8 comments/  18360 views/  5 favorites

Salvation in the Sargasso Sea

By: Dual_Triode



In loving memory of Sharon

*

~ A Flaming Rose ~

He heard it hit the floor, the tiny set screw that slipped from his fingers. It ricocheted off his shirt and jeans on its bumpy course, but gave no hint as to its final resting place. Jon cursed to himself, slowly backing away from his workbench, hoping against all odds the screw would be right at his feet. It was not his lucky day. A timely buzz from his cell phone postponed the mandatory search and rescue mission.

"Hey Andy. What's up?"

A din of choppy, garbled voices crackled from the earpiece. Andy's voice was barely audible.

"Is that you, Jon? I can hardly hear you."

"Go outside," Jon shouted, instinctively plugging his other ear with his finger. As he left his workshop, Andy's excited voice became clearer.

"That's better. Where the hell are you?" Jon asked.

"Dude, you've gotta come down to the VFW."

"The VFW? I don't know, I really don't feel like drinking tonight."

"But there's a band playing here: The Desert Rose Band. Get down here and check 'em out, come on."

"The Desert Rose Band?" Jon wracked his brain. That name was so familiar. "You mean Chris Hillman's band? Didn't they spin off from The Flying Burrito Brothers?"

"I don't know, maybe, they're still setting up. This place is filling up fast, you better come down soon. You've been hiding in your workshop way too much, it's time to get out. There's tons of women here tonight."

"Tons? That sounds kind of scary. OK, I'll come down in a little while. I have to finish putting this amp back together first."

Jon closed his phone and returned to his workshop, muttering to himself. Once Andy had something in his head, there was no denying him; he would just be insufferable. Maybe he was right, though. He had been hiding in his house since losing his job and this was a perfect excuse to get out. He had learned to trust his best friend, the man who stood up with him when he married Lisa.

It took only a few minutes of crawling around to locate the missing screw. With a surer grip, he finished putting the control knobs on the vintage Fender amplifier. Tomorrow, he would deliver it to the local guitar shop that had contracted his repair service.

The lot at the VFW was full, more than usual for a Friday night. After parking his truck around the corner, he grabbed his jean jacket, and whistled the melody to 'Start All Over Again' as he strolled through the door.

Jon froze when he gazed over the stage and the dance floor. There was a band playing, but it wasn't Chris Hillman's. The lead singer was female and wailing out 'Zombie' by the Cranberries. The bass player was also female. So was the crowd: all conspicuously female. The poster on the wall behind the stage announced The Flaming Rose Band.

"Uh, oh," Jon said under his breath. "What the hell have I gotten myself into now?"

"Jon!" Andy shouted from the bar and waved. "Over here!"

"That's not the Desert Rose Band," Jon said as he sat down at the bar. "What's wrong with your head?"

"Sorry, man. I saw the rose on their poster and that's all I could think of."

"Did you work today?" Jon asked, raising his hand to hail the bartender.

"Yeah, I got six hours in. It's getting really slow on line two, they're gonna shut it down soon. Damned Chinese bastards."

"It's not their fault. A lot of companies are outsourcing operations to Asia these days. Hell, I lost my job, too. We just have to adapt."

"That's easy for you to say. They gave you that big incentive package to retire early. You're living on easy street."

"Fine, I'll buy the beer tonight," Jon laughed. "So where are these tons of women you told me about?"

"Didn't you check out the dance floor? So many women, so little time."

"Look again. Not even Tom Selleck could score out there tonight."

"Whoa!" Andy patted his arm and pointed towards the stage. "Check out the drummer. She has tits!"

"Most women do." Jon shook his head and paid Phil for his scotch whiskey.

"No, I mean check her out, really. She's a dude."

Jon looked over towards the stage. The drummer was wearing a T-shirt and sporting a pompadour, definitely projecting a butch persona. Her arms were both muscular and tattooed. He marveled at her ability; she was a really good drummer. To her right, the guitar player was slumped over her Les Paul, banging her head and pounding out alt-metal power chords. Dressed in a black suit and white shirt, her dark wavy hair flew in time with her playing. He noticed her right breast bouncing on top of the guitar. 

"She's not a dude." Jon took a long drink and ordered a beer chaser.

"That's the meanest looking dyke I've ever seen."

Jon didn't respond to Andy's provocation. The band had just started playing Led Zeppelin's 'Heartbreaker'. Fascinated by the guitarist, he watched her stand up straight and play the classic Jimmy Page riff. Her angular jaw and brooding expression completed the visual package.

"The guitar player looks mean, too," Andy shouted into his ear.

"Shut up, man. I'm trying to listen to them."

Andy scowled and turned away, cursing under his breath. Jon ignored him and watched her walk up to the edge of the stage. With a sneer on her lip and her eyes closed, she nailed the guitar solo with the same raw energy that Page was known for. Her expression was simultaneously pained and joyful: an orgasm face.

"Wow! These guys are good. Sorry I cut you off," Jon said.

"They're OK, I guess. I've heard better." Andy shrugged his shoulders and finished his beer.

The band finished their first set and took a break. Jon watched the musicians move into the crowd and sit with their respective fans. The guitarist sat down next to a woman in a long black dress. The woman put her arm around her shoulder, leaning in to whisper in her ear. The guitarist was listening to her friend talk, but shaking her head no.

"Hold my chair, Andy. I've got to see a man about a horse."

Jon emerged from the restroom and wandered over to the stage to check out the gear. The guitar appeared to be a '59 Sunburst with the original PAF pickups. The amplifier was a Mesa Boogie Express, a model he was not familiar with. There were a couple of distortion pedals in her setup, but he couldn't investigate further without invading their space. When he turned to go back to the bar, their eyes met. She looked at him curiously, not angrily. Jon smiled and nodded in deference.

"They have pretty simple gear," Jon said as he sat back down. "Nothing fancy, just a lot of talent."

"You've always been such a gear-head." Andy rose and retraced his steps to the restroom.

Jon ordered another round and watched her get up from the table. Her friend turned away to talk with someone else. He didn't notice her approach until she was standing next to him.

"You like my guitar?" she asked.

"Guitar and amp, both," Jon said, turning to face her. "Those old Gibsons are great. You play it really well."

"Thank you. Do you play guitar, too?"

"A little, but not like that. I'm into guitar amps, though. I build and repair vintage tube amps. I've never heard a Booger sound that good, you've got a great tone. I'm Jon, by the way."

She giggled, laughed, and then snorted, covering her mouth in apparent embarrassment. Jon struggled to resolve the incongruity of her soft girlish voice with the masculine exterior. Studying her face, he guessed she was maybe forty years old. Faint lines strayed from the corners of her dark eyes, mostly hidden by her beige complexion. The shape of her jaw was an illusion brought about with artfully applied makeup.

"I'm sorry, I hate it when I do that. I've never heard anyone refer to a Boogie that way before. It's an Express model, a lot different sound than the Dual Rectifiers. It's also a lot lighter to lug around." She extended her hand and said, "Marla."

"Hey Marla, it's alright. Yeah, I hear you." He shook her hand and looked over her shoulder at the table where her friends were sitting. The woman in the black dress was glaring back at him; the unmistakable look of a scorned woman.

"I have some Fender amps that weigh seventy-five pounds," he continued. "They're a bear to move around."

"I like the Fenders, but they're too heavy," she said, sitting down on Andy's barstool. "I'm just not that strong."

"Can I buy you a drink?" Jon tentatively asked.

"Sure. I'll have what you're having." Marla put her elbows on the bar like she was settling in for a bender.

"I'm drinking Dewar's. I don't know any women who like scotch."

"I prefer Glenlivet with my cigars."

"Glenlivet? Cigars? That's too expensive for me, I'm on a budget," he said, handing Phil a twenty dollar bill with his left hand.

"You're not married? Or do you just not wear a wedding ring?" she asked, sipping the scotch without flinching.

"Technically, no. Not anymore." He turned his left hand over looking at his bare ring finger. Both his and Lisa's wedding rings were stored in his dresser drawer. He hoped she wouldn't ask for more details.

"So technically, you're single and buying me a drink. Are you trying to hit on me?"

"Um, no, not really. I mean, uh, I thought I would, you know, be polite, since you sat down, and buy you a drink. That's all."

"Easy," she said, patting his hand. "Relax, I'm not going to bite you. I suppose I'm the one who's hitting on you. Actually, I'm rather enjoying the attention. I could get used to this."

"Really? I thought you were with the Subaru crowd."

"You think I'm a lesbian?" Marla's spine stiffened as she turned towards him and waited for his response.

Jon closed his eyes and cursed himself for using a derogatory stereotype.

"I don't know, I can't tell by looking." He tried to sidestep the question, but she wasn't letting him off the hook.

"She thinks you are," he continued, nodding his head towards her table. "I think you're probably not completely straight."

"You mean Janice?" Marla asked, following his gesture. Janice abruptly turned away when she looked over at her. "I guess it couldn't be more obvious, could it? Thanks for the drink, Jon."

Jon felt her hand on his back. The look in her eyes conveyed a message that he hadn't received in quite a while. With a smile, she picked up her scotch and sauntered back to sit with Janice. His eyes followed her as she glided across the dance floor.

"Damn, you work fast," Andy said, returning to his seat.

"I'm not working tonight, just saying hello and acknowledging real talent."

"That's not what I saw. That chick was digging you, man."

"You're dreaming, Andy."

The musicians took the stage for their second set and were retuning their instruments. Jon watched Marla warming up and wondered if the sparks he felt were imagined. Lisa had departed a long time ago, and he wondered if he was ready to move on. He wondered if this course of action was even feasible.

"I'm not dreaming. That dyke has her eyes on you. You better watch out."

"I don't think she's a dyke," Jon said gruffly. "Don't be such a dickhead."

"Don't get mad at me, Jon. Damn it, I'm trying to do you a favor here. You're hiding in your workshop again, just like before. You hardly ever get out, man. I really don't care if you hook up with her or not, it's your choice. I just want you out here again. Remember what it was like after Lisa died? I didn't see you for a whole damned year. You worry me sometimes."

"I don't want to talk about Lisa right now," Jon said, bowing his head.

"It's time to let her go, man. She wouldn't have wanted you to suffer like this. Come on, let's go sit over there."

Andy patted his back and they moved to an empty table back by the mixing console. The sound man acknowledged their presence with a nod. After making a few final adjustments, he came over to join them.

"Hey Andy," Frank said. "Who's this outlander?"

"Very funny," Jon said. "Just remember who fixed that board you're running."

"Where did you find this dyke band?" Andy asked.

"Yeah, have you worked with them before?" Jon added.

"They've been around for a year or two," Frank said. "This is one of the better acts we book here. They have a big following."

"So, what can you tell me about them?" Jon asked.

"Fuck, I don't know. They play rock and roll? And they're women?" Frank shrugged. "You probably know more than I do. You spent all that time with the guitarist, what did she tell you?"

"Only that she likes expensive scotch and cigars."

"Dude, you are in so much trouble," Andy said, shaking his head. "She bats from both sides of the plate, I just know it."

"It'll be like one of those pornos, man. You'll be there banging her and the other woman, a regular menagerie," Frank said. Both he and Andy fell back into their chairs, laughing hysterically.

"You guys are sick," Jon said, laughing with them. "It's called a ménage à trois, you morons. It's you guys who belong in the zoo."

Frank returned to his console while Andy went to answer his phone. Jon was left by himself to watch the band play and their fans sing and dance. He remembered how he and Lisa used to go out dancing. She could really dance and tried to get him out on the floor with her. He had tried to keep up with her, but he just couldn't move that way. It didn't matter to her, though, she just wanted him near. The old familiar pain stabbed him in the gut.

"Hey hon, you want another drink?" The waitress interrupted his daydream.

"No thanks, Cheryl, just a glass of water." Jon smiled up at her.

The band ended their second set with another Zeppelin song, 'Rock and Roll'. Marla nailed another blazing guitar solo, leaving the fans screaming for more. As the band put down their instruments, Jon and Andy got ready to leave. Marla marched directly over to their table.

"Wait a minute, I've got a question for you. Hi, sorry to interrupt," she said, acknowledging Andy's presence.

"What's up?" Jon asked.

"You said you repair guitar amps. I've got an old Supro I bought on eBay, but it doesn't work too well. Can you take a look at it?"

"An old Supro? Those are great amps. I'd love to take a look at it. Here, give me a call." He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to her.

"Jon Albright's Amplifier Repair? That's original."

"It's the best I could come up with."

"I'll give you a call next week." She smiled and gave him a lingering gaze before waving goodnight.

"See? I told you," Andy said as they walked into the night air. "She's got something on her mind."

"Yowza," Jon exhaled. "Maybe you're right."

*

~ Tempo Rubato ~

The muffled strains of Dave Brubeck's 'Take Five' emanated from Jon's shirt pocket. Still three blocks from the grocery store, he decided to take the call, even though he didn't have a hands-free accessory for his cell phone.

"This is Jon."

"Jon? This is Marla, from last Friday, at the VFW. You gave me your business card."

"Marla! Hi. Are you going to loan me your Supro?"

"Do you have time to look at it today? I know it's kind of short notice, but I'm leaving tomorrow for a gig."

"Sure, I can look at it this afternoon. I can't promise I can fix it right away, though."

"That's OK, I was just going to drop it off."

"Great. Why don't you stop by after lunch. You have my address?"

"It's on your card. I'll see you later."

Jon closed his phone and pulled into the parking lot. He felt excited and nervous, like he was a kid again.

"Get a grip, Jon," he said to himself.

Shopping didn't take long; his list was short and the store was empty on a Thursday morning. As he put his groceries away, he wondered where Marla was gigging and why the rush to bring him the amp. His doorbell rang at one-thirty.

"Hey Marla. Come in, please. Let me carry that amp for you."

"Thank you. It's a '64 Thunderbolt, with a lot of miles on it."

She followed him into the foyer of his large house, a house too big for one person. Dressed casually, she presented a decidedly more feminine appearance than her Jimmy Page persona. He set the amp down and whistled.

"Look at this! The covering and grill cloth are in good shape. And the chassis is not rusted. This amp may have a lot of miles, but it's been well cared for. You bought this on eBay?" Jon was giddy with excitement.

"Yeah, it cost me some dough, but I've always liked their sound. It worked OK for a while, but then it crapped out. It's kind of a bummer, I'd like to gig with this amp someday."

"No problem. This amp will sing again, I guarantee it. Let's take it down to the workshop. Oh, I'm sorry Marla, do you have time?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I've got nothing going on this afternoon. Let's see Santa's workshop."

Jon carried the amp down the stairs to the finished basement and into his large workshop. He set it up on his workbench and immediately plugged it in to warm up the old vacuum tubes. Marla walked quickly behind him.

"I've completely forgotten my manners. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea? Maybe a beer, or wine?"

"A beer sounds good," she said, looking around the workshop. There were storage cabinets, part bins, and electronic equipment everywhere. The workbench was as clean as an operating table with rows of precisely organized tools on a pegboard wall.

"Hope you like Hale's, it's all I have right now. Do you want a glass?"

"No, the bottle is fine. Jesus, Jon! This looks like some kind of NASA laboratory. Are you a rocket scientist or something?"

"Uh, kind of, I guess. I used to work as an engineer at JPL in Pasadena, but we got tired of the L.A. area and eventually moved back here. I was working for HP, then I got laid off six months ago."

"We?"

Jon hesitated, staring down at his boots. There was no avoiding this question.

"Lisa and I. She died three years ago this past May. It was a car accident. We'd been married eight years," he spoke haltingly, almost whispering.

"I'm so sorry, Jon. I had no idea," she said, giving him a compassionate hug.

"Some days are hard, but it's getting better. My friend, Andy, introduced us. He was with me last Friday night. He warned me about moving to L.A., said that Lisa and I wouldn't like it. He's right almost all the time."

"Andy is someone you trust?"

"Yeah, mostly. He can be crude sometimes, but he has good instincts."

"Trusted friends are important. You're lucky to have him," she said, rubbing his arm. "So, are you looking for another job?"

"No, I'm semi-retired now. I've got a big package and medical benefits."

"A big package?" Marla snickered.

"Oops, I meant severance pay." His face blushed at the faux pas.

Jon turned the Supro off standby and a loud annoying hum filled the workshop. He turned the amp off and whistled again.

"Well, the rectifier is toast. Probably needs a whole set of tubes and maybe a cap job. The fuse is intact, so the transformers are OK. That's good news."

"Huh? Does that mean you can fix it?" she asked.

