Take Me Deeper

ONE “Son of a - ” What he’d do to have an old-school phone that he could slam down hard, instead of this little, thin, black thing that does what you tell it to when you tap an icon on the screen. He swerves his BMW i8 right, into his driveway, slamming on brakes just a hand’s length away from the garage door. He turns the ignition off then hits his back against the seat, pulling his hand up to his styled, short, jet-black hair. He thrusts his fingers into it then clasps the top of his head, as he closes his eyes tight and clenches his jaw. It’s growing dark outside. His outside automatic-timer lights turn on, lighting-up the spiral-patterned, stone driveway lined with rose bushes. He opens his eyes and looks across at the stairs to his front door. The Anubis hound statues either side of the staircase stare forward over his lush green, trimmed, garden as they wish they could leap from their cement frames and engage in a chase with a wild hare. From inside, his Dobermans bark - happy that Daddy is home. He sighs, puts his phone in the back pocket of his Calvin Klein jeans then yanks his Maxwell Scott designer briefcase from the passenger seat as he steps out the car. Opening the front door with the keypad alongside it, he braces himself for the greeting he’s about to get from both of his Dobermans. A quick fuss then to the kitchen, to pour himself a Bourbon - straight. He throws it back then pours another, throwing that back, too, then hitting the glass down on the marble-surfaced table. A message comes through on his phone – Hi, sweets! Don’t forget that voucher for Giorgio Armani you promised me last week. You know I earned it in sweat, you hound-dog! See you Friday? Book at that Teppanyaki place – I heard Drake’s booked there for the night, so Sandra says! OMG, I’m tots into him. Gonna wear my lace dress, no bra – oh yeah, baby! TTFN. Kisses! He feels ill, about to drop his phone on the table, but another message comes through. Did you get the email re: the termination of our contract? Please respond soonest. Ugh – he tightens his grip around his phone; any tighter and it‟ll crack. He puts it down on the table, pours another double then turns to head for his bedroom, wanting to take a shower. His phone beeps again – another message. You are hereby requested to appear in court over the matter of Jokansen versus Whiteman. Date: December third. Time: 10.30am. Please be advised this is mandatory not optional. Failure to comply will lead to arrest. “Fuck!” he throws his phone hard, aiming it at the wall but it hits the window instead and flies straight through. “Aaargh!” He kicks at one of the bar stools then another, then another, until all six of them are flat on the ground… three of them with their legs broken off. His Dobermans cower and slink underneath the table, looking-up at him, not sure why their Daddy is so angry. He sees them. “Shit – no, no, come on guys, come on out – I‟m sorry…” They leopard-crawl out from under the table, tails between their legs, turning over onto their backs. “The monster’s not meant for you two – it’s meant for them…” he says, stroking their bellies then running his hands over the tops of their heads. “I’m sorry – I just… ugh - ” he sighs “ – they can all go fuck themselves.” After a shower and a weed-spliff, he lies down naked on his king-size bed. Above it on the ceiling is a mirror with dimmed, crystal, LED lights around it. His Dobermans sleep in their beds alongside him, content that Daddy’s calmed now. An owl outside hoots in harmony with the crickets. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, because he knows exactly what tomorrow will bring. And if he’s going to face any of his commitments he’s going to end-up arrested for assault – no doubt about it. Seeing his own naked body resting on beige silk sheets, in the mirror above him, he wonders off for a moment, deeper into what he can see. He’s a machine, every woman’s one-stop-orgasm-shop. He’s a billionaire by inheritance but he works damn hard. He could’ve been where he is now without his uncle’s money… maybe. He pauses in thought, remembering something - something that came with his inheritance. He’s never considered it, besides as a property to sell. But he tried that already – no one would pay full-asking price, and he does not, under any circumstances – ever - bargain. It’s a screwed-up rat’s nest on some God-forsaken beach in Scotland somewhere – some island; he can’t even remember the name. Still naked, he gets-up then walks through the upstairs passage to his study, where he keeps all his files, contracts, documents – stuff he might need someday. He claps his hands once, twice, to activate the lights then dim them. Sitting with his bare buttocks on his carved-oak table, he opens a folder; some documents held together with a paperclip. As he does, so three photographs fall from it; one – a picture of the stone-house on the white-sand beach; nothing but clouds around – dull, boring, grey, although the white sand and green hill behind it look calm. The second; another image of the same old piece-of-junk house from behind – there's no backdoor, which means it’s probably home to some wild vermin or vagrant – same thing to him. The third; a picture that looks to be taken from the front of the house, looking over at the rocks, upon which sits a seal. Hmm, he thinks nothing of them as he drops them on the table. He stands to his feet then walks to the window. It’s dark outside but his garden lighting shines on his tailor-cut hedges and lavender – the willow tree in which an owl sits hooting. “Shut-up, bird,” he says as he turns to walk back to the kitchen to pour himself another double. Out of habit he looks for his phone, but then remembers he’d not fetched it from outside when he’d thrown it out the window earlier. Still naked he walks to the patio to pick it up. It’s trashed – the screen, just a mess of cracked pixels. Back in the kitchen, he removes the SIM and inserts it into another phone of the same model. He has five in his drawer; he has a thing for smashing phones.

