Famished

She looked at him and ached. He was so beautiful and so strong. She ached with that incessant primal ache that she had almost forgotten existed.

She watched as the boy reached out and casually picked up the empty fifty five gallon steel barrels, handing them up over his head to the men on the supply boat. The sea tossed both the skiff he was standing in and the taller ship making the work difficult. She knew that the barrels were never truly empty and weighed more than most men could lift easily on dry land.

He would take hold of a barrel and casually hold it out at arm’s length, ignoring its weight and the surging sea. He made the work appear effortless as he laughed and joked with the men on the tender reaching take the drums from his hands. It took two of them to take each steel drum from him.

She sat holding the skiff, keeping it from banging too hard against the larger boat, using her strength to try and buffer the worst of the waves. The men were giving him a hard time, slow to take the barrels from his hands. He smiled an easy smile and joked back, giving as good as he got. As he lifted the last barrel, he laughed and called a warning, and literally tossed it up to them. She had almost orgasmed at that moment.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

She was working the summer fishing season in a remote Alaska fishing camp. Her uncle owned the beach fishing site. It was a family operation. The boy was a remote second half cousin; someone that she had not even known existed. He was one of those distant relatives that her large disorganized family sometimes referred to as 'half assed relatives'. Her family had a lot of odd sayings and odder ideas. Sometimes she told people that she was raised by wolves.

He had been hired more for his brawn than his experience. That he was smart and good natured was unexpected. And so young, only nineteen, he was as innocent of his beauty, as of his strength. Fresh and clean, he had soft, long blond hair and eyes the same indefinable color of the sea that surrounded them.

She had no clear memory of when she had last felt this ache, this yearning. It intoxicated and terrified her. Ten years married, with two small children, she was thirteen years older than this boy.

The terror was the discovery that she could even have these feelings. For years she had felt nothing, not the tiniest spark of lust, want or need. It had seemed like everything female about her had withered and died so long ago that the memories were dim and hazy. Memories so tenuous, that she wondered if she had ever really felt them or if it had been a dream.

Her husband had tried to be her lover, but it seemed the more he pushed for her response the more conscious she was of the deadness inside her. If she allowed herself to look inward, she could almost see the dried husk of something, a decaying, shriveled, mummified remnant of the woman she once was. She had learned not to be introspective; the horror was too much to bear.

She hated this part of herself, this dead thing inside her that her husband demanded she share with him, that the world seemed to celebrate and define her by.

Her husband’s touch made her shudder, clench her eyes, turn her face away. One of the most frightening things was that she would orgasm, odd little electric convulsive jerks that she could hardly feel. They never involved more than the few square inches of flesh that was her vagina. She did not enjoy them, beyond the happy knowledge that it was over. He would get off of her and she could turn away, taking some solace in the knowledge that she could put him off for another week or perhaps longer.

She struggled to convince herself that this was all there was and to resign herself to it. For the last few years, she thought she had succeeded. She had owned her failure, taking full personal responsibility, resolved to the bleakness that filled her.

Now the thing inside her had roared back to life, reaching up from her gut and taking hold of her throat, squeezing so it was hard to even take a breath. No longer shriveled, dry and cold, it was a dazzling thing. There was nothing dark about it, it was a thing of heat and brilliant light, surging and pulsing through her veins, prowling the infinite space inside her. It had a voice of its own. It murmured and moaned, almost taking possession of her lips. She found herself humming softly to herself, trying to sooth it.

The fishing site was thousands of miles from home and her husband. She wondered if the distance had woken this thing within her. For the first time she entertained the idea. Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with her husband. She did not spend much time thinking of her husband, the thing inside her did not let her think very much at all.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

She watched the boy, pregnant with lust, intoxicated with need. She fantasized about what it would be like to touch him. Could she do it? Cheat? She never would have thought she could ever do that. But there was no way to deny this feeling, this madness rising up inside her. Her mind was in turmoil. The only true thought was that she did not want to ever feel dead inside again.

They worked as a team of two, running the skiff out to the nets, pulling the shining silver salmon up and out of the water. It was hard work; cold, wet and physically challenging. It was hugely fun. They would come back to the cabin, the skiff full of their catch, so tired that it hurt. Yet in the morning they rushed back, breathless in anticipation of what they would find waiting.




Life and death permeated the place. Nothing ever seemed to be still. The wind was constant and relentless, pushing, teasing, and stroking her skin. The sea surged and fought with them, lifting and tossing the small skiff, its constant motion echoing and enhancing the tides that pulsed within her. The scent of the sea filled her nose and mouth with the of salty rich protein tang that was the very essence life, death, decay and rebirth.

