Long Schlong Silver

by Kade, Teagan

  This is the Rolls Royce of rods, a customized Crowder worth more than most cars around here, but it’s struggling against this behemoth.

  The line swings, a thud under the boat enough to send me off balance momentarily.

  I turn and keep reeling, the strain of it starting to get to me, my biceps burning in the fight.

  But it feels good—to fight, to forget.

  I let out a holler and work the line. “Whoooo. Come on, boy.”

  Even the line’s stretched to its breaking point. I’m not sure it’s going to survive, but I’m going to do everything I damn well can to bring this monster in.

  Five minutes later and I’m sweating hard, my arms on fire and my teeth gritted tight.

  Finally, I see something under the surface, a shadow and then a dark form, and I know.

  It’s the Beast.

  I stop reeling and look down in awe, because it’s there, right there, half the size of the boat, one black eye looking up at me through the water.

  “Holy. Fucking. Shit,” I stammer.

  I’ve been after this thing for so long even I was starting to think it was a fairytale, a kind of ongoing ruse people use to keep themselves entertained around here. Yeah, you heard the stories, saw the odd blurry photo, but I never thought I’d see it in the flesh.

  It jerks and I reel, enough to flip it across the surface of the water. It’s so big it’s fucking ridiculous, but I can tell the fight is starting to leave it. Why not? Maybe he’s sick of being hunted, sick of constantly being framed up for the pool room wall.

  You can do it, I tell myself. You can bring in the Beast and become a legend. I’d no longer be the former football star turned no-hoper. I’d be famous, go down in the history books.

  I’m paused there, completely still while the Beast flaps and fights.

  What are you doing? my head screams. Bring it the fuck in.

  I think of Gisele, of that glimmer of hope she provided for me. If nothing else, I deserve an explanation why she did what she did, and maybe she’s right. Maybe she only had best intentions at heart.

  I’ve been fighting for the last fifteen minutes reeling in the biggest catch of my life, but somehow I feel I’m also letting another go. And I can’t. I have to know. I have to see her again and let her explain.

  I reach to my belt and pull out my bait knife, bringing it up to the line near the tip of the rod.

  I breathe in.

  I breathe out.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” I say aloud, watching that big black eye.

  “You go on,” I tell the Beast. “Another day, maybe.”

  I cut the line and the Beast is gone, the water folding over where he was and soon settling to the same mirror surface as before.

  I laugh, actually laugh openly into the air at the absurdity of it all. Un-fucking-believable.

  No one’s going to believe me, naturally.

  And maybe that’s for the best.

  I pack the rod away and return to the helm, turning the ignition and bringing the throttle up, the boat moving out of the Cove with a steady thrum.

  I’ve got somewhere to be.

  Something even bigger to bring in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  GISELE

  “Fuck you, Bart!” I shout into the open air, my arms on fire from rowing for the last fucking fifty minutes.

  I’m sure he took great pleasure watching me row off in this death trap, my heels scuffing against the floor—a floor, I might add, which doesn’t appear to have seen a hose in the last hundred years.

  He gave me a rough hand-drawn map of where to go, yes, but he never mentioned just how far up the river this cursed place was.

  I recall the Cove. It wasn’t so cursed last time you were there now, was it?

  I’m exhausted, burnt out, just about to row into shore and call it a day when I hear something in the distance.

  I squint, the sun making it hard to make out anything concrete.

  Soon the sound becomes unmistakable.

  I squint a little more and realize what I’m seeing.

  It’s a speedboat—Bobby’s speedboat.

  But it’s hauling ass… and coming straight for me.

  I get up and start to wave my hands, shouting, but still the boat keeps on coming.

  Surely he can see me, I think. He has to.

  Still, the speedboat shows no signs of slowing down, continuing to barrel for my position.

  He isn’t going to actually run me over, is he?

  The closer he gets, the less confident I become.

  I use two hands to cup my mouth and shout, can actually see him now. “Bobby!” I scream.

  At the very last second, moments away from collision, he turns the boat sharply, a wave of water soaking me from head to toe, the wake almost tipping me into the river.

  I stand there wavering in the rowboat dripping wet, arms outstretched, watching as he drops throttle and loops around to pull up beside me.

  “Really!” I shout at him, pulling wet strands of hair from my face. “Was that really fucking necessary?”

  He’s smiling with his sunglasses on, looks like he’s having a grand old day out on the river. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

  I shake my head and try to remind myself why I’m here.

  “I’m sorry!” I shout between us, Bobby’s boat slowly drifting closer. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have gone behind your back and done what I did. I apologize.”

  His lips pull tight. “That’s awfully big of you.”

  “Can we skip the whole you-forgiving-me part? I’m freezing, I’m wet, and my arms feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each.”

  He keeps me waiting.

  “Well?” I shout, my voice breaking through shivers. “Come on. Please.”

  He cups his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “Jesus, please!” I shout.

  He reaches for the side of the rowboat as we meet up. “Climb aboard.”

  I use his offered hand to pull myself into the speedboat while he attaches a towrope to Bart’s damned rowboat.

