Sea Angels & Butterfly Kisses

Sometimes a man needs a brutal love rescue, in a tough love way. Then kissed, caressed and loved back to operational capacity. At what degree is a personal thing, whatever you read into that.

And this Lifeguard Captain, DJ, gets a wife rescue!

It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last and every episode varies.

Only she knows how to do that tuff love, tender care and repair stuff.

The Lifeguard Captain’s wife, Portia, says it straight out;

“It’s like owning a high performance Supercar. Drives fast, handles like a dream, right and tight, hugs corners in all-weather at speed, feels good in all the right places, purrs like a kitty, roars like a Lion, can be dangerous, fun and hard to handle in top gear, looks good”.

 “But… when it breaks down, you gotta be a; Dam-Good-Mechanic”!

As it pertains to this situation, DJ is injured. 

More than a ouch;

That got him the full sweep high velocity flat hand slap across the face covered in tears, kisses, hugs and I love you’s. Then the pointed index finger emotional high volume disciplinary lecture, the kind every man knows just shut-up and take it, with the full hand face grip, squeezed contorted lips, twice, with a scolding; “Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you”! And more tears, kisses, hugs, I love you’s.

That’s before being wheeled out of the hospital because he was missing at Sea for 24 hours.

Nothing like a pissed off-love sick- worried to tears-grieving-wife that; Told-You So!

It doesn’t matter if he confesses, apologies, admits, “ahh I had a lapse in judgment, maybe a little too risky, sorry dear, that won’t happen again, bla, bla, bla”.

He’s still get’n an ass kick’n verbally and hopefully not physically by way of potted flowers and his favorite sauté pan collection in projectile mode.

There’s gonna be a lot of wife gifts, VIP girl treatment and extra nice husband tolerances with heaps of grateful humble husband love, with double scoops of “yes dear” laden with sweet love dust sprinkles topped with cherry kisses for the next couple of months.

And; he might as well just get a big tattoo on his ass that’s says; I Told You So! And get Portia to sign it.

Along with that comes an assorted list of wife sanctions, embargoes and compliance regulations that can be appealed, litigated and negotiated albeit at a much later date after an extended probationary period.

There’s allot of manly phrases for these situations; in the penalty box, red carded, in the dog house, on a tight leash, black listed, etc. But none of them convey the gravity and emotions of the moment.

Its check out at the hospital lobby in a wheel chair, stitches here and there, sprained shoulder, arm sling, assorted bruises and bandages, head scrapes, gauze head wrap, listening to his wife get the final doctors’ instructions on home care, some meds, a large oversized sized document envelope rolled in her hand.

DJ interjects in the conversation, Portia turns with that laser death star radiation stare, lifts that rolled envelope liken to a forehand wind-up at Wimbledon center court, tightens her lips, freezes, DJ goes  silent, looks down staring at the floor.

He thinks for a second, hmm, should I go back to the hospital room for safe harbor? Or just zip it and take it?

DJ’s #2, Lifeguard Lieutenant (LT) Gabby, tall, dark, former professional Olympic beach volleyball star, points one of those long dark fingers at him in a Shh-hush motion with an S curve and flick of the hair.

Add that up, that’s three professional woman making decisions for DJ; Ms. Doctor, DJ’s wife and Ms. Gabriella.

There is zero room for error here as these women are bonded by the same yoga instructor, garden club and wine bar plus Portia is senior management at the Malta Convention Center in which she provided sponsors for the upcoming medical convention with the doctor.

There’s a deeper connection here, literally.

All three of these women are Free Divers. If you don’t know what that is, go to your favorite online search engine, photo search - women free divers.

DJ calls them “Sea Angels”. 

In a busy hospital lobby, the Island Nation’s Sea Rescue Captain is banged up in a wheel chair being disciplined by three professional women.

A blow to the male ego of sorts.

Interrupting here is social suicide.

At present, life sucks for the Lifeguard Captain.

DJ is surrounded by intense disciplinary tough love.

How did he get here?

36 Hour Rewind-Pozallo Sicily:

That’s just under an hour run North at a brisk cruising speed in calm dawn waters on one of those fast rescue boats from Valetta Malta.

The two best mates, DJ and Chief Constable Ryan were at meetings with regional Sea Rescue leaders, Navy officials, Interpol and Frontex-the European border patrol and Coast Guard agency. Topics discussed were a wave of illegal boat migrants, human smuggling, trafficking gangs, money/ asset laundering and how to spot it.  

The two public servants were representing regional cooperation.

Flip that around its two former Spec- Op’s counter intelligence field officers on a reconnaissance mission scanning for who knows what and who’s on the cartel payroll trafficking in dis-information.

Call it an Intel soft probe.

