U.S.C.G. Rockaway Life Boat Station
Rockaway, New York
July 17, 1953
Lady On the Rocks
The tower is here!
The tower was in absolute broad view! Yet, much as not being able to see the forest for the trees, the tower was taken so much for granted that occasionally people did forget that it was here, and that it was always manned, day and night, fair weather and foul, seven days a week, 365 days a year, by a sailor—and not just any sailor, but a lonely, bored sailor—and not just any lonely, bored sailor, but a lonely, bored sailor with a pair of high powered binoculars.
The day was beautiful.
The mid-day sun shown through loosely woven, gossamer-like clouds.
The on-shore breeze was warm, and so soft it felt as a kiss from God.
The lady walked until she came to the end of the road, then cut diagonally across the narrow peninsula.
On the 0800–1200 watch, Mitchell had been watching a particular boat in the bay. Determining that the boat was not in trouble, bringing his attention back to the ocean-side, he first noticed the tall, slender lady as she was climbing onto one of the large, ocean-tossed slabs of flat granite that act as a natural breakwater around the thin, vulnerable strip of land.
The lady wore a green and yellow, one-piece bathing suit and carried a large beach towel, which she spread onto the hard surface.
Standing inside the shack with the binoculars trained on the lady, he was able to see that she had short, light blond hair and pleasing features. He judged her to be an older woman; oh, about thirty.
Making a quick sweep of the surrounding area, the glasses came back to the lady—who, looking outward, was still standing—and moved downward.
Although she didn’t show much cleavage, he knew that it was hard to judge the size of a woman’s breasts from this distance, especially if she was wearing a restrictive bathing suit, but he could see that she had narrow hips, small buttocks and, though not deterring him, her thighs were a bit on the heavy side.
Looking at the slightly rolling ocean for a few more seconds, squatting, she then sat on the towel… Sitting a minute or two, she lay back with her hands beneath her head, cushioning it from the hard surface.
Moving the binoculars from the reclining figure, he viewed the closer boats on both the bay and ocean sides. The closest, a fishing boat in the ocean, was about seven hundred yards off-shore. Doing a 180-degree scan of the horizon, seeing nothing of an even remotely troublesome nature, he brought the glasses back to the lady.
Sitting up now, leaning back now, supported by both arms that were extended to the sides and behind her back, she…
“Holy shit!” Mitchell swallowed and blinked his eyes because, “Holy shit!” the top of the lady’s bathing suit was lowered to her waist and, sitting as she was, with both arms stretched backward and her chest completely open to the sun and air, the distinct white flesh of her moderate-sized but, “Oh, yeah!” nicely noticeable breasts pulled back and to the sides, and the aureoles of her dark-brown, tightly air-puckered nipples were distinctly conspicuous in profile, and… “Holy shit!” he said again, Those are… the first, real live tits! he’d seen since that night so long ago with Sally and Mitchell felt a stretching in his groin and his lips formed a perfect O, as though he were—rather than two hundred yards away—a scant inch and a second away from drawing one of the, “Oh, my God!” lady’s puckered nipples into his puckered lips. He turned the adjustment wheel of the binoculars, trying to make the finely-tuned picture even finer.
The lady glanced at the tower… looked away, then, looking back, frowning, shading her eyes with the side of her hand, she tried to see if there could possibly be anyone up there.
Watching her through the binoculars as she was looking at him from beneath the visor of her hand, holding his breath, Mitchell did not move a muscle…
But she must have concluded that the well-maintained sixty-eight–foot–tall, steel, wood and glass structure was nothing more than a derelict washed ashore in a, coincidentally, upright position because, looking away from the tower, the lady brought her face full forward into the sun, and…
Letting his breath out, swinging his gaze to the ocean, noting that the closest boat was far enough away not to see the lady, bringing the glasses back…
“Holy shit!” He held his breath again because, as he watched…
Lifting her body, the lady pulled her bathing suit off her hips, down her buttocks, thighs, calves and ankles, and…
“Holy shit!”
