My wife Maria was once a Priestess of the Sun, on the lost continent of Atlantis. She was also the concubine of Alexander the Great. Her fling with the Great Conqueror might bother me. But, it took place a few years before we met; two thousand three hundred and thirty-nine to be exact.
I am a nerd from Ann Arbor Michigan. I have been one my entire 33 years. In fact, when I met Maria I had recently moved out of my parent’s basement. I was only 31 at the time. By nerd standards, I faced life early.
Maria can control people with her mind. I don’t have her mental abilities. But I DO rule cyberspace. More interestingly, I haven’t aged a day since my visit to the Fountain of Youth. So, I suppose I’m semi-immortal.
Consequently; it is probably safe to conclude that we are not your typical married couple.
How I ended up with this stunning woman is another story. But the reality is that, we live on our 109-foot ocean-going tug. My wife calls it “Pegasus.” I told Maria that the tug was too ugly to be named after a legendary flying horse. But Greek Mythology doesn’t feature any flying hippopotamus’s. So, Maria’s choice won.
The tug is also the source of my name. I have a real name. But, after I bought my boat, the people on Bimini started calling me “The Tugboat Man.” That quickly got shortened to “Tug.”
Falling deeply in love with Maria was a surprising state of affairs, since I spent the prior thirty-one years deeply in love with MYSELF. Nerds are like that. We are disconnected from others because we feel superior. My genetics might account for some of that; it turns out that I really AM not like any of my friends. But I had to admit that most of it was just me being an asshole.
My connection with Maria is so deep that I could have happily spent the rest of my life living on a desert island with her. We never run out of things to talk about. Three hundred years of life have given her a profound grasp of the human experience. Perhaps that’s because she has lived through the momentous events we are discussing, like the Revolutionary War.
Nonetheless, my use of the term “human” is somewhat qualified. I don’t push her on that. But I am almost certain that she is NOT human. She behaves like a normal woman and her plumbing works the same. But I get the feeling that whatever offspring she produces will be able to trace their lineage to the stars.
Because Maria was a Priestess of the Sun, the Atlantean Elders had to release her from her vows. We were almost shot up by the Cuban Air Force as a result. But, in the end there were no hard feelings. In fact, the High Priest of Atlantis presided over the marriage ceremony.
We were wed in a three-day celebration of gorgeous music and finery. That was at Our Lady of Peace Chapel on the south coast of the island of San Miguel in the Azores. That site was chosen because the original Atlantean Temple of the Sun is only two miles away – straight down on the bottom of the Atlantic. But the Atlanteans can access its aura from there.
Marrying me meant that Maria was committed to living out her long life in my era, not 13,000 years in the past, in New Atlantis. Over her lifetime, she plans to produce generations of pure Atlanteans to restock the gene-pool. That’s’ the fun part of our obligation.
Maria is stunningly beautiful. She has the perfect face and the hard body of the hottest Chiquita on the Copacabana. And she can fuck you in more interesting ways than Messalina on hashish. Nevertheless, the one thing that I know for sure is that she will never leave me. Atlanteans marry for life. Even though that life is thousands of years long.
After she returned from Atlantis, we had a bit of a problem. The concern was that, everybody on the island of Bimini thought she was dead. After all, her yacht HAD disappeared in a huge fireball; and terrorism WAS suspected. So, I knew, her sudden resurrection would be hard to explain.
Of course, what REALLY happened was that they were launching into the time-space continuum. Maria told me that it used to be easy to jump home, because the people who witnessed the event thought that the flash-bang was religious.
She said that; when she disappeared in a puff of smoke her boyfriend Alexander thought he had been fucking the goddess Theia. He even built a temple in Sogdiana in her honor. We visited its ruins in our time; notwithstanding the severe jealousy pangs that caused me.
We spent a week laid up in the shallows off the southern tip of Andros Island. We made love, talked and grew closer together. Given that I had thought I had lost her, the interlude gave us time to reconnect; get reacquainted with all the old emotions; like passion, companionship and hope.
