by Ross Turner
“Come on!” Deacon urged, breaking into a run, still holding tight to Jen’s hand, leading her down Memoria Lane, heading towards Keepers Cottage still.
But the faster they ran, the heavier the rain seemed to fall, and before long they were sprinting, hand in hand, laughing uncontrollably, absolutely drenched, as the storm pelted them relentlessly.
Finally they reached Keepers Cottage. Fumbling for her keys, Jen eventually burst in through the front door and into the empty hallway, still laughing, with Deacon in tow.
The house was eerily quiet as they slipped off their sodden, squelching shoes, and no matter how hard they tried to prevent it, they still dripped water all over the floor.
“Mom!?” Jen called out through the empty rooms. There came no reply. Not even an echo.
Only the hallway and landing lights were on, and even they seemed to flicker dimly as if they’d been left on by accident.
Jen followed Deacon into the kitchen, and there they found a scrap of paper upon the worktop, torn out of a notebook.
Sweetheart,
Gone over to see your Grandparents. Will probably stay the night.
Mandy dropped in again to see how you are.
If I’m not back before you go to work tomorrow I’ll see you when you get home.
M/xx
“Do your grandparents live far then?” Deacon posed, though Jen thought perhaps that wasn’t the most pertinent question he could have asked.
“About an hour and a half away.” Jen replied, nodding slightly. “Whenever we go to see them they usually ask us to stay. It’s easier, and they don’t like the idea of us driving back so late.”
“They sound nice.” Deacon commented, smiling thoughtfully.
“They are.” Jen agreed. “Maybe I can introduce you?” She offered.
“That’d be nice.” He agreed. “What about Mandy?” He asked then: the question Jen had been dreading from the moment she’d seen the note. “Is she a friend of yours? I’ve not heard you talk about her?”
“She’s just a family friend…” Jen lied.
Whether Deacon could sense her falsity or not, she didn’t know.
He only nodded in response, pursing his lips slightly.
However, in brutal truth, whether Deacon had picked up on it or not, neither of them were really bothered about the note.
Her guard almost completely down. All inhibitions on hold, Jen felt a now familiar rush of desire suddenly surge through her.
Shyness erased, lost in the silence and emptiness all around, Jen practically jumped on Deacon. In turn, he didn’t hold back either, lifting her effortlessly off the ground in a single, sweeping movement.
Jen wrapped her legs around his hips once more, pulling herself tightly to him, holding him immediately as close as she could.
Still soaked through, unable to help herself a second longer, Jen ripped and tore at Deacon’s clothes, desperately wrenching his shirt off and throwing it anywhere.
He put her on the table top and in seconds had her dress up and over her head, pulling it from her drenched body and tossing it away without a second thought.
His hands began to explore her body, tracing their way up and down Jen’s back first, down and round the backs of her legs, and then up between her thighs. His fingers danced lightly over her body and up to her full bodice, lingering there in a way that made Jen want to gasp and pant for air.
Jen’s hands dove down to Deacon’s jeans, yanking his belt loose and launching it across the kitchen. It clattered against the cupboards, somewhere over the other side of the room, but Jen’s hands were already upon him, not even bothering to undo his trousers first.
With pleasured delight she shuddered as his hands explored her, and bit his lip as he kissed her.
Her hands did not relent even once, and they forced their way deeper and harder upon him as her desires grew and evolved, driving Jen insane through frantic, craving lust.
Deacon grabbed her thighs and pulled her up onto him, and Jen felt him press forcefully against her, moaning aloud as he did so.
In moments he was carrying her up the stairs, holding her close as Jen kissed and bit lightly at his neck, driven by something so strong that she had never experienced anything like it.
He threw her onto the bed and jumped atop her, their warm, blurred silhouettes merging together in the dim light, becoming as one in the darkness of the cold night.
Immediately Jen’s hands once more found their way to Deacon’s jeans, fumbling blindly to pull them loose. Soon enough they were thrown aside, and forgotten just as quickly, as her hands dove down and stroked him firmly with wandering fingers.
Lifting and moving her with ease, Deacon’s strong arms spun Jen round on the bed, manhandling her in the dark of the night, and he pressed his warm, pulsing body firmly against her in the blurred, shadowy light.
Jen groaned loudly as she felt him rub against her, driving her mad, throwing her emotions out of control. She ran her hands up and down his back, passing over the ridges of his hundred and more scars, one by one.
He held himself over her, kissing her neck tenderly, working his way occasionally down to her chest, and then back up again, leaving desperate yearning everywhere he went.
Deacon’s searching hands slipped down inside Jen’s legs, gripping her thighs, making her moan loudly again and arch her back violently, thrusting her hips forcefully up against his body.
Then he had her on her front, moving and turning her without effort, as if she were completely weightless.
His hands danced across her skin, up and down her back, purposefully tormenting her, driving her crazy.
Before Jen knew it she was on her back once again, lost in the darkness as Deacon spun her with ease. And somehow, in the very same movement, he threw her bra blindly across the room through the darkness, for his hands moved deftly and had been busy.
