Fathom's Crush

It was a silly crush. Came out of nowhere, unlikely to go anywhere. It made her question everything and resolved nothing.

Fathom shouldn't have told a soul about her reveries, but she shared everything with her sister, even from halfway around the world.

>I can't stop thinking about her

>Look at you!When in Lesbos, amiright?I'm on Aonissos, you dummy!

>Po-TAY-to, potah-to

Big Sis pressed on: >So do something about it! Fuck her!Mon!!Oh come on, it'll be fun! And different, right? I mean you've never...I've also never slept with the boss or someone 40 years older than me. Fuck me, she's older than Momma!LOL! If she starts telling you to straighten up and stop dressing like a slut, RUN!

As though Fathom's terminal lovesickness was supposed to be funny. But maybe from 5,000 miles away in sleepy suburban Evanston, Illinois, this passed for harmless soap opera fare.

Because Monica bloody well knew her pussy princess little sister wouldn't put a foot, or in this case, a fin wrong.

>BesidesShe's married -- to a guy!To whom, Aquaman?Very funny, Mon. I gotta go.I expect updates!Can we please forget I told you about this?Fat chance!

>Later sis

More of a big brother, Monica could be depended upon to supply all assistance short of actual help whenever a romantic crisis arose. Even one like this that hadn't actually launched off the drawing board between her ears. Some fantasies were better left unexplored or unrealized, and this would probably be among them.

Monica was more useful when her little sister really was little and catching all kinds of grief from cruel classmates for her unusual, unladylike name. It was her Greek grandfather who supplied the handle, a sponge fisherman transplanted to Tarpon Springs, Florida, hoping to break the family streak of girls in favor of a tall, strapping boy to carry on the Pappas name.

Instead they got another girl, and thanks to a growth spurt in her late teens, she finally "lived up" to her name, topping out at six feet. A tall order delivered.

A post-grad student of marine biology at the University of Miami, Fathom was surprised to be enlisted for a month-long expedition to Greece to explore and catalogue the remains of an ancient Phoenician wreck recently discovered in their waters. Surprised because history and surfacing millenia-old crockery and brass warrior helmets wasn't in her field of study.

But there was something about Fathom that made her a real "get" for Dr. Patty Shaw's all-woman SWAT team of divers and scientists. An outstanding freediver and experienced in mixed gas diving for deep sites, she'd be expected to be the maritime archeologist's right arm in shepherding a team of brilliant but raw recruits when it came to undersea operations.

For ten grand she'd be a highly paid babysitter/lifeguard and could work on her tan topside while the nerds would be beavering away in sweaty, claustrophobic cabins below in the research vessel. Then, at night, there would be barbecues on the beach with Fathom expected to drive off uninvited guests like young, horny local fishermen looking for tender prey.

A bit of a gym rat, Fathom Pappas was just imposing enough and there were few men who stuck around long enough to be told to fuck off in both English and Greek, her second language. Perhaps another reason Dr. Shaw tapped this otherwise unimpressive C student for the Mediterranean excursion.

Which brought her back to Patty again. Away from the classroom and hanging on for dear life to the rail of the research vessel dubbed Aphrodite, Dr. Shaw told Fathom she was to park all the formalities and call her Patty or Pat in a pinch.

And there had been a few pinches already, just midway through the expedition. Fathom had her hands full with seasick/homesick undergrads, clueless, pre-occupied divers running out of air and one who had to be transported to a decompression chamber after she made a frantic break for the surface when the sight of a gentle octopus frightened her.

Fathom kept a level head and the girls took their lead from the tall, treetop diver they'd dubbed "The Amazon." And Patty complimented herself for choosing her when other profs were skeptical of her utility in the field.

The doctor saw something in her and now Fathom was beginning to see possibilities in the curvy yet athletic sexagenarian who had come to rely on her. Such penetrating blue eyes, the very shade of the cerulean waters they dove in, as deep and as full of wonder. That mouth, the cupid's bow of plush lips, those cheeks and their high color. The posh, cut-glass English accent that gave her chills.

Patty was a former blonde, now a silver vixen, her hair still long and usually neatly secured in a ponytail. Small but mighty, her arms were subtly muscled and she could be seen lugging tanks on both shoulders when it came time to unload cylinders after the day's explorations.

