When we got down to the rigging park, I slipped off my crochet dress, leaving me in nothing more than my bikini.
As I've mentioned before, I don't usually run around the rigging area in a bikini. Maybe at my home club, on a hot day, when I've gone into the water for a swim, there might be periods when I'm only in a bikini. Apart from that, it would only be flashes of it as I changed into my wetsuit or sailing clothing in the park instead of going into the change rooms; although as the guys' noticing of my yellow bikini shows, even a flash can leave an impact.
And if I am running around in a bikini, it is usually one that covers at least half my bum cheeks.
Today I was rewriting all the rules, and possibly breaking a few unwritten ones at the same time.
I was at another club's rigging area, the other sailors were, to the man, entirely adult males and the bikini I was wearing was one of those that Karens and Kens complain about as showing way too much bum cheek -- and other parts.
There weren't even any WAGs (wives and girlfriends) to offer me a dilution of the all male audience. Hanging around at a club while your partner rigs and races being way to boring to make a long trip for.
The only support I sort of had were a few swimmers using the park and adjoining beach; some of which even went down to full on thong bikini pants. But they weren't in amongst the boats, bending over them as we rigged.
But for this week, avoiding the male gaze was low on my agenda; however much I knew I'd generate. My primary objective was to keep Ted in a constant state of desire, and he'd inadvertently made it quite clear this bikini was very effective at that.
Having taken the overnight boat covers off, he was already sitting on the floor of the boat tiding up some lose fittings when I first approached him in my stripped down state. He hadn't really got a good perve at this bikini before. In his sitting position, his eyes were at about the level of my navel. As I approached, I could see his gaze was transfixed on the line of the shallow camel toe that ran down the front of my mons bulge and created a noticeable 'v' where my crotch turned under between my legs.
I wasn't going to pull a 'hey I'm up here' stunt on him. He was looking exactly where I expected him to.
I could see him hesitate, thinking about the appropriateness of the statement, before saying...
"That's a very nice bikini."
"You like it do you?"
"Maybe even more than the yellow one."
I leant in to whisper...
"Enough to fuck me in it."
He looked at me with a bit of a grin, I suspect a little surprised at my forwardness and maybe a little challenged by realising a small comment about the yellow one had been taken to heart...
"Maybe not here and now in the park. But in the appropriate place, definitely."
It is a gross understatement to say I flirted outrageously with him as we rigged the boat. I wasn't sure how well that would affect our sailing in the races coming up today, but I had no doubt how it would affect what happened afterwards.
Of course, he flirted in return. But that was my plan. I didn't want to be the one instigating sex. I wanted him so randy he couldn't keep his hands off me or -- to put it extremely crudely - his cock out of me.
As it turns out, our flirting wasn't all that bad for our sailing. We were working well as a team; learning from each other. Ted was certainly better at starting the race than I was, more confident about us slipping into spaces in the line-up I wouldn't have gone into and very good about placing us where we had room to leeward. I followed his suggestions and it worked. Good enough we found ourselves at the top few places at the first windward mark after some front of the pack starts.
The game of touching each other up to maintain balance went well too. As skipper, I nearly always had a free hand going to windward and actually found it useful to have a hand in his crotch; it gave me a secure balance and steadiness I previous lacked, more so as Ted worked to keep a slight windward heel on the boat. And Ted didn't seem too distracted by the semi constant boner that gave him.
Ted more often needed both his hands to play the sheets, but when the time came for a grab to restore balance, he was none too shy about where it landed.
By the end of the day, I could just sense that Ted's randiness was running rampant; driven partly by the bikini display I quickly stripped down to as we unrigged. He was clearly in a hurry to secure the boat for the night and get back to the house. The post-race beers the others were indulging in were very clearly far from his agenda.
The bikini was a bit too out there to walk the several blocks back to the house in, so I put the crochet dress over it; although Ted still just wore his board shorts as we walked hand in hand.
The crochet dress was somewhat perve worthy as we walked, and I could see Ted straining his eyeballs to cast sideways glances at me without running into a telegraph pole in the process. But -- while the bikini could be clearly seen under the open weave material - it was no substitute for the fully displayed thing. And while the sideways view gave him a bit of a breast profile and cleavage display, it didn't tease him with the camel toe in my pants.
On the other hand, the sideways view I had sent my heart racing. I don't know whether it was just all the workout he'd had sailing the boat or if he'd somehow put it on as a display, but his body was pumped; or is that ripped. His arms and torso were bulging displays of muscular strength. Not a stupid, steroid induced, body builder level bulging, but one that spoke of a controlled, protective strength.
It was having a strange, almost primitive effect on me that impacted my own desires. And 'almost primitive' was greatly understating it. The effect was cave lady level primitive; that desire for an alpha male there for my protection and the breeding of alpha children.
There was an enormous tease about the way his abs and those diagonal muscles that, on a slim but well-built guy, run as a bulge from his hips down to his crotch, disappeared into the waistband of his boardshorts. But the shorts somehow didn't do justice to the display; too baggy and loose, too high waisted and way too much material. Imagining what he'd look like in speedos, his abs and those diagonals running down into the low waistband, his tight little butt highlighted by the close fit of the pants and his cock and balls dangling in the stretched material, was almost enough for me to soak my bikini pants with my juices.
One thing the boardies did do was make ambiguous what was happening with his cock. To a casual observer, it might have looked as though he was just bloody well hung; a long thick shaft bulging out as it ran down the material covering his right leg. I knew it was a half boner; and it wouldn't be long before it was a full boner being put to good use.
Fortunately our house mates were still down the club getting pissed and, knowing them, would be for quite a while. We had the house to ourselves. But I wasn't going to leave a trail of clothes up the stairs again. I waited until we were in our room and the door closed before I pulled my dress off and ripped open the Velcro of Ted's boardies to drop them to the floor.
