Unknown - The ape girl

She stepped into her rain boots and grabbed a headscarf. She let herself quietly out the door of her cabin and made her way to the main deck.

A little stroll would do her good. A little stroll and a lung full of that salty sea air.

She rounded a corner of the deck and stared ahead of her. Two of the black gang were just coming up the steps. One was tall and erect. The other was short and stooped somewhat. She recognized him as Potter.

Probably getting off work, she thought. She found herself idly wondering what those men did in their off hours. Probably the things most working men do. She followed them along aimlessly a few moments, quietly stepping along behind.

After some minutes of this, she realized she was following them on purpose. She was curious. She had always been curious.

She saw the two of them heading for the lower deck. The lower deck lined with second class cabins. She watched as they knocked on the door of one of them and waited until someone opened it. Then, they disappeared inside.

Her curiosity had her now. Had her by the throat. There was nothing else she could do but stand there and wait to find out what it was they were doing inside there.

She leaned nonchalantly against the deck railing and stared out onto the water. The moon made a track of shimmering light along it, heading right toward her.

She fumbled in her trench coat pocket for a cigarette. She pulled one out and fumbled for a match.

"Shit," she heard herself whisper, "out of matches."

She turned toward the main lounge, where she knew the bar would still be open only to have someone tap her on the shoulder.

She turned around to look directly into the face of the darkest, fiercest human she had ever seen up close.

It was Potter's face.

"Can I help you?" the man said, knitting his heavy, full brow and letting his long arm fall gracefully off her shoulder.

"Oh," she said, startled too much to speak clearly, "I… I… I was just looking for a match."

"Strange place to find one," the young man said, sticking his long, hairy hand in his pocket and hunching his shoulders forward a bit.

"Yes," Blair apologized, "guess one doesn't usually come to the lower deck to look for a match."

"What are you looking for?" the man said, boldly facing her.

He was straightforward, all right. Blair liked that in a man. She had had enough civilized bullshit in her life to last her through the second one.

"I saw you go into that cabin just now," she said, her mind caught in a traffic jam. She couldn't decide how to get out of it, either.

"Well, I came out the back way," the scowling man said, leaning his right elbow on the rail and regarding her with complete hostility. "My friends saw you through the porthole and they sent me out to check on you."

"Why did they send you out?" Blair said, trying another approach.

"Because I'm their errand boy," Potter said, groping in his flannel shirt pocket for a cigarette. "Or hadn't you guessed."

"No," she said, shaking her head and feeling a cool chill penetrate her bones. It contrasted sharply with the heat rising up between the triangle between her legs.

"I'm also their gopher, their kid, their mascot and their chump," the young man, a note of sarcasm edging into his voice, "but that's all right."

Blair stood and stared back at him. There was nothing else to say, really. She wished to hell she knew something, but there wasn't anything.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he said, looking at her uncomfortably.

Blair watched his eyes in the moonlight. They were shifty, scared, beady eyes. But his grin was gentle and sweet. When he grinned. That wasn't much. He was a pretty serious. Not unintelligent. Just unschooled. But then, not everybody had had the advantages in this life that she had. And meeting a man like Potter certainly drove that fact home to her.

"Won't your friends miss you?" she said, clutching her hands down inside the pockets of her trench coat.

"Naw," the young man said, "they're playing cards. Sometimes the betting gets heavy. Or sometimes the drinking gets heavy and fights break out. I'm just there to hold the pot."

"The bets?" Blair said, staring at the thick, dark mass of hair that circled his head and rode down almost to his eyebrows. The hair along his neck was every bit as thick as that on his head.

Blair found herself fantasizing about what it must feel like to run her fingers through it.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" she said, aware that his eyes were piercing her steadily.

"I thought a beautiful girl like you would be used to it," he said, shaking his head and grabbing a lighter from his pocket.

"No," she said back to him, hooking her hand around his arm and cuddling a bit closer to him, "I never have gotten used to it."

"Me neither," he said, "but I ain't no beautiful girl."

"No, you're not," Blair said, looking at him tenderly.

"I'm a dog-eyed son of a monkey," the young man said, the bitterness welling up in his voice like oil from a tar pit.

"Why do you say that?" she said, following his steps and trying not to make too much out of the put down.

"Because it's true," he said, "that's what my mother used to call me. She hated me. She couldn't wait to get rid of me. Later, I found out she wasn't even my real mother. My real mother had dumped me in a vacant lot. The woman who couldn't stand the sight of me was my stepmother. How do you like that for a good laugh?"

"I'm not amused," Blair said, clutching the young man's arm a little tighter.

"You would be if you could see the rest of me," the man said.

Christ, Blair thought to herself, this guy is turning me on on purpose.

"Is that a proposition?" she said, turning to face him.

She tossed her head back and waited for an answer.

"I don't proposition women," the man scowled.

"Why not?" she said, watching the hot little gust of steam escape her lips.

"Because I don't like getting turned down all the time," the man said, his voice rising to a crescendo.

Blair shut up a moment. She didn't want to push this guy, goad him into hating her. A lot of people had mistreated and taunted him. That was evident. She would have to speak very plain English to him. And she would have to do it soon.

She looked up into his face and noticed the way the moonlight played on it. It look black and shiny, like oil on water. Dark, deep swelling water. The look of nature, the look of danger.

She was drawn to him desperately. She gripped his arm and steered him to the railing.

"Maybe you've been propositioning the wrong people," she said, never moving her gaze an inch away from his deep-set dark eyes.

"I should be asking you I suppose," the man said, skeptically tossing his words off.

"Why not?" she said, leaning back against the railing and arching her back hard enough to let her tits jut out. She felt a little gust of wind play down the opening between her coat lapels.

She remembered she didn't have anything on under the trench coat. Too late to apologize now.

The man stared at her and his eyes wandered to the open throat of her coat lapels. Her skin was white and shining. He could see the tops of her huge breast mounds. And the look in her eye. He had seen it in women's eyes before. Women in the movies. Women wrapped up in the arms of their lovers strolling on the main deck of the ship. Women in girlie magazines.

But never, never had he seen anyone look at him like that.

It was a look mixed with curiosity and kindness, and that was nothing new. Many people had looked at him like that, but beyond that. There was something that went definitely beyond that.

It was a look of heat, like a jolt from the furnace below. A look of intensity and… desire. That's what it was. And it wasn't until at least ten seconds later, that Potter realized the woman's desire was for him.