Along the Foamy Strand

"The white light, so bright...", the voice, again. Clearer now, the words distinct over the soft sound of the waves rolling in, the source still a complete mystery. "Who are you?" Amy asks. "Heck, WHERE are you?"

"Watch... the light..." the voice fades out.

"Hello, where are you? I want to help you, but..." Amy's voice, too, trails off as she receives no reply, nor does she want to go on sounding like an escaped mental patient to any stray passers-by.

"It's the damnedest thing," she thinks to herself. "Either I'm going crazy, or I just talked to a ghost." She decides to curtail her search for Katy's lost jewelry, since visibility isn't getting any better, the sun now deep red and flaming as it sinks into the western horizon. Amy wants to think about her just-concluded experience with the disembodied voice. She quickly crosses over the white sand beach, cooler now and blood-colored from the setting sun, the lifeguard and painter both gone now, having completed their work for the day. The smell of paint is strong by the life guard station.

She gingerly steps over the still fragrant diaper in the parking lot, starts her car and drives back home. When she arrives she tells Sarah that she'll return to the beach tomorrow and do a more thorough search. Sarah thanks her warmly, and by the look in her eyes, Amy thinks there'll be a special present under her sheets tonight.

During dinner, she brings up the subject of ghosts with Sarah.

She asks, "What do you know about ghosts, Sarah?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was wondering if you've ever seen a ghost, or like, heard a ghost..." she says.

"What brought that up?" Sarah asks.

"Nothing, I was just wondering," Amy says.

"Well, I haven't ever seen a ghost, I don't think, but my mother used to tell me and my sister of a cousin who drowned when he was a teenager. She swore that sometimes she could hear his voice when she walked near the pond where he drowned. She said it was the creepiest thing, and so she usually avoided going back there, if at all possible," Sarah says.

"What did he say?" Amy asks.

"Hmm, if I recall, nothing much. It wasn't like she had conversations with him or anything. At most, all she heard was a word or two. She just noticed that it sounded an awful lot like his voice, and there was never anyone else around when she heard it."

"Was there anything else? Did she like, see anything or smell anything?"

"No, just the few words. Now, why are you so interested in a ghost from some thirty years ago?" Sarah finishes. She feels that strange scratching again, something gnawing at the back of her mind.

"It was the strangest thing back at the beach this afternoon. I had hunted around for that watch, you know, in the parking lot, and where we lay on the beach, and didn't see anything," Amy says as she idly scratches at her itching, still red skin. She had put cream on it earlier in the day, but it didn't seem to have made much difference. "Then I remembered what you said about the area under the dock, and went to look there. I think I heard a ghost there." Amy pauses then.

Sarah puts down her magazine and stares at her. "Well don't leave me hanging, Amy," she says, "What happened?"

"Hmm, interested?" Amy teases.

"I should say!" Sarah says.

"Okay, so I went under the dock. It was really hard to see with the shadows and all, but I was looking around for Katy's Barbie thing, when I heard this woman, it was a woman's voice, say 'Watch the light,' or 'Look at the light,' or something like that. I know she said something about 'the light,' anyway. I looked around, and there was nobody there, not hiding or anything. Nobody. I offered to help her, if she was hurt or something, but she didn't respond." Amy looks up at Sarah, and her face is white, under the slight sunburn. "What's the matter, babe?" Amy asks.

Sarah's expression is thoughtful. She looks as though she's going to say something, then pauses, finally saying, "Umm, Katy and I heard a woman under the dock, too. I think she was talking about lights, but I thought maybe it was somebody on the dock above. I certainly never thought it might be a, a...ghost," she finishes with a shudder. Amy senses that wasn't what Sarah was first going to say. She dismisses the thought, and returns to her story.

"I wish there had been somebody up above," Amy says, "but the dock was closed when I was there, and there was nobody under the dock, except me." Amy gets up to fetch herself a glass of wine from the refrigerator, then sits down. Taking a big gulp of the chablis, she looks at Sarah. "Maybe I'll check up on it a little later. For sure, I'm not going to abandon the search for Katy's Barbie jewelry now."

"Maybe you should, honey," Sarah says, concern in her eyes. "You've done enough."

Amy dismisses the proffered 'way out'. "No, I'll give it one more look. And this voice thing is intriguing."

