There are worse places, little girl. Worse hells. This isn’t one of them. There are depths you haven’t yet seen, where the dive alone would **** you. The sea monster of my depths, curled still, and waiting, waiting for me. I imagine his hand on my ***. I imagine all the trespasses I would never let happen (never again). There is the scene of the crime— I’ll be there once again— I’ll take a photograph of it again— where he knew, despite the hand that he let caress its way downward, despite his fingers that fumbled towards ecstasy, he knew— he knew that he never should have touched me.
The conversation about consent should have started a long time ago.
Tentacles twist breaking bow and mast. Clinging and clinching to the once mighty vessel. A ship once prized by the Navy Now prized as a partner for the sea beast. Each serpentine tentacle tightens, Around wooden board, and cast iron fastener. Creaking and cracking the boat dances as the beast leads. Waves crazed as they are whipped to frenzy, Matching the mammoth's rhythms. They struggle to keep the beast contained. White caps covering the beasts murderous desire. The ship is his, and as dances do, This one ends in a flourish. Cracking crosstrees and foremast, Collapsing the gangways, Sails still whipping as the dancer's dress is ravaged. And as quickly as it began It stops. The monster sinks back from where his strike began. The tired vessel following quickly after. The water forgets its rhythm and steps.