She watched the boy, at first covertly following him with her eyes when she thought he wasn't watching, and finally openly, boldly drinking him in with her eyes, unable to deny the thing inside her that snarled and tore at her sanity.

She found herself reaching to touch him with any excuse; bumping him as they worked together, a quick grip on his arm to catch her balance, or a friendly gentle wipe of a salmon scale from his face. Each contact was electric, echoing through her, waking the thing inside her, forcing it to lurch and batter against her, wanting more, demanding more. She was drunk with it.

The words were banal and somehow cheap. She had no experience at this. “What would you say if an older married lady tried to seduce you?”

His eyes went thoughtful and then dark. He smiled an easy happy smile. “I would say yes.”

Almost instantly regretting and fearful, she muttered, “I have never done anything like this before.”

He did not answer. With a confidence surprising in one so young, he pulled her to his chest and took her mouth with his.

She felt like her knees would buckle. She could not remember the last time she kissed anyone with an open mouth. She had refused this intimacy to her husband. She would have rather sucked his cock, than let his tongue into her mouth.

Now she was transported. It felt like her heart would burst. She would have climbed into this boy's mouth if she could have. A soft whining sound crept up from her chest, a sound new and alien to her.

They were wearing many layers of clothing; long underwear, wool sweaters, heavy rubber rain gear, and hip boots. They stood in a rocking skiff, knee deep in dead salmon. They had a lot of net to pick and they were expected back soon. There was no way to do this now.

It was agony, but she tore her face from his, her breath coming in short gasps, still clutching at him to hold herself upright. “We can't... Not now.” He nodded, smiling that same easy smile.

Once they finished pulling the last salmon from the net, he turned and pulled her to his chest again. His icy cold fingers touched her face and then tried to penetrate the layers of her clothing, seeking to find the warmth of her skin, to touch her breasts. His mouth was hungry and demanding on hers, pushing her head back with his urgency.

The need rose up and crashed over her, screaming and raging. “Oh god, yes. Tonight, tonight after everyone else has gone to bed. Meet me.” She babbled into his mouth.

The night was dark, cold and wet, but she did not care. They did not talk. His hands were tense and urgent on her as they walked away from the dark cabins. It was almost perfectly black; the only light a dimly luminous patch in the clouds where the moon hid its face.

They did not walk far. She turned to him and he took control of her. He took off his coat and lay it on the wet sand of the beach and pushed her down on it.

At first her fears and doubts kept her frozen, unsure, but he was oblivious to her uncertainty. He reached up under her shirt and pressed his hands to her heated flesh. His mouth stifled any words of reluctance that rose up in her.

He pulled her pants off in one strong jerk and was on top of her, covering her, sheltering her from the rain and the wind. His cock was hot, almost burning. He did not wait, just pressed against and into her.

Her mouth against his let out a deep moaning exhalation of delight. Never before had it felt this perfect, the flaming thing inside her expanded to fill her completely.

She could feel his trembling urgency, yet he lay still, buried deep in her, tenderly kissing her. She rocked and tipped under him, like the waves could reach her, lift and toss her like a leaf on their surface. Impatient she pulled at his hips, that same whining moan keening up from her center.

Slowly he met her movements, a calm gentle strength, soothing her frantic lunges against him. She could not pull enough air into her lungs. Each movement of his body against her sent sparkles of light through her mind. Her whole body felt simultaneously icy and flaming. She felt her legs lift as she began to open and expand, waves of heat and blinding light lifting her, shaking her, turning her inside out.

He was still moving against her, thrusting slow and easy when she became aware of herself, clutching him, sobbing softly. As she held him tightly, the moon slowly slid through a tear in the clouds, turning the blacks to grays and silvers. His face was a silhouette surrounded by a nimbus of light.

She lay beneath him, undulating, for the first time truly loving the sensation of flesh sliding in and out of her. She was intensely aware of his ejaculation, his body tensing and trembling, his breath sharply gasping, each spasming jerk of his cock deep inside her. He made no sound and did not linger inside.

Quickly he stood and helped her to feet. The wind was icy. She could feel deep shivers shaking her. As she pulled on her pants and boots, he wrapped his coat around her. His voice was soft, “Next time, I hope it won't be so cold.” It was the first time he had spoken.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The next morning broke clear and warm. Bright blue sky arched over the rolling green hills. The bright sun turned the sea into an infinity of diamonds.

She no longer followed him with her eyes. It seemed all her regard was turned inward. She was absorbed in an internal dialog with the thing inside her. There was no question that she would once again, feed this yearning. She just struggled to find some definition for what she was doing that could fit inside her mind. Was she betraying or was she fulfilling herself? Was it the same thing? All she knew was that she felt happy for the first time in many years.

