by Sandra Ross
Tempest Brewing
By Sandra Ross
Published by Publications Circulations LLC.
SmashWords Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, companies and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
The following story is for entertainment purposes only. This book contains sexually graphic scenes depicting consenting adults above the age of 18 engaging in passionate sexual acts. This story is intended only for persons over the legal adult age. By downloading and opening this document, you are stating that you are of legal age to access and view this work of fiction. Mature readers only. Reader discretion is advised.
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Chapter One
SHE WAS SITTING on the upper level of the Schooner Wharf in Key West. From there, one gets an amazing view of the marina, and further away, the sea.
The marina was adjacent to the "keysie" oyster bar. The place opened for breakfast and closed at around four in the morning, every day. It took the place's staff two hours to prep for opening, and roughly the same time to close. It was as much a local hang out as it was a de rigeur tourist must-see for anyone visiting the Florida Keys. Schooner Wharf was a landmark place, this part of the Conch Republic. Inside, there was live music, a resident magician, a well-stocked bar, food, a hand-made cigar roller, and a souvenir shop.
Needless to say, Schooner Wharf is an integral part of the commercial paradise called Key West.
As she looked out past the moored vessels and into the vast inky grayish --green waters of the ocean, a single tear cascaded down her beautiful young cheek. Only one blue eye leaked a tear, thereby ruining her mascara and spoiling an otherwise perfectly made-up face.
From down below, Raven - the evening's entertainer - was singing her version of a Johnny Cash original. The speakers' volume was set to low, however -- it allowed for couples whispering to one another to hear each other.
She knew that she shouldn't stay up there long, she was on the clock, after all. Eric, the openly gay night manager, was a friend and a really good guy. He would not give her a hard time. She just needed a minute or two, even though, in reality, it had already been ten. And as she gazed out into the darkness, she absentmindedly caressed the fairly recent tattoo on her left upper arm. The tattoo was of two interlocking hearts, with "Bryan", her boyfriend's name, printed inside one heart, and "Joy", her own name, printed in the other.
Getting the tattoo did not really hurt all that much when she decided to get it -- there was just this quick, zapping sensation - but it itched like crazy for a couple of weeks after. Now it does not hurt anymore, but she unconsciously caressed her arm gently as she looked out into the sea and worried about Brian.
The approaching storm sent an odor of musky dank sea salt water ahead of it. The smell stank of fetid, wet slime and decayed sediment filled the air. It seemed to announce the force of the storm and warned everyone of its power and might. Anything within its path could be destroyed. Realizing this, Joy worried that Bryan could get hurt. He was a commercial fisherman out on a charter since early that morning and had not returned.
Or at least he had not let her know he had gotten back. As worried as she was, the idea that he had returned and not contacted her was even more upsetting. They hadn't exactly been getting along all that well, but he wouldn't just let her worry like this, would he? Oh man, she would be pissed if he was at some strip bar spending money on some "ho" while she was working her ass off, and worrying about him. Now she finds herself wanting that to be the case -- in the very least he was safe, strip bar notwithstanding -- instead of out there, at sea, and in the middle of the storm.
Sure, she'd pretend to be mad, and give him a hard time, but not too hard of a time, as long as he was safe.
Joy sensed a motion behind her and turned to see Eric coming up just as a loud clap of thunder boomed, causing the old, poorly-constructed upper deck to rattle. The lightning flash that followed illuminated her manager-friend in eerie light. He was a handsome man of about 40 years old with blond hair and a tight bod comparable to a surfer half his age. For an instant, he looked like an apparition from a Stephen King novel. Joy gasped and clutched her chest.
"Are you all right? Do you want to go?" asked Eric.
"Oh my God you scared me!" Joy exclaimed.
"Glad to know I still got it," Eric half-chuckled, hoping to lighten the moment. "Do you want to go? Or stay?"
"Both" Joy responded without much thought. "I don't want to work anymore, but.... can I just stay here and wait to hear from Brian? He and his companions might be already be in, but I don't know, I'm a little worried about him being out there," she said, looking out into the approaching darkness.
"Sure sweetie, whatever you want. Do you have any open tables?"
"No, the last one was about half an hour ago. The weather seems to be scaring them off."
"So do your report and have a drink. I'm sure he's okay."
"Yup, I know he's okay, and so am I, okay?"
"Yup, I'm here if you need anything."
It was so like Eric to be worried about everyone else. Here he was, responsible for the whole place with a storm coming and he was worried about her. "If only he wasn't gay" she thought.
As she descended down the old wooden steps, the bar's smell hit her nostrils and she instinctively curled up her nose and lips. The usual smoke-and-beer stench was accentuated by the pungent aroma of someone's recent vomit.
Joy noticed as she came down to the main floor that Frank was still at his magician's section, practicing his tricks. His card tricks had earned him a national reputation and a permanent spot at Schooner's Wharf. At six foot five, and handsome, in part to his magnetic and engaging personality, his reputation exceeded his skills as a magician and illusionist, securing his place as a ladies' man extraordinaire.
