Mick kept the break to himself. He had found it via Google Maps: a tiny cove on the western edge of Scotland. It had required many days of errant hiking to finally reach it. The effort had been more than worth it. He now had a perfect right-hand peeling wave, all to himself.

He had it dialed in, now. A three-hour drive in his old Land Rover, much of it off-road, followed by a ninety-minute hike. He would leave well before dawn on Saturday, and bring the minimum food and shelter to get him to Sunday evening. Somehow he carried a tent, bag, food, wetsuit, and surfboard across jagged basalt boulders in near darkness without killing himself.

For months his only company on these weekend visits were terns, puffins, and seals. Mick’s heart sank one Saturday, however, when after making the precarious descent down to the beach he thought he saw another person on his beach. He looked around and saw no tent, and no other people, other than this one. Though at a distance, he could tell that the person was a woman.

His father, a Northern California transplant to Scotland, had told Mick more than once that, “If you find a woman who looks good in a wetsuit, marry her.” Mick heard faint wedding bells as he eyed his wave competition. Whoever she was, she had the shapely body of a fifties film star.

Mick hailed her, but the woman either ignored him, or was too busy in the relatively high surf to notice him. She had no board; not even a Boogie board. Odd, Mick thought. Nevertheless, she caught every wave she went after, and could spin and go down the line at will. And she was fast.

Mick settled his gear, pulled on his suit, and went to join the mystery woman in the surf. He struggled to get close enough to speak to her or even get a good look at her. He failed. She was in a hooded wetsuit, and spent far more time underwater or in the curl than she did bobbing waiting for the next wave. Again, she either ignored or didn’t see his attempts to say hello. It was hard for Mick to blame her. The surf was really going-off, with one clean peeler after another. There was little sense in wasting time on such a day doing anything but catching waves.

Eventually, Mick gave up trying to get the woman’s attention and enjoyed the break himself. He surfed until his hands and feet were numb, and his arms were so tired they felt as if they might fall off. As he waded through the whitewater back to the beach, he looked for the shapely body surfer. She was nowhere to be seen.

Mick pitched camp and scrounged for dry driftwood for a fire. As he settled in to enjoy the sunset, some freeze-dried curry, and his flask of Oban Whiskey, he spied a dark form on the far end of the beach. It was the girl. He squinted through the fading light. He saw her peel off her hood, whereupon a mane of long, brilliant red hair cascaded to her waist. Mick spit out a precious mouthful of his Scotch with what came next.

The woman stripped off her wetsuit in a few fluid movements to reveal her full, naked body. He could make out no details from that distance other than her alabaster skin and the blaze down between her legs. She suddenly looked in his direction. Her gaze lingered. Mick felt as if he was a peeping Tom and turned away for a moment, but quickly felt drawn to look again. He caught sight of her large, round bottom as she slipped behind some rocks. He expected to see her emerge in a few moments in jeans and a jumper, but she never did. She must have a camp up on the bluff, he thought to himself

As Mick waited for the Milky Way to appear, he was startled when he heard the sound of beach rocks scraping and knocking together. It sounded as if an animal or a human was approaching. What the hell, he thought as he gathered a rock and pulled it to a martial position. When a form stepped into the flickering light of the fire, he dropped the rock. It was the girl. And, she was still naked. She stared at Mick without a word.

“Hello, lass,” Mick finally managed. He was very confused and very excited. She spoke to him in a thick, old-fashioned Gaelic. It was like the archaic speech of the old hermits from the Highlands. He didn’t understand a word. She pointed at his sleeping bag in the tent.

“Oh, of course!” Mick said as he stood and quickly stepped to grab the down quilt. He began to wrap it around his gorgeous, nude visitor. She shook her head and unwound the bag from her shoulders and spread it out on the sand in front of the fire. She pointed at Mick. He looked at her, confused. She pointed at the bag.

“I’m sorry, lass, but I have no idea what you’re on about,” Mick said with frustration.

With that, the red-haired, naked beauty lay down upon the blue nylon. She turned onto her side. Mick sighed as he took in her bountiful curves. Large, toned thighs tapered up to her broad hips, then swept down along her narrow waist, and up again to her large, fertile breasts. She flipped her ginger hair and looked up at Mick with imploring blue eyes. When Mick hesitated, the girl rolled to her back. She placed her arms behind her head as a pillow, opening her full chest for his view. But, it wasn’t until she spread her legs and exposed her straight red down to the firelight that Mick finally got the message.

Mick shook his head in disbelief and then tore at his clothes and lay upon the mysterious beauty. She wrapped her thick thighs around him as they kissed. She was awkward at first, but soon opened her mouth to him with passion. Mick ground his cock and balls against the softness of her cinnamon mound. He cradled one of her large breasts in his hand and drew her long, hard nipple into his mouth.

