Rover of the Sands
There are too many strange thoughts in your mind and too much burning particulate in your hair for you to think of anything but the comforts of home as you stumble astern through the storm and finally, mercifully, open the hatch to go below decks. You quickly descend the rope ladder and, as has been your habit since being promoted from lieutenant, move your eyes proudly from the individual hammocks of your fellow crewmembers to the narrow wooden door marking your own private quarters just at the base of the ladder. You step quietly inside.
Viola is at the stove, her shapely hips showing to advantage in her purple gingham dress under the gaslight. Her growing belly makes her apron cling at an awkward angle and she pushes it with some impatience to the side. Her straw-colored hair hangs loosely in its customary knot, lightly leaning against the nape of her long and graceful neck. You don’t want to frighten her, but you also want very much to kiss her right there.
You stamp your foot and she hesitates for a moment, bringing her hands to a stop over her boiling pot. This is your invitation. You cross the tiny kitchen and wrap her in your arms, with all her scent and her heat and her brimming promise. You kiss her up and down the curves of her soft shoulders before she turns to face you. Her cheeks are inflamed even as she points pouting at the hourglass on the table.
“I know I’m late,” you say apologetically, shaking your head with resignation. She arches an eyebrow at you. “Business,” you mouth silently, pointing upwards and rolling your eyes as you do your best impression of Captain McCann’s stiff mannerisms. She laughs silently, kissing your cheek before pointing to the stew she has made.
You and the Captain are the only people onboard to have your own cooking ranges and you must use them very sparingly, as the extra fire creates even more heat on the already overtaxed vessel. Viola cooks just one meal for you a week. The other nights, you join your comrades in the cantina. Cooking night has other advantages too...
She is impatient throughout your silent supper, finally standing to take you by the hand, which she raises to cool the growing fire in her cheeks. She slowly turns her back to you and you are faced with the delicious prospect of her fine hair, which you love nothing more than to take slowly down so it rolls over her shoulders and her breasts. You notice she has tied her hair in a double knot tonight. Her pregnancy has made everything expand and blossom with such speed!
She turns back to you, her eyes now having completed their secret transformation. Whenever you are about to make love, the whites of her eyes turn a light sky blue, the way the sky used to be before the New Times. They shine with a subtle luminescence until the act is complete, when they return again to the slightly jaundiced yellow of every human now living on the planet.
Viola is both your greatest thrill and your greatest secret. Her loyalty to you is absolute. If anyone else knew about her uniqueness, it would mean her summary execution. And yours.
Viola is at the stove, her shapely hips showing to advantage in her purple gingham dress under the gaslight. Her growing belly makes her apron cling at an awkward angle and she pushes it with some impatience to the side. Her straw-colored hair hangs loosely in its customary knot, lightly leaning against the nape of her long and graceful neck. You don’t want to frighten her, but you also want very much to kiss her right there.
You stamp your foot and she hesitates for a moment, bringing her hands to a stop over her boiling pot. This is your invitation. You cross the tiny kitchen and wrap her in your arms, with all her scent and her heat and her brimming promise. You kiss her up and down the curves of her soft shoulders before she turns to face you. Her cheeks are inflamed even as she points pouting at the hourglass on the table.
“I know I’m late,” you say apologetically, shaking your head with resignation. She arches an eyebrow at you. “Business,” you mouth silently, pointing upwards and rolling your eyes as you do your best impression of Captain McCann’s stiff mannerisms. She laughs silently, kissing your cheek before pointing to the stew she has made.
You and the Captain are the only people onboard to have your own cooking ranges and you must use them very sparingly, as the extra fire creates even more heat on the already overtaxed vessel. Viola cooks just one meal for you a week. The other nights, you join your comrades in the cantina. Cooking night has other advantages too...
She is impatient throughout your silent supper, finally standing to take you by the hand, which she raises to cool the growing fire in her cheeks. She slowly turns her back to you and you are faced with the delicious prospect of her fine hair, which you love nothing more than to take slowly down so it rolls over her shoulders and her breasts. You notice she has tied her hair in a double knot tonight. Her pregnancy has made everything expand and blossom with such speed!
She turns back to you, her eyes now having completed their secret transformation. Whenever you are about to make love, the whites of her eyes turn a light sky blue, the way the sky used to be before the New Times. They shine with a subtle luminescence until the act is complete, when they return again to the slightly jaundiced yellow of every human now living on the planet.
Viola is both your greatest thrill and your greatest secret. Her loyalty to you is absolute. If anyone else knew about her uniqueness, it would mean her summary execution. And yours.