One trick of his, she had finally figured out. He was able to display a person's mobile number through a card trick.
Earlier in the evening, he would have his mother Lee, the manager of the souvenir shop, sit at the bar after her shift to get her talking to one of the customers. Then, at some point during the conversation, she would ask to have her picture taken with the guy and of course her son would volunteer to take the picture. While he had the camera and his mom was "posing" with the customer, Frank accessed the cell's number and committed it to memory for use later on, in the "trick". It worked every time and ensured a big tip when the cards turn up the guy's phone number. A couple of drinks helped the dupe forget that his picture had been taken.
Joy thought that Frank was a really good guy. She had heard all the rumors about his personal explo
its and that he was a quite "the dog" when it came to women, but instead she saw him to be a kind, talented, smart man who enjoyed life, women including. It mattered little to her what he does in his personal life, she realizes. What mattered was that he bring in customers, and therefore added to the bottom line. What he did after hours was purely his business.
Joy ran through her customers' bill and cashed out to Eric. She tipped out the bartenders a paltry ten dollars on the hundred she had made. Ten per cent was the rule. She was used to making and tipping out much more in a typical night; she felt a little guilty at the small monetary "thank you" she gave to the barkeeps. She gratefully accepted her shift drink, a triple shot of fireball in red bull, and went back up to the upper deck to sit alone, look out on the now stormy sea and think.
"Hey girl, whatcha doin?"
"Oh hey Stormy, just hanging. I'd rather be here worrying with friends than worrying alone at home."
"It's just a storm right? The weather station said barely a category one."
"Yeah, but Brian's out in it and the damn cell phone has no service. I'd just feel better knowing he's okay, you know?"
Stormy got up and came around and put her arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, I got it."
Joy had never really noticed how attractive Stormy was, but up this close, she could see her beautiful face. Even in the dim light, her eyes were milk chocolate brown with yellow flecks. In her early twenties and new to the tropical sun, her complexion was flawless. Even without makeup, her skin was creamy, smooth and looked so soft. Even the small cubic zirconium pierced through her lower left lip didn't detract from the sensual Angelina Jolie lips that were unpainted, ripe and full. The faint scent of an old fashioned perfume permeated through the more unpleasant smell from restaurant work.
Whether Stormy noticed her looking at her lips or whether it was her plan all along, the young girl shifted and pressed those exquisite lips against Joy's own, her tongue forcing its way into Joy's mouth, urgently conveying the taboo desire.
For a moment, Joy was lost in a memory. Quite suddenly, she was in college with her roommate and they have drunk way too much Jagger. She has passed out and regained consciousness to see her friend and roomie, Jan, sitting beside her, caressing her breasts. Jan had opened her blouse and was now gently licking her nipples, which were beginning to stiffen, standing at full attention. They were kissing, too, in between all the licking going on. Their tongues were playfully flicking each other -- first, gently, and then later, more urgently. This went on while Jan's fingers kneaded her breasts, luscious and full. Jan is gently squeezing her sensitive nipples.
Joy had to put a stop to the experience when Jan's hand left her chest and descended south, tugging at her jean's snaps. She could not, however, deny the pleasurable sensations the experience brings.
The next day they laughed the incident off and chalked it up as one of those drunken-schoolgirl experiments and both vowed that it should never happened again. After all, Joy was friends with Jan and Jan's girlfriend. She even visits every year, for a week, in California where they lived.
Brought back to the present, Joy broke away from Stormy with mock modesty, trying her best to diffuse the situation. With a smile she pulled back asking "how did you get a name like Stormy?"
Stormy couldn't hide her disappointment and obvious desire. "That's not really my name, no. It's really Mildred, but come on, do I look a Mildred?"
Joy smiled and said" Hell no, but where did Stormy come from?"
"My mother calls me Stormy. She says wherever I go, a storm follows. Not sure she means the weather but hell, I just got to Key West and here's a hurricane, right?"
Joy laughed, leaned over and gently kissed Stormy's cheek. "I hope we can get to know each other better, sometime. But not here and not now, okay? I got a lot on my mind and it just wouldn't be fair."
If one were observant, one would see the emotions playing across Stormy's expressions. Disappointment, rejection, desire, hope and embarrassment seem to cycle through her in the course of several seconds. Finally, it appears as though she settled on hope and smiled weakly. "I guess it'll have to be, right?"
She returned a perfunctory peck on Joy's check and then, not receiving a rejection, proceeded to kiss her, this time without tongue action. "Call me if you need or want anything." Joy experienced a pleasant tingle in her breasts and down below as she watched Stormy bound away, down the stairs leaving her alone once again.
