Black Crescent Bay

some spit in some coffee

A/N:

The more I think about how gay I am, the more I remember how much I love sucking my man's' wanger.

I'm serious.

Maybe....... maybe I'm not the gay slay I think I am..... maybe 😓👉👈 maybe I'm just a girl who likes a cock in my ass and a cooter on my face 😓👉👈
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We're supposed to be shooting a promotional video for this semester's production, but the lead, of course, is late. And I know I'm not one to talk... But I'm not the lead... So it doesn't matter if I'm late. The professor gave me the stink eye as if somehow I was the one responsible for her absence.

She walked over to me and picked at her manicure, "Did you remember to bring the costumes?" She huffed.

I nodded and pointed towards the sea-logged chest buried in the sand. It looked old and withered and like billions of undiscovered deep-sea species could be residing in it, but, really, it's got wheels that can roll over any terrain and the inside is lined with hot pink velvet.

I'm the only one who knows this though, so the professor gasped in horror and covered her mouth with her perfectly manicured fingers.

"No! It's alright. They're perfectly safe in there. It's actually waterproof and quite sturdy."

"Where on earth did you find such a disgusting artifact?"

I smiled, embarrassed, and twirled my hair around my fingers, "Well--um--actually it was my mother's."

She looked back and forth between me and the chest, before an obnoxiously sympathetic smile settled on her lips, "Oh dear, did she hate you?"

I bit my tongue and seriously considered chaining a cement block around her feet and dunking her off the edge of the dock. I counted to three in my head before I shook my head.

"No, ma'am." My voice was low and through gritted teeth, "It's actually a special keepsake. She used to use it when she was a seamstress and a costume designer... Before she passed."

"oh... Oh, my dear..." She put on a sickly sweet tone and actually had the nerve to look apologetic, "I apologize... Well, at least you know why she left it to you."

I thought for a second she was talking about how special that chest was to my mom. And warmth built in my chest as I remembered her practically living out of it when I was a kid, how it was always filled to the brim with the most beautiful, shiny fabrics that were soft to the touch and sparkled like buried treasure, and how when she would open it, the entire room would smell like her favorite scent: Chanel No. 5.

But then she clapped me on the shoulder and snapped me back to the present.

"She wouldn't be caught dead lugging that eyesore around, even in the afterlife..." She howled with laughter. I stood frozen, my face was paralyzed with incredulousness.

She didn't notice. She cleared her throat and looked out at the sunset, "Tell you what, I need some coffee. You go get that for me, and then we can get started on the background characters' wardrobes."

I nodded and resolved to spit in the cup. During my walk back from the shop just on the other side of the crescent, I resolved to spit in her cup several times. It was the least I could do for her. She didn't even comment on the taste. Just took a chug with a nod and then clapped her hands.

"Alright, let's get started!"

All the background characters were in costume with perfect hair and makeup by the time the lead arrived. She didn't even apologize for holding us up, just looked at me and said, "I could really go for some coffee..."

I smiled sarcastically, "Great. Go for it. The shop's down there a little ways." I was even helpful and pointed in the complete opposite direction of the coffee shop.

I ignored her as she tried to explain what she really meant. I didn't actually care what she meant. I made sure to accidentally prick her a few times as I adjusted the outfit to her body.

Shooting the video was slow going because the professor had to get it exactly right. As if it wasn't a college production. The moon was out then, sitting lowly around us. The professor clapped her hands then and called about the final shoot. It wasn't done, but we'd all return tomorrow much earlier. Maybe this time we'd actually be able to get some work done.

Assuming the lead didn't arrive several hours late again.

Everyone packed up and returned to their own clothing. Only the extras and background characters returned their costumes to me without throwing them, some even handed them back folded, with apologetic smiles. They all bid each other goodbye as I walked along the dock, lugging my eyesore behind me.

I tore off my ballet flats and dipped my toes into the fresh ocean water. It was freezing, but I enjoyed the coolness. If it wasn't so dark, I'd manage to see clean down to the bottom. I flicked my feet back and forth, creating waves that didn't stand a chance against the high tide.

I thought back to my mom. Usually, I could forget the grief of her passing and the pain of her absence, at least until something or someone reminded me of it.

But right then, I wasn't thinking of the sadness. I was thinking about how she used to be out all night during the production season.

I'd pretend to be asleep to get the babysitter off my back--I was way too old for a babysitter, anyhow, at thirteen years old-- but my mother still refused to leave me home alone. She'd get home, and she'd gently shut the door, and she'd pay the babysitter with a thousand 'thank you's before she'd rest at the kitchen table with her head in her hands.

I'd tip-toe out of my bedroom and down the hall, peeking around the doorway into the kitchen. I'd just watch for a second, as she waited for her late-night coffee to finish dripping.

Maybe she was exhausted every day like that. Maybe she was sad every day like that. Maybe she just never showed me.

For some reason, she never wanted me or anyone to see how much she was struggling.

And that's when I reached the grief of her passing and the pain of her absence, because I always found myself wondering if she'd opened up about how lost she was--to me or to anyone-- would she still be here? Would she still be the one lugging around this eyesore?

I wiped my cheeks and lied down on the dock. The moon very nearly touched the water. I reached out to touch it or the stars around it. My hand came back dry, warm, and empty.

Something slimy, wet, and hard slid along the arch of my foot. I flinched and jumped up, tripping over the chest, and smacking my head against the edge of the dock. I slid off the edge, deep into the cold, black abyss.

The world went dark.

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A/N:

I know what you skanks are thinking "omg fish boy has a foot kink"

NO HE DOESNT! BACK OFFFFF!!! HE DOESNT DEEPTHROAT ANKLES I SWEAR!!!

🔫😐😐😐😐😐😐😐

Fuck y'all, honestly. Y'all ain't never got anything positive to say and ima bout sick of it, lassies. I'm at my goddamn wits end

👁️😐👁️ no fr

Xoxo,
Handmaidenofvenus
venus_in_fleurs