It was a twisted nautical tale, a sailor's misdirected decision to strap his wife to the boat for safety-- or was it not? The chart showed they were a few miles from Red Fish Island when he tied the last knot, tight. 

"I could make you walk the plank." 

He said the words as he tacked, turning the sails to catch the wind. His sunglasses reflected her face. The wind whipped wildly. Her hair fell in curls around her face. 

She twisted against his ropes, unsuccessful at loosening them at all. His combination of half hitches and figure eights lashed her in place, the mast step ornament for his viewing pleasure. 

He dropped the mainsail, letting the boat drift. His navigational tools were honing in. From the starboard side, he dropped to his knees, between her legs.

Burying his face, he inhaled. After navigating the fishy waters of his wife, the sailor man anchored there, running his tongue over her till her moans disappeared in the wind.

He worked feverishly to release her before the squall was on them, just in knick of time. 

"There's nothing like, battening down the hatches."

The boat pitched and she disappeared overboard. He logged her demise. 

Copyright © 2002 Morgan Aine. All Rights Reserved. May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author. Do not copy or post.