"What's a skinny dip?" my wife asked. There was just a hint of Danish accent in her American English, and I caught a trace of it in the way she pronounced "skinny dip." I scrolled through my second language vocabulary and, although I speak fluent Danish, I came up empty.
"It's when you go swimming naked, Heidi," I said, unable to find a single word synonym in Danish. Heidi laughed with a smirky smile that told me she was thinking of something deeper than an English lesson.
I gazed at this voluptuous woman who I had met, fallen in love with, and married in her native Denmark. After a decade in America and giving birth to two children, she was still the Viking goddess I met while in Copenhagen as an American Merchant Mariner. Now thirty years old, her full breasts stood firm and welcoming. Her entire frame was solid, with sturdy legs that joined at the golden triangle of her silky bush. Her body was still perfect to the eye and touch, and her innocent manner and outlook still endeared me to her.
"Why do you ask?" I said as I ran my eyes over her ass, perfect rounded hills of pleasure to behold.
We were standing in the back yard of our home in the Florida Keys. Late in the day, the tropical sun was descending towards Key West. As Heidi turned a little, the slanting rays caught her light t-shirt from the side, illuminating the outline of her breasts.
"Donna called to ask if we wanted to go with them tonight for a skinny dip. She said her parents will watch their kids and ours while we go out on the yacht Jerry has to deliver next week." Donna is Juan's wife and First Mate on the vessels they are hired to crew. They often get hired to move yachts while the absentee owner is working hard to make the money to afford the yacht he doesn't have time to sail with. I'm also a Captain, but make my living running ocean tugboats and supply vessels to the oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. It's good pay, and I like working 30 days straight and then getting 30 days off.
Juan and I met at the Coast Guard office in Miami when we were renewing our Captains licenses. We hit it off as fellow mariners. It turned out we were almost neighbors, living a few miles apart in the Florida Keys. Our wives also hit it off. Juan's wife, Donna, was an outgoing knockout. Tanned and fit, she moved about with a steady grace that caught the gaze of any men watching her work on deck landing a large yacht. When I first met her, she was leaning over the rail of the 100' yacht Juan was bringing to the marina dock. Donna was trying to get a bow rope over a cleat on the dock. She missed her first throw of the loop, and was leaning over the rail trying to flip the rope onto the cleat. As she hung over the rail, her cleavage opened and her perky boobs were fully exposed to the nipples.
"Here, let me help," I said as I picked up the spliced loop and dropped it over the cleat. She quickly and deftly pulled the rope taut, then wrapped it around the deck cleats on the boat.
"Spring line secured, Juan!" She talked to an intercom speaker on the bow. Juan's voice responded.
"Pay some line out as I swing the stern in hon." said the intercom voice.
"The hull is against the dock up here, Juan. You're good to start swinging."
"Oh yeah? Did you have anyone in mind to start swinging with?" came the intercom voice, laughing.
Donna laughed too as she looked away from the intercom and down at me.
"A very good prospect just helped me get the lines on, Juan," said Donna, eying me from the deck level that brought her trim midsection to my eye level. I admired the view of her legs running up from her firmly placed feet into the shorts of her nautical uniform. As she leaned back, I looked up to see a neat white blouse with three stripe epaulets on the shoulders. As good as she looked, she was also obviously a very competent First Mate.
"Is that you Peter?" asked the intercom voice.
"Yeah, it's me Juan. I came down here where you said the boat would be, but when I got here there was no boat at the dock."
"Sorry about that buddy," said Juan. "We had to run over to the fuel dock to fill up for the trip to Bermuda next week. At least we got back while you were still here."
"Stern's against the dock, Juan. Secure the after lines," said Donna as she slipped a second line over a dock cleat and secured it to the boat. I admired her boat skills as I watched her lithe body move about pulling lines tight and securing the boat. I couldn't help but fantasize her moving about doing deck work in the nude. She leaned over the rail to look astern, giving me once again a look down her blouse at the medium sized breasts that fit her athletic body perfectly.
"All secure!" she shouted at Juan, who was on deck at the other end of the boat securing the stern lines.