Adtenatus' Odyssey - Bedsheet Crazy Volume 1 to 5 - Complete novel

By Quentin DUGAND

Climaxpa and her two husbands live comfortably in Velgan city, a lush city-state surrounded by water and exclusively ruled by women during the Bronze Age.

Even though she has it all, something is amiss in her life, and she can't seem to find happiness. I

• Language: English
• Publisher: DUGAND PUBLISHING
• Release date: Oct 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9782958484095

Book preview

THE FLORENTES GAMES

VOLUME ONE

1

Running for his life at top speed, despite all odds, he hiked his long animal-hide garment up under his armpits. Buck naked from the waist down, he was barely keeping pace with his prettier-than-ever mate. Women just look much better when they’re scared, he thought.

He started to grasp her wrist, taking hold of the robust, hippopotamus-tooth bracelet he'd given her that afternoon as a token of his unwavering love. Gathering up what little strength was left in him—after their arduous rendezvous—he managed at last to pull her alongside him while remembering his latest feat, how he'd ingeniously and single-handedly heaved that giant hippo out of the water three days earlier.

His survival instinct never failed him. Making the most of a decisive kick to her right shin, followed by a light, gentle push on her shoulder—the upward slope taking care of the rest—he was now again ahead, guaranteeing her a sudden and rapid death. But he still couldn’t understand why women always had to make so much noise in so many situations!

Hissing louder and louder, a saber-toothed tiger crept up from behind, closing in, ready to jump in for the kill at any moment, her long, curved, canine teeth wide open, indicating her instinctive need to hunt. She would also have to be fed. He resigned himself to the fact that you can’t always do everything in life—both give and save a life. Besides, what’s more valuable to society than a thirty-year-old male, his guts told him.

Clearly ahead of his mate, he stopped at the top of a small hill, desperate to find the whereabouts of the tiger. He could see that the predator had seized his mate and was silently devouring its prey, gnawing with difficulty each time it crushed a chunk of soft cartilage, blood sputtering and lingering on its whiskers. He concluded that some cats are simply a lot quieter than others. At any rate, he’ll come back later to crack open her bones and get the marrow; he loved the tissue of the spongy portion in the bones.

Catching his breath, he crouched down to pluck a handful of wild raspberries and replenished himself, arduously admiring their perfectly shaped droplets, casually eating them as he trotted down the hill toward his city-state several miles away.

Walking backward at times, he gazed at the burning red clouds and fiery sun setting behind the hillside he had just crossed, amazed at all that nature can offer. He’d have to get more giant hippo teeth soon, he thought, if he wanted to get laid again, as this may well be the only way. It was perhaps the only flaw women had, he concluded. It was becoming more and more difficult because all his friends did the same thing, and this hippo-tooth frenzy compelled every living male in the Velgan archipelago to offer more hippo teeth to outbid unlucky competitors, making them all break their backs.

Taking care not to be seen, walking head down with his animal hide now fully in place, Adtenatus entered the city. He was back in his mother’s house. She was the head of the family, the domina mater familias, and the gentlest woman he had ever met. He knew that tomorrow morning, he would have to clean parts of her multistory house, which was comprised of many wings with small rooms. This would include dusting the large staircases and lightwells, filtering clean water, and making sure the drainage system was fully operational; Velgan feminae detested bad odors.

The entrance was particularly elaborate and was cleaned twice a day. It required the utmost attention as the stone walls were plastered and decorated with frescoes painted directly onto the damp lime paste. They often needed to be changed and repainted, depending on the latest fads and the owner’s quirks. When you opened the front door, the main fresco of four Velgan feminae chatting and sharing a light meal on the beach could be seen. Two of the feminae giggled as the wind blew gently in their hair. In the background, the waves had been intentionally flattened by the painter.

Adtenatus’ chores would almost always end with cleaning the most important room in the house: the culina, the most spacious room in the house with numerous kitchen counters perfectly laid out. Only the balneo, the bathroom, was somewhat similar in size. No Velgan feminae could possibly go to sleep at night with a dirty culina.

