Aurora - Wings of the Goddess

This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are 18 and over.

SHOWDOWN

The toilet was in the port hull, way down the back past a galley and storage area. Beck had never been inside a catamaran before and was amazed at the spaciousness. Aurora's dimensions seemed claustrophobic by comparison and she found herself idly wondering, as she sat on the loo, if she should talk the old man into trading up. She was just helping herself to some tissue when there was a knock at the door. "You in there, Sweetheart?"

"Won't be a minute." Beck sang, hastily wiping and ditching two crumpled sheets.

More knocking. "Need some help?"

Beck stood and flushed the toilet then reefed up her lacy pink knickers. 'Help?' she wondered, wiggling her bottom to seat her briefs before smoothing her dress. 'Silly old man'. "Coming." she called, quickly rinsing her hands.

There was a grunt of laughter and a low voice said, "You know I'd really like to see that."

Beck slid the door aside expecting her old man, only to come face-to-face with the big burly sex-pest instead. One arm braced on the overhead, he eyed Beck with a suggestive smirk, his bulky body completely barring the way. Surprised and alarmed in equal proportions, Beck looked him up and down with glaring disdain. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Just checkin' you're all okay."

"What makes you think that's any of your business?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, "it's just your grandpa asked me to look after you."

"Pull the other one." Beck snorted.

"Nah, it's true. Just before he left."

"Left where?"

"Here. He just fucked off in a tender. With some chick."

"Nuh uh!"

"Yah hah. I just seen him."

"You're so full of shit." Beck sneered, indignation masking her alarm.

"You really should learn some manners you know. Especially when alls I'm doin' is just looking after you. I mean, little girl like you... someone has to."

When Beck went to push past, the one-man barricade did his best to ensure maximum contact. Heart hammering, she mounted the steps, then threaded her way through the crowded saloon. Emerging into the cool nighttime air, she hopped up onto the left hand hull. "Hey!" she called breathlessly to the revellers on the neighbouring cat, "Is Damon there?"

There was a brief conference. "He just took off in a dinghy, didn't he?" someone said and Beck's heart hit the soles of her bare feet.

A calloused hand ran up the inside of Beck's thigh, under her dress, and a hot breath was steaming up her shoulder. "See," Kurt leered, "you done been ditched, little bitch."

Beck seized his hand to drag it away. "Two fucking seconds," she snarled, "and I scream 'rape'!"

He reluctantly withdrew, stroking her leg all the way. Beck was breathing hard and her shapely little chest was heaving, merely adding to her allure. She looked around, searching desperately for Vicky, only to find her on the far side of the after-deck, deep in conversation with the lady of the cat. Great. Her old man had bailed and Vicky was occupied. She was all on her own.

"I don't know why you're getting so upset," Kurt said reasonably, "I said I'd look after you."

"Well this must be my lucky day."

"Now you're getting it."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I know, so was I. You know all I'm trying to do is be friendly and you can't even bother saying 'please' or 'thank you'. Doesn't say much for your upbringing."

"You know you're right," Beck said reasonably and the big man's bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise, "you shouldn't be wasting your time on someone so rude. Off you go. Bye."

Kurt's sleazy grin reminded Beck of a lizard, though on second thoughts she remembered that she loved lizards.

"I'd be more than happy to teach you some manners."

"Why waste your time?"

"That's just the sort of guy I am. I'm a giver, ask anyone. Listen, Rebecca. How would you like to go on a little adventure."

"When I'm already having a big one? No thanks."

"No, seriously, just hear me out. I would like to make you the offer a lifetime."

Beck studied her fingernails, affecting boredom. "Oh really?"

"Ever been to Thailand?"

Beck bit off a fragment of nail and spat it overboard.

"That's where we're headed right now. Up to the Cape then, then next stop Phuket. Ever been to Phuket? White beaches. Phang Nga Bay with its limestone karsts. It's like something out of a movie."

"Thanks for the tip. I'll make sure to put it on my bucket list."

"No, really." Kurt breathed. "I've been going there for years and know all the locals. I've even got my own village where they treat me like a king. They worship me I'm tellin' ya. For looking after the orphans and stuff. And building a school. You know in Thailand... with enough dough and the right connections... you can have anything. And I mean anything. Diamonds, pearls," he winked, "boys, girls, whatever you fancy. Someone with your looks, that beautiful blonde hair, they'd think you dropped down straight out of heaven. You'd live like a princess. Same goes for your sis."

"No kidding?"

