Jayne’s Adventures – The Conclusion!
(continued from last week)
Jayne arranged her bathing suit, put on her horrible rendition of a poker face, and prepared to ascend. As she got closer to the surface, the pressure from the pearls in her top began to change. As they heated from her skin they turned mushy. By the time her head broke the surface of the water, she was grateful for the waves washing away a sticky film from her skin.
“What the—?” The dude on the Jet Ski gaped at her. “You didn’t open that box did you?”
“Come on.” She shrugged, inflating her buoyancy control vest. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Damn. Probably.” A series of laughs fell from him. He had to clutch the handlebars in his ridiculously tan hands to keep from pitching into the ocean.
Jayne would have let him drown, that bastard. “What the hell is so funny?”
“Oh, nothing.” His broad shoulders rippled when he shrugged. “This wasn’t exactly how we’d planned to do this but I guess it’s working.”
Following his line of sight, Jayne noticed a flurry of colors and motion around her in the water. “Holy crap. What’s all that? Is there a shark? Something’s going to eat me, right? I’m too young to die. I swear. I’ll be good from now on. Just let me on your ski-thingy.”
She attempted to scramble toward him. With her tank, it was impossible to clamber on board.
“Nothing’s after you. The fish, they’re reacting to Tangaroa’s magic.” He held his hands out, palms down. “Calm down, extra-white girl. It’s not very flattering when you flop around like that, blinding me with your ass.”
“Hey, I have to wear sun protection. I burn really easily.” Jayne rolled her eyes at him. “We can’t all be bronzed beach-gods like you. You’ll probably regret that one day. Skin cancer and wrinkles, you know?”
“Funny you mention gods.” His voice turned serious. “I’m here on a mission. To repopulate the reef impacted by last winter’s typhoon.”
“So you’re a marine biologist?” Jayne tried to concentrate despite the oodles of sea life churning the water around her. The bubbles and flashes of color multiplied by the second. Torn between whipping out her camera and making wake as she swam toward shore as fast as her stubby arms and legs would take her, she tried to hurry her visitor’s explanation.
Still, he hesitated. “Not exactly. I’m a disciple. On a mission from the heavens.”
Oh great. Some religious whack job is going to kill me and feed me to the fishes.
“In Rarotonga, we understand that Tangaroa is the god of the sea and fertility. Through our dancing, feasts and prayer we have been fortunate to gather many of his seeds. I was on my way to sew them around the island when they fell off my jet ski. Maybe this was his plan all along.”
“Hold up a second. You’re saying I put nuggets of some guy’s stuff in my bathing suit?” Jayne’s jaw dropped and she turned a little bluish. Not just from the reflection of the waves.
“Not a guy. Tangaroa.” He nodded. “You are very special. He’s chosen you to help us.”
A thought dawned on Jayne. “Are we talking about the god I’ve seen all those carvings of? The one with the giant schlong?”
Hot jet-ski slash fertility god disciple nodded vigorously. “Yup. We like to call him the big guy.”
“Of course you do.” She couldn’t believe the nonsense this man was spouting. I mean, sure he was sexy and buff and perfection in a palm-tree patterned pair of swim trunks, but he’d clearly been in the sun too long. All the rays that had bleached his hair had also fried his logic.
At least that’s what she thought until the fish kept proliferating before her eyes.
“Go ahead, put your face in the water.” He encouraged her.
“With that stuff?” She curled her lip.
“Kind of too late now, babe.” Another sultry laugh burst from him.
“Fine.” Jayne peeked below the surface. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The already gorgeous seascape burst with color and life, even in the sandy sections that had cradled bare rock just minutes ago. A wave of new growth radiated outward from their position. Coral sprouted and grew like magic. Rare animals appeared then wandered off to repopulate the lagoon.
When she lifted her gaze to the sea disciple, she couldn’t form a single sentence.
“It’s okay. I understand. I felt the same way when I saw the glory of the underwater world for the first time. It’s why I’ve never left this place.” Jet ski guy motioned for Jayne to remove her vest and tank then hand it up to him. After she had, he swung her up into place behind him. “Will you help me plant the rest of the droplets around the island?”
How could she resist? “Of course.”
“And maybe when we finish, you’ll help me celebrate? Disciples of the fertility god have some kick ass rituals.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Sounds like a plan. Hit it, jet ski guy.” Jayne wrapped her arms around his trim waist, her hands splaying over his abs.
“My name is Mr. Rylon.” He smiled over his shoulder.
“Nice to meet you.”
They rode off into the sunset together, a couple on a mission.
Oooooo-kay. This is the real Jayne speaking…
So. None of that really happened, damn it. But I did buy Lila and FarmBoy (her husband) this neat statue of Tangaroa from my vacation in the Cook Islands as a little thank you thingy for being such gracious hosts while we were laid over in LA and for saving the day during my blog week (hysterically!) when I had no internet access. I think it will look lovely next to their crystal on their living room mantle.
For the record, Tangaroa really is a sea/fertility god worshiped on Rarotonga and Aitutaki and…yes…
He’s always depicted with a giant schlong.