Adtenatus’ wife would come to pick him up after lunch the next day to do some urgent handiwork in her house—specifically, unblocking the bathroom sink—and he would be able to see his son. For the moment, Adtenatus was lying comfortably on his single bed just below his mother’s large and luxurious apartment, peacefully reflecting on his catch of the day.

One of Velgan’s marvelous wonders, its moon, was clearly visible from his bedroom window, perfectly exposed because there was no glass; Velgans lacked the necessary technology to make panes. He often did not bother to draw the thin, semitransparent linen curtain at night, as Velgan feminae often revealed their true colors only after sunset.

Safe in the dark under a brilliant starry sky, he could observe Velgan feminae taking their never-ending baths and performing their nightly rituals. That night, yoga was on the menu. After taking a few pills made of natural superfoods to ward off degenerative diseases and applying various lotions and oils to her hair and body, his neighbor, Curael, slathered quite a lot of Velgan crepito on her face, just like they all did every night. It was a moisturizer made of non-animal products with nourishing ginseng and other natural ingredients, which was mass-produced in the city. Now she was doing the halasana, the rather long and awe-inspiring plow pose. The delectable view in the window let him gradually drift off to sleep.

The next day, he kissed his elderly mother goodbye in the proper Velgan manner, by holding both of her hands then moving her arms up and down as if he were flapping two oversized wings. At this point, Adtenatus’ wife, Climaxpa, arrived right on time—barely smiling. The couple left the house and walked through the orderly, spotless streets. Overlooking the sea, the dazzling city had been built on a series of small mounds that filled every Velgan femina with a deep sense of fear, protection, and wonder. Neither entirely urban nor entirely rural, it was both city and countryside, which made it an ideal place for its inhabitants. Charming aqueducts and neat underground clay pipes were everywhere and fed into numerous public fountains. They satisfied all personal uses as a gurgling stream of the purest volcanic water crossed the city, enabling all Velgan feminae to stay almost forever young.

Zigzagging through the winding streets, the couple strolled alongside Adtenatus’ sister’s radiant three-story house. Only Velgan feminae had access to property rights to own a house in Velgan City, he remembered. High in the sky, the sun followed their every step, casting no shadows. It was springtime, and the spectacular Velgan Florentes Games were only a week away, approaching at full throttle.

Above the couple, old Velgan feminae were positioned near their favorite windows, sticking their heads out, bobbing them back and forth. Their elegant, sagging double chins protruded while they gleefully sang old songs and threw dried petals at passersby, perfuming the streets and countless rows of linens that a few sons and grandsons were still hanging.

Bits of news were always flying by in Velgan City, traveling from window to window at lightning speed. Hence, printing the news was completely unnecessary and, more importantly, mostly inaccurate!

Had it only been for all that perfectly tuned cacophony, Adtenatus might have been able to keep on walking without pretending to hear anything. Yet accompanying them were other Velgan feminae who vigorously played the pluma, a wind instrument made from the long, soft feather of a chicken’s neck, its tiny holes covered by the women’s lengthy, slender fingers. Echoing deep into the narrow streets, you could hear:

Alla Florentes demi homines,

vestra femina bene balnata,

extra extenta apud no picta.

---

Unexcitable and most hospitable coquette,

Thirty days of interplay and she gives herself away.

If two trophies they get, their wives will be their pet.

Adtenatus’ wife was singing alongside him, her arms wide open and her legs on pointe, dancing a succession of slow, soft, and sensual movements. One of her legs extended behind the other, both knees perfectly straight, and she took a delicate whiff of Adtenatus’ hair, now covered with a multitude of colorful petals and resembling a potpourri.

They soon arrived in front of his wife’s majestic dwelling. It was the best in the neighborhood, he thought. Even better than his sister’s house. Each time it was the same story all over again: He would suddenly stop, look up, and marvel. He couldn’t help noticing all his work on the house, the result of a trade passed down from generation to generation among the men in his family. They worked in a rather haphazard and careless manner, violently slapping on the pinkish-colored tiles of the roof, for example, but Adtenatus had handled them delicately as they were very sensitive to the touch.

