The girls laugh and grin and Roger cannot resist their charms. He learns that they are art students, and that they think he'd look great in marble. The girls' sharp fingernails feel erotic as they slide over Roger's bare skin. They linger on his right nipple.
Then one says, "Hey, Roger, will you let us bury you in the sand?"
"Yes, do!" pleaded the other girl.
They both tugged at Roger and before he knew it had been knocked down on a patch of sand between two pink beach towels. Shovels were flying and Roger's head was the only thing left sticking out of the heavy sand. He noticed that this sand appeared coarser than the stuff covering most of the beach. He also noticed that each towel rested on the edge of a wooden plank buried in the sand. It was almost like the girls had buried him in a box of sand that they had buried on the beach. But that didn't make sense.
Roger noticed that the girls had gone over to get one of the four large coolers they had at their beach site. They opened the lid and poured water out on top of the sand. There was nothing in the cooler except water. Roger moaned as the water added to the weight of the sand imprisoning him. For the first time, Roger realized that the amount of sand covering him had made him totally immobile. What were the girls up to? They added two more coolers of water- well, really only one and half, then they produced trowels and started smoothing out the sand covering Roger.
"Hey, girls what gives? I'm getting tired of being buried in the sand."
"Get used to it big boy, and that's not sand it's concrete cement. The quick drying type."
"Wha-" Roger exclaimed, but his shout was cut off by the nearest girl emptying a trowel full of cement into his open mouth.
They worked quickly to completely encase Roger in the wet cement. He was gasping for air as they slammed the trowel down over his face leveling the concrete. He heard one of the girls exclaim, "Dang, I almost forgot."
A sharp pain pierced his chest through the wet cement. A burning liquid began to filter through his flesh. Roger no longer had to breathe. He felt warm, safe, and sleepy. Not a care in the world. No concern that he'd been sealed in concrete by two strange women. He fell asleep.
A few hours baking in the sun, and the concrete block was solid enough to move. It was no hard task for the two cute young women to con a half dozen frat boys into loading their block of concrete containing Roger on to their pick up truck.
As the two girls finished packing up their beach gear, they laughed about Roger, and the concrete block.
"Professor Dorff is always going on about how we have to find the sculpture inside the stone or wood. It's so much easier, if you put it there first," laughed Lila.
"Oh, Lil," Robin said suddenly, "Should we have removed his swim trunks first?"
"Oh, you're right! Well, it's too late now, we'll just have to be careful not to carve that part of the concrete when anyone else is around..."
"Okay, let's go then it's getting chilly."
The two girls climbed in the truck cab and drove off. The lurch of the truck moving woke their sleeping victim.
Where am I? thought Roger. I'm not breathing, am I dead? The clouds lifted from his mind. He wanted to scream but there was concrete in his mouth. The hours of silent darkness stretched into a blur. His whole body felt heavily laden. He could not breathe. He could not move. He felt at one with the concrete. Roger found solace in sleep, dreaming that he was free to move, but he kept waking to the nightmare of his living tomb.
The sound of a chisel against the concrete tomb brought both the exhilaration of hope, and the terror of what may follow.