It activates. More messages, all from people he couldn’t care less about and wishes weren’t even alive.

He crosses his arms, leans back against the kitchen table, still naked. He needs a timeout, somewhere no one will find him. He’s going to his inherited stone-pile-of a-beach-house in Scotland… right after he’s slept a wink.

TWO On the runway at the airport, his personal jet readies for take-off. He enters a CC’d message into his email, telling everyone on his contact list he’ll be away on business; back on Monday. His Dobermans are used to flying, comfortable and curled-up on the back passenger seat. He’s ordered his Scotland branch manager to purchase him a small car and leave it at the runway in Scotland. He doesn’t know why he’s even doing this, he just knows he can’t take anymore of ‘this’ life right now. They’re all money-grabbing, ball-licking pricks and sluts, he thinks to himself. His initial instinct is to spend his flight plotting some or other kind of revenge on all of them; something that would shut-them-the-fuck-up. But his ears begin to pop, forcing him out of his thoughts. He’s going to switch-off his mind for the next seventy-two hours; just pretend his life isn’t what it is. He arrives at the stone cottage late afternoon. It’s miserable as fuck. “God – no wonder no one wants to buy this dump,” he says as he walks through the non-existent backdoor. His Dobermans are running-up a storm, chasing gulls and terns on the beach. He smiles an inch, at least they’re enjoying it. He tosses his bag into the room – that’s all it is; one big rectangle with some kind of fireplace, a moth-eaten bed, and a hanging curtain in the corner. What’s behind the curtain… a square box with a hole, covered in webs; dry… a toilet, he presumes. He sees a single sink and tap, in the corner under a window with the torn curtain, closed. He checks it to see if it’s even got water running through it. As he turns the tap… nothing. Then, suddenly, a burst of brown liquid flushes from the spout, hitting the sink, spraying all over his down-feather jacket. “Fuck!” he shouts, turning it off with a jerk. Frustrated, he rips the curtain open and takes a deep breath. As his eyes set on the horizon, the sun soon to set over the deep, dark-blue ocean, his frustration seems to subside for just a moment. He gazes across the surface of the water. He’s aware he’s not been near the sea since he was a kid - as a memory of playing with his mother on their wooden boat comes back to mind. It’s a memory he won’t forget, but also a useless one because she’s dead anyhow. He takes another deep breath and steps backward, then pulls his phone from his back pocket. He’s already saved the number of a handyman in the town – had said he’d call when he arrived to put-up a door and fix… whatever. The handyman arrives half an hour later. There’s no electricity, though. The handyman takes him to a stone-block, box-type-thing off the side of the house. “Thought you could do with some of this…” he says, holding-up a gallon-bottle of petrol. He opens the wooden lid of the stone-box, revealing a rusty generator. He fills it with fuel then, after the third or fourth attempt, gets it running. “No chance I’m having that thing running through the night.” “Well, I’m going to need it if I’m to hitch a door, lad – and the pipes. Can’t see a thing in this wee light.” “Fuckit – I’ll take a drive and get a lamp or something? Is there one?” “A lamp?”

