Resolute. 

A word she had always associated with the admiration of one’s spirit, except when it was spoken by her estranged father. She was not at all surprised by his ability to spin it sideways. He’d called her ‘dangerously resolute’ during one of their many arguments. It effectively planted a seed in the recesses of her then adolescent mind. Buried deep and rooted, it eventually grew into an obsession. 

She had dismissed the rest of his drivel over the years but always clung to that one word. It drove her, defined her. Directed her down a path where she learned to stand up to any challenge with forthright conviction. The one she was currently embarking on would be the biggest in her young adult life. 

A solo sail from the southern coast of California to the continent of Australia.

During her preparation, she had been repeatedly warned about the magnitude of the feat. Hours upon hours were spent studying, meditating, reading other sailors’ stories to help strengthen her mental fortitude. Honing that determination that now encapsulated her self-worth. 

She was as ready as she thought she could be to face the potential perils of being alone on the open sea. And now, she was encountering the one everyone said would be her most formidable.

The Doldrums. The Intertropical Convergence Zone. The ocean’s desert. A region of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans near the equator where the solar radiation from the sun beams directly downward. The result is an upward rise of the air rather than an easterly or westerly horizontal blow. 

A challenge to navigate, even by the most seasoned mariner, a title Valerie Lundquist was resolute to earn.

Val confidently unsheathed a four-by-eight-foot deck of solar panels that hovered overhead. Resembling a miniature canopy, they ran port to starboard across the glistening stern of her Ericson 38 sailboat; cleverly named Better When Wet.

She flipped up the switch of a converter and smiled gloriously to the motor's gentle hum as it kicked on. The sailboat puttered along, prow slowly slicing through a mirrored sea, barely making a wake. But Valerie was in no rush and with plenty of sun in sight, she knew she’d be back to the wind soon enough.

Day one of running on solar power was coming to a close. The sun was making its ritualistic fade, slowly disappearing into the seemingly endless blue sea. Val pulled her raven-black hair into a ponytail, sat cross-legged on the deck, and double-checked her plotted course. The movement of the boat was subtle, but it was forward progress none-the-less.

Below the pristine water, deep enough not to send even the slightest ripple to the surface, something stirred. A single eye blinked open revealing vein-like black striations etched into a caramel-colored iris. It watched earnestly from the murky depths as Val’s thirty horsepower prop whirred a trail of bubbles through its salty lair.

Back up top, Val hopped into her hammock with a bottle of wine she’d been saving especially for this moment. She dropped her polarized lenses to shield her aqua-green eyes and stared out at the setting sun. Dipping beneath the horizon, it kissed the sky lava-red with a heated sigh. 

“The Devil’s breath,” Val whispered with adulation. “Gonna be seeing that for quite a while.” She unscrewed the bottle of wine and took a long pull, no glass needed.

A cache of batteries below deck would store up enough energy to power the motor through most of the night. Val calculated about a two-hour window between running out of the stored energy and sunrise — when the power cells would recharge.

She wasn’t worried. With still waters and sails tightly furled, she knew her positioning would remain on course during that drifting period.

It was late, deep into the night when Val finished off the last sip of wine. Her eyes were heavy and she contemplated whether to stay up top or head below deck for the rest of the night. The ocean was the temperature of bathwater, the nighttime air balmy and heavy, free from pests and no threat of any breeze. She slipped off her khaki shorts and settled in.

Val’s breathing eased into an automatic and peaceful pattern. Her consciousness ebbed with the gentle sway of the hammock and a slight rhythmic accompaniment of water lapping against the hull. She touched her belly with the palm of her hand and let her fingertips tease the hem of her powder-blue panties.

Burgeoning heat emanated from within her core to rival the humidity being billowed out by the placid waters. Sweat-slick skin offered little resistance as her hand slid lower, cupping her mound with a squeeze. She let out a soft moan, arched her lower back, and slid a single finger between her folds. Another moan, this time much louder, unabashed.

Her finger worked inside, orchestrating the throb the way only she knew how. Another finger pushed in while the butt of her palm pressed hard into her clit. With a hitched breath, she curled into the webbed cocoon of her hammock, tightening the grip of her thighs, humping in short vigorous strokes against her hand.

After a moment, her body locked, frozen in the momentum of her suspended perch as waves of climax washed over. She slowly slid her fingers out, eyes still held shut.

In that moment, Val felt alive, more so than she’d ever felt after an orgasm. The empowerment of this journey was needed, it’d be her crowning achievement. Proof to the skeptics that she could, in fact, do anything. Well worth all the sacrifices she’d made.

