The Pier

** Written for a dear female friend, in second person. **

A light drizzle moistened the aging planks of the pier and loosened a little more of the decaying paint from its timbers. The sea looked strangely still, a huge reflecting pool bounded by creamy breakers. Sunset was soon, but in the grey sky it could already have been midnight. Streetlights started to light up and the only other people around were two fishermen in bright yellow rain coats, looking like a drip of yolk in a burnt fried egg.

You were standing by a small fishmonger, sheltering from the hardening rain for which you were unprepared. There was no forecast or warning, the morning had been cool but dry, and so you'd left in trainers, jeans and a warm wool jumper. Now in the rain, the jumper was hardly warm, instead turning into a giant sponge, sucking the moisture from the air. Through the jumper you could feel your t-shirt growing damp and chilling you a little.

You try to remember why you came here, to this place. "Sure," you justified to yourself, "it seemed like a good idea to take a walk, and the sea seemed such a nice green-blue, but why not one of the nicer piers?" It was as if something had drawn you to this place, but not something that was here now. As if a memory of something yet to be had rose to the surface of your mind. You stood musing on the subject a little, wrapping your arms around you for warmth and watching the sea for a bit.

As you stood and stared out over the rippling tide, the two fishermen packed up and wandered off. One lit a damp cigarette; the flaring match seemed to reflect in the water of the pier and bounce through the air. Whiffs of smoke drifted skywards; smoke signals to the gods of bad breath and nicotine. You start to wonder if you should leave, to go home where it's dry and warm instead of here, on some folly, when you notice something in the distance. A light, compelling you to stay and watch as it grew bigger.

The light eventually grew so you could see what it was. A small fishing boat. Aged from years at sea in rougher weather, it could have been built anytime in the last hundred years, with a small stained oak mast, but a small diesel engine chugging away suggested it wasn't quite as old as it looked. A layer of barnacles and faded blue paint just made it seem a little more depressing, but you were somehow drawn to watch it dock to the pier.

Creaks and groans came from the metal ladder along side the pier; the occupant of the boat was slowly climbing up the ladder. Your heart raced a little, though you were not sure why. He stopped at the top of the stairs. A long black raincoat hiding most of his form and a rather damp wool hat was pulled over his head, leaving just his stubble-covered chin visible from your position. He looked across the desolate pier, eventually turning to face you.

His eyes were the same green-blue as the sea and the colour seemed to swirl and move hypnotically. Not a word was spoken but you started to drift towards him, out from your partial shelter by the building and into the now pounding rain. All sense of control drifted from your body as if you were in a dream. As you got within arms length, he opened his coat and wrapped it around the both of you, in a Bela Lugosi-esque move. He had a jumper on; of coarse wool and thick cotton trousers and his body heat warmed yours. Inside this stranger's coat you felt safe and protected, devoid of any normal rationalisation. Before you realise it, you're both at the top of the rusty metal ladder down to his boat.

He kisses you on the lips; his skin is cold and damp, like the pier's boards. The bristles of his stubble prick your face. Despite this you kiss back, running on the dream like sensation. Suddenly a little awareness returns and you start to blush. You think to yourself, "What's happening to me, I'm kissing a man I just met. Here of all places."

You both begin to descend the ladder together, his body over yours, stopping the rain from soaking you even more as you reach the deck. The boards seem sturdy despite a layer of slime and chipped paint. Empty fish traps and nets lay strewn across the deck. In front of you stands a small door, with pealing red paint, to a small cabin. He opens the door, still silent, and motions you inside. Just as you enter you notice him release the guide rope, trapping you aboard ship for what ever may come.

Inside the small cabin is a rather tired looking bed, covered with simple sheets and blankets, a table with two chairs and two empty cups and plates. You feel the boards of the boat seem to vibrate a little, as if you were moving out to sea, with a gentle rocking from the moving water in time with the drumming of the rain. Your clothes drip onto the bare wooden floors and the man re-enters after a few minutes of cold dripping and turns up a small gas heater hanging from the ceiling. He then removes his coat, hanging it by the door. Then he removed his hat, causing shoulder length black hair to fall to his shoulders, slightly damp. He moved over to you and gently eased up your jumper. You stood there offering no resistance as he slid the wet wool from your body and flung it on the floor. The blush returned as you realised you weren't wearing a bra and the cold dampness from the rain had soaked into your white shirt, making it translucent. The blush deepened further when you noticed your nipples had hardened; part from the cold and part from excitement.

You remained frozen and bright red, as he pulled a chair back for you to sit. He then gently eased you into the chair, his hand slightly cold on your shoulder. The chair creaks a little with age as you slide down into it. Blood continues to rush to your skin as he bends to the floor and gently takes one of your ankles in his hand. He unlaces then removes your wet trainer, throwing it aside and revealing a wet white sock, which he slides down, tickling your foot a little as he does so. He releases your ankle, and moves to the other, unlacing that shoe and tossing it aside, with your final sock following it. The hot blushing over your body warms your damp clothing slightly and the floor feels a tiny bit slimy under your now bare feet. He moved further up, running his slightly frigid hands up along your wet jeans, before slowly unbuttoning the fly and lowering the zip. Your blush deepened. Your mind screamed at you to stop him, but you couldn't resist, nor did you want to. Just looking into his swirling eyes removed all doubts and fears.

