Two Different Roads

Somewhere On A Beach

Did you want to just drive around for a bit and look at some of the sights?" He asked, turning on the radio at low volume.
"I'd like that, Mike."
She looked at him, appraising. "Mike doesn't seem quite right to me. I think Michael suits you much better."
He blushed. Something about the way she said his full name was just so damn appealing. "Ellen is pretty. It's different. Have YOU got any nicknames?"
"A lot of people call me El from time to time. (No way was she going to admit to the name only ONE person dared call her.)
"Ellen is nicer."
"I think so as well."
The conversation veered off temporarily into that of a tour guide. He pointed out various landmarks, told her what he knew about them, fresh night air drifting through the open windows. She looked even lovelier, her cheeks pink, her long hair blowing in the breeze. He fought the urge to stop the car at the closest opportunity, pull her into his arms and kiss her.
Instead, he suddenly asked, "Have you been to the beach yet?"
"No, I haven't."
"That's where we're going next then."
The drove in silence for a few minutes until The Righteous Brothers "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" came on the radio.
"I love this one," she exclaimed.
"Me too," he said, turning it up.
They were both singing along now. Ellen felt an unexpected fluttering in her chest when Mike took the solo that began 'Baby Baby I'd get down on my knees for you...'
"You have a nice voice, " he told her as the song changed to the latest Kinks' hit.
"Thanks."
"Your sister said you studied music."
"Mostly piano. My mother is a piano teacher."
"What about your dad?"
"He's a musician in a band, or was. I haven't seen him since I was nine."
"Mine left when I was three or four. But enough depressing shit. We're here."
II
They parked. Ellen smiled when Mike opened her door for her (a real old-fashioned Southern gentleman).
He retrieved some things from the trunk and they walked out onto the sand.
"This good?" He asked.
She nodded and he spread out a plaid blanket, positioned a transistor radio on top of it, and offered a thermos. "Soda if you want some."
"You think of everything."
"Papa Nez has it covered, " he said with a grin.
"Papa Nez?"
"I'm the guy who always remembers to bring everything on a camping trip, stuff like that, so some people started calling me Papa Nez, like in Nesmith ya know."
She chuckled. "Cute, but I still like Michael better."
"Me too when YOU say it," he told her, blushing again.
He wriggled out of his jean jacket, folded it, and placed it on the blanket. (He was neat.) She removed her shoes. He couldn't help glancing at the small feet with their red painted toes.
"Another good one," he proclaimed as "My Girl" began to play.
"I have to dance when I hear this one. Shall we?"
"Sure, why not," he agreed, surprising himself.
They moved well together. He displayed a grace he hadn't known he possessed. "Must be the partner," he thought.
She sat down instantly when The Beatles' "Eight Days a Week" began to play. John's voice singing words of love was like a dull knife to the heart.
"You don't like The Beatles?"
"It's not that. I just thought I'd have some of the soda, " she said, recovering quickly.
He sat beside her and they drank silently for a moment. Ellen watched the waves rolling in, smelled the salt air then turned toward Mike. That great hair was mussed now with the ocean breeze, a graceful, long white neck peeking out from the collar of his shirt-that fluttering again.
"Hey, isn't this song about your hometown?"
"It is. The Mersey River runs right next to Liverpool. (She knew Gerry and the Pacemakers personally but didn't say so.)
"Tell me more. What was it like growing up there?"
She found herself telling him (a version altered for discretion anyway). Something about Mike just inspired confidences. She trusted him already for some unimaginable reason.
He shared childhood stories as well, even revealing his personal faith, Christian Science, that he'd been taught by his mother, patiently explaining its belief system.
They talked about a number of topics, some trivial, some quite serious and personal. They learned a great deal about one another rather quickly, and the more they learned the closer their fledgling bond. They liked a lot of the same things, were in agreement about quite a few subjects.
Ellen laughed a great deal too. Mike turned out to have quite the quirky infectious sense of humour which she hadn't expected. He was also extremely intelligent which she HAD expected. She actually found it challenging at times to follow that brilliant mind in its meanderings but longed to try.
Hours passed that felt like minutes, and still she had no desire to leave his company. Vicky must wonder where she'd gotten to by now, but she didn't care, and she DEFINITELY didn't care if John wondered. He was probably occupied with one of The Beatles' many 'fans' anyway.
No sooner did his name cross her mind then she summoned him. This time it was "Ticket to Ride." 'Before she gets to sayin' goodbye she ought a think twice, she ought do right by me.' The lyrics seemed to accuse her.
"Who's your favorite Beatle," he suddenly asked. "I bet you're a John girl."
"You have no idea, " she thought, said, "I don't think I have one."
"You're just about the only one then."
Fortunately before the awkwardness could get worse one of them thought of another avenue of conversation.
