The Heart of the Sea

A knot of violent distaste grew like a tumour as he watched the gangly youth embrace his granddaughter, 'Look at him, he's got his whole life ahead of him. What have I got? I haven't and will never have her or anyone like her. Her soft flesh, those big innocent eyes. She trusts you. She loves you, like a... Not that way, not that way. Not the way you want her to like you.'

He kicked the table away, glasses fell and broke on the flagstones. He staggered to his feet then leaned on the wall as he walked away, away from the music, away from people, away from the whole fuckin' world, 'That part of my life is over. A woman twice her age wouldn't look at me twice. I'm like Tommaso, dying slow. A descent into decrepitude and senility and oblivion. It's all over! Your life is over! Gone, gone. All done with.'

Betsy watched him slither around the curve of the wall and down a slope out of view. Suddenly she noticed the music had finished and her teenage partner had stood back and bowed formally.

He asked, "Would you like to walk with me?"

"Erm, no, thank you, grazie, but I think I must attend to my grandfather."

"Would I be, um, consentito to have your phone number?"

Betsy stepped closer and kissed his soft cheek, "No. You're very sweet but no."

"It is because I am ten years too early?"

"Or I am ten years too late."

She dislodged herself from the boy's attentions then hurried down the slope. She could not see her grandfather but a faint Thwock! Thwock! sound drew her further down the hill to where the cars were parked. Lit by a security light, she watched Julien's stumbling figure berating ghosts and then his fist jerked out and cracked into the rough, adobe wall. Thwock!

She winced, "Grandpa!"

By the time she reached him, he had given his offending shadow a left-right-left combo and was going for a knockout.

She yelled, "Grandpa!"

He stopped. He had an animalistic glare in his unfocussed eyes.

Betsy's voice trembled, "What are you doing!?"

He looked at his bloodied fists, at the wall, again at his fists and then at her as if it was the silliest of questions.

She was bewildered, "What's got into you?"

"You. You got into me," he slurred, "You're the flesh of my flesh but you're under my skin."

He threw away the cigar he was chomping, it bounced off the roof of a sports car, "I thought it was merely lust. Oh, I know how awful, how horrible that sounds. But you are a woman, a voluptuous, magical woman and I... I am what's left of a man. At least that would be normal. But it's more than that. It's deeper than that. It festers like a wound."

"Julien..."

"I am torn. Ripped, broken. Filled with longin' and regret. And shame! I can't stop thinkin' about you. I love you and I hate myself 'cause of the way I love you. I want you, I want to have you, to hold you, to, to-"

He emitted a roar of frustration and thumped the wall twice with crunching blows. Betsy grabbed his arms and held them but he flung her off.

"You are a symbol of everythin' I can never have. Everythin' is endin'. You are a signal of death! But I'm not ready! You hear that, universe? I'm not ready to go! I'll go out swingin', damn you!"

He punched the wall again and an anger swelled Betsy's voice, "Stop it! Stupid boy!"

Maybe her mother had heard her mother calling him that and had passed it down but he certainly was startled. 'Stupid boy,' his beloved Caity used to call him in moments just like this. When he was fifteen and scrapping down the park with the local yobs. When he was in his twenties, newly a father, and thought bar-fights could recapture his youth. In his late thirties, when his business was failing and he took to gambling. Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid boy. Betsy watched his fury deflate. The wind was taken out of his sails. He looked defeated.

"I want to go home," she said.

"Now? You wanna go home now? We're nowhere near an airport."

"I mean our home."

Even his drink-addled brain took in the fact that, to her, home meant his boat. Their boat? She looked around the dark courtyard and found their hired scooter.

She sighed, "I bet you're too sozzled to know the way back?"

"I'd know it blindfolded."

She tied her shawl around her, hitched up her dress and sat on the bike, waiting for him to climb on. He was embarrassed and humbled by her practicality. He pointed the way back with few words. Once back at the marina, he climbed aboard the yacht then went down into the guest bedroom and shut the door. Betsy followed him down and went to the main bedroom.

In the bathroom, she stared into the mirror. She felt as defeated as he had looked. A wondrous, confusing and dramatic time had seemed to sidle to a grungy, tawdry finish. She removed her makeup, showered, washed her hair and brushed her teeth on automatic mode. She was in the early hours of her final day and she'd soon be back in her colourless city, watching from a distance as her own life was drained of soul and love. This bright mosaic would become a memory. It was over. She dried her hair and put on a tee-shirt. Lying in the dark, she heard her grandfather leave his room and walk about up on the deck. There was a tinkling sound as she realised he was piddling into the sea. She gave a weary chuckle then tried to sleep.