“No,” he rolls his eyes, “a store – is there a store open at this time?” “Well, I’m sure Henderson has one in his fish-shop – he’s open; cutting-up his catch so it’s ready for tomorrow. You know he makes a blasting fish and chips…” Blasting? What the fuck? “Great, thanks.” He pulls a fifty-pound note from his leather wallet and gives it to the handyman. “I’ll be up at sunrise; can you fix all this shit tomorrow?” The handyman’s eyes light-up at seeing the note. “Of course, it’d be my pleasure!” he grins. As he turns to walk away – “don’t be bothered by the sounds of them seals, by the way. It’s mating season, you know… they just go into a frenzy and - ” “Yeah, great,” he interrupts the handyman, not too sure he wants to hear his interpretation of seal-mating season. He calls to his Dobermans then gets in his car – off to get something to eat and a lamp. God only knows what kind of critters come out in the dark in this place. He wakes-up to the sound of whales calling, moaning, talking deeply to one another. As he opens his eyes he sees where he is. A little smile, knowing no one could find him here; he doesn’t even bother to check his phone like he usually does every morning. The Dobermans are sprawled out over the silverfish-eaten carpet on the ground, on their backs - not a care in the world. He gets-up out of the single spring-bed, naked but feeling the chill. He reaches for his bag and pulls out a pair of track-pants and a hoodie, then throws them over his now dusty body. He’ll take a swim later. Remembering the handyman will be coming, he wants to take a jog on the beach before he arrives. On the cold beach, it’s cloudy and grey again. But there’s not a living soul around. With his Dobermans, he stretches then sets his body into jog-mode. He’s barefoot, feeling the chill of the water under his feet. It’s a shock to the system… but a pleasing one. He’s run for about a kilometer now; his little dilapidated cottage, just a spec in the distance. The beach goes on for miles, though, with green hills and smooth, jutting rocks to the right – no road, just land. He turns to run back – he’ll go as far as the rocks on the other side then head back to the ‘hut’. Approaching the rocks his silence is startled by grunt, a deep grunt and then a moan. He jolts, nervous as he sees a massive seal basking on the rocks. He looks back at the stone-house. It’s not far – he could run back if the seal tries to chase him – if they even do that kind of thing. He watches it for a while then notices three or four more behind the bigger rocks. They’re not pretty to him, just arbitrary sea mammals. A splash in the water, he turns to see what it is. A much younger seal, a little prettier than the others – probably a female. “Yeah, babe, you better get the fuck away from those horny bastards,” he smiles to himself. Hoot-hoot – he turns to see the handyman’s arrived, so jogs back with his hounds close on his heels. Time to fix the place up just a little, so it at least has a door. The handyman brought a broom with him, too. But it’s doubtful he’s going to offer to sweep the place. By lunch the handyman’s gone. Actually he did sweep the house, for which he was given another fifty. He’d probably clean the toilet, too, for another – work for that kind of pay is obviously scarce here. Still mostly grey outside, the Dobermans rest on the sand in-front of the house. “What do you think?” he asks them. “Better than our palace back home?” The Dobermans sigh a deep sigh – chasing birds and breaking waves sure beats sitting in a marble-floored kitchen all day, even if their food is dished-up on silver platters. A small patch of sun opens-up in the sky, revealing the blue he’s used to seeing back home. It’s time for another run. Despite the cold, the bit of sun coming through is warm – he’ll run without his shirt on this time. If anything it’ll toughen him up – feel invigorating. Curious about the seals, he heads right this time, to the rocks. He sees the males sprawled-out, flippers lifted, warming their hearts, taking full advantage of the sun’s rays that shine through – probably only happens once a week… a month… here. The Dobermans’ ears suddenly prick-up. They’re sniffing the air. Without a second thought, they dart forward, all muscles hammering the sand as they race to an outcrop of rock. “Guys, hold up, come back…” He runs after them. “Oh God, don’t go catching a fucking seal-pup or something – you’re only going to bite it then leave it to die – come back…” He whistles a sharp, harsh, loud whistle. They stop. “Good dogs,” he says, slowing down as he reaches where they’re standing, now looking like pointer dogs at a small cove of sand between tall boulders. “What?” He peers into the cove. “What the fuck are you looking at?” He takes a step into it. It’s not much bigger than three-by-three meters. He notices a small tunnel or space on the ground, between the rocks ahead to his right. It’s big enough for the dogs to crawl through, but not big enough for him. He kneels down. The tide’s going out but the sand is damp, as though the water comes through that tunnel at high-tide. He can’t see anything. He needs to crouch down lower. He rests his bodyweight down onto his stomach, feeling the moist sand on his sweaty skin. He can see through to the other side of the tunnel. It’s more like an overhang between the boulders, but the water’s not far off. “Did you see something go through here?” he asks his Dobermans. But they’ve forgotten about what they saw – they’ve found some more gulls to chase instead. As he readies to push himself back-up, he notices something brown, furry, soft… just a piece of something behind the shallow overhang, on the right. He belly crawls as deep into the crevice as he can, then reaches his arm toward the brown furry whatever-it-is. His fingers touch it. Quickly he pulls his hand back. It could be a seal-pup, and they have teeth. But it doesn’t flinch – no sound – no movement. He tries again, this time wrapping his thick fingers around it and giving it a jerk. It moves with his pull, willingly; doesn’t appear to be heavy or attached to anything. One jerk, another, then another - he pulls his body backward on his knees, not letting the brown fur go. One last tug and it’s through the gap. He lands backward, still on his knees. Feeling it with his fingers – it is fur… a seal skin? He turns it over and inside out. There’s no blood on it – it looks like someone’s coat, however uncool that may sound. He lifts it toward his face. Whatever it’s from it doesn’t stink. It’s big – he could cover at least his shoulders and torso with it. He runs his hand over it, over the sand, dusting it off to get a better feel of the fur. It’s so soft, like velvet, but he can’t understand why there’s no… no blood on it. There’s holes for the eyes and mouth – nose – flipper extensions, but it’s been ripped right down the middle, not cut. “Yeah, okay, well - I guess I’m taking this,” he mumbles to himself. He’ll use it for cushions or a hat – maybe a waist-coat. Whatever – it’s cool.