The following morning, Monday, after a fairly poor night of sleep populated by ghosts carrying flashlights and telling her to look at the light, Amy decides to do a little Internet surfing, to see what her experience of the day before might mean. When she types in the word "ghost" into the search engine, she gets a number of hits directing her to various pornographic spiritualist sites, along with some more useful ones. She finds herself with a number that are concerned with specific ghostly events, then, a site that discusses paranormal activity in general. Reading, she finds the following:

"... the literature on ghosts, and apparitions tends to be very similar in certain basic 'traits' of these manifestations. Paranormal experts say that 'spirits' tend to stay in one location. They never roam about the countryside. So, a tragically drowned man, to use one of the more common alleged fates of those who become spirits, would tend to hang right around the shore near where he drowned..." the site states.

"I don't suppose it would do him much good to haunt the middle of the lake. Nobody to commiserate with him, and all that," Amy thinks.

"... the likelihood exists that if a spirit is haunting an area, that it died in that area..." Amy reads on. In another section she reads, "...there have been cases where a ghost, or spirit, is claimed to be haunting a building for hundreds of years, but no one can say for sure if ghosts "disappear" after a period of time. There are no known cases of 'cavemen' haunting anyone, so possibly time eventually attenuates the spirit's energy. In any case, no one can really say."

Further on, in a section titled, 'The Ghostly Light', Amy reads that "...many observers reporting material manifestations of spirits, report the involvement of a light of some sort. 'Ghost lights' are a well-known phenomenon, as are the reports of a 'bright light' or 'white light' by many who have had 'near death' experiences."

Finding a section on "ghostly locations", Amy reads, "...spirits are tied quite closely in space, that is, when they seem determined to stay, nothing seems to move them out except for total destruction of the site of their death. Demolition of a haunted medieval castle, for example, might be said to eliminate a ghost's presence. On the other hand, they seem to be quite free to roam through time, perhaps independent of it. As the literature shows, they may show up hundreds of years after their death, so long as the structure or area they died in remain..." she reads. Further on Amy finds, "...there's often some terrible loss involved in generating the appearance of a spirit, such as a violent death, or the death of loved ones...."

"So, I guess what this is saying," Amy thinks, "is if a ghost is generated through some violent or tragic event, they really HAVE to stick around at a specific site, but they could show up somewhere else in time, maybe years later." She shrugs her shoulders, thinking that she could probably find another web site that would say just the opposite. That is, if she could manage to wade through the sludge of the porno sites first.

On a hunch, Amy decides to do a little historical search of the Port Lavaca beach area, too. She combines search terms, including 'Port Lavaca', 'World War II', and 'death,' to see what shows up. To her great surprise, she hits on a newspaper article from her local paper, the 'Victoria Advocate', which was publishing back during the Second World War and is still publishing today.

The article reports that one Felicia Devoreaux, a 24-year old 'Rosie the Riveter' from New Orleans, was crushed to death during the construction of the Port Lavaca refueling station in June of 1942, when a piling slipped off its crane. According to the article, she left only her elderly parents back in Louisiana. There's little more detail, and Amy logs off.

She files away the information, but sees no real use for it. She's certainly never heard of a ghost haunting the dock area before, but supposes that Devoreaux's spirit could have been wandering around for over 60 years, and only recently had decided to go to work. "Still," she muses, "what if it WERE Felicia's ghost?"

Later, after Katy has her bath and is snug in bed, Amy smiles wryly to herself, next to Sarah on the love seat. Sarah snuggles under her arm. "Thank you SO much for looking, Amy. Even though you didn't find it, Katy appreciates what you did. You're her heroine. And mine, too."

"Well, that's what a mother's supposed to do, isn't it?" Amy replies, grinning. To be honest, Amy had been wondering if her dedication to her work had made her slip a bit in both Sarah and Katy's eyes. Sarah's words mean more to Amy than she is willing to admit, and leave her with a warm feeling inside. "I'll finish up one way or another tomorrow while you and Katy are at the doctor's."

Sarah looks intently into Amy's clear blue eyes, suddenly serious.

"Can we go to bed now? I know it's early but-" Sarah begins.

"Absolutely," Amy gasps, suddenly excited, Sarah's passion contagious. She takes Sarah's hand as she herself rises from the plush furniture. Sarah begins brushing her skirt even as Amy pulls her insistently towards their bedroom. Sarah giggles at the haste in Amy's actions.

As they enter the warmly appointed room, with its feminine window appointments and its welcoming bedspread, a Fallert quilt across the foot of the bed, Amy takes Sarah strongly into her arms, feeling Sarah's presence deep within her own being. Sarah's slight gasp is replaced by a moan of pleasure as Amy's arms encircle her. She leans upward, needing her wife's firm touch and the feel of her lips.

