The old fisherman sat out at the end of the dilapidated dock in his lopsided deck chair. Though it was getting on toward evening the sun was nice and warm. He was fishing really light; a homemade bamboo pole and an old reel he maybe got before he had whiskers. Duck-taped it to the pole and wound it with ten pound test. Fishing flounder didn't take much gear. He had a card of hooks, a tin with some weights and floats and some leader. Minnows in an old milk bottle and a plastic paint bucket for his catch. He had caught some.
It was fine fishing the Florida canals. Didn't even have to use the boat. He could have sat on Sadie's lanai and dropped his line into the canal right there. But the flat fish bit better out where the canal met the main channel. Pilings from an older dock were fish heaven, even if they stole his bait sometimes.
He pitched his line out there and let it drift along the bottom, tucked the rod under his arm and closed his eyes. Didn't give a damn if he fell asleep.
Maybe he did snooze. Next thing he knew his chair was shaking and it wasn't a strike. Someone was coming out the dock. Probably one of the Douglas kids. Brats would bug him with too many questions. He pretended to sleep.
"Mind if I lay on my towel here?"
The voice could have been a boy's, but something in the lilt of it told him it wasn't. He squinted one eye open and peeked back over his shoulder.
PYT. Girl in her teens, wrapped in a colorful thing. Beach bag on her shoulder.
"S'a free country. I don't own the dock. It's a little rickety. Two of us might send it in the water.
"I'll hold real still. I just want to catch some rays before the sun goes down. Been stuck in the house all day with those Douglas brats while their momma's at work. She doesn't pay me crap, but I get a bed in the pool house and the Spring in Florida. Hooee! OK, I'll shut up now."
She laid her wrap out on the dock and lay down on it, plugged her earbuds in and thumbed a tune on her iPod. The fisherman went back to his fishing.
Maybe he dozed again but after a while he noticed his chair was jiggling. Behind him the girl was making funny little noises. He peeked over his shoulder again. She was still stretched out on her wrap but her legs were spread wide and swinging side to side in time to music only she could hear. Sometimes her hips did a little twist and bump, like she was dancing horizontally.
Her body was oiled until it was shiny and she had the shoulder straps of her bikini pulled down so as not to leave stripes. Her puppies swelled up above the fabric. The bikini bottoms clung tightly to her, accenting her hipbones and the rounded hill where her dancer's thighs met.
The fisherman felt his pecker spark and he turned away. He wasn't dead yet, but he had traveled a long way from the creature behind him. Oh, he still had it together. He got his old gal Sadie yelling and sweating every Friday night, sometimes on Sunday afternoon and now and again on a Wednesday. When the gear below the belt was recovering he could make some fun with his hands and mouth. But Sadie was a sweet old bird and didn't require a lot of satisfying. This little chicken was another story, though she may have never been with a man.
He thought he had a strike but it was a false alarm. Snag had grabbed the hook and took it away when he tried to pull it in. He cussed some but got it rerigged and out in the water again.
The girl was watching him.
"That was cool. You really know what you're doing."
"Been doing it for a long time."
"Around here?"
"All around Florida; out in the Keys. Down to the islands some."
"You sure are brown. You must've spent all your time in the sun. Don't you worry about cancer and stuff?"
"Not much. I just naturally tan. I think I got some Seminole and Cuban and maybe some black folks mixed in there somewhere."
"You seem pretty strong for an old guy. You make me think of one of those tough twisty trees."
"I'll take that. You make me think of a bowl of peach ice cream."
"I guess I'll take that too. Speaking of; I don't tan like you. I freckle or burn. Can you put some of this stuff on the middle of my back? I can't reach there."
She handed him the tube of lotion.
"You don't have to. The sun is pretty low."
He took the tube and knelt down next to her. His knees hurt. He didn't care. Even in the hot sun her body was cool.
"Hey. That feels so nice. I was looking at your hands and they looked kind of rough. But that's good, just a little scratchy; like a cat's tongue. I hope you'll let me draw your hands. They have real character. Make sure you get the top of my butt. I hate it when I get a burn there. It itches like crazy. And hey, while you're there can you put some on my butt cheeks and the backs of my legs.
"You're teasing me, you know. You could do that part yourself."
"I know, but you're old so I don't worry and besides you are doing it so nice. I just want to melt away. Insides of my legs, please."
He did as he was told. He touched almost nothing he was not supposed to touch. When he got to her feet he cheated a little, letting his thumbs massage the tender spot in the arch and the ball of her foot. He pulled on her toes with the slippery cream sometimes pinching gently the little web between them. She kept her face buried in her towel. One hand tucked beneath her hipbone. She was humming her funny tune again. Her buttocks began to clench and loosen, clench and loosen. He pretended to ignore this, concentrating on pressing his hard thumbs gently into the sole of her feet. Suddenly she shivered all over, gave a sharp squeak and then lay still. He laid her feet on the wrap and returned to his chair. She slept.
It was almost dark when she woke. Quietly she gathered her things then came to stand beside his chair.
"Thanks for the super massage. I've never had that feet thing. You're good. I'm so relaxed. See you soon."
She planted a sweet wet kiss on his cheek at the corner of his mouth. He swore he felt the tip of her tongue. For a moment a sound like crashing waves beat in his ears.
"Old fool," he muttered to himself as he gathered his gear and headed off to Sadie's.
A couple of days later he had taken his spot again when he felt the familiar trembling of the dock. As luck would have it, he got a strike at just that moment. From the way the pole bent it was a pretty big one, and feisty. Took a while to land; serious old flounder, almost eighteen inches. Make some good eating.
He was removing the hook when she spoke.
"You're not going to kill it, are you?"
"I usually eat 'em."
"But she's so beautiful, and strong."
He never found fish particularly beautiful, least of all flounder, with their silly lopsided eyes on one side of their heads. But t we girl was staring into his bucket with big, sad eyes.
"Would you let her go, for me? I know people do that. Catch them and then let them go. Could you do that?"
"He was going to be my dinner."
"You can share mine. See. I've got KFC, five pieces, and biscuits and coleslaw. O.K.? Please let her go."
"I could do that."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. You just made my day."
She flung her arms around him and kissed him all over his face.
"Easy, easy now."
"Hey, can I touch it? Before you put back in."
The old fisherman reached into the bucket and skillfully snared the fish in a gill. Lifting it out, the thing struggled, arched its body, gasped. The gills were crimson and he knew that the hidden parts of the girl were just as bright. She reached out a pale hand with silver-green nail polish and laid it on the back of the flounder. The fish pushed against her palm.
"Ooh, she's so alive. I can feel her life. Look how she is brown on top like your skin and white underneath like mine. That's so you can't see her when she's on the sand and can't see her if you're underneath her and her body is above you against the sky. Her teeth aren't big but she sure can hide. So how'd you catch her?"
