The Three Hour Tour

The boat operator turns the ignition key one final time to the right. The "click... click... click" of the starter slows and then stops. With an exasperated sigh, he turns the key back to the center, removes it, and stuffs it into his shorts pocket.

"I can't believe this is happening... again!," he growls, turning to face us, sitting in the stern. "This'll probably be Darrell's last day working for me. I don't care if he is my sister's oldest. He was supposed to get this fixed over the weekend." He starts untying a plastic kayak from the rigging over the fly bridge.

"But don't worry," the Captain continued. "The marina's only a couple of miles up the inlet. I can get up there and back in... three hours, tops."

The kayak splashes into the sound and he quickly ties it to a cleat at the rear of the boat. Moving to the bow, he heaves an anchor into the water and waits for it to grab against the sandy mud at the bottom. Instantly the boat starts to pivot with the current until the rope is taught.

When he comes back to where we're sitting he is smiling. "Looks like y'all are getting a freebie on this trip," he grinned. "Can't see the sense in charging you for sitting on a boat that won't go nowhere."

He unties the kayak and tosses the line into the water. A plastic paddle goes in next.

"There's cool drinks down below," be bellowed. "Make yourself at home!" And with that he dives off the back of the boat, climbs aboard the kayak, and paddles away.

You are standing silently at the stern and watch him disappear. One arm is straight along your side, the other one is crooked at a 90 degree angle holding the first at mid-pectoral. After a bit you sigh and turn to look at me. Your words are quiet but they are direct:

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to do this," you hiss with just the right amount of acidity.

"Wait, what??," I retort, lost to the real meaning of what you said.

"This weekend trip has been planned for months!" My voice is rising. "It's not my fault that *my* wife and *your* husband ate bad seafood last night and then drank too much and are now huddled around any toilet they can find at the condo working through their respective food poisonings.

Unfortunately, I was on a roll: "Besides, we talked about this an hour and a half ago before we left the condo! You said, 'No, you made these plans... let's go!' That IS what you said... isn't it?!?"

"I'm not talking about this," you reply as you gesture in a grand sweep along the length of the boat. "I'm talking about THIS," and both hands punctuate downwards in a symbolic statement to where you are standing. There might even be a slight foot stomp involved.

I stand and start moving toward the fly bridge. "I'm sorry, Jessie... you lost me. The Captain said there's beer. You want one??"

"A beer? A BEER??", now who's bellowing. It's fake outrage and we both know it. "It's 9:30 in the morning!"

I'm already at the mini fridge and call back to you, "Mainly local craft stuff... lagers and IPAs. What's your pleasure?" I have one of each in my hand because I already know what you prefer.

When I turn, you are seated against one of the side-rails, still facing the rear. Your long legs are stretched rather sexily toward the stern and your right arm is draped along the top of the cushion. Your fingers are trailing some sort of detail along the rail. I open your beer, hand it to you and sit squarely, elbows on my knees, on the opposite side.

Stupidly or not, in getting the beers I had done some mental gymnastics to figure out where your head is right now.

"Look," I begin. "This is a very popular excursion and we're right at the end of the summer. We *could* have cancelled it this morning when everybody else ended up sick but I don't think we could have rescheduled it before we have to go back to town. I would have lost the deposit.

"Why can't we just enjoy this absolutely gorgeous day?!" As usual, I am completely off the beam as to where your head is, at the moment.

"What we agreed to," you glower, "was not to put ourselves in situations where we're alone... together. It's been a recipe for disaster before... and I think as far as you're concerned you would like it to see it happen again... as often as possible!"

Well, the stupid mental gymnasts in my brain are still fully warmed up and so they -- and I -- dive deeper into the wrong rabbit hole.

"So... you think I *arranged* this?!?," I begin. "It's *my* fault that we went to the wrong restaurant last night?!? It was *my* plan that our spouses got sick?!? *I* somehow arranged for this poor Captain's boat not to work?!? (Wait... it gets even better.)

"Besides what we had between us and the wonderful things we did together... that was *years*... *YEARS!!*... ago! Why can't you let go of that?!?"

My voice echoes off the banks on either side of the inlet. I'm not sure which echo is the last to reach your ears. You shift your balance, swing your legs off the cushion, and match my posture on your side of the boat.

You take a swig of your beer, stare straight into my eyes, and firmly but quietly say: "Because. Because... (because)... I can't... I can't... let go... of you." You punctuate your words as you slowly stand, move to the stern, and stare out into the water.

In all the years I've known you, I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen you cry. Because you usually don't. And you aren't crying now. Still, the moment calls for something from me.

