Troy lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was trying to concentrate. Should he pull that engine first thing this morning, or just knock out those two brake jobs first and do the engine last? Cam wanted to run out into the swamp on a Roland-hunting expedition. They needed to be on the water no later than two. It would be tight. Troy smiled. Tight. What Cam really wanted was to get Lexie in the sack, and the one way into the heart – and pants -- of a hot law-enforcement officer was to do some civic-duty shit for her. Maybe help her bust the Meth Kingpin of St. Martin Parish. Fucking Roland. He and Cam should just put that shithead down. That’s the way the old boys would’ve done it back in the day. Some Cajun justice. Let the swamp cover up the deed.
Anyway, back to the day. He tried to think about that engine, but then the image of old Cam getting Lexie out of her uniform popped into his head. Man, she was getting hotter every day. The thought of that long tall blond wrapped around him got him all excited. Or maybe it was Carla Fontanelli, who sat astride him, head back, long black hair swaying, boobs bouncing this way and that, on her way to her third orgasm of the morning.
She was getting a good rhythm going, dragging him along for the ride. Damn, she was hot, too. Funny thing, he’d never had sex with her in high school. They hadn’t hooked up till three or four years ago, after a church picnic. They had gotten a little drunk, he took her out on his boat, and they’d lit up the bayou for three hours. Since then, they’d kept it casual, consensual and constant. Neither was looking to settle down, but they sure as hell liked to get down.
She was close now, and so was he. He grabbed her hips and held on, and she took them both to Downtown Happytown.
Carla lay forward on Troy, panting. His heavy breathing matched hers and she rode up and down on his chest in a gentle rhythm.
“Okay,” she said between breaths. “That should do me for the day. How ‘bout you?”
Troy still held on to her tight little ass. “I don’t know,” he said. “Might need a little tune up this afternoon. Heard Felice Guidry is out one husband. Probably should pay her a visit.”
Carla slapped him on the chest, but still kept her head down. “Troy Pitre, you are a man-whore, but I do love you.”
“I know you do,” he said. “How old is Felice, ya think?”
Carla closed her eyes. “I don’t know. Late forties, early fifties, maybe?”
“She’s still kind of hot,” Troy said. “I’d do her.”
“You’d do a wild hog.”
“Not that great, trust me.”
Carla laughed. “I believe you.” She sat up and stretched like a cat. “I sold Felice some very interesting products last month. She wanted to bring a little sizzle back to the bedroom.”
Troy smiled up at her. “Well, at least Floyd died a happy man.”
Carla had a thoughtful look on her face. “Hmmm. Might want to pay her a visit after the funeral. She’s gonna need an upgrade, what with Floyd out of the picture.”
“Way out of the picture,” Troy said.
Carla rolled off him and stretched out on the bed. The sunlight streamed through Troy’s bedroom window. Somewhere a mockingbird squawked loudly. She always acquainted that sound to fall for some reason. Fall was a good time for her business. Fashion changed and so did makeup. She’d be showing off the new line of Mary Kay cosmetics this month as the ladies of the bayou took advantage of the lower light of fall to make themselves even more beautiful. Most of those women didn’t really need that much makeup. But she sold that shit like crazy anyway. Troy was right. Felice Guidry was still pretty hot. So was just about every woman – and man – throughout the area. Weird. But good. She guessed it was like LA, but in this case, it was the other LA as in Louisiana. Pretty people made her feel better. And made her lots of money, too.
In the distance, she heard the squeak and gear grinding of a school bus making its rounds. A nice familiar sound that always made her feel at home. Sleepy kids finding a seat as they made their way to another day in the semester. Safe. Routine. Normal.
Kids. She’d have to decide pretty soon if there were to be any in her future. The thought didn’t concern her that much. Some days she’d say hell no never. Other days, the Mom movie would play in her head and she’d like it a lot.
Of course, kids came with a man. Which was like having another kid, her mother would always say. Carla turned her head to look at Troy. He had his eyes closed, a dreamy smile on his face. He was one fine specimen, that’s for damn sure. Boyish good looks, but with a little bit of weather on him. Totally ripped. A good man, but still lots of boy left in him. He ran a successful business with his garage, stayed out of trouble for the most part and had lots of good friends. She could do worse.
Her problem was that for as long as she could remember, all men were attracted to her. She never had to work it to get one. Hers was more of a sexual management issue. When to dole it out, when to keep it locked away. Her reputation far outpaced fact, though. She hadn’t slept with half the men people thought she had. But it appeared that way. A few were still living in this town. And for the most part, they were discreet.
