Aurora - Blood Moon Epilogue

The sky lit up and Penny cringed, but the thunder was a long way off and took its time coming. Rubbing her eyes with the back of her wrists, afraid this was all making far too much sense, she took a deep, trembling breath. "Know what, Damon? This conversation was sort of fun to begin with, but now it's like you."

"Inspiring?"

"Getting old.

The old man took her kick to his balls without batting an eyelid. "Beats the alternative."

"Maybe, but I'm over it."

"It's been a long day, Sweetheart. I'm not surprised."

"Would you stop calling me that?" Penny groused. "Sweetheart."

"Sorry, Love. I'll do my best."

"I'm tired, Damon, and I don't want to be here. I'm going to bed."

"Mad if you don't." Watson said, suddenly looking forward to party time. The moment his handicap was out of the way...

"That wasn't an invitation by the way."

Watson huffed and snorted his indignation. "I didn't take it as one."

"Just as long as there's no misunderstanding."

"Want me to put it down in writing?" Watson said hotly. "I am not... fucking... interested. End of story."

"Alright, alright," Penny said, waving him down, "keep your shirt on."

"No. Really. And just to be on the safe side, just lock your fucking door. And jam a chair under the knob."

"No need to get your tits in a tangle." Penny glared, on her feet and heading for the stairway, "Sheesh!"

But he HAD misunderstood, his plodding male brain incapable of decrypting her feminine signals. Stalling at the bottom of the wooden spiral staircase, she looked at him. "Will you be okay?"

Okay? In about ten minutes time he'd be freaking outstanding. "I'll muddle through." he said. "At least I can have a joint in peace. And don't worry. I'll smoke outside so I don't stink up the place."

"Yeah, well," Penny said, toying with the stair-post. "Don't go having a heart attack or anything. Or falling over and dying. I'd hate to have to dig a hole in this weather."

Watson fought the urge to roar with laughter at her unexpected stroke of comic genius. In spite of it all, in spite of the hole she'd dug for herself, she could still be funny. Like a tiny glimmer of hope at the bottom of the well. "I'll do my best." he said, turning away, hiding his smile. Defeated, Penny mounted the stairs as tears filled the old man's eyes. Such a waste. On both accounts.

Well, he thought, smearing his face with the back of his arm, at least he'd tried. Flipping the lid of the silver cigarette case, he sorted through the contents. The provider had thoughtfully labelled each joint, from 'mild' to 'thermonuclear', and Watson chose a racehorse named, 'Mellow'. Pausing at the fridge, he plucked up a bottle of chilled Champagne, then, on second thoughts, put it straight back. A few minutes later, armed with a mug of sweet, milky tea, a joint, and a lighter, he let himself outside into the storm.

The smoke lofted Watson on a wave of euphoria into the wild, windy sky. Basking in the glow of a tower-mounted gas-heater, he sat watching the elements at play. Pumped up by warm ocean currents, massive cumulonimbus roamed the Earth, flashing and rumbling, dumping their loads on the creatures below. He'd seen this at sea, where one thunderhead ignited another, and another, right around the visible horizon, as he sailed through the middle of a vast, celestial fairy-ring. Now once again he watched bolts and bursts of lightning light up the clouds, rain battering the landscape in short, sharp downpours. It was vivid, alive.

Weaving inside for a refill, the old man picked up his phone. Three-parts hammered and riven by nostalgia, he tried calling Beck, rehearsing his words as the phone rang, and rang, until it finally rang out. Still empty handed after a second attempt, yet desperate for a few friendly words, he sat back pecking a message to Tanya.

'Earth calling Tanya, Earth calling Tanya... come in Tanya.'

A moment later the phone went, 'Ting!' and Watson almost choked on his tea.

'If ur texting from earth where am i?'

'You tell me.' Watson painstakingly typed, his brain sloshing around in swamp of fuzzy warm molecules. 'You were meant to be here by now. Did you forget?'

'As if. How goes? Worked ur magic on our girl?'

'Ours? If ours then you come get the rude little shit. Theres no magic to be made. Shes irretrievable. Hows MY girl?'

'Which one?'

'Ive only got one. THE BRAT!'

'Ouch! Here that? A bunch of hearts just broke. Seriously tho how is she?'

Watson took a sip of tea considering his options. Tell her the truth? Or let Tanya think her well-meaning ploy had somehow been worth it? 'Irretrievable' he wrote, 'like I said and making me type that again after a joint is just cruel. Is Becky there?'

'Umm...' Tanya replied, 'Beck went to Paris with Rodge Suong and Cassie'

The old man's nostalgia snap-froze at the news. 'Paris? Is she trying to punish me or something?'

