Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2)

by Jayden Hunter

  “I am lucky. I guess. I do work hard, too. It’s not like I was born with good looks and that’s it, I worked very hard to become a professional model. It took a lot of discipline.”

  “So are you saying you had to earn everything you got?”

  “No. That wouldn’t be fair. I admit. But I am earning my degree. And I worked hard to build my career; nobody handed it to me.”

  Ryan set down his glass. He moved behind Drew and put his arms on her shoulders. He gently rubbed her shoulders and neck.

  She remained silent.

  He moved to her head and massaged her scalp.

  She lowered her head submissively, like in prayer, and he caressed her neck.

  A few minutes went by. He pulled off her top.

  Again she was silent, so he continued to massage her. He massaged her back. He unclasped her bra.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey, what?”

  “I thought we weren’t going there?”

  “It’s just a massage. You seemed to be enjoying it.”

  “It’s not just a massage once my tits are free.”

  She re-clasped her bra.

  “I think we’d better head back. I’m not comfortable.”

  As her words were coming out of her mouth, Ryan was already swinging the wine bottle at her head. He felt a surge of energy. He felt a surge of shame.

  Fucking tease. She must think she can take advantage of you, doesn’t she? She thinks she can drink your wine, get half naked, and then leave? Bitch.

  Ryan put his arms under her armpits and crossed his hands over her breasts to ensure that he wouldn’t drop and hurt her. In the stateroom, he undressed her, and while she hadn’t moved on her own, she was breathing evenly. Drew would be alert soon, so he worked quickly. Once he had hit a girl so hard it ruined the weekend, so he’d become more cautious. Next, he used a Velcro leg restraint made for surfers, he attached her leg to a line hooked to a cleat installed at the base of the bed.

  When she woke, she could use the head and move about the room, but she would not have enough mobility to go up the stairs. He double checked the room, searching for anything she might use as a weapon. Finding nothing, he went to the galley and retrieved a plastic bottle of water, a Sonata, a Xanax, and a tube of his favorite lube. When he returned, the woman was still asleep. He lifted her head and put the pills onto her tongue. He poured water into her mouth, clamped her nose, and blew into her face. He watched her flinch and swallow.

  “Good girl.”

  He laid her back down, uncapped the lube, and squeezed a healthy amount into her. She seemed comfortable, so he took a shower.

  He returned to the stateroom naked and smiled. Ryan felt like a child about to open his main birthday gift, already knowing it was just what he’d asked for. He walked to the bed, stared at her, and stroked her hair. She remained motionless except for the slight rise and fall of her chest.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  He continued caressing her hair as got into bed with her; then he kissed her back and shoulders. He held her gently in his arms as if comforting a small child frightened from a nightmare. He remained holding her until he’d nearly fallen asleep, so he got up, and paced.

  “I’m not sure how we should make love our first time,” he said. “I want you so badly. And I know you’ve wanted me, in spite of your words and reluctance. I know. I’ve noticed how you look at me. I’m so glad you came tonight. I think your best feature is your ass. It’s perfect.”

  He rolled her over onto her stomach and lifted her at the hips. He gently kissed each of her cheeks and then he stood up behind her.

  “It’s so good! So fucking good. God, Drew! You are so hot!”

  Ryan climaxed in under a minute.

  “I wish I wasn’t so tired. It’s been a long day, and it’s late, I’m tired. I imagine you’re worn out, too.”

  He kissed her on the cheek, got out of the bed, and went back to the shower. He rinsed quickly, brushed his teeth, dried, put on clean underwear, and went back to the stateroom. In bed, next to her, he held her tenderly and kissed her hair.

  “I’m so happy about tonight. We are special friends now. I knew you’d change your mind. Good night, Drew. I love you.”

