Full Moon Over Valentines Rocks

Copyright © January 2024 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

This is an entry for the 2024 Valentine's Day Contest (if it makes it up on time). I do hope you enjoy and would welcome any comments or votes you would be kind enough to leave.

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Yes, it's just an old wives' tale, an urban legend borne out of nothing more than fervent imaginations whilst waiting for loved ones to return from days at sea. That said, you're not going to get me going down to the rocks, on Valentine's Night of all nights, when the moon shines full, when love comes beckoning.

You never know...

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Prologue

Legends... the stuff of lore, or something more?

'Welcome to Craggnaggan - Jewel of the West'

The signs—there were two, each angled towards the oncoming traffic—stood proud on the main road, either side of a relatively nondescript junction. On face value there was nothing remarkable about those signs. They were bold. They were colourful. They were made to be noticed, to entice people away from the larger towns which dotted the coastline. They belonged to a time well before the online age, and for many a year they served a purpose, to bring passing trade into the quiet little village.

What caught your eye first?

Well, most likely it was the welcome message itself, in huge black letters. If not that, then the picture postcard painted background, a throwback to the charm of Edwardian travel art, would have grabbed your attention, and if it did its job, you might just have turned off, following the twisty lane down towards the coast. And, as you did, you'd have noticed the quaint village shops, the olde-worlde houses, and the unspoilt bay, a perfect horseshoe of golden sands framed by headlands at each end, one of which ended in a single line of rocks leading out through the waves.

Craggnaggan... nothing remarkable... just another seaside village with plenty of charms to offer for those happy to chance their arm. For most, that's exactly what it was, a quaint throwback to a bygone age, trying its best to survive on charisma alone.

But, Craggnaggan had a secret, one which divided opinion, but one which had etched itself into the very fabric of the village. If you paid attention to the metalwork which supported those roadside signs, you would have gotten your first hint. Who though... who went around staring at what was just painted black ironwork, even if it was more ornately carved than was necessary to act as a frame for holding up an advertising sign. The clue though was in the carving itself, the intricate workmanship built into that very frame. Among the twisted metal, one on each side, was the stylised outline of a mermaid sitting atop a rock.

Even if you did notice, unless you knew of Craggnaggan, you might have thought it was just an attempt to make the signs more aesthetically pleasing. To most, it was just that, another way of drawing people in, but there were questions to be asked...

Why mermaids?

Was it more than just symbolism?

Was there really any link between this charming village and these mythical creatures reputed to have roamed the rocky coasts?

There were those who claimed to know, to believe, to understand. They tended to be the older generation, characters who thought nothing of spending their time narrating tales of the deep, passing the stories down between the generations, keeping any lingering legend alive.

There were even more though who chose to dismiss any such tales, along with those who spread them, as being utter balderdash. Yeah... yeah... mermaids in Craggnaggan... just another way of suckering the tourists out of their hard-earned cash. That said, it was those same said folk who made a living on the back of such fantasy, and the free spending which came when the sun shone.

To say the village encapsulated that very theme was a bit of an understatement. There were souvenirs a plenty in the gift shops which dotted the tiny high street. One of the two pubs, a weather-beaten stone structure down towards the seafront, offering what were said to be the best real ales and home-cooked food for miles around, had gotten on the bandwagon too, going by the name of The Mermaid's Curse.

There was even a statue of a mermaid down towards the rocky end of the bay, once more fabricated in wrought iron, but this time left to tarnish in the salty breeze. The statue had been erected some nineteen years earlier as a memorial to a fisherman who had gone missing one Valentine's Night, swept away from the aptly named Valentine's Rocks in an unexpected storm.

It had caused a lot of consternation at the time. First there was the confusion around where the storm came from. Nothing had been mentioned by those in the know about impending bad weather. Then there was the statue itself. Many were appalled by the symbolism when it first went up, but as the years passed by, it became synonymous with the village, a physical representation of what was nothing more than an intriguing legend... the legend which most now relied on to make a living.