Rolling to her back, she gently flitted her eyes open and was greeted by an audience of stars. She slid her coated fingers over her tongue, took in her essence with an audible breath, then sucked them clean.

Not long after her performance, Val bid her sparkling onlookers adieu and drifted off into a deep, intoxicated sleep.

As expected, the battery supply drained a few hours before sunrise and the boat’s motor cut out abruptly, slowing Better When Wet to a pause. A thick silence surrounded the boat, above and below the glassy sea.

The velvet night crept until dawn; Better When Wet bobbed virtually motionless.

A combination of the morning’s searing heat and throbbing temples pulled Valerie from her slumber. She blinked her eyes open, but quickly squinted them back shut.

‘My fucking head.’ Her hand came up to wipe a field of beaded sweat from her brow. ‘Why am I not moving?’

She listened. Silence.

The time on her watch showed 8:23 AM, she peered up. “Clearly enough sun. So, why the fuck is the motor not running?” she thought aloud.

Raising out of the hammock, Val let out a slow grunt followed by a groan. “Fuck.”

As she made her way back to the solar set-up, she began to push thoughts through the sludge pounding inside her skull.

Mechanics were not her strong suit. “Must be a loose wire… Hopefully.” She leaned over and gave the converter box a tap. Nothing. With a sigh, she gave the box a kick. Still nothing.

“Well, I’m all out of ideas,” she nervously murmured, dropping her hands to the side. A comedic attempt to avoid confrontation of her brewing anxiety. The boat continued to float motionless stave for that slight bob.

Surveying the open water, Val ran through her checklist of crisis operating protocol, even though she told herself repeatedly she wasn't at that stage yet.

There were plenty of rations on the boat, enough to last more than a few weeks. That included a supply of fresh water and a catchment system in the event that supply was expended. She had the satellite phone for emergencies, ‘Did this qualify?’

There was a flare gun with a canister full of waterproof flares and of course her Sig Sauer P238, personal protection. “Not going to be very many assailants out here, Val,” she told herself sliding the gun back into its lockbox.

If all else failed, there was the Emergency Position Indicator Radio Beacon.

The EPIRB was a safety measure and only as a means of dire need. It would activate if submerged below three or more feet of water, or manually tripped by forcefully removing the device from its mount. The radio signal would then broadcast to a government monitored satellite, notifying emergency contacts specific to the distressed boat and pinpointing the vessel’s location to within two nautical miles. It would most likely never be actuated.

Val calmly located the solar panel’s instruction manual and spent the better part of the day poring it over. There was an entire section dedicated to troubleshooting. She frustratingly tried every step, twice, then a third and fourth time. Everything was wired, no visible corrosion, nothing to indicate why the motor was not purring. She decided to move on.

The ship’s sails were now unfurled to full-mast, just in case. In her preparations and study for the voyage, Valerie learned that although the doldrums were devoid of consistent weather patterns, they did trigger the occasional squall. Her sails were up and ready to catch any accelerant for movement.

Days began to melt into weeks and the sails continually hung lifeless and limp. The monotony was beginning to sap all of Val’s energy.

To combat it, she developed a routine. Exercise in the early morning, which consisted of pacing the boat’s perimeter; before the heat grew too unbearable. Mid-morning activities included yoga, fishing, and occasionally singing out loud. Dinner occupied the evenings.

But even the routine, by its very definition, became tedious and boring. Val grew tired from doing nothing. She was hot, miserable, alone, and sick of the same majestic scenery. Its beauty grew stale. Its jewel-like-encrusted surface taunted her, endless in all directions, derailing any hope.

The ocean, once the nightly occupant of Val’s childhood fantasies and dreams, now tormentingly surrounded her. It held her in its silent grip of soul-numbing weariness, methodically chipping away at her sanity, breaking her down piece by agonizing piece.  

The morning of the incident, Val’s mind was swirling with a tempest of uncontrollable thoughts. Wild, wicked, vicious thoughts.

She paced through her exercise regimen; yoga pants already drenched in sweat. She rounded the bow of Better When Wet, where she paused and took a stance, commanding in stature. Ready to fight back. The tumult in her head came to a pinpoint.

Outstretching her arms with balled-up fists and gritted teeth, she summoned what emotion she had left and screamed with all the breath in her lungs…

“FUCK YOU!”

No reply. Not even an echo. It was as if the ocean, in a diabolical taunt of promised motion, floated the words away leaving her behind. A punctuating blow of solitude beyond her mind’s ability to fully comprehend.

