Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Christmas Cioppino continued

By Cricket Sawyer © 2009

Absent mindedly Bonita stirred the simmering broth. Then she set the timer for ten minutes. Oh, the things they could do with ten minutes of time — the commercial about the pizza delivery taking ten minutes caused a smile to cross her face—if only Bradley was here instead of out in that fishing boat. The times he spent out on the Christmas Cioppino was his livelihood and the reason their Christmas Eve always included the meal of its name sake.

But, she worried about him. The seas had become increasingly dangerous as economic conditions worsened and pirates raided, looted, and killed to feed their own needs. Bradley’s life was always on the edge.

Lately, several boats loaded with Cuban refugees had become the front for pirates. Maybe Mexican refuges had gotten the message that averting a border crossing by taking to the high seas was even more dangerous then their previous route was. Pirates cared little about the lives of those they used. Men, women even children didn’t seem to faze them as families died. Human beings only meant a means to their selfish ends. They cared even less for them then they cared for the men skippering and working those boats they robbed. A clue should be the refugees themselves. Didn’t they usually head for Florida’s shores? Why would they risk their lives in treacherous seas in over loaded boats to go farther than they needed to?

Bonita’s sense of justice, her dislike for the abuse of those powerless to protect themselves, flared. Anger replaced the passionate thoughts of Bradley and her.

Becoming a Port Authority Office helped her bring some weight to help those less fortunate, but not nearly as heavy a handed clout as she wanted to wield. If anything happened to Bradley, she would be ready to take a little vigilante revenge on the shores of California’s coast line.

The timer’s jolting jangle snapped her back to the hearty fare she was preparing and the preparation for the Christmas decorating they would engage in this evening. The traditional tree decorating party provided a much needed respite from the daily charge of eking a living from the over worked waters they combed daily. Absent mindedly Bonita stirred two cups of dry red wine into the boiling mixture, reheating it to the boiling point. She watched as ripples of heat echoed outward from the center eruption, the same ripples that touched every inch of her body as Bradley’s climax mimicked her own, exploding into ripples of pleasure moving outward from her center, dissipating at the edge to be rekindled in her center with the next thrust of his mast of pleasure, pouring over her in heated waves of thick, aromatic smells of lust reaching fruition. Feeling the flow of their love boiling inside her, she drew her attention to the large kettle before her on the stove. She carefully poured the boiling sauce over the prepared fish and crab and waited for it to return to boiling.

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