"Yeah, no problem. Let me work up an estimate for you. If you have time to wait, you can check out my instrument collection in the music room." Jon pointed to a door at the other end of the workshop.

~~~~~

Marla walked into his music room, a thirty foot long spaced filled with electric guitars, amplifiers, acoustic instruments, and a lone saxophone. The walls were lined with photos of friends and family. She walked around the room examining the collection and picked up a vintage Telecaster; it was perfectly tuned.

"You want to play it?" Jon asked. She hadn't heard him come in and jumped when he spoke.

"No, that's OK. You have so many instruments. Do you play all of them?"

"Not well, but a little. I could use some lessons. Maybe in exchange for repairing the Supro?"

She looked at him to see if he was serious.

"Maybe. It will have to wait a while, though. We're leaving on a two week tour tomorrow night."


Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 02



~ Through the Turnstile ~

It was hard to decide if the goose bumps were from the cold air or from mild trepidation. The chill was easy enough to explain: she had taken her shirt off, exposing her back. Trish had thoughtfully put a warm towel on the pad to cushion her breasts, but she was still cold. The apprehension was more complicated. She had asked Leslie for a referral, knowing she was well-versed in these matters. Marla had made her decision, but was now having second thoughts about getting a tattoo.

The parlor was surreal: walls covered with artwork and photos, music blaring from the stereo, strange buzzing sounds and muffled cries. She was glad that Leslie had accompanied her, the encouragement was much appreciated. Trish had just finished preparing her back when the artist arrived.

"Hey Leslie. Good to see ya, babe. How's your rose doing?" Jared asked as he entered the room.

Leslie pulled her smock top to one side, revealing the new ink on her breast. Her beaming face answered his question.

"And who do we have here?" Jared bent down to get a glimpse of Marla's face. "What brings you to Albany on a Wednesday night?"

"Blind faith," she quipped, turning her head to look up at him.

"She's a little nervous," Leslie said, brushing the hair from Marla's eyes and caressing her head.

"That's perfectly normal. Getting your first tat can be a scary experience. This is your first time, right Marla?"

"Yeah, I'm a tenderfoot."

"Well, don't worry. We're going to ink your shoulder blade, and that's one of the least painful places. It's a great choice for your first tat. You won't need a pussyball."

"That's a tennis ball," Leslie whispered into her ear.

"I got your email with the sketch," he continued. "I like the idea of incorporating the infinity symbol into the snake's body. That really rocks. I redrew it in a way that works with the inks."

Jared showed Marla the artwork she was about to own.

"I like it," she said, trying to convince herself this was a good idea.

"Great, then we can get started. Trish explained the process to you, right? I'll get her to finish the prep while I go check the autoclave."

Leslie pulled a stool up to the headrest after he left the room.

"So tell me, dear, are you doing this for Jon or for yourself?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

Trish came back into the room with the thermal transfer. She applied a layer of stick deodorant to Marla's skin and carefully positioned the drawing.

"You're going to love this art," she said, gently patting and rubbing the transfer. "Jared is the best. But then I'm a little biased."

She slowly peeled the paper away, revealing the purple toner that would guide his needles. After covering the stencil with petroleum jelly, she left the room.

"Are they married?" Marla asked.

"No, not yet. She wants him bad, wants his baby, but he's reluctant. He wants to establish the parlor first."

Marla worked up the nerve to ask the question burning inside of her.

"Lez, what do you think of Jon?"

"He's evil and I should kill him for stealing you from me." Leslie laughed diabolically.

Marla knew that she was only half kidding; Leslie still had a little crush on her. She remembered going to a book reading and social shortly after moving here from New York City. Leslie had caught her eye, reminding her of Angel back when they had first met. Leslie had approached her to talk about the book and to check her out. Marla briefly considered taking her as a lover, but she couldn't put her heart into it, not after the painful breakup and relocation. Instead, they became close friends and band mates, a much better arrangement for both of them. There were times, though, when Marla still wondered what she might taste like.

"Come on, I'm serious." Marla rolled her eyes.

"Jon is probably the kindest person I've ever met."

"I know, but I'm a little worried about the band. Everything is going so well, I don't want to fuck it up."

"Fuck what up? The band? The only way you can do that is to start missing gigs, and I know that ain't gonna happen. Honey, nobody cares who or what you're sleeping with. The fans don't care, half of them are straight anyway. Josie and Shannon don't care, they're in their own little world. But I care, I want you to be happy. And if I can't sleep with you, then Jon is a good second choice."

Leslie wrapped her arms around her neck and kissed the top of her head. From her perch on the donut-shaped headrest, Marla's cheek sank into her ample breasts. Being cradled in the bosom had a calming effect on her, the same as it has always been.

"OK ladies, we're all set," Jared said, pulling up his chair and work table. "Are you ready, Marla?"

"Yeah, go for it," she said, her body tensing up as she gripped the chair.

"Relax, honey, he's not going to amputate," Leslie consoled her.

"I'll start slowly. You let me know if it's too much, OK?"

Jared loaded the cup with black ink and positioned the liner over the stencil. The machine buzzed and Marla flinched as the needles lightly pricked her skin. After a few seconds, she relaxed; the pain was nowhere near what she had imagined. Jared finished the first segment and smiled.

"Not so bad, eh? I knew you would be tough. If you hang with Leslie, you've gotta be tough."

"Or a glutton." Marla laughed, extracting her head from Leslie's chest.

Leslie gave her a pinch and nodded. Jared turned his iron up to its regular setting.

"So tell me what happened last Friday, after the VFW gig," Leslie said. "Did you go home with him? I want details!"

"I was pretty worked up," Marla said, glancing over her shoulder. "I'll have to tell you about it later."

"Jared, would you mind tuning out? We've got some girl stuff to talk about." Leslie batted her eyes at him.

Jared shook his head and put on his headphones, making an obscene gesture with his tongue.

"There, now you can talk," Leslie continued. "What got you so worked up?"

"It started that week after I met him at the VFW. I went over to his house with the busted Supro, intending to just drop it off, but I got distracted. He's a pretty good acoustic guitarist and has a huge collection of guitars and amps. I found out he's a widower and feeling ready to reengage socially. We sat and talked for two hours; some of it got pretty hot."

"Were you abusing that poor defenseless boy?"

"Oh, no. And he's not defenseless, believe you me. I was getting kind of turned on, so we played a role playing game, visualizing each other naked and fooling around. That's when he described the snake tattoo. And he's got a dirty mind."

"Dirtier that yours? I find that hard to believe."

"Damn near! Anyway, I promised to bring back some Cuban cigars from our road trip. We planned on sharing one along with his single malt scotch."

"Why am I getting an image of Monica Lewinski?"

"Eew! What a waste of a good cigar. Well, things got really hot that night in Portland. Remember the Candlelight Room gig? Right before the show I got a message from him. He had sketched the snake and sent it to me with a sexy note. He said he was hungry for plum pudding."

"So that's why you played so fiendishly. He wants to taste you?"

"Yeah, and I got pretty excited about it, too. I've never had a man do that to me before. Not even my ex-husband did that. I couldn't stop thinking about his tongue curling around my clit."

"And here I thought it was that andro-dyke who was eyeing you up. I figured you wanted to bump her donut."

Jared switched off his iron and wiped down Marla's back. She felt a burning sensation, but it wasn't too bad. The first phase of the design was complete.

"Now I'm going to start with the colors," he said, loading another cup with yellow ink. "How ya doin'?"

"I'm OK. How's it look?"

"It's looking fine. You're really gonna like this."

Jared switched the shader machine on and started filling in the design. He would need to use three different colors to get it just right.

"So, then he brought your Supro last Friday?" Leslie continued. "You were flying all night."

"It was unbelievable. Lez, he's been so freakin' nice to me. That amp looked and sounded so good, and it was a gift. Well, not totally, I suppose. It was in exchange for guitar lessons, so now I owe him. By show time, I was feeling like melted butter. I sent him a scotch and a note to make sure he didn't leave early. I wanted him bad."

"Where did you go after the second set? We were looking for you."

"Jon followed me out back for a drink and a smoke. We shared that cigar and a scotch, then he grabbed me and kissed me."

"Oh, what a brute!"

"I was an Amazon on her prey. I pushed him into a chair and gave him a wicked lap dance. I ground my ass down on his hard-on and put his hands on my tits. Then he reached inside my shirt and pulled my nipple, hard. I was so fucking horny, I could hardly see straight."

"Now you have my full attention."

"After the gig, we loaded his truck and he took me home; my car wouldn't start again. I invited him in for a nightcap."

"How did he like Schizo?"

"The cat didn't bother him, she ran off when he came in. I got my bottle of scotch and we parked on the couch. Our clothes stayed on for maybe five minutes."

"What took so long?"

"He pulled me on top of him and tore my shirt off. Buttons were flying and bouncing on the floor. I was a little worried that he might get rough, but once he clamped his mouth on my tit, I knew I was in for a treat. The way he sucked my nipple with his tongue and lips sent a bolt of lightning straight to my cunt. I was completely soaked."

"Me too."

"That's when I did it, Lez. I dropped to my knees and pulled his pants off. I sucked his cock."

"What did he taste like? How big is he?"

"I don't know, I don't have anything to compare it to. I suppose he's average size, maybe a bit bigger. I couldn't fit it all in, that's for sure. He tasted a little like body soap; he's probably a clean freak. I was kind of clumsy with him, worried about biting down. He stopped me after a few minutes."

"I guess I'm gonna have to show you how it's done. Did he get some pudding?"

"He stood me up and pulled my pants off. I was ready, but he turned me around and started kissing my ass. He apparently remembered that I had hinted about ass play; he was nibbling my cheeks and flicking his tongue into my crack. God, I was so fucking hot."

"A salad tosser?"

"Not quite, but damned close. I bent over hoping he might get adventurous, but he went straight for my pussy. Jesus, did that feel good. Then he wet his fingers and slid them inside of me; I could hear them squishing around. That's when he pulled a condom out of his pocket."

"He's a Boy Scout?"

"Without a doubt. Once he was ready, I sat down on him. I took him all at once; I was that wet."

Marla's steamy story was interrupted by a commotion out front. She could hear an excited male voice and Trish call out for help.

"Excuse me for a minute," Jared said. "Sounds like trouble."

Jared stood and waddled off, trying to hide an obvious erection.

"That bastard was listening," Leslie observed.

"I don't care. I'm getting all hot and bothered just telling the story."

"Keep going. What happened next?"

"I just sat still holding my breath. It had been twelve years since I'd had a cock inside of me. Jon thought he had hurt me, but I reassured him I was OK. Actually, it did hurt a little bit at first, but soon I was feeling warm all over."

"Just like riding a bike."

"Kind of, I guess. I was slowly gyrating around, rubbing my clit on his balls. He had his hands on my hips and was fucking me at the same time. I was getting really hot and my fingers and toes were starting to tingle. I could feel the pressure building inside; I was getting close."

"Did you get there?"

"No! Poor Jon couldn't take any more. He dug his fingers into me and growled something unintelligible, then it was over. It had been a long time for him, too. He apologized for his lack of control, but I told him it wasn't necessary."

"He left you hanging?"

"He offered to finish what he had started, but it was already three in the morning and I was feeling tired and drunk. He knows he owes me. Next time, I'll go first."

"Sorry about that," Jared said as he reentered the room. "Some drunk yo-man wanted a four-color for twenty bucks. I politely told him to fuck off."

"Are we almost done?" Marla asked.

"Real close. Just a bit more blood red."

"No more eavesdropping, you pervert," Leslie chided him, but her eyes twinkled with tacit approval. "It doesn't matter now, we're finished."

"Oh, well. Late again." Jared laughed and switched on the machine.

"Did he sleep with you?" Leslie whispered into her ear.

"Yes. We fell into my bed and he cuddled me until dawn. I felt surprisingly safe in his arms. I didn't expect that."

"Honey, you are in deep shit. You're in big trouble now, you've been bit."

"You may be right, Lez."

Jared finished the last bit of ink and shut off his iron. After washing her back he applied a thin layer of ointment.

"All finished. Let's go have a look."

He helped her to her feet and led her over to a full length corner mirror. He gave her a hand mirror so she could look over her shoulder. Marla studied the serpent, admiring how the yellow, blue, and red inks were artfully combined. The image on her back was bold and beautiful, and her face beamed with approval.

"That's the look," he said. "The look of satisfaction."

"Here, cover up for Christ's sake. You're giving him another hard-on," Leslie said, bringing a towel.

"I've seen more boobs than I can count," he said, getting a bandage from the drawer. "None that fine, though."

Marla rolled her eyes at the compliment. Both of her boobs put together didn't add up to one of Leslie's.

"Did you bring a camera?" Jared asked.

"I've got my phone," Marla answered, reaching into her pocket. "Here, Lez, take a picture."

After Leslie took a close-up picture of the fresh ink, Jared applied the temporary bandage.

"Trish will give you the aftercare instructions and some Goo. Just remember to keep it clean and you won't have any troubles. Marla, it's been a pleasure and I hope to see you back here again. You did great, very impressive for a tenderfoot."

Marla pulled her shirt on and gave him a hug.

"Thanks. I'll see how this goes. If I decide to get another, I'll call you first. I promise."

Marla turned to Leslie as Jared left the room.

"What are you doing with my phone?"

"I'm sending the picture to Jon with a little note."

"Let me see," Marla said, snatching the phone from her hands.

"Too late, I already sent it."

Marla recalled the message and admired the quality of the small picture. Leslie had done a good job capturing the image. Scrolling down, she found the text, "Your snake has left its mark."

"Leslie! You perverted bitch!" Marla laughed, knowing that Jon would enjoy the innuendo.

*

~ Sargassum Muticum ~

"Here we are, folks. I've got a Brewben with fries and a BBQ burger for the pretty lady. And two Aboriginales. Is there anything else I can get you right away?" The bubbly waitress eagerly awaited their response.

"No, we're good for now. Thank you," Jon said.

"OK, just let me know if you need anything." The young coed skipped over to the next table in her section.

"I've never eaten at Block 15 before," Marla said, tearing into her sauce drenched burger.

"They brew a good beer. This one is my favorite."

She watched the beer's head stick to Jon's soul patch as he set the chestnut-colored ale on the table. He seemed unaware of the adornment; small drops flicking away as he chewed his French fries.

"I can't believe you're going to eat that sauerkraut. I hate the stuff, it's too acidic." She pulled a piece of bacon from her burger and cleaned it off with her tongue.

"This kraut is good, sweeter than the canned stuff. Whoa, slow down! You're wolfing your food. Did you forget to eat today?"

"Um, I ate some pretzels on my lunch break, does that count? I thought you were going to have the Friday night fish fry."

"I changed my mind. I'm thinking about having some plum pudding later on."

Jon tried to keep a straight face. Marla playfully kicked him under the table.

"Shh," she whispered. "Keep your voice down, someone will hear you."

"Nobody's listening, this place is packed. Besides, I really want to see that tattoo. I can't believe that you got inked. What were you thinking?"

"I don't know, exactly. Last Friday night really affected me. Being with you jolted me back to reality. I guess I wanted something to commemorate my epiphany."

"Epiphany?"

"The realization that I don't hate men after all. The realization was that my ex-husband was just simply gay. The realization that I can be happy if I want to be."

Jon seemed to be having one of his introspective moments. After a minute, he cleared his throat.

"I'm glad that you're feeling relaxed. Being with you is affecting me, too. For a long time, I was sure I'd never be happy again."

She slipped her foot out of her clog and rubbed it on his leg. It was more of a comforting caress than a sexual overture; that would happen soon enough.

The tenderness was interrupted by a buzzing in her pocket. The displayed telephone number was from the 646 area code and was not listed in her contacts. She considered letting the call switch over to her voice mail, but instead decided to answer.

"Hello?" she said.

"Marla? Is that you? It's me, Angel."

The color drained from Marla's face and her bewildered expression gave Jon cause for concern. She turned away from the table and lowered her head.

"Angel? Are you OK? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm in Seattle, on business. I thought I'd give you a call and see how you're doing."

"How did you get this number?"

"I had one of my I.T. geeks track you down. I knew you were in Oregon and he found your band's web page. He came up with this number somehow. Please don't be angry. If this isn't a good time, I can call back later."

"No, it's fine. I'm having dinner, but I can talk for a minute." Marla looked up at Jon's anxious face and mouthed the words, "It's OK."

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt. I'm spending the weekend here and I was hoping I might get a chance to see you again. Why don't you call me when you're done?"

"Seattle? That's like five hours from here."

"It was just a thought. Don't feel pressured to make the trip. I'll understand if you don't want to see me."

"No, it's not that. I'd like to see you again, really. You've caught me off guard."

She noticed Jon from the corner of her eye. He was waving frantically, trying to get her attention.

"Angel, let me call you back in a little while. Can I reach you at this number?"

"That's fine. I'm on my cell phone. Call anytime, please?"

"I will. I promise. Bye."

Marla lowered her phone and slowly turned back towards the table. Jon was studying her face for some clue about what had happened. She had no choice but to be honest with him.

"That was Angelica Sims. I know her from New York City. She's in Seattle this weekend. She wants to get together."

"She's a friend of the family?"

"Jon, she's my ex-partner. I used to live with her. For a while, I was in love with her."

Jon's brow furrowed as he absorbed the gravity of what she had said. After a moment, the calm of understanding washed over him.

"You have to go to her."

"It's been almost three years since I've seen her. We didn't part on the best of terms."

"All the more reason to go now. You have to, before it's too late."

"Too late?"

"You may never get this chance again," he explained. "It may be painful, but this is the time to decide. You might find your heart still has room for her, or it might be over. Either way, you have to know."




Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 02



"Oh, it's over, alright."

"Maybe so, but there are loose ends and hard feelings. You don't want to carry them around with you, trust me. Use this opportunity to clean house and say a proper goodbye. I wish I could have said goodbye to Lisa."

Marla suddenly understood what Jon was trying to say. Like the sargassum in the sea, Angel had reached up from the depths and grabbed her ankle. If she was to continue forward, she had to free herself from this entanglement.

"Alright. I'll drive up to Seattle tomorrow morning."

"You won't regret it." He squeezed her hand.

"I'll need to pack a few things. Is it OK if I just go to my apartment tonight? I'm sorry. I know you were looking forward to some play time, but I'm feeling a bit distracted. Will you take a rain check?"

Jon gazed into her watery eyes and silently nodded in agreement.

*

~ A Fallen Angel ~

The white Dodge Charger surged forward when Marla pressed on the accelerator pedal. The 5.7 liter Hemi V-8 barely altered its throaty growl as the speedometer blew through seventy-five. Jon had warned her about the beast's penchant for attracting the state police. She decided to back down and set the cruise control for sixty-five.

Her morning had not gone well. Schizo, apparently hallucinating, had attacked and bitten her bare foot at five a.m. Limping through the darkness to the bathroom, she stubbed her other foot on the door jamb. The one-two punch put her on the floor in tears. She and her overnight bag finally made it out the door by nine, only to discover that her Saturn station wagon refused to start again. In sheer frustration, she pounded on the steering wheel, bruising her hand.

The XM satellite radio was set for channel forty-five, an alternative rock station. Marla had never owned a car with a nice stereo system, let alone a new car like this. Jon's generosity was quite unexpected when she called him for help, and now she was feeling guilty. He had effectively traded his new muscle car for her crappy station wagon without even batting an eye. She questioned his judgment, given that she was going to see an old lover, but he just shrugged off her concern. He had said, "It's the Charger or the Dakota, take your pick."

It was just past three in the afternoon when she arrived at the Grand Hyatt Seattle. Located next to the Washington State Convention Center, it was the most convenient place for out-of-towners to stay. On Saturday afternoon, however, it was more like a ghost town. After parking, she grabbed her bag and walked through the hotel lobby, heading straight for the lounge.

As expected, she found Angel sitting at the bar. Hesitating slightly, she girded herself and walked in.

"Angel?" she tentatively called out.

"Marla! Oh, honey, I'm so glad you're here. I thought maybe you had changed your mind. Come over here." Angel's raspy voice lifted with excitement.

"Sorry I'm late. I had some car trouble." Marla dropped her bag and embraced her.

Five straight hours of visualization had failed to prepare her for this moment. All of the expected old feelings simultaneously rushed through her. Good and bad memories collided, leaving her dizzy inside Angel's embrace. Noticeably absent, however, was the calm she used to feel when cradled to her bosom.

"That's my girl. You're looking well," Angel said, slowly climbing back into the chair.

Angel, on the other hand, did not look well. She had put on weight, more than one would expect for a forty-five year old woman. It wasn't the weight that bothered Marla, she had also gained a few pounds, it was her color. Gone were the rosy cheeks and glowing skin that had defined Marla's memory. Now slightly ashen, her complexion betrayed poor health, and her voice confirmed the continued dependence on tobacco and alcohol.

"It's good to see you, too. How have you been?" Marla replied.

"Oh, things are good. It's been awful busy at Queensborough; the enrollment numbers for all of CUNY are way up. Nothing boosts college attendance like a bad recession. I'm here for the Community College convention."

"That's great to hear. I'm working at OSU now, in the Psychology department, supporting the research laboratories."

"Not the Music department? I figured you'd be running the show by now."

"Not with just an undergraduate degree. I'm only qualified to change violin strings. I get my music fix from playing rock and roll. The Psych department is really fun, lots of crazy people."

"Always the joker," Angel said, tipping back her Chablis. She motioned to the bartender for a refill. "So what else is new?"

Marla knew where this question was leading, but she wasn't prepared to go there yet.

"Well, the Flaming Rose Band is doing really well. We've got a lot of gigs booked and we just finished a mini tour. It's become a pretty steady project."

"I'm happy to hear that. You always enjoyed the music scene in the Village. How about you, personally? I got the impression you're involved."

Marla's preparation had covered this expected query.

"Not seriously. I've met a lot of people at work and through the band. My circle of friends is growing. Nothing overtly romantic."

Angel studied her face for any sign of renewed interest. Marla's downcast eyes told her everything she needed to know.

"I see. Well, good for you. Hey, have you eaten today? How about we go get some chow?"

"Let's go, I'm starved," Marla answered truthfully.

They walked the two blocks from the hotel to the Red Fin sushi bar. It was still early enough to get a table without a reservation. Angel offered to pay for dinner, but Marla insisted on paying half. After a meal featuring lots of sake, they window shopped some boutiques. The movie theater was showing the Argentinean film, 'The Secret in Their Eyes', so they decided to catch the early show. Eventually, they ended up at Re-Bar, a nearby alternative nightclub.

"Don't you ever miss the City?" Angel asked, tipping back her second Long Island iced tea.

"Sometimes," Marla answered. She was still nursing her Guinness stout. "The pace is slower here; a lot less stress."

"You'll have to come back and visit. Sheila and Cherry still ask about you. Did you know they got married last year?"

"No, I didn't know that. I'm so happy for them. They seem made for each other."

"Just like how we used to be?"

Marla looked into her bleary eyes, working up the courage to speak her mind.

"Angel, what we had together was wonderful and special. You took such good care of me in my time of need; I'll always cherish that. But then you started drinking. I'm sorry to rehash all of this again, but it's the reason why I left you. You became abusive and a stranger to me. That mommy-daughter game we played was fun at first, but the more you drank, the sicker it became. You hurt me, Angel, physically and emotionally. I had to run away, to save myself."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm feeling better now. The therapy has helped me deal with my anger."

"But you're still drinking. You're drunk right now. Honey, it's going to kill you, slowly but surely. Nothing is going to change until you get better. You need to check yourself in, before it's too late. Do it for us, do it for yourself. Please?"

Angel's therapy apparently had some positive effect: she broke down in tears instead of exploding in anger. Marla hated having to intervene, but she couldn't stand by as a codependent any longer. She still cared for her, loved her even though she was no longer in love.

*

~ Radar Love ~

The dashboard clock glowed an iridescent blue. It was two-fifteen in the morning and Marla was beating her forehead on the steering wheel, weeping tears of anger and frustration. They had taken a taxi back to the hotel; Angel was too drunk to walk the six blocks. Once they were in her room, the anger had returned when Marla refused her sexual advances. Angel had slapped her, knocking her down and leaving a bruise on her face. Marla's lasting memory would be of Angel screaming at her as she ran down the hallway.

The radio played Brandi Carlile as the windshield wipers beat out a rhythm. Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed Brandi's lamenting point of view, but right now, it was simply too much. Struggling to maintain control, she made it as far as Olympia before she had to stop. The sign for Exit 99 promised twenty-four hour service at the Restover Truck Plaza. She parked in front of Deanna's and tried the door: it was open.

"Hello?" Marla's voice echoed around the empty restaurant.

"Just a minute," came an answer from the kitchen.

Marla sat down at the counter just as the older woman appeared.

"Well, hello there. What brings you out at this hour on a Sunday morning?" the woman asked, drying her hands on a towel.

"Going home. Thought I'd stop for a bit and rest."

"Coffee?" She didn't wait for an answer before pouring a cup.

"Yes, thank you. Could I also have a sweet roll, please?"

Deanna brought the pastry and noticed the bruise on her face. It was pretty obvious what had happened.

"Did he hit you, darling? I can call the police if you want me to."

"Who? Oh. Um, no. I'm OK, really." Marla rubbed her cheekbone wondering just how bad it really was.

"You don't have to put up with his abuse, you know. You were smart to get the hell out of there."

"You're right, I'm not going back."

After finishing her coffee and using the restroom, Marla got back into the car and headed south on I-5. Feeling rejuvenated, she changed the radio to channel fifty-four, a heavy-metal station. They were playing deep cuts from the new Alice in Chains CD. She didn't realize that they had made a new album after their reunion concert for the Asian tsunami victims. The current track was displayed on the receiver: 'Your Decision'. The tragic irony of her situation was reflected in the lyrics:

"Time to change has come and gone. Watched your fears become your god. It's your decision."

As Marla listened to Duvall's vocals and Cantrell's guitar solo, she realized this was a song her band could easily cover. It would fit right in with 'Zombie', in both mood and musical key. With two hands gripping the wheel and her brain in tape recorder mode, she pushed the Charger up to eighty-five.

*

~ Plum Pudding ~

Marla shut the engine off and grabbed her things from the front seat. Jon's house was dark and there was no sign of her car here, either. It had taken her a moment to realize that her car was missing when she pulled up to her apartment. In her haste to leave, she had forgotten to take her house key; it was on the same ring with her car key. With no way to get into her apartment, and her cell phone discharged, her only option was to drive here. Ringing his doorbell had proved fruitless, so Marla settled back into the car to await his return.

Jon rode up on his bicycle at eight-thirty and found her sleeping in the front seat.

"Marla!" he called out.

She stirred and opened her eyes. Squinting into the bright sunlight, she could only make out his silhouette.

"Jon? Is that you?"

"I didn't expect to see you until later tonight." He pushed the garage door opener clipped to his waistband.

"I came back early," she yawned.

"My God, Marla, you look awful. What the hell happened?"

Awful was probably an understatement. The night of drinking, fighting, crying, and driving had taken its toll. She followed him through the garage and into the kitchen.

"Well, that didn't go as planned," she said, dropping her bag and plopping down at the table. "Where's my car? Do you have my keys?"

"I had your car towed over to Clayton's yesterday. They said it was a faulty ignition module. It'll be ready tomorrow afternoon. Your keys are right here on the counter."

Jon pulled off his helmet and filled two glasses with water. Marla stared at him in shocked disbelief.

"Jon! Your ponytail. You cut your hair."

He fluffed the medium length mop of brown and white hair with his hand. A Cheshire Cat grin spread across his face.

"What do you think? Do you like it?"

"Yes, but all that hair. It took so long to grow. Why?"

"I don't know. I was thinking about your tattoo and the hair style you visualized for me. I thought, what the hell, I need to make a change, too. They were able to save the ponytail for Locks of Love."

"I'm stunned. I don't know what to say."

Marla rubbed her aching head and drank some water. The left side of her face was a mosaic of red and purple.

"Were you in a fight? You're all bruised. For God's sake, what happened last night?" The tone of his voice highlighted his concern.

"I'll tell you about it later. Right now, I just want to clean up."

Jon led her upstairs to the private bath attached to the master bedroom. The suite was ridiculously huge; larger than the living room in her apartment.

"There's a walk-in shower and a whirlpool tub, take your pick. Shampoo is in the shower. I'll get you a clean towel and a toothbrush."

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate this. Are you going to join me?"

"Maybe later. Let's get you cleaned up first." Jon held her head in his hands and kissed her forehead.

The sound and rhythm of the hot water sent Marla into a dreamy state. The sting from the bruise and the memory of its birth melted away, like dirty snow in an April shower. As she washed her hair with the apple-scented herbal shampoo, she remembered this smell from Jon's hair. She began to regret leaving him alone Friday night. Maybe things would have turned out differently if they had made love. Probably not, but it wouldn't have hurt. She spotted a razor and decided to groom herself, hoping he wouldn't mind her body hair dulling his blades. A final rinse with the hand-held shower head cleared away the soapy remnants. The pulsating beads of water lingered over her clitoris and anus, arousing her much more than she anticipated. She hoped he was still hungry for dessert.

She walked downstairs dressed in the white terrycloth robe that was laid out for her. Like her keys, her dirty clothes had mysteriously disappeared. The enticing aroma of breakfast lured her into the kitchen.

"Hungry?" Jon asked, flipping the French toast on the griddle. Breakfast sausages were frying in another pan.

"Starved. So, you can cook, clean, and do laundry. Do you do windows, too?"

Marla sat down at the table and sipped a glass of orange juice. The domestic scene she found herself a part of seemed surreal.

"Yup. Windows, doors, and floors; I can do it all," he bragged, setting a plate of hot food in front of her. "If you've got an itch, I can make it twitch."

"I'm counting on it."

Jon's bragging was justified; the French toast was perfectly cooked. He refilled her juice and served up seconds before sitting down with his own plate. The simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal was therapeutic.

"You're spoiling me, you know. I'm going to start expecting this kind of pampering," she continued.

"Good. I think you could use some pampering."

"But you're spending way too much money on me. First, there was the Supro and the Glenlivet, then the dinners and the cash. Now you've loaned me your new car and fixed my Saturn. I can't repay this generosity."

"I don't want you to repay me. This is what I want to do, it's who I am." Jon leaned back in his chair. "Look, I've got a lot of money. More than I need, really. I don't have any children to support, or family in the area. The house is paid for. I've got all the toys I can possibly use, what's left? Then our paths crossed and I was awestruck. I haven't felt this way since, well, you know, since Lisa. I can't help but behave this way, it's the caretaker in me."

She silently picked at her plate. There was nothing she could contribute, nothing meaningful to add.

"Hey, can I see your tattoo?" he asked.

Marla lifted her eyes and smiled mischievously. Slipping the robe off her shoulders, she turned to her left. The snake seemed to leap out from her right shoulder blade, the bold ink accentuated by the bright daylight. Jon slid his chair over and gently ran his fingertips over her skin. Goose bumps appeared on her arms, a reprise of their parlor visit.

"Would you put some Goo on me?" she asked.

"That sounds kind of kinky."

"Not that goo, you deviant. In my bag. There's a tube of ointment."

He retrieved the Goo from her bag and applied a thin layer over her artwork. Soon, his caress became more sensual and she leaned back into his arms. As she turned her head towards him, Jon leaned down and kissed her. Her loose grip on the robe slipped away and his free hand found her breast. The combination of nipple squeezing and tongue probing set her vagina flowing. Marla slid her free hand down between her legs, adding fuel to the fire.

"I'm still hungry. Come sit up here." He patted his hand on the kitchen table.

Marla's pulse quickened with the prospect of joining the menu. Leaving the robe behind, she pushed the placemat aside and parked herself up on the table. With her feet planted on the arms of his chair, she was in a perfect position.

"Eat me," she whispered. "Please?"

Jon did not need any encouragement. Wrapping his hands around her hips, he captured her clit in the vacuum between his folded tongue and upper lip.

"Oh God. Yes," she groaned, thrusting herself into his wet pocket.

Her panting quickened as her grip tightened on the back of his head. With only a nose visible between her curly rug and his shaggy mop, the gender of her lover was no longer a factor. His tongue was lapping inside and around her swelling labia, and then over her clit in an endless figure-eight pattern. The loud slurping noise confirmed its effectiveness.

"Oh yeah," Marla panted. "Yeah. That's good."

She released his head and leaned back on her elbows. His wet fingers were massaging her opening, steadily working their way inside of her. Holding her clit in his mouth, he pushed his fingertips up into the roof of her cavity. It was no longer a question of if she was going to come, only when.

"Fuck yeah! That's the spot," she gasped.

Marla lay down on the table and raised her knees, spreading herself completely. Jon interpreted her posture as a tacit request for rimming. Placing his hands on her buttocks, he spread her cheeks and swirled his tongue over her perineum and anus. He had guessed correctly.

Unable to speak, she growled her approval. He seemed to know exactly what she wanted. He dipped his fingers in some leftover maple syrup and smeared it in and around her ass. Marla struggled to find her voice.

"You fucking bastard. Do it. Make me come," she barked out the unnecessary orders.

Working up a load of saliva, he repeatedly rimmed and plunged his tongue into her maple-flavored asshole. With tingles shooting up her spine, she gave into the sheer lewdness of the act, letting her anus open and close around his rigid muscle. Marla's mind was beginning to fog, her perception of reality starting to fade.

"Fingers." The utterance was delivered with a forceful exhale. It would be the last guidance she would give before the eruption.

Jon returned his attention to her engorged clit, sucking and licking in a steady rhythm. His middle and index fingers were delivering a powerful internal vaginal massage in concert with his little finger's anal probing. His other hand held her steady against the force of her bucking hips.

Marla viciously tugged her own nipples as the final vestiges of reality slipped away. A burning sensation crept up from her toes and spread over her entire body. Hallucinations invaded her tightly closed eyes and the roar of pumping blood overwhelmed her ears. The volcano had announced its arrival.

Paralyzed, she could not stop the magma rising within her. As her body heaved, a huge contraction crushed his fingers and her asshole twitched erratically around his pinky. Sounding like a banshee, her shrieking howl filled the kitchen. Jon ignored the demon's attempt to deceive, holding her down, continuing his exorcism. The second and third eruptions soon followed, as expected.




Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 02



Jon rose to his feet and pulled off his yellow jersey. His cycling shorts looked ridiculous trying to contain his erection and removing them was not an easy task. Finally free, he laid his cock on top of her clitoris, slowly rubbing back and forth as the aftershocks continued.

"Now, I'm going to fuck you straight to hell," he said, putting on the condom he had retrieved while she was showering.

Marla could only whimper her consent. The sensation of his cock completely filling her sent another spasm rippling through her tummy. His hands encircled her hips as he began to slowly enter her. She could feel the bulbous head of his cock displace her labia as it exited and reentered her. His gentle thrusting soon gave way to forceful pounding.

"Yeah, fuck me. Fuck me hard. Come on, you animal, crush me," she cried.

Jon eagerly granted her wish. As he hammered her with reckless abandon, she wrapped her legs around him, urging him on. With her palms pressing on his chest, she could feel his power. At this moment, being submissive felt right and natural to her. There was still one more domination that she needed.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she revealed her slightly open asshole, still twitching involuntarily. Her hand guided his slippery cock from her pussy down to her ass. He robbed the butter dish for additional lubrication and pressed his cock head against her anus. She pulled her ass cheeks apart while he gently pushed.

Marla was no stranger to anal play, yet this was another first. Having taken only fingers and vibrators in her ass, a hot erect cock was a new experience. Jon was being gentle, allowing her sphincter time to stretch around him. As her rectum filled, another shiver ricocheted up her spine.

"Go ahead. I'll let you know if you're hurting me," she whispered.

Sliding her hand down to her clit, she moved her fingertips in small circles. She concentrated on pushing back as he entered her and squeezing around him as he withdrew. Imagining how her anus was being stretched and pulled blew fresh air on her hot coals. Another eruption was starting to build.

Jon increased the speed and depth of his thrusting and his breathing became labored. Her fluid added to the lubricating sheen on his cock, helping it disappear completely from view. His smooth steady movements faltered as his muscle control began to fail.

"Oh God. Yeah. Yeah," he panted in time with his jerking hips.

With a loud gurgling noise, he drove deep inside. The surge of semen coursing through his shaft vibrated her tortured anus, tipping her from the precipice. Another orgasm tore through her abdomen, her uterus lurching and her sphincter constricting around his pulsating cock. Jon collapsed on top of her, drops of sweat splashing on her breasts.

Marla wrapped her arms around his head, holding him close, wondering what she had gotten herself into. It seemed that Leslie was right: she was in big trouble.

*

~ Acoustic Sunday ~

There was something luxurious about cinnamon ice cream with a caffè latte. The crowd at Starbuck's was laid back, typical for three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. Feeling refreshed after a shared shower and a long nap, Marla was in a talkative mood.

"She slugged me so hard, it knocked me right off the couch. After the stars faded, I grabbed my bag and ran out of her room as fast as I could. She was screaming at me like a crazy person. It was scary, I've never seen her that angry before." Marla stared at her ice cream, still upset by the way Angel had treated her.

"It was the alcohol talking, not her," Jon consoled. "Alcoholism is a terrible disease, it hurts everyone involved."

"But I don't understand why she won't get treatment. She looks terrible, can't she see that?"

"Probably not. That's why the family usually intervenes. It may not seem like it, but you probably helped her out; helped her see herself more clearly."

"I hope so," Marla said, turning towards the window with a distant gaze.

"Hey, your face is looking better. Remember to duck next time, OK?"

A smile brightened her face and she gave him a sideways glance.

"I was lucky not to run into any state police on the drive back. That Charger sure likes to go."

"It's a good road trip car. I see you figured out the radio."

"That was nice to have. I listened to the latest Alice in Chains CD. I didn't know they had a new release. That was sweet, I used to listen to them a lot back when Layne Staley was alive."

"I'm not that familiar with them. I've got some Nirvana, but no Alice," he said.

"I'll burn you a copy of their new CD. I know you'll like it. Hey, that reminds me. We're having band practice next Saturday out at Josie's place. Why don't you come with me?"

"I don't know about that. I don't want to mess up the band's dynamics. You read about that kind of stuff all the time."

"It's really more of a party and jam than a serious practice." Marla shook her head. "There'll be lots of people there: other musicians, men and women, gay and straight. Besides, Josie's bass amp is acting up and she wants to talk to you about it."

"OK, that sounds like fun. Where does she live?"

"She's got a farm outside of town, so we can make as much noise as we want. Bring a guitar and an amp. You wanted guitar lessons; this is a perfect opportunity. We'll be working on some new stuff, probably some heavy metal."

"Alice in Chains?" he asked.

"Yeah, there's one particular tune I think we can cover. We'll play all kinds of stuff, it'll be fun. Remember to bring an overnight bag."

"Overnight?"

"The party will run late, and there'll be lots of beer. I'll bring the cigars and scotch, so you won't want to drive home. We'll find somewhere to crash. You'll just have to keep me warm."

"Hmm, that does sound like fun." Jon raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Are you ready to go get some dinner?"

Marla sipped her latte and studied Jon's face. She could see the happiness in his eyes. Recalling his breakfast conversation about being a caretaker, she thought about the journey he was taking, a journey as epic as her own.

"I am getting hungry, but first, I want to hear all about Lisa. I want you to tell me everything. Please?"

