© 2022 Daniel Verastiqui
The physical therapist’s name was Rain.
She had auburn hair that fell in thick curls over her shoulder and subtle freckles on her face that sparkled in the sun. A native New Zealander, she had spend half of her life on the small island country off Austrailia, and the other half on the small island country off [place]. Her lips were always painted the color of the leaves in the fall, and she always let out the daintiest, high-pitched moan when she came.
Cynthia Mesquina lay face-down on the table in the open-air cabana listening to the wind rustle the palms and the waves throw themselves ceaselessly against the shore. It was mid-afternoon, but the weather was balmy, almost cool, with the sun hidden behind thin clouds. Cyn had even felt a slight chill when she disrobed to climb onto the table, though her biochip had immediately warmed the augments in her extremities to warm her up.
Gulls squawked noisily somewhere above h...