No one has a clue about the two bodies washed up in Sea commando kit on their coast, the bag of Rhodium cubes and the faded tattoo that tells the tale they will never tell, means nothing to no one unless you've been there done that.

The strategy here is; let the others theorize and pontificate about a mystery criminal cartel network.

It’s tactical in the sense; don’t go on a safari looking for what you can’t find.

And in this case, detection is 90% of the clue to the crime.

Stay cool, play naive, smile, keep it simple.

It’s a watch and wait game, opportunity will surface, forcing a demon out of his protective box, then assess if it’s a kill capture mission. They know the drill; it used to be a profession back in the day for God, Queen and Country. A past skill set re-tuned and re-booted for this situation.

Or is it a sport, re-inspired by a resurrection of a ghost?

There’s some revenge mixed in there.   

It’s an extermination plot of a toxic parasite brokering human souls, slave and trafficked labor from Africa, yielding a stream of high value rare earth minerals for global markets. The left overs sold off as human migrants, a business model few understand in a dark matrix with a distribution model that makes money three times on the same product, even the humans.

 After the meeting, as Mediterranean culture does and Sicily is known for, it’s a long lunch discussion with traditional varieties of appetizers, sea food, pasta and quantities of good wine.

Maybe a little to much wine for the Lifeguard Captain.

 Chief Ryan stays with his counter parts for the night. 

DJ calls Portia, Portia tells DJ to stay there for the night, she doesn’t have a good vibe about returning hastily, safety first! She repeats it; DJ does the guy, ya, ya, ok babe and hangs up the phone cutting her off. An arrogant mistake he now regrets.

Why would Portia tell her husband, a professional Sea- Search and Rescuer, to stay there for the night and safety first?

She’s smart, logical, rational, knows her husband.

 And she has the intuition of honed free-diver.

Souls that tune their breathe from the core, in this case in a single breath descending (3) atmospheres or more, slowing their heart rate, equalizing pressure, gliding and drifting in coastal reefs and open Sea blue water feeling sounds and vibrations at pressure layered depths. In that zone the body electrical frequency changes, bio-chemistry alters, temperature drops. 

Fish shoal around her, she pets sharks, dolphins, followed and plays with Sea turtles, submerged for a couple of minutes or longer. It’s not so rare for these people to be so in tune they can sense risk, atmospheric and aqua energy changes in a premonition sense.

Reads esoteric, like some mystical spiritual awakening Tale?

Take a longer look at free those Free Dive photos again. These souls exist among us.  

The wind picks up, skies tint grey, radar check, DJ can’t override that boyish ego urge of a fast Sea machine. He throttles up homeward bound, plaining, skipping and gliding over long smooth rolling swells in late afternoon flat light as a lite rain begins.

Half way out, he skims over one of those long smooth rolling swells at about 60 knots, impacts into half-submerged dilapidated boat of about forty migrants.

Black Out*

24 hours later the low cloud marine layer clears, a rescue helicopter finds DJ floating illuminated by his rescue suit and strobe light, surrounded by migrant bodies of men, woman and children and debris. DJ is the only survivor.

Home at Last:

The first thing that strikes you about their humble abode is the vast array of terracotta pots, planters, bird feeders and the smell of herbs of every kind, blooming flowers, cactuses and butterflies.

A remodeled WWII bomb shelter for Lorries dug into a sloping limestone hillside, façade covered in natural stone overlooking the Sea with large plate glass sliding windows, limestone gravel drive way, terraced lounge area.

Herbs and flowers selectively planted to attract domestic and migrating butterflies.

It’s got that raw, refined, eclectic, shabby & chic, artsy ambiance.

Portia is a master a gardener.

Definitely looks like a chill out habitat zone.

 It’s the last residence furthest down the slope. Below that is a strip of land deemed national park covered in wild low growth shrubs and grasses along the rugged coast line, then the blue view of the Sea.

Portia does the phone-app, pizza delivery, uncorks a red wine.

Surrounded by an array of patio candle lanterns high and low, chill music and a fire in the big round metal brazier.

Portia trims and tosses in a bit of sage now and then.

It’s simple quality husband and wife chill time, chill music, chilled chit chat, humorous gossip, wine, sunset watching - Seagulls and distance ships.

Cushioned patio lounge sofas pressed together with pillows and blankets.

Duvet covered

Cuddled-up

They call it nesting

Portia warms a bit of Moroccan Argan oil in the microwave oven, dabs and rubs some dry scraped skin rash areas on DJ.

