Oddly Enough

A tale of boat building and relationship building...

Been a while since my last submission. Real Life gets in the way, and your creative outlets shift towards physical fun and games instead of literary pursuits. Kinda like our protagonist here...

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John, at 42 years old, was newly single after a reasonably amicable divorce, following a short and stormy second marriage. He decided to pursue a dream now, instead of another woman. It was basically his mid-life crisis.

His dream was building a boat, and not just any boat, a viking ship. Not one of the full sized monsters they plied across the cruel north Atlantic, but a smaller one, something that would have been used for small coastal cargo or fishing. His plan was for an 8 metre boat, suitable for sailing the Great Lakes once he retired.

And this was going to be done the right way, all by hand, mostly with axes. This was going be a shit ton of really hard physical work. If he wasn't in shape now, he would be soon. The preliminary task was building a shelter in the side yard, to provide shade and rain protection for his project. It was big enough that he needed a building permit, despite being a temporary structure. That part was done, so it was time to start building a boat!

He'd found a supplier who could provide the freshly cut oak he needed, and the first delivery was stock for the keel. One straight log and two curved ones for the stems. John figured it would take two years to complete the boat. But he was in no rush. First thing was hewing out the keel. He used a charcoal line, plumb bob, and a couple of axes. It's hard work but green oak cuts easy.

Working on the keel, he initially found he was only able to work for half an hour at a time. And he thought he was in shape, as he'd gone to the gym and worked out diligently for years now, but... uh, nope. An entirely different set of muscles comes into play here. Every day after work for half an hour, then another bout after dinner, and once more before bedtime. It took a week to flatten the first face, and he took a couple of days off after that. Completely bagged. And blistered hands. He was THIS close to buying a chainsaw, but he persevered.

Working on the second face of the keel timber, he had an occasional audience, more than just the usual passers-by stopping to watch for a few minutes. The neighbour's son Jeff started hanging around sometimes, watching him work. He was home now for the summer from university, and on his days off he noticed the work going on next door. The second time he stopped to watch, he mentioned that his friend Max would be really interested in this project.

"Hey, I know someone who would be all over this. Max is studying Norse history, this is like amazing."

"Well, feel free to invite him for a visit. I'm gonna be at this for a long time."

A week later and John was working the bottom face of the keel. He was able to work for much longer now, as he'd gotten used to the physical effort required. Jeff shows up with his friend in tow. "Hey Mr Wood, this is my friend Max I was telling you about."

John looked at Max. Not what he expected. Max is a girl. A very butch girl, too. Wow. Well, John's got no problem with LGBTQ people, so he welcomes Max like anyone else.

"Hi Max. Please, call me John. Jeff says you're interested in viking ships?"

"Yeah, I'm writing my thesis on local trade routes in 10th century Scandinavia. Is this a Gislinge boat?"

"It will be, yes, just working on the keel now."

"Wow. And you're doing all this by hand, with period tools?"

"Yup. Call me crazy, but this is a dream of mine."

"You are crazy, but I think it's cool as hell. You mind if I hang around and watch?"

"Not at all. Jeff here hangs out sometimes when I'm working. I get a lot of people stopping to watch. That's what the chairs are for."

"You don't mind if I pester you with like a million questions do you?"

"Ha ha ha no, go right ahead. Ask all you want."

John picked up the splitting axe and started knocking off chunks between the notch cuts. Once you get the hang of it, the tool does most of the work, you just have to keep a constant easy swing going.

"Cool huh?" said Jeff.

"Wow, yeah. He makes it look so easy."

"I bet it ain't." says Jeff.

"You want to give it a try?" John asked.

"Can I?"

"Sure. See where I'm standing? I'm keeping my legs out of the line of the swing of the axe. I'm hitting right next to the line, at the base of the notch. Oak splits really easy along the grain, and if you hit it just right the piece pops right off."

He knocked another one off as a demonstration, and proffered the axe to Max. "Watch out, it's sharp, like sharp enough to shave with."

Max took her place and hefted the axe, getting a feel for how it swung. Her first swing just glanced off. "Shit! Good thing my ankle wasn't in the way."

"That's why I showed you that stance. Try again."