Meanwhile, out at sea the storm was picking up energy as it meandered towards the Florida Keys. It has been said that hurricanes followed their own path, and danced their own dance. Forecasters could generally pick a direction, but the storm traveled forward, retreated, or sat still, gathering strength until it decided to strike land. This particular storm appears to have been stalled about three miles off the Florida coast. It appears to be bidding its time, gathering force so that when it hits land, it'll destroy everything that gets in its way.
Joy sat alone on the upper deck sipping her drink, looking out into a starless, moonless night with the sea beginning to stir and churn out huge waves.
On the deck, the weather was breezy, windy but thankfully, dry. It seems that all of the air's moisture was being sucked into the developing maelstrom off the coast. Joy's mind was starting to relax as she sipped the strong beverage she had with her. Thoughts and emotions shifted within her. In the end, she realized that she was tired from her boring shift, tired of fighting with Brian, and tired of pretending that she was happy.
Her thoughts slipped back to that time in college that while drunk she had allowed another girl to touch her. Only when she saw the experience in her mind's eye did she realize that this time, it was with Stormy, not her college roommate, that she fantasize about. In her fantasy, she didn't stop Stormy as her hand undid the snaps of her dark, DKNY jeans and felt her fingers slid stealthily down her abdomen and linger on the little pubic hairs she let grow there after a few weeks' worth of deciding against shaving. Part of her entire being sensed the pleasure that patiently waited just an inch or two away. The expectation was almost unbearable -- it filled her, gradually, the experience ebbing and flowing within her - causing her vaginal lining to secrete pre-cum. Her breaths started to come in faster, shorter bursts as suddenly, her the lustful thoughts were interrupted by a voice.
"Pick a card, any card!" Frank's booming voice commanded her. Joy's attention was brought back to the present and she realized that Frank was standing in front of her. To her, at six foot six and a showman, Frank appears bigger than life. His physical presence usually caused another person's attention to be diverted to it, long enough for him to carry on with his illusions and perform the tricks successfully, she realized.
She surmised that perhaps Frank used his size and boisterous persona to cover a painfully shy interior. And as long as he could be the showman, no one could ever know, or judge, the private Frank.
"Are you worried about the storm? It may not even hit us."
"Frank, hey, how the hell are you? Joy recovered and tried to pick up on conversation. "What do you mean may not hit us? Look out there! It's right there fucking with us, waiting until we feel safe and BAM!, it'll hit us."
"In 1987 hurricane 'Alan' stayed just where this storm is. We all got crazy-hyped and fed into the hysteria. Home Depot sold most of its stocks and the town became a ghost town. Everyone left town except the homeless, hard core drunks and salt water conchs. It was dead here in Key West for two whole days while we waited, sure that it'll hit us. But on the third day, the day storm just turned off-course and went into the gulf and then headed north. Finally hit somewhere in Alabama, I think."
"So nothing happened? No one got hurt?" Joy asked.
"Just a fishing charter got stuck out in the storm. They took on water and everyone drowned."
Frank immediately remembered what Joy's boyfriend did for a living and would have sucked the words he had just said back into his mouth if he could. "Oh, I'm so sorry Joy. I'm so stupid."
Frank picked her up from sitting into a huge bear hug and felt genuinely like crap at his insensitivity.
Stormy was managing the stairs to say goodnight and maybe to try one more time to get with Joy. She paused for awhile and held herself back when she saw the big showman talking with her. When she saw Frank gather Joy into his arms in what appeared to be an emotional embrace she turned back down the stairs to leave without saying anything. She passed Eric on the stairs. She smiled but continued on down.
"Am I interrupting anything?" Eric asked. He had come up to check on Joy and saw the emotional embrace between the two.
Without releasing Joy Frank responded "I wish bro, can't tell you how much I wish!"
Frank released Joy who was beginning to feel the Fireball's effect a little bit and fell into Frank. She wrapped her left arm around him, and reaching out with her right arm, and shouting, "Group hug!"
Frank smiled and said "sandwich" reaching out and pulling Eric into the embrace. For a few seconds the three friends held on to each other in untethered trust.
When they released each other Eric asked "So what's the plan guys? What is everyone doing tonight?"
The guys both looked at Joy, who responded "I'm going to have another drink or three, and then go home and wait for Brian."
Eric said "Well, I guess there's no reason to close down as long as we're still here. Maybe some of the locals will still come here to weather the storm."
Frank smiled at his friends and co-workers and said "I never let a pretty lady drink alone, I'm in."
Eric asked "Did you mean her... or me?"
"Fuck you!" laughed Frank as the three went down the stairs to the main bar to get their drinks.
"Anyone else here?" asked Joy.
Eric replied "No, Stormy just left. We've just been picking up and battening down shit."
Both Frank and Joy sat at separate bar stools by the bar looking out onto the bleak, furious sea beyond. Eric, standing inside the front of the bar, minded the drinks, and poured for all of them. He made shooters and Jaegger Bombs.