At Dawn

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It was a dream, within a dream
Wrapped in a memory.

The streets were wet and empty-
Deserted in the middle of another rainy night.

Running fast to no end, but as the distance rolled out
Found it easier to drop to all fours and gallop.

Hands clattered along the shiny brick
As a dog’s claws on ceramic.
Slipping left-sliding right;
Gaining precious purchase then sliding back,
Making no progress.

I was telling this to my Aunt Peggy-
Not in her doughy middle age-
But as she had been.
Slim and boyish; twenty-five to my
Lusty Sixteen.

She leaned close,
All overbite and collar bones
And told me that I should.
That she would.

I whiffed flowers
Hyacinth-
At the base of her neck.

You should, she whispered,
Eyes wide open.

Her mouth tasted of spearmint.
Her soft tongue,
Alive and welcoming.

You should, she whispered.

 

“A little anisette, please…” Part ll

(Continued from “A little anisette, please…”)

The glowing wafer of moon slipped thinly into the chalice of the hills.

“I am not worthy to receive you…” the long forgotten words clattered across his memory like a broken strand of pearls. “…but only say the words….” He was startled to hear himself speaking aloud and bit his lips too late. The sweeping sound of her breathing was gone-leaving a silent void. He inhaled deeply as if to smell whether he had awakened her.

She was on her side so when he looked down he saw only her right eye glowing back at him. Her lips, always full, seemed swollen. He bent to them and kissed her. Gently. Dryly. She returned his kiss over her shoulder then, like a cat, pushed her haunches still wrapped in sheets back into him.

“You are definitely not worthy”, she said huskily-her voice full of sleep.

“Of anything.”

“Release my legs”, she told him.

“I don’t want to hurt you now…” he said quietly. Last night was last night. This was a new day.

“Release my legs”.

The knots melted in his fingers. A lifetime on the lake, sailing, boating and fishing made ropes and knots his superpower. Before she could imagine how she was bound, she was free. Still on her side she pulled her right knee up then, when he uncovered her, lifted her top leg toward the ceiling, opening and still pushing backward. From another woman this would have been an invitation. From her, it was a summons.

Hard since he’d walked into the room he held back and grasped her ankle, then slid his hand down the muscles of her leg-pausing to outline the panther on her thigh. It rippled across her quad and roared up the inside of her thigh directing with white teeth and a blood-red tongue where he should go next.

“Do you want your hands?” he asked.

“No”. She kept them, still bound, clutched at her throat like a child curling her loose hair around her long slim fingers.

He settled on his side poking like a blind dog against her still bruised bottom cheeks. She rolled slightly and pushed backward further. Even in the dim, dawn light she glistened as he slid inside-never surprised by how wet she was. She gasped, taking him all at once as he grunted-forcing himself all the way inside with a loud slap of flesh.

She answered his grunt and caught the wave of his thrusts, digging backward as he pushed forward. They quickened the pace and he held her leg high gripping the firm muscles and feeling the quiver coming from up top. She probably would have preferred to hold her leg up herself just with the core strength she never tired of yakking about but he just wanted a fucking handle. He grabbed her ass and kneaded.

Whatever didn’t work between them, this surely did. This always did. He listened for the breathing again; this time the quick gasping that signaled….here it came. As the bed creaked and rolled, he pushed-pushed-pushed thrust-thrust-quickening his pace-slapslapslap skin on skin until her gasping became a moan then a bark then a cry as she slammed her leg down like a guillotine holding him in place as he, with a last firm jam spewed his shuddering heat deep into her.

As they deflated, dissipated, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close as if wanting to contact as much of her skin as possible. He slid out of her and rested until he heard the telltale whispering of her wheezing. He allowed himself to be lulled to the edge of darkness before he roused and pulled gently away.

Without touching her he leaned over and untied the ropes on her wrists but she reacted not at all, lying as if in prayer. He retrieved the knife and put it on the bed stand then, reluctant to leave, kissed her shoulder, her back and ran is tongue along the salt of her hip. When he felt himself begin to swell, he rose and pulled the sheet up to her neck leaving her exactly as he’d found her. He left the door ajar.

Later with the morning sun high over the ridge she, still damp from the shower and clear-eyed as a child, joined him at the kitchen table. The silk robe parted as she gingerly sat affording him an easy view of her small, firm breasts. “Good Morning Glory”, he said mocking. She gifted him a half smile.