  He fell asleep holding her and fantasizing about how they’d make love in the morning. He wanted to create as many amazing memories as he could before Sunday morning. Or Sunday afternoon at the latest. He wanted to catch some fish, too. It was easier to go home when he brought fresh fish.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Man, do not pride yourself on your superiority to the animals, for they are without sin, while you, with all your greatness, you defile the earth wherever you appear and leave an ignoble trail behind you -- and that is true, alas, for almost every one of us!

  ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  I reject all the religious bullshit about sex. There is no such thing as a sexual sin except in the maddening imagination of the repressed and deluded. There is only consent and non-consent. I’ll remain in control of my body parts, which means that trying to control them, even for my own good, is tantamount to rape. To be forced to keep my legs closed is no different in principle than to be forced to open them.

  ~ Drew Stirling

  ...................

  Drew woke up. It was dark. She was groggy. Her head was pounding. Her mouth was dry. She couldn’t remember where she was; she felt like she was still dreaming. She felt strange, too. Her body seemed foreign to her. I must have drunk way too much. Fuck, where am I?

  Salt air triggered the recollection that she was on a boat.

  Kyle? No, we broke up.

  Ryan? Yeah, Ryan. Why am I naked?

  She needed to pee. She strained her mind and attempted to open memory files. They were unfindable.

  Did I end up saying yes to Ryan?

  No, she thought to herself. I’d been adamant.

  She put more effort into reconstructing events but that only ended in frustration. A man slept next to her; she tried focusing her vision, but her eyes wouldn’t cooperate. The smell of sex intermixed with the salt air. She attempted to sit, but the movement made her dizzy. Feeling confused and lost, she wondered if she was dreaming, but feeling the gentle sway of the ocean, she was certain now, at least, that she was on a boat. Drew struggled to piece together what had happened and why she was nude. She couldn’t remember, and her head hurt. She reached out touched the man’s shoulder.

  “Ryan, is that you?” she asked in a quiet voice. Her mouth was dry. The pounding in her head intensified after she spoke as if her vocal cords linked to a trigger that set off an explosion of pain.

  The man didn’t answer her. She remembered being with Ryan, but she wasn’t sure of anything. Who am I? Where am I?

  He rolled over and put his arm across her chest. His touch was tender and gentle, she felt safer and snuggled with him. Feeling at peace, she closed her eyes and fell back asleep.

  Drew woke again at the coolness of dawn and shivered. Her bladder hurt, and she had an awful unrecognizable taste in her dry mouth. Her headache persisted, but it no longer pounded agony like an angry drum beat as it had before. A man’s arm draped over her; she moved it off her body. It belonged to Ryan.

  Sliding her legs off the bed, she moved slowly to avoid triggering another round of pounding in her head. She walked towards the head and realized a surfboard leash was attached to her leg. It was secured to the bed. What the fuck?

  She needed to pee; her bladder felt like it was going to burst, so she walked carefully into the head, dragging the leash behind her. She must have been exceptionally stoned and drunk the night before, she thought, and it’s not as if she’d never played these kinds of bondage games before, they were fun with the right partner, but she was confident she’d told Ryan no sex. She was sure of it, but she couldn’t recall what had happened. She chastised herself, but this wasn’t the first time she’d been in similar situations, regrettable sex was not the end of the wo
rld. She’d given in and fucked him. Oh well.

  There was a disposable travel toothbrush in the cabinet above the little sink. After brushing, she drank water straight from the tap until she thought she was going to vomit. Drew searched for something to take for her headache, Tylenol, Advil, aspirin, codeine, anything. No luck. She opened the door, and Ryan surprised her.

  “You have any fucking Tylenol?” she asked him.

  He looked startled for a second and stared.

  “Tylenol, anything? Please. My head is killing me.”

  Ryan left without comment and went up the stairs into the galley.

  Drew sat on the bed and tried to remove the strap from her ankle. She couldn’t get it undone. The attempt made her head hurt even worse. She was not in the mood for puzzles.

