The Cheeky Shag: The Siren
By Baylee McKeel
Kirin was always drawn to the water. It soothed her, the soft, cool touch and sudden rush that came with the shifting tides. She found herself in the waves and let herself go with each passing ripple. All the anger, the frustration, drowned in the whirlpool circling her body. The anger, the frustration, she was consumed in it now. Their bodies had been entangled, twisted together in sweaty chaos. Her legs, her arms, her breasts, that bitch was pressed up against him like her life depended on it. They were swaying, no not swaying, fucking. There was nothing gentle about it, no other way to phrase it. Mauling each other like rabid animals, grunting and moaning, pulling on skin and bed post, shaking dust loose from every crevice of the filthy motel room. When Kirin slid key into slot she knew what she was walking in on, the goddamn grunting echoed so loud she heard it the second she pulled into the parking lot. They hadn’t even heard the door open, or noticed her stroll up and grab his hair so hard she pulled a little tuft out as she threw him off the bed. She saw his face flash from excitement, to fear. From shit the bitch was getting naughty to shit… Kirin?
Those were his words of repentance. She slapped him across the face, glared at the girl now cowering under the covers she was screaming into only seconds earlier, and walked out. She knew he would follow. He followed all the way to the beach. Followed her into the waves. Followed her until his head was floating above the tide, and then disappeared beneath it. Kirin collapsed into the water, letting it submerge her, letting it absorb her anger, her frustration, her betrayal, letting it absorb him. And when the water had finished and he sank with the rage, Kirin felt as if she could breathe again. And then she heard the song. A sweet entrancing melody rising from below and she knew she had found herself in the waves, in each passing ripple. It sang to her, calling her sister, calling her muse, calling her Siren.