He pulled down your trousers, his fingers brushing against your thighs. Your breathing hastened as they reached your knees, before being slowly drawn off completely. He then slid his hands gently up, under your wet shirt, freeing it from your body and caressing your skin. A gasp escaped your lips as he began to fondle your breasts playfully. Your shirt slides up and your muster enough strength to pull it over your head. His hands moved back up along your legs, one stopping under your knees the other wrapping round your waist as he lifted you from the chair and lay you on the bed. The fondling resumed along with some light stroking of your legs. Your body relaxed into his touch.

His hand slid under your still soaking panties, though now some of that moisture, you realised with a blush, was coming from you. He begins to stroke and rub over your vigorously, teasing the most sensitive parts with each pass. Small gasps and moans escape your lips. He speeds up allowing his fingers to slide inside you. You close your eyes as he speeds up before stopping and drawing off your panties, leaving you naked and exposed. You hear him remove his jumper and toss it aside, and his cotton pants hit the floor, his boots still knocking on the wood boards.

He mounted the bed towering over you, fondling your breasts rougher this time, and rubbing his body against your thighs, parting your legs. You started to blush more, turning redder and growing more aroused as you felt his manhood swelling against you. He washed over the sands of your body, running his skin close to your heated flesh, before gently teasing himself inside. He began to slowly thrust himself inside you; your cries grew only to be drowned out by the wind and rain. Intense waves of pleasure crashed through your mind as he swelled further deep into you. He sped up, gaining speed and force, rocking you on the bed as the waters rocked the boat. He nibbled your neck as he continued his motion, squeezing your breasts with his cold hands. Your eyes flew open as your pleasure became too much. His eyes seemed to swirl with a torrent of colour as he erupted into you, before becoming still on top of you, pinning you to the bed with his weight.

You lay there panting for a bit, looking around the room when you notice a stained and battered photograph. The sepia print was well worn but you could just make out two people; the man who lay atop you, and a woman, in an old fashioned dress. The woman in the dress seems familiar, until you realise it's you, or at least someone who looked almost exactly like you. Your heart and mind races.

The man stirs silently, you try to move but your muscles feel limp from exertion. He carefully picks up your naked body in his arms and carries you outside into the rain, laying you down on the deck of the boat, before returning inside and coming out with his over coat over him, buttoned up. His large manhood still bare and now re-erect poking out from between it. Your mind is still puzzled over the picture, but soon forgets it as your body yearns for his touch again. He stars gathering up an old hemp rope from the decks, wrapping it around his arm. He then binds the end around your left wrist, tying it with a tight knot, before lifting your body against the mast. He then threw the rope over the yardarm and pulled it tight, raising you onto tiptoes by one hand, before binding your right wrist to the other end of the rope, causing you to hang from the mast. He then took another piece of rope and wrapped it round your waist, binding you tightly to the greasy pole. The rain slicked your skin and caused the rope to swell and the bonds to tighten. He then bent down and bound each of your ankles to the loops on the engine cover, holding you spread-eagled and suspended.

Your brain cuts in just long enough to try to protest, despite your body craving the sensation. The words fail to escape your lips as your body's lusting regains control, leaving your mouth open. He takes a thick piece of loose rope and stuffs it sideways into your mouth, forming a crude bit gag as he ties it behind your head. He then runs his hands over your helpless body. The dreamlike sensation returns, as he looks deep into your eyes, before teasing your most sensitive parts with his fingertips, causing your entire body to blush and spasm. He continues, using his free hand to pinch your nipples and squeeze your breasts. You scream and moan with pleasure into the gag, but all that escapes are muffled cries. He then stops, and rubs his manhood against you, your legs begin to ache and tense, your body begging for him inside. He rubs the very tip against you, the yearning growing almost unbearable before he thrusts inside you. Your body tenses, as if it were trying to hold him further inside as he begins to pull back before thrusting deeper, repeating over and over. Your cries grow louder but are still muffled by the rope in your mouth. Your entire bodyweight hangs, your arms burning and your body forced down by gravity onto him. He continues as the wind raises and waves crash over the boat, spraying you with salt water, until he eventually climaxes again, leaving you limp on the mast.

The storm dies to light rain and he unties you from the mast, taking you back inside and silently giving you your clothes back. You dress as quickly as you can, still quivering from his actions. The boat's engines come to life again, as you are pulling on your jumper; you look out through the door and see the pier approaching again. A distant black spot highlighted by the lights of the town.

The boat pulls up to the ladder and you go to leave but he blocks the doorway for a second, placing something in your hand silently. You take it and he moves aside. The ladder is just ahead and you scramble up, walking as quickly away from it as you can, your brain telling you to get away but your body wanting to stay. You get off the pier and turn for a moment, as if to see him go, but the boat is gone silently into the night. The pier is also gone, just a rotting pile of timber supports, obviously devoid of a pier in decades. Your first thought is that it could be a dream, and then you remember the thing in your hand. As you slowly open your hand inside is a locket, in pure gold. You open it and a little seawater leaks out. Inside is a painted cameo of a woman who looks like you and an inscription. "No matter where you go or do, I'll be there, not even our deaths will stop our love0"