As Fathom inventoried the many things that fascinated her about the boss, she looked down and became aware that her hand had begun exploring another deep, wet place in her bikini briefs, her taut tummy undulating as she teased herself with her idle fingers.

"Oh boy," she snapped to no one as she withdrew and rolled out the hammock. "Looks like somebody needs a cold shower."

With just a limp, lukewarm stream of mostly fresh water on offer from a rusty spigot outside her beach cottage door, she instead grabbed her mask, snorkel, fins and weight belt and hopped across the burning sand to the water's edge. She looked about and saw an empty beach in either direction, no one foolish enough to be there to endure the midsummer heat and absence of breeze.

No mad dogs or English women.

Fathom waded into the surf and cinched her weightbelt, to speed her descents, and tugged on her rocket fins, to cover more ground in the deeps and speed her ascents to the surface. She debated leaving her bra top, charged with lugging her 36Bs about, behind on the beach -- which would have defeated the purpose to which she'd been aiming. Cooling the jets, recentering her thoughts and chilling the fuck out as opposed to fucking herself with that handy snorkel.

She finned across the surface of the calm sea to the edge of the reef wall, drew three deep breaths before packing her lungs with air, tucking and propelling herself down into the void.

After spending several hours sucking air and poking around a deep wreck, returning underwater in search of peace and serenity seemed a little counterintuitive when there was ample beer in the fridge and a handy hammock at the ready. Not to mention the snorkel.

But with freediving came an equanimity she just didn't get from blowing bubbles that scared the fish while electronic instruments on her wrist or dangling by her side at the ends of high-pressure hoses tracked depth and consumption of compressed air, ever ready to evaluate danger.

As she glided past the verdant vertical garden at 50 feet, she was aware only of silence, the light thumping of her stilling heart in her chest and the slightly discomfiting pressure of the depths in her ears, a side-effect of that morning's deep dives. A small price to pay.

After two minutes Fathom felt the familiar burn in her chest and began rising to the surface. She knew with repetition her bottom time would only increase, but diving alone and pushing her limits invited the risk of shallow water blackout caused by depleted oxygen levels before the diver gets a chance to surface.

So Fathom took breaks on the surface and observed her coral kingdom from that vantage point until she was rested enough to dive again. This continued for the better part of an hour before she caught sight of an opening in the wall at about 60 feet.

It looked interesting and she soon entered a colorful coral chimney dense with silvery, schooling fish hiding out in the shadows from larger predators. She swam through and the curtain parted for the harmless human who sought only to explore.

The corridor ran about fifty feet and opened up in the shallows on the shoreside of the reef. Fathom continued finning through, figuring this would be as good a place and time as any to wrap her interesting and relaxing sojourn through her offshore garden.

Before she could exit the cavern perhaps ten feet from the surface, Fathom spied a small crab tangled in discarded netting along the coral encrusted wall. The little critter had handcuffed itself and was trying doggedly, and hopelessly, to free itself. Seeing an opportunity to do a good turn, Fathom tucked and swam down to the crab, pulling the knife from her calf sheath.

The crab, rattled by her presence, was now furiously trying to break free lest he wind up on her plate, and she chuckled to herself. "Fear not, shortie!" she thought as she carved through the surprisingly tough cords, "I'm here to save you, not to eat you."

It took about a minute and nearly the remaining fresh air in Fathom's tired lungs to slice the crab free and it skittered off unceremoniously and without thanks. Had to be a guy, she thought wearily as she absently went to tuck the knife back into the sheath.

Instead, she fumbled the manoeuvre and watched as the silver-bladed tool flittered down to the sandy floor of the cavern about 20 feet below. She sighed inwardly and made a mental note where she'd dropped it -- she needed to surface to recharge her lungs before she could retrieve it.

Fathom turned to the exit but when she went to kick her fins, she was rudely tugged back. She looked down with confusion and saw that in her intense labors to carve the crab free, her right foot had slipped into an opening in the wall. She bent down and pulled her ankle with all her might and that's when she saw even more derelict netting and realized that in trying to gain purchase on the rocks earlier, she'd fouled herself much as the crab had been.

