Nishay, Queen of the Beach

"Hey." So that's how it starts, so casual. "This seat taken?" It makes sense that she'd ask this question, given that the cafe has been busy since it opened, people pouring in for iced coffees and bubble tea, trying to beat the heat. It's not hot enough to be unpleasant, but you can't imagine trying to suck down a hot coffee in this weather.

Anyway, the woman. Her scent announces her presence -- a welcoming mixture of sunscreen, floral body wash, and sweat -- and you can tell that she's hovering near the chair across from you. For a flashing second you consider answering without looking at her, a casual, "sure, go ahead," but you realize that would be rude, so you look up

and see what your sexist brain would call "a woman attached to a pair of tits." Look, you're a fairly enlightened guy and you wouldn't normally call someone this, but you're so taken aback by her body that you temporarily forget yourself.

She's stunning. Her dark skin glistens in the waxy light pouring through the tableside window, black curls bouncing softly with every turn and tilt of her head. Plump lips part to reveal stark white teeth, with a little gap in the upper row. One hand, nails neatly manicured, rests on top of the chair, gently caressing the metal; the other hovers near her hip, holding a see-through coffee cup and a plastic-wrapped chocolate chip cookie. The hip itself curves gently outward in a fashion that some would call "childbearing," accommodating her thick thighs. These are all things you note in the fleeting seconds between the ask and the answer, but they pale in comparison to her chest. Her breasts are enormous, full and proud, jutting and hanging to just above her belly button, somehow contained within a scant red bikini top. A plain grey hoodie is slung over her shoulders, unzipped to reveal her top. She's not wearing pants, just her bikini bottom. The stranger looks to be the same age as you.

Heat floods your cheeks and forehead and the back of your neck when you catch her expression. Fuck, you think, _she can tell. _It's obvious, you assume, that in the seconds between her arrival and your fumbling reply, that you've ogled her. Fuck.

"Umm, sure," you say, offering a smile that probably gives her the impression you're restraining an inconvenient flatus. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," she says, returning your smile (feigned or genuine you can't tell). She pulls out the chair, places her items on the table, and sits down. You can't help but catch the jiggling **** that occurs as she condescends. "They're always so busy."

"Yeah," you reply, clearly a master wordsmith. "I keep getting lucky, though."

"Oh, you come here a lot?"

"At least once a day. Sometimes twice." Your fingers tease your drinking vessel. "Caffeine, y'know?"

"Been in town long?" She pauses. "Sorry -- you probably wanna be left alone." She takes a sip of her coffee. "I'm bad about that."

"No, no, it's fine," you say. "Honestly, I'm not exactly... social. Not, uh, great at conversation. Oh -- I'm Ash, by the way."

"Nishay," she replies, and begins unwrapping her cookie. She smiles; you return it.

"Oh, and I've been in town for about half a week. You?"

"I'm sorta local."

"Sorta?"

"I'm, like, from here, but I don't always live here, y'know?"

"Sure."

"But yeah, for the foreseeable future I'm, like, local. Total townie." Another sip, followed by a bite of her cookie. "So... you're not on Spring Break, are you?"

"Me? No. I've already graduated."

"Cool, cool. That's what I thought. We get a lot of spring breakers but they're usually not, like, patronizing the cafes, y'know?"

"Yeah. I'm just here for fun, I guess."

Her voice is gently chiding. "You guess? Life is great here, man, what do you mean, you guess?"

"I dunno, I'm just a total shut-in. And I'm at the beach, y'know, but, like... still a shut-in."

"Pshhhh, you gotta fix that, dude. How long are you gonna be in town?"

You rub the back of your neck. This is the kind of question you hope people don't ask -- the kind that reveals who you are. "Umm... I mean, technically, as long as I want. Fuck, I sound like an asshole." You catch yourself. "Shit. Sorry. Shit. I don't mean to swear so much, we just met."

Nishay laughs. "You're good. So, as long as you want? What, are you on business?"

"Nah, just, uh... I've got a lot of time."

"Cool." Another sip. "You here by yourself? Shit, I'm prying."

"You're good." You smile. "Umm, yeah, I'm here with someone. My roommate. Well, she's my roommate here, but not, like, in real life. 'Real life?' Back home, sorry. I mean back home. She's not my roommate back home."

"Cool." She takes another sip; her coffee's almost gone. "Look, I've gotta go soon, but if you ever, like, wanna hang out..." She reaches over to you. "Gimme your phone."

You hand the device over without question. Nishay opens your contacts and begins to type. You can see the impression of her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek. Then she hands the phone back.

Her phone buzzes. She checks the screen. "Cool, I just texted myself with your phone." She waves her phone at you as if to display what she's done. "Text me whenever."

You smile and check your phone. Sure enough, Nishay entered her contact info. "Sure."

Nishay returns your smile and stands up, causing an avalanche of rippling tit-flesh. "Seriously, you should text me." She deposits her trash in a nearby can. "See ya later, Ash."

"See ya."

Nishay leaves the cafe, seemingly quick as she appeared. You look at her contact info again.

Huh.