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Authors: Carolina Connor

Gill Man's Girl

BOOK: Gill Man's Girl
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GILL MAN’S GIRL

 

 

CAROLINA CONNOR

 

Gill Man’s Girl

Copyright © 2014

Published by Dark Hollows Press

 

About the eBook You Have Purchased

All rights reserved. Without reserving the rights under copyright, reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, is forbidden. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law.

 

 

Gill Man’s Girl

Copyright © 2014 Carolina Connor

 

ISBN 10: 1942176465

ISBN 13: 978-1-942176-46-6

 

Original Publication Date: December 2014

Cover Design by 3 Rusted Spoons

 

 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Chapter One

 

Her mother had often told her she was born without fear. It was true, Lita Lawrence hadn't known the feeling, either often or to any extent to write home about. But this might be the exception.

She woke in a grotto unable to move. Her gaze roamed over her surroundings. Obsidian stone stalactites stared back at her, and dark slate-colored walls had crystals winking from them. The cave must've been made from volcanic activity. As for herself, she didn't discern any pain and so laid there for several minutes trying to recall what happened and where she was. She had been flying in a Cessna seaplane with Professor Moreno and his collegiate assistant, Bobby Williams. They had come to the Amazon to study the Pirarucu,
Arapaima gigas,
one of the largest freshwater fish native to South America. They were over Venezuela when the engines sputtered, smoked, and gave out. Down they had gone in a roaring, gut-wringing plunge.

She took a deep breath and, without moving anything but her neck, looked herself over. Goo covered her lower extremities and her arms from the elbows down. It was slimy, a dark gray-green color, about the consistency of egg whites. When she put some effort into it, she pulled one hand free with a sucking
thonk
sound, and then the other. The substance resembled slime the eels in the area secreted. She slung it off enough to wipe a hand over her head. As expected the slime was there, as well. The whole place smelled of fish. She must look positively delightful and smell even better, she thought.

She'd known in her heart of hearts this had been a bad idea. The only reason she'd been dissuaded from her studio apartment in Ruston, Louisiana was the promise of a fast track to her doctorate. Ending up in the Amazon was the
last
thing on her agenda, and quite frankly was the reason she'd changed the specialization of her biology major three times. But she'd followed the stupid doctorate carrot Doctor Moreno had dangled, including the standard assurances:

“It would only be a week—ten days at the most.” 


We'll be in a hotel in San Carlos.”

It turned out San Carlos barely had covered toilets here and there, much less a hotel. Yet, here she was. Somewhere in a tunnel with fish slime all over her.

Spectacular.

Lita extracted herself and sat up to remove the gunk from her legs. To take her mind from the repulsive, smelly task, she tried to remember anything that happened after the crash. Where were the others? Who had brought her here? Where was she and why?

When she had removed enough of the slime to release her legs, she slid—literally—from the rock and tested her footing. The glittering ground was firm and her legs didn't give way under her weight. No pain, so again she presumed nothing was broken. She still had on her khaki shorts and blue halter top, neither blood-stained, though both were streaked with black muck. The place felt like a giant conch shell, complete with whirling echoes that sounded like the ocean. There was no way to tell where they originated, and the scientist in her knew it was just an auditory illusion attributed to the shape and configuration of the cave when it was formed. An old second grade puzzle book had once told her: When in doubt, go left. Or something like that. With no other bearing from which to begin, that was normally her course of action.

She stepped with care, watchful for shells or glass since her boots had been lost somewhere. It struck her belatedly that she could see rather well in the grotto, although there weren't any lamps or torches. It must be a trick of the obsidian walls which allowed daylight to parallel reflect deep into the caverns. It was quite nice actually.

Every so often a waft of air would flow through and cause her to shiver. Foreign noises detached themselves from the whorl of the ocean sounds and grew louder.  So at the next passageway, Lita went right, toward the din. After about twenty more steps, the tunnel opened into a broad cavern with a pool in its center. A warm drone vibrated the air in the room, coming from dozens of creatures in the pond. The surface rolled and rippled and a green back or a gray appendage would show through before being drawn back under. A mating frenzy came to mind, amphibians of both sexes in a heated race to breed.

The sound itself was a tangible, alluring thing. It reverberated over her skin, making her warm. The pulsation vibrated through her chest and worked its way inevitably to her core. She slid her hand over her flat stomach and below the waistband of her shorts. She was already affected by the roaring hormones, her crevice slick, accepting of her fingers with an eager euphoric gasp torn from her throat. She bit her lip and was powerless to stop the rhythm her body fell into by rote. In seconds, she was panting, standing there rubbing her clit until she couldn't comprehend anything but the vibration swirling inside her abdomen and her fingers stroking her sex. Her gasps came fast and erratic as she pounded her hand against her clitoris knowing even as she did there wouldn't be the satisfaction the hum told her was out there.