THREE Still on his knees about to turn and stand to his feet… “Mine - ” he hears a voice. He jolts inside as he pulls a fist. There’s not meant to be anyone here. He turns sharply to face the exit of the cove, ready to pulverize anyone who’s about to jump him. He doesn’t hesitate; he’s an attacker – stands to his feet without saying a word. “Mine,” the voice comes again. It’s feminine, soft, almost lyrical – shy. He stands still. “If it’s yours come and get it,” he says, locking every muscle in his body. He can’t see anyone – is it even a female he can hear. or just some high-pitch-voiced psycho? A hand creeps slowly around the surface of the rock to his right, at the exit of the cove. He’s about to lunge forward and knock its lights out – whatever the hand belongs to - he does not like surprises. Following the hand - an arm - then a tuft of yellow, golden, hair above it. An ear, a cheek, an eye, a nose, a mouth, a face - but the last of the sun shines too brightly on it, to tell who it is. He clenches his jaw tightly, still holding-on to the seal skin. He blinks then shuns his eyes, a suspicious going-to-kick-your-ass stare. He blinks again, making sure he’s not imagining things. But you’d need an imagination to do that – he doesn’t have one. Slowly the other forearm, then upper-arm, then shoulder appear, followed by a naked hip and midriff. It’s a woman. She’s naked. She’s also the most beautiful female specimen he has ever seen. “Mine,” she says looking at the skin he holds, with tension in her eyes.

Oh fuck - he thinks. The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen is actually a psychotic bitch who skins seals. He holds it up. “This? This is yours? Why the fuck did you do this?” She frowns, confused. Her not answering bothers him. “You deaf? I said why did you do this?” He shakes the skin firmly. He’s got nothing against wearing the fur of an animal, but chicks shouldn’t be going around skinning animals and shit. It’s gross. “…And why the fuck are you naked?” he adds, wanting to barge past her, get her the fuck out of his way. But he hesitates, he’s unsure – she might have a knife or something in her other hand, now hidden behind the rock. She frowns and shakes her head, looking almost… sad. Oh God - not only is she a psycho, she’s got the ‘victim-thing’ going on now. He knows women too well. Not liking being backed-up in the cove anymore, he thrusts himself forward, ready to push her aside should she lunge for him. As he does, so she leaps to the side… her fully-naked body exposed, standing dead-still in-front of him now, blocking his exit. Had she not been so fucking beautiful, he would’ve decked her out of his way. He steps back… just a little. Her skin is white like a pearl. Her hair - short to her shoulders, wavy, thick with salt - matted yet bright. Her hourglass figure – tiny drops of water seem to slide down her bare breasts, her hips, her silky-smooth legs. She has no hair around her pubic mound – it’s just smooth… like latex – tight, her vaginal lips small and soft. He stands still, hormones activated. Fuck, she’s hot. But she may also be a psycho. He tries to forget the throbbing in his penis and focuses on her eyes, looking for that sadistic smile that usually accompanies horny immature bitches. Her eyes are startling green, the pupils inside - tiny. Her lips are rose-pink on her white face dotted with beige freckles around and over her tiny button-nose. “What do you want?” he asks firmly. He’s not falling for this shit again. He’s come here to relax and escape the money-grabbing penis-sucking slags back at home. Her expression still looks… sad. She swallows, as though trying to hide a deeper emotion. That’s his signal. Body language – the subtle swallow tells him she’s nervous. He learned that in his first meeting when he was elected CEO of his dead uncle’s company – he knows that feeling. He lowers his stance, relaxing just a little. “It’s okay.” He lifts his hand slowly. “But… tell me… what – what is yours?” he says a little more gently this time. She pushes her chin forward just a little, fixing her eyes on the seal skin in his hand. She raises the fore-finger on her right hand without lifting her arm that still hangs by her side. She seems to be pointing to the skin, but not too obviously. He looks at it. Again he can’t figure how it could be hers. Maybe it’s just better to give it to her and walk away. “This?” he says holding-up the skin for her to see. Her green eyes fix on the muscles in his arms. Slowly they widen. She then slowly but attentively runs her gaze over his muscular torso, his chest, his perfect pectoral muscles, down to his six-pack, pelvis, then stops at the waistline of his track-pants. “Yours?” she asks, looking-up into his eyes then down to his track-pants. The skin’s not his, no, but what else could she be talking about? He doesn’t answer. She’s waiting for an answer. “You - ” she pushes her chin forward again as she speaks, still staring at his chest, “ - you have skin on half only.”

