Lovers Peak

by Dani Stowe

  “But I thought his doctor said surgery was not a good option.”

  “It’s not but at the rate it’s moving, Henry could lose function of a lot more than just being able to walk.”

  “Like his fin?” I sass. “Maybe if he stopped morphing into a fucking fish so he can fuck you how you want it, he wouldn’t be having this problem.”

  Shelley sighs. “That’s mean.”

  “Yeah, well, so is leaving your best friend alone in this rinky-dink small town filled with creatures from the Black Lagoon. If I could’ve afforded to stay in the apartment by myself, I would’ve.”

  “Look,” pauses Shelley staring blankly. “Stay here. Stay in the beach house. It’s perfectly safe. If you run into trouble, just call the sheriff.”

  I’m fuming again. “You said I couldn’t trust the sheriff!”

  “No, right. Don’t call the sheriff. Call the deputy.”

  “So, that’s it? You tell me I died and that I might die a-gain and you’re just going to leave?”

  Shelley stops folding and walks to me, putting her hand on my non-tattooed shoulder. “If you really want to know more, you can go to the library and see Athena. But honestly, Kumiko, curse his heart, if you just give Orphelius a chance—”

  Curse his heart?

  “Curse his heart! Fuck you,” I tell her as I flick her hand away and allow my feet to march me into Shelley’s old bedroom and slam the door behind me.

  I walk over to Shelley’s vanity and sit in the little wooden chair before an oval-shaped mirror on the wall that’s frame is constructed of cemented seashells between globs of glitter and sand; I get more irritated when I see my grumpy face in the mirror.

  I just don’t get it. I know Shelley grew up here and I know she’s been exposed to a lot of this hocus pocus, but it all still seems unreal to me. Not to mention now I’m about to be stuck here alone because she needs to take her disabled merfreak to see a damn surgeon.

  “I hope that freaky fucker is never able to walk again,” I say to my reflection. “Ah!” Pain shreds through my flesh over my shoulder—it’s penetrating deep into my bone where it throbs. I swear it feels like I just got bit and I can’t help but get the feeling I did.

  I look in the mirror. My dragon is looking back at me, looking pissed and angry.

  “You know I didn’t mean that,” I say to the cartoon painted on my arm. I feel foolish for talking to it—to myself, but the urge to apologize feels overwhelming. “You know, I love Henry. I’m just jealous of him, or more likely the two of them—stupid lovebirds always hanging out on that couch they call the love nest.”

  I always thought it would be wonderful to see people in love. I always wished it for my parents—that I could’ve seen them just once loving one another instead of always arguing. I never even saw them kiss and my whole life I wondered what it would’ve been like to see the two in a tight embrace, swapping tongues. But it’s as if they were doomed, doomed from the beginning, as I know in my heart I’ve been since the birth of my existence.

  I look the dragon straight in the eyes through the mirror. “You would think that seeing people like Shelley and Henry in love would be soul lifting. But it’s not. Watching people in love sucks!”

  I ditch the mirror and decide to lie down on Shelley’s creaky, wooden twin bed. When I lay my head to the pillow, her parents are staring at me. They are in a tight embrace and smiling inside a dusty 3x5 fake metallic picture frame, which I fold back to avoid seeing them.

  My gut wrenches. Perhaps I’m being selfish. Shelley’s past has been as tumultuous as my own, if not more. My parents may not be together anymore, but at least they are still alive.

  I think of Henry; I’ve never considered his past. I never even asked. Maybe its because I don’t really want to know the history of his current circumstances, mostly since deep down I know it might negate the turmoil I experienced in my life. Fundamentally, I know Henry’s history could be, and probably is, much, much worse. He is cursed, after all. Curse his heart.

  ...and now I’m thinking about—Orphelius.

  I wonder if he too can change the way Henry can form his legs. Orphelius is quite handsome from the waist up, but the rest? Yikes.

  Well, if Orphelius had legs, I might be interested.

  ...the fuck am I saying? I’m not interested in tentacle man!

