Waves

She closed her eyes and saw Pepi, her pet dog, the first of many. She saw them all, remembered their names.

The last one somehow turned into George, the captain of her high school track team, so she quickly opened her eyes to look at the sun again.

Glorious. Rolling every so slowly towards the horizon.

She felt a slight change in the waves as they lapped at her breasts, so she instinctively looked down to her legs as they rested in the sand. A small crab chased a piece of carrion as it was swept over her right foot. It turned its eyes ever so slightly towards her and one claw seemed to point to her sex before it captured its quarry and shot off sideways into the distance. She laughed and turned back towards the clouds.

There was a horse, a gelding she used to ride.

Her mother's house in Manchester, the one with the fireplace and marble statues in the hall.

One of the squirrels that she used to feed pecans to.

She closed her eyes again and looked hard for Enrique. Ah, there he was, in his flight jacket and cap, smiling as always.

The vision of Candace Bernard, her father's first ex-wife, wagging her finger at her and telling her she'd never amount to anything. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

She lifted her head and turned to the left. Not much to see, unfortunately. Sand. Shell. Bits of rock. She looked hard for an ant, a scorpion, a bug of any kind.

Finally, after a few moments, she sighed and turned back towards the clouds.

An igloo, just like the ones she saw from the dog sled five years ago.

A Chinese dragon from the Year of the Rat celebration in Hong Kong.

A long, thin layer that looked like...no. She giggled and closed her eyes.

There was Noe, walking across the darkened room towards her, his massive cock swaying and bobbing in front of him like a dowsing rod that had just discovered the Pacific Ocean.

Which, of course, it had.

She laughed so hard, she had to open her eyes. The wetness trailed down her cheek.

Again, she felt a slight change in the tide as it swept over her breasts now, and she looked down.

A conga line of brine shrimp was dancing slowly towards her, rolling this way and that in the tide. The first reached her pussy lips and gave her a kiss before turning and darting off into the distance. The second did the same. And the third...

She rolled her eyes. "Not yet!" she said, and waved her arm at the watery horizon in front of her. "I'm not ready yet!" She watched as the last of the shrimp did its duty and vanished from view.

"Fucking romantic," she giggled, and turned her eyes back to the sun.

* * *

She bit her lip, closed her eyes. There was a large stone in the depths of her stomach that was made of lead. Her throat tightened.

"Can't give me?" she finally managed. "Or won't?"

He gave no immediate answer, save that strange gurgling noise deep in his throat. Put a hand to his scarred and wrinkled forehead and rubbed his good eye with a bony finger. From somewhere outside, a seagull cried. "You really don't know what you're askin'," he whispered.

"I pray."

"I know, darlin'." He drew an audible breath. "I've heard enough of 'em to know. I've heard 'em pray for rain, pray for wind, pray for calm. But mostly pray for safe passage."

"Then you understand." She wiped the wetness from her eye. "I even applied to NASA at one time, but failed the psych profile. By the time there's viable private ventures, I'll probably be too old."

He looked out his window. "Nothing much up there to see anyway," he said. "You can't taste it, feel it, smell it. It'd get old five minutes after you go weightless."

"Climbed Everest twice. Been to the spring of the Nile, touched both poles, walked across every major desert. Every direction except up and down."

He adjusted himself in his bed. "Trouble is, darlin', the place you pray to explore isn't really a place. It ain't up or down, right or left." He turned to her. "She's a lover who chooses Her Own by birth."

"I don't..." She felt the stone down there growing ever larger as he continued.

"Whoever you spread your money around to sold you ocean front property in Arizona, darlin'. It's kinda like air and water. You don't swim in Her as much as you breath Her. And your kind just ain't born with the right equipment."

"So, it's not...possible." Her face lost all color and fell into her hands. And settled there.

A blast of warm salty air blew into the room and drifted about her like a blanket, slowly moving the strands of her long yellow hair this way and that as she let the wetness flow. He swallowed hard and that strange sound moved up and down his throat as he studied her. Shivering and sobbing like the widows and children at the thousands of memorials on thousands of beaches throughout thousands of years. They once prayed too, with prayers unanswered, their wetnesses merging and dripping into the little river in a way he could barely hope to understand.

