Choosing Her Lover

Part One

A Dream of White Horses

I sit on the dune, staring out to sea where, under a stiff breeze the surf rolls in, tossing its white horses onto the beach.

The surf fascinates me, frothing and boiling as it dances over the sand, holding me in its spell in the way a flame will hypnotise, enrapturing the eye. A million white foaming bubbles race and toss and die, only to be reborn on the next wave.

The dogs frolic in the waves; at least Emma, Meg and Archie do. Mac is far too dignified to get wet, and he settles for exploring the strand line, poking through seaweed, dead crabs and driftwood. Sometimes, he finds a plastic bottle or other floater that he identifies as entertainment, bringing over his offering and inviting me to do something interesting with this enticing object, like play tag or fetch, or make it go….

If I’m really lucky, he’ll find a dead seagull and roll. As it is, the car is going to be full of salt and sand, but everyone, me included, will have had a good day’s exercise.

The sky is blue and bright, white clouds scudding high above, speeding across an azure dome, silvered at the edges by brilliant sunshine.

It is a perfect day.

I’m dragged from my thoughts by excited yapping. Meg has something in her mouth and is making threats to another dog; a stranger,

What has she found?

It’s a dog toy, one of the rope tuggers, and it’s not hers. Its owner, some sort of terrier, ears askew and fur sticking out at odd angles, is not cowed by her threats, the two squaring-up for combat.

From off-stage a man comes jogging in, calling. I close in on the pair as well. Meg can be a snappy little madam when she wants to be.

“Meg….” I call. “Come on, Meg. Give it to me.”

Reaching carefully, I take the toy from her. She grumbles but doesn’t snap. Once of a day, I couldn’t have done this with Meg, but she’s improved a lot in the couple of years since I brought her home from the shelter.

Offering the tugger back to the stranger. “Sorry about that. Meg thinks she owns all the toys in the world.”

He laughs. “Thanks. Don’t worry about it. They can be like that, can’t they?”

I don’t recognise the man. Letting my gaze wander over him, I try not to be too obvious about it. He’s nice looking; not spectacular, but…. nice…. Taller than me, he is dark-haired, with steel grey eyes set into a serious, almost stern face. He is casually dressed in trainers and sweats…. of course he is, out jogging on the beach.

He glances around. “Are all this lot yours? Four of them?

“Yes, all mine. Everyone has a vice. Mine’s that I’m a serial dog rescuer.”

“You’re not kidding.… four?”

intended to have so many, but when they turn up, well… what do

you never have any trouble when you’re

sounds like a joke, but he doesn’t

wrong there,”

holds out his hand to

“Kirstie.”

Kirstie. You

me a good

he wants to say something else, then, “Anyway, I’d better go finish my run.

trots away.

few steps. “Well, look at him. What would you call him?” Then

*****

laptop, checking e-mails and

Mmmm….

never make the first approach, always letting ‘them’ to come to me, and the responses to my profile, as ever, run the full range from the sublime

very nice. I am looking

you haven’t

of fun a couple of times a week, have a meal, conversation, throw each other around between the

want my bed to myself in the morning.

in charge

scan more of

Image of genitals…. Delete.

frontal with blurred out

can opener……” I chuckle but delete anyway. That sounds a bit too romantic for

signs. I am a Scorpio too….” Oh, God. You don’t believe in all

I’m really well hung….”

you look cool. You’ve tried the Rest

being

like a poor crop for today’s harvest,

If you can’t have a conversation with someone you’re ‘sleeping’’ with, what’s the point? That’s what I’m looking for too. Why don’t you take a

It’s a good start that he uses my name. Of course, it’s not my real name, but nobody on-line gets to know who

one’s actually literate. He can string a