The soda was gone now. It had turned chilly. Mike saw her shivering, offered his jacket. It actually fit fairly well. She smelled some fresh-scented soap and perhaps a hint of aftershave lotion-very nice.
Their fingers suddenly appeared to inch toward one another quite naturally, and then they were holding hands. His was a large, strong hand with long, calloused fingers reminding her that this was another guitarist.
Well she couldn't deny that she must have a type. Apparently she was attracted to dark-haired, dark-eyed, intelligent, confident, somewhat strange and funny guitarists as also evidenced by The Yardbirds song playing now. And yes, it was beginning to be obvious that she was attracted to Mike.
Those dark eyes seemed to draw her in, and she started to wonder what it would be like to run her fingers through his hair.
Just as she was thinking this, to her surprise, the sky began to turn pink. They'd spent the entire night together!
The moment would be burned in her memory forever, Sam Cooke on the radio singing "Cupid", the fingers of dawn streaking the sky when Mike said, "You probably have to go, but before you do, I'd really like to kiss you if that's ok."
She didn't answer, leaned toward him instead, and closed the gap. The first touch of his lips to hers was soft, gentle, sweet, and it only left her wanting more.
She wasted no time before indulging the fantasy of touching that incredible hair, and with the encouragement his kisses deepened.
He was good at this. In a completely uncharacteristic move she decided to experiment to see exactly how much further he might be willing to go. She teased his lips with her tongue. He opened his mouth to allow it entrance, answered with his own.
The radio seemed an instigator now. "Yes, I'm ready" by Barbara Mason playing. By silent mutual agreement they lay down on the blanket together, holding each other close as their tongues continued to chase each other frantically.
"Michael..."
"Can I admit now that the way you say my name kind of turns me on?"
Barbara Lewis singing "Baby I'm Yours", Mike's long thin body on top of hers now. She trembled at the feel of him against her, so hard. He seemed absolutely huge.
"Maybe we should stop now before this goes too far," he said but with obvious reluctance.
"We probably should," she answered kissing him again.
("Unchained Melody") "Goddam Righteous Brothers are not helping right now. They're just setting the mood."
She giggled.
"Even the way you laugh gets me going. We just met a few hours ago but damn, I swear I have never wanted to fuck any girl as bad as I wanna fuck you right now."
She wasn't shocked. She appreciated his honesty. Such was her own arousal at this point she might have even let him if the radio didn't intervene yet again. This time it was "Help." John's voice stopped her cold instantly.
"I want you too, Michael, but you're right. We should wait. It's too soon," she finally managed to gasp.
He rolled off of her instantly, sat up.
"You're not angry are you?"
"Hell no. Somebody's awful disappointed, but mad, no." He actually looked down at his lap, commanded, "Down Boy!"
She laughed, "God Michael."
"When I'm able to walk I better get you back to where you're staying. It's late, or really early depending on your point of view."
III
She had him stop a block away so he would not see where she was staying."
"Here?" He questioned.
"This is fine."
"If you're sure." He looked at her silently for a moment. "Tonight was great ya know...ya think I could see you again?"
"Where?"
His entire face lit up. "Well I play at the Troubadour again tomorrow at the same time if you'd like to come."
"I'd love to."
He kissed her impulsively in gratitude. She kissed him back. It grew heated very quickly this time.
Shit Ellen, you're killing me!"
"Michael, I'm sorry. I didn't think."
"You can't help being the sexiest chic I've ever seen. And for him, it's like it's Thanksgiving and Christmas all rolled into one."
"Do you always refer to it as a separate person?" She chuckled
"It's a guy thing. I think most of us do that. Some I know even give it a name."
"Really? What's his?"
"I usually just call him Little Nez."
"God, you're funny. I really like that about you," she said and leaned toward him again.
"No, don't. I can't take anymore tonight."
"I wish..."
"What?"
"I don't know. I still feel as if it's my fault. I feel like I should help."
"Help?" He gulped.
"I mean it must be uncomfortable."
"I ain't gonna lie. It hurts like a sonofabitch. This has never happened before. I don t know what to do about it. It's a long way home."
She suddenly reached for his belt, the button of his pants, his zipper. "Holy fuck!" He cried out as her hand found its way into his briefs. "Easy, easy-shit I'm so hard!"
She kissed him as she touched him, stroked him, only increasing the sensation. "Is this all right?"
"It's incredible. I haven't had a hand job since I was sixteen, and let me tell you, Susan Morgan wasn't nearly as good at it as you are," he groaned. "I have some napkins in the glove compartment. Better get 'em."
She handed them to him. "Don't stop Ellen. God you ARE good! I'm so close."
"Go ahead. I want to make you feel good."
"Objective achieved...God! Jesus!"
She caressed his face, that wonderful hair with her free hand. "You're welcome," she smiled with a last gentle kiss to his forehead.

If you haven't heard it, you should check out Sam Cooke's "Cupid" the song I chose to accompany Mike and Ellen's first kiss.