Each time, he would recall the double-sided marble columns that sturdily held up the entire living room. On one column was a fresco of his wife’s obsessive hesitation regarding which garment she would buy, slightly bending down to pay for it. The other column depicted his wife putting on natural lipstick, her egg-shaped mouth slightly open. With that in mind, Adtenatus often forgot about the cooling system his ancestors had created with adulterated water. It still circulated through one of the load-bearing walls and cooled his spouse’s bedroom chamber. As a result, Climaxpa wouldn’t stay hot for too long.

Her mansion was built around a spacious atrium with a small, rectangular pool in the center for collecting rainwater: the impluvium. Entering the house with his hood on, Adtenatus washed his uncovered feet in the vestibulum pediluvium. Then they held hands, his wife gently stroking the bottom part of his thumb, leading him all the way to the atrium.

In the impluvium, a dozen prophetic Sacred Golden Comets casually pecked at flaxseeds, pausing at times, peering blankly right and left as their claws dipped in the water of a submerged stair. As soon as the couple sat, their son Prodigy rushed out of one of the doors, taking the longest run-up possible. He joyfully jumped over the impluvium, scaring away many of the chickens, which could not even fly through the opening in the ceiling under such intense pressure. He landed on one foot and then leaped onto his father’s shoulders, where he sat comfortably. He plucked the thin, multicolored petals from his father’s hair, slowly tossing them into the impluvium, one by one: blue, pink, purple, red, white, yellow, orange, green, lavender. This was to the delight and awe of the seven remaining hens, which had landed on the water after flapping their wings a couple of times while the others timidly retreated a few feet from the basin.

Anticipating each ripple, enthralled yet afraid, a Sacred Golden Comet would start bouncing up and down in the impluvium whenever a scented petal fell in the basin. Once she reached her highest height, she dutifully cackled a loud, high-pitched, harmonious note, which corresponded to the color of each petal.

Prodigy, still perched on Adtenatus’ shoulders, appeared even taller now that his father was standing. The child mimicked an orchestral conductor—his right hand extended, waving about the dried drumstick of a Sacred Golden Comet he used as the conductor’s baton. His left hand carefully picked certain colored petals then cheerfully threw them by the handful, and he nodded his head in time to the music, just like the chickens. On Prodigy’s left, his mother was playing a harp made from hard wood and Sacred Golden Comets’ sinews, her hands perfectly accompanying the chickens’ various ascents and descents.

The chickens that had jumped away from the impluvium quickly found their way back into the scramble, one of them incessantly pecking at the marble floor while four aerobic hens repeatedly stepped up and down from the only submerged stair, uttering a soft and pleasant cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, doubling their effort after every step up and waiting for their turn to jump into the basin.

Firmly holding his son’s dangling feet while sweating profusely under his animal hide, his sweat dripping into the impluvium, Adtenatus was puzzled, wondering how Sacred Golden Comets could manage to spend so much time in the water without even getting their crests wet!

Climaxpa, singing and playing the harp, sat relaxed on the slippery edge of the basin, dipping both feet into the water and joyfully warbling a renowned Velgan invocation:

Our Golden Comets who live on the ground

Your music room we deify.

---

Our sinking baby faces will never crumble

Our soon-to-be withered wings never renounce

Our determination never wavers

Always pecking, never hungry, we will live for eternity.

---

All impatiently awaiting our savior

If my man comes in handy, I’ll give him my trophy

In a great upward leap, we will climb to the highest height to reeeeaaaach...the impluvium!

Amidst so much activity, the sacred water soon started to boil underneath a bed of wilted petals. The Golden Comets bounced higher and higher, becoming more and more fond of the painstaking heat, as Climaxpa played the harp more intensely. Their high-pitched cackling became louder and louder. Suddenly, there was an eruption. Gigantic, multicolored fireworks of petals went flying into the air, perfuming the molten Golden Comets. In a grand finale, they breathlessly flapped their wings one last time, jerking their heads left and right at a low angle, gasping and abandoned, uttering a fading orgasmic sound as their beaks slowly froze wide open before falling numb into the impluvium.