Until now.

He lifted a finger to his cheek and touched it. Lifting one eyebrow, then the other, he brought that finger to his good eye and studied it in awe. Sniffed at it. Tasted it. Hungrily, he poked another finger to his cheek. But it was dry now. Dry. The irony was not lost on him. He looked back at her as she bent down to retrieve her shoes.

"I didn't say it was impossible," he said in that voice, now soft, low and full of beckoning.

She sat up and reached for a sleeve of her blouse which she used to dry her face. She noticed him watching intently as she did so but didn't pay much attention, as his last words still echoed.

"Please?" She sniffed.

He drew a breath and closed his good eye. The humidity in the room seemed to rise as he spoke. "First, I feel I got to tell you a story. You're not the only one with dreams, darlin'. I seen thousands of 'em come and go. Some want somethin' from me, some want to give me somethin' because they think I did somethin' for 'em."

The large mirror on the wall behind him began to fog up as he continued. "There was one guy I remember really well. He was a kind of an explorer a lot like you. He wanted to look Her over long and hard and find out how to make Her do stuff for him. So they went out dancin' and they danced for years and years and years, until he finally figured out what made Her tick, even found out how to make Her cum. And when I tell you they made mountains move, I ain't exaggeratin' by much."

He opened his eye and turned towards the mirror. Sandra could see the water forming streams running this way and that on its surface as he spoke. "Anyway, turns out that even though She could keep dancin' forever, he eventually got tired and wanted to see his Kinfolk, his Children and other lovers and such and decided he didn't want to dance no more. But by then they'd danced for so long that She got real jealous and wouldn't let him go. So, with both of 'em being the stubborn sorts, they finally came to an agreement that She'd let him go for years at a time, but he'd have to promise to come back and stay for a visit every so often or She'd take him back forever and never let him go."

The water on the mirror swirled and danced in circles as he smiled. "But in order to make sure he kept his part of the bargain, She kept a hold on his body and only let it out when She said so. So he became sort of like the water he used to love so much. She let him loose as a cloud, he came down to earth as rain, got swept down into a river and finally back down into the sea where she reclaimed him. But to make sure he always came back, She would change him a little each time so that his Kinfolk wouldn't even recognize him anymore, and refused to grant him any favors all those years he was away." She watched in amusement as the droplets of water twisted this way and that, forming ever-changing faces on the mirror.

"Anyway, after years and years of living like this, he gets those waves in his eyes again and decides he wants, like you, to go where none of his Kinfolk have ever gone before. So he sends Her a nasty message saying he wants a total divorce and jumps out of the river on to dry land before he ever gets to the sea. He finds he really enjoys crawling and walking and running instead of swimming. He catches all sorts of ugly land diseases, like malaria, the plague, ebola, smallpox, you name it, he gets it. But She keeps chasing him and kissing him with her wetness and won't let him dry up, no matter how hard he tries."

Sandra smiled despite herself. "And, I bet he ends up in a hospital bed in Galveston," she interrupted.

He looked at her and frowned. "Oh, you heard this one already." The droplets on the mirror formed a smiley face, then ran down to the bottom in a hundred tiny rivers.

She put her hand to her mouth to suppress a laugh.

He chuckled. "Okay, I got another one I know you ain't heard." He winked with his good eye. "From one explorer to another."

"Try me," she said with a defiant smile, she shook her hair back, and put her hands on her hips. Her nipples stood out from her small breasts like bullets.

"You got any tattoos?"

"No."

"Piercings?"

"No."

"Good for you, darlin'." He turned back towards the window. "Kids today got no respect for their bodies. Like they think they OWN 'em or somethin'." She detected a hint of sarcasm, she was beginning to understand the eddies and currents of that marvelous voice. "Take off your skirt."

This time there was no hesitation. She stood up and let it fall to the floor around her feet.