And her ticket to freedom lay on the seafloor, tantalizingly out of reach.

Fathom stilled herself and tried to focus. Work the problem, she thought, although this predicament was further complicated by the fact that she'd already been underwater for well over two minutes. She looked up out of the tunnel, the water so clear and the sun so bright she could see the trees along the shore, now swaying with a growing breeze, buffeted by air she badly needed.

She resumed tugging her ankle while trying to remain calm and preserve what little oxygen she had left in her lungs. She knew that soon the urge to breathe would overcome her, her lips would part and the sea would rush in.

Fathom's parents and sister all loudly bemoaned the risky gig she'd signed up for and continually regurgitated risks real and imagined -- like sharks, the bends, getting trapped inside the decrepit wreck, the aforementioned horny Greek fishermen.

And here she was in the verge of drowning in ten feet of water in her bikini. She would have laughed except she didn't have enough air left for a decent giggle.

Suddenly she saw a body in motion just below her, a woman freediver with flowing white hair. It was Patty and before her boss could flash her the OK sign, Fathom pointed furiously to her ensnared ankle before covering her mouth to prevent her intake of water.

Patty swiftly rose to meet her and pulled out her knife, making short work of the torn nylon and in remarkably and mercifully short time, she freed Fathom. She took her by the arm and as Fathom fought to stay conscious with specks, spots and stars clouding her vision, her head broke the surface and she gasped in a deep breath.

In moments Fathom was lying on the sand, her chest heaving as she paid off her oxygen debt with interest, Patty leaning over her dripping, her face a mask of concern.

"Breathe! Breathe Fathom!" she said redundantly, almost singing with her familiar crisp and melodic voice.

Fathom eventually got up on her elbows and had a short coughing fit. Then she nodded and smiled.

"I'm OK, really," she croaked, now sitting up, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Patty looked over at the row of cottages the university had arranged for the team, knowing each one had a snoring student inside enjoying their afternoon siesta, leaving the two of them to get into the kind of trouble they were charged to prevent.

Then they both noticed Fathom's bleeding ankle, ripped open from chaffing against the barnacle-encrusted netting and the rocks that restrained her underwater. Fathom, equipped with first aid training, quickly assessed the damage.

"No worries -- nothing that gauze, ointment and a bandage can't fix," she assured Patty.

The prof helped Fathom to her feet and gathered the strewn dive gear. "I've got a kit back in my cottage," she said. "Let's go."

Fathom limped gamely across the beach and trusted that no one saw them or the blood in the sand as they made their way to Patty's cozy cottage constructed of lime and volcanic stone, and in moments she was seated on her couch while the boss went to retrieve the medical supplies.

As Patty cleaned and dressed the wound, Fathom recounted the events that led to her becoming trapped in the cavern. The professor looked up with a smile as she began wrapping the bandage.

"A Samaritan snare," she said. "Lured in to rescue the crab, you were captured instead."

"Samaritan snare, huh?" Fathom echoed. "Is that some kind of biblical reference or Greek myth?"

Patty rocked back and laughed. "No darling, it's the name of an episode of Star Trek: The Next

Generation!"

Patty referred to everyone as "darling" and it never failed to stir Fathom's juices. But she was surprised the bookish scientist had any knowledge of pop culture. "Good grief -- you're a Trekkie, too?"

Patty raised a free hand to fashion a Vulcan salute after she secured the bandage firmly. "I am just glad, Ms. Pappas, that you will live long and no doubt prosper. There -- that should hold you until you can see an actual doctor on our way through Athens next week."

Fathom examined her boss' handiwork and was impressed. "Thanks, Patty. For that... and for saving my life."

Patty waved away the notion and got to her feet, sealing the kit. "Don't be silly. You'd have gotten yourself out of that, figured it out on your own."

Impulsively, Fathom stood up and then embraced the surprised professor. "No, Patty, you're wrong -- I was a goner. A few more seconds and I would have been an underwater wreck to be discovered myself."