"No joke. Just imagine. Living in a villa on the beach, swimming pool, bar, hot and cold running servants. And every night's like a party, with all the local heavies on board. Like something straight out of Hollywood."

"And all of this for the low, low price of...?"

Kurt arched his eyebrows. "We'll work something out."

"Have you any idea how old I am?"

The big man leant into her until she could smell his cigarette breath. "Won't matter where we're going. Anyway, whatever you are, I've had younger."

Beck's skin tried to crawl off her bones. "Thought as much. You know I wouldn't set foot on your boat if I'd been treading water for a week. And I was surrounded by sharks, in the middle of the Pacific."

"Well you haven't seen my boat for starters. And I'm pretty sure I could make it worth your while."

"And I'm pretty sure you couldn't. Not for all the tea in China. All the coke in Columbia. Not for all the-"

A presence loomed behind her and Beck looked over her shoulder as Kurt's fat sidekick weighed in. "Have you arksed her?"

Kurt grunted with laughter. "She's thinking about it."

"What's to think? Come on, Sweetheart, don't you know we've got our own village? Right on the beach? White sand, coconut palms. We're like royalty over there. They call him Ke Thay. It means 'Big Man'."

"Either that or they just can't pronounce his name."

"No, really. Pass this up and you'll be kicking yourself the rest of your life. Ever wanted to live like a movie-star? In a little slice of paradise? Here's your chance."

"Speaking of movies." Kurt rumbled.

"Kurt makes pornoes, you know. That is he stars in them. Top shelf. Wanna know what his stage-name is? 'King Schlong'."

"Are you fucking serious?" Beck demanded. "And I'm supposed to be impressed?"

"Come on, Darlin'." Kurt chuckled sleazily, "Size matters."

"Especially when it comes to IQ."

"I've never had any complaints. In either department."

"Fellas," Beck said reasonably, doing her best to channel her old man, "I'm flattered, really. But I wouldn't touch either of you assholes with a forty foot barge pole."

Kurt's pal jerked his head in the bigger man's direction. "If it's a barge pole you're after."

"Six chances." Beck sniffed. "Nix, nought, nil, fuck-all, yours, and none."

"Come on," Fatboy persisted, "let's nip back to your boat and you can pick up some gear. Won't be needing much. A bikini, your passport."

"Won't even need a bikini," Kurt added, "most of the time."

Beck bundled her hair, exposing her pale underarms. "No offence, boys, but have you any idea how repulsive you are? The pair of you? Like, really stomach turning?"

"Well that's what you say," Kurt replied, "but that's not what I see in your body language. Have you ever studied human behaviour. If you had, you'd understand what you're really doing is testing my resolve."

"Mine as well." Fatboy cut in. "But I'm a pushover I have to tell you."

"It's a biological thing," Kurt carried on, ignoring his pal, "it's all just part of natural selection. You're only putting up fight because you're interested, and you wanna see if I'm worthy."

Beck screwed her face up staring at him in frank dismay. But deep inside she felt the stirring of a primal female urge, as her prehuman archetype went down on all fours, tail in the air, daring him to take her. As shocking as it was, she realised she was nevertheless aroused by the brute's bare-faced effrontery, and knew if things were different, if she were alone, he could just take her by force and she'd simply submit. "Are you for fucking real?" she breathed. "I've scraped less offensive stuff off the sole of my flip-flops."

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're talking up a big game, but what I'm actually picking up is a horny little girl who likes what she sees but is still determined to make me work for it. It's absolutely natural female behaviour."

"So now you're a psychologist."

"I am actually. I've got a PhD in the inner workings of chicks' minds from the University of Life. Come on, put your money where your mouth is. Come back to my boat and let your body do the talking. Let's see what it has to say."

Beck hesitated just that instant and he knew he had her. The thought, 'Why not?' was just crossing her mind, when a body pushed between Kurt and his buddy. "Becky?" Vicky said breathlessly taking her hand. "Where's Damon?"

"I don't know." Beck replied as Kurt looked on with a smug smile.

"Come on, Beck." Vicky huffed, "I think we'd better get out of here."

"You're telling me." Beck shuddered, throwing off the thrall.

"What about Damon?"

Beck looked up. There was nothing more to see of the moon than a silver sickle at the rim of a coal-black disc, and the stars had all come out to celebrate. "He's a big boy. If he wants to rack off and leave me to the mercy of these clowns."

"My thoughts exactly." Vicky nodded, dragging Beck bodily between the barricading males, "I'll grab the pot."

"I'll untie the tender."

"What boat are you on again?" Kurt called. "We might pop over and pay you a visit."