Julien awoke in the frightful dawn. He had packed away the seat cushions before the storm and so was lying awkwardly on bare boards. He sat up and felt a hundred years old. He stumbled to his feet, unbuttoned his fly and urinated over the side. He nodded to a neighbouring boat owner who turned away sniffily. He smelled wine vomit on his shirt so he tore it apart and flung it away with disgust. He waggled his cock dry and packed it away. His brain was circling around, 'Food. Drink. Shower.'

He stopped off at the kitchen to guzzle orange juice and tear with his teeth a hunk of bread. He walked into his bedroom and it hit him. He was not alone. Betsy! She was asleep, lying on her front, her beautifully sculpted buttcheeks peeking out from the bottom of her tee-shirt. Her legs were apart, showing the barest hint of her furry pussy. He stood mesmerised. His cock began to thicken with longing. She looked so snuggly, so... He shook the thoughts from his head and shut himself away in the bathroom.

He stripped and had a long, brutally hot shower while remembering all the things he'd said last night. Soon, he thought, she'd tell her mother and then all hell would break loose. He'd be shunned and disowned. He'd die a lonely death. He was feeling utterly miserable when he stepped out of the bathroom and found Betsy sitting on the bed waiting for him. He'd tied a towel around his waist, he double checked this to make sure he wasn't about to add to his crimes by flashing the poor girl.

"Betsy," he said, surprised by her look of innocent expectation, "I must apologise, sincerely, for last night. What I said, I was rambling, I was... I'm so sorry. You must be appalled, probably even a little scared of me right now."

Betsy pulled a face, "Scared? I know you would never do anything to me I didn't want you to do."

This phrase further confused his crapulous brain.

"You're a decent man," she said.

His mind was arguing with this statement when she beckoned him closer. She took his hands tenderly and examined his damaged knuckles. The shower had reopened the scabs and he was bleeding again.

"They're swelling up. There may be infection," she patted the bed, "You sit and I'll get the medi-kit."

He sat obediently. She left the room then returned with his box of medical supplies. She sat next to him, opened the box and set about cleaning his gruesome mitts with cotton wool soaked in antiseptic. When she was layering the worst of the grazes with plasters, she glanced up at him from under her lashes.

"I'm mad at you," she said softly.

"Of course you are. I would be too. Horrified. Disgusted."

"I'm mad because you hurt someone I love."

"I don't know why you're being so nice about it."

"Silly boy, you could've just talked to me."

"Yeah? I wonder how that conversation would've went."

She gathered up the loose bits of medical litter and closed the box with a click.

"I simply would've said that I feel the same," she said and kissed him very briefly before leaving the room.

Outside the bedroom, she leaned back against the wall with her heart in her mouth. She was flying by the seat of her pants and without a net. She'd never done anything so daring in her whole life. The door she was afraid to push open had just been kicked off its hinges. She put down the medi-kit. Her hands were shaking. She couldn't explain herself to herself. It was her first time experiencing pure selfish instinct.

She stepped into the bedroom doorway. He hadn't moved but was a seated statue of bewilderment. She smiled and crossed to the bed. She pushed his chest and he reclined back on the bed. She climbed on top of him, her hands on either side of his face. He looked like a rabbit in headlights. She lowered her face and kissed him gently. Their lips barely met. She pressed a little firmer but he didn't respond. She was just feeling like she'd made a catastrophic mistake when his beplastered hands touched her back and he returned her kiss.

They reciprocated in a thousand serene, adoring smooches. She relaxed and a warm arousal radiated from her groin outwards, moving within her like a tide. It was her first real kiss, she felt, the first that directly connected her lips with her other lips.

"I've been wanting to do that," she said.

"I had no idea."

She kissed him again, her body moving upon his. Her pelvic mound slowly riding the bump under his towel.

He asked, "What else don't I know about?"

She blushed and leaned down to his ear to whisper, "I want you."

She moved aside slightly so she could reach down and caress the thick bulge beneath the towel.