Fathom had overstepped but when she tried to release Patty she found she had become ensnared again, this time by the object of her crush. Patty's arms wrapped tightly around her and it felt good. The five-foot-five woman fit neatly under her chin and Fathom found herself holding her breath again, which was a little painful.

"I couldn't stand that," Patty breathed into Fathom's sunburned chest. "I need you."

She then remembered herself and backed up a touch. But didn't release her.

"I mean, WE need you," she said quickly. "You're a critical member of our team."

Fathom's heart was in overdrive for the second time in an hour, this time in danger of drowning in something completely different. Their eyes met again and Fathom could see the color draining from Patty's weathered face. Something was happening but unlike gas mixtures or dive tables, Fathom had absolutely no expertise whatsoever in this area.

They were saved by a rap on the door and they backed away from each other like repelling magnets. A head poked in. It was Mary who'd drawn dinner duty that evening.

"Patty, we've got the barbie fired up, dinner will be ready in 20," she said brightly before looking past the boss to find Fathom.

"Oh, hey, Fathom," Mary added. "I banged on your door earlier but--"

Fathom shrugged and lifted her bandaged ankle as evidence that absolutely no lesbian action was happening at all behind closed doors. A little oozing blood on the fabric made it even more authentic.

"Jeeezuz, what happened to you?" the young woman gasped, turning a little pale herself.

"Funny story," Fathom started before Patty hijacked the conversation.

"Just a little clumsiness on the reef," the professor interjected. "Sharp as broken glass, as we warned everybody, so now we have an object lesson! She's right as rain."

Mary shrugged and turned to go. "Okey dokey," she said. "See you at the pit."

Alone again, Fathom looked at Patty quizzically. "A little clumsiness, boss?"

Patty led Fathom to the door. "Nobody has to know," she said firmly. "Not sure if you've noticed but we've been saddled with a crew of millennials who would need to take all the pills if they found out you were in any kind of danger. You're okay, I'm okay, we're okay... okay?"

Fathom chuckled. "Okey dokey," she said. "See you at the pit."

It was seafood, again, but Mary outdid herself with a lovely spread of porgy and bream dressed in olive oil and lemon with rice and horiatiko bread loaf. A cool breeze finally blew in from the water making a fireside gathering less oppressive.

A guitar was produced and songs were sung. Everybody wanted to get a good look at Fathom's ankle and she repeated Patty's fiction as the boss watched approvingly and the conversation was eventually diverted to less dangerous topics -- like men.

Patty regaled them with stories of dive expeditions in the seventies through the late twentieth century, with undersea luminaries such as Jacques Cousteau, Sylvia Earle and Robert Ballard, and was often the only woman or one of a precious few on board for ocean-going expeditions.

"What was it like on the Calypso?" Patty was asked by Jenn, a tall blonde in the crew.

"It was amazing!" Patty said enthusiastically. "Always the latest in tech gear, pushing the limits of underwater exploration. It was a privilege to be there."

"Come on, Patty, be honest!" Mary piped up. "Surrounded by all those Frenchmen for weeks and months on end. Did Jacques make any moves?"

The young women tittered nervously as Patty shook her head. "Mais, non!" she insisted. "Jacques was the perfect gentleman."

She paused for a beat. "Now Falco, HE was a sex maniac! Couldn't keep his hands off me! I got the bends on purpose so I could hide in the decompression chamber!"

The crew roared and hooted, even Fathom who had faced certain death just hours before. The dread had lifted, but her gratitude was bolted in place. Her eyes met Patty's continually through the evening, the professor seeking wordless assurance that Fathom was continuing to recover, Fathom's eyes softening in response.

Another student got up the courage to ask Fathom about her unusual name but before she could provide her back story, Patty explained that it came from an old spy novel called A Girl Called Fathom by Larry Forrester which was later turned into a regrettable film starring Raquel Welch.

"That's right," Fathom smiled, impressed the boss had done her homework.

Patty recited the line from the movie: "Papa was hoping for a tall son. Papa was disappointed."

She then smiled at Fathom. "I can't imagine your father being disappointed."

Fathom blushed and quickly cracked a joke. "The Fathom character in the book is actually six feet tall, like me," she explained. "Raquel Welch, on the other hand, was only five-foot-six."