Her next swing just stuck into the wood. She worked the axe loose and took a harder swing. This time a chunk split off, but not the whole thing. It took half a dozen more chops to finish that part, and she stepped back. "Wow, that's hard work. You make it look so easy." She handed the axe back to John.

He proceeded to work his way along the timber, roughing out the surface. Max and Jeff just sat and watched silently, amazed at how quickly and efficiently he worked. When the rough work was done, he mopped his brow and sat down to hone the axe. Not only did stopping to sharpen make further work easier and faster, but it also gave him a chance to rest. Tired hands are as dangerous as dull tools.

They chatted a bit about wood, about tools, boats, and history. Max asked him if she could stop by again, take pictures, take notes. He told her 'any time Max'. She asked about his schedule, and if she could get his contact info so she could find out when he was working on the boat. They exchanged numbers and Max went next door with Jeff.

John thought about Max after she left. She was kind of short and stocky, with a spiky haircut. Pretty much the stereotypical butch lesbian look. She seemed very smart, with a cheerful, open personality. He looked forward to reading her thesis, if she was OK with that. John had a drink of water, then started the second pass along the timber, taking off the rest of the rough part. One more finishing pass tomorrow would have this face done. He still wasn't good enough to produce a finished surface in one pass.

Next Friday afternoon John got a text from Max, asking if he would be working on the boat this weekend. He texted back that most of Saturday afternoon he would be hewing the keel. Sunday was supposed to be raining, and despite the shelter it was uncomfortable to work in the rain in late April. Just too friggin cold.

Max showed up just after lunch on Saturday. He had finished the last pass on the third face and was preparing to start notching the last side of the main section of the keel. She took pictures and notes, and asked lots of questions about the process.

"So where's Jeff?" John asked.

"I dunno, probably working? I didn't even tell him I was coming. This is what I'm here for," she said, gesturing at the timber, "not him."

He guessed that they were less like friends and more like acquaintances.

"So, how close to original are the techniques and tools you're using?"

"Pretty close." John told her about traceology, the study of tool marks. And how you could tell a lot about the construction methods just from the marks left on the surface of the material, be it wood, metal, stone, or pottery.

"So it's a good thing they didn't sand everything then?" she asked.

"Yup. Sanding would have removed a lot of the tool marks."

Max asked to try notching, and she cut a couple, as well as splitting off some chunks. When John began to make the finishing cuts with the planing axe she was amazed at how smooth the final result was. She tried that too, but it requires lots of practice to get good with that tool, so she left that to him.

"What do you do with all the wood chips and bark and stuff? Looks like you're making more waste than boat parts."

"It goes out with the yard waste every week. I got some comments from the city crew, but no actual complaints yet."

"Huh. Wow. So, where did you learn how to do all this?"

"I took a bunch of woodworking classes, watched a lot of videos, read a lot, and just made a lot of stuff."

"There are viking boat building classes?"

"No. Not around here. I've taken timberframe classes, canoe building, Windsor chairs, carving, stuff like that. And a lot of reading and research specific to these boats."

"Cool. You really don't mind me hanging around and interrupting you all day?"

"Not at all, it's nice to have someone to talk to while I work. But right now I think I'm done for the day. You want a beer or something?"

"Ah, no, I gotta drive home, but a glass of water would be nice."

"Tell you what, if you stay for dinner you can have a beer now. You'll be fine by the time you leave."

"I don't want to impose."

"What impose? I'm just throwing a burger on the grill, one more is easy. And I enjoy the company, it's nice to have a guest who appreciates what I'm doing here."

"OK, if it's no trouble."

John put his tools away and led Max into the kitchen. He pulled two beers from the fridge, opened them and handed her one. "Is Blue OK?"

"Perfect."

They sat in the kitchen chatting, passing an hour very quickly. It was time to get dinner on the go, so he loaded up a tray and they went out to the deck. It was a little cool for dining al fresco but after the cold winter they'd been through they weren't put off. Max switched to water and they continued their conversation through dinner.

"Um, I was meaning to ask, is Max your actual name, or a nickname?"

"Nickname. My real name is Magelsa. People tried calling me Maggie or Mags but I hated that, so I chose Max."

"Wow, OK. So Max it is."

When she left he told her to drop by next weekend, as he'd be cutting and fitting the stems then. Max said she'd be back for sure and would text him midweek to confirm.