~~~~~

I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. These characters carry special significance for me, personally, and I have poured my soul into them.

If you are so inclined, please cast a vote, leave a comment, or send feedback, good or bad. I truly appreciate your patronage.



Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 03



~ Yesterday's News ~

He was relegated to the back page of section B in the local newspaper, overshadowed by an advertisement for the Disabled American Veterans.

=========================================

BOARD DENIES PAROLE FOR MEREDITH

BY ANDREA CASPER * STATESMAN JOURNAL * SEPTEMBER 21, 2009

SALEM, OREGON -- The Oregon Parole Board has denied the release petition of convicted felon David Meredith. Meredith, originally from Klamath Falls, had served less than half of a seventy-five month sentence for vehicular homicide, said Sharon Lowry, communication director for the Oregon Department of Corrections.

On May 12, 2006, Meredith lost control of his pickup truck after a night of drinking and collided head-on with a minivan driven by Lisa Ann Albright, from Corvallis. The collision occurred on US Highway 20, approximately eight miles west of Eddyville. Albright, age 38, remained in a coma for five days before her family terminated life support.

David Meredith pled guilty to manslaughter II in a court approved agreement. He began serving his sentence in November of 2006.

=========================================

Awkwardly clutching the scissors, Pamela clipped the article for her scrapbook. The reporter's words screamed inside her head. Her headache had returned, this time strong enough to affect her vision. The symptoms concerned her, but she wasn't going to let their mind control beams stop her. Her mission was too important.

"There you are. They tried to hide you from me, but I found you. Come along, Davy. I've got a place all ready for you here in the book. See? It's right next to their other lies and fabrications. They took you from me, but I'll make them pay. In the willow trees. Jon Albright is a damned liar. He said you killed his wife, but he's wrong. She's still alive; I have seen her. Crayons under glass."

She pasted the article next to the ones about David's trial and sentencing. On the opposite page, she had saved Lisa's obituary and a human interest article about Jon. Pamela's tears splattered onto the parchment paper.

*

~ Down On The Farm ~

"Dammit, that sucker is heavy." A grimace twisted Jon's face.