About half of the girls knew who the hell the large-breasted '60s sex symbol was. Including Mary: "Sure, 5-6 standing up. But lying on her back..."

This time Patty and Fathom howled.

As the evening progressed, one by one the students said their good nights and streamed back to their cottages, aware they'd need to be on the beach bright and early for their Zodiac ride back to the Aphrodite for another day working the wreck. Patty rearranged the schedule so Fathom would get a day's breather to give her ankle some time to heal and spend it topside.

Fathom stuck around to help Mary and Patty wash up the pots and pans and they saw Mary off around midnight, leaving the two of them alone by the fading fire.

Eventually Patty reached out a hand. "Let's go for a walk," she said, and Fathom was only too glad to join her.

The sand was now as cool under their bare feet as it was smouldering under the sun hours before. A silvery moon hung in the sky in a dazzling sea of stars without light pollution from cities to blot them out. They walked side by side a good foot apart for the first leg of their journey along the shore, sandals dangling from their hands, the discussion centring on the research goals for the upcoming days.

At the turn about a mile away, the conversation lapsed into silence. Neither had mentioned the cavern since they parted company earlier in Patty's cottage.

Finally Fathom said, "You're doing it again."

Patty glanced at her. "What?"

"Looking at me."

The older woman looked out at the sea and chuckled. "I guess I'm making sure you're still here."

"I am," Fathom breathed. "Thanks to you."

Fathom turned toward her. The moonlight made Patty look impossibly young, the breeze, the light and the twinkle of moonlight off the calm water seemed to close the cavernous gap in years between them. Almost.

That was part of the problem. Patty had known from the first week of the expedition that she felt both protective and proud of Fathom. She was brilliant, capable, stubborn, funny, and entirely too willing to assume responsibility for everyone around her.

Patty at first thought of her as the daughter she'd never had. But that wasn't quite the whole truth anymore. And she hated herself for even thinking that.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

Fathom waited.

"When I found you this afternoon, it wasn't entirely by accident."

"Oh?"

Patty nodded. "I saw you through my window walking down to the water with your gear and I thought..."

Her voice trailed off. Fathom tried to fill in the blank. "You wanted to dive with me?"

The professor looked at her nervously and shook her head. "No, it's a little creepier than that, I'm afraid," she admitted. "I wanted to watch you. The way you move down there, without the equipment and the roaring bubbles. Just you. Your grace and power and..."

Fathom's expression changed. She felt awkward and flattered all at once.

Patty looked down at their feet. "And by the time I caught up..."

Her eyes began to well. Fathom reached over a touched her arm gently.

"You saved me," Fathom stuttered. "I wouldn't have gotten free. And then when I saw you down there... like, like an angel rising--"

"--I was afraid for the first time I can remember," Patty cut in, looking up at her. "I would have cut that line with my teeth. And remember, these gnashers are the product of British dentistry!"

They both laughed at that and then stopped their progress down the shore. They faced one another and fingers were entwined. This time there wouldn't be a knock at the door to derail proceedings. Fathom was as delighted as she was surprised that she was bring crushed back. By an amazing woman.

She lowered her face to Patty's and those lips were as soft and tender as she had dreamed. She felt a small tongue push into her mouth and that full body press into hers.

And then Patty backed off. Fathom immediately understood they were moving too quickly.

"I'm sorry, Fathom," the professor mumbled.

"Don't be."

Patty looked directly at her. "No, really. I am your boss. I'm 64 years old. I'm married. You're, what, 23?"

Fathom straightened. "Twenty-four next month." Like it made a difference.

"You're one of the people I'm responsible for."

"I know."

Patty took a breath. "And you're apparently gay."

Fathom's eyebrows rose. "Queer, actually."

Patty gave a nervous laugh. "Of course you are," she said. She had attended all the HR lectures on evolving gender designations and navigating them as a teacher. But this was next level.

"Up until the moment we met, I was a straight arrow," she said. "But back there on the beach when we came out of the water together... something changed. In me. Now I don't know anymore."

"I'm sorry I've complicated things, we can just..."

The professor looked at her slyly. "Unfeel what we feel?'

Fathom shrugged. "Well, like Mick said, you cain't always get what you want."

