Tempest Brewing Tropical Storms Part 1

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~ ~ ~ ~

The marina was adjacent to the "keysie" oyster
bar. The place opened for breakfast and closed at around four in
the morning, every day. It took the place's staff two hours to prep
for opening, and roughly the same time to close. It was as much a
local hang out as it was a
de rigeur
tourist must-see for
anyone visiting the Florida Keys. Schooner Wharf was a landmark
place, this part of the Conch Republic. Inside, there was live
music, a resident magician, a well-stocked bar, food, a hand-made
cigar roller, and a souvenir shop.

Needless to say, Schooner Wharf is an integral
part of the commercial paradise called Key West.

As she looked out past the moored vessels and
into the vast inky grayish --green waters of the ocean, a single
tear cascaded down her beautiful young cheek. Only one blue eye
leaked a tear, thereby ruining her mascara and spoiling an
otherwise perfectly made-up face.

From down below, Raven - the evening's
entertainer - was singing her version of a Johnny Cash original.
The speakers' volume was set to low, however -- it allowed for
couples whispering to one another to hear each other.

She knew that she shouldn't stay up there long,
she was on the clock, after all. Eric, the openly gay night
manager, was a friend and a really good guy. He would not give her
a hard time. She just needed a minute or two, even though, in
reality, it had already been ten. And as she gazed out into the
darkness, she absentmindedly caressed the fairly recent tattoo on
her left upper arm. The tattoo was of two interlocking hearts, with
"Bryan", her boyfriend's name, printed inside one heart, and "Joy",
her own name, printed in the other.

Getting the tattoo did not really hurt all that
much when she decided to get it -- there was just this quick,
zapping sensation - but it itched like crazy for a couple of weeks
after. Now it does not hurt anymore, but she unconsciously caressed
her arm gently as she looked out into the sea and worried about
Brian.

The approaching storm sent an odor of musky dank
sea salt water ahead of it. The smell stank of fetid, wet slime and
decayed sediment filled the air. It seemed to announce the force of
the storm and warned everyone of its power and might. Anything
within its path could be destroyed. Realizing this, Joy worried
that Bryan could get hurt. He was a commercial fisherman out on a
charter since early that morning and had not returned.

Or at least he had not let her know he had
gotten back. As worried as she was, the idea that he had returned
and not contacted her was even more upsetting. They hadn't exactly
been getting along all that well, but he wouldn't just let her
worry like this, would he? Oh man, she would be pissed if he was at
some strip bar spending money on some "ho" while she was working
her ass off, and worrying about him. Now she finds herself wanting
that to be the case -- in the very least he was safe, strip bar
notwithstanding -- instead of out there, at sea, and in the middle
of the storm.

Sure, she'd pretend to be mad, and give him a
hard time, but not too hard of a time, as long as he was safe.

Joy sensed a motion behind her and turned to see
Eric coming up just as a loud clap of thunder boomed, causing the
old, poorly-constructed upper deck to rattle. The lightning flash
that followed illuminated her manager-friend in eerie light. He was
a handsome man of about 40 years old with blond hair and a tight
bod comparable to a surfer half his age. For an instant, he looked
like an apparition from a Stephen King novel. Joy gasped and
clutched her chest.

"Are you all right? Do you want to go?" asked
Eric.

"Oh my God you scared me!" Joy exclaimed.

"Glad to know I still got it," Eric
half-chuckled, hoping to lighten the moment. "Do you want to go? Or
stay?"

"Both" Joy responded without much thought. "I
don't want to work anymore, but.... can I just stay here and wait
to hear from Brian? He and his companions might be already be in,
but I don't know, I'm a little worried about him being out there,"
she said, looking out into the approaching darkness.

"Sure sweetie, whatever you want. Do you have
any open tables?"

"No, the last one was about half an hour ago.
The weather seems to be scaring them off."

"So do your report and have a drink. I'm sure
he's okay."

"Yup, I know he's okay, and so am I, okay?"

"Yup, I'm here if you need
anything."

It was so like Eric to be worried about everyone
else. Here he was, responsible for the whole place with a storm
coming and he was worried about her.
"If only he wasn't gay"
she thought.

As she descended down the old wooden steps, the
bar's smell hit her nostrils and she instinctively curled up her
nose and lips. The usual smoke-and-beer stench was accentuated by
the pungent aroma of someone's recent vomit.

Joy noticed as she came down to the main floor
that Frank was still at his magician's section, practicing his
tricks. His card tricks had earned him a national reputation and a
permanent spot at Schooner's Wharf. At six foot five, and handsome,
in part to his magnetic and engaging personality, his reputation
exceeded his skills as a magician and illusionist, securing his
place as a ladies' man extraordinaire.

One trick of his, she had finally figured out.
He was able to display a person's mobile number through a card
trick.