Hauling the sixty-five pound amplifier down from the Dakota had strained his back. It now sat at his feet, looking up at him, mocking his lack of Rock 'n Roll fortitude. He fully understood why Marla chose the Mesa Boogie for gigging. Nothing could approach the sound of a Fender Twin Reverb, however, and today, he would need all eight-five watts to keep up with the Flaming Roses.

"I'll be back for you." Jon pointed his finger in defiance and grabbed the case of beer.

Weaving his way through the maze of vehicles in Josie's yard, he eventually found the barn. Off to the side, a smoking barbecue pit exuded the aroma of ribs and brisket, giving him strength.

"Jon-boy! Over here," Leslie yelled, waving from the water trough.

"Hey Leslie. Is this where the beer goes?"

"Yeah, sure. There's plenty of ice in there, just dump it in. What happened to your hair?"

"It was an unfortunate lawn mower accident."

She hugged him from behind as he iced down the beer in the trough. Her big boobs pressed into his back as she wrapped him up in a bear hug. Jon marveled at how good they felt on his sore muscles.

"Well, be more careful. You've got Marla all addicted to love now, so you better stick around." She grabbed his ass and fished a cold beer from the trough.

"Her lights are on, but she's not home?" he laughed, opening a beer for himself.

"She might as well face it," Leslie giggled in agreement. "Hey, I'm really happy for you guys. She seems pretty contented."

"Me too."

Returning to face his nemesis, Jon prevailed and entered the barn with his gear. One corner of the barn was set up as a musical stage, so he put his guitar and amplifier down behind Marla's Booger. She was standing with Josie, talking quietly.

"Ladies," he said, walking over to them.

"Hey babe. I'm glad you're here," Marla said, taking his hand and pulling him over. "Josie's bass amp is acting up. I'm sure you can figure out what's wrong."

Josie squinted at him, her expression more suspicious than welcoming. Jon felt a little uncomfortable standing next to her.

"Hey Josie. Thanks for invite. You have a real nice setup."

"You're welcome," Josie said. "My bass guitar cuts out sometimes. I've tried several cables, but the problem seems to be here at the amp."

She demonstrated by wiggling the cable input on the amplifier.

"Oh, I see the problem. The input jack has come loose and the nut is missing. I've got a spare in my truck. I can fix you up in five minutes."

"Thanks," Josie said, turning and marching away.

"I don't know what's up with her," Marla whispered. "She's upset about something."

"Is she mad about me being here?"

"No, I don't think it has anything to do with you. I'll ask Shannon what's going on. Hey, I'm glad you're here. I've been missing you."

Marla gave him a hug and reached up to kiss his cheek. Jon wrapped his arms around her and made sure his lips got in the way.

"Why don't you go ahead and fix her input jack, before you forget," she continued.

"I'd like to examine your input jack," he smirked.

"Oh, behave. We've got all night for preventive maintenance." Marla playfully slapped his hand.

It took Jon less than five minutes to replace the missing nut on Josie's amp. He was setting up his own gear when she returned to the barn.

"All fixed," he said. "When the jack comes loose like that, it loses electrical contact."

"That was fast. You're pretty damned good, aren't you?" She was squinting again.

"Um, I guess so. I mean, I know how to fix amplifiers pretty well. Is there something wrong?"

Josie stepped into Jon's personal space and planted her finger into his chest.

"If I ever hear about you beating Marla, there will be fucking hell to pay," she hissed. "You do not want me pissed at you, lover boy. Are we clear?"

"I did not hit her. She got into a fight with Angel, in Seattle. You know that. What makes you think that I'd abuse her?"

"I'm just sayin'." Josie spun and stomped away.

Jon felt a flush of anger from the false accusation. He was ready to pack up his gear and go home, at least until he saw Shannon sitting in the corner. She had her finger against her lips, requesting his silence. She stood and followed Josie into the house, placing her hand on his shoulder as she passed by.

*

~ Shooting Star ~

By six o'clock, a sizable crowd had gathered in the barn. Leslie's iPod was playing through the PA system and people were already dancing. Jon sat on a folding chair, tuning his Telecaster.

"Are you ready to play some music?" Marla asked, slinging her guitar over her shoulder.

"As ready as I'm gonna be. What are we playing?"

"Just watch what I do and follow my chord changes. So, this is lesson number one: playing rhythm guitar. The sound you want is chunky during the verses and ringing power chords for the chorus. It's just as important knowing what notes not to play as getting the right ones. Use the palm of your right hand to mute the strings you're not picking. See? Like this."

Jon's Telecaster triggered a satisfying thump from the Twin Reverb. His brand new Ibanez distortion pedal put just the right edge on the sonic blast.

"What stomp box are you using?" Marla asked.

"I picked up this Turbo Tube Screamer yesterday. It was a hundred bucks, but I liked the sound. I've got the gain turned down to medium."

"It sounds great with the Fender. Can I try it out later?"

"Of course."

Band practice began with their first set song list. Jon stood next to Marla, watching her hands and playing along. Before long, he was feeling the music, listening to the other instruments, and making eye contact with the musicians. For a brief moment, he actually felt like one of the Flaming Roses.

Josie's guests cheered after their performance of 'Zombie', mostly because Leslie was honing her yodel, trying to match that unique quality of Dolores O'Riordan's voice. Jon fantasized it was the thick guitars riffs he and Marla had laid down, standing toe-to-toe. He hadn't even made a mistake.

"Damn. Marla and Jon, you guys really rocked me," Leslie squealed. "OK, Jon, it's your turn. You got a tune?"

"A tune?"

"We take turns calling out songs to play," Marla said. "It breaks up the monotony, keeps things interesting. Do you know any?"

"Um, I know this one."

He started playing the introduction to 'All Apologies', a classic Nirvana favorite. Someone in the crowd screamed her approval. Right on cue, Shannon joined in with the kick and snare drums, and Josie followed with the bass line. More guests screamed and crowded around the makeshift stage.

Jon focused on his playing and the clean tone he was coaxing from his amplifier. Oblivious to his surroundings, he finally looked up after finishing the intro for the third time. Everybody was staring at him.

"I think this song has words, too. Are you going to sing them?" Leslie razzed him.

"It's part of the deal," Marla added. "The caller has to sing."

"Sorry, I got a little carried away," he said. "I think I remember the words."

With Marla backing him up on rhythm guitar, Jon stepped up to her microphone and sang. He knew all of the words; this was one of his favorite songs. His voice was finer than Kurt's, lacking that gravelly quality forged through years of alcohol and drug abuse. He sang his heart out, and the guests responded in kind.

"That was outstanding," Leslie shouted, after the song was over.

Marla stood silently behind him, shaking her head. Finally, she said, "Amazing. I had no idea you could sing like that."

"I need a beer," Jon croaked.

*

~ It's Your Decision ~

Jon put down his guitar and made his way through the crowd. For the moment, he was the center of that universe; he felt their eyes watching him. He was unaccustomed to the attention, but enjoyed all of the well wishes he was receiving. Mercifully, the band started practicing a new AC/DC song, redirecting their focus back to the stage.

Quenching his thirst with a cold beer, he watched the scene from the barn door. Marla was making excellent use of his Tube Screamer and Twin Reverb.

"I sure wish I could play like that," he thought out loud.

"But you just did."

Jon found a tall nebbish-looking man standing behind him. He wore suspenders over a light blue shirt, topped with a bow tie. His thin wire rim glasses were lost against the backdrop of curly hair.

"Oh, hello," Jon said. "I didn't see you there. I meant I can't play lead guitar like she can."

"I didn't notice. It all sounded good to me." The man took a tentative step towards Jon.

"Thanks. They let me pick that last tune. I had to sing, though."

"That was an interesting choice you made. Why did you pick that song?"

"Well, I know that one really well and it seemed to fit this crowd." Jon's eyes darted towards the stage.

"Do you think everyone here is gay?" the man asked, looking over his glasses.

"No, not everyone. I mean, um, I don't know, really. I don't think that song is about homosexuality. It's about remorse and regrets. I guess that's why I like it so much." Jon cast his eyes down towards the floor.

"Are you Marla's boyfriend?"

"I suppose so. We're good friends."

"What a shame." The man was now just inches from Jon's shoulder.

"A shame?"

"You don't seem like her type, if you know what I mean."

"Because she's queer?" Jon asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "How well do you know her?"

"Not as well as I thought, apparently." He shrugged his shoulders.

Jon took another sip from the bottle, trying to think of a gentle response.

"Um, I'm a confirmed heterosexual."

"Oh," the man said, turning to walk away.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Jon said, reaching for his arm. "Please don't walk away. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended, just disappointed." He looked into Jon's eyes with surprise. Most straight men simply rejected him out of hand.

"I'm flattered, really," Jon said. "So, you're a fan of Nirvana?"

The man smiled, tacitly acknowledging the redirection.

"Kurt Cobain didn't commit suicide, you know. He was murdered." He gestured with a finger gun pointed at Jon's chest.

Jon listened to the same conspiracy theory he had heard many times before. He didn't try to refute his argument, instead listening and commenting on the tragic loss of a gifted artist. Before long, the women put down their instruments and wandered into the crowd. Marla approached just as the men parted company.

"I see you found Hector," she said.

"He found me, actually."

"He's usually pretty shy. I'm surprised he stuck around so long."

"I think I piqued his interest," Jon said, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, you can't blame him. Did he pique your interest?"

"Uh, no. Not like that. Let's go get something to eat."

~~~~~

A picnic table behind Josie's house provided a perfect spot to enjoy the savory barbecued brisket. Marla produced a bottle of bourbon whiskey from her knapsack.

"What, no scotch?" Jon asked.

"Not with barbecue, that would just be wrong."

"I saw you dancing in the barn. Leslie seems interested in your caboose. More than a little interested, actually. She was humping you from behind."

"Are you jealous? You want her to hump your behind, too?"

"Um, I don't know about that." He didn't mention that she had already left boob prints on his back.

"Well, here's a heads-up for you. I have a feeling she's going to make some kind of proposition tonight. She's been hinting about it for a few days."

"What kind of proposition?"

"I don't know, exactly. I can only guess what's on her mind. Probably some kind of group activity. Are you OK with that?"

"Are you serious?" Jon asked, genuinely shocked. "Is that what you want?"

"Well, I'm a little curious, but I won't say yes without your consent. If you want me to be your girlfriend, just say so. I'm OK with that, too. Here she comes now."

Leslie walked up with a plate of food and sat down across the table from Jon.

"Can I join you guys? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Leslie winked at him.

"Not yet," Marla said.

The three of them ate their dinner, sharing the bottle of bourbon. Leslie's shirt was unbuttoned low enough for Jon to see her peach-colored bra. At one point, barbecue sauce dribbled onto her breast, creeping down into her cleavage. The red sauce streaked away from her rose tattoo, giving the impression of blood oozing from a thorny wound. Jon was not convinced it was an accident.

"You're such a slob, Lez," Marla chided. "Having trouble hitting your mouth?"

"Maybe Jon can help me."

Leslie leaned forward, using her arms to force her breasts together. Jon's eyes were glued right where they were supposed to be.

"Oh, stop it, you horny bitch." Marla laughed and reached over to scoop the sauce from her boobs. She put her finger in her mouth and seductively licked it clean.

"Remind me not to drink bourbon with you guys anymore," Jon said. "It makes you crazy."

"Crazy? You haven't seen anything yet," Leslie said. "OK, I've got a proposal for you, Jon-boy. This is a one-time deal; an offer that will change your life."

"What is it with the boy stuff? It's been a long time since I was a boy," Jon chuckled. "So, what's this once in a lifetime offer?"

"Yeah, why don't you fill us in?" Marla remarked, her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

Leslie opened her fist. It contained two pills: one red and one blue. Looking Jon straight in the eye, she mangled the famous Morpheus quotation.

"This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the red pill - the story ends, you wake up in her bed and believe whatever you want. You take the blue pill - you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep my rabbit-hole goes."

Marla put her head down on the table, snickering into her arm. Her snorting punctuated Leslie's poorly conceived come-on.

"I think you mixed up the colors," Jon said, taking them from her. "Doesn't the red pill release me from the Matrix? Why does the blue pill have a Pfizer label on it? And it says VGR100 on the other side. This is Viagra, isn't it?"

"Why don't you try it and find out?" Leslie answered.

"So, what's in the red pill?"

"It's a multivitamin," Marla said, rolling her head to one side. "If I were you, I'd take them both. It's your decision."

Jon fell silent trying to wrap his head around her proposal. His thoughts raced around visions of playing with them. There were logistics to consider: who does what, when, and how? What about the aftermath: was this the end of his romance with Marla? And dear God, what would Lisa think?

Both women studied Jon, waiting for him to decide. Leslie leaned forward with her arms folded under her bosom, her blue eyes pleading with him. Marla's chin rested on her arm. She gazed up at him with wide eyes, nodding imperceptibly. There was no turning back, indeed.

"Forgive me," Jon whispered, washing both pills down with a swig of bourbon.

*

~ Stuck In The Middle ~

Waking up to a rooster's crow is something most people have never experienced, Jon included. The sound was so foreign to him that it took three full salutes to roust him. Peering into the darkness, he tried to ascertain his whereabouts. He definitely wasn't in his own bed, nor was he alone. Marla was curled up in front of him, her skin texture and scent now familiar. Her breasts grazed his draped arm as her chest rose and fell, deep in slumber. Something was amiss, however: Marla was snoring in stereo.

Another crow rustled the body behind him. Rolling inward, the person snuggled into his back, draping their arm over his waist. The sensation of large breasts compressed against his skin was both comfortable and shocking.

"Leslie?" Jon whispered.

Stirring again, Leslie sighed and snuggled in closer to him. Jon's head reeled, trying to recall last night's events. Still cloudy from alcohol and Viagra, his mind refused to divulge its secrets. His only recourse was to be patient, to wait for the fog bank to lift.

He eventually remembered playing guitar again after dinner. Lesson number two was another rhythm guitar style, this time using heavy-metal chords and riffs. He had wished he still had his long hair; it would have made for a more convincing display. Marla's head banging was classic, her dark hair flying up and around her head. By then, the bourbon and Viagra had taken hold, rendering him both horny and hard.

Sometime after midnight, everyone went outside for a bonfire. Marla had left her cigars at home, but there was plenty of Mary Jane passing around. Unsurprisingly, all three of them had accepted how the evening would end. Marla and Leslie were lying back with their heads in his lap, each having claimed a hand to pull inside their shirts. Simultaneously fondling two women gave him an erection that would have made even Mr. Pfizer jealous.

"I think it's time for bed," Marla said, breaking the trance.

"Hmm, bedtime," Leslie cooed.

Staggering into the barn, they climbed the ladder up to the loft. A large mattress was tossed on the floor along with a pile of blankets and pillows. Leslie wasted no time getting undressed.

"Get those pants off," she ordered, pulling her bra straps off her shoulders, releasing her tits from their shackles.

"Go easy on him, Lez. I'm going to need him after you're done," Marla pleaded, pulling her shirt over her head. Her bare breasts flashed in a moonbeam.

Jon gulped, fumbling with his belt and the snaps on his jeans. In the faint light, the two ghostly figures approached him.

"Alright dear, it's time for your lesson: Blow Job 101," Leslie said, dropping to her knees, dragging Jon's jeans and boxers down with her.




Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 03



"Should I be taking pictures?" Marla giggled, kneeling down beside her.

"No! Don't you dare," Jon begged.

"Relax. There's not enough light for pictures," Leslie explained. "Besides, unless you get around a lot, which I seriously doubt, nobody is going to recognize this cock. Am I right?"

Jon sighed and nodded.

"And speaking of cocks, this one's a beauty," Leslie continued. "I'm sorry I called you a boy, I was clearly mistaken. Marla dear, you've been holding out on me."

"Remember our deal, Lez. This is the only time I'm sharing, OK?"

"Fine. So, the thing about blow jobs is they have nothing to do with blowing air. It isn't really about sucking, either. It's about massage and stimulation. Just imagine the head of his cock is a giant clit. Use your tongue and lips on it just like you would stimulate your girlfriend. And the shaft of his cock is like the inside walls of her vagina. You just have to stroke back and forth. Not too hard at first, he'll let you know when he's ready. And remember there's no lubrication here, so use lots of saliva to get everything wet and slippery. Like this."

Jon watched Leslie wet her lips and rub them over the tip of his cock. Saliva oozed from her mouth and she spread it around evenly with her tongue. Her left hand helped distribute the spit down his shaft. Within minutes, his cock glistened in the moonlight.

"Once he's all wet, then you can start the massage in earnest. You don't have to put him that far into your mouth, just enough to get your lips and tongue over the corona. That's this part here," Leslie lectured. "Guys occasionally like to see you swallow their sword, but that's really just a parlor trick. Deep throat is for the eyes, not the soul. Right, Jon?"

"Right," he squeaked. Leslie's demonstration was already affecting him.

"Give me your hand, dear. That's right; wrap your thumb and fingers gently around him. Now move them back and forth. That's it. Now you've got it."

Leslie guided Marla's hand over his shaft while she lavished her lips and tongue all over his cock head. Her saliva coated Marla's hand and the excess began to drip from the corner of her mouth.

"That's the basic idea," Leslie continued, wiping her chin. "Now it's your turn."

Leslie shuffled off to one side and Marla slid into position. Working up a fresh load of spit, she duplicated Leslie's technique.

"How's she doing, Jon? Does that feel good?" Leslie asked.

"Oh my God," Jon exhaled.

Marla continued the phallic massage, maintaining a steady rhythm. Leslie slid behind Jon and rubbed her tits on his ass cheeks. The sensation of hard nipples and soft flesh on his sensitive buttocks made him jump.

"Oh yeah," he groaned, rocking his hips, bouncing off her chest.

Leslie wet her hand and slid it between his legs, massaging his balls and perineum. Jon groaned a little louder, unable to articulate his pleasure.

"I think he's getting close. Can you feel anything yet?" Leslie asked.

"There's a little discharge, but it doesn't really taste like anything," Marla replied.

"Would you mind if I take his semen? I haven't had a taste in a long time."

"No, I don't mind, go ahead. I wasn't looking forward to it that much, anyway."

Leslie spun Jon around to face her. With her hands on his hips she pulled him into her mouth. She performed her parlor trick for his wide open eyes, pressing her nose into his belly for as long as she could hold her breath.

"OK, big guy," she gasped. "I'm yours. Fuck my face and cum in my mouth."

Leslie wrapped her hand around his shaft and pumped him as he shoved his cock into her waiting mouth. Jon's hands floated down and found the back of her head. As his fingers held her steady, Marla probed his anus with a wet finger. With each forward thrust, Leslie's tongue guided him through her parted lips, her fingers sliding down his shaft. Each withdrawal was greeted with Marla's probing finger and a tug on his foreskin.

No mere mortal could long survive such an onslaught, and Jon, if anything, was certainly that. As the fire burned his extremities, the pressure in his abdomen reached its peaked. Releasing Leslie, he fell back onto Marla's hand, ejaculating spurts of semen onto Leslie's nose and chin. Marla pushed him forward, impaled on her finger, back into her mouth. A cry of sheer pleasure accompanied his last few drops coating the back of her tongue.

The rooster interrupted Jon's dreamy recollection. The details were still fuzzy, but the image of Marla kissing Leslie after his blow job was too vivid to forget. He had watched the frenzied frottage on the mattress while regaining his composure. Their intertwined bodies rolled into the moon shadow, obscuring the details of their explorations.

"Ugh," he whispered. "I've got to pee."

Jon did his best to extract himself from the sandwich without waking them. Marla was a heavy sleeper, barely moving when he sat up. As he stood and tip-toed away, Leslie rolled onto her back.

"Where are you going?" she asked, yawning.

"I have to pee. And I need some aspirin."

"Well, hurry back. You have to fuck me again before breakfast."

The pre-dawn light revealed the details of her sprawled naked body. With short blonde hair, heavy breasts, and shaved genitals, her appearance couldn't have been more different than Marla's. Fuck her again? Jon couldn't quite recall the first time, which seemed odd given her memorable tattoos and ornamentation. He looked down at his penis, just to check for collateral damage.

Pulling on his jeans, he gazed at Marla curled up with a blanket. He definitely remembered fucking her. With her head nestled between Leslie's tits and his thumb probing her ass, she had ridden him to a loud and happy ending. Leslie seemed content being Marla's cushion after her own orgasm. He assumed Leslie had come, anyway. Her face was contorted with obvious pleasure when Marla sucked her clit and lost her hand inside of her pussy. He had eagerly delivered the tit massage and nipple ring torture she requested. Leslie was nowhere near as vocal as Marla, her big moment marked only by paralysis and apnea.

"I think you dreamt that, Lez," Jon whispered. A snore was her response.

*

~ My Sweet Lord ~

The back porch creaked as Jon made his way to the door. He tried to step lightly, but this old farm house announced every visitor. Once inside, he found a bathroom just off the large kitchen. Even closing the door couldn't mute the echo of urine gushing from his bloated bladder. Flushing the toilet was quiet by comparison.

There was a bottle of aspirin waiting for him on the sink. Apparently, he was not suffering alone. With three tablets in hand, he made his way back to the kitchen to find some water.

"Good morning."

Jon hadn't noticed Shannon sitting at the table and jerked around when she greeted him.

"A little jumpy, are we?" she asked.

"I'm not used to partying like this anymore," he said, rubbing his head.

"That's good to hear. You were quite the attraction last night."

Shannon motioned him over to sit down. There were two cups of steaming coffee on the table.

"Uh oh, did I make a fool of myself?"

"No more than anyone else did."

Shannon studied him with the cool gaze of a counselor. The sleeves of her night shirt were rolled up revealing a mosaic of tattoos on her arms and hands. They were all renditions of religious figures and icons. Around her neck, she wore a crucifix, suspended by a thread of gold.

"Thanks for the coffee and aspirin. Does your head hurt, too?"

"No. I only had one beer last night at the bonfire. I don't touch hard liquor."

"You're smarter than I am. So, you're an early riser?"

"Not this early. I've been up with Josie. She got sick last night."

Jon had avoided Josie after his confrontation with her. He remembered seeing her at the bonfire smoking and drinking.

"I apologize for her behavior yesterday," she continued. "The way she got in your face was uncalled for."

"I sure was confused. I thought she knew about Marla's trip to Seattle."

"She does, but her anger remains. She's very protective of Marla. They've both suffered abuse at the hands of former lovers. Josie has some anger issues; her outburst wasn't about your behavior."

Shannon sighed and stared into her cup. The burden of healing a sick partner clouded her expression.

"Where did you two meet?" Jon asked, sipping his coffee.

"We met at a NA meeting. She was shooting smack back then, jonesin' for a hit. I'd been clean for three years, working on my clinical psychology degree. I wanted to be a substance abuse counselor. That was six years ago."

Shannon followed his gaze to her bicep. The image of Jesus Christ in Gethsemane seemed to be his target.

"When I found out Josephine was infected with hepatitis C, my life was turned upside down," she continued. "I felt His calling, so I entered the seminary and completed a Master of Divinity. I'm about to be ordained in the United Church of Christ."

"You're a minister? Oh dear God," Jon exclaimed.

"Well, I certainly encourage praying, but I sense you're feeling guilty right now. Three-ways seldom turn out like we imagine they should."

Jon stared at the floor. He hadn't felt this embarrassed since he was caught masturbating as a kid.

"I don't know what to say. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Stop right there, I'm not hearing your confession. I don't have room in my closet for your skeletons. You're an adult; you already know how to deal with this."

After a long silence, Jon cleared his throat.

"I made a mistake," he whispered.

"Jon, let me give you some advice. Leslie is not the one for you. But you already know that. Sleeping with her isn't so much a mistake as it is a distraction. Marla, on the other hand, is worth your attention. I can tell you that she is absolutely not gay: never has been, never will be. She tried to walk the walk, to bond with Angel, but she's just not wired that way. Sure, she's curious about women, but I think even that has probably run its course. Whether she realizes it or not, she's open to a traditional relationship. I've seen a remarkable change in her since you've been together."

"But the future is unclear. She's not interested in marriage. And Lisa still haunts me."

"How do you know she's not interested? Have you asked her? A lot of things have changed since that afternoon in your music room."

"You know about that?"

"Sure. Girl talk. Marla's pretty open with us about her feelings. That's something you should try. Lisa haunts you because you won't let her go."

"I don't know how." Jon's voice trailed off.

Shannon took his hand and smiled, her pastoral training taking over.

"I think you know what to do. Imagine she's in the train station at Heaven's gate. She won't board until you say goodbye. You owe it to her to let her go; she has somewhere she needs to be. Trust your heart and ask for God's guidance."

*

~ Awkward Sauce ~

"I feel weird dressed like this," Marla said, tugging at the straps.

"You look very nice. Just relax, you'll be fine," Jon replied.

"But I hate this damned bra, it cuts into me."

"I told you it was OK to go without. This was your choice."

"I don't want to jiggle all over their house, not on our first meeting."

"It's just a casual dinner party, hon," Jon said, turning the Charger into the driveway.

"I'm still nervous. I haven't played the spouse role in a long time."

"Look, Andy knows your history; he's not going to embarrass you. I don't know what he's told Carol, but she'll be polite. You're not here as a spouse, you're here because you're Marla. The best thing you can do is just be yourself," Jon said, ringing the doorbell.

"Hey guys. Come on in," Andy said, opening the front door. "Hi Marla. I'm glad you could make it tonight. Carol has been dying to meet you. Wow, you look terrific."

"Thank you," Marla replied.

"This is for dinner," Jon said, handing him a bottle of wine. "I remember that Carol likes Pinot Noir."

"That she does. Let me go find her." Andy took the wine into the kitchen.

"Is he wearing a bowling shirt?" Marla whispered.

Carol ran out of the kitchen with Andy following close behind. She was dressed in a turquoise warm-up suit with a matching headband. Jon raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Hi, hi, you must be Marla," Carol said, giving her a quick shoulder hug and patting her back. "Jon, you've been such a stranger, where the hell have you been?"

"I've been keeping busy," Jon answered.

"I bet you have. Why don't you and Andrew run along and burn dinner? Marla and I will fix up some hors d'oeuvres."

Carol grabbed Marla's wrist and drug her into the kitchen. Jon did his best to suppress a laugh when she looked back at him, panic stricken.