But they didn’t stop there, and his skilful fingers wove their way across her skin, up and down from her bosom to her hips, and Jen drew short, sharp, excited breaths, gasping as he navigated his way through her body.
She felt as if his hands belonged upon her, as though it were the most natural thing in the world; as though they had always been there. But that was not the only thing that felt natural, and as Deacon kissed her lightly from her ribs down to her stomach, he slipped his hands down past Jen’s hips and along her thighs, taking all that remained of her clothes with them.
Naked and exposed, Jen pulled Deacon desperately closer to her, burying his head into her chest. And as he kissed her she pulled with shaky hands at all that remained of what he wore.
But it was not nerves that made her body tremble so.
No.
It was lust and longing.
It was a feeling that Jen couldn’t control.
And there was no need for her to even try, for as her hands ran up his bare body, feeling his every scar, she felt him press against her again, now closer than ever before. Her racing heart skipped yet another few beats and she groaned in both pleasure and frustration, wanting him now more than she’d ever wanted anything in her entire life.
He pushed against her again.
And again.
And then again.
Teasing her.
Driving her wild.
Jen clasped both hands about the back of Deacon’s neck, linking her fingers in his hair and pulling him down to kiss her. The trace of his lips on hers only made her want him more, and he breathed passion and desire into her with every touch, longing for each other constantly.
Still with her fingers around the back of his neck, Deacon entwined one hand in Jen’s hair, and allowed the other to wander freely up and down her exposed body. And anywhere it found her, which was everywhere, his touch sent chills racing up and down her spine.
His strong arms reached beneath her then, pulling her closer to him than even seemed possible. As his hands slipped down and around the curve of Jen’s back, she gasped and cried out, breaking t
heir kiss for but a moment and burying her head into his neck, as she felt him slip gently inside her.
She groaned and arched as he held her there. Kissing her desperately, longingly, he returned her passion tenfold, grasping her firmly and tenderly all at once, pushing himself further and deeper, slowly and purposefully.
Jen felt every inch, and moaned uncontrollably as he slid up inside of her, sending her screaming.
Leaning in and out, slowly at first, Jen felt him bury deeper and deeper every time. But before long Deacon thrust harder and faster, over and over, and Jen screamed at the top of her lungs and clutched at him for all she was worth, digging her nails into his back and arms.
Deacon lifted Jen then and flung her over, spinning her so that she was atop him, and instinctively she thrust her hips down onto him, quivering as she felt every bit of him drive up inside of her.
Her feet wrapped beneath the backs of his legs and he drove his hips upwards. Jen shuddered with wild pleasure at every moment, feeling him so far within her that she could barely stand it. But at the same time, she never wanted him to stop, and she screamed endlessly for more.
The night swept by in a dark, misty haze of sweat and lust and euphoria.
Young Miss Jennifer Williams and Mr Deacon Ash revelled in each other for many hours to follow. It was only through sheer exhaustion, into the very early hours of the morning, that their aching hunger and their yearning desire for each other finally quelled enough for them to cease.
Panting heavily, drenched in sweat, breathless and drained beyond belief, in more ways than one, Jen clutched at Deacon, and his arms enveloped her protectively.
And there they stayed, shattered, falling into a heavy sleep that brought with it much needed rest.
Yet, it also unleashed wandering dreams, fraught with whole new experiences of their own.
Around Your Neck
The beach was grim and the driving wind whipped up clumps of damp sand in great flurries and flung them viciously at Jen’s naked, exposed face. A crippling grey mist hung in the air like a wet blanket that weighed heavily down on the Earth, soaking all of the warmth and joy out of even the very ground itself.
There was no sunlight. Not that could be seen through the fog anyway.
The rocks in the distance were black; they were so black in fact that it almost looked like they had been covered in tar and left to seal, hardening and fastening coldly on the brutal coastline.
Even the very water itself had no colour to it, and despite the fierce wind, it sat still and undisturbed, without so much as a ripple crossing its bleak surface. It was as if somebody had stolen every ounce of energy from its swelling, breaking and crashing tides, locked it away forever, and thrown away the key.
If there were gulls anywhere overhead, or people anywhere around for that matter, they could be neither seen nor heard through the hovering blanket of solid vapour.
Jen’s clothes were drenched in an instant and they clung to her horribly.
She appeared on the beach out of nowhere, or so it seemed, for in one moment she was warm and dry and comfortable, and in the next she was cold and dank and miserable.
Shivers clambered sluggishly up and down her back, and most certainly not the good kind, for it seemed she had gone from one extreme to the other, in every sense.
Alone on the morbid, grey sand, she glanced around nervously, as if she didn’t want to be here, even though somehow she felt as though this was where she belonged.
Besides, where else had she to go?
She had made this her home, and now she had to live with it.
And she didn’t mean the beach.
Suddenly a vast shadow loomed in the fog; a single, monstrous figure that screamed recognition at Jen and swarmed around her menacingly.
Jen cowered and ducked down to the ground, shielding her head and spinning round desperately, trying to keep the silhouette in view.
She chased blurry shadows and hidden memories that outran her endlessly, just like always.