Earlier in the evening, he would have his mother
Lee, the manager of the souvenir shop, sit at the bar after her
shift to get her talking to one of the customers. Then, at some
point during the conversation, she would ask to have her picture
taken with the guy and of course her son would volunteer to take
the picture. While he had the camera and his mom was "posing" with
the customer, Frank accessed the cell's number and committed it to
memory for use later on, in the "trick". It worked every time and
ensured a big tip when the cards turn up the guy's phone number. A
couple of drinks helped the dupe forget that his picture had been
taken.

Joy thought that Frank was a really good guy.
She had heard all the rumors about his personal exploits and that
he was a quite "the dog" when it came to women, but instead she saw
him to be a kind, talented, smart man who enjoyed life, women
including. It mattered little to her what he does in his personal
life, she realizes. What mattered was that he bring in customers,
and therefore added to the bottom line. What he did after hours was
purely his business.

Joy ran through her customers' bill and cashed
out to Eric. She tipped out the bartenders a paltry ten dollars on
the hundred she had made. Ten per cent was the rule. She was used
to making and tipping out much more in a typical night; she felt a
little guilty at the small monetary "thank you" she gave to the
barkeeps. She gratefully accepted her shift drink, a triple shot of
fireball in red bull, and went back up to the upper deck to sit
alone, look out on the now stormy sea and think.

"Hey girl, whatcha doin?"

"Oh hey Stormy, just hanging. I'd rather be here
worrying with friends than worrying alone at home."

"It's just a storm right? The weather station
said barely a category one."

"Yeah, but Brian's out in it and the damn cell
phone has no service. I'd just feel better knowing he's okay, you
know?"

Stormy got up and came around and put her arm
around her shoulders. "Yeah, I got it."

Joy had never really noticed how attractive
Stormy was, but up this close, she could see her beautiful face.
Even in the dim light, her eyes were milk chocolate brown with
yellow flecks. In her early twenties and new to the tropical sun,
her complexion was flawless. Even without makeup, her skin was
creamy, smooth and looked so soft. Even the small cubic zirconium
pierced through her lower left lip didn't detract from the sensual
Angelina Jolie lips that were unpainted, ripe and full. The faint
scent of an old fashioned perfume permeated through the more
unpleasant smell from restaurant work.

Whether Stormy noticed her looking at her lips
or whether it was her plan all along, the young girl shifted and
pressed those exquisite lips against Joy's own, her tongue forcing
its way into Joy's mouth, urgently conveying the taboo desire.

For a moment, Joy was lost in a memory. Quite
suddenly, she was in college with her roommate and they have drunk
way too much Jagger. She has passed out and regained consciousness
to see her friend and roomie, Jan, sitting beside her, caressing
her breasts. Jan had opened her blouse and was now gently licking
her nipples, which were beginning to stiffen, standing at full
attention. They were kissing, too, in between all the licking going
on. Their tongues were playfully flicking each other -- first,
gently, and then later, more urgently. This went on while Jan's
fingers kneaded her breasts, luscious and full. Jan is gently
squeezing her sensitive nipples.

Joy had to put a stop to the experience when
Jan's hand left her chest and descended south, tugging at her
jean's snaps. She could not, however, deny the pleasurable
sensations the experience brings.

The next day they laughed the incident off and
chalked it up as one of those drunken-schoolgirl experiments and
both vowed that it should never happened again. After all, Joy was
friends with Jan and Jan's girlfriend. She even visits every year,
for a week, in California where they lived.

Brought back to the present, Joy broke away from
Stormy with mock modesty, trying her best to diffuse the situation.
With a smile she pulled back asking "how did you get a name like
Stormy?"

Stormy couldn't hide her disappointment and
obvious desire. "That's not really my name, no. It's really
Mildred, but come on, do I look a Mildred?"

Joy smiled and said" Hell no, but where did
Stormy come from?"

"My mother calls me Stormy. She says wherever I
go, a storm follows. Not sure she means the weather but hell, I
just got to Key West and here's a hurricane, right?"

Joy laughed, leaned over and gently kissed
Stormy's cheek. "I hope we can get to know each other better,
sometime. But not here and not now, okay? I got a lot on my mind
and it just wouldn't be fair."

If one were observant, one would see the
emotions playing across Stormy's expressions. Disappointment,
rejection, desire, hope and embarrassment seem to cycle through her
in the course of several seconds. Finally, it appears as though she
settled on hope and smiled weakly. "I guess it'll have to be,
right?"

She returned a perfunctory peck on Joy's check
and then, not receiving a rejection, proceeded to kiss her, this
time without tongue action. "Call me if you need or want anything."
Joy experienced a pleasant tingle in her breasts and down below as
she watched Stormy bound away, down the stairs leaving her alone
once again.