The good news was that she was generally well liked by men and women. When they saw her black Audi A6 driving up and down the bayou, they knew she was selling fantasies. Whether it was a complete makeover to help women be more than they were, or some sex toys to liven up an evening, Carla always delivered the goods. And sure, she’d taken her sales technique to some new heights on a few occasions. Like the time she sold some toys to a young couple over in Henderson, a lawyer and his cute debutante wife. What started as a presentation of her inventory turned into a very sexy demonstration on her part and an eventual three way on all of their parts. They were still two of her best customers.
Carla’s sex gizmo business was growing faster than the makeup, which was already making her well-into six figures. She was seriously considering creating her own line of sex toys, with a web site and everything. She even had a name: “Carla’s Bayou Boogie Toy Shop.” She could go nationwide in three months, and global shortly thereafter. Her marketing angle was simple. Her brand would be “born out of the sexy, steamy bayous of Louisiana, where the bedrooms were as spicy as the gumbo and jambalaya cooking in the kitchen.” Or something like that. Throw in her own line of sexy “Voodoo Princess” lingerie and she’d be set.
“Troy,” she said.
“Huh?”
“You still like my idea of starting my own website business?”
“Hell, yeah,” he mumbled, eyes still closed. “Means you could work right from my bed, so to speak.”
“Uh huh.”
“You could use me as a test bed, or guinea pig, or sex pig, or whatever. I could retire.”
“Definitely a sex pig,” she said.
“Are there tax deductions for having a lab animal?”
“Yeah, I could claim you. No one else will.”
Troy’s eyes opened wide in mock surprise. He rolled over onto Carla and started tickling her. She tried to fight him off, but he was too big and too quick. Her screaming laughter filled the house, and since Troy lived outside of town on a secluded three acres fronting the bayou, there were no neighbors around to come to her rescue. Which was fine with her.
The female creature had awakened just before dawn and had immediately dismantled her shelter. She had worked hard on putting it together, and it had taken some time. It was a good one, too. She was perfectly hidden. The only thing that could have found her was the male. Okay, maybe not that male. From what she could hear from his low-frequency signals, he was still moving haphazardly through the swamps, feeding when he could, trying to get his bearings on her location. She could feel his growing intensity and hunger, and his frustration. He wasn’t the sharpest guy on the block, either. But he was the only guy on the block as far as she was concerned. And if they didn’t get hooked up soon, she’d have to abort all of her young or face a slow, painful death. No female she had ever heard of had waited too long and succumbed to death by failure to give birth. But she wasn’t looking forward to slicing herself open, that’s for sure.
So here she was, moving slowly through the shallow swamps, working her way through the cypress and tupelo, trying to get back to some deeper water and a channel she could use. The sky was a bright but milky blue, and the sun was warm on her skin. On any other day, she would have enjoyed that. Today, though, she was irritable. And a little hungry, too. She’d have to stop frequently to feed, which meant lying beneath the water near the shore to snatch some unsuspecting native animal. She might even risk it and try for one of the smart creatures that lived in the swamp. They were so easy to catch, but they scared her some. The damned things were very bright and could surprise you. They could hurt you -- or worse -- if you weren’t careful. She wasn’t in the best of shape, and she wasn’t as fast as she normally was, but she was pretty clever, too. More so than that idiot male out there who was trying to find her. He was young, and this was his first mating ritual. Her second, actually. The first being on her home world a very long time ago. Then she got captured and dropped here with the male. The first part of the mating had been a little awkward. Well, for him anyway. But she’d been patient and things worked out. Now, years later, he had to close the deal on his own. So far, he had been less than impressive. He should be closer by now. But no, he was thrashing about. Every minute he wasted, the hungrier, crazier and meaner he’d get. And dumber, too. A very bad combination of qualities when you wanted to start a family. So here she was, trying to close the distance between them, helping him out.
The young ones squirmed in her body. She winced. Bastard.
“Four dykes in a dinghy.” There was a joke there somewhere.
Kathy Flynn laughed to herself at the thought. Something her dad might’ve said. She stood on the flying bridge of the small cabin cruiser and looked down at the rest of her “crew.” Tess, her current partner and self-avowed “lipstick lesbian,” lay on the back deck sunning herself, bikini top off and her brown skin glimmering with oil. Maddie and Karen, their friends and compatriots from New Orleans, sat on a nearby bench seat, being kissy kissy. Watching them was starting to get her a little worked up. That and Tess, who looked downright edible lying there on the sundeck.
Kathy’s family had a large camp on the Atchafalaya River near Butte La Rose, and since her mom and dad had died, she had been the primary caretaker of the place. So whenever she could, she’d get the girls together, head out of New Orleans and hole up in the swamps for a few days.