Alas, as pleasant and agreeable as it was for everyone, there was no real eruption for the harpist Climaxpa.

Two Sacred Golden Comets, which were hurt and slightly burnt in the process, rested shamefully in the shade while the whole family drifted off for a short while to take a break and enjoy the heat.

Sputtering and coughing due to all the dispersing, vaporous heat, Culino—one of Climaxpa’s husbands—furiously waved his apron in the air to fight his way through all the steam that laboriously seeped through the compluvium, the opening in the ceiling. He jealously exited the kitchen, his large mustache protruding. Then he entered the atrium crying out, "Ubi es, Climaxpa? Ubi es? Where are you? Still coughing from the intense heat, he uttered, Climaxpa, what’s cooking? My culina is about to catch fire, and I can’t even heat a single nut!" Seemingly on his last leg, both hands rubbing his neck as mucous slowly drained into his throat, Culino tripped alongside the pool, getting painfully closer to the alabaster bench on which the intertwined trio sat restfully.

Adtenatus was just coming to his senses, opening one eye, yawning widely, and squinting. Then he warmly slapped one of Culino’s powerful shoulders. Hey, helloooo, old Ursus Horribilis Californicus. You look like you haven’t eaten anything in ages, ya clanging old pot.

That much is true, Adtenatus—quite true, old Red Sierra Nevada Vulpes Necator, Culino retorted. Then, bracing himself, he formally announced, Everything is ready, Climaxpa, just like you asked: no added sweetness, no wheat, no modified cat’s piss, no frying, no heating, no nothing. And of course, no dairy products. Naturally, Climaxpa, there are sesame, sunflower, chia, and squash seeds—your favorites, my delicious angelus.

Looking down shamefully at his right paw, he then added: Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home. Annoyed and feeling smothered, Climaxpa sensed she could not enjoy a single minute without being beckoned for something. I’ll take you to your mom in a bit because I need my beauty walk anyway. Lightly waving her hand, she said, Now run along and wait for me. I’ll find you.

Find me, find me. The last time I waited, I stayed up all night, alone in the house next to stacks of clean lingerie and your decrepit, cross-eyed stuffed animal, said Culino.

Adtenatus and I still have things to do, she replied curtly.

Meanwhile, now fully awake, Prodigy climbed delicately onto a larger-than-life fowl statue, and then jumped down onto his giant unicycle made of one hefty, soapstone symphonic wheel whose jingling tune changed when he went backward. Whooshing past Culino and blissfully riding around and around the impluvium without stopping, Prodigy flapped his arms frenetically in the balmy air as if he were about to take off. Wearing a smirk, he mimicked the chickens and prevented them from escaping.

Using both hands, he grabbed a Golden Comet that was attempting to fly away, tenderly pet her beautiful streaks, and then kissed her before launching her at full speed in Culino’s direction. Already on edge and deafened by the melody, Culino barely dodged the panic-stricken, screaming chicken by hiding behind his mustache, slouching his shoulders, and turning around at the last minute. This enabled Prodigy to land haphazardly onto Culino’s back to stop him from marching forward. He had braced himself for impact, and Culino’s shoulders stopped him from crashing his unicycle, thus maintaining some kind of safe equilibrium.

Incredibile, non possum credere! Non posso crederlo! Culino shouted angrily. Then, teasing Culino, Prodigy took out the sacred drumstick he always carried in his pocket. He rubbed it slowly under Culino’s nose, jerking it left and right like a horsehair bow, pretending to play the violin on Culino’s well-groomed mustache, which he pulled at full length, strand by strand, as he made soft, repetitive, back-and-forth jerks on his unicycle pedals to make music. "Ah, ah, ah, food, mmm, mmm, bonum cibum. It smells so good, ow, ow, ow, ouch, ouch, ouch, stop it, stop it, c’mon! Don’t play with my salutem filius!" Culino mumbled while Prodigy continued what he was doing and sang in his soprano voice:

Alla Florentens demi homines.

Mustachio cuckold-doodle-dooed Ursus Culino

will make us a wonderful pastry,

to secure a meaty trophy and avenge his wife’s cuckoldry!