What is she talking about? “I’m sorry?” he frowns with what-the-fuck eyes. “Skin, mine,” she points to the seal skin he holds in his hand. Her finger then moves down to point to his waist and legs – his track-pants. “Skin, yours.” He looks down to where she’s pointing. Is it his track-pants she’s talking about? “Uh – no… these are track-pants – ” She takes a step closer. He jolts a little, firming his muscles again. What does she want? “Track-pants… skin?” she asks. He frowns again. “No, track-pants… um… clothes?” She lifts her hand, standing a meter from him now, in the three-by-three meter cove. She reaches forward to his pants, touching them softly with her fingertips. Oh God – her body. He’s looking down over her perfect-sized breasts; her nipples hard from the slight chill. They’re glistening, wet. Her hair – her shoulders. He’s lost for a second in her beauty. She moves her fingers up to his pelvis, then reaches her forefinger between his pants and his skin. Slowly she pulls downward – his pants hooked to her finger. He lets go of the seal skin he’s been holding, as blood rushes to his lower back then fast to his head. He clenches his jaw tightly and breathes through his nose. What is she doing? Down over his hips, over his upper thighs, his pants fall to the ground. Naked he stands in-front of her, his head shuddering slightly from the tension racing through his body. She runs the tip of her finger back up his right thigh. Smoothly it moves over his pelvic bone, his hip, to his abdomen, stopping just a few centimeters from his pubic hair. She tilts her head backward to look-up at him. His suspicious, doubtful expression – it frightens her. She steps back fast – a look of fear and regret in her green eyes. “No,” he pushes his left arm toward her. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.” Whatever is happening to him now, it’s never happened this way before. FOUR His hand still held out in-front of him, trying to calm her, he tilts his head to the side. His facial muscles relax, wanting to show her that he means no harm. She looks at his hand then back into his eyes. Slowly she takes a step forward. He jolts inside. What is she doing? Another step closer, she lifts her left hand and holds it close to his. Gently she places her fingers around his strong large hand then pulls it, ever-so-slowly, to her heart. She rests it there, all the while looking into his eyes. He’s feeling tense – his jaw tightens again. Her eyes still peering sharply into his, she gradually pulls his hand from her chest, down to her soft supple breast. Her nipple is hard on the palm of his hand, then on the tips of his fingers. He feels he should look away and pull his hand back – she’s so innocent. But this feeling… there’s no restriction, no prickly chemical rush… surely there can be no wrong in what they’re doing. He knows wrong – it’s always felt wrong. But this time it doesn’t. Gently he squeezes his firm hand over her breast. They’re both beautiful, beautiful to the eye and to the touch. He quivers a little inside as a soft flow of light chemistry moves through his torso. His eyes close just for a second, then slowly open again. She moves his hand from her left breast to her right, then reaches her right arm upward, gesturing he give his other hand to her. He goes with it, lifting his right hand for her to take. Again she holds it to her other breast, then gently pushes down on them, urging him to caress her nipples, her tender chest, firm yet soft. She parts her lips as her eyes close for a moment, exhaling the softest of breaths. As she does so he leans-in closer. Her lips are glistening; he has to put his to hers. As he leans in a little more, she sharply opens her eyes wide. He ticks back a centimeter. Then she softens her eyes again, seemingly granting his advance. Feeling the barrier lift, he pulls his pelvis toward her, their abdomens just centimeters apart. Slowly, breathing as he does, he lowers his head as she lifts hers – their lips meet. They stay this way for a moment, feeling a warm fire run through both of them. Slowly she moves her tongue forward until it meets with his, inside his mouth. They touch – a spark. She moves her tongue in and then out between his lips - their mouths begin to dance a forbidden dance, all the while his big, strong, hands still caressing her breasts. They’re feeling weak now; the chemistry between them, strong. She begins to lower at her knees, pulling her mouth away from his - her eyes open, peering into his. She’s moving down, onto the sand, onto her knees. He moves his hands upward from her breasts, over her shoulder to her head. Her hair feels so dry yet so soft. He continues to look into her eyes; his penis now hard. She breaks eye-contact, only to push forward her slippery tongue from her mouth then gently run it over the tip of his erection. Instantly his eyes close. Oh God… His fingers push