"Everyone knows the Amazon is mighty, but few know all her secrets. When she talks to Mother Ocean, she speaks loudly, feeding Her fully one-fifth of what She needs to replenish the lives of her countless Children and Grandchildren. Her voice speaks with such power that it reaches out and into her Mother for three hundred miles in all directions. Still, she knows her place in the cycle. At her mouth lie dozens upon dozens of islands, each caught up in the never-ending conversation between Mother and daughter. Upon one of these islands is a sacred place where the Children and Grandchildren have come to make sacrifices to Mother and daughter for centuries. There, even within the very powerful throat of her daughter, Mother's voice is louder still. It is a place of power and you can hear it and smell it and taste it if you have knowledge in the ways of the endless cycle."

He turned again to her and his voice was like a horn through the fog and mist.

"How much are you prepared to sacrifice for your dream?"

* * *

As she watched the sun make its exit, she searched the sky for the Eye of the Ancients. And laughed when she thought of that American flag. It seemed like years ago, that conversation. She started picking out stars as they uncloaked. Those astronauts could have their empty heavens. None of them would ever go where she was going.

A sudden and unexpected noise caught her attention. Thunder. She turned her head to her left. Dark clouds. Dark beautiful clouds. One last gift from her new Mother-in-law. Or was it from her new Mistress? She giggled. Absolutely giddy. She could not feel the rest of her body now, but she knew, positively KNEW she was wet down there. She thought back to that time in college when she and Debby Wilson had that drunken bet about who could stay wettest the longest. Poor Debby had no chance. She'd been wet for days now and it looked very much like she'd stay that way forever.

The water lapped at her chin, a reminder that she had business elsewhere.

Lightning flashed nearby. She tried her best to catch it out of the corner of her eye, but each time she turned her head to look, it was gone. Psych! What a tease.

She could hear the drops coming miles away. Then yards, then feet. As she felt the first of them on her left ear, she heard His voice rumble from nearby. She lifted her head as much as she could manage.

A water spout. Tall. Dark. Magnificent. A pillar of His glorious wetness, dancing this way and that upon the waves of the daughter's mouth. Strange sounds mixed with the small drops falling all around her. She turned her head one last time. All manner of fish were falling from the heavens into the sand around her. Crabs. Shrimp. Squid. A tarpon fell onto its back ten feet from her and flopped this way and that before making its way back into the waves. She laughed.

Written record, indeed. Demeter. Amphitrite. Aethra. Medusa. Sandy Marie Sutherland. Write it down, Candace Fucking Bernard.

He nibbled at her right ear now, kissing the hollow of her neck. She could feel something twisting her hair behind her, braiding it with warm, wet fingers, pushing it down and underneath her head. She stared up at the dark clouds with pure, unadulterated passion.

"Fuck yeah," she whispered to Him. "Do it."

His tongue licked at the sides of her mouth, warm and salty. She laughed hysterically. "Okay, yeah, I swallow."

At that, a bit of foam jumped up and into her nose. "Well," she whispered to Him, "actually, I never have, but there's a first time for everything." He leapt up to ravage her lips. "And I always wanted to use that line."

She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to receive Him. Down He went into her willing throat. Again. And again. And yet again, until she choked.

Once.

And only once.

* * *

"Sacrifice?"

She could barely see him through the watery haze that filled the small room. Her body was soaked, her hair laying down behind her shoulders. "Yeah, darlin', I know you gals today think a sacrifice is not havin' kids 'till you're forty and millionaires, but it used to be a bit different back in the day."

She instinctively reached down to her belly as he continued.

"Back then, gals used to throw themselves into rivers and oceans. Never their idea, of course, always some old geezer who thought he knew best behind it all. Hardly ever did 'em much good either. And you know the sad part of it all? No one I know, old or young, ever paid much attention to all those kids thrown in all that water. 'Cause it ain't really a sacrifice if you got no choice."

"All those little girls had dreams, just like you and me. Dreams that drowned along with 'em. That kind of thing does no one no good and just makes the water ugly and dirty. Some of 'em even had those waves in their eyes. I seen more than my share of it from both sides of the water now and it don't make it any easier knowin' I used to be one of 'em that laughed at those old geezers thowin' their daughters away."

She could feel him looking at her. "You have any kids?"

"No." She hung her head, her hands still on her belly. "The doctors say..."

