Pushing blades through mama’s belly, Captain Cruz shanghaies Shelly, claiming her as concubine. Though just thirteen, she obeys his foul desires. It’s survival. Afterward, to numb the pain, she dances like mama danced.
Months later, the ship sets anchor offshore her island home.
With two fluttering fans, Shelly twirls on deck to fiddles and catcalls. Cruz, craving private performance, calls her to his quarters. He licks his lips as she slips from sarong, undulating unadorned, her fans concealing her treasures. Captain’s captivated until the razor-edged fans slice out his eyes, his tongue.
She slips silently overboard, gliding toward moonlit shore.