  I close my eyes, shutting them firmly and pulling the covers over my head. No more thoughts of tentacles or broken legs or sea monsters and mermen.

  Sleep. That’s all I need. A nice long nap and thoughts of...

  Rainbows. Those seem safe enough.

  Chapter 7

  Orphelius

  “GOOD MORNING, MY BROTHER!” shouted Captain Willis Sturgeon, a gray-eyed stoutly devil from aboard the Annabelle. “Have you seen the sky behind you? We’ve been given a good omen.”

  I turned around to see a rainbow spreading high into the heavens and the moment I paused to look up, a seagull shit on my shoulder. “What the fuck?” I snapped.

  A line of seamen, waiting to be inspected in hopes of becoming a part of Annabelle’s crew, wailed with laughter.

  “That’s two good omens in a row,” cried the Captain, slapping his thigh. “Perhaps, we should set sail today instead of waiting on orders. With this much luck, we might find the Fountain of Youth.”

  “We have orders,” I shouted back as I made my way up the plank and onto the deck.

  Captain Willis lifted his two-horned hat to scratch his head. “How’s that?”

  I marched straight to Willis, my Captain, to give him the papers I lobbied for just moments ago. “We are to accompany Captain Porterman to see our majesty’s treasure and ammunition safely to the Americas. They depart this afternoon.”

  “What the hell did you do?” Willis asked unrolling the papers. “We don’t even have a full crew.”

  I said nothing as Willis read the handwritten cursive until he rolled the papers back up and smacked me on the forehead with them.

  I stuck out my chest and lifted my chin. “I’m ready to depart and escorting this ship will be a fine journey.”

  “Journey? Who the hell are you and where is my friend that has become like a brother? What’s on this ship that you want so bad, Orphelius?”

  “Gold and ammunition and a reason to go to the Americas. You’ve always wanted to go the new coast. You speak of it incessantly.”

  “Not with slaves! Have you seen the shorthanded list on this manifest? There are slaves—expensive ones. Women in chains. We don’t do slaves, or did you forget? Take these orders back and tell them I do not consent and any confusion in the matter is your doing and if you should be punished for it, I will give you the lashings myself.”

  “Captain,” I said firmly. Both of my hands had unconsciously gripped my sword and Willis had caught sight of my grip at the hilt. “We must accompany this ship.”

  The wrinkle between Willis’s brows furrowed deep. He looked about the ship, as did I; several seamen were watching. “Orphelius, you look like you’re about to start a mutiny and you hardly even have a crew to do it. If you are desperate to go to America, we will. But not among slaves or in the company of slaves and certainly not today.”

  I gritted my teeth. “What is your problem with slave women? You fuck whores all the time.”

  “Rarely do I fuck whores,” he replied, still looking about to check who was listening in and he lowered his voice. “Women throw themselves upon me as they do you. But in the rare case I find myself attracted to a woman who is a whore, I pay her well and I do not force her to do anything she does not want to do. But that is not the issue here, is it? Why are you so ready to depart and why, of all the ships, do you want to accompany this ship? It is not like you to seem interested in the details of where’er we are destined. You normally leave that to me...unless?” Captain Will reached under the folds of his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to me with a gesture to wipe the bird feces from my shoulder. “There are rumors
of a master swordsman who came to the aid of a whore last night. This master swordsman wouldn’t happen to be my Master at Arms, would he?”

  I didn’t look at Willis. Instead, I wiped the bird shit. Willis and I, we were—are— more than friends; we are more like brothers, but he was still my superior and I didn’t know how he was going to feel about what I’d done for the sake of a strumpet.

  “I see,” he groaned with suspicion. “I have to say, I’m quite disappointed in you, Orphelius.”

  I huffed, finally looking at him. “I only killed two men after they had already murdered one man. I could not wait to consult with you for an order or—”

  “I’m not talking about that. I trust you to take justice into your own hands. I’m just surprised to see you could fall in love so quickly. And with a used wench, no less?”

