The sun was as big and yellow as he had remembered and the sand burned just the same, as it crunched and cracked under his feet wrapped in leather. The crunching stopped when he stopped and the leather soaked in the sun while twelve-year-old Vladimir Karlov looked to the end of the world.

There she was in blue and white and wave. There she was in sparkling gloss. There she was before him. There she was forever. The ocean.

Vladimir gave her a scowl and continued to walk to the water pulling in the people around him, accompanied by the yells and yelps of children in swim trunks and obesity in tees.

“You do not scare me, Woman, you do not scare me at all.”

The rush of the waves sounded off and Vladimir scoffed again.

“Keep that up, Young Lady, and old man Vladimir will have to slap you around.”

She sounded off once more, and Vladimir smiled back.

“I shall make time for you soon, Sweetheart, but for now, I have more pressing matters to attend.”

The matters Vladimir was speaking of were those of the string bikini variety, laying on striped towels with bags of perfumed oils, vanilla and almond and orange, sand sticking to areas only a removable shower head can clean. Such small pieces of fabric and soft-as-skin lining adorned each and every one of their sun-stained bodies, shining in the gloss they bathed in. Vanilla and almond and orange.

Vladimir stood in his swim trunks, a short red number that fit tightly against his white thighs. He saw young boys running ablaze in trunks that reached their knees, but Vladimir thought such pieces were asinine and he couldn't help but say so when one such boy from his school ran by.

“Why would you wear such things, Boy, why would you wear so much fabric?”  But the boy kept on running and laughing aloud in his coverage while Vladimir yelled after him in vain.

“How will the ladies know you're interested, Boy, how will the ladies know you care?”

Vladimir sighed and gave up and Vladimir looked to his left.

Vladimir saw glossy brown and Vladimir became erect.

His towel had a red Lamborghini on it and he spent just enough time whipping it around and laying it on the sand that his new neighbor took notice.

“Your trunks match your towel.”  She was a tall number, not much of a body, skinny like many boys dream about, boys with long swim trunks that reach their knees, but not Vladimir.

Vladimir was a fan of the curves.  Hips and breasts and asses.  He had always said, “If I can find a set of thighs to sleep between, I swear I'll never wake.” He put his hands on his hips and posed.

“Not much to look at, Lady. Too skinny for my liking, but then again, the man downstairs doesn't seem to be complaining too much. Must be the smell. Oils and all. You got a pretty face though, I always like a pretty face.”

She didn't say anything to Vladimir after that, just rolled on her stomach and closed her eyes.

“Maybe I was wrong. Your ass has more of a pop than I thought. It must have been the small breasts that deceived.”

Vladimir stretched long, pushing his erection out to the ocean, red and pointing, his rib cage obvious when he reached for the sky.

“Cover yourself up, Young Man, this is a family beach.” 

It turns out erections were frowned upon, but not being one for convention, Vladimir reached it out again, just enough to graze the old woman's wrist. She flinched and pulled her arm back with a scowl.

“Do not blush,  Hag, this erection is not for you.”

“You should be ashamed, Young Man, do you not have respect for anyone?”

“I have respect for every oiled-up woman I see, and it is that respect which makes me erect. So please move along or I shall graze you again and you will not be so quick to move, for Vladimir Karlov is not ashamed of his arousal.

Vladimir Karlov is not ashamed of his manhood.” The hag moved along wanting to spit for she was moister then she had been in ages.

Vladimir surveyed a group of girls, bikinis every one, circled around a large blue cooler. The cooler kept getting opened and ice kept falling out.  Vladimir had found his match and he left the small-breasted girl and his red Lamborghini for the choicer meat within reach of the ocean's spray.

He approached them squinting his eyes, blocking the sun with his forearm, the other holding strong on his hip.

“I couldn't help but notice that the three of you weren't as shiny as the rest of the large breasted women out here today. Is it because you have no gentleman to do the honors?”

A girl in a blue striped bikini and small belly button responded first. “We mostly like to apply ourselves.”

“And for those tough to reach spots, the back and inner thigh?”

"And for those I turn to her.”

Her friend was feisty, lots of hand movements, blonde hair in a ponytail and palm trees across her breasts. “For those she turns to me.”

Vladimir stepped closer as he addressed the dark haired girl whose eyes were silver and palms, white.

