(eng) Mark Henry - Amanda Feral 04 by Beach Blanket Bloodbath

Author:Beach Blanket Bloodbath [Bloodbath, Beach Blanket]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

dranks

Chapter 7

Okay.

What’s with Gil? Wendy, I can understand passing on pickling her insides since half of them were probably dangling into the chilly water of Mrs. Winterford’s toilet. But Gil? There was something strange going on and I was pretty sure it was the same thing that kept him isolated to his Victorian manor of horrors.

That he was keeping a secret bugged the shit out of me. I like to keep mine, of course. No one needs to know I provide jars of pear cilantro butter with adorable lace toppers tied with twine to a Pike Place vendor named Gracey (10 oz. $8.99—the jam, not the vendor).

Gracey’s worth at least twenty, if for nothing else than to coax her into replacing the loose gauge in her earlobe with the big black vibrator she always carries in her purse. When she turns that thing on and it jiggles against her jaw you’ll lose your shit, especially when you realize the whole stall smells like pear, cilantro and pussy.

Better make it $25.

I slipped out of my heels and sank into the sand. According to the brochure I’d found in the Dunes’ conversation pit, The Driftwood Inn was only a quarter mile down the beach, but in a dress as tight as the Versace, it was going to take a half hour, so I glanced up and down the beach for creepy midnight beachcombers and seeing no one, rolled the skirt up over my hips to get some extra leverage. It seemed only right that panties as expensive as the Natoris I wore, should get some exposure. But, as I can’t seem to experience a moment that isn’t tainted by embarrassment, as soon as I did it, a tall and obviously muscular figure stepped from between a thicket of pampas grass and onto the beach.

“Woah!” The voice was deep as a lagoon.

I scrambled to cover my nethers.

“Hey, I can turn around if you need to pee, or something.” The spare slice of moonlight blazed against the man’s jet black eyes and caught on a head as slick and shiny as neoprene.

“No, no,” I said, still tugging. “Feel free to watch, you fucking pervert.”

But when I looked back he’d already turned, the blackest monolith this side of a Kubrick flick. The more I looked at the guy’s back, the more it seemed he wasn’t entirely clothed either. Maybe I’d caught him cramming his legs back into his pants, silently escaping a sedated rape victim still tangled in the dune grasses.

Then again, I do tend to sling mud first and throw a wet nap later.

“You decent?” Longshoreman buttoned his plaid shirt and cocked his head, listening.

I wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’m clothed, so, I guess?”

He turned, descending the dune in three aggressive strides. “Have we met?”

“Unlikely.”

He nodded but stood there transfixed, looking me up and down as one might the butcher’s case. I couldn’t help but notice his mouth and those teeth peeking through his broad smile, sharper than they had any right to be.

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