Riis Park & Rockaway Beach

crack2As I sat down at a table at the beach 96 street eating area, I noticed an ass that looked pretty much like the one in this picture. So I know that some girls wear their bikinis like that because I see pictures of them on the web all the time. But this one was live! She was young and that derriere was very desirable looking indeed. It was hard not to follow the trek of that bikini strap with my imagination. I had asked the people at the table if I could sit at their table and they told me that it was O.K. as long as I was alone. I replied that since my wife was late, I might end up with the butt crack girl soon. On further observation, I noticed that she was quite young and she had a little pot belly – not too young and the pot belly was not a deal breaker at all. She was however taking care of two children which put a little damper on my desires. The rest of the party that was sitting at the table showed up and two of them were kids who had gotten a birthday cake ice-cream. The guy at the table asked (rhetorically):
“You got sprinkles with that?”

I couldn’t help but think about how that butt might taste with some sprinkles on it. I felt like snapping a shot of it but I chickened out – not sure how to do those things surreptitiously or whether I should at all. The picture above is just something I clipped from the web – but the butt in question looked a lot like this.

Earlier in the day (1 pm) I had left home on one of my extended walks. My goal was the Riis Park Bazaar and I had accomplished that in just a bit over four hours. It was longer than Google had predicted, so I checked with my Samsung gear fit and found out that I had walked 14.6 miles as opposed to the 11.1 that Google had predicted. I guess I must have meandered a bit or else there were some discrepancies in Google’s maps. That did not surprise me – I had previously found some others. Here are a couple of events that stood out a bit on my trek:

  1. I had asked a guy in front of a Deli if I was heading in the right direction. I did not tell him my final destination, just that I was walking to the Gateway Mall. That was a good thing because he pointed, gave some directions and then he asked me again if I was walking. I told him yes and he said that it was really, really far away. I guess the truth would have made his head explode because the mall was only about a third of the way to the beach. I reached my really, really far away destination in about 15 minutes.
  2. I was waiting for the light next to a woman who was talking on her phone. She was explaining to the guy on the other side that she knew exactly what he meant by a ‘massage’ and that she was not ready for that, because she didn’t want to help him cheat on his other woman. He was obviously protesting that he really meant just that, but we both knew he was lying.
  3. By the time I got to Flatbush Avenue I was really bushed but I kept thinking about flat as opposed to curly bush and how there should be some kind of joke or story in that. Getting to the Gil Hodges Memorial Bridge and over it was really tough, but I am stubborn. I stopped a couple of times to have a few sips from my water bottle and kept on going. I didn’t make any longer stops until I reached the Riis Park Beach Bazaar.

 At the bazaar I got myself a cold Narragansett lager and collapsed on a bench at one of the tables. I had just missed the last live band. Sipping at my beer I couldn’t help sending surreptitious glances toward a young woman who kept boogieing to the music that came over the P.A. She had long frizzy hair like a Yemenite Israeli girl I once know and she was wearing a very thin printed blouse. It was obvious that she was not wearing a bra as her nipples were poking valiantly at the thin material. As she was dancing her tits were shaking vigorously and once in a while when she raised her arms I could see the globular side of one of them through the sleeveless side opening in the blouse – very exciting.

A young couple sat at my table – one of them had a beach bag that said United Nude on it. I was thinking that I have finally run into some nudists looking for a beach, but I did not ask them. I have found out since that United Nude is a Dutch shoe brand. Had another beer, and went to talk to the dancing girl. Her name was Sonia and she was not Israeli but some kind of French and North-African mix. Anyway, I said good-bye since it was time to head over to Beach 96 Street where I was meeting my wife, niece, nephew and his wife. I was somewhat invigorated so decided to walk in the surf.

 I took off my sandals and stepped onto the sand. About them sandals, they are made by Teva and so far I have probably walked close to 100 miles in them. My wife says that perhaps I should write to the company and see if they are willing to sponsor some of my walks. We shall see about that. So, the sand on the South side of the Rockaway beaches seems to stretch forever, but I did eventually get my feet wet.