Tears welled in her eyes, signaling the beginning stages of defeat. Val slowly blinked them closed.

The moment Val’s head began to slouch, the boat lurched violently with a sudden thud to its stern. The bow swung several feet sideways, sending the only wake Val had seen in days cascading to her left. She stumbled, grabbing onto the rail for balance in the abrupt and unforeseen heave.

“What the fuck was that?”

After a moment, she cautiously leaned over to peer into the water. Crystal clear, she estimated she could see down at least thirty feet, maybe more. The blazing sun offered enough brilliance to maximize her view. Nothing. No whales. No Sharks. No mysterious uprise of a coral reef. Just the glistening shimmer of the sun's rays as they filtered through the water, prism-like.

Val stood frozen for several minutes still gripping the chrome rail, waiting with trepidation for something else to happen. Her heart raced, breathing became rapid. Silent and slow on her inhale, but quick and audible on the exhale, like small successive punches to her gut. The sun’s heat seared. Sweat dripped from her nose dotting the surface of the deck.

She looked left and right, behind. Spinning. Waiting. 

Nothing.

The ripples from the surge were gone, absorbed back into the ocean’s bed. Better When Wet returned to its motionless float. Val cautiously leaned further over the side to inspect for damage. Not even a smudge.

She twisted and slid to sit.

With her back leaning against a rail post, she clasped her hands loosely in her lap, shoulders slumped, legs stretched out to either side to form a V. Her mind tried to process the supposed event, but the thoughts of it were swallowed in that tempest of an internal storm.

Was it even real? Was she so desperate for anything to happen that her mind was now fucking with her? She shook her head back and forth with a growing, maniacal laugh.

Nothing else followed the jolt.

That night, Val cooked a special meal. After her minor meltdown, she had pulled herself together, rigged up some fishing gear, and landed a forty-pound yellowfin. Perhaps, a peace offering from the sea. 

Slicing some of it up sashimi-style as an appetizer, she then cooked the rest as seared ahi; the entire time telling herself repeatedly it was fine. Everything was going to be fine. 

She had known this leg of the journey would be a test. She’d prepared for it, read stories of sailors losing focus, being beaten down by the melancholy ecosystem. That was not going to happen to her.

When the entire meal was prepped and ready, it was brought up to the deck. Val placed each plate with care on a clothed dining table, as if she were expecting guests. 

The sun had already set, giving way to a full moon. Her last bottle of wine, an unoaked Kendall-Jackson chardonnay, sat chilled in a polished aluminum canister. Valerie sat back, took a deep breath, and let the first sip dance on her tongue. It was eloquent, divine, just what she needed to ground her spirit.

The bottle wasn’t supposed to be opened until she reached her destination, the Gold Coast, Australia. But, she was desperate and the fruity bouquet was serving to bring Val’s fragmented mind back to some semblance of reality. It was the same vintage she had when she celebrated buying the boat.

Val got up and left the table, half-eaten tuna still on the plate, wine bottle almost empty. She slid a cushion to the middle of the teak-planked deck, eased back onto it, and reminisced about how she decided on the name, Better When Wet. A clever pun that was most certainly intended to be erotic.

It was the sleek lines of the Ericson that initially wooed her. It seemed unfathomable, but even in the face of impending uncertainty, Val was being taken by her deep-seated passion.

She slipped off her shorts, trailing her panties along. Her wine-glazed vision followed the chrome rails as they shimmered in the moonlight. Sleek and sexy. Fingers teased along the hem of her tank top, and as she gazed up. The center mast rose from the deck just feet from her needy womanhood. The power harnessed within that erect beam caused a slight hitch in her breath.

Val quickly pulled off her top and lay back naked in the warm night air. Humidity clung to her skin like the dew on morning grass. Her pussy was swollen and just as moist. Each hand moved to cup a breast and as she closed her eyes, her mind drifted from her current predicament toward the blossoming sensitivity in her clit.

The first tentacle slinked over the deck’s edge just a few feet off of Valerie’s right shoulder, followed by another off her left. The boat hardly shifted, as if the appendages were weightless. Slender rounded tips raised up like they were smelling the air, silent in their maneuver. A row of mouth-like cups lined their underside. 

The intruder went unnoticed at first. 

Unraveling in slow motion, they crept across the surface; pulling, inching, thickening as more of its glistening girth rose up onto the boat. Her eyes were still closed when it first made contact.

Two appendages slithered at a steady pulsating pace down either side of Valerie as she cupped her tits. The warmth of its viscous skin perfectly matched hers and only the movement alerted her to its presence.

