10 MMV: Rocking the Boat
"You've got that kind of love that I've been dreaming of/I know what I see, and you're incredible/You've got what I need and I can't let you go…" –MAALA, Kind of Love
1 pm, Week 5, Lake Wanaka Marina, Roys Bay, Lakeside Road, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand
"You've seriously never gone sailing before?" Wyatt asked incredulously, tying various sailor knots along silver metal-hooked features on the structure that resembled infinity symbols. Matilda shook her head.
"Ok, well, for starters—here's some key language," Wyatt began. Matilda rolled her eyes. Another lesson. "Matilda," he said in a moodier voice that sent pleasant tingles down her spine, "I'm serious. Do you want to stay on the boat or accidentally capsize?" Matilda bade him continue.
"Ok then," he said. "Basically, the aft is the back of the boat, aka the stern. The front of the boat is the bow. Port is left, and starboard is right. Leeward (or "lee") is opposite to the wind. The boom is this pole," he rapped his knuckles on the horizontal structure extending from the bottom of the mast.
"Haha, boom," Matilda snickered, unable to help herself; she had an extremely juvenile sense of humor and knew it.
"Val," Wyatt said. "I'm warning you…" he resumed talking. "The rudder is a flat piece under the boat to steer; tacking changes the wind from one side to the other, via the boom."
"Or what?" Matilda penetrated his personal space, stroking his beach-blond hair as he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of coconut-lime emanating from her soft hand. In the past couple of weeks, their overtures had included holding hands or hugging as a means of emotional comfort or stroking the other's hair when the senior-level counselors weren't looking. There wasn't an anti-fraternization law on the camp rulebooks, but both Wyatt and Matilda still wanted to play things safe. Matilda had come to appreciate the splendor of Camp Wanaka's placid surroundings; neither of them wanted a camper or coworker to accidentally walk in on them, which would undoubtedly result in suspension of duties, or at worst, expulsion without a letter of recommendation, which both of them needed to enter the working world.
And Matilda knew her only hope at finding a job was the magical realm.
Her at-times volatile temper meant that she needed to seek permanent employment in a place that was not only fireproof, but where her conflagration skills were accepted, openly welcomed, and understood, instead of landing her in prison, or worse, in a medical research facility for the rest of her life. Someplace that appreciated her brains and didn't begrudge her for being a woman. From what she understood of her mother Macy's tales about Whitelighters and the Elders of yore, the magical realm was pretty progressive, and tended to employ women just as much, if not more than, men.
Matilda recalled the website she'd read over breakfast in "incognito mode," detailing the possible career paths of a being such as herself. Apparently, it was possible to become a sous-chef, with her hot-tempered ability to set fires instantaneously, but she crossed that off her list as she imagined it would make her blood pressure skyrocket—and that wouldn't be conducive to one's longevity, magical or not. Other options included camp counselor or special effects designer; the first was only a hobby, and the second seemed a bit out of reach. It required a bachelor's degree, which was certainly feasible, but also required knowledge of industry-standard software programs such as RenderMan. Was that, like Slender Man? She had no idea. The website also recommended borrowing books from the library on anatomy and movement (bad idea for a walking fire hazard), going to ballet performances (ew, why), and taking trips to the zoo to observe animals (she was opposed to the capture of animals for human enjoyment). Also, her attention span was semi-nonexistent at times. So what should she do instead?
It was then that she spotted a career listing for a consultant, defined online as "a person who provides expert advice professionally." On anything, it seemed, she thought to herself as she reviewed the page, as her smile broadened into a grin. Even though her fire abilities seemed a lifelong curse, she had memorized roughly thirty different shades of colors typically associated with flammability; perhaps she could turn that into a lucrative career, honing in on designers and marketing companies looking to redo their logos? The possibilities, it seemed, were endless…
1:30 pm, Sailboat, Lake Wanaka, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand
The sailboat pitched and swerved as Wyatt continued navigating against the northwest wind, a mere three miles per hour, but which felt like more at times. Once they had gone further asunder and the breeze died down, Wyatt pitched his anchor and they lay on their backs, staring at the clouds in the expansive sky overhead.
"Do you ever think about what comes next?" Matilda asked suddenly, turning to face him, a mere several inches away.
"Next?" Wyatt asked quizzically. "Like…next…career steps? Life?" He laughed. "That's kind of an open-ended question, Val," he said, reaching over to stroke her crimson curls.