“I trust you welcomed the sun”, she said seeing that the sweat from his sunrise workout was already dried on his shirt.

“Someone had to do it” he said pushing away from the table. “Coffee?”

“Christ, yes.”

“Cream?”

“A little anisette, please.” He took the clear liquor from the sideboard and poured thickly closing his eyes to the sweet licorice scent filling the room. He placed the cup before her and kissed her on the top of her head and slid his hand inside her robe. “Always nice to have the girls for coffee”.

“Will you join me for sword later?” she asked ignoring his hand.

“Technical or Kumite?”

“I want to fight.”

He stepped back and regarded her carefully. She was talking into her coffee giving him nothing.

“Wood”, he said firmly. Their steel tournament swords weren’t razor sharp but carried enough of an edge to do damage. He would only fight her using the wooden swords. They had a way to make that interesting.

“Fine”, she said looking up. Her eyes had a sparkle rather than a gleam. Which was good. “Eleven?”

“Eleven it is”, he said. “Now drink your coffee.”

She blew on it and sipped.

“However…” Part III

Continued from “However…” Part II

”I can stop the spanking now”, said Taylor allowing her fingers to slide deeper between Dana’s legs. “You’ve been adequately punished for your tardiness. But I could…” she went on after a moment, “…do something to make you feel a little….better?” As she said that she drew her hand up into the dampening space as Dana lifted her bottom into her hand. “Yes, please…” she moaned.

As she lifted her tingling bottom higher so that the woman’s determined finger could get more deeply…deeply into her, Dana took a moment to reflect. This morning, Taylor Grayling was a well-paying fitness client and maybe friend. No, not really friend-it was a business relationship; she was a client. A client whose fingers felt so good up inside of her right now. “Eeep”, she gasped as she felt that finger swirl around the outside and slide gently and wetly back in.

This morning Dana had awakened somewhere in the eighth barren month without a lover. The only thing in those months that had been up inside her like this were on the ends or her hands or was blue and battery-operated. This she liked better. Oh, yeah, and this morning she had awakened having not had sex with a woman in ten years-and that was freshman year and the story went she was drunk and didn’t really know…or remember…or…whatever. It was her story, she’d stuck with this this long. But now?

“Come on. Up”, said Taylor slapping her lightly on the bum.

“Oh Nooo…”

“Come on…Let’s go.”

Dana arose unsteadily and allowed herself to be pushed toward the door that led into the house, down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs toward a little used wing of the large house. “Go! Go! Go!” Taylor hurried her from behind lightly smacking her on the bottom every step of the way.

At the top, Dana allowed herself to be guided into a bedroom that she registered had been prepared. Dark curtains kept out the late morning sunlight, replaced by the bright flicker from dozens of candles. The soft sound of surf emanated from…everywhere as did the vague scent of eucalyptus. Inside Taylor kicked the door closed and turned her trainer to face her.

Taylor’s eyes weren’t exactly predatory-not exactly-but wide and wanton, glowing brightly in the candlelight. “Off with this!” she yanked at Dana’s T-shirt which she slipped over her head followed by her sports bra which released her small, perfectly formed breasts to immediately be set upon by Taylor’s mouth.  The older woman was hungry for this but gentle in her roughness-relying on every sound or twitch to direct her next move. Which in this case was forward as she pushed the now naked Dana slowly backward pinning her to the bed. She stopped and looked up, meeting Dana’s eyes.

“Who the fuck are you Taylor…?”

She smiled slyly and continued pushing her backward until Dana sat on the bed then further until she was prone but keeping her face close. “I’m the woman who’s going to put her face between your legs and her tongue in your pussy until you scream.”

“Nice to meet you, then.”

With that, Taylor slid down Dana’s tight body, pausing to nibble at her taut nipples, before leaving a glistening trail down her belly and finally to the wiry blond patch at the bottom. She paused just long enough to slide her hands across Dana’s bottom then below her legs pulling them up and out. Dana reached down and patted her lover’s hands before replacing them on the backs of her thighs and pulling her legs to her chest.

Taylor’s tongue knew well what to do with the wide open invitation. It played at the inside of Dana’s thighs then around the wet folds of her vulva-probing deeper with every revolution. “Ack!” Dana coughed as it flicked lightly at her asshole.

