Page 47 of The Champion

“Yes what?”

“Yes I knew where we were going...I think.” He looked over at me. “Listen, I hardly think thisis entirely my fault. That douche had a fucking map—he should have given it tous.”

“He did!” I pointed to the map on the floor.

“Can you see it?” he goaded. “I sure as shit can’t.”

We were silent for a good ten minutes before I finallycaved.

“Would it help if I showed you my boobs?” I asked wipingwater from my face.

“Maybe, show me and let’s see.”

Just then, before I can reveal the funbags, the skiesopened up and let out the loudest mother loving crack of thunder I’d ever heardin my entire life, no lie. It actually vibrated my entire body.

Both of us jumped and my hands went wild searching forJameson to get as close to him as I could. The storm bubbled up, rocking theboat fiercely. With hands still wild and breathing hard, that’s when I foundthe camshaft.

Jameson chuckled and pulled me onto his lap. “That’s notyour water bottle, honey.”

The rain, warm and sticky, that was just a steady patterbefore, increased and began pouring what looked like golf ball sized raindropsonto us and if the darkness wasn’t enough to blind you—the water coming downwas. It was if someone opened a faucet on us.

As the storm surged, it was like a scene out of thatmovieThe Notebook. The only difference being we weren’t in NorthCarolina and we weren’t famous actors...okaywell now that I think about it, this situation had little resemblance to thatscene at all—maybe just the rain being portrayed.

I took a moment to look over this whole scenario. I washorny.

When I went back to the doctor for my six-week check-up,he insisted we wait another three weeks for actual penetration. It sucked and Iwas extremely tired of reciprocating motions.

“We shouldn’t make so much noise out here. Remember DaytonPeak? We’ll attract Moby Dick or something.”

I think he was glaring but I couldn’t be sure with allthe fucking rain.

“Moby Dick isn’t real.” He told me, his lips capturingmine again, his tongue swept across my lower lip, tasting me. The water was makingour lips incredibly slippery and other things. I had the bright idea of wearinga dress, which was now on the floor of the boat because there was no point inhaving any clothes on with all the rain.

“Moby Dick is too real.” I insisted, still kissing him.“He’s a whale.”

Jameson pulled back. “Sway, Moby Dick is a mythicalcreature as in fictional.”

“No he’s not, he’s a sperm whale. Theydoexist.”

“Still, the name Moby Dick and the story, is fictional.”

“Are you trying to shit on my fairytales?”

“Moby Dick is hardly a fairytale.”

“Jameson?”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking about Moby Dick and show me your di—”

His lips cut me off as we drifted in the open SouthAtlantic Ocean. It was one of those moments where nothing else mattered; nothingbetween us but the moist air. The sky rumbled and growled above us as ourpassion for one another was the only thing we cared about.

With the high waves, a considerable amount of water wasflooding the boat and the taste of salt was prominent to me.

“It tastes like salt.” I finally said.

“I didn’t come yet.”

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