No sooner had he hit the green arrow than he suffered a stroke of texters' remorse. Blame the weed, he thought, blame the Champagne. Or blame it on the PTSD. 'Oh you silly old drama queen' Tanya scolded. 'They've gone to look at a Dassault or something. A jet.'

'Why not Ally?'

'Are you really that worried? Allycat is helping Aisha with her passport. Mums had a fall so me and Macca at the hospital. Ur girl is safe, u know that'

Watson ran a hand over his bristled scalp. Here he was, stuck in the boonies with a depressive mass-murderer, while the rest of the world carried on without him. 'Should we come back?'

'Do what you like, Lover, but Ally and Aisha have to gop to Qatar. Youll be all on your own till the others get back.'

'How long?'

'3 or 4 days'

Watson bit-back his ire. So they'd gone and done a runner, the fucking lot of them, leaving him stranded in bum-fuck nowhere with the problem child. Well the road ahead was clear. Drink till the fridge was empty. Eat till he couldn't swallow another bite. Smoke weed till he was talking in tongues. Watch the McHale girls' pornographic home movies till his hand was blistered, have so much fun that he didn't WANT to come back. Then they'd be sorry. 'Bad luck about your mum' he tapped, the most superficial reply he could manage.

'Ta' Tanya came back, unfazed, 'doesn't look good. Broken hip. I don't think shell come back from it'

Watson grit his teeth, instantly shamed. Here he was, whining about his lot, being banged up in a luxury Airbnb, out in the wilderness, or as close as you could get in a country like England. With all the French Champagne he could drink, an endless supply of food, and the sort of landscapes he'd only ever seen in airline mags. And while he might have a nutjob for company, she was easy on the eye- an image of her bumblebee knickers leapt to mind- if he just ignored her vile temper. 'So sorry to hear that Tan. I mean it'

'Thanks mate but shes as mad as a meat axe and it might be a blessing. Doesnt recognise me and thinks Macca is Caitlin'

Watson winced at the metaphor, 'Mad as a meat axe'. Tanya's mother wasn't the only one. 'Poor Tan.'

'Shit way to go. I should just dong her on the head and be done with it'

'I know someone who can help with that. Recent experience'

'Now be nice.'

'If I don't come back don't eat the mock turtle soup'

There was a lengthy refrain, and just as he was about to fetch another joint, the phone tinged. 'Mock turtle soup? Wtf? Did u mean to write that or ru losing the plot?'

'Little column a and a little column b'

'Cant wait to hear. Gotta go mums making a scene. Just bit Macca so nothing wrong with her teeth. Have fun XXXXXXXXXXX'

'Love you Tan give Macca a kiss for me'

After one thumb's up and a few more Xs, all in caps, the old man once more found himself alone, no longer buoyed by a righteous sense of victimhood. Well, he thought, there was only one thing for it, but even as he went to light the next joint, the sky rumbled again and he thought better of it. Cold and exertion had left him with a bone-deep fatigue, and the night seemed ideal for hunkering down. On a good hard mattress, with an atmospheric light-show playing outside. He was old, he reminded himself. He deserved it.

******************************************************************************************

A thunderclap walloped the farmhouse, as lightning threw shadows over the bedroom walls. Upright in bed before he knew what had hit him, Watson sat, heart hammering, listening to the foundation-shaking thunder roll away. In its wake, a deluge of diluvian proportions, a veritable waterfall, pummelled the shingles to the white-noise hash of a detuned TV. The night, the sight, the sound, the isolated setting, this was the stuff every horror movie ever made. Watson lay back, bedclothes up to his neck, awaiting the arrival of a drunk, headless, wife beating ghost. Or Frankenstein's monster, cobbled together from leftovers.

His eyes bulged and his hair stood on end as a rectangle of darkness opened up in the wall, yawning wider and wider with the creak of a hinge. A shout caught in the old man's throat as a shadow stole in and he felt a sudden tug on the bedclothes. The mattress gave a little as weight came on to the sound of heavy, measured breathing- someone with a head he presumed- and a joint popped as the spectre lay down. Watson caught a whiff of citrus-scented soap as he froze, staring at the ceiling, not daring to move.

The body beside him shimmied and fidgeted, getting comfortable. Silence returned, underscored by the sound of two creatures breathing, and the odd claps of thunder, some close, some distant, from furling peals and cannonades to infrasonic rumbling. Then the fidgeting resumed and warm, resilient flesh nudged his flank. And still he said nothing, not moving a muscle lest he scare the apparition away.