After that, it just seemed prudent to move on to another place. Fortunately, that was easy to do. The tug was our home and all our worldly possessions were sitting in it. I was going to miss my friends, especially my buddy Reg. But that friendship was an insignificant drop in the bucket compared to the love of my wife. So, we planned to never go back to Bimini.
We talked it over and decided that Bermuda was the best alternative. It’s remote, subtropical and roughly 500 nautical miles East-Northeast of North Carolina. So, we could make it there without refueling. The tug had a 200-gallon main tank and we could make the trip across in three-or-four days. Maria knew Bermuda well. She said it was the lip of a dormant volcano. A lot of sheep and cattle were raised on is verdant slopes.
We left Cape Lookout under beautiful blue skies. I had been watching the weather patterns for a couple of weeks. The tug could handle high waves. But since we would be on the edge of our range, I didn’t want to burn any extra fuel maneuvering through rough weather. Running out of fuel in the middle of the Atlantic could be hazardous to our health. So, burn rate is more of a “staying alive” issue, than it is some fussy nerd concern.
The crossing took almost four days and it was night when we detected a faint glow on the horizon. We were still some 40 miles out on a course 80-degrees east-northeast. But the lights of St George’s Island were reflecting off the clouds. The island itself rose over the horizon as the sun began to come up. The first signs of life were the Long-Tail Birds of Bermuda. They are basically big seagulls, with long white tails. Their habitat is Bermuda and for approaching sailors, they are the ambassadors of the place.
We circled north of St George’s and approached from the northeast to avoid the reefs. I was at the helm and Maria was carefully studying the approach chart. You enter Bermudian waters through a narrow channel between St George Island and Higgs Island. There are treacherous reefs in the area. So, you approach carefully. Once we cleared the channel, we proceeded to Ordnance Island and the Custom Dock.
They went through our paper work; clearances, immigration and health documents. The main hassle was over Bastet. Bastet is our ships cat. She’s Egyptian; hence, the name “Bastet.” And, in the dictionary under “imperious” it says, “See Tug’s cat.” However, like everything else in my life, she isn’t exactly a cat. Bastet is larger than a domestic feline and more closely related to the cheetah.
We had a health certificate for her and I had to promise that I wouldn’t take her ashore; which was ludicrous. Bastet is the Egyptian Goddess of War. I can’t pet the beast without losing a limb. So, I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I tried to stuff her in a cage.
Bastet doesn’t allow anybody to touch her, except Maria. Bastet is perfectly sympatico with Maria. There are many similarities between the two. Both are self-contained to the point of mystery. Bastet has huge amber eyes, just like Maria. Maria has a sinuous grace, just like Bastet and my wife is as ferocious in bed, as my little killing machine.
Once we cleared customs, we pulled the tug into the Bermuda Yacht Services dockage. We selected that service because it is a short walk to Kings Square. More importantly it was the nearest dock that could handle the tug. At 109 feet, we were slightly over their length requirements. So, we were berthed with the big yachts. That was both expensive and humiliating, because my rusty old girl stood out among the gleaming white mega-yachts, like Rosie the Riveter in a crowd of super-models.
Once we were berthed we had some decisions to make. I had given up nothing to bring this beautiful and vibrant woman into my life; whereas Maria had made a huge sacrifice leaving New Atlantis for my imperfect world. So, I wanted to do whatever I could to make her happy.
Money was no issue. I had lots of it thanks to my larcenous exploits prior to meeting her. For her part, Maria seemed to be able to access billions. I suppose that a girl can pile up a lot of wealth over 13,000 years.
Maria might be a former Atlantean priestess, but she works like a deckhand. We had come in from a long sea voyage and there was a lot of scrubbing, polishing, coiling and battening to do. That’s the reason why Maria was on her hands and knees cleaning salt off the afterdeck of the tug.
I couldn’t help stealing the occasional glance in her direction. Her thick sheaf of sun streaked hair falls to the middle of her back, in rich cascading waves. It is probably the most remarkable thing about a very extraordinary woman. Celebrities pay a fortune for hair like hers. For the moment that bounty was secured by a bandanna and a long thick pigtail.
.... There is more of this story ...