"More old geezers who think they know best," he interrupted and made that strange sound again. "Kin of the kin of those folks who had those kids drowned for rain or good crops. All those "virgins" they would throw away. I mean, how the hell they know they're virgins? So they throw the ones that ain't had kids, 'cause that's easier to tell for sure."

Her hands moved slowly down her belly to her panties as he continued.

"But they all had dreams. Dreams that died. One thing that comes from livin' on dry land for so long is that you come to really appreciate what real sacrifice means. You can't just dive in the river when someone's tryin' to hurt you, so you marvel at those who can manage it for their entire miserable lives. And you really come to appreciate their dreams because they aren't just somethin' they can wait forever for and know their dreams will just walk up to them because all they have to do is live long enough. Makes their sacrifices really powerful."

The mist soaked her through to the bone as she stood up.

"That fella I was talkin' about earlier, that other explorer. He had a dream once too, and thousands of years it took him to get right up to where he could stare it right in the face."

The slickness of her legs helped the underwear slide smoothly down to the floor.

"And then, just when he figured he'd gone and done it, some silly kid with waves in her eyes and a dream of her own comes down to the water aimin' to throw herself in. And she doesn't even have any old geezer pushin' her."

She walked over to the side of the bed, her bare feet sliding across the cold tile floor.

"And he starts thinkin' about all those hundreds of times he laid there and laughed at all those other kids who drowned for someone else's dreams. All those prayers he ignored or couldn't answer."

The fog was so thick now that she could not see. She felt for the bed sheets and found them there, wet and dripping. She closed her eyes as she pulled them back. And listened to that marvelous voice, thick as the mist that filled the room.

"And he throws up his bony little arms and says, fuck it, what's another couple thousand years to someone who can afford to wait?" She felt his form flowing underneath the sheet and lifted her legs to straddle it.

"'Cause he now understands how much her kind of sacrifice really matters."

She reached beneath herself with two damp fingers and spread for him, lowering her wetness to meet his.

The air around her began to move as he rose up to meet her. She felt a slight pressure on her petals as she went lower and then her entire insides were engulfed, her small body bloated with him as he filled her. So sudden was it that she almost fainted, both hands lowering instinctively to the sides of the bed as she fought to keep her balance. She groaned with pain and pleasure and her abdomen cramped horribly and it took every effort to fight to keep her legs and thighs from failing. She could feel him rise within her, never lowering, only higher, ever higher. Her stomach, lungs, throat, breasts, even the tips of her thousands of hairs felt him now.

His glorious wetness.

Mist swirled around her face, neck and ears and just when she felt her body could take no more of him, it was over.

One last whisper in that voice. That amazing voice.

"Thankee, darlin'." Then it was gone.

She awoke, startled, to the sound of gulls screeching in unison outside the window. The bed beneath her was empty, save for the wetness. His glorious wetness.

It stood an inch deep in all corners of the room, filled the walls, the closet, the little yellow trash can in the corner. Her shoes.

She lifted a hand to her belly. It groaned in response. Water leaked from beneath her. She touched herself, then brought it to her lips.

Salt.

She laughed. Loudly.

Turning to the window, she waved a hand at one of the gulls that had landed on the sill. "What?" she asked with a smile. "No ring?"

It just stood there, perched, and cocked its head from one side to the other. She wagged a finger at it as her feet splashed their way to retrieve her very wet clothing. "You go tell him Sandra Marie Sutherland is no common tramp."

She smiled as it let out a shrill cry and departed. "Damn right, you better hurry," she chuckled.

* * *

"Damn, girlfriend, you're a fucking mess."

Sandy didn't answer. She was busy bobbing up and down in the surf.

"Can we please do something about this?" she asked Him.

"Well, darlin', most of the time we just let the crabs have 'em. I mean, they gotta eat too, right?"

"Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Nope. C'mon, you gotta stop thinkin' like you're still driftin' on the waves of the little river."

"Make you a deal. I'll try and stop thinking like that if you stop talking like that."

"Sorry, force of habit."

"Wow, this is so fucking cool. Been together less than a day and already we sound like we've been married for years."

"Bah. Humans."

"Hehehe, you're so funny. So, where do you usually go on your honeymoons?"