Working the nets was easy in the calm sunshine. They frequently stopped, turning to each other, playing simple games. A pink salmon was no kisses, a silver or chum one kiss, the prized red salmon was rewarded with deep long kisses and cold fingers reaching to caress warm skin. The warmer day meant less clothing in the way of exploring hands and lips.

He was curious about her body, repeatedly opening her shirt, exposing her breasts to the wind and the sun. He would suck at her nipples as she stood braced in the rocking boat looking out across the sparkling water, her hands cradling his head, sharp tremors shaking her whole body.

Finally she could not deny the thing inside her any longer. “Please make love to me.” His eyes were serious and, to her, infinitely wise. Again his smile was easy. He ran the boat to the beach and led her up into the grass.

They slowly undressed, layering their waterproof gear on the grass and then layering their clothing on top, making a soft bed surrounded with a wall of green, the bright blue sky overhead. They stood in their little bower, looking at each other's bodies for the first time.

He was massive, wide thick shoulders, arms bulging with muscle. His skin was startlingly white and almost hairless. His cock stood hard against his belly, nestled in golden curls. A fleeting thought flickered through her mind and was gone; he couldn't look any more different from her husband.

She stepped close to him and pressed the length of her body against him. Again she heard the whining moan. She was learning to recognize that sound, the soft cry of need, the echo of the screaming, hungry thing inside her.

His skin against hers obsessed her with the need to be filled, to feed that famished thing inside her. Her whole body felt like an echoing void, a perfect vacuum.

She pulled impatiently at him, urging him to lie down, but he stood rock steady. “No, we don't need to hurry. Let me see you.” He pushed her back and stood looking at her. His eyes slid from her breasts to the dark curls covering her sex and then back up to her face infused with raw hunger. A lazy happy smile curved his lips.

He stepped closer and slid to his knees. When she tried to kneel with him, he held up his hand and shook his head. “No, let me look at you.” He put his hands on her hips and turned her so the sun shone in her face and warmed her breasts and belly. He gazed raptly at her cleft, his face only inches from her. Time stood still, deep in their grass shelter there was not even a whisper of wind. She could not even hear the waves above the beating of her heart.

She softly touched his hair, looking down at him. She was suddenly calm and filled with tenderness. How could he be both so innocent and wise? With infinite gentleness, almost worship, he leaned in and chastely pressed his lips against her, scattering soft kisses across her mound and thighs, using his chin and nose to nudge her legs apart. His tongue was feather light as he pushed her labia apart, opening, unfolding her. At his first touch to her center, she softly cried out and her legs gave way.

He caught her and lowered her, his shoulders spreading her legs wide. His mouth refused to leave her, softly pulling and sucking at her. When she felt his fingers slip deep into her, she arched and cried out wordlessly.

Only then did he move over her, sliding his hardness into her in one smooth thrust. His entry only pushed her higher, her cries almost anguished and frantic. He lunged against her strong and fast, riding her bucking surges.

Even as she was tossed on the waves of ecstasy she looked up at his face, watching the waves of pleasure make his eyes narrow and his smile quiver and twist. His eyes closed and he softly grunted as he came.

They lay side by side on the soft mound of their clothes, looking up at the blue sky. She raised herself on her elbow and looked down at him. He gazed at the sky, with his soft smile still lighting his face. His smile widened and he put his hand on her head, pushing her down, guiding her head to his cock.

She sent a startled look up to him, but he lay back and closed his eyes. She took his cock into her mouth, briefly analyzing the taste of his semen and her juices. A ripple of pleasure shook his whole body and he made a soft humming sound.

An electric flash of excitement infused her; intense throbbing waves of heat erupted from her very core. The same whining groan shook her again.

She took him deep in her mouth and sucked like she was trying to fill her empty soul. Even as he hardened, she lunged and suckled, her soft greedy moans muffled against his belly.

His hands were forceful as he pulled her away. She fought him briefly, mindlessly struggling to return to the object of her obsession. He refused to let her and brought her up to his face, taking her needy mouth in his, kissing her frustrated lips into calmness.

When she was once more limp and pliant, he lifted her to sit astride him, penetrating her from below. She lifted his hands from her hips to her breasts. A sobbing groan shook her whole being. As she lifted and lowered herself on him, he arched and lunged up to meet her, forcing cries from her lips.

She listened to the sounds coming from deep within her. Never before had she vocalized her pleasure. It seemed like it was the voice of the thing inside her, taking control of her lips and chest. There was no sharp beginning or ending to her orgasm. It seemed to surge within her like the swell and fall of the sea, endless and eternal.