Well, Watson thought, if this was as close as he came, at least it wasn't all wasted. As he lay, hands crossed over his chest, listening to the hollow tick of a clock in the living room downstairs, the body rolled over and a small, warm hand settled on his chest. "Are you awake?"

Watson's voice broke when he tried to reply. "Shh... ahem... sure. If you want me to be."

The hand withdrew as Penny swiped her nose, then returned, settling a few inches lower, just above his navel. "That sodding old farmer and his silly sodding ghost stories." she said thickly. "He fair put the wind up me."

"That's okay. You've just got an overactive imagination."

"Not half." Penny griped. She'd been lying awake for hours, imagining the body next door. Imagining how it might look. Imagining how it might smell, and feel. Imagining what it might do to her.

Listening to the rain for a while, Watson spoke up. "Umm... do you want me to put some clothes on?"

"What for?"

"You know... In case you feel embarrassed."

Penny sat up and the old man figured he'd blown it. Instead, she shimmed and fussed and he heard the sound of flimsy apparel hitting the floor. She lay down again, knees against his legs and her hand returned, resting on his belly south of his navel. She grunted with laughter. "Turtle soup."

"MOCK turtle, Pen. Mock. As in pretend. Made out of a wife-beater's head."

"Wonder what it tastes like?"

Watson cleared his throat. "Chicken."

Penny heaved a deep, trembling sigh. "Well... good night. I'll try not to wake you when I go."

"When will that be? Just so I know."

"When these bloody thunderstorms bugger off."

"They should peter-out overnight." Watson said, fruitlessly trying to stave off an erection. "It won't be long."

Penny yawned. "Let's hope so."

"Sweet dreams, Pen."

"See you in the morning."

The old man lay, weighing his options. Do the honourable thing, keep his hands to himself and maybe blow a golden opportunity? Or make the first move, misread the signals entirely and send her running, horrified by the advances of a dirty old man? Torn by the quandary, Watson was just plumping for option number 1, when a sly little finger touched his penis. He jumped. Frightened away, the finger broke contact, but it wasn't long before it snuck back, this time to lightly stroke his shaft. "You're hard."

"Just ignore it." Watson croaked, "It'll go away."

Penny pulled back, the last thing he wanted, and his working-pressure fell a few PSI. Even while he was busy cursing his rotten luck, the hand returned, landing on his thigh this time, and after a token few seconds, worked its way upwards, till a pioneering digit touched his balls. The bedclothes rose magically in the middle of the bed as the brakes came off. With just enough light, Penny raised her head to view the phenomenon, a fully blown erection tenting the bedclothes. "Well?" she said, "Are you gonna just lie there?"

"Umm... What would you like me to do?"

"Not ask stupid questions for starters."

"At least give me a hint."

"I'm a chick, Damon. You're a dude. A prehistoric one, I grant you. Work it out."

"Work it out?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Penny huffed. She closed her fist around the old man's thumping hard on and Watson heard her suck a breath. "Holy shit!" she piped, palpating his member from tip to base before fondling his balls. "Can I turn the light on?" Before he could answer, Penny sat up and reached for the bedside lamp. Throwing the covers aside, Watson's cock in her hot little hand, she bent over him, turning his member this way and that. "Well, this explains it."

"Explains what?" Watson grated, feasting his eyes on her firm, round breasts as they bounced and swayed.

"All those girls." Penny breathed. "This thing's a monster."

"It's just the light, Pen. It's not how it looks."

"It IS how it looks. Fucking magnificent."

"It's been a while, hasn't it? Since you last saw one? Your sense of proportion is all out of whack."

"Where's your phone?"

"My... What? What for?"

"I wanna ring Tanya. To thank her."

Watson struggled upright. "Hang on. Is this the same Penny who only a couple of hours ago said, 'I don't find you attractive.'?"

"Least bit attractive." she corrected and gave him the side eye. "Tell you what. You don't mention that other Penny and neither will I. I have no idea what you put in that Champagne, but this is your fault, Damon. With all your Buddha ramblings and crap. Let's just roll with it and see where it goes. And in the morning, we will never speak of it again. Deal?"

Flopping onto his back, Watson raised his arms. "Oh Universe. For this and all thy miracles, I thank thee."

"A-frikken'-men." Penny intoned, then turned away to kill the light.

"Leave it on." Watson said.

Up on her knees, Penny tied her hair back. "I'd rather not if that's okay with you."

"Pen. It's meant to be a sensory experience. Sight is a sense. It's better with it on."

The light went out. "I'd rather you didn't have to see my..."

"Scars?"

"Wear and tear."