She startled and rose to her elbows with a quick burst of breath. No verbal outcry, just an audible hitch. It calmly wrapped over the top of each leg then to the inside of her sinuous thighs. Coiling back around, it continued under her knees and down her shins where it stopped; paused but still pulsating against her skin.

It held firm for several seconds, silent as if waiting for consent.

She reached a hand down and ran the pads of her fingertips along its smooth rubbery skin. In the dim glow of the moon, it appeared greyish-purple, spotted with varying sized ovals. Val stroked with her fingers, first one hand then the other — it tightened its grip. Not constricting, just firm like a lover’s hug.

Her mind swirled with wonderment, ablaze with ardent admiration for anything this ocean had to offer.

Was this happening? Was this another mind-fuck? Was this what had earlier slammed into the hull?

“What do you want?” she spoke out softly, not expecting an answer.

Her breathing was shallow, in short, rapid breaths. Her head spun behind following the serpentine appendages to where they traipsed over the sides of the boat, one port, one starboard like it was hugging from under the sea.

A third tentacle rose up, this time over the bow, identical to the two holding Val’s legs apart. It crept in the same manner of slow precision as its predecessors. This one moved directly down the middle of the deck. It slithered around the base of the center mast and between her pinned legs. Slowly, methodically, it slipped up and over her vulva. The cups gently suckled, pulling, rhythmically releasing to inch its girth up until it rested between her tits.

Chest heaving, Val remained frozen.

As if a switch was suddenly flipped, all three tentacles released their grip simultaneously. A sensation, unlike any Valerie could fathom. Nickel-sized bullseyes marked her skin where it had been holding. It hovered, each tip flicking like a cat’s tail, once again waiting.

She could have slid back. She could have escaped, scrambled for the gun, or the flares, or both. But the only motion Valerie made at that moment was to once again run her fingers over its skin.

She explored. Touching its tip, pressing to feel its rigidity, like pushing into a flexed muscle. Her fingers curled around to hold it, then ran along the underside feeling the smooth calamari-like texture of each cup. It quivered slightly as if she was tickling it. She smiled at its vulnerability and sat up a bit more.

Still holding the tip with one hand, she ran her other palm down the arm that was hovering over her chest. That’s when she saw it. An iridescent glow in the water surrounding the boat. It was low, but unmistakable as if the boat had deep-blue floodlights along her hull.

“What the fuck are you?” she whispered.

In one slow movement, Val leaned forward and pulled it to her face. It didn't have much of a scent. She flicked it quickly with her tongue. Salty. She licked it again, slowly savoring it, letting the ocean-taste wash over her tongue. Something inside Valerie stirred, something so deep-rooted, so woven into her exhausted core, that she was powerless against stopping it.

She no longer felt alone.

Val once again laid back and let the hot ocean air melt her body into the thin pad beneath her. She placed the tip of the arm back down on her skin and made eye contact with the gathering of stars peering down, watching.

She wanted this. Needed it. Maybe the acceptance was a byproduct of her broken state; sheared down to its basics. Stripped and peeled back all the way to her essence leaving only one piece exposed. Her passion. A dangerous beast when left unharnessed, she had set it free to seek out its compulsions and it dragged her willingly to the middle of nowhere.

So many emotions were running rampant. She had them packed so tightly within her driving force, yet now they were bare, unprotected. Disorienting. They once told her to go, isolate herself from any hint of codependency. And now she was desperate for that connection. 

Any connection.

Amidst the confusion in her mind, there was one bit of certainty; all of it was stoking the fire within her libido. The wave of arousal she had felt when she first laid down was welling up and there was little she could do to stop it from cresting.

The creature once again moved, reclaiming her legs all the way down to her toes. Spreading them apart with meticulous care, sensual but with animalistic intent. Val’s heart raced, her hands went back to cover her tits, pinching and pulling her pebble-like nipples. 

The center-arm slid back down her stomach, caressing against her clit the entire way. One by one, each cup latched to her crimson pearl; suckling, pulling, releasing, sliding, only to be replaced by the next.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered to the night.

When the tip reached her swollen pussy lips, it curled downward sliding through her wet slit to form a knuckle. Slowly, with precision, it pushed forward to penetrate. Val’s mouth fell open in a silent moan as it filled her, deliberately unfurling once it pressed up against her cervix, massaging it gently.

Unlike any hard cock or dildo Val had previously felt, this phallus flexed and pulsated in waves inside of her. It was still just as rigid as a dick, but malleable and forming, stretching to touch nerves Val wasn’t even aware she had. Her mind swirled with a flood of sensations and she rapidly climbed to a peak.