One look at her expression and Vicky pulled Beck to a halt. "No worries." she said, "We'll be waiting with the capsicum spray."

Beck jumped from tender to tender until she found theirs. Rather than manoeuvre and untie from the cat, she ditched their tangled painter instead and pushed off. Vicky was waiting at the stern of the starboard hull when Beck nudged in, and jumped into the RIB, pot and all. Standing beside Kurt, their hostess, Libby, watched with a self-satisfied smile as the two filthy sluts abandoned her ship. Running a hand down Kurt's back, she slipped it under the waistband of his shorts and squeezed his ass. "Was that little harlot coming on to you, Kurtie?"

"Couldn't keep her hands off him." Bowl-haircut replied.

Libby towed her startled-looking guest in the direction of the dance floor. "You have no idea, Kurt, but you have just dodged a bullet."

* * *

They had only gone a few hundred meters, at full throttle, in the pitch dark, when a second dinghy roared in from starboard and they almost collided. "What the bloody hell are you up to, Becky?" Watson roared, heavy breathing with fright and excitement. He'd caught the merest glimpse of Beck's white dress and a flash of her platinum hair as the RIB blasted through a fragment of lamplight. The high-speed intercept had been made mostly by ear and had very nearly culminated in a round of synchronised swimming.

Beck throttled back and killed the motor. She stood, trembling. "Where the fuck have you been, Damon Watson?" she cried, so overjoyed at finding him she could have torn him limb from limb.

"Having a smoke with the neighbour if that's okay with you."

"Then why the fuck are you out in a tender?"

The floating sesh was Mick's idea. There was a big, burly joker at the party on Barretts' cat, with curly grey hair and a fat, stupid pal. They'd joined in twice, uninvited, for a smoke, and commandeered the evening's previous spliffs.

"I don't like crowds." the old man growled.

Mick fumbled with his head-mounted torch and the light came on.

"Please, Mister," Beck pleaded, "turn it off!"

The light went out but not before Watson saw that neither Beck nor Vicky was wearing a vest. "What the bloody hell's going on?" he demanded, alarmed and mystified in equal measure but doing his best to sound gruff, "Where are you going?"

"Home!" Beck quavered.

Watson looked up. The eclipse had peaked, and the trailing sickle of silvery light was visibly growing. "But we're gonna miss the fireworks." he said, struggling for a grip on normality. "You want to be there for the fireworks, don't you?"

"We've already had them." Vicky said flatly.

Watson's brain was sloshing around in a swill of recreational molecules and he still had one foot in La La Land. It suddenly occurred there might be more to their hasty dash and three might be a crowd. "You want some alone time? I can just stay here if you'd prefer."

"Dommy," Beck breathed, "trust me. Trust us. Let's just go home and make up our own fun."

Watson looked around in the dark weighing his options. Beck was right, dope really did make pretty girls prettier and the French scientist, Genevieve, was a perfect subject. But for Beck to be waterborne without her buoyancy vest, it had to be serious. "You sure?"

"Dead sure!" Beck nodded.

The old man heaved a sigh. "Sorry to smoke and run, Mick. Duty calls."

"Understood." the pint-size technician nodded. He couldn't see them clearly now, but he'd admired the two young women earlier, so waited a few desperate seconds in case of an invite. When the old man offered his hand his spirits deflated.

"Thanks again, mate. Killer dope."

"Pleasure, Damon. We've got an awesome coffee machine back on Serenity. Why not swing-by for a brew in the morning?"

"Maybe." Watson nodded. Not 'I'll think about it', which always meant yes, but 'maybe', which meant what it said.

Beck and Vicky hung on to Mick's tender while Watson transferred, almost falling overboard in the process.

"Nice sort of meeting you, girls," Mick called as they shoved off.

Beck waved. "Thanks for looking after my old man."

"Would you mind telling the others I got called back on watch?" Watson said.

Mick clunked his outboard into gear. "Aye aye skipper." Pointing his nose at the lights in the distance, he throttled up the engine and roared away. Someone launched a skyrocket. Seconds later, the sound of whooping and cheering drifted over the sea.

Watson sat heavily in the nose of the tender and leant back. Straddling his legs, Beck came down hard on his thighs and bunched her fist. "Don't you ever do that again!" she railed, punching him hard on the bicep.

"Oww!" Watson cried, rubbing his arm. "Do what?"

"Piss off on me like that."

Vicky raised her hand. "And me."

"You left me to the mercy of a pair of knuckle-dragging cavemen. It was horrible."

"You don't understand, Moosh," Watson protested, "it was a matter of life and death. Didn't you see that god-awful woman?"

