Tide's Ebb (12 page)

She looked up into his deep blue eyes and purred, “Let’s get out of here.”

Larry returned her gaze fiercely, but then his eyes softened. “Marianna, I need you now.”

He grabbed her hand and pushed his way through the crowd. She had to take three steps for each one of his purposeful strides. When he found his car, he practically pushed her inside without a word and drove frantically, hitting several pedestrians because his need for her was so urgent, his manhood so engorged, it could have taken hold of the wheel itself.

Larry’s home was a modest Cape Cod bungalow, miles from the sea, with weathered gray siding. Inside, it was dark, with plaid furniture and a neon light advertising a beer that Marianna had never heard of, but which she supposed was not organic.

“Kiss me again.”

Larry’s eyes were calm and kind—but then they narrowed.

“What about that boy?”

“Screech? Oh, it’s not like that!”

“What exactly is it like then?”

“He’s not my boyfriend or anything! He just likes to go down on me sometimes! Well, sometimes he likes to pin me against a wall and we have sex, but usually he just likes to eat my pussy.”

Larry lowered his head and took two steps back from her.

“What did I say?” Marianna’s voice wavered with doubt and confusion.

Larry shrugged.

“Larry, that scrawny boy means nothing! I am feisty and intelligent. I need a real man! A man who can tame my unbridled passion!”

Larry stood there, unreadable.

“I don’t understand you men. If you could find someone to give you a blowjob whenever you wanted, you’d take it, right?”

Larry stared at her, unblinking, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Larry opened his mouth, “Well, only if I really loved her.”

“Bullshit!” Marianna hissed. “You would get your dick sucked by a pre-op tranny as long as you could make her leave after you were done.”

Now Larry stepped forward rigidly and grabbed Marianna’s shoulders, his eyes blazing. “There. Is. NOTHING wrong with trannies. You hear me?!
Nothing.
”

“I’m not judging. I’m just saying.”

“You’re not judging?”

“No, it’s ok.”

“Even if it happened several times, with several pre-op trannies?”

“Larry, if I never slept with anyone who dallied with pre-op trannies, I would have never had sex at Harvard.”

Larry seemed relieved. “Then maybe... maybe I can love again.”

Larry pushed her down to the couch and kissed her.

There was thunder outside. The storm had continued, ferocious as when it first blew in. Their bodies came together with almost as much intesity. Marianna lay beneath him and clasped her arms around Larry’s shoulders—they still felt dense with tension and power. His thighs, thick and rock hard with muscle, were wedged between hers. His manhood, no less hard, but rather less thick in circumference than his thighs, pressed against his trousers, like a sexily dislocated shoulder.

Marianna’s body ached for him. Their hands began to explore each other’s body. She giggled at the contrast between Larry’s admantium-hard manhood and his soft midsection.  She began to unbutton his wet shirt, struggling with each button in her haste. When she finally reached the bottom, she tried to pull the shirt off, but it clung to his skin, drenched as it was.  She reached again from the collar and began to slowly peel it off, her hands running down Larry’s back.  She thrilled at the touch of strange skin, so rough, and so unlike Screech’s, or Bradley’s.

Marianna would learn many things that night.

Marianna was at first confused by Larry’s back—it seemed to have hair on it. Did hair really grow in such places? She was aware that some men had pubic hair, but she had never seen it on someone’s back. He also appeared to have a mole. Marianna had heard that sometimes poor people couldn’t afford to get those removed. But she struggled when her hands grazed over some bumps on Larry’s upper back.

She tried to restrain herself, but she let out a gasp. “Do you… do you have herpes on your back?”

Larry tried to laugh it off. “No, little one! That’s acne. Sometimes people have it on their backs.”

Marianna pulled away.

“No, seriously. It’s ok. They call it ‘back-ne’!”

Marianna had never heard of such a thing. Certainly Bradley had never had anything so disgusting on his body. She maintained her composure—she wanted his bulge desperately. If she could keep her hands on Larry’s broad shoulders, she could avoid the inconvenient hair and those strange blemishes.  