After having fed Culino with scraps of seeds hidden within his bushy mustache, Prodigy rubbed the drumstick on Culino’s teeth to make sure he got all his daily nutrients without giving him any meat. Now Prodigy was pinching Culino’s nose and pushing the tip upward, playing the violin even more fervently. "Mmm, mmm, bonum cibum," Prodigy hummed.

Mmm, that’s good food…Ow, ow, ow, ouch, ouch, ouch! That’s it! I can’t take it anymore, non possum, I’m leaving, Culino said.

Prodigy chuckled then went backward and released him, the tiny bells on his wheel accompanying his every movement.

Climaxpa put her arms around Adtenatus’ waist for a while and gazed fervently at his truest, most pleasant, and at times, only visible part: his eyes. Then, she held his hand, her middle finger intimately caressing her partner’s upper knuckle as she eased him passionately in her direction.

Smiling, Climaxpa led Adtenatus slowly toward her bedroom chamber with long strides, walking on pointe, dancing. Her right leg extended forward; her left leg followed in a sort of three-step chassé that led the couple to explore each room of the house. All the while, Adtenatus joined her dances in a backward two-step chassé, allowing them to spend much time together in each room. And so they went in a moving embrace, two steps forward, one step back.

A bit absorbed by her gliding legs, Adtenatus looked at them surreptitiously, concealing his stares as he certainly did not want to be branded as a pervert. In fact, this was the kind of person his wife hated most.

The couple amorously climbed the stairs, crossed the bedroom, and then went straight to Climaxpa’s spacious balneo that offered a great view of the beautiful, sunlit city. At this point, she let go of his hand and gave him a reason to follow her. To motivate him, she leapt into a majestic pas de ciseau, fully exposing her womanhood, then landed delicately back on the floor. No longer used to getting aroused by his wife so swiftly, Adtenatus sighed arduously, and his eyes glinted. Perceiving her husband’s enthusiasm, she immediately executed an even more perfect pas de ciseau. Landing farther away, Climaxpa took hold of the bathroom sink, the original culprit. Supporting herself on the sink with all her weight, she proceeded to do several grand battements, which inevitably sent Adtenatus through the roof.

Sadly, Adtenatus came back to his senses and the task at hand. After kneeling in front of the sink, he looked up with a forced smile lingering on his face and uttered, "So this is my job!"

Adtenatus, I’ve wanted you to get rid of all this musty stench for me and set me free. I can’t take it anymore, non possum, she lamented. Adtenatus was anxious yet pleased to see she had been able to wait so long. It was true—the foul odor was not suitable to be breathed. To his deepest regret, he couldn’t hold his nose and do the work at the same time because he was strenuously screwing and unscrewing the pipe with both hands. It was all in vain at first. It would not release, even after moving it in all possible directions.

The bathroom exuded an ocean-like atmosphere. It was used day and night by its owner because, by definition, smelly Velgan feminae were greatly frowned upon and were not allowed to meet in public or socialize.

Adtenatus was taking care of the drain under the sink while simultaneously doing his very best to loosen the whole thing with his right hand. He pulled out strands of body hair along with a densely packed, rich, stagnant blend—at times a bit doughy—of sticky coconut, safflower, kukui fluids, rose hip oil, and apple juice.

Leaning above him, Climaxpa was giving him very precise instructions. She straightforwardly commanded, "Be careful, Adtenatus, don’t break it. It’s fragile. Hold the tailpiece lower, amor...slow down and smile. Don’t you forget to clean that drain...yes, yes, yes. And smile!"

Shortly after, on a more pleasant note, Climaxpa added, Oh yeah, that’s it, my foxy babe. Don’t stop! Bracing herself and standing perfectly upright, Climaxpa yelled at the top of her lungs, Ohhhh, ohhhh, my grand, luxurious, pedestal sink! Oh, my cheap, meaningless, circular materialistic life! Oh, oh, OH, my goods! It's coming!