"I love you...so much," Sarah whispers.

Amy once again presses her lips to Sarah's, her heart beating a mile a minute, nearly threatening to burst out of her chest. Sarah's full, warm, soft breasts press into Amy's, and she groans with the need to consume her wife and lover. Amy breaks their kiss, and nuzzles Sarah's soft throat, her pulse beating strongly under Amy's lips, and her gently nipping teeth. Amy moans again, strong tingles of pleasure coursing through her, all converging on her rapidly moistening pussy, and her erect clit.

Amy's left hand is busy snaking between them, in the warm valley between their breasts, searching for, and finding, the small buttons that separate her from her soul mate. As each button gives up the ghost, more of Sarah's scent is released - a natural scent, far more Sarah than anything else. Her perspiration, salty and moist, faintly tangy, combined with her musk, as her pussy is flowing freely now. Dimly, Sarah feels a trickle of her fluids down an inner thigh, as she moistens for her lover and mistress.

Sarah's scent overwhelms Amy. Her left hand, temporarily at loose ends since Sarah has run out of buttons to be undone, dives down between Sarah's thighs on the outside of her thin skirt. Amy cups Sarah's mons in her grip, the heel of her hand pressing on Sarah's sensitive clitoris through her skirt and panties. Sarah's groin involuntarily arches up, to better provide access to Amy. That makes Sarah's upper body lean back more, and though she is in no danger of falling, as Amy's right hand and arm grip her firmly, it accentuates even more who is dominating their love play, as Amy's face is nearly parallel above Sarah's, as though they were entwined already on the bed.

Amy presses Sarah's warm mons several times, knowing that she's sending pleasure through her palm into Sarah's molten furnace of a pussy, but taking nearly as much pleasure from knowing she's stimulating her wife to near madness. She reluctantly pulls her left hand from Sarah's cunt, as Sarah sighs, then begins stripping Sarah's print blouse off her shoulders, returning Sarah to a more upright position so that she can make short work of the impeding blouse, and subsequently, her bra. As the two pieces of fabric slip to the floor, Sarah's full, plump breasts, not perfect perhaps in our eyes, but most definitely perfection in Amy's blue eyes, eyes which see more clearly than ours, stand undulant and teardrop-shaped, her brown nipples stiffly erect and long, her areolas wide and goose-pimpled.

Amy's eyes sparkle as she sees Sarah's excitement, and she dips her head once, twice, in turn taking a hard nipple into her warm, moist mouth, gently stressing each with the pressure of her lips, then, nearly imperceptibly, nipping each with her white teeth. As Amy's tongue alternately licks and then lashes Sarah's increasingly sensitive nipples, a low growl sounds deep in her throat.

"Nnnnnhhhh," Sarah subvocalizes, more a vibration than a sound at first, then becoming louder as her excitement grows. "Lick me, Amy, lick my nipples...yes, yes, ohh yes....God, that's SO good, your mouth is so warm and wet, ohhh...it's like your wet pussy is rubbing on my nipples...so sweet....mmmmm," she continues. Her hands caress Amy's short black hair, a babe at her breast, but what an erotic babe!

Amy continues sucking and licking Sarah's taut nipples, as her hands go to Sarah's broad hips, forcing her skirt and then her panties down, off her hips, over her round bottom, her generous blonde bush coming into view, but only to us, as Sarah is looking up at the ceiling, ecstatic jolts streaming through her, and Amy has her eyes closed as she mouths her lover's breasts. But she smells Sarah's arousal mingled with perspiration, and as Sarah's clothes fall in a tangled, damp clump to the floor, Sarah steps out of them. Amy gently pushes Sarah back on the bed.

"The quilt-" Sarah whispers, not wanting to stain it with her excitement.

"Fuck it," Amy growls. Sarah giggles, and lies back and down on the bed in front of her horny wife, her legs spread, her very wet pussy streaming her slick fluid onto the hand-crafted quilt already. She'll figure something out...later. Much later.

Amy attends to her wife's most intimate part, giving it all of her attention. Her tongue licks along the outer edges of Sarah's labia, a thick, creamy coating of Sarah's love for her. Her fingers move Sarah's lips apart, exposing the pink interior of her vagina, darkening as more blood rushes to swell the area, a result of Sarah's excitement. Amy's mouth hovers over Sarah's opening, feeling her heat and humidity, just before Amy's tongue stabs deeply inside her most feminine opening.