“Like that?” Taylor asked…

“Love that….”

There was no more talking as Taylor bent in earnest to her work. At this moment she wanted nothing more than to make love to Dana the best way she could; to give her the kind of experience that would make her want more. As she widened the wet opening with her fingers and orally massaged her throbbing clit, her nostrils, filled with the scent of Dana’s soap, now flared with the dizzying aroma of her longing, pulsing in the waves of her flowing liquor. It didn’t take long before Taylor heard the moans coming from above morph into the screams she had prophesied. She licked feverishly until Dana’s body-hard as carved pine in the throes of orgasm-relaxed and then collapsed back onto the bed. She allowed her legs to drape gently across Taylor’s shoulders.

Still dressed for the gym, Taylor untangled herself and stood. Dana, spent to the edge of weeping, rolled onto her side and pulled her knees up.

“You OK?” Taylor asked softly, leaning close.

“I don’t care what Lynette says about her paddle. I’m coming late next week…”

By the time Taylor could pat her warm bottom and kiss her gently on the temple, Dana was asleep.

Best to let sleeping dogs…

(Continued from If the boat’s a rockin’…)

She hovered, suspended in the dim gray place between waking and sleeping. Could she truly awaken though, if she wasn’t asleep? Her body wasn’t buzzing anymore as it had been so recently. Instead it was warm and limp-as immobile as a sack wet grass, radiating the living stillness one might feel sitting at the bottom of a deep warm well. Nothing to do but allow herself to be enveloped by the warm darkness.

It hadn’t been that way when James had pushed her-still wet and vibrating-onto his bunk. Had that been moments, hours or days before? She had spread wantonly on his rough blanket ignoring both the pinches from her strapped, bruised bottom and the pulses from her recently receding orgasm. In fact, as she lay back and pulled her knees to her chest she felt the receding waves cease their retreat and turn back-seeking a reason to crest and break again.

Being arrayed on her back gave her the first chance to actually see the shaft that had brought her to heights she had never felt before. She wasn’t the most experienced lover but this was beyond anything she could imagine. Was it like this for others? Then, as he mounted and slipped inside her still wet folds, she knew immediately that she would come again.

It wasn’t his length-nor the strength of his thrusts filling her more deeply coming from the front than they had from behind. It was not one particular thing. It was more the all of him. His scent, the soft beard that tickled her nipples as he sucked gently on her breasts, his strong arms that coiled around her back and the rough hands pulling down on her shoulders-driving him even deeper inside. It was all of that.

Each thrust, deeply planted then deliberately withdrawn to the very end, felt as if he were pulling her insides out. As if her hair and eyes themselves were being withdrawn back into her head-only to be pushed back into place with a loud slapping of belly on belly.

This on and on, again and again, until she gave herself entirely to the second orgasm of the afternoon. Lying under him, crushed and cuddled-open and pulsing she gave in utterly-allowing screams to turn to laughter then tears as she crested again, and again and…again? Or all at once? She knew not and cared not. She pulled her legs back opening her bottom hole-wishing he would take it. She kept her mouth wide, wishing he would take THAT. She wanted him everywhere at once.

Her last memory as she faded under her own wave was of his hot seed splashing hard upon her belly and scalding her up to her breasts. She moaned loudly under the thick pulsing rain and flopped backward sliding into the gray where she now found herself.

Her dream that wasn’t a dream was of kittens…no, puppies. There were three or four of them lapping at her-tickling her. She opened her eyes a slit and recognized the peeling paint on the wall beside James’ bunk. There were no kittens, nor puppies, but James sat on the side of the bed fully clothed rubbing dollops of lotion on her still tender bottom.

On her side she smiled and pushed back into his hand. “That feels nice.”

“I’m sorry about this but….”

“Don’t be.”

“I got a little carried away.”

“It was I who was carried away. Swept away actually….” She reached back and clutched his wrist.

“Had to be done.”

“Has to be done.”

“From time to time…”

“When warranted.”

He rubbed absently for a moment but she could feel his eyes painting her. He was fairly memorizing every fold, surface, dimple and wrinkle. Finally, he patted her on her fulsome cheek-finished with his ministrations. “We’ve a tow to deliver.”