She came over Saturday to help work on the stems. These set the curve of the front and back of the boat, and had to be fitted to the keel with a pegged scarf joint. A rebate had to be chopped into both the stems and keel to take the planking. Very precise work, a lot of which was done with the axe, and finished with a large chisel.

Max had been studying this stuff at school, but to see it actually being done was really cool. Even better, she got to try out the tools herself! John invited her to stay for dinner again, as it was just pasta, nothing fancy. They talked about his project all day long. She was the first person he'd come across that seemed to both understand and enjoy his project. Everyone else thought he was nuts. And she was actually a lot of help.

Later that week he was expecting delivery of another oak log, for the first set of planks. The timber needed to be clear, straight, with no knots.

"How do you cut it into boards?" she asked.

"Riving. I split it in half, quarters, then eighths, and hew the planks from the sections. Might get sixteenths from a big log, but I'm not counting on it. There's a lot of waste."

"That sounds like a shitload of work. Can I come and watch that too?"

"Sure. Just text me and I'll let you know when I'll be working."

By next weekend he had the stems pegged together and the size of the boat was now fully apparent. It looked huge in the yard. When Max arrived John was driving wedges into the new log, following the natural plane of weakness. Today was the first really hot day they'd had this spring, at 28 C. He was sweating profusely, and had stripped down to just his cargo shorts and work boots.

Max watched him work, swinging the maul to drive the wooden wedges, and thought he looked pretty hunky, well, for an older guy. She asked if she could help, and he handed her a big wooden hammer. "Just follow the split, and drive the wedges in to open it up."

Working together they soon had the log in quarters. Max was overheating, so she stripped off her shirt, leaving her in just a tank top. When she bent over to pick up a wedge her top gaped open a bit and John got a real good view down there. She had surprisingly nice tits, he thought. Round and firm, with dark nipples, and her cleavage was now glistening with sweat. Suddenly she looked so very feminine and desirable, as opposed to the stocky butch look he was used to. He shook his head to dispel the image.

John noticed how she moved, how her muscles flowed, and how her breasts shook as she drove the wedges. She looked powerful, solid, and oh so sexy. Damn. He tried desperately not to look at her that way, but he failed miserably. Little did he know that she had begun to watch him as well, and she was quite taken with his tall, lean power as he worked. They stopped for water fairly often as they split each quarter.

Max noticed that the sections were not straight at all. "Shit, these are all coming out twisted. You're not going to get any decent boards at all!"

"No, this is good. This is what I want. Look." He pointed out the angle of the rebate at the stem and held a scrap of wood up to the joint, sliding it along towards the keel. "See? It's near vertical at the stem, and nearly horizontal back here. If the stock was flat, I'd have to twist it, steam bend it or something. The naturally twisted stock will nearly match the shape I need."

"Wow. That's cool. I would never have thought of that." She grabbed her notebook, drew a couple of sketches, took some notes, and took a bunch of pictures. They picked up the tools and started on the next piece.

By the end of the day they were both exhausted, sweaty, grimy, and hungry. "OK, that's it, I'm done. I'll start hewing tomorrow. You hungry? I'm starving. And I need a beer."

"Yeah, beer sounds like a GREAT idea." Max replied, wiping her brow with her forearm.

They collected the tools and put them away, then went into the house. John pulled two beers out of the fridge, and held one out to Max, and the other against his neck. "Aaaaah, yeah."

Max took a long swig. "Yah, that hits the spot." She realized she was staring at John, at his muscles, the sweat on his skin, the hair plastered to his forehead. She tore her eyes away from him, and sat at the kitchen table.

"I need a shower. You can use the guest bathroom if you want. There's towels in there."

"Uh, yeah, a shower would be great, but I don't have anything else to wear."

"I'll find you something. Shorts and T-shirt OK?"

"Yeah sure, thanks."

John went upstairs, Max following, staring at his butt and his strong, sweaty shoulders and back as he climbed the stairs ahead of her. He went into his room and grabbed her a T-shirt and a pair of shorts that should fit her. He was taller, but her stockiness meant they were about the same size at the waist and shoulders. "Thanks" she said, and he pointed out the bathroom down the hall.