Then, as if it sensed her impending orgasmic crest, it simply froze inside of her.

“No.” 

It laid its cups flat, undetectable against its rubbery underside. 

“Don’t you leave me.” 

It began to retract. 

“Please! I need to cum,” she said in a desperate whimper. “Please…”

Val’s life had always been about holding on, like an addiction. She had taught herself to cling to hope, to expect only the very best. She would push herself to the limit, even if that meant sacrificing every other aspect of her life. And now, she was willing to let go. All those promises made to herself, she would gladly give up if only for that feeling of companionship.

The tentacle oozed out of her as if it were a stretched piece of rubber re-forming to its original shape. She grabbed at it unsuccessfully, clawing her nails against its thick slimy surface. 

As it slid from her dripping pussy, the two holding her feet began to lift. Pulling and bringing her knees up and toward her chest, raising her ass almost off the pad. A mix of her sweat and arousal dripped down the small of her back.

The simultaneous movement caused the limp appendage to slip slowly between her cheeks until the tip reached her anus. It once again stiffened to circle, rimming her ass with torturous perfection. Valerie edged closer to orgasm trying desperately with ineffectual results to hump her waist into the pressure. It held still and firm. Her ensuing pleasure-seeking moan was bordering on frantic.

She wanted to explode, needed to unravel. Needed to feel that crash of ecstasy as every little piece of her that she tried to keep together was being figuratively torn apart.

She pushed two fingers toward her cunt. Little tiny waves riddled her body. Every nerve felt like they were dancing. Her fingertips neared her clit, seeking that ultimate release, but were stopped. Forced away by the flick of its tip. Teased and denied one more time. 

And then, once the thing returned to her ass, it penetrated.

It went deep and firm with an unapologetic abruptness. Taking what it wanted. A low dull hum rose from below the boat, rippling the surface of the water.

Val returned her hands to her tits, determined to cum, willing her partner to fuck her harder.

She continued to climb. Its girth pressed into her lower-wall, stretching her, filling her, touching nerves never before touched. Nerves that seemed to connect directly to her clit. A pulse of pleasurable, sensual contractions vibrated along her anal ring. 

That cobalt-glow emanating from below the boat began to intensify, illuminating the ocean with an undulating, halo-like bloom. Whatever this thing was, it was clearly feeling her too.

She arched, dug her nails into the flesh of her breasts, and screamed in climactic satisfaction.

The sea went dark.

Only Val's panting could be heard above the ensuing silence; her chest heaving like she had just crossed a finish line. The beast slowly lowered her down to the pad retracting its thickness from inside her.

Unlike its rhythmic graceful entrance, it now slid off the boat swiftly with a splash, violently thrashing into the water and was gone. Better When Wet rocked side to side.

Val lay there for several minutes, her mind wrapped in the throbbing warmth of her climax. The sound of her heartbeat reminded her that she was still alive, even though the night’s events seemed unworldly. One more complexity for Valerie to try to figure out, like all the other aspects of her life.

She rolled to a fetal position tucking one hand under her head and the other between her thighs. The weight of her eyelids worked to numb that torrid mind. Her naked body absorbed into a dream-world toward which her mind now drifted.

As Valerie slept – sweat-glistened flesh bathed in a celestial light – the boat began to move. Slowly at first, then steadily it gained speed, slicing through the motionless ocean. 

The batteries which fed the prop were still dead.

~0~

Thousands of miles away, a driving wind blew across a white frozen landscape, made visible by the icy snow crystals that swept up in its path. It curled and battered against a single windowless pale-green metal door. The high-pitched whistle could be heard inside the protected bunker as the frigid air tried relentlessly to penetrate.

Deep below the barren surface, a computer monitor flitted to life. Green DOS computer font scrolled across the bottom of the screen, one letter at a time:

EPIRB DISTRESS SIGNAL INTERCEPTED...

VESSEL : BETTER WHEN WET

GLOBAL POSITION : LATITUDE  8° 14' 13.5" N : LONGITUDE 39° 3' 59.7" W

OCCUPANT(S) ONBOARD : LUNDQUIST, VALERIE

SEX : F

AGE : 28

COUNTRY OF ORIGIN : UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

RELEASE DISTRESS SIGNAL TO UNITED STATES COAST GUARD : Y / N

A latex-gloved hand hovered over a yellowed keyboard, index finger steady as it assuredly peck-typed two keys:

N … ENTER.