"Who?"

"Who do you think? Frikken' Libby."

"Well if she was that bad, why were you dancing with her?"

"That wasn't dancing. It was a fight for survival."

"Could have fooled me."

"Are you kidding? Didn't you see her humping my leg?"

"I'm surprised you even noticed, you were so busy ogling her tits."

She had him there. He was compelled by order of DNA to admire breasts of any description- big, small, old, young, even Libby's. "It wasn't how it looked, Moosh, honest. She was all over me like a rash, and that thing down the front of her shorts kept trying to bite me. You saw her Macca. That woman's a monster."

"Oh I don't know," Vicky said, pretending to study her nails, "Libby and I had a lovely old chat."

The old man stared at her shadowy silhouette. "You did?"

"Uh huh."

"What about?"

"Oh you know, the usual stuff. Like what did I think I was doing, sailing around with a doddering old fossil."

Watson reared upright. "Are you frikken' serious?"

"Uh huh." Vicky nodded "And she wanted to know if Beck was your daughter. And if you were having sex with her."

Watson struggled to his knees, incandescent with indignation. "You gotta be kidding! She actually asked you?"

"Well it was more of an accusation than a question I have to admit. Oh, and she also reckons Beck's underage. And that I might be bonking her as well."

Watson and Beck huffed and puffed with mutual affront. "That fucking bitch!" the old man fumed.

"And just how old does she reckon I am?" Beck demanded.

"Somewhere between ten and thirteen." Vicky grinned, ticking her under the chin. "You widdle baby-face you."

"The fucking nerve." Watson seethed. "What makes her think it's any of her business?"

"Because she's a psychologist," Vicky said, throwing fuel on the fire, "or so she said. And she was worried in a... 'professional sense'... something 'untoward' might be going on."

"A fucking psychologist?"

"So she says."

"Well that's me fucked."

"Why?"

"Think about it. Antisocial, antiauthority, not to mention weed smoking layabout. Borderline hippy, harbouring a runaway. Putting my name to a fraudulent document... You want more?"

Vicky patted his knee. "I said psychologist, Darling, not psychic and anyway it was just an excuse. A cover for her real agenda."

"Which was?"

"To get us the hell off her boat." Vicky said, pointing from herself to Beck.

"What for?" Beck pleaded. "We weren't hurting anyone."

"Except her ego."

"You mean she was jealous?" Beck asked.

"Oh yeah." Vicky nodded. "Remember back in the hotel, when you came to save me? You said I had that dragon thing?"

"A touch of the old Jade Dragon?"

"That's the one. Well she WAS the green dragon, jealousy incarnate. Right down to the ability to breathe fire. Or in her case spew vitriol."

Beck squinted at her. "What?"

"Vitriol. Vitriol can mean malice or acid, the two things are very similar." Vicky laughed. "Did you see her face when you ditched her, Damon? It's like you'd just gone number two on her nice cream leather upholstery."

"Well there were plenty of other guys to choose from," Beck said petulantly, "why didn't she just go after one of them?"

"Because it wasn't about gratification," Watson cut in, "it was about power. She was probably expecting me to fall in a slobbering heap at her feet."

"Pretty much," Vicky agreed, "and when you didn't... when you physically fought her off and jumped ship, well, just imagine."

"That doesn't excuse those allegations she made." Watson said darkly. "I mean to come up with something as... as... as... as twisted as that."

"What?" Vicky hooted with laughter. "That Beck's your daughter? And you're having sex with her? I know, right? What sort of idiot would you have to be?"

"But you actually saw her birth certificate," Watson said, "and caught us red-handed. But to come up with that just because you've got your nose out of joint..."

The RIB, comfortably adrift, was heaving on the desultory swell. More and more of the moon was showing her face, while the stars faded reluctantly away. Vicky patted the deck beside her and when the quiet reshuffle was done, Vicky and Watson were on one side of the tender, Beck on the other between them. "I still can't believe the nerve of that woman." Watson said under his breath.

"Look," Vicky said, "to be perfectly honest, when it's all said and done it was probably my fault."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, when Libby asked if Beck was your daughter I said 'yes'. Then straight away I said 'no'. Not a good look. One way or another she knew I was lying."

The RIB was slowly revolving in the current. A huge fusillade of fireworks lit up the sky, followed seconds later by a crackle of explosions. "Well that still doesn't excuse what she said." Watson rumbled. "I've got a bloody good mind to go back and straighten her out. It's a small community you know, yachting. And rumour is the only thing that travels faster than light."