Late February. It was unseasonably cold when I arrived back at the Fort Lauderdale marina. The rain was coming down in those bucket size raindrops you only seem to see in Florida. It was 10 o'clock at night, and I was eager to get back to the 44-foot sailboat that is my home and refuge.
She was standing at the little gangway to the big ugly barge type houseboat, two slips over from my own slip F20. She looked like a drowned rat. A very pretty, 25 year old, drowned rat. Her short blue dress was plastered to her voluptuous frame. I guessed her to be about 5'7" tall, the vast majority of which was beautifully shaped legs. Her medium length red hair was matted to her scalp, and dripped on broad, pale shoulders.
I stopped to admire her for a moment, as she tried, with no success at all, to light a cigarette in the driving rain. A few drunken guests from the perpetual floating house party on the cruiser at the end of the pier wandered by, oblivious to the rain, but she didn't seem to notice. I approached her cautiously.
"If you're waiting for the guy that lives here, I heard he went down to Mexico. Vacation or something."
"Oh."
Her shoulders slumped a bit, and she sounded disappointed.
"If you want to wait a while, you could wait on my boat. It's warm, dry, and right over there. You can see the lights go on if he comes home."
I watched the dock lights reflect in her pale green eyes, as caution, and the desire to wait someplace less soggy fought it out on her face. She seemed to come to a decision.
"I would like to wait a bit longer, and it would be nice to get out of the rain."
As I walked her to my boat, the staccato tip tap of her bright yellow high heels made a pleasant counter point to the beating of the raindrops on the cement pier. I helped her aboard, unlocked the companionway, and helped her down the short ladder that led into the main saloon. In the chill, I couldn't help noticing how prominently her nipples stood out against the thin, blue cotton of her dress. I reluctantly turned the heat up to high.
"I'm sorry, I haven't introduce myself. My name's Steve Casey."
"Binx. Binx Shannon. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Casey."
She smiled the most gorgeous smile that I had ever seen and put out her hand for me to shake. Her hand felt warm and solid in mine. No dainty, half-finger clasp here. I liked her immediately.
"Please, call me Steve", I called out from the big master stateroom, as I rummaged through a drawer for something dry for her to wear. I came up with a stained, but clean pair of old navy blue sweatpants, and my oversized Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt. On the way back to the main saloon, I grabbed one of the huge, fluffy towels from the overhead locker, and hustled my new, but still sodden friend Binx into the custom built Bathroom. Not many sailboats have a real bathtub, or the hot water tanks to support one, but I like my creature comforts, and spent the extra money to have them installed.
"But, I hadn't really planned on…"
"Binx, you are soaked to the skin, and chilled to the bone. While you indulge yourself in a hot bath, I will go and concoct for you the best hot-buttered-rum known to civilized man."
Her protestations weakened as I poured a generous helping of bubble bath into the already running water. I closed the door on my way out, and headed back to the galley.
As I put the kettle of water on the small propane stove, I could hear the sound of contented splashing, and soft, but slightly off key singing emanating from the bathroom. I wondered what brought her here, but finally decided that it didn't matter.
I put the finishing touches of cinnamon sticks and a little nutmeg on the drinks, carried them to the bathroom door, and knocked softly.
"Your drink awaits. Don't let it get cold."
"Ohhh, but I don't want to move yet. I think I died and went to heaven."
"Would you like me to bring it to you?"
It was quiet for a full three seconds, as my ears almost pulled a muscle listening for a response.
"That would be nice." The reply was high pitched, and a little nervous sounding. I juggled the door open with the two large and very full mugs. She was up to her neck in bubbles, and looked absolutely radiant. She accepted the steaming mug with both hands, rising up just enough to see the tops of her breasts, with bubbles, whiter than snowflakes, clinging to them. It was a great effort not to stare.
I sat on the edge of the tub as we sipped our drinks.
"So, Binx, what brings you down to Bahia Mar Marina, in this kind of weather, and this late at night?"
"I lost something, and I heard that the gentleman who lives on that boat over there might be able to help me get it back."
"Nothing horribly important, I hope."
"Somehow it seems less important now than it did an hour ago." She had that look on her face that says, "I can't believe I just said that out loud."
"Well, here's to forgetting about our problems for a while. If we don't look at them, maybe they'll go away. Or at least hide under the bed." As she clinked her mug against mine and smiled, I saw that her cup was almost empty. "Care for another one of those?"
"Yes please," she said, as she handed me the empty mug.
As I started to get up, a single, small, bubble covered foot emerged to rest softly on my hand on the edge of the tub. Tiny, perfectly formed toes wrapping around to grip like little fingers.
"Thanks for taking me in like this. It's been a while since I felt this good."
"All part of the full service package ma'am. Thank nuthin of it," I drawled in my best fake southern accent.
As I returned to the galley to heat more water, I tried to wonder what I had gotten myself into, but with the sounds of Binx emerging from the bath, those thoughts receded rapidly to a dull whisper.
While I waited for Binx to surface, I busied myself with putting on some music. Miles Davis, from the time before he got too far out for anyone except musicians to understand. The old Phase Linear amplifier was driving the little Klipche speakers quite nicely, and the soft sounds of good jazz filled the room.
When I turned around, she was standing there. I had never imagined anyone making my ratty old sweatshirt look sexy, but she did. Her hair was wrapped in the big towel. I noticed she had decided to forego the sweatpants. She strolled into the main saloon with that wonderfully pneumatic stride that some very lucky women seem to be born with, and sat down on the big orange couch. I brought the two fresh hot-buttered-rums over and sat down next to her. We talked about everything, and nothing at all, and as we talked, all the tension seemed to leave her. The over wound springs and coils loosening over good conversation, and good rum. I began to drift in that contented, quiet reverie which seems peculiar to the male of the species, and she asked the inevitable question.
"What are you thinking?"
Just as women are born with the genetic predisposition to ask that question of men, men are born with an equal genetic certainty that whole civilizations might crumble and fall if they ever learn the true answer.
We're not.
We are just drifting in that pleasant thoughtless void that women can never seem to capture, and thus, can never comprehend. So I told her that I was contemplating my good fortune that the strange gentleman that lived at slip F18 had decided to go to Mexico at this particular time. And in saying that, somehow it became the truth. She looked preoccupied for a moment, and then leaned close, and took my hand.
"So, what else does this, "full service plan," include Mister Casey?"
I searched her face for any trace of uncertainty in what she was saying, and found none. It seemed that this was something we both needed very badly. I took her hand, and led her back to the big master stateroom.
The smell of healthy, well scrubbed and slightly overheated girl filled the room as I took her into my arms, and kissed her. Her mouth was soft, and willing under my own, and opened, searching greedily as my tongue touched her lips. As we kissed her body molded to mine, seeming to fill every gap between us with exquisitely perfect girl. I peeled the old sweatshirt off over her head, losing the towel on her hair in the process. Her red hair tumbled down over pale and slightly freckled shoulders to her perfect breasts. She laid back on the king size bed, and watched without comment as I undressed.
I kissed her again as I laid down next to her, and then nudged her gently into rolling over on her stomach. She made a soft, pleasant, purring sound deep in her throat as I nibbled softly on her ear, and nuzzled the back of her neck.