Actively working and compelled to smile as he was pumping the drain pipe, Adtenatus was barely able to keep an eye open when he accidentally and suddenly released the locknuts. A geyser-like shower of clogged-up Velgan crepito blew into his face and hair, striking the center of his open eye. It trickled down gently, lingered, and clung to his cheek and mouth. He thought the taste was shockingly pleasant and not the least bit worse than the bite and the smell.

For an instant that seemed to last forever, Climaxpa was utterly speechless, unable to move her lips. She was motionless, yet felt like she was flying and resting in a peaceful ocean of sparsely clustered white clouds. After a while, speaking in a soft voice, she feebly shushed Adtenatus, Shhh. I neeeed to enjoy the quiet for a bit. Then she finally exclaimed with a great sense of satisfaction, Ah, I feel so much better.

Softly waving her hand in the air, she said, Please carry me to my sunken bathtub, fill it with shaved strawberry soap, then turn on the water, Foxy. I can’t move or feel anything, non possum. Shush, shush. I feel so good.

Climaxpa was relaxing for a while in her bath as Adtenatus sat on the edge of the bathtub, attending to her every need. Ah, it feels so good to stroke your soft fur, Foxy. Patting his hand, grasping his wrist, and speaking delicately, she added, Don’t move, babe. Right now, I feel so insecure and lonely; I’ve lost all of my almighty energy.

Her hand crept up slowly from the water as their fingers tightly interlocked and pulsated together. The couple paused lazily, breathed in and out together, their heads propped on one another’s. They started to feel for each other profoundly, connecting on a deeper level. It was as if they had only one expanding soul growing continuously into two caring and selfless bodies belonging to the same person, becoming comfortable for just an instant yet vulnerable and honest with each other.

Turning to gaze into his eyes, she said tenderly, "Adtenatus, I have a sense that this is our moment; I can feel it. I truly want us to win a trophy. I really need to be proud of you. Besides, we need the prestige, and I don’t want to be too absorbed by the approaching husband season. I think...I may want just you."

Becoming more and more assertive, she began to show that she meant business. You’ve got a week to get ready and to come up with one of your brilliant inventions, the kind we respectable Velgan feminae all want and need without even knowing it. Her words were to be taken seriously. She continued, It would make Velgan owners, Prodigy, and me so proud, my handy, demi-masculum homine. As she was speaking, she inadvertently splashed water and soapy bubbles on Adtenatus’ face each time she stroked the water. Then, fervently waving her hand in the air in a single, swift, and powerful motion while stretching her arm to its fullest and pointing her index finger toward the ceiling as if the sky was her only limit, she tensed her jaw and shouted, You’ll make us all feel good, agile, clean, and empowered! Patting his hand amorously, she added softly, You will stay here and work on it for a week. Don’t stray far from the house, Foxy.

She looked up at Adtenatus’ face and couldn’t stop giggling and snickering. Waving her free hand in front of Adtenatus’ face then briskly unlocking her knuckles from his, she intentionally splashed more water in his face, and then added as she laughed, Now you can go and wash that Velgan crepito off your face! You look ridiculous! It’s a good thing I never make you wear mascara. Otherwise, you would look like a white-mouthed clown! Ha, ha, ha!

An hour passed, and Adtenatus caught sight of his wife taking Culino towards his mother’s house. They were not holding hands, as Culino seemed to be complaining. Adtenatus went back to work for the rest of the day then he and his wife ate Culino’s meal at sunset. The moonlight streaming in was casting streaks of soft blue hues on his crimson garment. Afterward, he went to bed in the basement, but there were no windows, so it was difficult for him to fall asleep.

2

THE NEXT DAY

Velgan city’s breathtakingly dramatic cliffs, boulders, and cobbles on the waterfront made room, four miles to the south, for iron-rich pebbles, each the size of a Velgan femina’s wrist. The pebbles became progressively smaller, from nuggets the diameter of a thumb tip to filaments of limestone. They eventually gave way to a long, white sandy beach made up entirely of the most pristine limestone. Patches of cumin-colored sand had been added randomly at the discretion of Velgan feminae looking for a bit of contrast in front of the row of flowery, blue wooden cabins they all liked to share.

