Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
I catch her smile just before she disappears completely.
Moby and I are halfway to the resort before I turn to look up at him…
…and realize the sea witch has restored his original human face and form.
“Did you miss my handsome face?” he teases, kissing my temple.
“All I ever needed was your heart,” I say, nuzzling my nose into his chin.
“You have it, Darla,” he vows, as the resort comes into view ahead, a bright beacon on the horizon, symbolic of our incredible future. “For the rest of our lives.”
Epilogue
Moby
Five Years Later
Ilearned to build and made it my profession, simply so I could build my little human a home. And I am good at building. But I am better at loving Darla.
I am a master at that. She makes it very easy. Although sometimes I think love is a very mild word for how I feel about my wife. She is the moon, sun and stars. My oxygen. An obsession with no cure. No appeasing.
Darla is life.
I watch her through the doors of my work shed where I fashion furniture and home fixtures for the locals. She sits on the hillside now, sketching tattoo ideas in her notebook, the wind blowing her long strawberry blonde hair this way and that. Our son and his toddler sister play at her feet, tumbling around in the grass, laughing merrily. I cannot believe the life this girl has given me. Happiness that words cannot describe, for it is far too vast. Knowing she would choose me and love me with any form or appearance has given me a security that I could never have imagined before Darla was in my life.
I would have her in any form, too. Any incarnation. In any world or lifetime.
For her heart is the purest of any human that walks this earth.
Somehow, she’s mine.
Which is why I do not long for the ocean, apart from the occasional urge to take a long swim. My longing for her eclipses all else.
Restless to have her in my arms, I flip the off switch on my table saw and wipe the grease from my hands. I take off my filthy shirt, so I won’t transfer any dirt onto her sacred skin and I leave the work shed, striding across the field with purpose.
Toward my wife and children.
Darla looks up and I catch the heat that kindles in her expression when she sees me with no shirt on. Ah yes, my wife gets turned on when she sees me sweaty and fresh from work. How many times has she offered me her juicy little ass in my work shed, bending over with no panties and distracting me with her sexy, come-hither smile? Or sitting in my lap and whispering in my ear that her pussy is soaked for Daddy?
Make no mistake, as soon as she crooks that little finger at me, I’m thick as hell in my briefs, tearing at the obnoxious restraints attached to human clothing, such as zippers and buttons.
Yes, I own clothes now.
Do I enjoy wearing them?
Nope.
Meanwhile, I love my wife in clothes. In public, at least. Modest ones. Especially when we go into town and everyone marvels at her figure. Her smile. Her gentle mothering. How she moves through life with such grace. Unless I’m carrying her, that is, which I often do when we’re in town, so everyone is extra aware that she is my little human and no one else’s.
I have the urge to remind Darla of this now.
She is far too beautiful sitting on the windswept hill in her yellow sundress.
Her tits are plump and ripe looking in the neckline, her toes painted pink.
Cheeks stained with a blush that deepens the closer I get.
Ah, yes, that blush. It reminds me of the day we visited the doctor to determine my relative age. Thirty-three was his estimate. Meaning, I was fifteen years older than Darla when we met, since she was eighteen. I’ve since learned that relationships with such a hefty age difference are considered inappropriate. That she was far too young. But neither one of us pays that opinion any credence. We belong to each other, age be damned.
Again, I would like to remind my wife of this. Now.
My children run toward me when they notice my approach, each of them wrapping their arms around one of my legs. I bend down and scoop one into each arm, asking them about their day. Letting them tug my hair and lay noisy kisses into my neck. And I pay attention for as long as I can, but my God, I am distracted by their enticing mother. How she lays on her belly in the grass and watches us with a contented smile, the breeze blowing the hem of her dress up to show off those sweet, pliable ass cheeks.