"Y'know, after camp, when we leave to go home, or even after we get older," she responded. "What're you going to do next?"
Wyatt paused to think this question over. "Honestly, if I could, I'd never leave this camp—but since it's only going to be open two months of every year, I gotta keep my options open."
"Your options being…?" Matilda's legs found themselves intertwined with Wyatt's, as she touched his brightly-colored hair.
"…Becoming a Whitelighter, an Elder-in-Training, a teacher, or a consultant," he replied. "But I'm not thrilled about just orbing, day after day, being in the service of someone else. I mean, I like being a free agent too much for that. My Great-Aunt Paige doesn't want me being an Elder-in-Training because she heard how a bunch were killed off around 2019 when the next Charmed Ones ascended—"
"My mom and my aunts, you mean," clarified Matilda.
Wyatt nodded. "Paige doesn't want to lose me too. Which I totally get since her mom was killed at Camp Skylark. It's actually how she got the idea for Camp Wanaka—to create a magic camp in Great-Grandma Patty's memory and all."
"Wow, that's really cool," Matilda answered, impressed. "I didn't know." After a beat, she resumed speaking. "What about becoming a teacher? I think you'd be good at that, I mean, you've helped me, and I'm literally the worst—"
Wyatt laughed aloud. "You put in the hard work, Val, and I wish you'd stop being so hard on yourself." In a more serious tone, he continued. "Teaching would work with my camp schedule, but I'd have problems trying to suppress my orbing abilities."
"Like how I have fire issues?"
"Yeah, more or less," replied Wyatt. "Imagine if I was triple-booked with back-to-back classes and a spur-of-the-moment parent meeting about why their kid flunked their PE exam, with a morning assembly after all that. And what if I had an off day, was really tired, and accidentally orbed while addressing hundreds of kids and their teachers at said assembly? I'd have to call someone in to memory wipe them all—"
"Oof," Matilda could imagine the resulting chaos and the media maelstrom. "Yeah, I don't blame you. I guess that leaves one other job path then?"
"I guess," said Wyatt, "being a consultant means being a jack-of-all-trades—once I move up the food chain, I can adjust my hours, work at camp over the summer, and do what I want without freaking everyone out." His toes touched hers, and they played a several-second haphazard game of footsie, which abruptly ended after Matilda was nearly tossed overboard (thankfully, Wyatt's arm reached out and yanked her back onto dry ground).
"You ok?" he asked, checking her for any scratches. She nodded imperceptibly and sighed, as they sat down once more. He placed his arm around her as she buried her face in his shoulder, her crimson, glittering curls covering the length of his faded t-shirt. He rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing motion. Wondering, thinking, in the back of his mind, what it would be like to take a piece in his mouth, observing its spring and sprightly movement, as he gently led her toward his bed and she made a come-hither motion with that dainty finger of hers, lifting her tank top to—
"That's the thing about magic, isn't it?" Matilda murmured, jolting Wyatt out of his sensual daydream. "We have strange gifts that scare others. And it's up to us to figure out how to use them without hurting the people we love."
"R-right," Wyatt stammered, then recovered himself. "I prefer," he said, "to think of them as 'tools of empowerment,' to help make the world a better place."
"Huh," mused Matilda aloud. "Tools of empowerment. I like that." She smiled as she kissed one of his locks of hair, surprising herself with her sudden boldness.
"Oh, really?" answered Wyatt, attempting to sound casual. "There anything else you like?" His eyes began to dilate as he surveyed her form, curvy, slender, and exquisite as always, his visage now inches away from hers.
"You," whispered Matilda. "I like you."
1:50 pm, Sailboat, Lake Wanaka, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand
Their lips met in a heated fervor, as Matilda found one of her hands pinned to the boat as the other grabbed Wyatt's ass, drawing his form nearer to her. She would have worried about whether they'd be seen, but they were so far from shore that the possibility of being spotted was remote. She felt the stiffness of his length along her thigh, and she welcomed it as they engaged in a close tango of cacophonous, frenetic bouts of kissing, much in the way of horny high-schoolers in the backseat of one's Buick, or whatever car it was back in the 1960s, Matilda thought to herself, as she felt the rutting of Wyatt's hardness repeatedly making contact with her upper thigh, as they continued to make out without a single care in the world. Fuck, this felt amazing.