Amusement Beach was quite difficult to reach, though. Getting there required a citizen of the republic to either swim from an offshore boat or hike along a goat path which had several tiny, undisclosed turnoffs. The paths were perched on a steep, vegetation-cloaked precipice encompassing the beach. They also sheltered a few wild, hungry roosters lurking beneath clumps of stinging nettle leaves.

Many Velgan feminae chose the first option, asking each of their two husbands to give them a ride from Velgan city and having them take turns rowing on a whaleboat, a small dinghy that men also called a whaler. This type of open boat was pointed at both ends to maintain speed and to keep its primary occupant dry. Two husbands sat at opposite ends of the hull. It became popular for back-and-forth trips and other excursions along the beach because it did not need to be turned around each time its main occupant changed her mind as to which way she wanted to go and what she wanted to do, see, or even paint.

The trip to the beach would sometimes occur early in the morning, just before the break of dawn, as some Velgan feminae enjoyed getting there to savor the view and have plenty of leisure time before the weather got too hot. Demi-homines were not allowed on the beach; they had to stop a half-mile from Amusement Beach. Another advantage of riding the dinghy was that the husbands had to row back as soon as their wife dove off to avoid witnessing Velgan feminae bathing and enjoying various skin treatments; the salt from the beach was particularly rich in essential minerals such as magnesium, calcium, and potassium, and played a key role in making the skin of most Velgan feminae beautiful and smooth.

The location where the men had to stop rowing was clearly marked by a network of loosely connected, floating horse-conch seashells acting as buoys. Strewn across the entrance of the quasi-coastal lagoon, their length varied from four to six inches. Velgan feminae took their bras off discreetly right after diving in and tied them firmly to their favorite horse conches for buoyancy. They picked the spindle-shaped and elongated, conical spire they liked the most, and if the one they liked was already tied up, they just added a layer to the existing one to comfort it.

As a result, the multicolored boundary held together by a thread of edible and resistant thong weed, a brown alga also called sea thong, or Himanthalia elongata, was highly visible at night. Reflected by the silvery moon, it led the tired rowers to their final destination.

As soon as she arrived at this frontier the next day, a bit after midday with the sun high in the sky, Satis—a new Velgan femina—stood up abruptly. She went to the front of the boat, squatted down slightly, contracted her thighs and calves, and leapt forward, diving headlong off the whaler. Still in midair before slipping into the water, she saluted and uttered a quick bene vale carissimi homines to her two would-be husbands, shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight.

The thrust of her dive catapulted the boat backward, causing it to head in the opposite direction, back toward the city. After pausing briefly to take off her bra, she ducked under the skewer of lingerie. She majestically yet effortlessly breaststroked her way down into the lucent blue depth, a grin on her face while mimicking undersea explorer turtles.

Down Satis went, whooshing past shoals of dappled fish of various sizes as she swam through flourishing, tangled marine vegetation. She slowly hugged and ruffled a luxuriant bed of whelks, scallops, and clamshells lying among coral, jasper, and agate stones on her way to the beach, brushing past this blinding canopy of wonders.

She went up and down unhurriedly, crossing the lagoon to reach the shore. That day, the dazzling sight became overwhelming, and she craved oxygen. She swam to the surface and filled her chest.

As Velgan feminae came to within a hundred yards of the beach, sea wind from the horizon wasn’t usually countered by the sighs of their faraway rowing husbands muttering violentia under their chugging breaths. At times, the resting husbands could even be seen mumbling oppression as their thumbnails cooled and trailed in the water, looking like fishing rods, their harmless wake barely perceptible as the boat moved along. All the wind, intensified by the men’s struggle, caused a series of three swelling waves that would carry Velgan feminae peacefully to the beach.

On that day, feeling the ‘first wave’ coming, Satis kicked her feet in the water, keeping them under the surface for better horsepower and propulsion. She swam and came to a halt, her arms fully lengthened and wedged against her cheeks. She kept her weight at the center of the wave and thus made the most of this moving, sea-based energy going forward, offering herself a slice of the ocean.