  Ryan returned with a plastic water bottle and put two pills into her mouth without any resistance. He put the water bottle to her lips and she drank, like an obedient child, swallowing the pills. She didn’t care what she’d taken, only that her headache would go away.

  “Drink some more. You’ll sleep better.”

  “Can you get this fucking thing off me?” she asked. She lifted her leg up onto the bed and looked at him.

  “Come back to bed.” He was lying down, naked, absentmindedly stroking himself.

  “What the fuck? Why is this damn thing so tight? Can you please get this off me?”

  “Come back to bed, beautiful,” he said.

  “Don’t be creepy.”

  “I’ll get it later, come here. Now. Lie next to me.”

  Drew felt dizzy.

  She couldn’t stand and crawled onto the bed. She felt nauseous, and she thought she might vomit, but she really, really didn’t want to throw up. Every word she spoke sent another shooting pain through her brain as if she’d walked into a wall. She decided not to argue about the thing on her leg, even thinking hurt too much. She’d figure it out later. She yawned, and her mind drifted.

  She was conscious that her mind was blank, she wondered about who she was, not quite sure at the moment what her name was. She could feel herself sinking into sleep and thought of Alice in Wonderland falling, falling, falling; there was no bottom. Dreams, nightmares, and reality became one.

  ...................

  A stranger crawled on top of her, his skin burned hot, and he was covered in sticky sweat. His breath smelled of stale cigarettes, beer, and putrid food. His movements were not gentle, and she told him to stop. “You’re hurting me,” she said. She attempted to push him away, but he ignored her. “Please stop. It hurts.”

  She fell asleep in her dream and was aware that she was dreaming, but she wasn’t sure if her awareness was part of the dream or if she was conscious. “Am I awake?” she asked. She woke up in the dream.

  Someone was talking to her, but she couldn’t make out the words. The same man from earlier, still a stranger to her, was speaking in a low voice. She strained to hear, but couldn’t make out the words. He tried to kiss her on the mouth, but she turned away, he kissed her on her neck instead, but she could still smell his sour breath.

  Then he was inside of her thrusting vigorously, but she felt nothing.

  ...................

  Drew drifted back into a deep unconscious sleep. She heard nothing else, felt nothing else, and no longer dreamed.

  When she woke, she didn’t open her eyes. She concentrated on listening but heard no sounds. Her headache was gone, but she realized she felt nothing at all. In total stillness, she felt as if she was floating, like an astronaut in weightless space. She didn’t think, or question, or even try to remember her name. Soon after she entered another a deep sleep, complete blackness, oblivion.

  ...................

  She was hiding in a bathroom cabinet. Her body was contorted, and all of her joints ached. She heard a strange man shouting at her.

  “I’m going to fuck you if you don’t come out. I’m going to make you pay.”

  She strained to listen to the voice. She wondered how close he was to her. She couldn’t figure out who it was or why she was hiding. But she was afraid.

  She began to shake. She panicked.

  She spoke softly to herself.

  “Don’t look in here.”

  Over and over again she spoke these words to herself. It became a comforting mantra. A chant.

  “Don’t look.”

  “Don’t look.”

  “Don’t—”

  He looked.

  A man opened the cabinet door. She dimly recognized him, but couldn’t remember why.

  He said, “I found you.”

  He reached in and grabbed her.

  She tried to run, but she couldn’t move her legs.

  She said, “help,” but her voice was weak, and nobody was there to help her.

  “I knew I would find you,” he said. “I knew I’d get you. I’m going to fuck you and kill you and drown you and nobody will ever know you again.”

  ...................

  Drew woke up with a panicked jolt as if an icy dead hand had reached out to her and she’d barely escaped. She sat up and looked around her. Her panic turned to anger.

  It had to be late morning. It was bright, and the sun had been out long enough to make it warm. Her bladder hurt, but at least her headache was gone. She stood and walked towards the head. Fuck. Why didn’t that asshole take off this leash?

