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The sun was unbearable that day. It beat down so fiercely that, at times, it felt like it was doing so on purpose - trying to burn you all up and leave nothing behind but eight piles of ash. Besides, the shade offered no relief; it was so incredibly hot even there that sweat would start dripping from your brow after just a few minutes. Your only salvation would have been a fridge or a freezer - depending on the appliance's size and whether it held anything of interest, though if not, you could always try squeezing yourself inside. It was, after all, a way to maintain a normal body temperature and avoid the risk of heatstroke or any of the other hazards that came with sitting out in the sun and the sweltering heat.
Paul had asked you to join him, his friends, and their wives for a trip to the beach. It was no big deal - you knew his bandmates and their wives... What could possibly go wrong? Right. You had to put on a swimsuit and sit on the scorching sand, hoping you wouldn't melt away in that blistering heat.
Watching three women having fun with their husbands was actually a fun thing. At first, you thought it would be a pain in the ass, watching them all happy and busy, but after a while, it turned out to be a pretty satisfying thing to watch. Despite this fact, Paul didn't join in fooling around with John in the sea or helping the women collect shells; he wasn't interested while you sat under the umbrella, wrapped in a towel, refusing everyone. That's how it was; anyone who suggested anything that required you to leave your towel behind was met with an immediate refusal. It was nice of them not to push, but McCartney planned to change that.
He hovered around you for a long time, sometimes throwing a pretty rock or shell nearby to get your attention, but you wouldn't budge. At times, you felt like a wild animal your partner was trying to tame!
"Paul, can you… Stop?" You asked, frowning and grimacing at the man, who immediately hid his hands behind his back, pretending to be a real angel. "I'm not a pet to be tamed." Your comment only made Paul sit down on the sand and shift just enough so your shoulders were touching. This guy didn't understand the concept of personal space when it came to you. It was like bargaining with a child.
"I'm doin' nothin’ but tryin' to get me 'ead round why me missus won't come out of her shell and 'ave a boss time with the rest of us." He drawled, leaning his cheek against his knees, which he hugged to his chest. He tried to adopt a similar position to yours, which he was doing quite well. He didn't have the towel you stubbornly wrapped around you, though.
Not even knowing how to answer your partner, you gave an infantile shrug and turned your head away so you wouldn't even have to look at him. You hoped that if you started by ignoring him, he’d just give up and go back to the others. But Paul was stubborn - just like a mule. You even pictured him as a mule sometimes; there was hardly any difference between them - he was just missing the ears and the tail... And the hooves. And probably a few other things - you didn't know much about donkey anatomy, after all. Why on earth were you even thinking about donkey physiology when the sun was trying to roast you alive and your husband wouldn't leave you alone for a second?
“Talk to meee…” McCartney drawled, poking you in the side; you jumped and immediately shot him a grimace - yet another one that day. “Don't frown, ya'll get wrinkles, y’know.” He said this while poking your side, already sore from his antics, again, only to stick his tongue out at you at the end. Annoying. So, so annoying. You didn't even have the energy to fight him anymore! You just huffed and managed to roll your eyes before Paul even managed to poke you once again or drop some remark that will completely throw you off balance.
“Jus’ don’t feel like it.” You said it, even though deep down you knew that, firstly, it wasn’t entirely true, and secondly, Paul would keep digging - because for him, a few words of explanation were nowhere near enough. As fate would have it, you had tied the knot with a man who needed a whole dissertation from you on how you were feeling, why you felt that way, and what he could do to change it (if it was a negative feeling) or help you sustain it (if it was something like happiness). Mind you, you didn’t regret the decision, but he could simply be infuriating with that inquisitive nature of his - even though you knew he meant well and didn’t intend any harm! Not to mention how terrible you felt if you snapped at him or got offended just because he wanted to know how you were feeling... That was probably the worst part of it all.
A silence fell between you for a moment, broken only by the laughter of Paul’s bandmates or their wives, as they enjoyed themselves with their partners - good for them! You, however, wrapped your towel tighter around yourself and looked away from the group you had actually come to the beach with, people who were clearly having a wonderful time. All the women looked so lovely - not to mention how stunning Pattie looked... God, you could tell she was a model! You couldn't get over how great Maureen and Cynthia looked, too; after all, both already had children, and - let’s be honest - their bodies had changed a bit. But it was beautiful! Why could you see beauty in others, in their bodies, but not in your own? You couldn't figure it out at all; how was it possible? Maybe it was the swimsuit - perhaps you’d chosen a style that didn't suit your figure? Or maybe it was the color that made you loathe your own body? No, it was just a plain white suit, one of the most neutral colors a swimsuit could possibly be…
“You're gazin' at 'em more than their fella's are, what's up with you, luv?” Paul asked, and only then did you realize that he had been watching you the whole time - not his friends' wives, not the shapely girls milling about nearby, but you. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin, resting his cheek against one of them, and gazing at you so intently that - had you not already wrapped yourself tightly in your towel - you would have pulled it even closer around you.
“’m not.” You scoffed at him, knitting your brows as you looked back at him and mirrored his posture; you were staring at each other like two idiots in love, copying one another’s movements. Soon, his arm wrapped around your shoulders; he shifted closer and rested his head against yours, as much as the height difference allowed.
“Ye’re the most beautiful bird in all of England… No, on the whole planet, y’know?” He asked, not expecting an answer yet fully prepared for you to deny it. He knew all too well what that intense scrutiny of other women meant in your case. He saw how closely you sized up their bodies, how you clutched your towel around yourself - contrary to appearances, he wasn’t stupid, even if you sometimes told him he was. He knew you didn’t mean it literally - that it was just playful banter - but still, he wasn’t stupid.
You didn't respond to his words, firmly convinced he was being polite, even though you were married. Maybe he just wanted you to stop sulking and join him in the others' antics?
"Quit saying that, Paul." You hummed, not entirely convinced by his words.
“Oh, you quit it! All you’ve done since we got here is wrap yerself in a towel and sit in the shade like some sort of vampire! Come ’ed, get some sun on yer bones!” He let out a dramatic whine, grabbing the edge of the towel and giving it a gentle tug. At first, you resisted, refusing to let go of the fabric, but after three or four tugs, you gave in with a loud sigh.
“There you go! All pretty and lovely - look at you,” he cooed, gazing down at your body as he set the towel aside and used his now-free hand to stroke your thigh, then your waist and bust. He didn't care about the stares of others, but you certainly did! Blushing, you swatted his hand away.
“Paul!” You laughed out loud when your partner started touching you and just straight up admiring your body. To be honest, it really did make you feel so much better about yourself. You didn't think something so insignificant would affect how you felt, but as it turns out, it did.
“Ready to join the others?” Your partner asked and you hesitated for a moment. Even though the brief conversation with your beloved had lifted your spirits and you didn't feel quite as bad about your body as before, you didn't want to tear yourself away from him, so you shook your head.
“Not really, I’d rather stay here with you.” With that, you both snuggled closer together - despite the oppressive heat - and watched, smiling, as your husband’s bandmates and their wives went about their fun. Even though you were sitting off to the side and not the center of attention, you felt that this was exactly what you needed.