"Oh daddy!" shouted a modest woman of about 80, her saggy flesh rubbing onto the young 21 year old ginger, not unlike sandpaper against a babies bottom. They were deep into the depths of passion, the heat and lust of desire filled the room. Despite the gap of age, there was still barely enough room to contain their newfound love.
It all began on a crisp August day, the sun still young in the sky, and a day of love yet to be discovered. A man, bold, daring, and handsome, sondered down the street. Though he was preoccupied by his mind's thoughts he cut into the air around him, the boldness of his essence exerting itself onto others. Early in the morning, that bold, driving essence, pierced the rough outer shell of Daisy. She was an old lady like any other, except a secret passion, one deep inside of her, something hidden for decades. When she first spotted him, and his oh so encapsulating essence, she had feelings she hadn't felt since she was a young girl. Oh, how she wanted to do things, naughty, nasty things.
When he spotted her, his breath was clutched from his chest, ripped away, and with it any thought that he had, except one, desire.
Their eyes locked, her bread she had for the birds dropped. The birds, though initially shocked into an alert state by the change in atmosphere, began to relish in the glorious bounty that had found its way into their presence, particularly during the trying times many avian species were experiencing at the time, a period which would come to be known as the Great Avian Depression. Though many bird families taking residence in the coastal region in which this event took place, the individuals immediately surrounding the elderly caretaker would experience nothing short of luxury for a brief time.
Anyway, apart from the silent rejoicing of the local birds at their newfound bounty, no sound occupied the space between the two eye-locked strangers. The elderly woman was absorbing the information presented by the stranger faster than a Fourier-Transform Infrared Spectrometer. His dirty, slime-coated dungarees provided the optimal amount of realism to his otherwise serene appearance. The fishing pole carried in his right hand projected the illusion of a man who is no stranger to the perils of the outdoors, capable of mastering any challenge thrown his way. The slightly shorter fishing pole carried in his left hand lent the image of a man with the ability to express no limited amount of deep, sensual emotion. The fishing pole slung along his back gave the elderly woman the impression that this was the kind of person who would never give up on something to which he was dedicated. The fishing pole strapped to his inner thigh gave the impression that this was the kind of man who was thoroughly interested in fishing poles. The fishing pole tattoos plastered about his face declared to all listening that this was the sort of man who was exceptionally devoted to that service which he called his job, the light of his life, and that task which he would be satisfied spending the rest of his life completing.
"Is that a fishing pole strapped to your inner thigh, or are you just happy to see me?" jested the rather old woman, who seemed to age in a way that was similar to a fine wine, that is to say that she has matured gracefully and not unceremoniously like many of her elderly compatriots.
"Oh, that was actually just a fishing pole," replied the young man, who was not nearly as old as the woman in which he was conversing.
Suddenly, the young man noticed something moving in his trousers. It felt as though his member was convulsing. It slithered and hissed and began to slide down his knickers. It slid down his leg and coiled at his feet. It began to slide towards the old woman, and moved in a most determined manner. It advanced towards her with such determination that the young man just sat in awe of the event that was transpiring before him. The snake-member then reached the clogs of the old women and began to travel up the woman's leg. She sat, unmoving. She had never encountered such a spectacle. The mans slithery parts had made an advance on her meek frame. She wasn't scared, she was intrigued, she was moist. She had heard tales of such men, the rough sea scouring lads that acquire skills of myth and lore amongst their adventures. Was this man of such background? Was he a merfolk?
Surely not! She retorted internally. Those were things of myth and talk of fools. If only though… If only she had found herself a merfolk. She shook the silly notion from her mind as it must just be a sneaky octopus or such that had found residence in his trousers in this morning's catch. Nothing would care to hold her as such. Especially not the likes of such a fine sailor lad that she had miraculously happened upon. Wiggling her ankle she discouraged the gangly creature from pursuing her any further. Shaking aside the peculiar encounter she opened up in conversation. "How did the seas fair on this misty morning?" She coily bantered if only just to keep the presence of this man as long as she could.
"Aye the seas be rough if ye not know how to treat the fine lass. Worry not though, I know how to treat an aged lady as she. We pleasured her just right to gain the bounty of many fish." At the way he described the sea, so pleasurable yet old, if he could tame the sea then maybe he could…
"I'm sorry my Dear I must be on me way, many fish to lug to the market, must be selling fish to keep my lady lovers happy. Fine gifts they be needed, far too fine that I care to pay for."
Such the audacious tar, the wrinkled shell of a woman thought to herself as the fish-collector sauntered off in his traditionally sexual fashion. Surely this being could be the one destined to tame my fabled privy-counsel. Determined to never again lose sight of this magnificent creature, the sagged mass of flesh rose from her seated position with nothing short of the greatest effort. Every fiber of her being strained under the stress of the planet's rotation-induced gravity. But her yearning for this magnificent fish-focused man drove her above and beyond what would traditionally be considered her physical limitations.
"Please, wait!" the sag-sack called to the fisherman. He turned, a glint of knowing present in the bottomless lavender pits that were his eyes. "I would like to accompany you to the market, should it be suitable with you."
"Oi, cheerio m'love," the tar replied. "I always be enjoyin' pleasurable company when I do be on the move. Hoist the mainsail!" the man shouted to a passing civilian. The passerby, knowing neither anything regarding sailor's jargon nor this particular sailor, walked past the two, having not responded. The elderly woman, however, could see the awe that had encompassed the man's face at being given the honor of interacting with a man as prestigious as a fisherman. The sagged assortment of skin and bones realized, perhaps for the first time, the honor that she held being allowed to even be near the presence of this man whose tallywhacker moved with a most serpent-like suggestion.