The figure seemed to shift and change shape continuously in the fog, never assuming a single form that Jen could identify. Nonetheless though, she felt vaguely as if she recognised whatever it was that was taunting her. It haunted her in its ever changing form, yet it swooped around her in such a familiar manner that Jen couldn’t help but be intrigued.
She almost wanted it to claim her, if only to allow herself to realise the truth.
By now she knew she was dreaming. But that didn’t matter. Aside from the last few days that she had spent with Deacon, this sole dream felt more real than the past twelve months all combined.
For some reason now, in her unconscious state, she seemed to understand things more clearly.
In fact, she realised, it was not even that she hadn’t understood whilst she’d been awake, instead, it was simply that she had been unwilling to accept her own realisation.
Now though, drifting amidst her dreams and lost in deep thought, her usual inhibitions were not so limiting, and that mere fact was quite uplifting.
Seeming to respond to her very thoughts, the encircling silhouette slowed its frantic flight, settling into a much steadier rhythm. It adopted a smooth, peaceful glide, and assumed a single, much less threatening form, though admittedly it was still blurry in the mist.
Jen rose to her feet, less affected by the cold now for some reason, though she was still just as wet through. She linked her hands and fingers in front of her and followed the shadowy figure with a calm, patient gaze as it slowed and descended and finally emerged from the concealing fog.
Folding his wings graciously into his sides and landing upon the damp sand before Jen with unparalleled grace, the albatross looked her dead in the eyes with its black, all seeing gaze.
Now she knew for absolute certain that this was a dream, for as he landed opposite her, barely three or four feet away, the albatross stood exactly as tall as she did. He shook a thousand droplets of moisture from his white and black feathers, ruffling his magnificent plumage repeatedly, only for the water to settle again almost immediately.
“Hello.” Jen greeted the enormous bird, though her voice wavered slightly as she spoke for what felt like the first time in years.
The albatross cocked his head to one side slightly, looking Jen up and down with his steady, pitch black gaze. His long yellow beak, tipped with orange more vibrant than ever, seemed to curve up impossibly at the sides.
“Good afternoon Jenny.” He greeted her in response, tipping his vast head slightly, and very courteously, just like somebody else Jen knew.
“Ahhh…” Jen faltered.
She had not actually expected him to reply, and now she didn’t know what to do.
He smiled understandingly, if that were even possible with a beak, and gave her a moment to recover.
“I…I’m Jen…” She eventually managed to introduce herself.
“I know.” The albatross replied immediately, without even the slightest flicker of mockery or ridicule.
“Oh…” Jen replied dimly, hesitating again as her wit failed her, realising all at once that he had indeed greeted her by name. “Of course…”
He allowed for there to be silence once again as Jen tried to gather her thoughts.
At last she seemed to have composed herself.
“Who are you?” She asked.
Her words were spoken quite pointedly, and with perhaps considerably less tact than she had intended. However, they did the job, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“I’m your albatross.” He replied quite simply, as if that much was obvious.
His voice sounded so age old that it seemed entirely possible that it might wear out completely at any moment. Yet, at the same time, his tone carried also the hint of lonesome youth that we are all burdened with for many years before we learn the truth about ourselves.
“Right…” Jen answered, in once more not the most impressive display of keen intellect.
Nonetheless, she persevered,
and the albatross was amongst the most patient of creatures, so it mattered not.
“Do you have a name?” Jen asked next.
The albatross looked thoughtful for a moment, and glanced out into the thick mist pensively.
“You’ve given me many different names in the past…” He eventually replied mysteriously, though Jen had no doubt that his word was the unquestionable truth. “Though, one much more than all others…” He added as an afterthought.
Jen considered that for a moment and he looked on at her as if this point in their conversation was one of the most pivotal.
“May I just call you Albatross?” She requested. “For now, at least.”
He continued to stare at her, his eyes penetrating deeper than just the mere surface, and that look pressed an explanation out of young Jennifer, for it was the most vital part.
“You…I… Jen struggled, but he pressed her still, not harshly, but firmly. “You’re not like anybody I’ve ever met…” She finally managed, though floundering still. “So…I don’t see how I can give you a name that anybody else I’ve ever known has…”
He cocked his head again, this time to the other side, and his pressing gaze relented, his eyes softening, though they were still jet black agates.
“Very well.” He finally answered. “A sound reason. Very unbiased.” He applauded her. “Albatross it is.”
“Really?” Jen questioned, her brow furrowing as if she had expected him to reject her reasoning.
“You shouldn’t doubt yourself so, Jenny.” He chided her kindly. “It’s not the name I expected.” He admitted. “But, actually, I’m pleased.”
“Erm…” Jen wavered, unsure exactly how to take that comment. “Thank you…”
What had he expected?
“Let’s not worry about that for now.” He suggested, and Jen gasped slightly, for she had not spoken the question aloud.
But then he gave her a very knowing look, as if perhaps she should have expected nothing else.
“Ah…” She finally replied, laughing slightly as realisation flooded through her. “I’m dreaming…” She stated, clarifying the obvious. “Of course you know what I’m thinking. You’re in my head.”