through her wavy, salty hair as she gently wraps her lips around him. Her warm tongue sends a vibration of soft power through his pelvis, into his lower back. Slowly she moves her head back and forth, back and forth, sucking with each pull back then gently coming-in for another. The tension in his lower back is too much – he’s knees like jelly now. Wrapping his left hand around the stem of his penis, he strokes her head with his right, clasping her hair, then stroking again… then gently he pulls back from her mouth. Still holding her head he lowers himself to his knees. They’re both on their knees now. They look at one another, breathing comfortably; the tension keeping them balanced. Letting go of himself he reaches between her legs, feeling her soft hairless mound then her hard clitoris, before moving his middle finger into her cravasse. Her head droops back, her left hand holding his shaft, and her right on his hip. Fingering her softly, he still strokes her hair. He leans down to kiss her neck, her head still leaning back as she begins to moan ever so-quietly. He moves his mouth from her neck to her ear, licking it, caressing it with his tongue. The muscles in his torso, tight and tense, holding her head, not wanting her to fall back as he now penetrates her lightly and slowly with two fingers. Her breathing deepens. Her hand on his hip begins to clasp, her fingernails leaving imprints in his skin, as her left hand continues to hold to his erection as she slides up and down slowly, running the tops of her fingers over his tip. She’s cumming over his fingers; he’s as hard as stone. Still licking her ear, breathing more firmly now, he slowly lowers the hand that holds her head, running it over her shoulder, then resting it on her shoulder-blade. She agrees by letting herself fall into his hold – slowly she lies backwards in the wet sand, still cumming in his hand. On his knees he pulls his hand out from behind her back, then urges her legs apart. He slowly leans over her. She can see his gentle yet nervous eyes through her moans and orgasm; her mouth open, her arms now to her sides in the sand. He rests his lips on her neck then slides his tongue over her collar-bone, moving downward, over her breasts. He slowly swirls his tongue around her nipples – once, twice, before sliding it down her stomach, to her abdomen, pelvis, then straight to her cum-wetness. Holding her upper-thighs now, he flattens his tongue, as though about to take a lick from a melting ice-cream. Using all the muscle in his tongue, he slides it, flat, up and down like a cat licking its paw. She clenches at the sand then reaches for his head, running her hands through his black hair, as gradually his head moves upward then downward, still lapping with his flattened tongue. The pressure builds in her pelvis, forcing her hips upward – she needs more. She’s groaning now through tight lips – quivering from the sensation, cumming in his mouth. He stops for a second, to watch the liquid in the last of the sun’s light. He feels floaty, yet as taut as a single rope keeping a cruise-liner anchored in a storm. The sight of her cum eking little by little from her hairless, soft opening, as her pelvis moves upward then downward like waves in the ocean, sends a forceful power through him. His penis, hard and full, pulses with a magnetic-like force that’s being pulled toward what he now watches. She lowers her hands from his head to grab his shoulders, pulling him upward. She must have him inside of her - now. He submits to her request. Her hands move over his shoulders, under his armpits, then slide down his ribs to his hips, as he moves his muscular sweaty body over hers, hovering there. Her eyes are closed, but as she feels his breath leave his lips only centimeters from hers, she thrusts her mouth toward his as she jerks on his hips, forcing his erection toward her. Their tongues swirl around each other’s as his tip meets with her nest. It enters her opening, slowly, then he pulls it a little way back again. Her hands rest now - no more grasping; that single sensation has shot a wave through her - the tension between them like distant lightning. “You want this?” he whispers as, again, he probes her soft cum-smothered entrance with just his tip, their tongues still intertwining “Yes.” Mmm – he moans, groans, a deep-throated rumble. Ahh-ah - she mutters then gasps, the tingling throughout her body so light yet so strong. He pushes his tongue into her mouth, his arms holding his body a breath away from hers; his chest just touching the tips of her hard nipples. “You sure?” he mutters again. Mmmm – she moans, tightening her grip around his hips a little more, as she pulls her head back. He slides his tongue over the bare skin on her neck, then tickles the tip of her ear with it. Mmm - he mumbles one last time, before pushing his shaft into her, deeper this time - and then out, then