8 pm, Wanaka Lakefront, Ardmore Street, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand
Knapsack on her back, she smoothed her hands over her navy blue Jain v-neck low-cut mini dress, with its airy blouson long eyelet sleeves, the form-fitting ensemble cropped at an elevated angle so that it was closer to her upper thighs and crotch than her kneecaps. A risky choice, she knew, but one to tantalize. Matilda sported a long wraparound Von Furstenberg-style black sweater which she wore in the company of the other counselors, who talked casually amongst themselves, unaware of the fact that she and her oh-so-sexy division partner, Wyatt, had spent the earlier half of the afternoon in a heavy make-out session that would no doubt scandalize the director, if made known.
Matilda checked the movie screen. Good. The boats? Motoring and taking in each set of assigned kids. Tealights? Ambient as ever, she thought with satisfaction, as she observed their glow emanating from the sides of the movie screen, with the addition of tiki torches around the pier for added visibility.
She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. Wyatt. She grinned. "Shall we?" he offered his arm and she took it as he led her onto one of the broad red-and-white boats. He entered the covered room containing the driver's seat and began steering, making his way to a particularly dark outfield-like corner of the lake where she noticed none of the tealights' reflected shimmers had even begun to touch. Perhaps he'd done this on purpose? The thought struck her as he parked, and exiting the covered room, threw down the anchor.
8:30 pm, Red-and-White Boat, Wanaka Lakefront, Ardmore Street, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand
The movie had begun, and Matilda and Wyatt were cloistered within the covered room, its windowpanes allowing them both to view the grand-scale film from a distance. "What's our job today?" asked Matilda, peering over at the tiny boats that appeared to be red dots from where they were situated.
"Nothing, except watch if a camper tries to leap off the boat and swim to shore or transform into a flamingo and eat another camper that turned into a fish. Why?" Wyatt made mention of one of his previous tutorials from earlier that week, in which he had given a swim test to a group of campers. One camper grew impatient at having had to tread water for ten minutes straight, and transformed into a catfish; another camper, deciding she was hungry, decided to turn into a fluorescent pink flamingo and eat said catfish, which resulted in both being sent to the infirmary, luckily with no long-term effects except for two weeks' suspension and a temporary magic ban. Kids these days, thought Wyatt to himself, shaking his head at the time.
"Oh, no reason," Matilda responded, noticing that there was standing room only in this enclosed area, save for the driver's seat, which Wyatt currently occupied. She slowly unraveled her Von Furstenberg sweater, which dropped to the ground, and sat on Wyatt's lap, as he inhaled sharply, as if caught off guard.
"W-wow Val—" he stammered, noticing just how high Matilda's tight dress went—nearly up to her creamy thigh—"you look really—really—" he swallowed hard as he found himself straddled by Matilda's sinewy legs, "beautiful." He felt himself harden, hoping that this tantalizing goddess before him wouldn't notice, trying to shift himself this way and that, awkwardly trying to distract his mind from her luscious curls, her beguiling smile, and—oh!—her hands, which snaked down to his trouser shorts, unbuttoning and pulling his stiffened self out from his fabric confinement, leaking with the tiniest droplets, which she rubbed with the pad of her thumb, causing him to throw his neck back and groan with frustration, coupled with pure, unadulterated pleasure. She had known all along, just how to tease him and drive him utterly wild.
"Fuck, Valensi," he muttered into the bed of curls that wound around his visage, as he involuntarily thrusted into Matilda's grasp, as she rubbed his length with an unprecedented vigor. His once-cream-colored complexion now showed bright patches of red upon his cheeks, as he felt himself pumping, his balls coursing with silvery liquid threads, toward his fast-approaching apex. "How—" he began, "—do you—want to—do—this?" Wyatt asked between gasps, as Matilda's hand tightly encircled his hardness. Without answering, she ducked down below and kissed his exposed self, then took him into her mouth as he bucked, grasping her curls tightly in his fist, his other hand holding the steering wheel for dear life. Holy Hera and all that was horny, that felt magnificent…he could feel the familiar rivulets deliciously coursing through his pulsating veins, as he muttered "soon—Val—"
"What's my name?" Matilda paused for a moment and stared him straight in the eyes.
"M-Matilda—" Wyatt stammered, trying to suppress a groan.
"That's right," she whispered, before taking him within her mouth, her lips surrounding his length; he could practically see stars.
"Ohhh—Matilda!" he hissed, "ohhhh—" shuddering as he thrust one final time, causing wave upon wave of his essence to spurt forth, as Matilda swallowed in the seconds that followed.