Kathy was excellent with the boat, better than her two brothers, her dad used to say. Although the cabin cruiser was probably a little too much boat for some of the smaller bayous, it was spacious and well stocked with food and booze. She’d also brought some excellent weed, and she took a hit on the joint that continued to mellow her out.
They’d gotten in last night, had a sensational dinner of grilled redfish she’d prepared herself, and then they retired for a very sexy evening of fun. This morning, they all packed up for a day on the water and headed out by eight. After an hour or so of cruising and sightseeing, she’d anchored the boat near Bayou Chene. She found a good spot near the shore so they could do a little fishing and sunbathing. She’d cautioned the girls about jumping in the water, since the alligators would still be feeding this time of the morning.
“Hey, you two gonna fish or what?” she said. “Tonsil hockey’s not gonna put dinner on the table.”
Maddie looked up at Kathy and smiled. “I am fishing,” she replied. She had her long red hair pulled back with a pair of $500 Gucci shades set atop her head.
“Hilarious,” Kathy said.
Karen, Maddie’s partner, laughed. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bikini top, then tossed it in her beach bag. Her full breasts seemed to expand when exposed to the air, the nipples hard due to Maddie’s ministrations. “Maybe we can do some noodling later. That’s what those rednecks call it. You know, when they reach their hands in the water and catch fish by hand?”
“Uh huh. Whatever,” Kathy said. “Hey, Tess. Don’t fall in, baby.”
Tess mumbled something and rolled onto her back. Damn, she looked good, Kathy thought.
The bayou was glass smooth, not another soul in sight. No cars, no jet noise, no nothing. Just quiet. Perfect.
The female creature floated submerged in the bayou, her arms and legs spread wide, enjoying the coolness of the water. She undulated her body every so slightly to give her a bit of forward motion. The channel was deeper here and she could stay underwater for over an hour if she had to. She enjoyed the comfort the neutral buoyancy gave her. Her pregnancy put great strain on her back and joints, so floating weightless was pure bliss. Even better, an unsuspecting creature might swim by and she could catch a quick meal without much exertion. And she was really starting to get hungry.
Her hypersensitive hears caught the sound moments later. It was that chattering noise the smart creatures made. As best she could tell, it was the way they communicated with each other. At first it was faint, but it grew stronger with each minute, which meant she was getting closer. To a meal.
Catching the things usually wasn’t difficult, if the circumstances were right. That meant she’d have to take a quick peek above the surface. But carefully.
She changed her body shape ever so slightly and began to rise slowly to the surface so just her eyes broke the still water. Over the years, she’d watch how the alligators did this to sneak up on their prey. Her kind weren’t normally that subtle, but the technique had proven to be quite successful over the years. Especially now when she was slower and fatter.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. That’s when she saw them. Four of the smart creatures just ahead on that big floating object. Her years here had taught her that these were females, just like her. Well, not just like her. They weren’t fat, pregnant and ugly. Well, they were a little repulsive with their tiny heads. But food that tasted good didn’t always look good.
The creature spotted one of the females lying near the water, stretched out on its back. That meant it couldn’t run once the action started. Should be easy for her. Slowly, she submerged again and moved closer to the boat. Perfect.
On any given day, there were all manner of boats that could be seen on the bayou. Bass boats, ski boats, party barges and the pirogue, the classic Cajun canoe. But rarely did one see a kayak.
Brad Parsons didn’t give a shit. His small red kayak moved effortlessly through the still water of the bayou. With measured, even strokes, he rounded the bend.
This would make a great article in his favorite magazine, Men’s Health. Kayaking the still waters of Louisiana’s bayou country. He imagined the opening paragraph: “Brad Parsons, young, handsome, successful stockbroker from Lafayette, Louisiana, glides bravely through the alligator and snake-infested waters of Bayou Chene. He is fearless. But that’s Brad’s outlook on everything he does.”
He liked that. Then he thought of the picture of himself that would go with the article. Chiseled jaw line, blond tips in his hair. His ripped chest and six pack were accentuated by a sheen of sweat that made his skin glow in the morning sun. He was glad he’d shaved his chest and arms, too. He was an Adonis. Of course, he routinely shaved every square inch of his body, but that wouldn’t make it into the magazine. He was a manscaped pristine machine. The ladies liked it that way.
Brad smiled. His health routine was impressive. Five miles of road work each morning. Free weights. Some machines. A nice diet of protein shakes and other magical concoctions, but no ‘roids for him. That shit made you crazy. And made your balls shrink. Can’t have any of that.
He looked down in the water and caught his reflection. Total awesomeness. Perfect.