  “She’s hardly used. Known only to one other man, a man who abuses her.”

  Captain Willis walked away to lean over the edge of the ship and cast his eyes on the men lined up below along the pier. “We will take the first twenty men,” he shouted.

  The first twenty men cheered as they raced up the plank while the other men cursed and slouched to walk away, except for one man who yelled with a fury from the back of the line.

  “No, wait!” the man cried, racing up the plank with a stomping and leaping over whatever stood in his way to come straight to Willis and myself. It was obvious he was a seaman, but he had never been on a navy vessel—no discipline. “Please, I’d like to join this crew,” he begged.

  “We only need twenty,” announced Willis, turning his back to the man to walk away.

  The man pleaded. “But, I’m a fine navigator.”

  Willis paused, holding up his compass made of gold—the one gift he kept from his father, whom I believe he hated. “I’m the navigator. That’s what being the Captain means and I’m confident I’m a much finer navigator than you.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I’d like to join your crew. It’s my understanding that no finer adventure awaits than the one navigated by Captain Willis Sturgeon in the company of his friend, Master Orphelius Mayhem.”

  I chuckled when Willis turned back to face the lad. I could sense the compliment would earn the seaman a spot on our ship.

  “Adventure?” Willis roared with a smile also examining the seaman. “If adventure is what you seek, then why were you at the end of the line?”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied, “I was—”

  “Seaman,” interjected Willis with a most serious face, his chin up and brow raised. “When I call for help, you are to be at the front of the line. You will be the first to step up, the first to volunteer, and the first always at my side. Is that clear?”

  He nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Give me your name.”

  “My name is Henry,” he replied, straightening his spine.

  “Henry,” smiled Captain Willis. “You speak heartily and your legs seem to carry you well. We need strong legs and men with backbone who are not afraid to speak up. Welcome aboard.”

  Chapter 8

  Kumiko

  THE WARM SLICK SLIVER of a firm, wet tongue glides up my inner thigh and it finds my heated slit. I don’t care whose tongue it is as long as it’s a man’s. I try to conjure my dream man—hot, hard, ripped, until I hear a tapping at the window.

  Dumb bird.

  Since the day I arrived, this dumb seagull has been tap, tap, tapping and waking me up every morning to bring me back to reality. But I’m not going to let the feathered freak alarm me this morning because I’m exhausted after yesterday and staying up so late last night.

  At some point during the night, Shelley and Henry left. It was scary being in the beach house alone in the dark. Shelley’s deceased aunt Cora Morae’s property is isolated from the rest of the town along the beach. There is little noise out here except the sound of waves curling on the wet sand. Most people might find that sound to be a soft symphony of lullabies, but not me. I don’t like being alone next to the ocean. Even before I knew of all this mysticism, I knew there were things hidden within the deep that have no business coming on land.

  Except Henry. I do feel better when he’s in the house at night. I’m not sure how effective he would be at fighting off an attacker if ever one should intrude, but the guy or merman or whatever he is, is a good one. I’ll give him that.

  He can’t speak, but the way he moves his hands when he speaks with them is rather passionate. And I hate to admit I can’t stand the way he uses his hands to handle Shelley so passionately as well.

  Every time I catch him groping her it’s like he’s never touched her before, soaking in the sensations of her body with his hands like he’s waited centuries to feel her, stroke her, and caress her. And he bites her. He bites her all the time to get her attention and she likes it. I hate it. It makes me jealous.

  I caught them once having sex. Henry had his face buried between Shelley’s thighs and her body was twitching like crazy as she yanked at his hair while he continued to roll his head around with a force so soft yet firm at the same time it was like watching waves, rolling and lapping repeatedly onshore.

  I hate them. I hate watching the two of them together, but every time I think of what I saw—my BFF getting fucked by Henry’s face, I admittedly get horny.

  I know it’s morning, though I’m half asleep, but I’m thinking of that moment I caught them and so I’m hot, which also makes me feel lonely.