Sarah's legs reflexively pull closer to her chest, her favorite position as Amy fucks her. The change in position opens Sarah's pussy even wider, and a small pulse of her clear cream spurts out onto Amy's waiting tongue. Amy laps at her wife's pussy slowly at first, her rough tongue penetrating deeply into the silky, wet opening of her pussy. Sarah's heat, moisture and perfumed musk arouse Amy, already well-excited, her own pussy lubricating generously in sympathy and excitement.

Amy's nose slips inside the wet slit, just under Sarah's clitoris, swollen with blood and desire. Sarah's creamy, feminine fluid generously coats Amy's cheeks, mouth, chin and nose, as she licks upward to gather as much of Sarah's love cream as she can. Ever upward, Amy pulls her tongue back into her mouth as she nears Sarah's quivering clit. She tenderly swirls the tip of her tongue around the small pearl, just avoiding the sensitive organ.

Sarah coos with pleasure, her passion increasing as Amy explores her so intimately. Her hands are under her knees holding her thighs against her full, flushed breasts, her pussy lips pulsing with her desire. "I love you so much, Amy," she murmurs. "I love how you lick me there, I love the touch of your mouth on me there, lick me, love me, ohhh..."

Then Amy suddenly slathers the flat of her tongue, taste buds firing off at the salty and sweet taste of Sarah's liquid excitement, over the tiny, bulbous shape of Sarah's clitoris. Immediately, a sensation her body translates visually as fireworks, and tactilely as an intense electric shock centered on her clit, infuses the woman, and she begins shaking with an intense excitement, moaning and thrashing her head from side to side, a full blown orgasm tormenting and pleasuring her to the depths of her soul. She has trouble catching her breath, as all of her voluntary and involuntary reflexes are caught up in her sweet agony.

Sarah tries to vocalize her intense pleasure, but finds herself unable to, until at some point, years later it seems, she regains a whispery rendition of her own voice, expressing softly and lovingly, her love for Amy, and the fulfillment of all her desires. Amy has recognized Sarah's orgasm, and has adjusted the movements of her tongue across Sarah's increasingly tender labia, and of course not touching again the woman's clit. She recognizes that a touch of that small prominence would be painful for Sarah, and that is not her intention.

For a few moments, Amy softly kisses Sarah's inner thighs, warm and smooth, flushed with the residue of Sarah's re-directed blood flow, as her body slowly allocates blood back to the rest of Sarah's body, allowing her center to recover. Sarah's whispery voice caresses Amy's ears.

"That was wonderful, Amy. I think I'm in heaven," Sarah murmurs. Amy says nothing, but continues slowly and softly kissing her lover's thighs and outer lips.

"Come up, kiss me, I want you," Sarah says, louder now. Amy takes her time leaving Sarah's pussy, and who wouldn't? She rests back on her heels, squatting, looking at Sarah's beautiful slit. Her blonde bush, a dark blonde, rests above her still visible clit, pink and glistening, soon to recede under its fleshy hood. Sarah's labia are nearly non-existent, thin and giving her nearly the appearance of a young girl. Amy imagines that, if Sarah ever were to shave herself completely there, she would look much like a young girl, although there is no doubt about her being a fully developed woman. The fragrance of Sarah's pussy fills Amy's nose, and she inhales the scent of her woman deeply.

Sarah's legs slip down to the bed, and she lifts herself up on her elbows. Her eyes are slightly unfocused, a residue of the explosion of pleasure that had torn through her, scattering her consciousness momentarily to all parts of the universe.

"C'mere, lover," she smiles, beckoning Amy upwards, and onto her willing and eager body.

Amy stands, and quickly unbuttons her own blouse, stripping it off, then reaching back and unsnapping and stretching out of her bra, tossing them both onto the floor. She loosens the belt of her khaki shorts, unbuttoning the small wooden button at the waist, and slipping the fabric to the floor. She's just about to slip off her panties, when Sarah, eyes fixed on Amy's barely covered crotch, exclaims and giggles.

"You're SO wet!" Amy says, sitting up further on the edge of the bed. Her eyes are set on a large wet spot at the crotch of Amy's cotton panties, darkening the random flower pattern in that area of the fabric, so dark with fluid that it almost seems to be a different flower from the others on her panties. Sarah presses forward, still delightfully naked to Amy as she looks down on her lover. Sarah's breasts and upper chest are still deeply flushed from her passion, and her light brown nipples are still intensely long and erect.