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When it came to making a living, the Indian Summer towards the end of September was the last hurrah and, once again, it hadn't disappointed. The village was busier than normal, not quite to the peak of July or August, but enough to have the locals smiling, whether you earned your keep from providing a bed for the night, a tasty meal to keep them going, a selection of tacky souvenirs, or the thrill of the sea itself.

Jake Bulmer, or just Jake to most who met him, had built his livelihood on the latter. Every village had its characters, and for sure Jake was one of them. Some would go as far as to say he was the second legend of Craggnaggan, such was the reputation he had built for himself.

Jake on the other hand, wasn't one for second place. As far as he was concerned, he was the legend in these places, despite many suggesting he wasn't going to get anywhere if he didn't change his attitude. Change his attitude? Jake went one step further and dropped out of school altogether, with barely a qualification to his name, not that it really set him back. Did you need a certificate to lift weights, ride waves, and make people happy? Jake didn't. All he needed was plenty of brawn, the gift of the gab, and charm in abundance.

Jake Bulmer was Craggnaggan's answer to David Hasselhoff. His surf shack, a wooden hut sitting right on the beach at the quieter end of the bay, had gone from strength to strength, as had his muscular prowess and his tendency to strut his stuff half naked, plying his charms on anyone who paid the slightest attention, especially if they happened to be pretty, single, and up for a bit of fun... not that Jake really said no to those who didn't match those exact criteria.

When it came to mermaids and the like, Jake didn't believe a word of such codswallop, not that you would know it if you ever met him. Jake was a chancer. He knew an opportunity when it came his way, and he made sure to be the one making the most of it. The real legend of Craggnaggan—the one built on mermaids and tales of the deep—was just such an opportunity, a chance to make some fast cash for doing next to nothing, other than keeping an old wives' tale going.

You see, when the surf was up, Jake would be out there teaching all and sundry how to ride the waves or, often, how to fall gracefully off a board without drowning. When the tide wasn't playing ball, he didn't stand fast. Jake was still teaching, only now it was walks out towards the rocks which took the fore, as he told tales of entrancing sea sirens. Oh yes, Jake prided himself in his ability to spin a yarn, almost as much as he did in his surfing prowess, and for sure in his ability to charm the fairer sex.

A yarn? Boy did Jake have a yarn to tell. He'd honed it to perfection over the years, to the point where, if he didn't already know it was just a flight of fantasy, he might even start believing it for himself. As far as Jake was concerned, if he'd been treading the boards, he'd have won an Oscar, or the whatever they called them, for such a commanding performance. He hadn't, so now you got the whole works for a measly tenner, which sure was cheaper than a trip to the theatre.

He could fit a couple of trips in between the surfing tides, starting out from the shack and heading all the way across the bay towards that line of rocks which jutted out to sea. No sooner had they left, Jake would become master-storyteller, waxing lyrical about the more mysterious side of Craggnaggan, the one etched into folklore.

About the legend of the mermaid who frequented the rocky outpost.

About how she appeared every Valentine's Night, when the moon was full, in search of love.

About how she enticed, nay entranced, her chosen one.

About how she took them away, never to return.

About the rocks themselves.

Yes, this was the best bit of all.

The rocks themselves helped. There were eleven in a line, each sitting in isolation, a stride apart, as if being dropped into position by some giant, decreasing in size as they headed into the waves. It wasn't only the positioning which he paid attention to. There was something about the stone itself and the way it had been both chiselled and polished by the pounding waves, which seemed to give life, almost expression, to each boulder. Add on a fervent imagination, and you had a captive audience.

'Eleven rocks for eleven lives... each entranced... each lured out to sea... each trapped in stone... immortalised within these very rocks. You may doubt me, but do you doubt the one they call the legend of Craggnaggan?' Jake would start, waiting until he had everyone's attention before upping the ante.

'Come... take a look at these rocks... at their unique shapes... what do you see... do you see them... those pour souls entombed within... do you see their hands splaying out in fear, fingers scratching at the surface... clawing from within... searching for the merest crack which may provide an escape...'