  Ugh. I hate feeling like this so I try to imagine someone is with me—a man, big and strong, scruffy and tan. And passionate, like Henry, maybe. But different. A different kind of man. The most different kind of man I’ve ever known.

  My finger hooks under my panty and finds my clitoris and I imagine Orphelius. He is stroking me with his tongue, eating me. I think of the rest of him and it puts me off, so I remind myself this is my imagination and I can imagine Orphelius in any way I want.

  I imagine him with legs.

  I also imagine him looking up at me with his emerald green eyes as he laps at the small hard peak between my folds. I envision his hand reaching up to my breast, squeezing and massaging it as he rolls his tongue. I grab my tit and squeeze it as I rub more firmly on my clit.

  I visualize Orphelius climbing on top of me. The weight of him—heavy, and the feel of him—warm. My sex swells. I rub faster and my arm is beginning to get sore.

  Now I desperately wish Orphelius really was here and I didn’t have to do this myself. More importantly, I wish he could enter me. I wish he could fill me—big and hard while he continued to lap at my clit. But that’s not possible unless...

  I put the thought out of mind. Orphelius would probably be the only thing on earth that could fuck me and lap at me at the same time, but I’m not fucking a bunch of tentacles.

  So, I imagine Orphelius with an ass—smooth and firm in my grip. I dream of his thick, muscular, hairy thighs and calves and his ass and legs working in unison like a machine to thrust the huge phallic member of his manhood in and out of me. I bite my lip and I want to come.

  But more than an orgasm, I want Orphelius. I want him inside me. At this moment, I want Orphelius to fuck me and invade me and then I feel an unexpected rub at my inner thigh that is not me! I open my eyes as my body clamps tight at what’s happening.

  I’m about to be invaded! I suddenly feel nauseous. This is not what I want!

  My hands push forward at the body that is settling on me and I see a face.

  “Bradley!” I yell. “What are you doing? Get off!”

  “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he says as he grips my wrists together. “I don’t normally like girls like you. You’re so different and wrong. But when I saw you touching yourself and I licked your thigh and then you opened your legs for me?” He shakes his head as he lifts my pajama dress over my breasts. “Fuck girl, I want you.”

  “Bradley,” I say calmly, trying to pull my PJs down with hands bound together in his grasp, “there’s
been some miscommunication. I don’t know how you got in here, but I want you to get off.”

  Bradley pauses. “Get off? The door was open. Your cunt was wide open. You knew I was coming today.”

  I try to move my knees to put them between the two of us while jerking my arms in an attempt to break my hands free of his grip. He clamps my wrists harder and pushes them straight into the mattress above my head.

  “Bradley, I’m serious,” I say. “You’re hurting me.” I try to wiggle and squeeze my legs shut despite the fact I know I can’t because he’s between them.

  “Oh yeah, girl, fight me a little. That’s gonna make you tight. I never thought I’d want a girl like you wrapped tight on me. My tight little Cookie.”

  “Bradley!” I scream and I feel like I’m really struggling now. I should just be able to push him off, but he has me pinned.

  I don’t know why I feel so weak in this position. I don’t know why he won’t stop. Does he not hear me?

  I knee him in the rib. “Bradley!” I shout once more, my voice so loud it hurts my ears. I feel a hard smack to the side of my head.

  “Ow,” I blurt. The fucker just hit me!

  “Shut up!” he yells.

  Nobody tells me to shut up! I manage to knee him hard in the chest. He lets go of my hands and I smack him.

  I feel another harder punch behind the opposite ear.

  The first one was shocking, but this one really hurt. I can’t believe it; my eyes are wet as I start crying. What’s wrong with me? A part of me wants to scream, though for some reason I can’t. It’s like the air has been knocked out of my body.

  All at once, there’s a throbbing ache in my head. My brain feels like it’s been mashed and for the first time since I can remember, I’m scared. I’m really scared. I feel more inclined to do as Bradley says and just shut up. My head is pounding and my ears are ringing. I don’t want him to hit me again because...I hurt.