Patty snorted. That song was well over twice Fathom's age. But still true.

"I love my husband. I have never wanted a woman. I don't suddenly want a woman."

Fathom nodded. "I can hear a 'but' coming."

Patty looked out toward the sea. "But today I realized that losing you would break something in me."

Fathom didn't speak.

"And I don't know what to call that."

"We don't have to call it anything."

"Actually, we do," Patty insisted. "Because we're scholars, yes? It's our job to categorize things."

Fathom smiled. "There's the problem."

Patty smiled too, but it disappeared quickly. "I do not know what to do with this."

Fathom stepped closer. "Well, why don't we start with the fact that we care about each other?" she suggested. "There's a spark, I feel it, so do you. Women have been feeling it since forever but we've done a great job of concealing it from our men. And ourselves, for that matter."

Patty swallowed. "Of course I care about you."

"You ever study Sappho in school?" Fathom asked.

The professor smiled and shook her head. "Ah yes, the lesbian icon. No, not in school but obviously I boned up on Greek history and culture before the expedition and I ran across her," she said.

"There's not much of her material left," Fathom said. "Just 650 out of the 10,000 lines of her poetry survived to the present, much of it burned by the church as heresy over the centuries. They found scraps of it in an Egyptian dump a century ago."

"That I well know," Patty said. "Some of it is on display at the Bodleian Library at Oxford where I went to school."

"Still enough of it left to tickle the soul of this Greek woman," Fathom smiled.

They began walking again.

"There's a fragment where Sappho describes seeing the woman she loves," Fathom said. "She says that just looking at her makes her heart pound and her tongue fail. She can't see properly. She feels heat moving through her body."

Patty snorted. "She sounds frightened. Or menopausal!"

"Oh, she's afraid alright."

"Of the woman?"

"Of what the woman does to her."

Patty thought about that. "That's the part I've never understood."

"What?"

"Why pursue love that frightens you and challenges everything you believe?"

Fathom looked at her. "Because being frightened doesn't make it less beautiful. Or less necessary."

Patty stopped again. Fathom turned toward her. The professor's eyes were wet.

"What if this is a mistake?" she asked.

Fathom took Patty's hands in hers. "Why did you follow me into that cavern?" she asked. "It was deep, it was late, the shore was right there."

Patty's memory of her afternoon dive, which evaporated with the excitement of Fathom's rescue, had slowly begun to return. She'd kept well back right up until the moment she was badly needed.

"I guess... I just wanted to be with you, finally, together down there," she said quietly. "But I had no idea..."

"I am alive because of that impulse," Fathom said. "Don't we owe it to each other to see if there's even a shard of poetry there?"

Sappho came to mind again. Fathom was usually terrible with recitation, but she remembered this one, from twenty-six centuries before.

"Come to me now again and deliver me from oppressive anxieties;

fulfil all that my heart longs to fulfil, and you yourself be my fellow-fighter."

All the fight was out of Patty and she didn't resist when Fathom gathered her in before gently lifting her chin and moved in for a kiss.

It was quite unlike any other kiss Patty had ever experienced, even the one just moments before when she tentatively surrendered to the Amazon. It was deeper, harder, more urgent, breaths sucked in gasps, their tongues entwining like the eels they'd seen on the wreck.

Fathom then broke off the kiss and moved her lips down Patty's cheek to her neck, nibbling as she went, sending a charge and shiver through the professor who was slowly surrendering to the new sensations. Her hands moved to Patty's waist, gathering her into a tighter clench causing her lover to gasp.

"Are you okay?" Fathom asked, hoping she wasn't moving too roughly when all she wanted to do was eat her whole.

"I'm fine," Patty gasped nervously. "I like it when you touch me."

Fathom smiled and then began unbuttoning Patty's sheer blouse, exposing her lacey bra, the cups running over with goose-pimpled flesh even in the sultry evening heat. The younger woman then brought her lips to Patty's tits, her hands squeezing the professor's ample globes closer together.

Her lips worked the flesh above Patty's bra but she made no move to remove it, not just yet. Soon the professor was mad for Fathom to tear it off, but the divemaster knew what she was doing. Patty arched her back to yield her tits, begging her to fondle and squeeze them.