Larry suddenly grabbed her hips and lifted her out from under him in one continuous motion. He stood her up, ripped away her bodice and hooked his fingers into her shorts—without unbuttoning them, he simply yanked them down. His hands moved with need. Only thin lace protected her body. But he eagerly grabbed her panties and pulled those down as well. He leaned down to take her supple breasts into his mouth, sucking on the moistened cherry tips of her nipples. Marianna gasped. Larry grabbed her hips again and effortlessly threw her thin frame back on the couch, with the exact right mix of aggression and sensitivity for her feelings.

Her legs were askance, the ripe, dripping petal of her womanhood now exposed to his Blue Steel gaze. He grunted and pulled his own pants off—his shaft springing up as soon as it was released from the sunless penitentiary of his pants.  Marianna’s eyes were drawn to Larry’s manhood, a purple-helmeted soldier so large that she wondered if he could fit inside of her quarters. But then she remembered Suzanne telling her about the time she boiled a massive cucumber for personal use and was able to walk correctly again after only a few days, and this thought put her at ease. The house was dark, but lightning flashed, outlining every jagged edge of Larry’s body. Though it was an odd, imperfect body, Marianna still trembled in anticipation. Her milky white skin burned hot.

Larry lay on top of her, naked, his bristly flesh touching her most sensitive areas. His hips rocked back for a second, positioning his flaming sword of manhood just so beside her moist hilt. The first thrust was easy, filling her like she had never been filled before. This first touch hit her womb. His second, her esophagus. Bradley had perfect abs and worked out daily, but with each thrust of Larry’s, Marianna felt something different—something
animal
. Larry’s rough hands were not calloused from the gym—they were calloused from the natural motions of honest work on the sea.

This man was strong like an ox—strong like a beast of burden that would pull or push with all its might.  He pushed hard into her. She was so wet that anything else would have left her feeling empty and unfulfilled. Each time his pelvis made contact with hers, she shuddered with the full weight of this man upon her, inside her. His massive, meaty balls banged together—much the same way as the distracting apparatus on Marianna’s desk always drove her mad with its rhythmic metal click-clacks. It was as if the Almighty had given this man balls of steel.

She felt unchained, unleashed, a new woman. Sometimes, when making love, Marianna would feel like she was drowning. But now free of everything that had ever happened to her, she could breathe for the first time.

The French call orgasms
la petite mort
, “the little death,” because it was thought that moments of immense pleasure caused the soul to temporarily escape, creating transcendence and total ecstasy
.
It must have been true, for Marianna felt like she had just died and been reborn in a span or mere seconds. Her release came easily. She shook and shook, rippling like the wild seas. A peal of thunder matched her screams of passion.  As she shuddered once more, she slipped a finger in Larry’s ass to stimulate his prostate.  She felt Larry quake and empty all of his fears and all of his strength inside of her in a flood that could rival the mighty ocean itself.

It’s a good thing I’m on the pill!
Marianna thought.

When she awoke the next morning, the sun was shining. Larry had left already to face the sea. Marianna felt panic for a second but then relaxed. She luxuriated in Larry’s bed for hours and day-dreamed of the next time he would take her.

But it had been six hours, and he had not called.

“Typical!” Marianna sniffed.

But she did not need a man to feel good. She began again with her routine of yoga and meditation. She breathed easily as she lost her “monkey brain” in the midst of meditation.

But a day later, it was much the same.
Why is he not calling?
Their bout of love-making should have been enough to impel him to come back for seconds or a lifetime. But if he would not call, she would go find him. It was a calm summer day. She walked to the docks where Larry’s boat was and perched herself on the edge of a pier, right next to
Downeaster Fitzgerald
.

Doesn’t Larry see that
I’m
here?

But she knew he was one of those strong, silent types. This called for greater action.

“Larry! I know you are here!”