The sailor-man and his new-found companion strolled through the fish market, ogling the many curiosities that lay before them. They meandered around a corner of the market when all of a sudden a running figure donning a hood collided with the old women. Knowing that such an impact could have killed the old woman, the young man drew his fish-gutting knife and hollered "Oi! wouldja have on the deck-swab innit!?" The figure then drew a large great-cannon from beneath his cloak, the likes of which have only been seen outside the walls of Byzantium, and pointed it at the young man, who was now standing above the woman, who lay on the muddy road of the fish market they had been pariousing just seconds before this encounter that they currently found themselves in.
"So whazits gunna be, capp'n!?" shouted the young man at the cannon-toting ruffian.
The man said nothing, and only leveled his cannon at the young man as his reply. The cannon fired and made a castrophony so loud that it shook the stalls from whence fish was sold. The young man, whose frame was well-toned and, if I may add, was also stunningly sexy, nimbly dodged the cannon's concussive blast while simultaneously scooping up the old woman's weeping frame. The young man then hurled his fillet knife into the skull of the hooded figure's eye.
A jet of blood erupted from the face of the figure. The figure then crouched to the ground, clutching at his newly found head wound. The slippery nature of the blood caused the figure to slip and fall into the mud. The force of the hulking figure hitting the ground caused the hooded man to soil himself.
Quite a mess had befallen the quaint fishing stall. Not much action had this area seen in some time. Already the the drunken minute men were meandering over to the scene that had just taken place in the dust covered bazaar barely adequate to sell edible goods.
"What ave we ere!" Hiccupped the obese grimy man that seemed to be the head of the drunken duo. " I havent seen a man shyte himself so in all my days! Quite the trouble you've cause me in my parts!"
"YEAHHHHH!" Squeaked his weasel like companion, his small demeanor suggested he only held the position of minute men by relation, maybe brothers to the behemoth beside him. "Wer be looking for trouble makers like ye!" The slanky figure screeched. "Have you hung up in the gallows we will! Murder you have! The most grotesque kind at that!" Howled the imp huddled man.
"Oh shut yur gaping mouth you little worm, I call the shots around here!" Exclaimed the pudgy behemoth as he pulled a large cudgel from his tightly fit belt. "I think we could get a deliccioussss bounty of this sorry scallywag." The fat man belched. " You know who he be Wormtail?" He snickered to his brother.
"Ayyeee I know that fellur!" He be from the bounty at the tavern!", Happily squacked Wormtail.
"Ayeeeee.." Grumbled Rott Gut his older brother from a long distant relation, who's to know whom their mothers were. "This be dat shady sailor bloke wanted for smuggling in at least 4 provinces!"
Without pause, the sailor, still hefting the drooping form of his paramour, drew a fishing pole from over his shoulder. Upon the fish-collection device hung a rather large fish, sporting a violent disposition. "Swab th' poopdeck, ye scallywags, or I be mannin' the crow's nest on ye corpses!"
The two particularly malodorous goons attempted to charge the man, but they did not possess the swiftness of foot necessary to outmatch the gallant seaman. With a flick of his wrist, the fishing pole swung through the air. The fish, being propelled rapidly towards the rather large fellow, released itself from the hooked fishing pole and proceeded to clamp itself onto the man's credentials. Flailing with excruciating pain, the blubbering pile of fat managed to knock over his more feminine companion, creating a somewhat disorganised pile.
"Beware the seven seas, me hearties! I'll be readyin' the portside cannons!" With this final insult, the wanted shipman sprinted down the market street, towing the barely conscious crone with him. "We do be lucky t' be escapin', love," he huffed as he bowled over several large families. "Once we're easin' out to port, we'll have nothin' but poopdecks t' swab."
After a short, but highly energizing jog, the couple found themselves at the local docks, which was partially obscured by the morning mist.
"Right this way, my landlubbin' chrysanthemum on the crimp o' the port-side deckhand," the young man muttered as he took the aging beauty's hand and guided her to a small dinghy moored on the dock. They stepped upon the small vessel and the woman thought to herself, Gosh-golly gee willickers, this must be where this man, who may or may not be a merman, does his work of trade. The couple sat quietly in the boat as the young man rowed into the mist. Could this be it? Could this be the moment? Will I finally lose my virginity? I've spend my whole life looking for love in all the wrong places, could this man (or possible merman) be who I've been waiting for all along? Just as this thought exitted her mind-mouth, the dinghy clumsily collided with a rather large and flat surface.
"Oi, thas be wherez the dogvane dons the down-dressing," the young man mumbled apologetically.
The woman then looked above and saw that the large surface was actually a warship-fishing vessel-dreadnought, likely the only one of it's kind, she surmised.
"This here be th' Scarlett Scoundrel!" " The most feared ship in all the four ports!"
"Neigh," He scoffed as the small docking boat scraped across the girth of the mighty ship. " This be my Scarlet Scoundrel, She be the most sought after mass of lumber sail'n da seven seas she be."
"Sure you can't be…" Whimpered the old mass of rags and flesh, "Surely you can't be the Slithering Saboteur!" She shrieked in soultry disbelief.
"Oh T'is only what my enemies call me, and my lovers." He crafted in such a sentence to awaken the old unawakened parts deep with the old lass.
"Do you think we might, well.. Board the Scarlett Scoundrel my handsome companion? A lady such as I has only dreamed of being on, let alone near, such a ship masqueraded in legend!"
"Maybe it be not only my ship I will let you on." Mysteriously foreshadowed the unreadable gallivanter.
After a long gruelling minute of the transporting vessel grinding to a halt against the massive galleon, The gallant young fisherman grabbed taught a rope hanging perfectly within reach that gracefully tumbled down the tall wall of the gigantic nautical vessel.
Twas not his first time boarding such a vessel, his vessel. The way he worked his hands around the ropes brought a warmth emanating deep from within her.
To be continued…..