"Your breasts are amazing," Fathom purred as she continued to caress the corralled orbs. But now it was finally time for their unveiling.

Patty felt Fathom's dextrous fingers behind her back, realizing in horror than she was about to unleash the girls, as she called them. She was proud of them in harness, but...

"Gravity has not been kind," Patty warned as the bra fell away and her breasts tumbled forth.

"They're beautiful, Patty," Fathom cooed. "Just like you."

She bent down and began suckling Patty's puffy nipples. The professor went weak at the knees and began hyperventilating.

"Shouldn't we take this indoors?" Patty suddenly blurted, even though it was late and the beach was deserted.

Fathom took Patty by the hand into a nearby sun shelter behind some trees, which had a mattress of questionable cleanliness and quality. The place where poor local boys brought their women. It would have to do.

"Any old port in the storm," she wheezed, returning her lips to Patty's nips.

"Oh gawd!" Patty cried as she reclined under the weight and passion of her Amazon lover. Fathom cupped a breast and massaged it with her thumb. Patty had forgotten her nipples could get so hard or that they had a direct connection to her cunt which was flush and moist by now.

She could barely gasp out the words "Oh gawd, I'm so wet!" Fathom moved her hand into Patty's panties to confirm the allegation, and was surprised when Patty guided her fingers into her ungroomed snatch.

"Mmmmm yes," Fathom purred. "You've got me wet too."

Patty could hardly believe she was turning on such a striking young woman but then her hand was pulled into Fathom's g-string. Soaking. She pulled the evidence back to her lips and tasted her. Musky yet sweet.

Patty's hands moved down Fathom's strong, muscled back and she was delighted when the braless young woman then tugged her t-shirt over her head giving the professor unobstructed access to her firm, unsagging tits, capped with broad aureolae and hard nipples. Patty examined them almost as scientific artifacts and Fathom chuckled.

"They want you to kiss them," she breathed while stroking her shorter lover's hair.

Patty parted her lips and suckled her first tits since she was a babe in diapers. She never imagined it would be this hot and satisfying.

Fathom then kissed her way southward and began nibbling on Patty's inner thigh, the older woman im-patient for her lover to get busy with her pussy. But Fathom wouldn't be rushed and Patty enjoyed the journey in spite of herself.

How long had it been since a lover had taken their time fucking her? From her hubby's opening kiss to tit sucking/pinching to penetration to cumming in her raw, unlubricated cunny, she'd be able to hold her breath and have enough air in her lungs afterwards to hit the loo and flush the discharge. It was mechanical, a wifely duty, drained of passion or meaning.

Now, years later, the feeling and the yearning had returned. She'd almost forgotten it existed. In the darkness Patty could feel Fathom's fingers looping around the lace waistband of her panties, rubbing her still-concealed mons, her pussy lips, her hardened clit.

Patty pleaded with her to pull the damn knickers off and finish the job, her desperation to cum building inside of her. But Fathom wouldn't be rushed and the build was exquisite.

"Hon, I'm cumming!" Patty cried finally as Fathom's fingers continued to tease her.

"I can feel you," Fathom sighed. "I'm cumming too."

Patty could smell the tang of her own and her lover's flowing pussy juices as Fathom finally began tonguing her minge and in mere minutes she felt a charge surge through her. Another orgasm? How was that even... then Patty arched her back and cried out as her lover again pushed all the right buttons to induce a second toe-curling climax.

"Oh gawd stop, love!" Patty protested as she tried to catch her breath. "Let me have a go at it, then."

She tentatively moved to Fathom's well-tended garden, the first time she had ever gone down on a lover and not been assaulted by a turgid, leaking cock. She tugged off the g-string with a lot less ceremony and care than Fathom had accorded with her panties but did take a moment to fully inhale the aroma.

"I love the smell of you," she rasped before plunging her fingers carefully into Fathom's well-oiled ma-chine, the other hand circling her inflamed pussy lips. She looked up to see Fathom writhing and moaning, which only got her hotter.