While splashing through the surf, I ended up behind two somewhat chubby young women. One of them was a little bit too chubby for my taste and it was a good thing that she was wearing shorts and a blouse. The other one however was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of bikini bottoms with a pattern of thin horizontal lines. They were walking some 20 feet in front of me but I was slowly catching up. At some point when I was only about five feet behind, the one with the bikini bottom bent over to pick something up. I stopped to admire the view and it was indeed very beautifully panoramic. I immediately thought up a method that will cause some women to bend over on the beach. I would need a partner who would be located 100-200 feet further up that beach and whenever a good looking woman would pick up a shell I would call him and alert him to the situation. He would then walk to the tide-line and sprinkle a few good looking shells. I would of course be snapping pictures. We would take turns at spotting and sprinkling. I will probably use that in a story sometime in the future. Anyway, I just couldn’t resist, so I walked up and addressed the young lady:

“I hope you don’t mind, but I have a funny story for you” I said.

“No English” she replied.

“Oh, where are you from?”


Much to her delight, I immediately switched to Hungarian. I told her that I am a writer and proceeded to relate the shell bait ruse. She was surprised that after so many years I still spoke very good Hungarian. She called her friend over and we had a delightful conversation, after which we said good-bye, she a bit wistfully saying that she may never be back this way again.

“Nonsense” I said “things will change for the better and we will meet here again, next year.”

  I made it to the Beach 96 area, got myself a beer and a dozen blue point oysters. So there I was watching the green bikini in the crack walking away while I was waiting for my oysters. Of course there is some kind of sexual connection between oysters and women, but that gorgeous butt was gone by the time the oysters were ready to eat. I did allow myself a few thoughts about her while slurping my mollusks from their half-shells.

The girl at the row bar had asked for my name so she could call me when the oysters were ready. They came in two aluminum pots with some lemon wedges, ice and a few kinds of sauces. By the time I had finished with the first pot, my wife showed up which was great because I needed another beer. I returned the first pot to the raw bar and the guy who was shucking the oysters said:

“Ernest, you’re the man.”

“Gee, have I secretly walked into the new Cheers set?”

The girls didn’t know what that was about, so my oyster shucking buddy enlightened them:

“It’s where everybody knows your name” he told them, not that they got it. He had to keep explaining but I had more oysters to kill and more beers to convert so I left them to it.

I enjoyed the rest of my oysters while listening to the band play Trucking with a long insert of Who Do You Love done Doors style in the middle. The rest of our group had decided to walk a bit on the boardwalk, so we went and joined them. Passing by the Beach 88 Street (I think) my nephew and I went in and got a couple of Lagunitas. It was weird when one the guys behind the counter said:
“Hey Ernie, how’s it going?”

For a moment I got confused thinking that the oyster shucker from 96 Street had beaten me to the place and said:

“Wow, is it Cheers yet again?”

Then I remembered that I had been there the previous Monday when this guy Nick, was running a karaoke thing. I had sung a couple of songs to everyone’s delight.

“Come back again next Monday,” said Nick.

I told him I’ll check my schedule, which is code for asking the wife.

 The girl who poured the beer had a bunch of tattoos. On her left arm there was a stylized red heart underneath which a skeleton was lying on its back. The caption under it said: ain’t dead yet. I asked her if she would leave instructions in her last will to perhaps have someone strike the ain’t and the yet off. She said she hadn’t thought about that. Schaeffer, (like the beer) was wearing a hat with the caption comme des FUCKDOWN. I didn’t get it so I asked if the comme was French or Spanish. Of course I was being goofy because in Spanish it would be come, but I told her it would mean eat and it still did not really make sense.

 We took our beers to the boardwalk though drinking in public in New York is illegal. My nephew asked me about it and I pointed to the sign next to the exit from the enclosed space. The sign said ‘Do not take your beer to the beach!’

“We’re not going to the beach; we’ll stay on the boardwalk” I told him.

We walked toward the lower numbered streets and stopped at Beach 73 to wait for the wife and the niece who were walking back towards us. The other wife (the nephew’s) had stopped by the skating park to watch the skaters.

We passed by the bar again and I ducked in to ask Nick about Monday’s karaoke times – the wife thought it could be fun. Somewhere around that time, it dawned on me that the caption on Schaeffer’s hat was a homonym. Read out lout it would sound like: calm the FUCKDOWN – very embarrassing for a man who speaks 10 languages and is working on An Interlingual Lexicon of Homonyms.

By this time, I was quite revitalized and I told everyone that I would like to go dancing somewhere. It was however almost 10 pm and the music on the beach was over. I looked at my Gear Fit and noticed that I had somehow inadvertently paused the pedometer at 20.9 miles. Extrapolating from the numbers on my nieces Gear Fit I had apparently walked about 23 to 24 miles for the day.


About The Llime

I am a singer/songwriter/author
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