The girl groaned and arched into Mick. She whispered something in her odd Gaelic with a desperate tone. Mick switched tits, prompting her to moan more ancient babble as she dug her nails into his back.

“Damn, lassie, you are fire,” Mick groaned as he worked his thick cock head against the girl’s hair-covered lips. She reached down and pulled her lips apart, easing his entry. Her core was warm, and smooth, and delightfully snug. He alternated between her stiff nipples and full lips as he thrust into her with increasing vigor. The woman’s full rump elevated her pussy such that Mick had great leverage. He could pressure her clit and g-spot easily, and from a variety of angles. I don’t think I’ll ever fuck a skinny girl again, Mick thought to himself, as their mutual pleasure built.

A look of near surprise came over the girl’s face as Mick felt her tighten around his cock. He thrust harder, and faster, as he, too, was in the edge of climax. She locked eyes and nodded quickly, as if encouraging both of their bodies to convulse together. At last, she arched against him, driving her clit against his groin as he ground against her.

“Aaaaaaah!” She moaned as her full body twisted away from the pleasure. Mick withdrew, spraying her pale belly and breasts with his fragrant spunk. With a sigh, the redheaded beauty rubbed his essence into her soft skin. They drifted off to sleep, wrapped together in the sleeping bag.

An hour or two later, Mick was awakened by a chill. He rose to restore the fire, stoking the embers and adding some driftwood. The woman raised herself on one arm and whispered in her indecipherable language. Mick had little doubt about what she meant, however. And, when the water vixen pushed the quilt away and opened her legs, his assumption was confirmed.

They kissed deeply. Mick gently directed the girl onto all fours. The sight of her full, heart-shaped arse and narrow waist was enough to make him fully hard. She tossed her mane and looked back at Mick with a hungry smile as he slid back into her velvet folds. She elicited a sigh, followed by a whimper, and then a desperate groan as he filled her. Mick caressed and squeezed the globes of her ass as he fucked her.

When he grasped her waist and began to move in passionate earnest, the girl responded, in kind. The two pounded into one another, bringing themselves to a mutual orgasm as if they had been lovers for months, rather than hours. This time Mick came in the cleavage of her gorgeous arse, and they collapsed together, happily.

Mick rose with the first hint of light. The mystery girl barely stirred as he stoked the fire and boiled water for breakfast. He walked the beach, looking at the break, but mostly he tried to process the magical experience of the previous night. She made no sense. With her archaic language, she, literally, made no sense. But he felt as if he was already in love with her. At the end of the beach, he saw her wetsuit in a pile. He walked to it with a disapproving shake of the head. Not the way to treat your gear, lassie, he thought.

He picked up the suit. It was heavy — much heavier than his own. And it was incredibly soft, like the finest, softest fur. It was the skin of a seal. He dropped the “suit” with a shock. Stories his mother had told him when he was wee came flooding back to him.

“A selkie!” Mick hissed out loud. He looked about in manic confusion. How could this be? What is happening? Mick asked himself over and over. He couldn’t explain it, but acted as his mother’s stories had taught him. If the selfie recovered her skin, she would be gone forever. Mick bundled the pelt and hid it in the rocks.

When he returned to camp the girl — the selkie — was awake and happy. In the light, her naked body was even more beautiful. He held her pretty face and kissed her. The selkie returned the kiss with now-practiced passion. They shared tea and oatmeal, and then succumbed again to their young lust.

This time Mick had to sample her ginger pussy. The selkie at first giggled, but soon moaned, as Mick nuzzled her thick down away from her inner lips. Mick moaned as well, as he tasted her briny tang for the first time. She involuntarily wrapped her strong thighs around Mick’s head as she spasmed with a squeal. Without prompting, she returned the favor, tonguing Mick’s weeping cock as he stood over her. Mick guided her gently, as she sucked his head. When she looked up at Mick with adoring blue eyes, Mick lost it.

“Mmmmmm,” the selkie moaned as Mick released into her warm mouth.

After kissing and cuddling for a time, the break began to peel. The tide had arrived, and with it the clockwork waves. Not even a beautiful, lustful redhead could keep a surfer from the water in these kinds of conditions. When Mick began to pull on his wetsuit, the beautiful selkie broke into a bright smile and raced toward where her skin had been. Mick could see her confusion and distress as she could not find it.

Mick paddled into the waves. As he bobbed on the outside, he looked back at the beach. The selkie knelt at the surf’s edge, her face in her hands. She’ll get over it, he tried to tell himself. When the selkie looked to the sky and let out a heartbroken wail, he knew she would not.

With heartbreak of his own, Mick recovered her skin from its hidden spot. When he handed it to her, the selkie looked at him with teary blue eyes. They embraced one last time before she disappeared into the sea, forever.