Oh, how the monster moves when the moon is out | by Jack Hartley | fiction

**CW for implied erotic asphyxiation

What you have to understand is Nessie is a complicated woman. One side she’s driftwood rigid, won’t tell you where she wants to go for dinner or where to put your hands. She makes you guess, eyebrows hiked. You pause every time. Flounder a little. Then you look again and find the other angle, see her eyes flash, realize she’s messing with you, man, pick up on the flirting.
When Nessie’s pulling you into bed, you want to compare her to sea foam, which is stupid because she’s from a lake and because sea foam is disgusting. It is nothing like the poems and the paint swatches. She’s fanning your fingers over skin now, telling you where feels best since you can’t figure it out for your damn self. She’s giving you this sharp-toothed smile about it. It’s hot. Sea foam, it’s decomposition looking soft. Maybe that’s perfect for her after all.
See, she pulls back how waves do: inevitably, moonlight fickle, until the high tide hits and if you stand in the same spot the water comes up to your neck, just below suffocating and somehow thrilling. Her hips roll; the web of her hand wraps your throat. Yeah, thrilling. Now you can picture that water and the sea foam rising up to toss your hair. You read they found deep-water waves in Loch Ness the other day—that they blamed it for the hoax. The hoax. She’s just found a rhythm over you, an ebb and flow she likes. You almost laugh, but remember where her hand is? More and more you are feeling buried in sand, which is again stupid because you don’t even know if there’s sand around Loch Ness, anyway. You’ve never known much about Nessie at all, you realize as she finally loosens her grip, lets you breathe just after it becomes dangerous. She likes it that way.

Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram

Jack Hartley (@jackpollyharts) is a bi trans poet and writer who had a mega crush on Shego as a kid. Can you tell? His work can be found in perhappened mag and not deer mag, among others, and is forthcoming in wrongdoing mag‘s second issue.