This is a work of fiction.
*****
The only family member who would not have been surprised by my success at university would have been my grandfather, who unfortunately died before I started my studies. He left me everything. Not millions, but by the time his house and other assets had been sold, added to his savings the total amount was, well, certainly enough to kick-start my adult life.
There had been two conditions; the money could either be used to finance my further education, or frozen until I was twenty-five. He also specified what I was to study - Ancient Greece.
Ancient Greece had been his passion, he had eaten and breathed it. I even had a Greek name - Alexander. At school I was Alex, sometimes Alec as in 'Smart Alec'. When I was into my teens, my parents started to call me Zander, which I hated. Eventually, a girl friend started to call me Lex. I have been Lex ever since.
I had been a considered a waster at school, the joker, at the centre of all mischief. I had been threatened by my teachers and by my parents;
"You will come to no good," sort of thing.
But I confounded them all. I got adequate grades in the subjects that I needed, and good grades in the subjects that I wanted. I was offered a place at a good University.
Again, I played harder than I worked. To the extent that even I was surprised at just how good my degree was. I was invited to stay on and convert it to a master's. Three more years of study, one full time and two part time. I accepted, without really knowing whether I would honour my word. I knew that it was a once-only chance, but I felt schooled to bursting, I needed a break. This was May, I had until September to decide finally. I wanted to travel, and if possible, to earn a bit of money to top-up Grandad's diminishing bequest.
Naturally, I headed for Greece.
The hard way, thumbing lifts through Europe, sleeping rough or in hostels, and working whenever I could. After several weeks of this I had not reached Greece. But I was close, right at the toe of Italy. And with a job that could last all summer if I wanted it to, serving behind the bar of a trattoria, popular with both locals and tourists.
My sex-life had pretty much gone on hold when I started travelling. At college I had found it easy to score and expected to do so during my sabbatical. Not so. Fellow travellers seemed to be in couples and local girls were looking for husbands, not fun. I did not go entirely without, I managed to bed a few tourists, mainly older women looking for holiday thrills, but they all count don't they? Mostly though, my cock and my right hand became almost inseparable.
One day, a young woman who worked as a waitress in the restaurant, told me that she had seen a notice at the mini-mart where she shopped, she thought that it would suit me.
"Crew wanted for 12 metre sailing yacht. Must have experience, speak English or Dutch and be prepared to commit to four weeks cruising Greek Islands. On-board accommodation and all meals provided, plus smile money."
I liked the last bit. The notice was in English, French, Dutch, Italian and Greek. There was a 'phone number.
The notice could have been aimed specifically at me. I had been a member of my university sailing squadron and had crewed in ocean races. I also had a fundamental grasp of Greek and French, by which I mean a reasonable vocabulary and the ability to ask for a beer or say;
"Do you speak English?"
And my Italian had become quite good since my stay in Italy. I called the number.
A voice answered in Italian. The number was for the harbour office, I was told to leave my number and I would be called back. I gave them the number of my workplace.
This was in 1979, mobile phones were around, but the domain of the very rich. The internet was in the future. Happy days. HIV/Aids was also yet to be invented. Yes, I am one of those who believe that it was man-made, in a biological weapons lab somewhere, and inadvertently escaped into an unsuspecting world. Back in 1979, people could still fuck without fear.
But I digress. An interview was arranged at a bar close to the small harbour that served both the local fishermen and the occasional pleasure craft.
The advertisers were a Dutch couple, Matthijs and Elis, he was about forty and she was about ten years younger. They made a striking couple, he was athletically built and good looking. She was drop-dead gorgeous. They had left Holland at about the same time I had left England, with another couple as crew, the plan being to sail around the coast of Europe to Greece and to spend the summer exploring the islands. The male half of the other couple had fallen and fractured his hip. He had to be flown home to recover. His wife had gone with him, leaving Matt and El crew-less.
The interview went well and we arranged to take the boat out the next day, in order to see how well I sailed. It was a dawn start, I had to be back at work by lunchtime. There was a brisk breeze and the yacht handled like a dream. I had a new job.
The owner of the trattoria was not overjoyed at my short notice, but we came to an arrangement and three days later I was at sea, heading for my beloved Greece.
Kerkyra, the main port of Corfu, was our destination. Matt had me sail the boat for almost the entire trip, stopping only for comfort-breaks. He sat alongside me monitoring my performance. El meanwhile, kept us supplied with cold drinks and a light snack at lunchtime. As soon as we were at sea, she had removed the blouse that she had tied round her waist, displaying a pair of tits to die for. I could not keep my eyes off her, something that she was very aware of. As was Matt. I had a painful hard-on for much of the time, first of all trapped in my shorts until I could adjust it into a more comfortable position during a pee-break. My predicament seemed to cause much amusement for my hosts.