deeper again… then out. His movements are slow at first, but then he speeds up, bit by bit. He’s never felt so warm, solid, filled with erotic tension. In and out, in and out - he fucks her lightly. On each thrust she moans, tightening her own pelvis to heighten the sensation. They’re moving in perfect unison now - fucking passionately - their grip on each other locked like clamps. The buildup in his hips becomes too much, it’s time to let go – time to cum inside her. “I’m going to cum,” he says through tight lips, his neck taught – holding back is very hard. “Cum,” she says, breathing faster, her moans stronger and lower. He sighs fast, his arms almost hurting from having held his own body weight for all this time. He wraps his lips around hers then one, two, three forceful yet soft thrusts and he ejaculates. As he does so she holds his hips and exhales through the tiny gap in her lips… their tongues seemingly fucking each other, too. They’re holding tight to one another, as he rolls over then bears her weight on top of him now. She moves her hands to his head, running her fingers firmly through his hair as they continue to kiss. Slowly, slowly they’re carrying each other down from their passionate height. Waves of warmth like a fresh mountain breeze - warmth and caressing tenderness running through their veins. Water touches his feet. She can feel it, too. She raises her head, her chest and pelvis still pressed on his body. She turns to look back, then reverts her gaze back to him. There’s a sadness in her eyes. “The tide,” she whispers, as she gradually begins to pull herself off of him and backward. But he doesn’t want to let her go. She’s so beautiful. Never, ever, has he felt this way for a woman.

FIVE He won’t let her arms go. She pulls herself away a little harder. “I must go.” A tear seems to form in her eye… she looks so sad. “The tide – I must go.” She jerks her arms from his grasp, looking more sorry than anyone could. It’s as though there’s a piece of her heart joined to his chest, and a piece of his to hers. One last glance, she softens her eyes, turns her head, reaches for the skin that he’d first found, then darts through the opening in the cove now covered by water. The sea forces itself in through the hollow that was only moments ago open. The salty water washes over his feet; cold, wet… Using his hands he pushes himself upward to his knees. She can’t be gone. Where did she go? What the fuck is going on? He forces himself to his feet then runs to the other side of the rocks, hoping to see her in the water now. His Dobermans follow him, barking at the waves. He can’t see much. Suddenly… a flipper appears from the water - but only for a split-second. A crack of thunder breaks what was, until now, an ecstatic afternoon. It’s grey again; dark with the sun already set. Flashes of lightning over the horizon shudder on the navy-blue, deep-purple sand of the never-ending beach. She’s really gone. To his right his track-pants lay on the sand, saturated from the waves that have been washing over. He walks over to them, clenching his jaw, swallowing the frustration that seems to want to strangle him. He picks them up, squeezes them out then puts them on. He has no words; feels the same as a crack of bellowing thunder might – his spark has left – all he can do is roar and rumble inside – inside the darkness. He walks back to the dilapidated cottage, changes his clothes then lies down on the creaking, breaking spring-bed. On his back he crosses his hands over his chest, like it’s a coffin… then closes his eyes. He can’t get her out of his head. He sees her naked. He longs for her silky-smooth hairless skin, her open legs; her face as she orgasmed with him on top of her. He can feel her breath on his neck; hear her sweet moans. His body is throbbing. Were they fucking… or could it be… could it be that this was his first taste of… love? He falls into a deep sleep, reminiscing over her draped across him, not wanting to let the image of her out of his mind. He couldn’t escape these feelings if he tried. The sun is rising now. He’s been woken by the Dobermans chasing seagulls. He opens his eyes – wants to stand… but the pain in his chest. He needs to go back to the cove to see if she’s there – it’s low tide after all, maybe she will be. It’s cold but he doesn’t care. He thrusts himself up from the bed, reaches for his sweater, grabs it then makes his way to the cove; condensed steam leaving his lips as he runs. At the cove he stops - leans-up against the rock, looking for her under the opening between the rocks. There’s no water. Onto his knees he searches, trying to find her skin again. Nothing. Stepping out of the cove he walks briskly to the shoreline – maybe she’s in the water. Nothing. “Fuck,” he mutters, eyes looking sad, frustration feeling toxic in his chest. He grabs at his breast; a snarl in his expression. “Fuuuck!” he