She took off her damp clothing, hanging her anorak, her jeans, and her flannel shirt on pegs in the roof beams, then spreading out her socks and under...ear, hoping they might dry. She washed as well as she could. Gwenneth looked at her tuft of pubic hair, reddish, like the hair on her head. She cupped each breast in her hand, hoping they might have grown a little fuller, more womanly. She took from her pack an old-fashioned flannel nightshirt and dropped it over her head. It was just the thing. She couldn't fight. She couldn't cry out as she orgasmed. Everyone walked to the beach in the dark guiding Brandi's hovering body. Brandi could see a thick fog just off shore and her father turned and seemed to chant towards it. As he did the figurehead from the wreck appeared from the fog. It looked new, painted and polished.Then the bow of the ship took form. She could just make out the shape of the ships sails when a small skiff drifted into sight. The sound of oars staining against old wood. More

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