The Language Barrier

Each day, she descends the stairs connecting the rental homes atop the cliff to the beach below. And every day -- until today -- I watch her from my own rental through a telescope I have purchased for viewing the stars, not my exotic, erotic neighbors.

Today, however, I make the decision to act upon the lust that keeps me watching for her each day. I wait amongst the tumble of driftwood near the base of the cliffs, knowing that come noon she will appear. I do not hide: I am not a stalker. But I do not go to great lengths to ensure that I can be seen from the two long sets of stairs, a hundred yards away to the left or right of me.

And then I see her. She has somehow reached the shore before I catch sight of her. Already the blouse I have seen her shed each day is on the sand, held in place by some heavy object I can not see.

I watch her for a long moment before finally making my way toward her. I am prepared to wave to her politely when she finally spots me and -- if she appears uncomfortable with my presence -- make a gesture that reassures her I am willing and prepared to give her the solitude she has come here to enjoy.

As it happens, I reach her blouse before she detects me. I remove the rock holding it in place, take a few steps toward her, and wait. I do not approach as she continues to scan the distant horizon, to 'draw' with her toys in the sand, or to giggle in delight when the cold, frothy water of an unusually large wave reaches her feet.

Suddenly, she sees me.
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Her arms rise to shield her firm, young breasts from my view. She says nothing, but only stares at me. She reaches to her face and fights to keep the long, wind blown strands of brunette from obscuring her view of me.

"Your blouse," I say, holding it up with one hand while I point down the shore with the other. I lie, "It was blowing away."

She says nothing.

I step closer. "I was afraid it would go all the way down the beach maybe."

Still, nothing from her but a contemplating stare.

Another step closer puts me almost within arms reach of her. I ask her a couple of basic stranger-to-stranger or vacationing tourist questions, but she remains quiet. I am sure it must already be uncomfortable for her, standing her topless before a stranger. She doesn't need the Third Degree from said stranger as well.

A thought finally comes to me. I smile and ask, "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She doesn't respond, only reaching up to move the hair from her eyes again as, for the first time, I catch her gaze talking a walk over my also well sculpted body.

"Do you speak English?" I ask.

A moment of silence passes. I repeat the question, and a moment later she shakes her head and says with an obvious accent, "No English."