John went into his ensuite and stripped down, stepping into the shower. A nice cool shower felt so good now, but he suddenly found himself with a raging erection. Shit. Can't let Max see this. He was unable to force the images of her from his mind, so he relented, and started stroking himself. When he thought about Max on purpose, he felt a thrill course through his nerves. Fuck, she was so sexy when she was sweaty and working like that! It took only two minutes for his stroking to set him off, pulsing his cum into the hissing spray of the shower, swirling down the drain. After a few minutes standing in the cool spray, he shut it off and grabbed a towel. He dried off and dressed. John walked out into the hall, and he could hear the guest shower still running, so he went downstairs to start dinner.

Max was standing in the shower, vainly trying to forget what John looked like as he worked, as he moved, and as he climbed the stairs in front of her. It was futile. She was wet, literally dripping for him. Fuck! It wasn't fair! She'd had crushes in the past and knew nothing would ever come of it. Guys just didn't ever see her as desirable. But her thoughts ran in ever tightening circles, chasing images of John through her mind. She gave in and started masturbating. Her fingers drew patterned sparks of desire across her nerves, working her clit, her labia, and her sopping opening, spreading her wetness around. She came quickly, settling onto her knees, gritting her teeth to hold in her moans. When the last waves had passed, she ended up on her hands and knees, soaking up the sounds of the falling water and just breathing. Standing, she rinsed, shut off the water, and toweled herself dry.

She picked up her underwear but decided it was better to go commando than put those damp sweaty panties back on. Dressed, she went downstairs with her clothes in a bundle under her arm.

John was in the kitchen prepping steaks, potatoes, and vegetable kebabs for the grill. He'd fired up the grill already so it would be hot when the food was ready to put on. The potatoes were sliced and wrapped in greased foil with some onions and spices. Max picked up her beer, and finished it off. "There's more in the fridge" John said.

"You need another?"

"Yeah sure, thanks." he replied as he picked up the tray and went outside. Max followed with two fresh beers, and they sat down to wait for the food to cook. They sat and chatted about the boat, the tools, the weather, anything to distract themselves from each other. John knew he was way off base thinking about Max this way, there was no way she'd be interested in him. And Max knew John would never find her desirable, he was just like every other guy, and her body just wasn't one of those sleek sexy things. Guys all assumed she was into girls. Most girls did, too.

After had another round of beers the food was ready. They sat in the shade on the deck and enjoyed a summer time feast in May. Once finished eating they went inside to wash the dishes. Max insisted on washing, because John cooked, it was only fair.

"Another beer?" he asked.

"Jeeze, I've had a couple too many already. No way I should be driving now."

"Well, since you can't drive, you can stay in the guest room. So have another."

"You don't mind?"

"Not at all. You're welcome to stay."

"Thanks. Seriously, thank you."

"Not a problem. You're, I, uh, I enjoy having you visit." John almost said something inappropriate, but caught himself in time.

They sat and chatted for a while longer, working their way through a few more beers. By the time 11 o'clock rolled around they'd both had a couple too many. "Ah, I'm fading here," said John, "Time for bed." Max nodded and they both got up, and she followed him upstairs again. This time she definitely ogled his butt on the way up. He showed her the guest room and turned out the hall light.

John brushed his teeth, then stripped, as he slept naked. He crawled into bed and was soon asleep. Max washed her face and went to the guest bedroom. She slipped off the shorts, sleeping only in John's T-shirt.

Next morning, he was up early. Max heard noise downstairs, so she dressed, used the bathroom and went down to find him in the kitchen.

"You want breakfast? I make really good omelettes."

"Sure, breakfast sounds great."

"Coffee is right there."

"Oh god yes, thanks."

John had fried up some sausages and hash browns, then chopped up the sausage, dumped them in with the potatoes, and added some whipped eggs and a huge handful of shredded sharp cheddar. Once the eggs were done and the cheese had melted he split the omelette and plated it up.

They chatted as he cooked, and Max was enthusiastic about the eggs, it was rich and filling and greasy, the perfect Sunday breakfast. She thanked him for letting her stay, and told him she'd be back next weekend. "You're welcome to stay over again if you want. It really isn't a problem." he told her. "Better than driving 2 hours each way again."