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.
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 touches made her shudder, clench her eyes and 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.
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.
.... There is more of this story ...