Jaxson was all that and a bag of chips.  Magnificent, manly, magnetic. And he was all hers.

She watched him splash around in warm Martinique water in preparation.  The waves were cranking.  She could feel his eagerness.  Although he’d started later in life (compared to the youngster swarming the water), as soon as he was on that surfboard everyone knew this was no junkyard dog.

If they weren’t already surfing they sat back to watch, mesmerized by his sure and eloquent movements as he charged the waves.  Marianne knew those exotic yet functional moves.  He made surfing look effortless.  There was no doubt who was boss on that board as he rode the curl, literally sailing in to land on the beach a short distance from where she lay watching. Other surfers called out in the surfer lingo she’d come to know well.

Water droplets dripping, he plopped down beside her. “Want to give it a go?”

“Not hardly!”

“Marianne, your good, real good.”

“Dreamer!”  She reached up and kissed his neck.  “Not even in the ballpark, not hardly!”

“I’ll lay here, settle back and enjoy the view.”


“You, lover boy, you!”

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