She lost all sense of time. She felt like she had ridden on this sea of pleasure throughout time and all other things were just an illusion. She did not want to come back to herself when he shook her and told her that they had to go back, gently kissing the tears from her face.

She moved slowly throughout the day and he tried to spare her the heaviest of the work. It was clear to both of them, that part of her was still back there in that grassy shelter, reluctant to leave.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

It seemed that she spoke less and looked about at the world they worked in more. Her love affair was with herself and the place as much as with the boy. They hardly spoke during their unions, on many levels more aware of the act than the person.

It was not that she did not love him. She did. In many ways she had never felt a more powerful emotion, but it was for the place, the time, the act, the yearning as much as it was for him. He was the embodiment of all those things.

One late evening as they were running back, their skiff filled with nets and salmon, a pod of orca surrounded them. Neither she nor the boy said a word, he just turned off the outboard and they floated silent on the sea, watching and listening to the splashes and deep breaths of the whales. She tried somehow to internalize and understand this miracle and permanently etch it into her memory. At least a hundred of the black and white killer whales surfaced and cavorted around them and then moved on, disappearing back into the sea as magically as they had appeared.

On the beach another crew member questioned idly whether they had been afraid. They looked at each other wordlessly and while she did not know the boy's answer, she wished she could have died at the moment, with that image in her mind.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The bluff at the head of the point stood at least a hundred feet above the water. She sat astride the boy, filled with his heat and her endless ecstasy, close enough to the edge of the cliff to feel like she was flying.

The wind was blowing hard, too hard to go out in the skiff. It swept across the sea, churning up white caps, and came against the bluff. Unstoppable, it would swirl and then lift up the face of the cliff, pushing at her, chilling her skin and feeding the fires consuming her.

Huge waves crashed against the rocks below, the wind catching the spray and tossing it up and over them, a billion tiny drops that dried almost the instant they touched her skin. There was no boundary between the wild sea and the swirling tempest within her.

She spread her arms and arched her back, opening herself to the wind and the sea. He steadied her with his hands, lifting her and lowering her with the same deep surging rhythm of the waves.

There was no beginning or end to their union, no sharp spikes of pleasure, and no loss of awareness. She had no sense of where she ended and where he began. She was the wind and the sea. He was the rocky point she battered against. Her calls of joy blended with the haunting cries of the gulls, soaring and circling, ascending on the wind.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The final night they were together, he made a bed under the upturned skiffs that had been put away for the winter. He had found some old foam pads that smelled of diesel oil and some sleeping bags that smelled of years of dust, bodies and mildew. It was a warm dark nest, a den, a lair soon rich with the smell of their sex.

They knew it would be their last time. The fishing season was over. The nets were put away. Tomorrow the plane would come to take her home. Finally they spoke. Between frenzied frantic couplings, they tried to put into words the magic of this summer they had spent together.

Both knew it was not a personal love or commitment. No promises had been made, neither had expectations of the other. They each knew they would part without regrets, agony yes, but no regrets.

She writhed in mind numbing terror of losing this feeling of perfect primal connectedness, terrified of once again becoming the empty hollow host for a dead thing. She wondered if it would die suddenly, like having a knife plunged into her womb or if it would once again gradually fade and wither, imperceptively trickling away as she struggled to keep it prisoner inside her.

She could not let go of him. They fucked endlessly, almost mechanically, fucked until it hurt and still they could not stop. Only the cold light of morning forced them apart.



She pressed her face to the weathered Plexiglas window of the sea plane that came to take her away, looking down at the endless green and blue that was Alaska, leaving behind the wind and the waves.

It was exactly like a knife, turning in her gut. The thing, inside her, screamed like a wounded animal. It would not die an easy death. She nurtured it, fed it, and kept it alive with memories, savoring the pain like she had the pleasure.

Her husband sensed the difference in her. She was still cold and remote, that was unchanged, but he could sense the life and the pain that filled her. He could almost hear the wind and the sea as he strained against her tense and hate filled body. She hated him now, hated him for what he wasn't.

It was a year later that she heard that the boy had died. Alaska was a jealous lover. He had drowned on the trip around to the fishing site. All they found was an empty boat. For her it did not seem like death, an ending. He had joined the wind and the waves, become one with the sea. If it had not been for her children she would have joined him.

For the rest of her life, the smell of boats; diesel oil, mold, salt and fish would wake the wounded thing in her soul. It became a ritual to walk the plank boardwalks of boat harbors. She would stand and inhale deeply, pulling the smell of boats deep into her, feeding the wounded beast.

It never died. She refused let it die. She fed it with the scent of boats, memories of his smile, and the torment of the wind. Sometimes when she could almost feel the world toss and surge, she could hear the echo of that whining moan in her ears.