Swimming freestyle a short while then twisting onto her other side to backstroke, enjoying herself, her breast taking to the sky, she sensed the ‘second wave’ approaching. She turned over again and flapped her legs vigorously in a butterfly fashion, whipping her hips up and down. As the crest was on the verge of toppling, her arms made a rotating motion through the waters, churning them, hoisting her upper body slightly above the water, the crest readying itself to massage her defenseless back.

There, she could be seen waving her hands in the air, a flower visible in the side of her mouth. Her breasts, dangling carefree, brushed over the sunlit ocean surface, shimmering like gold in the rolling water, salt embracing sugar.

Holding out her hands, stretching them to their utmost, she summoned the churning whitewater to glide over her. Gently rocking her, this crashing wave presented her with a pleasantly scented bed of foamy bubbles and savory, multicolored sea greens. She fluffed up her makeshift seabed, letting her head rest comfortably as she worked her way through the ocean.

Daydreaming, her wobbling, reverie-prone head eventually plunged slightly as the cascading wave hushed and subsided. She lifted her chin and eagerly flapped her legs in concert a few more times, causing the thrashing water to undulate far and wide. Making the most of this swift start, she sliced her hands in the water, tucked in her chin, and peered down at the ocean surface. Defying depth, she pulled water all the way back to her knees, proceeding to reach the shore while swimming freestyle with her legs now kicking water as she certainly didn’t want to miss the next wave.

The depth of the water progressively decreased by half as the waves started to feel the bottom. Because the beach slope was steep, the plunging swell rose and the crest sharpened, building to a peak.

Satis paddled to the lip, the top of ‘the third wave,’ without much effort. Then, with her hands pressed down, as she got used to this, she started barrel-riding the nascent tube, which grew hollower as it curved. The arch of her left foot nonchalantly caressed the gleaming crescent interior, and light sifted through the sheltering, clear water as it tickled her toes. Her hair loosely tossed behind her back, fluttering in the barrel, her coiffure absorbing the radiance.

As she got more comfortable doing this, she pressed down on her hands too much, nosed down, and flipped right over them. Compulsively hugging her knees, she curved into a ball and was sent tumbling onward, spinning around and around. The wave eventually released her, launching her gluteus maximus ten inches off the following lip. There, beaming streaks of bright sunlight filtered down on shuffling, tiny droplets of foamy aqua. Sparkling in midair, the droplets gently cooled and fanned the woman’s posterior.

Satis ended her somersaults haphazardly and landed her derriere on the shallow ocean floor, proudly flashing her brand-new Choppy Sea Bangs. Enjoying her sitting position for a while, she then hoisted herself up very slowly, using both hands. The Choppy Sea Bangs covered most of her forehead, drawing all the attention back to her fiery eyes.

Staggering slightly and limping ahead, Satis noticed that while tumbling, her bottoms had lost an important chunk of their back coverage. They had now turned into a cheekier version, somewhat resembling a Himanthalia elongata, a discovery that would allow her to move more freely on the beach.

Salt gently grazed her walking legs. On that cloudless day, hotness was pouring in and starting to dry her almost fully exposed, dripping skin. She witnessed the white water from the last broken wave crash into the white sand, flooding the sand around her long, slender feet.

Her feet squelched and drowned in the soggy sand, each footprint sending vibrations of joy that traveled all the way from their rested arch to the back of her neck. She closed her eyes in delight and stamped on the sand as if she were crushing grapes in a light but continuous squelch. She paused to marvel at her footprints. I have beautiful feet, she thought.

Heading calmly to the nearest cabin, she witnessed on her Right, a succession of old Velgan feminaes’ reflective straw hats barely poking out of the sand. They were shimmering like honey-yellow lemon quartz under a blazing sun. Satis sorely squinted twice and saw that their hats had a shallow, circular crown with a wide brim around the edges to protect their delicate shoulders. Craning her neck, Satis noticed that each hat also had a leather liner and a chinstrap—probably in case of strong sea winds, she thought.

Mature Velgan feminae were sitting in their own women-made bathtubs, entrenched deep in the sand. They looked like bombshells that would never go off or move, afraid to end or even alter their prettifying sea-healing treatment. Sunlight streaked through their woven combat hats, diffusing striped shadows on