  “There’s a blanket under the seat there,” he says, still smiling. “You’re looking a wee bit wet there.”

  I restrain myself from unleashing hell because I’m too damn cold. “Thank… you,” I squeeze out.

  He starts to laugh. “Oh, my pleasure, and I might I add how pretty you look all soaked through like that.”

  “Watch it,” I tell him, sitting there with the blanket around me, my teeth chattering like old saucers.

  He stands at the helm. “How does a warm shower and make-up sex sound?”

  “Just g-g-go,” I chatter.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says, hitting the throttle.

  *

  We don’t waste a second when we get back to Roxanne.

  He doesn’t just pull me into his arms; he wrenches me from the spot, lips falling to mine with such speed our teeth are pressed together.

  The anger mixes with this new emotion and becomes something else entirely, free and unrestrained.

  His hand drops to my thigh, lifting it to my waist as he grinds against me. Together, our tongues dance and duel until he is forced to break away, breathless, if only to tear my shirt in two.

  With one hand he pulls the cup of my bra down, wasting no time lowering his head and drawing my already strained nipple between his lips.

  I melt internally, all that anger and rage slowly dissipating and replaced with a fire burning so strong it’s eating me alive.

  His free hand comes flat against my abdomen and slides south below the waistband of my still-wet jeans. I don’t know what to do but clutch onto him as those thick fingers begin to stroke my sex.

  I cry out in need, because I want this so badly. It might not be perfect timing, it might even be wrong entirely, but in this moment, it feels right—so, so right.

  I reach down and unbuckle his pants, sliding the zipper down and reaching my hand in
side his jocks to softly stroke his cock. He’s already hard, the hot shaft of his member with all the texture of fine silk.

  Desire courses through my veins. We undress each other in a blind, violent rush, clothes flung left and right, falling onto the bed together.

  He comes up over my prone body, one hand resting against my face, the other stroking my hair. “Would you like me to go down on you?”

  I’ve never heard him ask permission before, but I nod in reply.

  His head falls between my thighs, his hot tongue dipping into my hole and licking upwards to flick over my clit in a rhythmic pulse.

  I’m dragged to the edge of ecstasy in a matter of minutes, my toes curling inwards and the tiny hairs on my arm standing on end.

  But it isn’t enough. I want more.

  “Fuck me,” I tell him, quiet at first.

  He lifts his head, glowing eyes all I can see in the fading light. His breath falls against my pubic bone. “What did you say?”

  I swallow before speaking again. “I want you to fuck me.”

  It’s brazen, I know, but I need him inside me like the earth needs rain.

  He shifts up between my thighs, the long column of his cock resting against my heated folds.

  I reach down with one hand and guide him inside.

  He thrusts forward, filling me completely and forcing a single, staccato breath from my mouth.

  I reach up around his back, my nails clawing at the hard planes of his shoulders while he fucks me hard.

  This isn’t a lazy Sunday morning sex sesh. No, he hammers into my body with such savageness, such intensity, I know I should be scared, but even so, I trust him, want him, this animal made man.

  My legs lock around his waist and I lever to meet each thrust, using my hips to take all of him. “Make me come,” I demand.

  He speeds up, expelling the breath from my body with each frantic thrust, my flesh parting easily to take him deeper.

  “Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so fucking wet.”

  He rises onto his upper arms and drives forward faster and harder than ever before until I’m literally crying out for release.

  One more thrust and I come so hard I lose my vision, stuck in a black limbo of spotted light, sent down a vortex of pleasure so deep and dark I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the surface again.

  He cries out himself, falling to my chest, the two of us lying on the bed in a sweaty pile trying to piece ourselves back together.

  We stay like this, slowly regulating our breathing until he softens inside me. His cock finally slips free and he lies there to my side, his fingers drumming against my ribs. “I suppose that means all is forgiven.”

  I smile inwardly. “I suppose it does.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  BOBBY

  I fight down the urge to get up and fix myself a drink, instead spending the morning watching the way the morning light shifts over Gisele’s features. Here, free of makeup and fine clothes, she really is the girl next door—the one you and your high-school buddies jerked off to, dreamed about at night… fought over.

  But she’s mine, I think. Nothing’s going to take her away.

  I’ve shaken all the skeletons in my closest free. There are no secrets I’m keeping from her, nothing I have left to confess. She’s seen me for what I am and she wants to be with me anyhow. That’s reassuring in a way completely foreign to me.

  I get up and shower instead, the showerhead sputtering away as usual. The water temperature constantly fluctuates, requiring one to keep a constant grip on the tap, constantly adjusting it like some sort of safe-cracker.

  I step out, surprised to find Gisele’s still asleep, though I can hardly blame her after last night. Even I’m feeling the burn.

  I make breakfast instead, nice and greasy, sufficient to wake even the deepest sleeper. Sure enough, Gisele saunters into the kitchen as I’m halfway through the eggs, wrapping her arms around my waist and yawning against my backbone. “Do you always make breakfast for your sleepover guests?”

  “No one sleeps over—golden rule.”

  “So you’re breaking your golden rule for me?”

  “You’re not a guest.”

  “Oh no? What am I then?”

