until the skin was slick. I turned, hands on the tile, and told him to fuck my cunt. He pressed in. The heat of his cock against the cool water made me swear. He fucked me standing, steady, not a performance for the wall. My cunt took him deep. I reached under and rubbed my clit. The shower roared. I told him harder and he gave it, hips snapping, one palm flat on my stomach over the rash guard.

I came with my forehead on my wrist, cunt pulsing around his cock, water in my mouth from a badly aimed stream. I laughed and spat, just shower water, and told him to pull out. I did not want cum in me on a walk home. He stroked his cock in his own hand and came there, cum crossing his fingers, the spray catching some of it and taking it down the drain. I watched because I like to see the end. He rinsed his hand. I rinsed my thighs. Sand was already gone. This was only the fuck and the wash after it.

I dressed in the stall, rash guard, board shorts, towel around my neck. He asked for a number. I said the beach is public and I am not. I unbolted the door, walked past the other empty stalls, and took the two blocks to the shack with wet hair and clean shorts. The boards clicked on the rack when I locked them. I slept alone. In the morning I taught adults who had paid for waves, and Hal was not among them.