~~~~~

"Here, here, have a seat," Carol chattered, pointing to a stool by the kitchen island. "What would you like to drink? Wine? I hear you like scotch."

"Wine is OK," Marla offered, sitting down on the stool and smoothing her wool skirt and sweater.

"Scotch, scotch, I know Andrew had some in here," Carol mumbled, rustling through the bottles in the liquor cabinet. "Here it is: Johnnie Walker."

Carol pulled out the dusty bottle of Red Label and set it on the counter.

"I'll get some mix," she continued. "So, Andrew told me you play in a band."

"That's right. I play electric guitar in a rock band."

"A girl band?" Carol asked, pouring a drink.

"Yes, we're all women. Thank you," Marla said, taking the scotch and soda from her.

"Andrew said it's one of those all-female bands."

"I don't know what that means," Marla said, sipping her drink and wrinkling her nose. "I have to tell you that I'm not a very good cook. I can help with the dishes, though."

"Dishes, dishes, don't be ridiculous. I didn't invite you over to work. Andrew is grilling tonight, there won't be any dishes. So, you're from New York?"

"I actually grew up in New Jersey. I lived in New York City until just a few years ago."

"And you're divorced?" Carol asked, pulling a tray of cheese and crackers from the refrigerator.

"Um, yes," Marla answered, squirming on her stool. "That was a long time ago. I try not to dwell on it."

"Oh, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you." Carol sat next to Marla with her glass of wine.

"No, it's OK. I've got nothing to hide."

"We've been trying to match Jon with a nice girl for a long time. He was so crushed when Lisa was killed; we thought we were going to lose him. And then, all on his own, he found you. As unlikely as it sounds, you seem to have rescued him."

"Why would that be unlikely?" Marla asked, her polite smile beginning to fade.

"You just seem so different from her, not someone I'd expect him to marry. I'll be right back," Carol said, carrying the tray into the dining room.

Marla couldn't decide whether to feel hurt or angry at Carol's rudeness. In a span of two minutes, she had labeled her as 'one of those women', a divorcee, and not nice enough to marry. She stood up, tipped back the wretched scotch and soda, and poured another.

"What the fuck? Where does she get off judging me like that?" she cursed under her breath.

Carol ran back into the kitchen, retrieving a vase of flowers from the window sill.

"Please sit, sit, we have more to chat about," she tittered, sitting on her stool.

Reluctantly, Marla sat back down. She struggled to suppress the tirade poised on the tip of her tongue.

"Jon and I haven't discussed marriage. I'm not sure that I want to be married again."

"I can understand that, sometimes it's a pain in the ass. But I think you might want to consider it anyway. Jon is loaded, you know." Carol's raised eyebrows emphasized her point.

"He's got some money, I guess. He has some nice instruments, cars, and a big house."

"No, no, you don't understand," Carol said, leaning in. "I mean he's really loaded. He's a millionaire."

~~~~~

As the sun set behind the trees, the Wednesday night traffic noise faded away. The autumn air was cool, a perfect setting for relaxing on Andy's deck.

"So, what's burning for dinner?" Jon asked.

"Chicken, nothing fancy," Andy replied, handing him a beer. "Hey, I'm glad you guys made it. You didn't have to dress up, though. You know better than that."

"I know, but Marla didn't feel comfortable with a T-shirt and jeans."

"Well, she looks really nice. So, how's it going?"

"How's what going?" Jon glanced at the sunset, sipping his beer.

"Don't be coy, dude. You know what I mean."

"It's going OK. Marla and I are getting along, having a little fun."

"More than a little, I bet. You've got that look about you."

"And what look is that?"

"That I'm gettin' some expression. I know you too well," Andy said, holding up his bottle to toast his good fortune.

Jon returned his gesture and considered what, if anything, he should tell him. Withholding information from Andy was never a good strategy.

"There's a bit of pent-up demand, for both of us. We occasionally get some sleep."

"Braggart," Andy laughed. "So, have you been hangin' out with the band?"

"Yeah, some. I went with Marla to Josie's farm a few weeks ago. It started off as a practice session, but it turned into quite a party."

"Josie is which one?" Andy asked, closing his eyes.

"The bass player, the one with the longest hair. She was a little strange. I fixed her amp for her, but she was kinda hostile. I think she was worried I had punched Marla."

"You? Hit somebody? That'll be the day. You're a pushover."

"You know what was weird? The drummer, Shannon, was the sanest person there. You just can't judge a book by its cover." Jon sat down on a patio chair.

"You mean the dude with tits? She looks like she could kick my ass."

"Well, even if she could, she never would. I had a long talk with her. You're not gonna believe this: she's a preacher."

"In a church?" Andy's eyebrows soared.

"Yeah. She's ordained in the UCC. I never would've guessed that."

"What did you talk about? You're not planning your wedding, are you?"

"No. I haven't even thought about that yet. I ran into her when I got up to use the bathroom. I had one hell of a hangover. She gave me some aspirin, and some good advice," Jon said.

"Advice about what? Were you misbehaving?"

"Um, maybe a little. There was lots of booze and weed floating around. I might have been a little bad."

"Dude, don't hold out on me. What did you do?" Andy turned the chicken on the flaming grill.

Jon took a long drink from his bottle and considered how to tell him about that wild night.

"Well, do you remember what Frank said about Marla being bi? And about the menagerie?"

"Get out! You had a three-way? I don't believe it, you fucked the preacher? You're so goin' to hell."

"No, not with Shannon. She's totally gay; she and Josie are partners. I could still go to hell, though." Jon looked down at his boots.

"That leaves just the singer, the blonde with the big tits?"

"Or maybe it was with another guy. Maybe Marla wanted an MFM," Jon offered.

"No fucking way. You balled the singer, didn't you? What's her name?" Andy demanded.

"Leslie. We played around, but I didn't fuck her."

"She gave you a hummer? Dude, I hate you. You're my hero."

Jon smiled and finished his beer. Telling Andy the rest of the story could wait.

*

~ The Road Home ~

Jon turned the Charger east on the Corvallis-Newport Highway, leaving the lights of Philomath in his rearview mirror. Sitting in icy silence, Marla stared straight ahead, her jaw clenched. Even the heavy-metal radio station couldn't break her funk, and it was still a thirty minute drive home.

"Come on, hon, I had no idea she was going to get so weird. I don't know what's up with her. I've never seen her act like that before. We should just accept Andy's apology," Jon pleaded.




Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 03



The iridescent digits of the dashboard clock ticked off another minute: 11:13 p.m. Jon exhaled a heavy sigh.

"I've never been treated with such contempt," Marla finally responded. "Carol was really rude."

"I'm sorry I drug you into this. Andy was just looking to relax and catch up on news. It's been a couple of months since I've seen him."

"I'm not blaming you, and Andy was just fine. It was Carol who seemed to have an issue with me. I got the feeling she was jealous."

"Jealous? About what?" Jon asked, turning the car north on Walnut Boulevard.

"I'm not totally sure, but I think it has to do with money."

"Oh, about Andy losing his job, I suppose. Their daughter is going to graduate this year. I imagine they're thinking about college."

"No, it wasn't the normal money worries, it was more personal. I think it was about your money. She made a point of mentioning that you're loaded."

"I've loaned them some money before," he replied. "I'd do it again if Andy asked for help. He knows that."

"I didn't get the impression they were struggling. I think there is some deeper resentment. She claims that you're a millionaire."

Jon fell silent as the road swept east towards Glenridge Drive. He hadn't yet considered how to broach this topic with her.

"Well, she's right. I told you before that I had a lot of money, but not how much, exactly. The last time I looked it was seven."

"Seven million dollars?" Marla nearly choked on the words.

"Most of it is pretend, numbers in a portfolio, not real cash. The money has been accumulating from bonuses, patent royalties, investments, inheritance. There's even some blood money in there: Lisa's death benefit. It all adds up over thirty years. Would you like one?"

"One what?" she asked, looking confused.

"One million."

"You would give me a million dollars?"

"Sure, why not? I'd still have six left," Jon replied, steering north on Glenridge.

"Don't be silly. What would I do with a million dollars?"

"Well, for starters, you could get rid of that Saturn. You could build a recording studio out in Josie's barn. You could produce a CD. You could save it for your retirement. Or you could give it away to charity; maybe to a church."

"You would give me a million dollars and let me give it away?" Marla's voice filled with skepticism. "What were you and Andy burning on the deck tonight? I think it was more than chicken."

"No, there was no weed, although Carol could have used a dose of mellow. I was just thinking about the talk I had with Shannon after the party. She gave me some stuff to think about."

"Words of wisdom from Pastor McCluskey? Now I'm really curious."

Jon hesitated, thinking about that night in the barn. It was time to be honest with her about his feelings.

"She didn't lecture me about that night. She told me I already had the answers I was seeking. I just have to trust my feelings."

Marla studied Jon's face in the dim interior light, watching him pull his thoughts together.

"Do you remember asking me, before Leslie burst in, if I wanted you to be my girlfriend?" he continued. "You said you were OK with that. Well, I'm giving you my answer now. Yes, I want to have a monogamous relationship with you. I mean, I like Leslie a lot; she's a lot of fun to be with, but I don't want to sleep with her again. Are you still OK with this arrangement?"

"Yes." A gradual smile overtook her face. "I'm OK with that and relieved, actually. It wasn't near as much fun as I had imagined. I'm thankful she was too drunk to remember much, I don't think our relationship will suffer."

"Business before pleasure," Jon commented, turning onto the secluded road leading to his house.

Marla leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek. Smiling mischievously, she slid her right hand up his leg and curled her fingers over his crotch.

"Today's business is done," she whispered. "You know, I've never had sex with a millionaire before."

Her touch surprised him, eliciting a groan as his parts swelled against her palm.

"Technically, that's not true," he countered. "I was a millionaire when we met."

As Jon pulled the Charger into his garage, Marla pulled the zipper down on his trousers. She fished his growing erection from his boxers, tugging and stroking until her hand was full.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"Homework," she cooed. "I have to practice my lessons."

Leaning further over, she spread the saliva oozing from her mouth over his swelling head. Her right hand helped distribute the spit down his shaft, just like Leslie had taught her. The coordinated effort of her lips, tongue, and hand was having the desired outcome: Jon's cock was now fully erect.

"That's all for now," Marla said, sitting back and opening the car door. "I need you to scratch my itch, to make me twitch."

*

~ Twilight Zone ~

A light breeze rustled the tree tops, stirring the wind chimes on the patio. On top of a knoll, a shadowy figure lay in the trees, peering through binoculars. In the distance, the target of the surveillance illuminated when Jon walked into his kitchen.

"There you are," she whispered.

She observed him move about and eventually sit down at the table. Tying her hair back, she picked up her rifle and tried to acquire him through the hunting scope. Squinting seemed to help her focus, improving her vision and easing her headache.

Pamela had no way of knowing that a five centimeter meningioma was compressing the left frontal lobe of her brain. Although the tumor was non-cancerous, it was certainly not benign. It had grown large enough to increase her intracranial pressure, causing papilledema, headaches, and disordered thinking.

In the scope's eyepiece, she noticed the woman enter the kitchen. Shifting the rifle, she tracked her with the crosshairs. Jon stood next to the table and embraced her.

"Bonus. Two for one," Pamela hissed, removing the safety. "I knew that bitch Lisa was still alive."

The quiet neighborhood erupted when the rifle shot rang out. Dogs alerted their owners as the report echoed through the hills and homes. Bedroom lights flicked on, seemingly in unison, and the neighbors peeked out of their windows and doors. From the shattered opening that was once Jon's patio door, an anguished cry lifted, only to be consumed by the whispering pines.

~~~~~

I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. These characters carry special significance for me, personally, and I have poured my soul into them.

If you are so inclined, please cast a vote, leave a comment, or send feedback, good or bad. I truly appreciate your patronage.



Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 04



~ In The Chapel ~

Dust particles drifted lazily through the filtered light from the stained glass window. The image of the descending white dove, olive sprig clenched in its beak, held the promise of peace and absolution. That hopefulness, however, had yet to reach the far corner of the chapel. The lone patron listened to the recorded pipe organ, weeping and praying for comfort.

"Saint Jude, Thaddeus, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, pray for me who am so miserable. Come to my assistance in this great need, that I may receive the consolations and succor of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations and sufferings. I promise thee, O blessed Saint Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, and I will never cease to honor thee as my special and powerful patron. Amen."

