Eroticism

[clarabow]

Eroticism

Charmouth

His granddaughter suggested a cruise to celebrate his ninetieth birthday, but he proposed the journey to Lyme Regis.

Ensconced in a comfortable B&B near his beloved Black Ven, the difficulties of manoeuvring a wheel chair along cobble paving-stones was overcome as she pushed him to the promenade over-looking the famous bay. From his vantage point the stony beach stretched below and around the curvature of the towering blue-black cliffs, transporting him back to the early spring of 1909.

“Between the Jurassic and Cretaceous beds is an unconformity where approximately 80 million years of rock are missing”, he explained enthusiastically to the serious young woman, the only other occupant of the beach, interrupting his excavations to question him about the cliff face and the black clay. A strong sea breeze billowed about her long skirt, pulling at the auburn curls, distracting him from his scientific explanation.
“Fossilisation starts at the moment of death”, he explained, attempting to keep his eyes anywhere but on the white skin of her swan like neck. “Ammonites lived in the sea around 150 million years ago”, to dark blue eyes, embarrassed that his own wandered to the curves of her elegant figure, his heart rate rising. Throwing off his jacket he muttered, “It’s turning quite warm” and motioned that he really must get back to the cliff face. He stared distractedly as she headed for the water’s margin, where her dainty feet left imprints in the sand and to his dismay disappeared like a wave on the horizon.

“I’m going to take a quick walk; you will be alright for five minutes granddad?” “Yes, of course dear, I’ll be fine”.

Scull very pyritised, vertebra in good condition, maybe more two feet below Lytoceras Stone band, he wrote excitedly. It was his first really important find and he wanted to laugh, dance, shout and then he saw her: “Here”, he called, beckoning as he jumped from the rocks. She advanced to greet him, her serious aspect perplexed. “Are you alright?” she asked, concerned. In great excitement he described his discovery and she volunteered to climb up the rock face. “I’ve never seen an Ichthyosaur”, ignoring his uneasiness on the practicalities of rock climbing in a long skirt. Captured by his enthusiasm her deft hands pulled off the offending garment revealing white bloomers and hints of a lace bodice beneath. “The beach is empty”, she reasoned aloud. Taken aback, yet strangely thrilled by this flagrant act of immodesty, he followed her upwards, his exhilaration tinged with alarm in trying to avoid the scantily clad torso bounding ahead.

Finding a smooth surface to spread his jacket he explained the importance of his find; suddenly he was struck by the absurdness of the situation, as she pulled up the sleeves of her blouse revealing shapely arms, which transfixed him as the tension vanished from his head, replaced by unrecognisable feelings that stirred a longing he had never experienced before. “But how did it get here?” she asked after a long moment. Sitting down, trying desperately to ignore her sensuality, he answered, “Having died, scavengers feed on the fleshy body, leaving just the bones to be covered with layers of silt, sand and sea until the seabed is forced above the surface and eventually erosion exposes the fossil...”

The multitude on the beach clueless to the harm they’re doing, he thought, dismayed at the sight of numerous unsystematic searches by car loads of tourists with hired hammers.

“…conditions must be extremely favourable”, he continued, helping her down, “it is still possible to find dinosaurs” he gulped, as she attired herself and straightened her tresses and in departing: “We will see each other again?” And diffidently he faced her, unsure how to respond, overwhelmed by her presence.

His granddaughter, returning, waved as he sighed at the memory of a tendril of hair, a flash of ankle, a bare arm, more erotic than all the pornography or blatant sexuality of the times he was leaving. Closing his eyes he glimpsed his desire, the parting his only regret; their sixty years together his joy, the loss living on.

Following the water's edge, his footprints running alongside hers, a young man once more and waiting, flowing auburn hair, long legs wading out to sea, exposed neck and soft arms stirring his senses; “There you are”, she said, “late as usual”, her serious face turned and smiled thoughtfully just as their granddaughter’s, inexplicably, faded from view.

[Danté]

Clara, I enjoyed reading this. I thought the subtle allusion to how times have changed in respect of attitudes towards sexual openness worked really well. The descriptions of searching for fossilised remains contained enough interesting material which was presented in a way that kept me engaged, whilst you managed to control it and not let it be overbearing. The transition from present to past and back again came across well although I did back track a couple of times but that's most likely my failing as a reader first thing in the morning before the caffeine has effectively managed to invoke my full mental agility.

The difficult area in the piece from the writer's perspective is delivering the eroticism. You've got it across and I think you could fine tune those areas and perhaps begin that function in gentler way and really capture what would for my interpretation of the lines get you closer to that compelling, almost innocent shyness. I don't think "torso" is best option, it doesn't convey to me the tonality that perhaps a brief description highlighting the small of her back or the very subtle rear silhouette of the curves possessed making an outline unmistakably female. Rather than the swan neck, perhaps you could have found a comparison between an elegant quality of a dinosaur? They had their own beauty.

The male character obviously has an eye for prehistoric remains and I think you have a great opportunity to make more use of that in delivering his observations in respect of the lady you've described in the piece. This man would have been focused on seeking out the ancient bones and I would have liked to have read descriptions which have a little more tingle, for the want of a better word, to draw his attention away by metaphorically tugging on his sleeve a couple of times before the distraction takes hold in a more tangible way.

I admire the way that you as the writer have voiced the content and I think you could really make this stand out if you decide to focus on the areas I've mentioned.

This is the kind of subject I really enjoy and I hope you don't mind me offering my two-penneth.

Regards

Danté

[clarabow]

Dante, thank you for the feed back. You have no idea how helpful this is. Regards Clara

[calico]

Ooo! Clara prose! Just seen this, and will be back later to read properly. Very prose-minded myself these days.

[calico]

I think it's great what you've done here. For some reason Charmouth, Lyme Regis and Black Ven immediately made me feel in capable hands - good to have such solid locations when there is so much here about topography and archaeology. It took a good few reads to establish the past/present and who is looking at who. I think the point of view you have adopted of the old man is working really well to describe the woman - it did take more than one read to establish he wasn't attracted to his granddaughter but that's me, jumping to conclusions - and I think there is enough there to establish the past/present and who's who. It's interesting as well in terms of loss - he remembers the feeling of loss experienced by the disappearing footsteps before they got together, even after 60 years together - loss re-enacted with her death presumably. And the place of erotic feeling within this loss is well-balanced, it's a complex subject. Really good to read it!

[satyr]

I enjoyed reading this story. It has been well crafted and the characters are realistic. I like the play between generational characteristics and the shifting time focus. There was only one minor typo that I spotted: "Scull very pyritised, vertebra in good condition, maybe more two feet below Lytoceras Stone band, he wrote excitedly." I think you mean "Skull" here, as a type of racing shell doesn't fit the context.

[Meesha]

Good god, CB, those sentences are certainly stretched out with those commas — eh? I simply couldn't keep interest in the tale past the first 3 paragraphs as such. Short sharp sentences are the trick for short stories as such. And blue black cliffs is quiet annoying to read ... blueberry?

M

[PoppyBanks]

I'm not great on reviewing but I thought the last lines were brilliant and I loved how you weren't into character's emotions as well as the setting in great detail, sometimes a little too much so but it worked due to the length, I think, it needed it.