The Cheeky Shag: The Island
© Marc Gabor
By Baylee McKeel
He had explored the island over and over, seen every nook and cranny, knew it back and forth. But this place he had never seen before, it must have grown from the ground. The volcanic rocks stretched out like a moonless night and the waves rushed at the edge, retreating after they licked the tips of stone. She was a golden ray upon a shore of coal, her skin reflected the sun, calling to him, “I’ve been waiting for you.” She felt familiar, her touch smooth like his mother’s voice, lips soft like his first crush, hair wild like the forest that sprouted from the island. He couldn’t resist her; they fell into each other, tangled together on the coarse galaxy beneath them. There were sparks, electricity bouncing off of their skin. It radiated from the earth below, filled him with an intense relief, a liberation of all of the shit he had been keeping inside, crammed deep down within himself. Flesh on flesh, the energy jumped between them. Fingers on face, hand on throat, arm around waist, legs intertwined, static flying back and forth. He could feel the ocean pulsing at his back, the waves trying to break over the rock. It was as if she was pulling everything, the air, the stone, the water, and channeling it through him. He felt incredible, the earth coursing through him, the electricity rising. Then came the release, the letting go of all of that pent up bullshit, the petty things that the carnal, primitive earth couldn’t care less about. His breath felt like the first breath of new life. And then she was gone. The island, the starless rock, the charging ocean, all of it vanished. Replaced by white, an overwhelming bright light, and an unpleasant woman staring down at him with a disapproving look. He cringed as the nurse handed him a tiny cup with an impressive amount of medication stuffed into it, shining a light at him to make sure he didn’t tongue his meds again to discover a world that was only real in his head.