“Ooh!” She half-backed half-fell against a jutting rock behind her, using it for leverage. “Ooohshit!” she groaned. A lull in the hum broke her from the mesmerizing sensation. She managed to suck in two complete breaths, before she veered, hurrying without caring where she stepped or which way she headed. She finally felt fresh air and the grotto opened up on a lush tropical forest a mere twenty-five paces from a lagoon. She leaned against a bent palm tree to catch her breath. Underneath it, two boulders rose up like huge stone breasts. Her analytical mind returned and, with it, she guessed it was not long after dawn. She was still flushed, hot, and the water here was dark and lapped languidly at the shore and its broad grasses.

The Amazon was famous for its piranha, which she knew had species that numbered in the dozens, none of which were known as the frenzied flesh eaters depicted in horror movies, unless chummed, starved, or the animal was already dead and rotting. Like nearly every other living organism, piranhas were opportunists. As inviting as the water was, she knelt down checking the edge thoroughly, ultimately risking a finger to see if anything came up to feast upon it. There was nothing. She waded in, stepping gingerly, but still nothing came around for a nibble. With an exhale of relief, she continued in and washed and rubbed the rest of goo off of her.

The water was absolutely heavenly. She ducked under several times to rinse her hair and face, but after her stomach growled with hunger, she knew she should work on building a fire and finding food. She didn't want to leave the soothing contentment the bay offered, but at last she dragged herself from the lagoon and lounged on the protruding boulders to dry. She itched and scratched her legs and arms. Dry, scaly skin—psoriasis—magnificent; apparently a reaction to the slime.

Wishing she had her GPS, she looked around in a concerted effort to determine in what part of Venezuela on the Amazon River she was. Of course it was no good. The jungle was thick and humid and probably looked and felt exactly this same way for hundreds of miles.

She wondered whether her professor and Bobby were even alive. She was alone, in a jungle, talked into this trip on the promise of an easy grade. Dr. Moreno wasn't a bad person, with his thin ribbon bow tie that became all the rage in the 1850's. But he was overly steeped in the need to learn firsthand. Had he been open to a blow-job or even something more—as long as it was just once—she wouldn't have been talked into the trip at all. And Bobby, bless his heart, was as opportunistic as the piranha. And nearly as bitey. Which was ironic considering he had part of one ear missing from a dog attack. This would've been a nice feather in his cap, volunteering to assist the professor, plus an added bonus with the better-than-average chance of bedding Lita during the trip. She looked down where her shirt was wet and stretched tightly over her breasts, showing a significant swell. And they itched, too. She scratched at them absently before forcing herself to find dried wood and put it in a pile.

Dried wood was not a common commodity in a rain forest, but she managed some dead limbs and twigs and vines for kindling. Too bad she didn't have any waterproof matches. Or matches at all.

The grotto would be her shelter, she decided. It was here and she wouldn't have to expend energy in building something. The water seemed fresh, but she knew better than to assume. If for no other reason, she had to figure out how to build a fire to keep the jaguars away and boil water to drink. She held out little hope of finding a hamburger joint for supper.

With a pile of dry or drying wood and no way yet to light it, Lita finally succumbed to the itching and the call of the lagoon and went in, cautiously as before. Treading water, her stomach growled again. She couldn't hear it, but she could feel the invisible tendrils of hunger scraping the inside of her belly. What was there to eat? She could probably guess at what fruits were edible and scoped out the tree tops from the bay's vantage point. Coconuts, that would be good, both liquid and 'meat' inside. She might get to the point of eating a raw fish like she'd seen on
Survivor Man
. She couldn't imagine it at the moment, but she supposed it was possible. Especially after the hunger pains groveled inside her again.

Fine. Coconuts it was.

She was leisurely breast-stroking to the shore when something bumped against her leg. First she thought fish, which led instantly to piranha or barracuda despite knowing intellectually that there was little danger of either devouring her leg in one attack. She hurried her strokes regardless, her mind going next to crocodile and bull shark before mentally rationalizing the river dolphins they had come to study in the first place, or even better, random dead wood.

She made it to the shoreline and was pulling herself out when something caught her foot. She twisted around, shaking her leg to dislodge whatever it was, and was shocked at seeing something green and scaly wrapped around her ankle. The grip released her and she scurried back from the lagoon like a crab, heedless of the sand scraping her knees.

Surely she hadn't seen what she thought she'd seen. It had to be kelp, deep Amazonian grasses wrapped in such a way to resemble a...a
hand
.

But in the next breath, she watched paralyzed as a head emerged from the dark surface. It was bulbous, with fins that stuck out from the side as it...
breathed.
Its mouth was rimmed in fat, bulging lip-like skin that opened and closed like a koi in a tank. She tried to breathe, feeling panic rising in a scream that wouldn't come out.

BOOK: Gill Man's Girl
5.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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