Pulling a handkerchief from his vest pocket, the old man dabbed the tears from his eyes. After reciting the orthodox prayer, his voice crackled as he spoke.

"Dear God, forgive me. Forgive my shame, my ignorance, and my intolerance. I should have been there for her, when she needed me most. I could have helped her, but instead I pushed her away. And now, so many years later, it comes to this. I've missed so much of her life, I hardly know her. Please God, guide her, protect her, and comfort her."

Footsteps echoed off the brick walls as someone approached. Stopping beside him, the minister lowered a hand to his shoulder.

"We're ready when you are, Mr. Zildjian. It's time."

*

~ Good Samaritan Hospital ~

This time, no goose bumps adorned her nakedness. Clutching the hospital gown to her bosom did nothing to ease the pain, nor enhance it. She felt numb, sensing only a tug as the doctor removed shards of broken glass from her back and arm. Marla glanced up at the clock in the emergency room suite: it was three-thirty a.m.

"Almost done," the resident doctor said. "Just a few small pieces left. I'll need to place sutures to close some of these cuts."

Tears streamed down her face, mixing with blood, leaving crimson tracks. She nodded silently.

"I'm going to use a subcutaneous suture on your shoulder," he continued. "Joann, I need a fifty milliliter vial of lidocaine hydrochloride, zero-point-five percent, a pack of Steristrips, and both 5-O and 6-O sutures."

The emergency room nurse left to retrieve the requested supplies. Doctor Trung Lee rolled his stool to the head of the table, peeking into Marla's bloodied face. His happy smile provided some relief from her fright.

"I want to preserve your lovely tattoo. The snake will have only a small scar. You can probably have the artist repair the damage in a few weeks. You're very lucky, Ms. Zildjian, you have only minor cuts and bruises. The bullet missed you completely." 

Marla sniffled and wiped away her tears. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a tribal spider inked on the inside of his forearm. She considered the significance of her own scarred tattoo as a metaphor for this horrific attack. What knowledge and wisdom the serpent had gained? Repairing the damage seemed improbable.

"Do you have any information about Jon? Is he going to be OK?" she asked.

"Mr. Albright was airlifted to OHSU in Portland. They're a level one trauma center. He should be in surgery by now. I'll try to find out his condition for you."

As he stood to leave, the nurse entered the room with the surgical supplies. He took her by the elbow and led her back into the hallway.

"Joann, can you call OHSU for an update on the GSW victim?" he whispered.

~~~~~

Marla discovered her bruised ribs when she tried to pull the sweater over her head. Wincing with pain, she carefully worked the bloody garment over her bandaged shoulder and arm. Neither the sweater nor the skirt would ever be the same.

"Ms. Zildjian?" Doctor Lee asked, poking his head into the suite. "There is someone here to see you: a police officer. Is now a good time?"

"Yeah, it's OK," Marla replied, drying her face and tossing the towel into the sink.

A tall man followed the doctor into the room. Dressed in a sport coat and a pressed shirt, he didn't look like someone who had just gotten out of bed. He moved slowly and spoke softly.

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm detective William Greer from the Corvallis police department. Let me say how glad I am to see you on your feet and in good condition. When I got the call from the dispatcher, I feared the worst. I can't tell you how relieved I am."

"I'm not sure what happened," she said, sitting down on a chair.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions about tonight, if you're feeling up to it. Is there something I can get you?"

"Actually, I'd like some coffee."

"I'll go," the doctor said. "Joann is busy with another patient. Cream and sugar?"

"Yes, thank you," Marla replied. Her hands shook when she tried to comb her hair with her fingers.

"I know this is difficult, but you can be a tremendous help to us in catching the sniper," the detective said, sitting in a chair across from her. "The more information we have, the faster we can track them down."

Marla nodded her approval.

"OK. Can you give me your full name and date of birth?"

"Marla Filor Zildjian. December tenth, nineteen-sixty-seven."

"Do you reside at the premises?"

"Uh, no. I have an apartment on Walnut Boulevard."

"Could I have your address, please?"

"It's forty-four hundred Walnut Boulevard, apartment twenty-two."

"Thank you, ma'am. Can you tell me your relationship to Mr. Albright?"

"You can call me Marla, detective. Jon and I are good friends." Her voice trailed off.

He made the entry in his notebook, but held his pen to the paper. The inflection in her voice left something unsaid.

"And lovers," she finally added.

"Thank you for your honesty. My friends call me Willy. Marla, can you tell me what happened tonight?"

"Well, Jon and I went to his friend's house for a dinner party. His name is Andy Troumbly and his wife's name is Carol. They live out in Philomath, but I can't remember their address. We had dinner and a couple of drinks. We left their house around eleven, I think. Jon only had a beer or two, he wasn't drunk."

"I'm not investigating a traffic violation," Willy chuckled. "Was there anything about the Troumblys that concerned you?"

"Andy and Carol? No, not really. Carol got pretty drunk and said some stupid things. Stupid enough to embarrass Andy. Andy and Jon have been friends for a long time, since before Jon was married."

"Married? Is he divorced now?"

"A widower. His wife died in a traffic accident about four years ago. It was a DUI. The drunk driver is in prison now for killing her," Marla said, looking at the floor. "Jon is still recovering from the loss."

"That's just tragic. Thank you for sharing that, it could be significant."

"How so?"

"It's too early in the investigation to say for sure. Big events can often echo throughout one's life, and that is as big as an event can get." Willy leaned back into the chair.

"I don't know if this is important, but Carol told me I should marry Jon because he's rich. I asked him about it on the way home, and he confirmed the story. I knew he had some money, but I didn't know how much. I'm really not a gold digger. Could money be a motive?"

"Absolutely. How much money are we talking about?"

"He said he's a millionaire; seven to be exact," Marla said. "He said he has a portfolio, not all cash. I can't believe someone would kill him for his money, he's so generous."

"We'll definitely investigate the financial situation. What happened when you returned to the premises?"

"Well, we parked in the garage and went into the kitchen. It was midnight and we were going to have a nightcap before, um, before bedtime."

"Did you notice anything unusual around the house?" Willy asked. "Were there any signs of forced entry, or tampering with the windows and doors?"

"Not that I noticed. He has a security alarm system protecting the house. I accidentally set it off one morning while he was out biking. It took me a few minutes to remember how to reset the damned thing. The security company was ready to call out the National Guard."

"I've done that, too. What happened after you went into the kitchen?"

"Jon went in before me; I had to use the bathroom. When I went in, he was sitting at the table. He had poured a couple of drinks. I went over to the table and he stood up to hug me. We were kissing when it hit. The patio door exploded and I heard a horrible splat sound in my right ear. Jon fell into me and I lost my footing and fell down. He landed right on top of me." Marla's voice quavered.

"Go on."

"Jon was screaming in pain, but I couldn't move with him on me. I finally managed to roll him off and saw the blood and glass all over the floor. I don't even remember cutting myself. When I saw the blood on his shirt, I knew he was shot. I crawled over to the doorway and shut off the lights. Then I drug him behind a counter and called 911."

"Why did you turn off the lights?" he asked.

"I didn't want to give the fucker another shot. Excuse my language. I lived in New York City long enough to learn some urban survival skills."

"No apology is necessary." Willy smiled. "I appreciate eloquent profanity, and in my book, you have earned the right to use that word. Could you see where the shot came from?"

"No, it was too dark and the outside lights were off," Marla replied. "I was trying to stop the bleeding and keep him from passing out."

"Do you have any idea who the shooter might be?"

"I have no idea. Really, I don't know enough about Jon's past to know his enemies."

"Detective?" A uniformed female officer interrupted the interview.

"Yes, come in," Willy said. "What have you got?"

"I have a preliminary forensic report from our site search. Twenty-five yards behind the patio door, we found a splintered bird feeder lying in the grass. The hanger mechanism was still in the tree. At one hundred twenty yards there was a knoll in the forest. On that knoll we found a weapon: a Winchester Model Seventy Sporter, with a twenty-four inch barrel. It was chambered for a thirty-ought-six Springfield, and had a Leupold Rifleman seven by thirty-three millimeter hunting scope. The weapon's magazine was empty and there was a single spent casing on the ground. The markings on the ground indicate the shooter was in the prone position. We found a single set of boot prints leading to and from a logging road. Tire tracks on the road are consistent with a light truck or SUV."

"Thank you, Kristy. I assume you've sent the weapon to the lab?"

"Yes sir. And there's more: the rifle scope had traces of blood on the eyepiece. We've alerted the network for suspicious vehicles and for someone seeking medical treatment for an eye wound."

"Excellent work." He turned back to speak with Marla.

"What does all that mean?" she asked.

"It means that we found a high-powered hunting rifle behind the house. The sniper tried to kill Mr. Albright with a single shot; no second round was found in the gun. The blood on the scope indicates an eye socket wound from the gun's recoil. It seems that our sniper was inexperienced."

"An inexperienced sniper?" she scoffed. "Who would do such a thing?"

"I don't know, ma'am, but we're sure as hell going to find out." Willy put his chocolate-colored hand on hers.

"Ms. Zildjian, detective," Doctor Lee said, thrusting his happy face into the room again. "Mr. Albright is out of surgery and is in the SICU. His condition is being listed as serious, but stable. He's going to be OK."

Marla leaned forward into detective Greer's shoulder and cried tears of relief and exhaustion.

*

~ Oregon Health & Science University Hospital ~

The eighty mile trip to Portland should have taken only ninety minutes, but it was Friday afternoon. An accident on Interstate 5, just north of Salem, had slowed traffic to a crawl. It was already six o'clock and Marla was getting fidgety.

"Can't you turn on your siren or something?" she asked, scrutinizing the dashboard from the passenger seat. "Here, what does this do?"

"That's the police radio, ma'am," detective Greer replied. "Detectives don't get sirens. I have a small light, but I would get in trouble for interfering with the Oregon State Police."

"Relax, dear," Leslie said, reaching forward from the back seat to caress her arm. "Visiting hours are until eight. We'll get there in time."

"This is official police business," he added. "They'll let us see him whenever we get there."

Upon arrival at the surgical ICU, they were greeted by the charge nurse: Diane Frost, APN-CNS.

"Detective Greer," she said, extending her hand. "Thank you for calling ahead this morning. Mr. Albright is conscious and alert, but tires easily."

"We shouldn't be long," he replied, shaking her hand. "Ms. Frost, this is Marla Albright and her friend Leslie."

"SICU rules allow only immediate family members in the rooms. Mrs. Albright can accompany you, but her friend will have to remain in the waiting room."

"It's OK, dear," Leslie offered. "I'll wait here. Go to him."

Marla raised an eyebrow at detective Greer as they followed Nurse Frost through the double doors. He acknowledged her quizzical look with a nod of his head and a finger against his lips.

Jon was in room 914, connected to a dizzying array of intravenous tubes and electronic monitors. His left shoulder was bandaged and his arm was in a sling across his chest. His face brightened when Marla entered the room.

"Oh Jon," she exclaimed, running to the bed, throwing herself onto him.

"Ow," he exhaled, wincing in pain. "Babe, I'm so glad you're OK."

He pulled her into his chest, hugging her with his good right arm. He felt her hot tears of joy dripping on his breast. Detective Greer waited silently in the doorway. This reunion was far more important than his investigation.

"Look at you," Marla wailed, pulling back. "You're all tore up. What's this all about?"

"Mr. Albright?" Willy asked, approaching the bed. "I'm detective Greer from the Corvallis police department. I'm investigating your shooting."

Jon released her and motioned for them to sit down.

"They've got me high on some kind of pain killer, but I can try to answer some questions."

"Well, maybe I can start by answering some of your questions. Quite a lot has happened over the last thirty-six hours. How are you feeling?"

"Dazed and confused. I'm not really sure what's going on."

"As you are painfully aware, you were shot in the back on Wednesday night," Willy said. "Marla acted bravely, shutting off the lights and calling for help. She received only minor cuts and bruises."

"Cuts and bruises? That's all?" Jon looked at her, relief written all over his face.

"You fell on top of me," she said. "The cuts were from the patio door glass."

"We found the weapon right away; it was in the woods behind your house. The sniper had been stalking you," Willy continued. "Early this morning, we apprehended a suspect. The person's name is Pamela Meredith. Do you recognize this name?"

Jon's brow furrowed as he searched his memory. Marla watched him anxiously.

"I remember the name David Meredith. He's the man who drove drunk and killed my wife, Lisa. He's in prison now, so who the hell is Pamela?"

"Pamela is David's mother."

Detective Greer waited for the words to sink in.

"Are you saying that David's mother hunted me down and shot me?" Jon asked, visibly upset.

"Are you serious?" Marla added. "That makes no fucking sense."

"Senseless as it is, that seems to be the situation," Willy continued. "Pamela is now in custody and the preliminary interview revealed that she was upset over David's parole request being denied. We executed a search warrant this morning and uncovered newspaper articles about David, Lisa, and yourself. She was keeping a scrapbook. This is a pretty clear-cut case of attempted first degree murder. The district attorney will probably charge her with two counts."

"Two counts?" Jon barked, coughing up some blood and mucus.

"In the interview she indicated that she intended to kill both you and Lisa with one shot."

"Lisa? That bitch thought I was Lisa? Is she crazy?" Marla blurted in total disbelief.

"She'll have to undergo a court-ordered psychological evaluation," Willy continued. "Her state of mind will be a key factor at the trial."

Jon and Marla searched each other's face, neither quite comprehending the story being told. They didn't notice the man in a white coat enter the room.

"Detective Greer? My name is Devika Subramanian, attending physician at OHSU Hospital. I am responsible for the well-being of Mr. Albright. I am telling you now that his condition has improved."

"Doctor, thank you for joining us," Willy replied. "How bad is the injury?"

"Of course. I can tell you that the entry wound was on the left side and punctured the scapula. The track was not ballistic and there was no exit wound. There were lacerations to the trapezius and infraspinatus muscles, a fractured clavicle, a small perforation of the lung, and damage to subclavian artery. The bullet and all of the fragments were recovered and sent to the state crime laboratory. The patient required two units each of plasma and PRBC. The surgeon removed bone fragments and repaired the tissues and arteries. The left rotator cuff and humerus appeared intact on the x-ray. The fractured collar bone will heal, although the scapula may require reconstructive surgery. The prognosis with physical therapy is for eighty to ninety percent recovery of shoulder motion and strength."

Doctor Subramanian finished his dissertation and closed the medical chart. Detective Greer finished making notations in his book.

"Thank you, doctor," he said, turning back to speak with Jon.

"You're a lucky man, sir."

"I don't feel very damned lucky, that bitch tried to kill me!" Jon's voice was filled with anger.

"You're lucky she failed, she's not an experienced hunter," Willy said, leaning back in his chair. "She was most likely aiming for your heart, but she flinched when she jabbed at the trigger. The gun pulled up and the scope injured her eye socket. The shot went high and left. The bird feeder and patio door glass dissipated some of the energy and the bullet was tumbling when it hit you. You're both lucky to be alive."

Marla rose from her chair and returned to Jon's bedside. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulder.

"I can't believe this is happening. Babe, I don't know what to say," he said.

"Don't say anything," she whispered. "Just sleep now and heal yourself. We'll figure this out."

*

~ Ketchikan ~

It was early afternoon when they finally stumbled out of their stateroom. Marla had no interest in salmon fishing, so there was no reason to get up early. At almost two thousand dollars, their mini-suite aboard the Sapphire Princess was a cozy sanctuary, one that Jon intended to fully enjoy. Neither of them had ever been to Alaska. A midsummer inner-passage cruise was just what they needed to recharge their batteries and nourish their souls.

With the sun at its peak and the temperature a pleasant sixty-five degrees, they disembarked and strolled south on Water Street. On their right, the busy channel was filled with fishing boats and ferries. On their left, framed by misty mountain peaks, the quaint city of Ketchikan beckoned.

"Do you want to go shopping?" Jon asked.

"No, let's just walk around a while."

They made it about five blocks before stopping at the Kingfisher Bar. Like every other joint on the waterfront, this place was designed to trap tourists. They found two seats next to a woman reading a book.

"Excuse me," Marla said. "Are these taken?"

The woman looked up from her book, scanned them quickly, and shook her head no.




Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 04



"I hope the beer is cheaper here than on the Princess," Jon commented.

"Try the Bloody Mary."

"Now that sounds good," Marla agreed. "Are you cruising, too?"

"No, I live here," the woman responded, closing her book. "I'm on my lunch break."

"I don't see any menus," Jon said, looking around the bar.

The woman tapped her Bloody Mary with a spoon.

"This is my lunch," she said, chomping on the celery stalk. "Where y'all from?"

"Oregon," Marla said. "Do you know where Corvallis is?"

"Nope."

"It's south of Salem," Jon added. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Ya think? Mister, nobody here is from around here. We're all refugees or escapees; trying to hide from something, trying to make a fresh start."

Marla sipped her Bloody Mary. The woman's recommendation was spot-on, the drink was excellent.

"And what gulag did you escape from?" Marla asked.

"Now there's a question!" she replied, slapping her hand on her book. "I escaped from Atlanta, a two-timing husband, and an ugly dog. Two years ago, I decided to get my ass the hell out of Dodge. I ended up here with my suitcase and a teaching certificate. I ain't going back."

Marla glanced at her well-worn book: 'The Bell Jar'. Shannon had told her about this book, but she never read it.

"I don't think I've heard of Victoria Lucas. Is that a good book?"

"Well, I expect not," she replied. "That's the pen name Sylvia Plath used for her one and only novel. I wouldn't call it a good book, unless you want to study depression and suicide. I'm reading it so I know where I don't want to go. Y'all got names?" 

"I'm Marla and this is Jon. I guess we might be refugees, too. We decided to take a break and try to relax, and forget."

"We're going back, though," Jon added. "Unless the ship sails without us."

"Well, Miss Marla and Mister Jon, y'all seem like nice folk. I don't know what it is you're trying to forget, but I do hope you succeed. Just don't forget about each other. I can tell you got something special going on, I can see it in your faces. Y'all can call me Stella, 'cause that's my name."

"Thank you, Stella," Marla said. "I hope they don't extradite you back to Atlanta. Maybe the fishing is better up here, anyway."

"Honey, the fishing up here is just fine. A single woman in this town never gets no sleep. Problem is, while the odds are pretty good, the goods are pretty odd. Sorry to run, but I gotta get back to Hoochie's and get set for dinner. Y'all take care now, bye-bye."

~~~~~

After finishing their drinks, they left the bar and strolled through town. Marla was thinking about the last six months, and the events she was trying to forget.

"You know, I never asked you about the trial," she said as they walked. "What did you think about the outcome?"

"That they found her not guilty?" Jon shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose it was fair, she had that brain tumor. Putting her in prison wouldn't have helped anyone. Her illness nearly killed us all."

"But you're not bitter? You've got a hole in your shoulder and reconstructive surgery next month. I'm feeling down and I only got scratches."

"I've been feeling down, too. The doctor called it posttraumatic stress. I suppose we both need some counseling."

Their walk took them to the other end of town, by the fishing marina. As the sun began to swing back to the northwest, the seagulls reported the fishing boats return to port.

"Would you ever consider moving to a place like this?" Marla asked.

"To start fresh? Maybe, but I don't feel like I have to run away. Besides, this place is kind of desolate. I like being around more people."