"I want you inside me," she said, tugging at the towel so that it revealed his nakedness. Her fingers clamped around his thick, hard, warm shaft so naturally like she owned him. She toyed with him, hardening him, as she lowered her face for more loving kisses. Their lips mashed sweetly, His rough hands were steadily exploring her back, her thighs and the smooth curves of her bum.

He watched in disbelief as she manoeuvred herself up and, with her hand guiding his engorged prick, she slid his eager prick up into her tight, wet slit. He moaned aloud with the momentous pleasure, a dreamed of pleasure, a fantastical pleasure becoming reality. She kissed him harder as she began to work her pussy up and down his shaft, their mouths open, their tongues dancing, their breath mingling. They snorted and sighed and moaned.

Betsy dared not think, if she considered who she was screwing she would've freaked and fled. She focussed entirely on the hot kisses and the deep lustful thrusts of her man up into her, his solid, bulbous cockhead probing, opening her up. She was giving herself entirely to her man, no hold-backs, no reservations, no troubling doubts.

All her partners previously, she had fretted and fussed trying to please them in bed but now, here, losing her inhibitions with her wild, ancient lover she was pleasing herself. She knew her body, she knew how to make herself come, she knew her speeds and touches and angles and she was now using his upright stalk to bring to boil all that pent up pressure. She was praying the old guy didn't spunk before she took herself there but she felt he knew his duty, a gentleman knows his obligations to a woman.

She felt his every push and throb as he slowly screwed up into her humping pussy. There was precision with his piercing thrusts, the clever old bastard. She'd been imagining this very moment for so long she was savouring it, she wanted to exhaust every second of enjoyment.

Sensing her enjoyment was rising near to climax, Julien sped up his athletic gyrations inside her to match her tempo. They screwed in unison. A harmony of desire. Her mind was spiralling around and around as her body flew towards a growing, emerging, uncontrollable release. She was panting with the effort. He was gasping, riding her tiger.

She buried her face in the nape of his neck. His hands were inside her tee-shirt, the feel of him on her skin drove her wild, his touch driving her to fuck harder. She fucked herself against the solidity of his iron-hard prong until the waves of orgasm crashed over her and took her away, soaring, heaven bursting light and soundless.

'God, I needed this!!'

Julien held close the quivering girl, feeding off her trembling climax. Her kinetic energy lit him up and he shared her tense, quivering peaks until they slowed and ceased and she sat up with her hands on his chest, his dick still deeply embedded. She looked down at him then arched her back and started to screw again, grinding down with a hypnotic circular motion on the heavy cock that impaled her. Her messed up hair, the maniacal glow in her eyes, her pouting lips so full and kissable; he'd never seen a woman look so divine. She wiped her sweaty hair out of her eyes and went to take off her tee-shirt.

"Don't take it off," he pleaded.

"Why not? I'm hot!"

"You sure are! You're magnificent. But your breasts. It'll end me!"

She laughed and made the revelation of her boobs a teasing striptease. When she finally yanked off her top and flashed her fulsome, perky tits, he groaned and gritted his teeth against the urge to explode within her womb. Her nipples stood out as twin proud mountainous summits. His fingers climbed the slopes of her belly and navigated to her erect nubs. She closed her eyes, lost in delight as his hands embraced her breasts. He felt his cock being bathed in her flowing warm goo.

Naked and uninhibited, she leaned back and played with her hot little button as her pussy rode back and forth on his thick, stiff meat. He had to cup her swinging boobs to retain a hold. She smiled at him. He looked like a fascinated little boy.

She adored his adoration. His reverent worship was unlike any other man she'd known. She was imbued with power and a new sense of worth. She felt secure enough to demand a final cherry on top.

"Grandpa-"

"Don't call me that. Not now, girl!"

"Skipper?"

He laughed.

"I heard you, at night," she said, slowing down her screwing so she could focus on her words, "I heard you beating off. I heard the things you said about me."

"Aw shitfire, I'm sorry, Betsy, I was just, just-"

"Would it surprise you if I asked you to say those things to me?"

She saw the intelligence move swiftly across his face.

"Not at all," he said, "It wouldn't surprise me at all. 'Cause you're a sleazy little cunt."

She felt her pussy tighten, claiming her man, clamping in pulses around his throbbing flesh.

"More," she breathed.

"What more can I say about a sexy, dirty, skanky, whore?"

