Song of the Day: Lead Sails (and a Paper Anchor) by Atreyu
Hump Day Kick Start – for your muse, a writing picture prompt, or just a visual treat.
Yeeeeesssss…….
In honor of my newest tattoo, I present today’s prompt.
Who is our tattooed sailor? Is he captain of my, er, I mean, a sailing vessel? Is he a stowaway caught by the boat’s the sexy owner? Maybe he is a deckhand on a restored 18th century ship. Or is he the floating museum’s curator? Who is he looking at? What is his expression? Why is he lying on the deck? Did his beautiful first mate just pop him in his jaw? If so, why? Maybe his adorable, but clueless, passenger he let take the helm knocked him off his feet (literally) as she turned the wheel into a particularly rough wave. Too bad she doesn’t know port from starboard.
Details. I want details. What is you take? Let’s hear from you.
MUSETRACKS 
“(groan) Will warned me if I tried to hijack all the Black and White Cookies, I’d get knocked on my ass by Cap’n Pistol….. I should have listened to him. The Cap’n is too tough for me, and if I just stay here she can’t knock me down again…..”
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LOL! Nice, Will. Makes a Momma proud. I taught Capt’n Pistol all she knows. 😉
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Oh, you’ll get details, Missie! In honor of your new tatt I’ll think up something JUST this side of x-rated and come back later. Yoga’s canceled tonight so no rushing off this time! May want to get yourself a cup of tea, it’ll be a long one . Yeah, I said long one. 😉
(Hope against hope this isn’t Paul Walker. Makes me so sad.) 😦
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Oooohh…. just this side of X-rated, huh, Sarah? Can’t wait!
(Not Paul Walker. No worries.)
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The picture didn’t load, but I tweeted.
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Thank you, Ella!
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Sorry… I got nuthin’ today.
Except that poor Rudolpho ought to learn how to tie that know so his hand doesn’t get trapped.
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Maybe soneone tied Rudolpho there. I would. You know, so he wouldn’t get away. *snickers*
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Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up…
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Grr. Make that: Help! I’ve fallen for you and I can’t get up! 😉
ps
Why no photo of your sweet new tat?
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No, no. Don’t get up. Let me join you down there.
LOL! Nice, Kristen.
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Bryce Walker, younger brother to the late Paul Walker, was lost at sea 10 years ago. Seems he and a couple of friends were surfing Jaws Beach (Peahi in Maui) in the aftermath of Hurricane Frederick. The riptide was fierce, but the waves were 40 stories tall which made surfing that day all the more appealing to Bryce. 5 minutes (and one surfing attempt) later his friends caved and sat on the sand.
When the handsome daredevil took on a 65 foot wave it felt like he was skimming the edge of the universe. Once the swell settled, shooting him closer to the beach he heard his friends cheering and waving. He’d ripped down a 65 foot wave without falling. He spread his arms wide and laughed in triumph at the still-black clouds whipping passed.
Now Karma is not gentle with arrogance. The next time he tried skimming into the roar of a pipeline he wiped out and only his longboard resurfaced.
The Coast Guard, his friends, relatives (even Paul) and the townies of Maui searched for days. The remaining islands were on the lookout for a body washing ashore, but no trace of Bryce was ever found. They buried an empty casket and honored him with the surfers circle, called a paddle out. Time marched on and Bryce’s death left a hollowness in the hearts of all who knew him.
Well, here’s what really happened:
He must have blacked out after hitting his head on the board because when he startled awake he was being tended to by a beautiful native woman with long black hair and wide, coal colored eyes. More importantly, she only wore a leather thong and didn’t seem to think anything of it. He did not know where he was or who he was. As she bent over him to smooth salve on the large lump at the back of his head he decided he must have landed in paradise. In the days that followed, through gestures and nonsensical words he thought her name might be Katalina.
It took days for him to be able to stand without falling and even more days to be able to walk unassisted. When he was sufficiently healed though, he toured his new home. The island was no more than several acres; you could see across to the ocean from all vistas. About 20 thatched huts made with braided palm leaves and sand hardened to cement (sand mixed with seagull poo) circled the island.
The natives consisted of a wizened Chief and, Bryce noted with interest, young, spectacular-looking females. Maybe the head injury was making him see mirages! One old man and the rest were dark beauty queens? All of the women were like Katalina, topless (perky) and sporting thongs made of leather strips and seashells.
The Chief was English and although Bryce couldn’t provide any facts about himself, the Chief explained that he had been an internet billionaire who bought himself an island and had beautiful women transported in, strictly for his pleasure. Bryce might not know his own name but he could still count and 35 females made his jaw drop. The Chief went on to explain that when the females got too old, (30) or too fat or too thin he would send a message out on his rigged wireless. A few days later a yacht would arrive (also his) and swap the old-skinny-fatties with new beauties.
Where the women came from the Chief either could or would not say, but with that much money comes a certain magic. All the luxuries of food and comfort (and birth control) were transported onto the island along with the ‘new girls.’ And thus, the Chief had reigned over his harem for years. Alas, now he was too old to er…romp with these young women and his heart was too fragile for Viagra. He said Karma brought this unconscious young man to the island and the Chief did not question Karma. The torch was passed, so to speak–the women were all for the taking.
So Bryce was indeed in paradise. Each night he visited a separate thatched dwelling and depending upon the experience and enthusiasm of the woman or women inside he would tailor his services. Sometimes it was only pleasuring her and awakening her sexual beast within, sometimes it was the other way around (his favorite!) Most of the time it was straight-on sensuous, spine tingling sex that left him more wiped out than any 65 foot wave. Since he couldn’t pronounce most of their names he just numbered them. Remembering their number, their hut and their favorite positions was easy. Each woman who didn’t make the cut when the yacht returned would add a small leaf or flower tattoo somewhere on Bryce to remember her by.
And thus the years passed until one day the old Chief (whom Bryce suspected was peeking or videotaping the nightly visits) became seriously ill. He had enough strength to summon his yacht but passed away before the ship arrived. The Captain surveyed the situation (he was new, British and shocked.) He ordered his crew to haul all the islanders aboard.
The women were let off on a large island in the South Pacific, where they had been ‘recruited’ from. (They were paid an enormous amount annually which went to their destitute families.) As each of them walked down the gangplank to shore they lifted their eyes in sorrow to the man who’d pleasured them so lustily. Bryce saw the love in their eyes and realized he too loved each of them in their own special way, especially Two, Twenty-nine and Katalina.
Bruce stepped onto the gangplank without thought. He still did not know who he was, he had no place to go and he was intimate with all 35 of these women. This modern South Pacific island had just become his new home.
The two burliest of the crew immediately grabbed his arms and hauled him back onto the ship. When Bryce sputtered in protest the Captain explained that he’d done a Google search and a surfer named Bryce Walker had disappeared 10 years ago. By the pictures posted, he was this man and it was the Captain’s duty to bring him home.
Bryce struggled valiantly but in the end the crew tied him to the mast and here is the picture of him staring the Captain down as the yacht leaves port.
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Long, yes, but well worth the read, Sarah. Another amazing job. And it will be our little secret that you are number 2 and I’m number 29. LOL! Seriously. I do enjoy your stories. 😀
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Uh, Sarah, did you happen to find any photos of Katalina?
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HA! Silly, Jeff!
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I was asking in all innocence. From Sarah’s description of Katalina, I think I went to school with her. Be nice to catch up and hang out.
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Key word…hang out. HAHA! I got ya, Jeff. 😉
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LOL
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