"Me too. I think I would go crazy up here. Sure is beautiful, though."

"Well, we can always come back to visit," Jon commented. "So, have you given any more thought to how you're going to spend your million dollars?"

"You're being silly again. I don't need a million dollars. You need the money more than I do, for medical expenses."

"Those expenses are covered by insurance," he reminded her. "I'm serious this time, babe. Life seems precarious and the money won't do me any good after I'm gone. I want to make some changes."

Marla walked silently, considering his offer.

"Well, I've never told you this, but I do owe some money to my family. When I divorced Mikhail, my father was very upset. Later, when I moved in with Angel, he was furious. He effectively disowned me, told me that I wasn't part of the family anymore. He said some pretty awful things; hurtful things."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jon held her hand.

"Later, when Angel started drinking and abusing me, I felt trapped. I had signed a lease and couldn't just bolt, I was on the hook for another year. But I couldn't stay with her, either. I didn't know what to do, where to go, so I called his brother, Gabriel."

"Instead of your father?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "He told me Aram was being unreasonable, but there wasn't much he could do. He gave me some money so I could pay off Angel and move out here. But there were strings attached."

"What kind of strings?"

"He asked that before I pay him back, that I make peace with my father."

"How much money did he loan you?"

"Forty-thousand. I've saved up five so far."

"Oh boy," he exhaled.

As they walked back to the Sapphire Princess, Marla considered her situation. Jon could easily retire her debt and would do so in a heartbeat, if she asked. It wasn't that simple, however; this was a family matter. If he swooped in and paid off the loan, it would certainly be viewed as an engagement. She had already moved into his house, ostensibly as a care giver during his recovery, but it was more than that. Even Schizo was part of the family. He had suggested that she terminate the lease on her apartment, something she was seriously considering.

*

~ Sterling Steakhouse ~

Ghostly figures breezed by, like silky veils on a summer day. Into one car and out of the next, they flowed in well-ordered chaotic patterns. Floating higher above the deck, he perceived the sheer expanse of the terminal: the trains stretching towards infinity. In the distance, standing firm against the river of souls, a lone figure dwelled, gazing up at him.

Jon's eyes darted rapidly beneath his eyelids. His catnap had quickly descended into dreamland, enabled by a hot shower and a close shave. Recently, his dreams had been dark and vague, but this vision etched into his subconscious.

Her image zoomed into view, dressed in white, holding a schedule in her hand. Her face glowed, bathed in the warm light that seemed to come from nowhere, and everywhere. A smile of recognition graced her countenance.

"Lisa," Jon mumbled, unintelligibly.

Her presence overwhelmed him, touching his very soul, filling him with rapture. As her essence evaporated, he sensed her moving towards the Pullman car. Pausing to grasp the handle, she smiled again and said, "Farewell, my love."

Jon bolted upright on the bed, gasping for air, his face pale with fright.

"Are you OK?" Marla asked. She was standing at the foot of the bed.

"I don't know," he replied, breathing heavily. "I was dreaming."

"Dreaming? You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, walking over to kiss his cheek. "You should get dressed soon. I don't want to be late for dinner."

Marla was wearing the lacy black corset and matching panties he had bought for her, on a whim, for Valentines Day. It had become somewhat of a joke between them; she was just not that into pretty things. This was the first time he had seen her in the lingerie. The garment fit her fairly well: a little loose on top, but the bottom was a sight to behold. As she worked to pull up the black stockings, dark wisps of hair jutted from her armpit, pointing towards her breasts.

Jon dressed in his rented tuxedo, observing her step into her evening dress. Marla presented a wholly different image from Lisa. Lisa had been as tall as him, a statuesque strawberry blonde. She was obsessive about grooming; he had never seen a stray hair anywhere on her body. Marla, on the other hand, was half a head shorter, hairy, and more lax about grooming. She was not especially hirsute; it was just that her dark hair was so noticeable. Jon found her body hair strangely attractive and sexy. She was earthy and seductive, even though she considered herself homely.

"It's time to go," she said, walking up behind him.

"The Sterling Steakhouse is on deck fourteen," he replied, straightening his bowtie.

"Here, you get to drive tonight," she said, handing him a small object.

"What's this?"

"That's the wireless controller for the vibrator I'm wearing. Remember that remote controlled Oyster we found online? Well, I bought one to try out tonight."

"You put a vibrator in your panties?" he asked, shaking his head. "And we're going out in public? You are twisted, aren't you?"

"It's up to you make it discrete. You know how noisy I can get."

Jon smiled roguishly and put the controller in his pocket. Leaving their stateroom, they walked single file through the ship's narrow passageway. As she walked in front of him, he wondered where she had hidden the battery pack. He let her get a few steps ahead before pressing the on switch. Marla froze and gasped, leaning against the corridor wall for support. After a few seconds, he released her. Composing herself, she proceeded on, giving no acknowledgement of his dastardly deed.

~~~~~

The wireless controller stayed in his pocket during dinner. Neither of them had eaten since their liquid lunch with Stella. A few times he was tempted to tease her, but the Porterhouse steak kept calling out his name.

Dessert was quite another matter. The waiter stood next to their table preparing the Cherries Jubilee. When he flambéed the Kirsch, Jon reached into his pocket and activated the Oyster. Marla jumped slightly and closed her eyes as the strong vibrations grabbed her attention.

She didn't notice the Jubilee and vanilla ice cream in front of her until Jon turned the vibrator off. Groaning softly, she opened her eyes and gave him that look. Her expression begged for mercy, but he wasn't done with her, not yet. He waited until the second spoonful touched her lips before turning her back on.

The reactive twitch caused the cherry juice to spill and run down her chin. With her jaw clenched on the spoon and her fist tightened around the napkin, Marla was paralyzed in her chair. The vibrator mercilessly buzzed against her clitoris, pureeing her plum and torching her own liqueur. A whimpering cry escaped from her larynx.

Finally, he released her and reached over to take the spoon. Before she could open her eyes, he stood and leaned over the table. Starting in the cleft of her chin, his tongue traced upward towards her mouth. The cherry juice mixed on their tongues as he kissed her and bit her bottom lip.

Marla's deep breathing betrayed her arousal. Peering at him through narrow slits and long lashes, her expression foretold of future retribution. Jon smiled smugly; his hastily conceived plan was working. Tonight's experiment would determine how long she could teeter on the edge of an orgasm.

Excusing himself, Jon left Marla to finish her dessert in peace. Searching for the head had led him out into the commons. The urinals were occupied, so he ducked into a stall to relieve himself. The two other men were drunk and gossiping about someone. 

"Did you see that FUB in the restaurant?" the little guy asked.

"Oh yeah," the big guy answered. "That bitch sure is fugly."

"A double-bagger, for sure. That geezer in the tux must be blind."

Jon felt the flush of anger overtake him when he realized they were talking about Marla. Zipping up his pants, he spun around to confront the drunken bastards. Fortunately, logic arrested his machismo before he could get into trouble. He was in no physical condition to confront one asshole, let alone two. Lingering in the stall, he waited until the drunkards left the restroom.

Returning to the dining room, he paused behind a large fern. From this vantage point, he secretly observed Marla finishing her dessert. She was licking the last traces of cherry juice from the spoon, her flattened tongue scouring the bowl of the utensil. Jon tried to be objective about her appearance. There was a kind of 'Amy Ray' quality about her. Calling her a fugly bitch, however, was unfair and just plain cruel. She was no Vogue cover model, to be sure, but then he was no GQ hunk, either.

"Not Vogue, but maybe Rolling Stone," he whispered and pressed the remote control in his pocket.

Jerking in her chair, she dropped the spoon and steadied herself. Her mouth was now agape, and her face contorted with one of those guitar solo expressions. She audibly gasped for air as Jon approached her from behind. An elderly couple at the next table looked over with concern.

"Let's go get a drink," Jon whispered in her ear. He could hear the Oyster purring against the chair cushion.

"She's fine," he reassured them. "Just a bit too much wine."

Supporting her elbow, he helped her stand and guided her towards the Horizon Terrace. Marla dug her fingers into his arm as she struggled to walk. As they approached the Outrigger Bar, he turned the vibrator off. He didn't want the bartender to refuse to serve them.

"Two Macallans straight up, please," Jon requested. Marla stood nearby, smiling demurely.

The Sapphire Princess had turned south giving them a spectacular view of the glacier in the waning sunlight. Incredibly, the sun still showed low in the horizon at ten o'clock. Sitting on the port side, they sipped their scotch and smoked Marla's cigar. The pungent odor of tobacco gave them some privacy.

"Are you going to finish me off?" she asked, leaning back into him.

"Not quite yet," Jon replied, turning the vibrator on its lowest setting. "Let's see how close you can get."

"I'm really close," she panted. "I can't take much more."

Marla bit her lower lip and pulled his hand to her chest. Her own hand drifted down to feel the vibrations on her clitoris. She began to groan out loud as Jon fondled her breast and turned up the speed.

Nearby, someone on the terrace shouted, "Get a room you guys!"

*

~ Stateroom B232 ~

Jon knew there would be hell to pay for teasing Marla. The ankle and wrist restraints limited his ability to move, but he wasn't completely immobile. Mercifully, she had tied his left arm to his side rather than over his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"This a cock ring," she said, fishing his penis and testicles through the silicone donut. "I've got big plans for you."

"Ow! Easy, they're still attached, you know. That thing feels pretty tight, are you sure about this?"

"Oh, quit whining. You tortured me and now it's my turn. The ring is just for enhancement. It's harmless, mostly."

"Mostly?"

With his genitals stuffed through the ring, Marla bent down and slurped his half-hard cock into her mouth. Blood rushed through the dilated artery and filled the spongy tissue, but the silicone band blocked the exit. By now, she had become quite adept at stimulating him; her tongue, lips, and fingers working in delicious concert. Almost like a tubular balloon, Jon's penis engorged to a degree he had yet to experience.

"Now that's impressive," she said, standing back to admire her handiwork.

"Oh my God," he exclaimed. "It's going to pop."

Standing at the foot of the bed, Marla stepped out of her evening dress and threw it over the chair. Peeling away her soaking panties revealed the Oyster, still latched onto her vulva. She gently removed the vibrator, pulling the battery cord from the crack of her ass.

"Look at what you've done," she said, combing her fingers through her pubic hair and over her erect clitoris. "I'm all wet and hard."

Still wearing the lacey corset, Marla approached the bedside holding a butt plug and a bottle of lubricant. Jon appeared concerned about her intentions.

"Is that for me or for you?" he asked.

"You'll find out," she answered, climbing onto the bed and straddling his abdomen.

Easing back into a sixty-nine position, she hovered over his face, just out of reach. With her head resting on his tummy, she watched her clitoris inch towards his straining tongue. The contact sent a jolt through her body, like an electric shock. Closing her eyes, she pressed down into his puckered lips and swirling tongue.

"Oh God," she groaned. "That's it, suck on it. Don't stop."

Jon, of course, had no option. With his wrists and ankles bound, he could only lift his head high enough to tickle her labia and perineum. Marla was intent on fucking his face, so he offered his folded tongue to her engorged clit.

"Yeah," she whispered, increasing the pace of her thrusts. "Jesus, that feels good."

With her pubic bone pressing on his chin and his nose buried in her pussy, Jon could only gurgle in response. Above his head, the restraint on his wrist was starting to loosen. A couple of twists were enough to free his right hand. Marla discovered the escape when he plunged two fingers deep into her steaming vaginal canal.

"You bastard. Finger fuck me. Oh God." Marla growled her approval.

Rocking back and forth, her anus soon came within range of his probing tongue. She expelled a gasp of air when he plunged through her sphincter.

"Shit. Oh fuck," she shouted, helping him spread her ass cheeks.

Nearly delirious, Marla pushed herself down onto his face. Giving into the wicked sensation, she opened her asshole and engulfed his rigid muscle. After only a minute of anal stimulation, she suddenly pulled away.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing's wrong. I just don't want to come yet. Here, why don't you lube me up?"

Leaning forward, her marvelous ass presented itself as she took his cock into her mouth. In the process, she had removed the restraint on his left hand. Pouring lubricant into her crack, he began massaging her anus and working his slippery fingers inside. His left hand snuck its way inside her corset, finding an erect nipple to pull.

"Plug me," she begged.

Jon held the base of the butt plug in his teeth and poured some lubricant over the tip; his left hand was not available to help. Tracing circles around her ass, he gradually spiraled in, working the tip inside. The sight of her stretching around the cone-shaped plug made his cock twitch against her lips. Teasing her, he repeatedly removed, twisted, and reinserted the plug into her beckoning ass. Soon, her hips were bucking in unison with his deepening insertions.

"All the way. Push it all the way in," Marla cried out.

With one steady thrust, he watched the fattest part of the plug disappear and her anus close around the neck. Not satisfied with that single event, he pulled on the plug, forcing her back open. Jon added more lubricant and repeated the reaming until he felt no more resistance.

"There we go," he said, sliding his fingers back into her vagina. "Why don't you take a ride?"

"Hmm, that sounds nice," she replied, rolling a condom down his rigid shaft.

Guiding her hips down towards his constricted cock, his anticipation grew. He had never been harder, or more ready for some serious fucking. She rose up onto her feet, squatting just inches above him, poised to impale herself on his deadly weapon. With one long agonizing descent, she sat down on him, completely engulfing his inflated ego.

"Oh my God." Jon's voice quavered with unparalleled pleasure.

"Oo, that's nice. Let's do that again."

Lifting herself back up, she released his cock from her silky grip. The next squat was a little quicker. By the fifth iteration, she was slamming herself down on him, crashing against her cervix.

"Jesus," he gasped. "Don't stop."

Marla's ride continued, eventually morphing into a deep grind against his propped up testicles. Jon raised his knees after the ankle bonds failed, providing a bit of support for her body. With his hands on her ass, he guided her frenzied ride, twisting and tugging on the butt plug. Her increasingly erratic movements and squealing betrayed her approaching orgasm.




Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 04



From deep within her, a howling groan rose up, filling the suite with the sound of bliss. Contractions squeezed his hyper-inflated cock, and her asshole yanked the plug handle from his fingers. Jerking against his thighs, she heaved up and down as the spasms overwhelmed her. Not since that time on his kitchen table had she come so violently.

"Oh God," she exhaled, collapsing onto his legs. "Jesus fucking Christ. Damn, that was good."

"I think I need some help," Jon pleaded. "My balls are getting numb."

"Oh, you poor thing. I suppose I should relieve you. You've redeemed yourself, I guess. You've been a good boy."

"How do we get this cock ring off?"

"We have to wait for the blood to escape," she said, climbing off his aching erection. "I could cut it off, or you could have an orgasm. It's your choice, which do you prefer?"

"That's a stupid question."

"Hey, don't get smart with me. I believe I've got you by the balls." Marla bit a testicle to emphasize her point.

"OK, OK. I choose an orgasm, please."

"As I suspected. Now, you have another choice: where do you want to cum? You want to cum in my pussy? My ass? My mouth?"

"I don't care, surprise me."

Her pussy was still lurching and her butt was still plugged, so she positioned herself between his legs and pulled off the condom.

"A blow job it is," she confirmed, playfully biting his cock head. "Hand me the lube."

Marla grabbed his shins and pushed his knees up to his chest. From a prone position, she lavished her tongue from his purple balls all the way down to his asshole. Squirting a dollop of lube into her hand, she worked her fingers around and inside of his anus. Jon's right hand found his cock and began instinctively jerking himself.

"Hey, that's my job," she protested, throwing his hand back over his head. "I'm driving now; you're along for the ride."

"OK, drive away."

Putting his feet back down on the bed, she spread his knees and lowered her mouth onto his cock. In a grand symphony of motion, her lips and tongue caressed his cock head while her hands simultaneously stroked his shaft and explored his asshole. Mercifully, she did not try to prolong his agony; he was close to the time limit for safe use of the cock ring. With practiced skill, she deftly stimulated his cock while massaging his prostate gland through the rectum wall. It took all of two minutes to finish him off.

"Ah!" Jon cried out as the orgasm consumed him.

Still no fan of the taste of semen, Marla continued the front and rear assault, aiming the canon away from her face. She felt his abdominal muscles contract and the surge in his shaft. The sticky white spurts splashed against his chest and dribbled onto his abdomen.

"You're welcome," she said, gathering up a bit and flicking it into his face.

"Gee, thanks," he replied, wiping his chin.

*

~ On The Balcony ~

The midnight twilight was bright enough to see the Princess logos on their white robes. Freshly showered and supremely relaxed, they finished her cigar as they sipped The Macallan on the balcony. Jon watched the mountainous fjords silently slip by, contemplating the vision he experienced earlier that evening.

"Why the long face, Mr. Ed?" Marla asked, caressing his leg with her foot.

"Huh? Oh, I was just thinking," he replied.

"Happy thoughts, I hope. I just gave you the best sex of your life."

"That you did. I was thinking about the dream I had earlier."

"It was Lisa again, wasn't it?" she asked, shifting her weight in the chair.

"Yeah, but it was different this time. I have a feeling I won't be seeing her again."

"Really?"

"This time, it felt like goodbye," he said. "She seemed relieved, like she was ready to move on."

"Are you ready to move on?"

"Yes, I think so. I hope so."

The vision of Lisa boarding the train was probably his mind's way of granting permission, he reasoned. It was also the metaphor Shannon had suggested. Another few minutes passed as he considered what the future might hold for them. His near death experience illuminated the tenuous nature of existence; any one of us can be snuffed out in an instant. He now felt compelled to live in the moment, to not be alone any longer.

"Still thinking? A penny for your thoughts," she offered.

"More like four million pennies."

"Oh, don't start that again. I don't want to talk about money right now."

"Well, OK, but I seriously think we should take care of your obligation," he said.

"We? It's my obligation, not yours."

"OK, then it comes out of your million, not mine."

"You're relentless," she replied, shaking her head. "Alright, let's work out the details when we get back."

"The money is the easy part. What about your uncle's request?"

"I don't know. I haven't spoken with Papa in years."

Another period of silence passed as Marla's face clouded over. Jon knew the reconciliation would be difficult, but the solution was now obvious to him. It had been in the back of his mind for a long time, and it now presented itself as the most desirable path to follow.

After taking a sip of scotch, Jon cleared his throat and said, "Marla, there's something else I want to talk with you about."

*

~ In The Chapel (Reprise) ~

"Mr. Zildjian? It's time, sir. We're almost ready to begin."

Aram Zildjian sighed and wiped the tears from his eyes. Pastor Shannon McCluskey sat down beside him.

"I don't know if I can face her after all this time," he moaned. "I have failed her."

"Time is the great healer," she replied. "You have both found it in your heart to forgive. That's why you're here today, why you've traveled so far."

"I understand now why she divorced Mikhail; he betrayed her. I blamed her for his infidelity. Then, when she fell under those bad influences, those aberrant women, I blamed her for her lack of morals. I should have been more understanding, more helpful."

Shannon remained silent, biting her tongue, holding and patting his hand.

"And then she turned to my brother, Gabriel, when she needed help. It was my duty to help her, not his. I abandoned her when she needed me."

"I like to think that we're flowing through life, like leaves floating down a river," she said. "The current takes us to unexpected places and joins us with different people. There is much variety in the places we visit and the people we meet, and sometimes, we don't agree with everyone's point of view, or their morality, but we are all God's children. We think that we control our own destiny, but in the end, it is God's will that charts our course. Right now, God's river has brought you and Marla to this place, at this time."

He dried his eyes and nodded in agreement.

"Aram, Marla needs you now. She is about to enter a new fork of the River of Life. Let's give her a joyful send-off."

Rising to their feet, Shannon led him into the small sanctuary. It was about half full, mostly with friends. Jon stood at the front, dressed in a coat and tie, Andy by his side. In his pocket, Andy held a gold band, much simpler than the one he had held for Lisa. To their right, Leslie stood in a yellow sundress, her rose tattoo plainly visible. In her hand, she also held a simple gold band.

In the back of the sanctuary, Marla stood with her father, holding his arm. Wearing a white sundress, her slightly scarred tattoo was visible on her shoulder. In her hands, she held a small bouquet of daisies.

"Papa, I'm so glad you're here," Marla said, squeezing his arm. "I've missed you."

"I'm so sorry, child. I let you down."

"Hush Papa, not now. We can talk about that later."

Over the PA, a song started playing. It was a slow waltz played on a twelve-string guitar. They began their slow procession.

"What song is this?" he asked. "I don't know this song."

"This is a song that Jon wrote and played on his guitar. We recorded it over at Josie's place, in our new recording studio."

"Recording studio? I always knew you were gifted. You played the piano so beautifully when you were a little girl."

"Yes, Papa."

"And now you're a professional musician? I'm so proud of you. And Jon plays so well, did you teach him?"

"He already knew how to play guitar, Papa. I only helped him a little with the composition."

"So, what's the name of this song?"

"He called it the 'Willamette Waltz', after the river that runs through town."

"So many rivers, so many leaves. What kind of leaf are you, child?"

"I don't know, Papa. I don't know."

When they reached the front of the sanctuary, Marla kissed her father's cheek and stood next to Jon. Behind them, the congregation remained standing, waiting for permission to sit back down.

Dressed in a simple white robe with a forest-colored stole, Shannon gestured for everyone to be seated. Looking over the congregation with a big smile, she began, "Dearly beloved."

