A Feminist Survivor: A Short Story

Decent Essays
The media frenzy around the search did not abate. I became a couch explorer. Sitting comfortably, with my feet up, a cigar dangling between my right index finger and middle finger and a glass of whisky, I watched Susan speaking to four people. The cameras never caught their faces clearly. Were they men or women, one could not say. Indistinct in their diving costumes, flat chested… I preferred my women busty. Susan had nice breasts, lush, bouncy, cushioned, just the way I like them, with no silicon. One of my mistresses had breast augmentation, not a nice feeling, ‘chubby’ but plastic. Nothing beats the feeling of nice, plush, heavy, breasts. But I am straying. I had added ‘watching Susan looking for her lost husband’ to my routine. It was almost comic to see her…show more content…
Her hands were moving like windmills, fast and dramatic. There were sharks in the vicinity, a young, blond, reporter excitedly told the camera. There was a storm brewing. The wind was whipping the reporter’s hair, the sea was showing some temper. The camera zoomed on Susan and her team. Their masks and goggles camouflaged their faces. The accessories around their waists hid their crotches. The fire merrily cackling in my room was comforting. I was not alone in the mansion. My bodyguards help posts all over the mansion and on the estate grounds. Susan’s maid was in her room under the spying eyes of the cook. I was safe. I gulped a mouthful of whisky and felt it flow down smoothly down my throat. The divers slid in to the choppy waters. The weather was degrading at an alarming rate. Alarming, not for me, but for Susan and her gang. The gang slid in the water smoothly. Susan was the last to go. For half an hour all they showed on T.V. were the choppy waters getting choppier, the greyed sky becoming gloomier, and the reporter’s hair whipping around her face as she screeched through the mike competing fiercely with the howling wind. Boom. To be
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