She rolled onto her back. “My God, is there still a world out there?”

“Aye, and it’s a demanding one.”

She propped herself on her elbows, ultimately comfortable in her nakedness before a man who until a short time ago she knew only as a boss.

“Give me a kiss first”, she said with a smile.

“A kiss. After what we’ve just been through you want a kiss?”

“You can whip a horse James. And you can fuck a whore. But a man only kisses his lover.”

His eyes softened as he bent-bringing his lips to hers. She watched him come until the last moment when she closed her eyes and allowed his soft lips to close over hers. She opened to allow his tongue entry and as their tongues twined she began to feel yet another spark that threatened to reignite the dying embers that smoldered between her legs. Reading her body, James pulled back.

“Now would you please get your sweet red ass out of my bunk and go tend to the lines so we can get this tow downriver. The sooner we get this job done, the sooner I can take you ashore and show you how it’s done in a real bed.”

“Yes Cap’n”, she said.

He regarded her looking so young and small as if the copulations had regressed her to girlhood. He blinked then turned away quickly not wanting to encourage his sleeping dog into awakening and stretching itself again.

 

If the boat’s a rockin’…

strapped

(Continued from River Life)

“You should do it, then.” She said her voice tight in her throat.

She wasn’t sure he had heard her-as as he’d become keenly interested in the river flowing outside the window.

“Probably best you go ashore.”

“James-please”. She gripped his arm. “Don’t put me ashore-I need this job. I need this-out here”, she moved her arms to take in the river and overhanging trees that, even October’s gray light were enchanting. She could breathe out here in a way she couldn’t in the closed world of quiet desperation ashore.  “I’ve been doing well. I have. I’m…afraid what will become of me in town without this.”

“This employment comes with conditions, Emmaline.”

“I know. I understand. And I must be punished…. Please….”

She unsnapped the canvas coveralls that she wore over her clothes on foul days. Still facing the flowing water he heard, rather than saw, her coveralls slide down.

“Just do it James…Please…”

He gave her nothing.

“Beat me and let me stay…” her voice was a whisper.

He turned to look into her glistening and pleading eyes. He pulled away from her grip and nodded to the pile of coveralls. “Step out of those”. She tore off her boots and high stepped a march to extricate herself. “Stand there”, he told her, “facing the table.”

She was finally sure that she wouldn’t be put ashore. He was going to punish her here. “Oh thank you, James.”

“You might want to hold onto those thanks…”

Her shirt was overlong, covering her seat. “Take off your shirt.” She did so quickly and tossed it onto his chair. Her undershirt barely reached her waist.

“You won’t regret this James…”

“You might”, he answered. “Take down your pants.” She didn’t hesitate as the temperature in the pilot house rose. James saw her jeans loosen and she pushed them down. Without prompting she followed with her panties, undressing efficiently and immodestly as if she were alone in her bunk. The view of her bottom-voluptuous and glowing alabaster in the gray light gave James pause, if only for a moment.

“Put your hands against the window sill”. Doing as she was told, she had to lean over the table pushing her bottom backward.

With her back, as well as everything else, to him she focused on the thick trunk of the sycamore outside the shoreward window. The first flush of relief at not being fired and put ignominiously ashore faded to be replaced by trepidation and an anticipation she couldn’t quite understand.

She heard the slithering rasp of his belt being pulled through the loops on his trousers and felt something…else. She dipped her back pushing her bottom imperceptibly backward. Seeing the movement James almost groaned. He struggled to keep himself contained suddenly desiring nothing so much as to drop to his knees and lavish her back-thrust bottom with kisses. He snapped the stout leather in his hands to come back to himself.

She expected pain-how could she not?-but even so, the searing burn of the first slash across the very center of her buttocks surprised her. She didn’t move-not even a flinch-but when the second stroke fell equally upon her lower bottom and tops of her legs, her mouth fell open and remained so albeit silently for the next three strokes which burned across her tortured cheeks. The sixth elicited a choking cough, quickly silenced and the seventh a small hop as she rose onto her toes. He lashed her while she remained thus elevated, her bottom tightened by the exercise.

Once she fell back onto her heels her bottom, now coloring, softened. His belt dug into the softness, drawing a yelp. Realizing he’d been holding his breath he paused in his labors.