  I lean back and kiss her on the cheek. “Whatever you want to be.”

  She lets go and rubs her head. “It’s far too early for morning riddles.”

  I scoop the eggs out of the pan, adding them to the bacon and hash on her plate. “How about breakfast then?”

  She takes a seat at the small kitchen table. “Amen to that.”

  I hand over her plate and take my own, seating myself and sliding a knife and fork across the table. “Eat up. I’ve got a big day planned.”

  She looks up. “Is that so? I don’t suppose it involves leaving the boat, does it?”

  “I thought I might show you around a bit, show you the other secret spots I know.”

  “How many are there?”

  “More than enough to keep two people entertained for a while—maybe some of the local wildlife, too, if I have anything to do about it.”

  She shakes her head. “The poor things those creatures must have seen.”

  “Hey,” I retort, “I don’t take just anyone out on the water, and especially not to my best spots.”

  “A quickie behind the Gas & Tackle is off the books then?”

  “Unless you want to give Bart a heart attack when he reviews the daily security footage.”

  She laughs at that. “Could you imagine?”

  “Oh, he’s seen far worse than that, trust me.”

  Gisele stops eating, looking up. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend, a wife?”

  I can’t help but smile. “Men are more his style, actually.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, but he’s not one for relationships.”

  “Has he ever tried to… with…” she trails off, pointing at me.

  I half-choke on my egg, coughing. “God no. Have you seen the size of the guy? He’s all of four foot. I’d kill him.”

  We both laugh at the horrible visual I just created.

  “I know what they call me,” I tell her, “but trust me when I say Bart is the real Bear around these parts.” I point to her plate with my fork. “Now eat up. You’re going to need all the energy you can get if I get my way with you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  GISELE

  Bobby was right. Today was a great day out on the water, enough to make me forget about the city, about my life.

  Later, I headed back to the motel to collect my things, Bobby insisting I move in, so to speak.

  I’m making my way down the back of the Gas & Tackle, smiling to myself at the thought of another night with Bobby.

  “May as well pull up a chair.”

  I stop, looking sideways to where Bart’s sitting in a camp chair, a beer in hand. He points to Roxanne with it. “Bobby’s gone fishing, no word when he’ll be back. Go on,” he motions, “sit.”

  At first, I’m miffed he’d go without me.

  Sensing my unease, Bart says, “Said he was going catch you something real nice for dinner, throw it on the grill.”

  I settle. “Sounds good.”

  I pull a chair across and seat myself, Bart opening the cooler beside him and passing over a beer. “I’d go inside and grab the pinot noir, but I’d say you’re a beer kind of girl at heart.”

  I take a sip. “In some ways,” I smile coyly.

  We stare down to the water.

  Bart speaks, his tone casual. “How’s it going with your client? He must be flipping his lid right about now.”

  That demands a far longer sip. I wasn’t aware Bart knew. “He’s none too happy, no. Bobby told you about it all, I assume?”

  “I did my own digging, knew from that first day you showed up something wasn’t quite right with your ‘proposal’.”

  It’s news to me, though I suspected Bobby knew more than he was letting on. “You told Bobby
?”

  The moonlight’s catching in Bart’s eyes, worn and tired. “I did.”

  “You’ve got contacts?” I query.

  “I’ve got some friends, sure, from the good ol’ days.”

  I bring the beer up, stopping it before my mouth. “What were you, a spook?”

  Bart remains silent.

  “Well, shit. That is a surprise.” A thought occurs to me. “You think your intelligence friends could do a bit more digging, find out exactly who my client is. I can supply bank transfers, phone numbers…”

  He puts a hand up. “Sure. Any friend of Bobby is a friend of mine, but I think my contacts are getting sick of shoveling, if you know what I mean. Got to give them some kind of sweetener.”

  I think of the leverage I have on the more suspicious transactions I’ve made over the years. “I might have something to that effect.”

  “Send it on over and I’ll tug some lines, see what comes up.”

  “What’s your email?”

  He looks across to me. “Bartthebassking@topmail.com.”

  I laugh, placing the beer between my legs. “Seriously?”

  No reply.

  “What is it with you and Bobby anyhow? You’re thick as thieves.”

  Bart takes his time drinking, breathing out. “Let’s just say I know what it’s like to come back to a town like this and not be welcomed like a prodigal son.”

  I could probe, but I leave it. “What was it like, when he came back?”

  “Well, his father wasn’t particularly well-liked in his day, boozing aside, but all that had been long forgotten, and Bobby to an extent. Naturally, there was a good smattering of local women who’d grown up with Bobby keen for a rerun. Maybe it was just for nostalgia’s sake, but they didn’t particularly care what he’d done or where he’d been. They just wanted another go at your boy’s big ol’ prick, another tall tale to tell at the Monday mother’s meeting down at the Lutheran.”

  “You’ve seen it?” I ask.

  Bart almost chokes on his beer. “His dick? It’s a bit hard to miss, but sure. First morning after he moved into Roxanne I stepped out right here on this verandah and saw something emerge from the water. I thought it was an alien the way it was hobbling up the bank with three legs… until I got my eyesight going.”