  He wasn’t in the room. She realized the boat was underway; she could feel the vibration of the engines. She looked through the small porthole in the bathroom, it was late morning, at least, she assumed, perhaps already afternoon, and the boat was traveling at high speed.

  As she relieved her bursting bladder, it was evident that they’d had sex without a condom. She felt anger, guilt, and shame; she’d allowed herself to get way too drunk. She drank water from the tap, brushed her teeth, and felt dèjá vu.

  I hope I didn’t catch anything. What was I thinking? Why didn’t that asshole use a condom? Why didn’t he take this off my leg?

  Drew crawled back into bed and thought about the things she could actually remember from the previous night. They’d been drinking. A lot. And smoking weed. Not too much. She remembered him massaging her. That was nice. But then she remembered that she didn’t want to have sex and she clearly remembered telling him that. It was fuzzy after that; her memories were like cotton candy.

  But then she had an epiphany.

  He fucking hit me!

  Memories flooded back once she anchored her thoughts on the feeling of being hit with a wine bottle.

  He fucked me. No, he raped me. He fucking raped me.

  Oh my fucking God, I’m going to kill him. That bastard.

  As she struggled to piece together the memories she had, her head pounded again. Sharp pains triggered nausea. She felt dizzy. She needed to vomit. She put her head down and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to fall asleep, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When women's sexuality is imagined to be passive or "dirty," it also means that men's sexuality is automatically positioned as aggressive and right — no matter what form it takes. And when one of the conditions of masculinity, a concept that is already so fragile in men's minds, is that men dissociate from women and prove their manliness through aggression, we're encouraging a culture of violence and sexuality that's detrimental to both men and women.

  ~ Jessica Valenti

  There are sociopaths and psychopaths. But the majority of people I treat weren’t born to become abusers; they don’t have a genetic predisposition to abuse and harm others. They were molded into monsters during their childhoods. Generally, their parents were similarly maltreated. Stopping the cycle is difficult because by the time the abusive relationship is recognized it’s already too late.

  ~ Randy Hawkins

  ...................

  Ryan prepared the ingredients for a healthy breakfast. He chopped ham, grated cheese, and beat eggs. He brewed co
ffee, poured cream and sugar into their appropriate containers, and set up the serving tray with silverware. He placed a salt and pepper shaker on the tray, and after thinking about it for a second, he removed the fork and knife and placed a spoon onto the napkin he’d carefully folded.

  He left the galley, walked into the stateroom, and shook Drew’s leg.

  “I’m going to make omelets. Wake up sleepy head,” he said.

  Drew stirred but didn’t sit up or speak.

  “I have coffee brewing. Get up.”

  He shook her leg again and didn’t stop until she rolled over and opened her eyes.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “It’s nearly noon. Get up. We have a big day ahead of us.”

  Ryan pulled the blanket off her naked body and looked her over. Drew was even more beautiful naked than he had originally imagined, her proportions were exquisite and her coloring sublime. It was no surprise that she’d sold so many copies of her pictures; her body was perfect and her face belonged to a goddess. He was luckier and more privileged than the millions of men that had only been able to look at her picture and imagine her naked and willing. He had her; she wasn’t only willing, she was practically begging him to do her. She couldn’t get enough of him, he knew, her real body language gave her away.

  “Why don’t you jump in the shower? If you want to... Before you eat, you might as well get cleaned up.”

  “Why don’t you get this fucking thing off my leg?”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and glared at him.

  Ryan walked over to her and put his arms around her, wanting to show her affection. He wanted her to be comfortable. He cared for her.

  She swatted his arms away.

  He grabbed her by the throat.

  “You will treat me with respect,” he said.

  His voice changed as if he was now a prison guard on duty in the shoe of a dangerous prison.

  “If you don’t use respect it’ll be a real short weekend. I won’t be disrespected on my own boat. I’m in charge here. I’ve been a good host and treated you as my guest. I have breakfast ready. Would you like a cup of coffee now? Or after your shower?”