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Authors: Alexandra Brenton
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yacht catapulted out of the water, before falling to the opposite side. Had the plan failed? But the boat wobbled again in the other direction, waving back and forth in ever smaller drifts like a faulty metronome, before finally standing upright. The Mayor’s boy still stood, though the lad was now crying the precious tears that only beautiful people and unicorns are able to shed.
Marianna’s boat had almost pulled back into the docks, but she could see it all from a distance. She was the first to yell “The Mayor’s boat is saved!” Immediately everyone who had turned their backs on the scene now spun around in happiness and cheered. But Marianna began sobbing—she had come to know just how close she was to losing the most precious thing in her life. After seeing Larry’s heroism, she realized it was she who had been self-centered. She had been a fool—she would go to him. She would go to him, and she would never leave again.
A crowd had formed on the docks, lustily welcoming each boat as it arrived safely. In the enduring torment, husbands embraced their wives and children, friends hugged their friends with benefits, all as if they had just been released from jail. News crews, expecting tragedy, had already arrived on the scene and made do with the frantic, heart-warming scene.
The biggest reaction was yet to come. As Larry’s boat sailed in, with the Mayor’s yacht limping behind, a cheer erupted—a cheer that somehow seemed bigger, louder and deeper than the roar of the cruel watery waste. Children who witnessed Larry stepping off of his boat would say they remembered this moment long into their dotage. Though there was lightning still in the distance, it seemed to Marianna like the thousand flashbulbs from the thousand cameras were even brighter. A dozen microphones were thrust into Larry’s face, but his eyes suggested that he felt like a reluctant bukkakke star.
The Mayor and a pair of firefighters rushed onto the other boat to free Chas, cutting him loose from the jib. The media cameras quickly turned to the heart-warming scene of the attractive child’s rescue, with nary a dry eye in the crowd, for the child was indeed very cute, and also white. The Mayor simply held his boy tightly, rocking slowly back and forth. What a precious, valued, and dearly cherished white child he was.
Marianna glanced at Larry. He appeared relieved that the cameras had left him—he had no need of public accolades. Larry stood erect, the wind whipping through his hair. Every inch of his white sailor’s outfit clung to his masculine body, accentuating the bulge at his crotch, He appeared every bit a hero, especially at his crotch. Marianna’s heart skipped.
She felt her legs propel themselves in only one direction, her arms diving forward to part the crowd. Now she was running towards him, even shoving people away so that she could be near him. She ran to Larry. She ran to him like a freight train. Or like a semi-truck, or like some other large, fast-moving object. And when she reached him, her arms were flung around him, her small frame crashing against his. And somehow, in all this chaos, in all of this passion, her lips found his perfectly. It was not a delicate kiss, but Marianna felt nerves in every inch—even every millimeter—of her skin come alive. She probed his mouth, her tongue anxious and insistent. Larry returned her kiss with even greater intensity, pushing his tongue past her lips. Marianna felt how Larry’s skin was cold and wet, yet she still melted into him. Her knees gave out now, she was falling—falling as she had never before.
But Larry’s strong arms ensnared her—thick like two breakfast sausages, warm and comforting. His arms caught her and held her tightly. He kissed her again, delicately grazing against her, as lightning and flashbulbs pulsed and exploded around them. Marianna was pulsing, too, and on the verge of her own explosion.
She looked
Marianna’s boat had almost pulled back into the docks, but she could see it all from a distance. She was the first to yell “The Mayor’s boat is saved!” Immediately everyone who had turned their backs on the scene now spun around in happiness and cheered. But Marianna began sobbing—she had come to know just how close she was to losing the most precious thing in her life. After seeing Larry’s heroism, she realized it was she who had been self-centered. She had been a fool—she would go to him. She would go to him, and she would never leave again.
A crowd had formed on the docks, lustily welcoming each boat as it arrived safely. In the enduring torment, husbands embraced their wives and children, friends hugged their friends with benefits, all as if they had just been released from jail. News crews, expecting tragedy, had already arrived on the scene and made do with the frantic, heart-warming scene.
The biggest reaction was yet to come. As Larry’s boat sailed in, with the Mayor’s yacht limping behind, a cheer erupted—a cheer that somehow seemed bigger, louder and deeper than the roar of the cruel watery waste. Children who witnessed Larry stepping off of his boat would say they remembered this moment long into their dotage. Though there was lightning still in the distance, it seemed to Marianna like the thousand flashbulbs from the thousand cameras were even brighter. A dozen microphones were thrust into Larry’s face, but his eyes suggested that he felt like a reluctant bukkakke star.
The Mayor and a pair of firefighters rushed onto the other boat to free Chas, cutting him loose from the jib. The media cameras quickly turned to the heart-warming scene of the attractive child’s rescue, with nary a dry eye in the crowd, for the child was indeed very cute, and also white. The Mayor simply held his boy tightly, rocking slowly back and forth. What a precious, valued, and dearly cherished white child he was.
Marianna glanced at Larry. He appeared relieved that the cameras had left him—he had no need of public accolades. Larry stood erect, the wind whipping through his hair. Every inch of his white sailor’s outfit clung to his masculine body, accentuating the bulge at his crotch, He appeared every bit a hero, especially at his crotch. Marianna’s heart skipped.
She felt her legs propel themselves in only one direction, her arms diving forward to part the crowd. Now she was running towards him, even shoving people away so that she could be near him. She ran to Larry. She ran to him like a freight train. Or like a semi-truck, or like some other large, fast-moving object. And when she reached him, her arms were flung around him, her small frame crashing against his. And somehow, in all this chaos, in all of this passion, her lips found his perfectly. It was not a delicate kiss, but Marianna felt nerves in every inch—even every millimeter—of her skin come alive. She probed his mouth, her tongue anxious and insistent. Larry returned her kiss with even greater intensity, pushing his tongue past her lips. Marianna felt how Larry’s skin was cold and wet, yet she still melted into him. Her knees gave out now, she was falling—falling as she had never before.
But Larry’s strong arms ensnared her—thick like two breakfast sausages, warm and comforting. His arms caught her and held her tightly. He kissed her again, delicately grazing against her, as lightning and flashbulbs pulsed and exploded around them. Marianna was pulsing, too, and on the verge of her own explosion.
She looked
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