    A temperate on shore drift rustles the garden

                  Butterflies bedded down for the night

                        Lantern candles flicker

                                        Fire burns low

Smoldering scent of sage air a blow

Breath on skin, goose bumps cringe

Butterfly kisses in the wind

Muscles twinge

Massaging holds, soft but bold

Silhouettes flicker of candle light glow

Not too fast and not to slow

Blinded in fire light she glows

The motion of oceans, the smell of the Sea

Familiar rhythms sway a spiritual plea

 Free Dive Angel butterfly kiss me

Where you go feeling me, defenseless, spell bound, helpless I be

Ahh-Uhh

Deep inhales

Longer exhales

   Yet I can’t breathe

 Tingle in places I can’t see

Sweating chills droplets crawling on me

It’s dark, its dawn, I can’t move, she pins me down with hands and knees

Angel shadows flicker of candle light I see

*Tschcaa-ahhh*

-That hurts-

I have to take it, I can make it

In this plight I have no fight

An erotic muse is she

Sensuous and bold, hot and cold, hold me, grip me, squeeze me, coddle, cuddle

 A paralyzed man in an Angel’s deep Sea ecstasy

Ouch!

It’s a stroke, a long drink suck with a squeeze, cringing toes, I can’t feel my knees

Is it her chemistry or her alchemy of the Sea?

  Cast another spell on me, I’m her hostage, yet I’m free

After all these years it’s always so sweet

Moments of flash backs of when we did first meet

Hot flashes, I over heat

Angel of love, witch of ecstasy

 Blinded by darkness only shadows I see

It hurts so good I cry out in blasphemy

The power of love mixed with erotic nasty ecstasy

OMG!-[#+>x}!

Arching back, it hurts to relax, I give up, take me, hold me, it’s hard to flex at that degree

They say there’s a fine line in love and animal passion

I have to say it…

Fuck me baby* in that giddy-up raw cow girl fashion

I married an angel of the deep, she’s trying to put me asleep, yet I have another breath, another go, an exhale as I give it another throw

 Argon slips, a little grip, saturated wet, natural juices and allot of sweat

The smell of us like sensuous dust, sweet pollen lust, she rubs it all over

I’ve been doped with her elixir

Give me another double shot of that mixer

!Hold a sec’ !

Stay right there, don’t move, not even a hair

Her breath on my lips, covered in a messy Angel hair snare

A lick of the tongue over her breast, small pulsating sucks all over her chest

Sensuous kisses of gen to distract and paralyze

It’s that labia lollipop roll’n motion accelerated narcotic high

She almost breaks my neck as she tenses her thighs

Her muffled squeals, fingernail scratches and cries

Inspiring quakes, shakes, tremors of convolutions and emotions

Wear your claw marks proudly I’ll be, it’s my badge of honor to thy ecstasy

Husband and wife, a tuned coupling of synchronized life

An erotic - tango- tantra-deep rhythms- flows- of Seas

There’s a bit of a struggle, it’s actually a snuggle

A little drool, no holds bar, no freestyle rules

 Hold on tight baby-Here we go

A burst of hip power, a bit of a thrust, drag her by the knees, roll’n her over, I ain’t ask’n please

Another run of the tongue, a nip of the butt, she quivers, she shakes, but she can’t hide

I’m her man, I gotta ride

 It’s a power lift, a toss to one side- get’n that angle-long deep strokes to that spot deep inside

If I cum again my brain’s gonna fry

Oh my God what a way to die!

Firm but soft, the deeper I go

Waves and swells, sweat of breathe with a blow

Every arch my muscles tense and flex

It’s the Free Dive Angel who taught me to feel and sense

Hand pressed on her shoulder as a ballast holder

I lose my balance I know not where

In the heat of the moment I don’t fucking care

<water-thirsty-pause-phew>

‘Ok- lets go’

Steep and deep pushed knees on my chest, hold on tight baby, I’ll do the rest

Rock me, role me, fold me, I see stars, it’s all art in motion so gracefully on par

Tears of love we sigh and cry, feel, taste and see

Captured in a Sea Angels realm of ecstasy

 Butterfly kiss me

Mastery of masseuse inspired, yet it’s you that shaped and molded me higher

I struggle to hold on

 Beads of salt sting my eyes

My bodily aches and pains I don’t even realize

A bust of power the one hand lift

 A firm hand on her butt I grip

The backwards drift, a flexing pair, I hold her head with a grab of her hair

Fall on me Free Dive Girl

Centuries of stories, poems and rhymes of lover’s pleas

My wife is the white witch of deep Sea alchemy

The aqua colors of ecstasy

The master of butterfly kisses cast a spell on me

Black Out*

Sunrise:

DJ awakens; sprawled out, face down, one eye open to the smell of fresh ground coffee, a pain pill by his side and chirps of those rowdy birds begging for their bird feeders to be filled in morning Sea breeze.