'Closer... closer... look at the surface itself... at the way it contorts... at the way it screams back at you... just like they screamed out in fear... realising who she was... realising what they had done... realising... realising... it was all too late...' Jake would continue. 'Eleven rocks for eleven lives... fishermen, sailors, lovers... all gone.'

'Shhh!' Jake would add, his ask for quiet, exclaimed with such loudness that it usually took his followers by surprise. 'Listen carefully... do you hear them... do you hear their voices on the wind... do you hear them crying out for help... do you hear them warning you not to be the next... not to fall for her seductive charms?'

Really? Holidaymakers were so gullible, but the money was there to be made. A dozen or so each time, at a tenner apiece. Even after he'd deducted the cost of a discounted drink in the Mermaid's Curse, he'd be raking in a couple of hundred per day. The surfing, with board rental and a more enthusiastic crowd of would-be surf dudes, would double or maybe triple his takings, so life was good in the Bulmer empire.

Good? Oh yes, life was good. The money kept rolling in, and along with the money came those other opportunities. Jake wasn't one to miss an opportunity when it came a knocking, not that you would have thought so from the little wooden sign hanging from the door of the locked-up shack.

'Shut Happens'

You knew where you were with Jake. He kept it simple. The door was either open, showing they were in business, or closed. When closed the little wooden sign would tell you all you needed to know. One side gave hope, stating 'Gone Surfing' in large letters with '(Catch me by the Waves)' in smaller font, whilst the other gave the finality of the 'Shut Happens' statement.

Why then... why on a Friday evening with still a good hour or more of sunlight to be enjoyed, and money to be made, had he shut up shop so early? The reason... well, it wasn't so much what, but more a case of who... and why. The who? For the record, her name was Donna, not that it was so important. For Donna, you could have read Alison, Rachel, Denise, or Kayleigh... or a host of other long-forgotten alternatives.

But today, it was an excited nineteen-year-old who had fallen for his charms, sneaking off from the holiday home under the premise of doing a little shopping before it was time to leave. She'd been on one of those walks. She'd heard all about the legend. She'd fallen for his charms, and now she was there, standing inside the shack, staring back at Jake.

At five foot eight, Donna was a few inches shorter than Jake, but what she lacked in height, she more than made up for in curves. No, Donna wasn't fat, she was just... well... shapely... with wide hips, a narrowing if not tiny waist, and the most wonderfully full bust. It was the latter which caught your eye first, stretching the cropped top she was wearing, revealing a deep valley of soft tanned flesh.

Another glimpse of flesh came from the couple of inches between top and skirt, the latter a calf-length wrap-around style tied with a bow at the side. A pair of flip-flops made up the outfit, not that they stayed on for long. As she watched, Jake turned the key in the lock, and the metallic clunk gave a sense of finality to proceedings.

They were alone.

There was no going back now.

Donna's heart was racing. He was so manly... so muscular... so desirable... so all she'd ever dreamed of... so... hers. All week, she'd had eyes on him. She'd tried her hand, rather embarrassingly, at surfing. She'd been on one of his beach walks. Little did she think she would find herself here... in his shack... staring back at him... hoping... god, what was she hoping for? Donna flicked her long black hair out of her eyes. She stared back at Jake, then smiled.

"What now?" Donna asked.

It was a silly question. She knew what was coming next, yet she needed him to tell her, or more importantly to show her. She'd had a couple of boyfriends. She'd even gone the whole way with one of them, but Jake... Jake was something else. It hadn't been planned, but now she couldn't stop herself. She needed him. She needed this moment. She needed—

"Oooh," Donna purred as she felt Jake pull her into him, wrapping his arms around her back, pressing his lips up against hers.