“I’m quit with drinking on your boat James”, Emmaline told him maintaining her position.

“Don’t make promises you have no intention of keeping.” His punctuation was a lash on the last unmarked spot high on her bottom that snapped around her hip. She gasped and allowed a moan to fill the room. He then directed the strap lower, completing his task of turning bright white to pink, pink to red and in a few spots, red to purple where the blood came close to the top.

“I mean it James….”

“Mean it or not, but know that this will be your punishment when you do. Or whenever I judge you wanting in any way. Do you understand?”

“Yes James.”

They were silent with no sound but their quick shallow breaths.

“Please James….” she said finally.

“You’re finished”, he said. “Well punished, well marked.”

“That’s not what I meant”, she said looking, flushed but dry-eyed, over her shoulder. “That is not what I meant at all.”

“Emmie…”

“Are you going to tell me you’ve never thought of having me like this?”

“We’ve established you’re a woman-so of course.”

“Then do what you will. Be assured I want it more than you do.”

He felt the ache in his own spar as it pushed against the canvas of his trousers and wondered how that might be possible.

The strap had slipped out of his hand as he slid closer and lay his rough hands on the mottled skin of her bottom. Emmie gasped as if burned. His hands slid gently up and down and squeezed softly.

“My God James-you must get inside me. I didn’t drop a tear in your strapping but will cry like a hungry baby if your cock isn’t in me soon.”

He removed his hand from her only long enough to unfasten his trousers which fell to the floor. He stepped out of them and closer, leaning against her heat-allowing his cock to rub against her backside, up one cheek and down the other. Outside her left cheek along her right hip. He let it pulse between her legs-sniffing at the inside of her thighs like a serpent probing a rock face for a crevasse.

Her moan at his serpent’s touch was deep and rumbling. “You are a torturer.”

In truth, it was less about torture as it was about exploration-finding his way along what he’d feared were long forgotten paths. But once on the right trail, the path toward her shining beacon was made straight. She pushed back and opened-James slid slowly into her glistening offering. He had expected some resistance but slipped easily and fully into a lambskin change purse brimming with the syrup of distilled morning dew.

Fully sheathed he ground his hips into the heat of her seared bottom.

“Oh, James….I’ve wanted you to fuck me for….”

Her voice caught as he pulled out as far as he could and still remain in, then rammed home deeply again, with more force than before.

“Yes!” she barked.

He looked down to see his shaft sliding in and back out, in and back out-slowly, then hard. Slow. Then. Hard. She grunted at the building strength of his strokes.

“Slap me James!” she said breathless. “Slap my ass!” she twisted sideways giving him, what she imagined to be a getter target. He slapped her tortured right cheek as best he could without breaking the slow rhythm of his deep thrusts.

“Faster James! Faster…” Knowing she didn’t mean spanking, he gripped both hips and thrust harder and faster the slapping of hip on hip now louder than hand on ass.

“James! James!…” Feeling her pitch rising, James rose on his toes and worked quickly until she stiffened, shuddered and finally broke. Her voice morphed into a high squeal muffled only when she dug her teeth into her own shoulder. He stayed inside her, still engorged as she twitched and mewled finally pulling out as she collapsed from the window sill to lay spread across the table.

“Does this mean I’m not fired?” she asked when she gathered her breath.

His answer was a hard slap to the center of her red fulsome bottom. She neither yelped nor moved, and facing as she was, James couldn’t see the smile play over her face.

“That means you’re not fired.”

He pulled her up from the table and hugged her from behind. She felt the strength of his unspent cock digging at her bottom.

“Let’s go to my bunk”, he said prodding her forward.

“Yes, Captain”, she said.

 

River Life

spanked

He sat in the pilot house watching Emmie through the wide front windshield as she hopped from the shore side barge to the outside one securing the lines in the short tow that they were contracted to take downstream. Given the light trip it was just the two of them on the boat today the other two of the regular crew enjoying a day at home.

He had taken her aboard the Maddy Belle over the summer as a favor to her uncle-whom it was better to have as a friend than an enemy. Three years widowed and a riverman for life, James Shacksbird had felt himself sliding into a comfortably solitary existence; his relationships a series of contracts, contacts and gentleman’s agreements. He relished the chance to have done something for the Deacon-to perhaps have him, if not in his debt, then at least well disposed toward him.