She kissed Fathom's clit, licking and sucking it, causing her lover's chest to rise and fall rapidly, her hardened nipples pointing to the heavens. Patty wasn't as expert or smooth as Fathom but figured the young woman had watched a whole lot more instructional TikTok and Instagram videos. She was doing her level best.

It was more than enough and soon Fathom was raging above her, her fingers tangled in Patty's silver hair as she bucked and rolled beneath her. She was cumming and Patty eagerly lapped up the juices. She then felt Fathom pulling her face toward hers and their mouth docked again, Fathom's tongue sweeping Patty's for her own nectar.

The women then fell into each other's arms, panting and laughing at the absurdity of it all. An old married professor and her hot divemaster, their bodies entangled on a musty and crusty cum-stained old mat-tress just off a Greek beach.

"Not bad for an old straight dolly," Patty chuckled.

"You were terrific," Fathom agreed.

Patty looked at Fathom and kissed her cheek. "You as well."

They lay there in silence for a while and watched shooting stars as well as the occasional flickering plane overhead, wisely staying away from all the obvious questions and not wanting to spoil the moment. Fathom was going to make a lame joke about where a girl could hire a U-Haul in Greece but thought better of it.

Finally, it was time for truth and consequences.

"Fathom," Patty whispered into the night.

Her lover turned. "You don't have to say it, Patty."

She said it anyway. "There's a man and a marriage."

Fathom thought of her conversation with her sister the day before. Look at you, indeed.

"Well, I didn't come halfway around the world to become a homewrecker," she said quietly, fighting back tears as she feared her lover's remorse.

Patty laced her fingers into Fathom's. "You didn't. I knew something was missing. I just didn't know what that was until you boarded my boat."

Fathom pulled her lover into her chest and kissed the top of her head. "So what's to be done then, professor?"

"What was that saying attributed to Aristotle?" Patty said. "Knowing what is right is meaningless unless you do what is right. I can't flip the old man a text telling him I'm leaving for a younger woman."

"Why not? It's not like men haven't been doing that since forever," Fathom said.

"Not my man," Patty insisted. "His hands are too busy fondling books. He's a philosopher and after all the years we've invested in each other I at least owe him a Socratic dialogue."

She looked up at Fathom from the clench. "So until then..."

Fathom nodded and released her. They then gathered their clothes and dressed quietly, smiling tightly at each other before strolling back to their cottages. As they neared the compound, Patty casually withdrew her hand from Fathom's and put a bit of distance between them.

"Good night, Fathom," she said crispy, the professional distance between the two of them re-emerging.

"G'nite boss," Fathom replied as she continued to her cottage. "See you in the morning."

She turned and watched Patty disappear inside, closing and locking the door without so much as looking back.

The lady had called a time out and Fathom could only agree. She'd had lovers with baggage before, but Patty had a veritable steamer trunk. There was every likelihood that the space between them could widen into a Grand Canyon. Perhaps as it should.

Is this a one-night stand? Fathom wondered to herself as she entered her cottage and went to the window, watching the water lap into the shore. She'd experienced a few one-and-dones in her college years. The "dones" normally her call.

Tonight felt different, and not just because the lovers had matching equipment. The professor had done more than save her as-yet unlived life -- she completely opened her eyes to new possibilities. Ever the teacher, even though it was Fathom diagramming most of the plays when they got horizontal.

She grabbed a beer out of her fridge and took a swig of some lukewarm Mythos. She'd spare herself the usual post-coital analysis she normally inflicted upon herself and just considered the facts.

She would have to be patient. There was a week to go, appearances that must be kept up and an expedition to conclude. Regularly scheduled lives to lead once everyone was safely back in the States.

There might be nothing more. But she would never forget this day or the woman who made all the days after it even possible.

Sappho came to mind again as Fathom looked into the sky, considering perhaps the same collection of stars that the poet pondered all those centuries ago.

Listening to your sweet voice and exquisite laughter

That makes my heart so wildly beat in my breast.

If I but see you for a moment, then all my words leave me,

My tongue is broken and a sudden fire creeps through my blood.

No longer can I see.

My ears are full of noise.

In all my body I shudder and sweat.

I am pale as the sun-scorched grass.

In my fury I seem like a dead woman,

But I would dare...

-30-