I am visiting in England and walking a boardwalk, looking for a place where English people are. I like to hear their accents. I get off the boardwalk because it feels rickety and walk on the dirt street. I walk up a couple of steps to the entrance to a series of cafes and shops. A woman is there and I speak and she's delighted because I'm an American. We talk and she invites me into a cafe to talk. I say, "I want to find the ocean." I look through a curtained window and think I see some waves, but it turns out to be a sort of waterfall cascading harmlessly on some rocks. I look further and far out past the marsh are some waves, the ocean. I go out and try to get closer and walk over to sit on a rock to see the ocean. Meanwhile a man sees me and falls in love with me, but he realizes I'm in danger and rushes out, yelling, "Get off the rock at once. Run here." I hear his scared tone and don't know why he's scared, but I obey, and as I run, huge waves of the ocean rush toward me and the rock and I narrowly escape being sucked out to sea by the tremendous backwash or riptide. I climb up the rocky bank and join the man. He and I stand very close together, me trying to get him to kiss me and him resisting in a shy, pure way. We walk to my room. I change clothes as he waits outside and he knocks on the door. I step out, all pretty in pink dress and heels (1950) and stand as close to him as I can. The pressure's on. He has a hard time resisting my charms, but his gentlemanliness wins out over desire. We go to tea.