Rolling the bathing suit, using it as a pillow, the lady’s breasts flattening and laying to her sides, she lay back altogether naked: wonderfully, beautifully, altogether exposed, and…
“Oh, lady!” Thinking, For an old lady you are B-U-tee-full! The binoculars moving from her breasts to the… Said softly, under his breath, “Oh, God,” the binoculars moved to the hairy, black tri-section of her thighs and crotch… then, back up to her head, and—the lady’s hair was light blond—smiling, licking his lips, “Only you and your fighting Coast Guard know for sure!” he said aloud, then…
“Uh-oh!” He looked at his watch, 3:07. The fucking clock should’a been hit seven minutes ago!
But if he went onto the catwalk the lady was sure to see him!
The chained key was on the southwest corner of the shack, precisely in the direction she would look if she noticed any movement within her peripheral vision. The door was on east side of the shack. Normally, the watch went out the door, turned to the right and right again, punched the clock and returned the same way, but… It wouldn’t work that way now, so…
The time clock held about his neck by the strap, going through the open doorway on his hands and knees, turning to the left, he crawled to the northeast corner, turned left, went to the northwest corner, dropped to his stomach and, slithering, he was then, from the naked lady’s perspective, on the back side of the southwest corner. Bringing the clock to the dangling key, he shoved it into the slot, clicked it twice, then backtracked, backwards along the steel catwalk, through the door and into the shack.
Standing, not bothering to brush the dirt off his denims, grabbing the binoculars, “Great!” he studied the lady’s flattened breasts, her wonderful, sun- and air-puckered nipples and, “Mmm, God!” her fuzzy, mismatched black crotch… for approximately five seconds, when…
There was a motion just on the fringe of his vision and, grudgingly, he swung the binoculars from the naked lady’s crotch to…
There was a speeding boat with a man standing on the bow, who had binoculars, too, and he, too, was looking towards the rocks—and though Mitchell couldn’t hear him—the man was shouting, “Faster! Faster!”
A thick trough of white wake followed as the boat sped towards shore for a better look.
“Oh, no!” Mitchell whispered. “Schmuck! Stop! She’ll see you!” Now shouting, “Asshole! Fucker! Son of a bitch! As…
Oh, yeah! She did! The lady did hear the roaring of the motor and, sitting up, did see the rapidly closing boat, as…
“Faster! Faster!” the man on the boat shouted. As…
Even faster, the lady pushed her feet, legs, fuzzy mismatched black crotch, and…
Oh, God!
…her moderate-sized but, Oh, yeah, categorically noticeable breasts…
“Faster! Faster!”
…along with her wonderful, sun- and air-puckered brown nipples back into the green and yellow, one-piece bathing suit and, grabbing her towel…
The speeding boat hit an ocean swell, became airborne a moment then, slamming down, the man on the bow lost his balance, did a summersault in the air and fell into the water. As…
…scampering off the rock the no-longer-naked lady ran diagonally across the point of land to the road, and within seconds was out of sight.
Fortunately, the man in the water was wearing a lifejacket and, waving to it, the boat was circling to come back to him.
“X-ray… Baker… Two…” Speaking slowly, enunciating each word clearly, “to X-ray… Baker… Three.” He pushed the receive button on the transmitter.
The patrol boat cruising the bay answered, “X-ray, Baker, Three, to X-ray, Baker Two. Over Baker Two.”
“X-ray, Baker, Three…” speaking at a normal speed, “we’ve a man overboard one hundred yards off shore, south of the point. Over.”
“Roger, Baker, Two. We’re on our way. Out.”
“X-ray, Baker, Two to X-ray, Baker, Three. Belay the last call; the man’s been pulled aboard his vessel, but I advise to detain and issue a citation for reckless water endangerment. X-ray, Baker, Two, over.”
“X-ray, Baker, Three, to X-ray, Baker, Two. I roger that. Will you guide us to him, Baker, Two? Over.”
“X-ray, Baker, Two to X-ray, Baker, Three… Bet your ass!”
