FAIR WARNING THIS IS FICTION, and ADULT Themed. NAUGHTY WORDS AHEAD. NOT my usual garden stuff. Nor photography. ADULT fiction.
PLEASE take a moment and read,
PART ONE: Ocean Dreams: Part 1: Heart Ripped Assunder
PART TWO: Ocean Dreams: Part 2: Picking Myself Off The Deck
PART THREE: Ocean Dreams: Part 3: A Mystery To Me
“Can we talk?”
Perhaps not the smartest way to start any conversation.
Maybe it’s different for men and women, but when a man hears “Can we talk” it instills shear dread. Terror. We automatically assume something absolutely nasty is coming our way. In fact, I’d bet, in the history of, “Can we talk?” No good EVER came after that phrase. None.
So, I sat down near a very leery and guarded Waif. Sometimes I’d look at her and she was 18? Sometimes, younger? Sometimes, like now, she was older than I’d thought. She eyed me, equally worried, terrified,and angry. I had no idea what I did wrong, and had the instinct to apologize, for maybe the 100th time that day. I bottled that up.
My first words, were, “First, this is long overdue, but, we really need to clear the air. AND more than anything, I need to thank you, for saving me.” I could see her visibly relax.
“I have no idea what I was like that first night, or two. I have no idea how I managed to make the 100 plus mile trip to get to the boat that first day. No idea how I am even alive, given what I can only assume was a short distillery’s worth of who knows what I drank? So, thank you, for not letting me die. I mean that… thank you for taking care of me.”
I looked her straight in the eye, and tried to convey my sincerest thanks. I truly did owe her. No to overstate, but, I could easily have done something stupid, or stupidly dangerous. I could have hurt myself, or even much worse, someone else. She softened slightly. Well, her shoulders, which had been tight, and high, seemed to relax just a fraction.
“I really don’t know you that well, and I assume, you have no real idea who I am, too. But, thank you for taking care of a relative stranger that first night or two.”
“Of course” was all she said, in a small voice.
“I’m going to retell what I went thru, and maybe, if you could, fill in some of my missing moments…?” I looked at her. She nodded.
“I was at the neighbor’s house. Young guy, about 35 or 40. He lives… well, lived, behind us. Behind my family. He just died. He… he was a photographer, and someone was selling off the odds and ends of his house, while packing up and getting the house ready for sale.
"So, a yard sale, each weekend for a few weeks, while the people got the house ready for sale. I came across a bunch of his photos. He does some amazing sunsets, beach scenes, and more. Oh, and…” my voice faltered. I sat in some silence for a bit, trying to go on.
“It’s ok, you do need to get through this.” Waif said.
“Right. He takes some shots of girls. Models. Women, We… my wife and I used to mention once in a while how he seems to do ok with the ladies. He has quite a few over. Takes photos of them all the time. And I… he. He had…”
Deep breath. Deep. Close my eyes, and remember. Let it ALL COME back to me.
“I was thumbing thru the shots. All the women in his photos. Many of them were naked. Most were nicely shot. Classy. Many were only snippets. Some, no faces. Each woman, maybe a dozen photos. Sometimes only one. Sometimes a dozen or more.”
Breathe.
“I stopped at this one bunch. First, I noticed my back yard, the back of my house. All in the background. Then, I saw, the woman. She was beautiful. I love that tanned look. Legs with tans. Tanned bodies. She was also, … she was shaved. Bare. I saw that tattoo. It took a moment to sink in.”
Breathe again. My eyes closed, thinking back. The emotions hitting me the same. Raw emotion. Hatred. Nausea. Betrayal.
“My world is now in two. Before those photos. And After. Those photos.
"Before those photos, I was happily married. Dad, of two, a daughter and a son, Living with my best friend. So sure of my entire life, laid before me. I knew I would be together and grow old with this women. I KNEW IT!
“Now? My world has that vicious, sharp dividing line. When All my OLD ideas and plans, when my world was complete, when I knew for sure which way was up and what tomorrow would bring… it's all ended. Gone.
"Now? I can expect nothing. Count on nothing... for sure”
“Tell me again, about the photos? Are you sure? Absolutely?”
