A black man knelt just below, his pants around his ankles. He was thrusting away, between a pair of thin white legs. Sean thought maybe he could make out the man’s cock, sheathed in a glow-in-the-dark condom. Still dreaming? The black man began to groan."Pull out!" Sean heard Tracy cry. He saw her hands begin to pound the man on his shoulders. It seemed to Sean that the man pulled out of Tracy, and he heard the snap of rubber, the man’s arm wagging frantically at his side, as he groaned. Sean remained at his window when the man stood and dressed himself. Sean saw him throw something down on the ground, probably cash. From this angle, Sean couldn’t see straight down outside his window. He was pretty sure it was Tracy, though. He slid the window open, feeling the cool spring Michigan air wash over his body. He wore only boxers."Tracy!" He hissed. He heard her scrambling around just below. "Get in here! Back door . . . now!" Sean was mad. He stomped across his bedroom, turned on his. Eventually they came to their destination, a lovely quiet beach. As there was no car park anywhere near, there were very few people on the beach, even though it was peak holiday season. Spreading out their mat, they started on the picnic, continuing to chat. Then he got out his book, and she the paper, and companionable silence reigned again. He started to think how he could do something to allow him to share his feelings and thoughts. One by one he rejected every idea. Kissing and cuddling? Tried that. She just stiffened when he caressed her and said ‘I’m not a dog’. Since his way of expression was demonstrative, not talkative, that was a real blow. Just holding hands was good. That worked, but didn’t seem to offer any way forward. He felt so strongly about her he tried to express it through telling her how good she looked, complimenting her on her clothes, comparing her most favourably, and in his opinion truthfully, with other women. ‘I’m just going for a wander along the beach..
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