hollers harder this time as he kicks violently at the sand. His throat wants to close; sad, angry – he has to return home to his pathetic life in a few hours. He’d do anything… anything to see her again. He walks into the water, ankle high, knee high, waist high. The waves slowly run over his chest – he’s getting too deep to stand. His eyes look like a dog who’s been abandoned, tied to a pole with no food or water. He bites down hard – there’s no sign of her anywhere. He throws his head back. “Fuck!” he shouts again at the top of his voice, treading water now, sending all the gulls and terns flapping furiously away from the shore. Defeated he wades back to the shore, then carries his aching soul back to the house. Looking at his phone he sees it’s 8.30am – his flight leaves at 10.00am. A grown man crying, that’s what he is now. But – whatever - fantasy is not part of his fucked-up life – for all he knows, he was probably just dreaming. He’s dressed now, calling for the Dobermans – he needs to go if he’s going to make the flight to get back to the office and shit in time. The dogs know it’s time to go; they’re not too happy and slowly slink their way to the backdoor of the broken house. He has his bag over his shoulder, his hair still wet from running his head under the cold tap. Now… to find his keys. He searches around the bed, around the sink, under the little moth-eaten carpet – everywhere. “For fuck sake!” he curses as he kicks at the foot of the spring-bed, almost causing it to keel over. The last place he can look - under the bed. There they are! But alongside them… a little wooden chest. It’s got a seal hand-carved on the lid. Curiosity gets the better of him. He pulls it out from under the bed, sits down and opens it. Inside – just an old piece of paper; yellow-beige in color, a little torn – folded-up into a tiny square. He opens it out to read it… If you find this I imagine you’re feeling totally overwhelmed. It’s powerful, isn’t it? Could it be true love, not just the superficial type we men get back home? She’s not from this world. She is - and don’t throw this letter down after reading the next line - a Selki. Her mother was my lover. Your father and I were not cast from the same mold. He would never entertain such ideas, and he chose to fight all his life; fight for power and money – never love. Forgive me for saying this, but your mother was likely far happier being pulled into the depths by some unknown being from another world. Don’t hold any regret for her. I left you everything I have in hope that you’d make the right choices. There, in the big house as CEO of my old company, with all that money, women, power… none of it comes close to how this, being here with her, will make you feel. She takes you deeper… Am I right? I bet that before you got here you wanted to sell this place. Think about it. This is a roof, a quaint village which you may learn to enjoy if you muster acceptance for others, which I struggled with - to be honest. But they’re good people; maybe you could even help them with some of the money you’d get from selling the big house, your fancy cars; your shares in the company. She won’t find another. Selkies pair for life, and if you leave her she will simply wither away to nothing; she’ll become one with the sand… like a sun that sets never again to rise. There’s only one reason for your being alive today. That reason has nothing to do with power, money, fame, glory; one-night stands. That reason is only to be happy. It’s a funny word – happy. Who thought it could describe feelings of content, feelings of warmth, feelings that make you want to sing. You may not be singing yet, but just you wait… In this cottage - which by now I’m sure looks more like a rat’s nest - this is where you can stay. She cannot live with you, but she will return every day - late afternoon. She will wait for a week, maybe two, but after that – she’ll give up hope… and simply die. The choice is yours, nephew. Ever since the day you saw me with her mother across the beach, you were destined to meet the same fate. Yes, you were what… five-years-old? I don’t expect you to remember. I can tell you with a broken heart as I write this, going back to the riches… it killed me… and her. I returned too late. I returned to her skin, but she was gone. As you read this, the last you heard about my passing was that I drowned when my car accidently drove off the bridge. It was not accidental. I needed to find her, because my life never made sense again after leaving her. Go back to her now, tell her you’ll stay. She will live as long as you do. I’m not sure if I’ll see you from the heavens, or from hell - depending on where I end-up - but if I do and you’ve chosen to stay to be with her, I will be smiling. None of the riches I left you come close to this one; this house, this special place. I hope you make the right choice. Sincerely, Uncle.