“And what about you, you must reach those places yourself?”

“I burn between my thighs and my back is always black.”

Vladimir could not remark on her back, but what she said of her thighs was true.

“I have soft hands, the softest in the world, and I will rub your thighs with oil, and I will rub your back, and no more will you burn red, and no more will you burn black.”

“Softest in the world?”  The silver eyes said back.

At the age of eleven, Vladimir Karlov, having just finished a walk with the Duke of Eli and his lovely wife, Isabel, a striking women who wore dresses made of a lynx and silk, was told just that. Before leaving the royals, Vladimir took Isabel by the hand and pulled her close.

“If I were but a Duke I'd kiss your every hair.”

And Isabel laughed and the Duke laughed and Vladimir stood holding her hand.

“Why Vladimir, you have the softest hands in the world,” she said, taking his other hand in hers, “the softest hands in the world.”

The following months involved daily back rubs and baths and the Duke disappeared into the night, for Isabel was indeed right. 

The softest in the world,” Vladimir repeated and the silver eyes believed.

The oil immediately bronzed Vladimir's hands as he applied it to the back of the women with silver eyes. Starting high, shoulders and neck, he moved with pressure and pace towards the small of her back and reaching ass. It reached like a monument and Vladimir paid extra attention to its upkeep. Funds for the arts and community beautification projects were down and he felt it was his duty to do his part to keep existing pieces in tact. He rubbed the oil in deep, displacing the back of the yellow bikini as he did so. He was soon as equally erect as her ass and he urged her to oil his as he was doing hers.

“You need not look far to see another like sculpture in need of an equal amount of upkeep.”

“Patience, Vlad, for you have not yet done my thighs.”

“A patient man I am, patient beyond your belief, but one man can be only so patient, one man can be only so enduring.”

“Endure, Vlad, endure, and these thighs will be yours to rub, again and again and again.”

Vladimir endured as best he could, red monument taunting the ocean and taunting his hands, covered in an almond glaze, dripping and dripping.

To endure I must have a drink, I must have a scotch.”

The friends opened the cooler and pulled out a jug of colored fluid.

“Take what you like, there's too much for the three of us.”

“I drink nothing red.”

“It's pink.”

“I drink nothing red or pink or blue.”

The silver eyes looked up. “If you'll not drink it, you'll not oil my thighs.”

Vladimir looked down, his member pleading for relief, “drink,” it said. “Drink and drink and drink.” Vladimir was not one to ignore his member, so he drank just as it requested and soon he had forgotten all about his red Lamborghinitowel, soon he had forgotten everything.

“Drinking the red stuff today are we, Vlad?”

“Had to do it, Henry, had no choice.” 

Henry gives Vladimir a coconut, straw and umbrella, filled with red liquid, splashing over the edge.

“Why am I here, Henry, why am I here?”

“Why, you're here to calm your erection, you're here to calm your manhood.”

“And I came here myself?”

“You came with a girl with red thighs.”

“But where did the girl go, Henry, where are those silver eyes?”

“They await your return, on a red Lamborghini she lies.”

Henry stepped back and Vladimir noticed he was wearing a grass skirt and coconut bra.

“You're wearing a skirt, Henry, you're wearing a bra.”

“I'm a bartender, Vlad, I aim to please.”

“This does not please me, Henry, this does not entertain.”

“But the women pay me mind, so I can not complain.”

Vladimir sees the girls look Henry over. Up and down and over again.

“They look not at my red trunks, Henry, they pay me no mind.”

“Then wear my grass skirt, Vlad, and those red thighs will you find.”

Red lips wetting, green grass hanging, and coconuts tied up in knots, Vladimir returned to cast a shadow over the woman with silver eyes. The beach was empty except for the two.

“I've come back to oil your red away and protect you from the sun.”

The silver eyes opened and pulled at Vladimir's skirt.

“Are you sure you can, Vlad, are you sure you've drank enough?”

“My lips are stained fruit and my hands are ready to love.”

Vladimir stood with hands at hips, his belly and member protruding.

“Then oil my thighs and I'll lay back.”

“I'll oil your thighs, Silver Eyes, I'll oil them.”

And the silver eyes laid back, and the red thighs spread wide, and Vladimir's hands glazed again. Vanilla and almond and orange.

© 2006 Tyke Johnson