As they kissed, Donna felt her resolve melting away, replaced by another feeling, one of desire. She reached around, placed one hand on his back, the other on his ass, and pulled him even closer towards her. She could feel his muscular torso pushing up against her, pressing at her large soft mounds. She could feel something else, or was it her imagination? Was there something equally as large pressing lower down? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. Was he really that big or was it just wishful thinking on her part.

Mouths melded together, they kissed and, as they did, time seemed to stand still. She probed at his lips, flicking the tip of her tongue out, seeking the merest of openings. A gasp of delight left her lips as she felt her lover's tongue meet hers. All she could think about was that kiss. It was everything she ever wanted, and nothing else seemed to matter...

Not the way he had released his hold around her shoulders...

Not the way he had slid one hand down...

Not the way he was grasping at her skirt, pulling at the bow at the side, slowly feeling it give, until... until... he held one open end of a length of cotton in his hand, the other dangling free. Jake pulled back from the kiss, a smile on his face.

"What next? You, tell me," Jake whispered, releasing his grip on the skirt.

Immediately, Donna felt it. There was a looseness around her waist. She smiled back.

"Now... I guess... now my skirt falls to the floor... is that what next?" Donna replied, pulling away from Jake, never once letting her eyes leave his.

She was right. A tiny wiggle of the hips helped, but it would have fallen anyway. In a matter of seconds, she was standing there in that cropped top, and a pair of black knickers; high-leg soft fabric with just the words Calvin Klein printed around the waistband.

"And now?" Donna asked, not that she really needed an answer. She knew exactly what was coming, or more to the point, she knew exactly what, or who, she wanted to be coming.

"Now?" Jake replied, taking a step towards his lover.

"Now..." taking another step.

Donna shrieked.

"Now... I pick you up in my arms and whisk you off to somewhere more comfortable."

That's exactly what Jake did. With no effort at all, he took hold of Donna and lifted her into his arms, taking the young woman by surprise, leaving her in awe of his awesome strength. As Donna clung to Jake, with arms and legs wrapped tightly around his manly torso, he carried her towards the rear of the shack.

"Go on, open it," Jake whispered, as they stopped outside a door marked 'STAFF ONLY' on a metal plaque.

Donna leaned down and, careful not to lose her grip on him, reached for the door. She twisted the handle, and felt the door give. Seconds later, she was doing it again, to a second door, this one with a sign stating 'OFFICE - KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING' on the front.

As this latter door opened, Donna glanced inside. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Instead of the traditional office she expected to be heading into, this one was different. Yes, there was a desk, and a couple of filing cabinets. There were even boxes of papers waiting to be filed. But then... then... there was a bed. What was a bed doing inside an office?

"What now?" Jake asked.

"Now... I guess," Donna responded, her breathing quickening with excitement, as she thought of what she was about to say. "Now you drop me on that bed over there, and then... then... you fuck me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," came an instant reply.

What followed was an even higher-pitched shriek as Jake did just what had been suggested and dropped his would-be lover firmly on the mattress. As Donna caught her breath and pulled herself back up to a seated position, Jake quickly slipped off his top, revealing a muscular chest, and more of a twelve pack than a six. The shorts didn't last much longer, and Donna caught her first glimpse of what he was hiding inside.

'Oh god!' she thought to herself, eyeing the bulge in his trunks. 'He's not big... he's fucking enormous... and he's gonna plunge that thing into me... and he's fucking gonna to split me open.'

As Jake approached the end of the bed, Donna found herself scrabbling backwards. The look of excitement had become one of nervous anticipation, a mix of surprise and fright etched across her face. She wanted him, but she was scared in equal measure. He was so much bigger than her previous boyfriend.

A third shriek filled the room as Jake took hold on Donna's ankles and, with a single tug, pulled her back towards him. It was unexpected and had Donna falling back onto her elbows, still looking up towards the hunk she was about to make love to. Another tug followed, and Donna fell flat on her back.

Donna prepared herself to be pulled off the end of the bed, but it didn't happen. What did though was exactly the opposite. Instead of pulling at her legs, Jake was now pushing them back towards her, leaving her with only one option... to spread them apart.