“YES!” I almost barked out. “She spent a few days deciding on the tattoo. I remember the weekend. In fact that whole week, she was out of sorts. She was so down for a few weeks. So, distant. She was depressed. Our son, was finally off to School. She was home, and thinking about returning to work. She was depressed. So, she said, she needed to do something. The Tattoo, I thought she meant...”
I stood, headed for the ice maker and some water, more to fill time, before I could continue.
“She came to me, later that night, and showed me that she had shaved. It was the last time she was bare.” Again, I almost broke down.
“She showed me that design she picked. Mostly something she had done herself. And told me, she was getting a tattoo. I didn't argue... She was clearly upset. Needed something to pull herself out of this. I mean, it’s a tattoo. Not the end of the world.”
“A tattoo? no… not the end of the world.” Waif agreed.
“So, a week or so later, she says, ‘Can I show you?’ I laughed. Of course she could. She peels her shorts off, Shows me the bandage. Clear bandage, and there it is, slightly blurred by the plastic, but a tattoo on her mons.
“Anyway, another couple weeks go by, and she’s changing, and I finally see it again. Only she’s got some of her, you know, she’s not groomed… well, not bare. she’s growing back in. A little. She’s keeping it trimmed, and away from the tattoo itself. But it is clearly there. To this day, I’ve never seen it completely bare. Well, in person.
But my neighbor did. And given the photo was taken immediately after she had had sex, he’d seen it in person, been there for the before and after, and shot it with his camera. Those photos… she was raw. Like recently had sex. Rigorous. Fucked Raw, in fact. She was red. And dripping with his…”
It only THEN dawned on me, who I was talking to and what I was saying. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate! So wrong. I am SO SO Sorry for my language!”
She laughed. Heartiest laugh I’d heard in a while. “Are you serious? A little blunt, but, hey, I’ve heard and said much much worse, myself!"
"So, yeah, that first day, maybe dinner time, you had pulled up to the marina. A couple paper bags in hand and climbed aboard. Odd, cuz, until now, you had always called to let them know when you were coming to get you boat prepped. I was doing some work a couple boats away, and thought nothing of it. I finished, and was heading out when I saw you, leaning over the transom, losing your lunch!” She laughed.
“Sorry, I know, not nice of me, to laugh while you were getting sick, so, I thought I’d make my way over and see if you were ok?” As I got closer, I could see, you were drunk, which I suppose was alright. When I first saw you, I hoped it wasn’t something serious… and I’ve seen one or two people get blind stinking drunk. You were just finishing round 2, or who knows how many, at this point, who knows, over the edge of the boat. I asked if you were ok, but you were NOT exactly in shape to give a legit answer. I hopped aboard, and saw, three empty small bottles of bourbon. Luckily not full sized, but still, NOT smart.” She looked at me, and I smiled sheepishly and shrugged.
“I asked again what’s wrong and you started swearing, crying, and told me we needed to get as far away as we could. You were very serious. Upset. Swearing, and well, I couldn’t tell what. I told you give me a sec, and left the boat to grab my stuff, my Blue: my cat, and some supplies.
Maybe 15 minutes later, I am back at the boat, and you’d already untied the bow line. Boat wasn’t even running. What the hell?
No way was I letting you do any more. I pushed you into a seat in the lounge, and got the boat ready to get fired up. Did some prep, got us ready to get underway. Maybe an hour total from the time I first talked to you, until we were motoring away. At that point, you said “SHIT” and ran off to the head. I figured you’d be ok, and I’d check on you, soon, but, we were underway, in the marina, and I needed to make sure the boat was safely out of harm's way.”
“Yeah, I… well, I had some memories, off and on, maybe the cat’s ass. Maybe a few more times awake. But, not a lot. I was passed out, for much of it. So, you took us out at dinner time, and made a run, solo, from Cape Cod, to …?”
“I headed for the canal, and stopped us inside, anchored at a place I know back in Falmouth. Good people. They owed me a favor. Then, I checked on you, slept off and on in the pilot house. Made the run down to Mystic, that next day, and spent the night there. Again, some people I know, and they owe me.”
“How do you know everyone? Why does everyone owe you?”
I couldn’t believe this woman. She took this boat, basically single handed, no small feat in a 47 footer, including a couple of long days, and some night time navigating. Not even hers… and she handled it fine. I asked her, in awe, “Who are you?”
“Maybe it’s my turn to tell you a little about myself?”