~~~~~

I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. These characters carry special significance for me, personally, and I have poured my soul into them.

If you are so inclined, please cast a vote, leave a comment, or send feedback, good or bad. I truly appreciate your patronage.



Salvation in the Sargasso Sea



"That's OK, it will take that long to get parts and make the repairs. Where are you going?"

"We're going to Eugene, Salem, Portland, and then to Seattle. Hey, what's this?"

"That's my Alvarez jumbo twelve-string." He picked up the big acoustic guitar and handed it to her.

Marla could barely hold the instrument as she strummed it. The room filled with the rich full sound of the open-G tuning.

"Would you play something?" she asked, handing the guitar back to him. "Something slow."

"Well, let's see," Jon said, sitting down on a chair. Marla lay back on the sofa as he made fine tuning adjustments. He noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra; her nipples poked against her shirt as she reclined. He caught himself staring at them and diverted his gaze. Her eyes twinkled back at him; an open invitation for visual exploration.

He started playing a slow waltz. It was deceptively simple: a descending G-major scale augmented with arpeggiated notes rising against the falling melody. It was beautiful and she closed her eyes as he played the theme twice through. Her pensive expression hinted at some old memories.

"That's really nice," she said, sitting up on the edge of the sofa. "I've never heard that before. What's it called?"

"I haven't named it yet. It feels like a flowing river to me. I'm still working on the next part."

"Try reversing the structure. Maybe an ascending melody line. Build some tension and then return to the main theme for resolution."

"OK, Mozart. That's a pretty good idea. Where did you learn that?"

"Juilliard. I have a degree in music composition, but now, I just teach piano to little kids and play rock and roll for a pittance."

As he experimented with the alternate melody, Marla got up to examine a picture on the wall. It was a photo of Jon and a woman, flashing the devil horns, lost in a sea of people. They were smiling for the camera.

"Is this Lisa?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's her. That picture was taken at an AC/DC concert; they were her favorite band. It was shortly after that when she was hit by a drunk driver."

"She's beautiful. You'll have to tell me all about her sometime," she said, returning to the sofa.

"I'd like that. She was very special to me." Jon put down his guitar and sat next to her. "So, what is your story? Tell me something about Marla. Who are you? Are you Jimmy Page's love child?"

"Hell no. Well, my last name is Zildjian, and yes, that's the cymbal manufacturing company. My Great-Great-Grandfather was one of the founders from Armenia. I don't have any connection with the company, though."

"You're Armenian? Like Kim Kardashian?"

"No, nothing like her. Do I look like a Kardashian?" she asked, pointing at her breasts. "I'm missing some essential assets."

"You've got a nice tush, though."

"You looked at my ass?" she retorted, shooting him a glance of mock anger. "You know, Jon, you were right about me. I'm not completely straight. On the other hand, I'm not completely gay."

"Bisexual?"

"Yeah, but lately, I guess I've been more asexual. I haven't really been interested in a relationship with anyone. Not until now."

"With Janice? She gave me a dirty look."

"No, Janice is a bush hound. Leslie introduced me to her, but she's a real bitch."

"Leslie?"

"Our lead singer. Shannon plays drums and Josephine plays bass. I'd thought you'd have checked out our web site by now. Anyway, I was married once. While I was at college, I met a man, a cellist, and we fell in love. Well, it seemed like love at the time. We were married for four years before we split. I discovered he was bisexual and he eventually flowed to the gay lifestyle."

"Flowed. Like a river." Jon closed his eyes. "I like that analogy, it's helpful. Is that when you began exploring an alternate lifestyle?"

"After the divorce, I was a lesbian for many years. It was an exciting time in my life, but it was hard. I had a partner, and she had a good job, but she couldn't put me on her health insurance plan. I ended up going to the free clinic whenever I got sick. The employee benefits were only for breeders."

"What happened to your partner?"

"She wanted children, and that's another social and biological problem. Gay adoption was still taboo and finding sperm donors is never easy. We eventually grew apart. That's when I moved west."

"Flowing, like the Columbia River?"

"Yeah, and then up the Willamette, here to Corvallis. I finally got a job at OSU, a job with benefits."

Jon picked up his twelve-string guitar and perfected the tuning.

"Are you going to play me another song?" Marla leaned back into the sofa. "I love the sound of that instrument."

"This song is titled 'Easter'. I didn't write it, but I wish I had. It's about being stuck in the doldrums of the Sargasso Sea, where salvation can only be obtained through transmutation."

He played the entire piece, tempo rubato, and the ethereal pinch harmonics filled the room. The point vs. counterpoint of the composition was punctuated by a behind-the-nut string bending technique. The effect was astonishing, sending chills up her spine.

"Transmutation is such a powerful concept," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "It's like I'm looking at my inner self through different windows. One view is gay, another is straight, still another is blank. Sometimes, I feel like I'm stuck in the Sargasso, in the quagmire, not going anywhere. That's a beautiful piece, who wrote it?"

"Leo Kottke wrote it. I remember the first time I heard him play it. I was also moved, but probably for different reasons."

Marla smoothed her shirt with her hands and then placed them on her breasts. The twinkle in her eye was gone, replaced by the smoldering visage of desire.

"So, like I was saying earlier, after a year and a half of celibacy, I'm starting to feel sexual again. How about you? When was the last time you were with someone?"

"Well, Andy's wife, Carol, set up a double date with one of her coworkers. That was last year. There weren't any sparks, but that was probably my fault. I'm prone to little bouts of depression from time to time."

"You've had some good reasons to be feeling down. I think we could both use a change. Are you feeling any sparks right now?"

Jon hesitated again before answering.

"Yes, I am definitely feeling it. I'd like to hang out with you, get to know you better. Maybe more than that, but I don't know how to proceed. I'm not sure how a relationship would work. What about your vow?

"A vow of celibacy? That's not what I meant. I needed to take some time for myself when I moved out here, but I never intended to abstain forever. Swear off marriage? Probably, but sex? Never. And how should you proceed? I suppose you could just jump my bones, but that won't work for me, not yet. What's attracting me to you right now is that you clearly want me, but you're not trying to take me. We share musical interests and you see value in me as an artist, not just as a holster. You seem willing to give us both time to adjust."

Jon fell silent, not wanting to spoil the moment with meaningless babble.

"Hey! I've got an idea," she continued. "You want to try some role playing? There's this visualization technique I've used before in performing art classes. You focus your mind and envision yourself in a new environment, performing some new skill. We could envision ourselves together and see if we like it. You want to try it?"

"Uh, sure, I guess. What kind of new skill are you thinking about?"

Marla sat down in the middle of the floor and beckoned him to join her.

"Come sit by me, but facing away, so our backs are touching."

Jon complied with her wishes and attempted to cross his legs, Indian style.

"Good. Now close your eyes," she continued. "Let's visualize we're having sex."

"What? Are you kidding me?" Jon started to turn around.

"No peeking. I'm not kidding, this is a serious exercise, trust me. Let's start with something easy. I want you to describe my appearance in as much detail as possible."

"Uh, well, you're wearing jeans and a T-shirt. And you apparently left your bra at home."

"You missed the Lilith Fair Tour imprint on my shirt. OK, now describe my face. Use your power of recall."

"Um, your eyes are sienna brown and your eyebrows have this nice attractive peak. There are some faint crow's feet in the corners, but they're barely visible. You've got small bags under your eyes, like little pillows. Your hair is a deep auburn color with just a couple of gray ones here and there. There isn't any defined part line, and I like how it haphazardly falls about your face. Your complexion is, well, olive, but your skin looks very soft. And your lips are quite, um, quite kissable. Oh yeah, and I love the little cleft in your chin."

"That's much better, but you didn't say anything about my big nose and crooked teeth. OK, my turn. Now, I noticed your mouth and nice teeth right away. You've got full lips and a little soul patch that gives you character. I remember watching you sip your whiskey and how you folded your tongue against your upper lip. That tongue seems made to explore secret places. It gave me a hoody when I imagined my clit getting that kind of treatment. You wear your hair long, and that's OK, but it doesn't do anything for me. Actually, I can see you with a medium length mop of white hair; that would suit you. And then there's your blue-grey eyes. They bore a hole right through me."

Jon noticed some signs of life stirring in his pants.

"That's not fair, you've done this before."

"There aren't any rules. Now, I want you to describe me standing naked in front of you. I know you don't have an image to recall, so you'll have to use your imagination. And be realistic. I'm not a perfect specimen, you know."

"OK, I get the idea. Let's see, your shoulders and collar bones give you a soft outline and your arms fall naturally at your side. Your breasts are small, maybe an A cup, just a guess. I know your nipples are perky because I've seen how they poke against your shirt. What's surprising is their nice sangria color, and how they're calling out to be kissed and suckled. Your tummy has some fat, but I like that. There's this interesting little tattoo below your navel: a serpent coiled into an infinity shape below three different moon phases. I suppose they're some kind of Wiccan symbols. Your body widens at your hips, giving you a bit of a pear shape, but I can still see your hip bones. Lower still, your vulva is hidden beneath a soft crop of pubic hair, but I can see its fullness and the folds of your hood. In days gone by, you used to shave yourself bare and wear a little jeweled bar through it. I can imagine that with the right combination of licking and sucking, your clitoris will grow as large as your nipples, and your labia will swell around my probing fingers. As I walk behind you, I can see that your trunk has some Armenian junk: nicely full and round. Just looking at your ass gives me a hard-on, and some pretty naughty thoughts. You would not believe what I want to do back there."

Marla's raspy breathing was the only sound in the room. Neither of them could form a coherent thought to share. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Jesus, you're a quick learner. And now I'm all wet, you bastard. How did you know I liked my ass played with? I hope your thoughts are as naughty as mine. Sorry to disappoint, but I don't have any ink or metal. The Triple Goddess symbol isn't for me, but the serpent idea is interesting. You'll have to sketch a picture for me. I have to confess that this is the first time a man has eaten my plum. My ex-husband was not into oral sex, not with me anyway. I'm visualizing your face buried in my crotch and your tongue curled around my clit. Once I'm comfortable with that image, I'll be able to relax when the time comes."

"Soon, I hope," Jon said, squirming as the swelling in his pants became uncomfortable.

"Maybe soon, but first I have to work on the hard part, no pun intended. You see, I haven't sucked a cock since high school, and that was not a pleasant experience. I can more easily visualize riding you, that's something I remember how to do. OK, here goes. I like the shape of your body. It's fairly fit, like you spend some time running or biking. You're not overly muscular and your belly pushes out a little, but I can see the strength in your frame. The wispy brown and white chest hair is kind of cute, I want to run my fingers through it. What's striking me most is the way you smell. It's not cologne; it's a scent that I can't quite categorize, and it's turning me on. I'm peeking behind you now to check out your ass. It's still pretty tight, but flat. OK, now I'm sitting on a chair in front of you, staring at your cock. I don't care how big it is, so don't ask me to stroke your ego. It has an interesting shape, though. The circumcised head has the same sort of shape as a clitoris, only a lot larger. I'm reaching out to touch you and hold your balls in my hands. The heat from your body is incredible and that scent is getting stronger. Leaning forward, I'm pressing your cock against my cheek, feeling the heat and the swelling. It's time. It's time to wet my lips and open my mouth. But first, it's time for a break. I'm getting really thirsty."

Marla rose to her feet and stretched her arms and neck. Jon struggled to unfold his legs.

"You're such a tease. You want another beer?"

"I'm ready for something stronger. How about some of your scotch?"

Jon walked over to the wet bar and poured two tumblers of Glenlivet. Marla's face lit up with surprise.

"I went to the liquor store after you called this morning," he said. "No cigars, though. I can't stand them."

"Thank you! You didn't have to do that, I can drink blended scotch, too. You'll have to try a Cuban cigar before swearing them off. I'll try to find some Romeo y Julieta cigars to share with you. They're wonderful."

"Well, since you put it that way, I'd love to try one with you."

"Should we go finish your blow job? Before I change my mind?"

"Actually, I'm feeling pretty good right now. I don't think I can sit like that again. I'll take a rain check, though. How about we play some guitar, instead?"

Jon turned on two nearby amplifiers. He handed her his own Les Paul and picked up his favorite Telecaster. Cranking the volume up, he played the opening riff of Led Zeppelin's 'Whole Lotta Love'.

"You guys should cover this song," Jon winked at her.

"There is no freakin' way we're ever going to play that song," Marla laughed, and snorted.

*

~ Acca Dacca ~

Jon loaded the Thunderbolt into the back of his truck. It probably looked better than the day it was made; he had put a lot of TLC into this project. He knew she would be happy to see it. The only question remaining was how good it would sound. He picked up his cell phone to make a call before leaving.

"Hey, Andy, Jon here."

"Jon-o-than! What's up, dude?"

"Meet me at the VFW tonight. The Flaming Rose Band is back in town."

"That killer dyke band? Are you crazy?"

"Come on, give them a break, they're really good. I have to deliver an amplifier at seven. At least stop in for a beer."

"OK, I'll stop by. An amp? For that guitar player? I told you she was trouble."

"You were right, Andy."

Jon walked into the VFW, on schedule, and found Leslie and Marla at the bar. He put the Supro down and sat next to them.

"Welcome back. How was the road trip?"

"It went really well," Marla said. "We had good turn outs, especially in Portland."

"Portland was wild," Leslie chimed in. "Marla was on fire. I've never seen her play with so much energy. What did you do to her, Jon?"

"I didn't do anything." Jon felt his face start to blush.

"That's not what I heard," Leslie said, poking Marla's ribs.

"Let's go check out the amp," Marla said, giving her a hug as she stood up.

Jon carried the amp over to the stage and plugged it in. Marla ran her hand over the reconditioned Tolex exterior, reacquainting herself with her long lost friend. She took her Les Paul from its case and tuned it up. When the tubes were hot, she turned it off standby and plugged in. With the amp at half volume, she began to play 'Little Wing'. The sweet, shimmering tones of the classic Hendrix song filled the empty bar.

"Holy crap!" she exclaimed. "That's just freakin' awesome. That's what I'm talking about."

"Nothing like new tubes to get your motor running."

"My underwear is already wet," she said as she turned the amp up to ten. "Time to bring it home, baby."

She launched into the opening of 'Heartbreaker', their most requested Zeppelin song. The amp snarled with the best overdriven tone either of them had ever heard.

"Oh my God, Jon. This is just so awesome." She turned and gave him a big hug. "Thank you so much."

"Come on, sister. Let's rock!" Leslie ran over to the stage and grabbed a microphone. "Hey Jon-boy, can you play bass?"

"A little," Jon said as he picked up Josephine's bass guitar. "It's not my main instrument."

"You'll do fine, there's only four notes."

Andy walked into the bar and stared in disbelief. Jon had really gone off the deep end, playing with those lesbians. But as he watched him keep up with the women, something inside of Andy changed. He hadn't seen Jon have that much fun in a long, long time.

"Son-of-a-bitch," he blurted out.

Jon put down the bass and went to sit with Andy while the women finished setting up.

"Who do you think you are, John Paul Jones?" Andy teased, putting his arm around Jon's shoulder when he sat down.

"That was fun. I think I've found a new career." Jon ordered a round of beer for everyone.

"Don't give up your day job, Jon. Oh wait, too late!"

As the bar began to fill with the band's ardent fans, Andy said goodbye. His closed mind had suffered a crack, but it wasn't open yet. Jon grabbed a table back by Frank's console to watch the show.

"Hello Corvallis!" Leslie screamed into the microphone as the band took the stage. The hundred or so fans cheered in response.

"It's good to be home again. We have a special treat for you tonight. You all know our Marla, the best guitarist on this side of town."

The crowd broke out in laughter.

"Seriously, she's got a brand new, old toy to play with tonight." Leslie pointed in her direction. Marla gestured towards the Supro as if it were a game show prize.

"That amplifier is a 1964 Supro Thunderbolt, lovingly restored by this man, Mr. Jonathan Albright." Leslie pointed to where he was sitting.

The crowd applauded and looked back at him. With his anonymity lost, Jon was obliged to take a bow.

"We've also added some new songs to our repertoire. I know we've had a lot of requests for Acca Dacca, so tonight we're going to deliver."

The crowd started chanting, "Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy!"

"But first, Marla has something to tell us," Leslie announced.

Marla walked up to her microphone and acknowledged the cheers.

"I want to personally thank Jon for breathing life into my old friend," she spoke softly. "He's really good with his hands."

The crowd hooted, hollered, and laughed at the innuendo.

"I'd like to dedicate our first song to Lisa." Marla looked directly at Jon. "She can't be here with us tonight, but I know she'll be dancing with us."

Stepping back from the microphone, she launched into 'You Shook Me All Night Long'. As the crowd screamed and packed themselves onto the dance floor, Jon sat frozen in his chair, stunned by the turn of events. He didn't notice Cheryl's approach from behind.

"That nice guitar lady bought you a drink, hon." She set a scotch in front of him along with a folded note.

Jon put a tip on her tray and smiled sheepishly. The scotch was very good; maybe a twelve year old Macallan, something he knew Phil stocked. Inside the note he found this message:




Salvation in the Sargasso Sea



Please don't go. Romeo y Julieta have a midnight rendezvous. ~M

~~~~~

I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. These characters carry special significance for me, personally, and I have poured my soul into them.

If you are so inclined, please cast a vote, leave a comment, or send feedback, good or bad. I truly appreciate your patronage.