Watching her at her labors he had noticed a slight wobble in her gait. Something that, underway, could be attributed to a wave or the flow of current-but they were tied up tighter than a tick. Nothing was moving. It wasn’t a stagger-not a stumble-just a wobble. But with one as sure footed as Emmaline, who he had seen walk yardarms on the old schooners, a wobble was telling.

Gray drizzly October day. Couldn’t blame her, he thought. When he was drinking these were the days that did him in. He slid the side window and put his head out.

“Emmaline!”

She paused and turned toward him. “Yes?”

“Put on your life jacket.”

“We’re not underway.”

“Is that the river below us?”

There was nothing to be said. With a touch of petulance she took up her float and strapped it on. He probably would have just gone back to his book had she not paused once correctly outfitted and, coming to attention, snapped a quick military salute toward him.

She was always-different-with him when the others weren’t on the boat. She was headstrong and independent, used to running her own life and answered to no one ashore. Out on the boat, actually having to maintain subordinate position chafed her. Not a lot, but he felt it when they were on the Maddy alone. He had made mental notes to not do solo runs with her but mental notes are meant to be erased.

“Emmaline”, he called again. “Come up here please.”

One of the reasons the Deacon wanted her on the boat was to keep her out of the taverns. As he put it, his niece had an outsized thirst for strong drink. She had proven to be a quick learner, fearless, a more than capable riverhand, but always thirsty.

“Yes, Cap’n?” she asked cheekily as she stepped into his pilot house.

“You’re drunk woman.”

“Oh, I’m woman, am I? Not girl or child.”

“I never disputed you a woman.”

“Which, then, gives me leave to be drunk on occasion. If I were. Which I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Nope.”

They eyed each other across the small space.

“What then are you?”

“Perhaps, tipsy.”

“Tipsy.”

“Perhaps.”

“If so, does that seem a characteristic I would want in a mate or even a deck hand?”

“The British Navy would feed their sailors rum by the bottle.”

“By the shot actually-not the bottle. And this isn’t the British Navy.”

She was warming to the banter and became anxious when he went silent pulling on his lower lip. She had made a study of James these last months. The man was difficult to read beyond orders but she knew this to be his thinking posture. She thought of the bottle stowed on the barge, under the ropes. Maybe she had touched it one time too many that morning.

“What are you thinking?”

“Wondering how quickly I could get word to Thomas to join me on this tow once I put you ashore.”

“Ashore!? I’m not going ashore!”

“You are. We discussed this.”

“No! We…”

“The last time you were…tipsy.”

“My Uncle….”

“Your uncle would not appreciate me allowing you to drown on my watch-or be crushed between barges-because you were drunk. He will understand why you’re not on the river anymore.”

Emmaline panicked that the decision seemed to have been made already. This wasn’t a debate anymore-this was the end of her short river career.

“That wasn’t all you said!” she yapped nervously. “You didn’t say you’d fire me. You remember what you said?”

Since he quit drinking he forgot nothing. It was misery-every word he uttered stacked like cordwood in his head to be recalled at will. But these ones he let be.

“I remember telling you I’d put you ashore.”

“No. You said you would thrash me. You said you would beat me purple if I were drunk on your boat again.”

“Figure of speech. A threat to discourage you, that’s all. Fat lot of good it did.”

Emmaline was somewhere in her twenties-a full decade younger than he. She had a sharpness about her that extended beyond her tongue. She kept her dark hair short but no one would describe her as boyish. Athletic yes; nimble yes, but well-endowed top and bottom. It was solely the fact that she was clearly in his charge that had kept James from regarding her in way he might any other woman of her age and appearance.

“You should do it, then.” She said her voice tight in her throat.

Continued in (If the boat’s a rockin’…)

Perspective

im-waiting

She felt a tweak in the small of her back while he was fumbling through the medicine cabinet. What was taking him so long?

“I’m waiting…” she said as lightly as she could.

“Can’t find the Vaseline”, he called his hands shaking.

Vaseline? She thought and sighed. “KY”, she said over her shoulder. “Middle shelf in the closet.”

“Right, Right”, he said.

He could see her from the bathroom door.

“What an ass…” he thought, his heart starting to race.

“What an ass…” she thought, her heart starting to sink.