Lagoon

"They get the urge to come here sometimes," sun-bronzed shoulders rolled in a shrug, "but nobody knows what it was all about back then. That's the problem with oral histories, yeah?"

Suddenly daunted again, he considered the bleached and water-stained map pinned to the wall of the cabin. Miles and miles of reef waited. Cairns was the busiest spot for surface and maritime travelers coming to see the Ruin, but finding one person in all of that seemed more impossible than ever. This had always been a shot in the dark.

"You know," Davie sat heavily on a bench and dragged an Esky out from under it, "not like you're the only one coming out here looking. A lot of guys older and richer than you hire out a boat, comb the Ruin for weeks, months, fishing. They don't get what they want either."

He glanced at the guide and was almost pinned by hard, blue eyes before he looked away, out over the breakers dashing against the reef.

"So what's the story?" pressed the guide, "go on, let it rip." He'd hired Davie because the man supposedly knew the movements of the maritime migrants through the Ruin. And the man knew the business well.

When he didn't reply, the guide went on, "let's see. Met her on a vacation, maybe. She's like nothing else, certainly nothing on land. But it doesn't last. She's too different, yeah? Can't live out there, she can't live over here, she's not even going to hold still, swimming to and fro with all the other fellas as takes her eye. That's the worst of it, isn't it?"

He leaned against the railing. It wasn't anything he hadn't already told himself. He was on the other side of the world, looking for someone he barely knew, with a house on the intercoastal full of ridiculous plans waiting back in the States. Waiting to be sold when it all came to nothing.

"So you had a blue with her and she gives you the flick," ice rattled in the Esky when the guide opened it and rummaged around inside, "you go on a chase because you think you'll find her, bail her up, already made down-payments on a fishbowl."

That brought his eyes back to the guide. The barb had found its mark and he made it obvious.

Follow-up mockery never came and sympathy replaced the scorn. "Everybody thinks they'll find their Lish," Davie's voice hardened, though, as he continued, "but strewth they're all just root rats with their clackers hanging out for the whole ocean."

"So how about we get rotten, you tell me your tale, and I take you back to the smoke at the end of the day. Only charge you the mate's rate. No worries." The offered amber bottle had fragments of ice still clinging to the foil label.

She rolled onto her back and looked up at him. Her eyes flicked back and forth to search his face. No words surfaced so instead he covered her mouth with his again, the only recourse left by emotion. The touch of his tongue to hers was almost tentative this time, but it grew confident again with her response to linger tenderly. She slipped her arms around his neck again and whatever might happen tomorrow, he was going nowhere just then.

Flesh dimpled when he sank his fingers into one of her breasts. He fondled the yielding globe upward and then let it sag back down. More gently after, he cupped the roundness of its lower slope with possessive intent. Their kiss broke and she guided his mouth to the other breast to suckle. Salt from the surface of her crinkling nipple suffused his teasing tongue.

Where moments ago she had toyed with herself, now his hand took up the task. She gave a small gasp at the purposeful pressure on her button and let him play. The renewed flow brought by her ardor was distinct even underwater; thick, viscid, and clinging to his fingertips as well as her sensitive flesh. His fingers circled the tip of her vent, then slid over her clit before starting again. Each circumnavigation drew new sounds from her until they reached a sighing crescendo.

Boneless with relaxation, she let her arms drape over him as he continued to lap greedily at her tit. The dull flicker of the pool lights snapping back on seemed to signal that the end had finally come.

Under the rekindled scrutiny of the lights, their goodbyes were almost furtive. He collected his clothes and she re-tied her sash and the breakwaters that kept others out slid back into place. A wordless wave bade her farewell at the end of the canal into the lagoon. She lifted her arm in reply and was caught forever in a photograph before she dove into the dark water beyond the resort lights. Green flukes lifted clear of the surface and that was all he saw of her.

He reached out, took the offered beer and knocked the cap off on the gunwale. Extending it back, he clinked it against the neck of the bottle the guide opened for himself. "Who hurt you?" he asked, deadpan and flat-eyed.

The guide blinked sun-bleached blue. His broad, muscle-packed shoulders tightened, and for a moment it seemed like the rejoinder had been too much. The deck seemed very small, and Davie larger than his pusser-going-soft build first appeared. Instead, he relaxed and took a swig from his beer. "Right enough," chuckled the guide under his breath before shaking his head, "right, you footsie seppo."

"We'll swing north," Davie was all business again, gesturing at the map with his bottle, "head up along the Ribbon reefs, there's a lot to look at there, and they slow down the fishies coming through the Strait. You can have a regular meet and greet."

"If that doesn't serve, back south as far as Dingo Reef. I know some fellas you can talk to down in Brisbane if you're still not done."

Sunlight went pink and orange as evening's dark chased it to the horizon and feathery clouds swirled in the black like milk poured into coffee as night stretched. He looked out over the boat's wake as they headed back to harbor for the night, watching for a green shimmer beneath the wave-tossed lustre of melted moonlight, and leading it, pale skin.