She quickened her hips, gyrating, hauling her body back and forth, forcing his heavy cock to prod and probe internally, seeking out her juicy spots.

"You fuckin' nasty bitch, you've got the hottest, tightest snatch. You're fuckin' drivin' me crazy. All men, not just me. We're lustin' after you, wankin' over you. Thinkin' about spunkin' in your mouth, on your face, on these glorious tits!"

She humped herself against his upwards driving stabs like a wild beast, her hair was flailing. She was Aphrodite rising from the ocean.

"Fuuuck," she gasped.

"Fuckin's what you're good at, you cheap slut. Your dirty pussy feels so fuckin' good. Work it! Work it, whore!"

As she rode him, she was frigging her clit rhythmically, fast and regular, a frantic fingering atop the deep sensations of his pulsating cock moving inside her. She threw her head back, her mouth open as if in silent prayer. Her eyes were open but vision was absent, following her elsewhere mind.

He groped her wobbling, slightly chubby belly and relished the smooth, flawless landscape of her young contours. He felt the knowing tingles that spoke of his own climax.

She asked, "Is that all I am to you?"

"A hot, tight, dirty cunt."

"We're being very bad, aren't we?"

"You're a very bad girl, Betsy. But I love you."

Suddenly his prick was fucking thin air. She'd rolled off him and was on her back, writhing in the rucked up sheets. Her thighs were open wide and her pink gash glistened sexily between her dark fur. She dragged and grappled him on top of her and he held himself up as he plunged home. His balls bounced audibly on her butt as his muscular onslaught drove her, pushed her, provoked her, again and again.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," she cried.

Her body was pleading with her to not fail, to not falter. Every inch of her needed to sail over the crest of the waterfall and fall into the beyond.

"Take me there," she begged as he screwed her down into the bed. He leaned down and kissed her. Her fingers were in his hair, entwined, clutching.

"Grandpa! Grandpa!"

That word, that word was the catalyst for the final surge of irresistible pressures. The restrained fluids were at bursting point.

"Besty, I, I can't, can't hold..."

She hooked her legs around him, drawing him in deeper. Her nails dug into his flesh. She kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth as he erupted. His lava flowed into her in breath-taking jets. She pulled away, her mouth needing precious oxygen, as he shunted each shot of sperm into her, in hard, fast loving fucks.

*******

She was lying next to him, her head moving gently up and down with the heaving of his chest. His white chest hairs were moist. Her fingers trailed down through his belly hair as they darkened towards his tight, black pubes.

"Your heart is racing again, " she said, "Am I as exciting as a hurricane?"

"Ten thousand times."

They lay in their shared quiet. She was privately enjoying secret after-shocks which haphazardly sang through her, like ripples in a pond; delicate reminders of the mind-melting ecstasy she'd finally discovered. Serene and secure, she wanted to be no place on Earth rather than in his bed, on his boat, in his arms with his liquid spirit gloopily gumming up her privates. After this meditative silence, however, she felt a growing conception of the world outside their bedroom.

She sighed, "What are we going to do now?"

"My immediate plans are to take a whizz," he lifted her head off his chest and made to get up, " And then I'm gunna come back and put my tongue in your ass."

She sat up with him, "Grandpa!"

"I've been wantin' to play with your cute lil' bunghole since you started paradin' it around in front of me."

"I wasn't parading-"

He raised his eyebrows with a look of 'Are you sure?' and she blushed.

"Maybe a little bit," she admitted.

"Are you sayin' no?"

Still blushing, she said, "No, I'm not saying no. You just shocked me."

"Hell, girl, if anyone's in shock here, it's yours truly."

He tried not to make old-man-groans as he hauled his body up off the low bed. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door, which she thought was very gentlemanly. She was feeling proud of her choice of lover. She exhaled and stretched out like a starfish, curling and uncurling her toes, a fresh concentration of orgasmic ripples tingled through her and she relaxed in her glow. She giggled as her bunghole twitched at the idea of his impending oral assault.

The bathroom door opened, he was drying his hands.

"I know what we do have to do," she said.

"What's that?"

"We've got to get some rubbers. If you keep nailing me like that, I'm definitely going to get in trouble."

"Until then," he hung up the towel and switched off the bathroom light, "Let's see what happens first, your pregnancy or my heart attack."

He stepped into the bedroom, "Now, are you gunna turn over on to your tummy or am I gunna have to flip you over?"