"For the umpteenth time," Watson groused, "I don't-"

"Less talk," Penny said, wrapping her hand around his shaft, barely able to manage its girth, "more you-know-what." Watson arched his back as a warm, wet mouth closed over his cock and a skilful little tongue commenced circling his knob. Reaching up, the old man trailed his fingertips over the speedbumps of her ribs, then under her chest to fondle her breasts. Gently kneading each smooth-skinned bubby in turn, he rolled a nipple between finger and thumb.

Penny groaned as a warning came down from the old man's Emission Control. Barely a few minutes in and he was already flirting with an unauthorised discharge. "Pen." he said, stoking her back. Ignoring him, Penny carried on bobbing up and down, simultaneously jacking him over a sheen of bubbling spit. He tapped her shoulder. "Pen?"

"What?" Penny said hotly.

"If you want to make a meal of this."

"What?"

"Here. Lie down."

"What for?"

"This is meant to be your treat, Sweetheart. Lie down and let me do some of the work."

Penny looked up, hair hanging over one eye. "But I was just enjoying myself."

"And doing an awesome job of it too. Come on, Pen. I'm only human. Let me cool my jets for a while."

Penny twigged. Unhanding the prize, she made herself comfortable as the old man settled between her wide-spread legs. Kissing his way up from one knee, then the other, he pulled up each time just short of her groin, ramping-up her arousal hand over fist. Crawling over her, he took a moment to nuzzle her armpits, then lay lightly upon her, kissing each breast in turn before nipping and sucking her nipples. "Just like being back in the joint." she whispered.

Watson raised his head. Just visible to the dark-adapted eye, Penny's body had nevertheless taken on form and substance, her pale skin almost luminescent in the gloom. He gave a virtual nod- she'd just gone ahead and answered the very question he'd been dying to ask. Whether she'd imbibed. "Every cloud." he said.

"Alana's fault." Penny offered then covered her mouth. "I did NOT mean to say that."

Watson grunted with laughter. "Like I'm surprised?"

"Please don't tell her."

"What happens in Thatcher's manor stays in Thatcher's manor." Watson replied, getting back on the job, kissing his way down her sternum over the bumps and ridges of hardware, all the way to her navel. Penny ran her fingers through his close-cropped hair. "You don't think it's ikky, do you?"

"Your little bellybutton? No. It's sweeeeet!"

"Tosser." Penny grated, hips already humping. "I'm talking about Ally."

"What's dessert for the goose..." Watson said between kisses. Reaching the mound of her pubis, he paused to snuffle her thatch. In spite of everything, her short fuse and rampant self-loathing, her frequent slurs and perpetual foul mood, her smell was sublime- an odd antithesis. The same as every other pussy he'd ever relished, yet different somehow and utterly novel. Gently biting the inside of her thighs, he ran his tongue up her furrow and sucked the fleshy hood over her clit.

"Holy..." Penny groaned as a stiff, prehensile tongue teased her pussylips open. She was in the hands of a master, she realised, a grand master no less, and long-silent synapses were starting to pop. Penny lay her legs over the old man's shoulders, clawing at his hair, hips rocking and rolling with unbridled pleasure. She'd come to love the art of pussy eating, both giving and taking, but nothing in the prison had could come close to this. A man. With a long, stiff tongue and 4-day's growth on his jaw. Girls were good, but this...

Nothing if not an enthusiast, the old man mulled over her taste. She was tart, slightly metallic, a flavour he recalled from the early days of Vicky. Stress hormones, the taste of chronic anxiety. But soon, as he knew she would, Penny began to sweeten, as her body surrendered and the juices began to flow.

After ploughing her slit for a while, Watson tongued the fold between her inner and outer pussylips, a little slice of heaven so often overlooked. Mouth wide open, covering her mound, he buried his tongue as deep as it would go, worming it into her hole, savouring its slippery texture and tight dimensions. This was a pussy that had seen very little action for a long, long time. Apart from the odd, petite finger or dainty female tongue. But it was coming quickly awake. Squirming and panting, Penny curled her toes.

Heavy-breathing with effort, Watson burrowed under her clit-hood to flick the hard little bead. Palm up, he teased her pussy open with his extended middle finger, then worked the digit gently into her entrance. Two little hands seized his and Penny pulled him urgently into her, thrusting her hips until he was up to the knuckle. Giving the young woman a few token strokes, Watson pulled back, searching for her G-spot, a tiny, rough patch of sensitive nerve endings.

Hips off the bed, jerking and humping, Penny dug her heels into his back, riding his finger and grinding her pussy in his face. Inhibitions thrown to the wind, she gasped and shuddered in the grips of a massive orgasm like nothing she had ever experienced. Teeth clenched, muscles straining, pelvic floor racked by relays of contractions, she arched her back, squealing.