Excerpt From This Beach Girl

The sex her and I had was wholly unremarkable. I was a little too drunk and she keep calling me Robin. My name is Steve. I would have been satisfied with the idea of never seeing her again, but that wasn’t the case.
I had first seen Rachael at a beachside bar near midnight. The bar’s soured yellow lights spilled across the sand and only the bartender and I had shoes on. She had lovely feet, though it was her legs that caught my attention. She was alone at the end of the bar like all the special girls are. Once I got pass her long legs, which were made longer by her black leather mini-skirt, I saw emerald eyes like sea glass. The two of us were the closest to the same age, the next youngest person was at least 20 years older. I sat beside her and put two fingers up for a beer.
I said something like, “I thought I’d regret it if I didn’t say hello to you.” I can’t remember all that well because I’d been drinking a little at another bar higher up the beach. Whatever I said, she’d smiled at it and offered me her hand. I took it in mine and I spent two hours with her, getting drunk and swooping dirty jokes. I thought I was filthy minded, but she never ran out of Dead-Baby Jokes.

What’s the difference between a dead baby and a elephant? You can punt a dead baby.
What’s the difference between a pile of dead babies and a goat? One goat can fit in my garage.

By the end of the night, the two of us were falling over each other and everyone else along the way to my hotel room. The two of us spilled on my bed and she left me there for the bathroom. She left the door open and hiked her skirt around her waist to pee. I was near sleeping when she mounted me.