I set down my beer, come up behind you and wrap my arms loosely around your shoulders. You relax just a tiny bit. Then I say quietly, "But... you were the one... to let go of me,"

You pivot softly inside my arms until we face each other. "Brad, we've talked about this," you say gently, as you look directly into my eyes. "We were so foolish in doing all the things we did back then. Oh my god, the risks we took! It's a miracle we never got caught.

"And it was both of us... I pushed you, you pushed me... but it just got to the point where we couldn't keep going. It would have been disastrous for us both. I'm sorry that you've never been able to really see that."

My arms remain loose around your shoulders. As you're speaking, though, your arms come up and now rest on each side of me, one on each hip.

I take a deep breath and sigh into the breeze: "Well, then... can I at least have a hug?"

What happens next is absolutely magical... and oh, so familiar.

"Let me do a little better than that," you whisper, as you move your arms up to my shoulders, my neck, up to my ears.

Turning my head gently to the right you place your lips mere centimeters from mine. I feel the heat of your breath. I smell the amazing mixture of saliva and beer. I delight in the wonderful aroma of your skin, your hair, even your sunscreen... because you never leave the house without it.

And then, like that very first time, you move forward those very few centimeters and our lips meet. I'm pretty sure the earth stops rotating... again... maybe the birds stop singing... again... at this very moment. Our mouths don't move for a second or two... we just savor (re-savor) this immaculate connection. We breathe out of and into each other.

This kiss belongs to you. That had always been the way we played the game. I don't pull away or try to take control. Partly from muscle memory and partly out of fear that I would do something to spoil it, I wait to see what your plan is. I don't have to wait long.

The kiss deepens -- gently but intently -- and your arms move around my neck to hold me tighter... closer. My arms move down from your shoulders to your waist and I pull your body into mine, because I remember you particularly like that.

You respond by breaking the first kiss and whispering softly, "Oh, god... That's just like I remember." Then, readjusting, you start the second one.

Now, your tongue joins the party.

From the beginning, I learned that your tongue is a marvelous instrument, and you are its maestro (look it up... it means "a master in an art"). Here, at this time, you have decided to practice your art without limits.

Your kisses are impossible to quantify. The softness of them. The placement of them. The expression of them. The way you target individual places and put your mouth, your lips, your tongue exactly **there**... it is an astounding exercise in manipulation and control, and I've always -- ALWAYS -- found myself losing control when I am the target of your marvelous mouth... and tongue.

And it's happening again... right now.

We're both getting worked up, and the aft section of the boat isn't a very forgiving place for what we're doing, or what we might be doing.

"Is there a space more... private?," you wonder aloud while looking comically around the inlet.

"I... think there's a cabin below... uh... next to the galley," I stammer. "Want another beer?" My voice actually cracks at the question.

"Mmmmmmmm..." you reply. I'm not sure if you're talking about the beer or the cabin.

You go first and I have to stop and gather up fresh ones for you and for me. In my haste before, I misplaced the bottle opener and have to go find it back in the stern. I get to the cabin to find the door every so slightly ajar. It creaks just a little when I open it.

The cabin is lit only by two slotted windows on both sides of the prow of the boat. It's also insanely small, with benches that I guess pass for beds along each side. The cushions on top of the benches are about three inches thick and are wrapped in vinyl that probably at one point was white.

At the front where the benches get close enough to connect, there's a triangle-shaped area that's also covered in the vinyl cushions. It's there that I find you, half-sitting and half-lying with your upper body perched on your left elbow. You have removed your coverup and are wearing a modest two piece black swimsuit that accentuates your beautiful figure. Whether it was intentional or a result of getting into the position you're in, the left strap has dropped off your shoulder. A tantalizing portion of your left boob is teasing me.

"Hey, sailor... new in town??," you purr, and I offer a slight throat laugh in return.

Word games were always one way we had fun back in the day. It was one of myriad things that brought us closer together. I move further inside and find a small table next to the door to set the beers on.

I turn to you and our eyes lock. As I move closer you have to raise your head to keep looking into my eyes. As I reach you your neck is craned and your back is arched. It's not a comfortable position but you hold yourself in it until I make my next move. I don't make you wait long at all.

The first kisses were yours to control. Now it's my turn. My right hand moves behind your head to cradle your neck. My left one goes to your right jaw.

The kiss begins, not with a fury but with an intensity that's just a little stronger than what we shared up on deck. You always compared it do the speedometer in a car... "You don't go from zero to 60 all at once," you complimented. Lips gyrate. Tongues dance. I kiss and nibble slightly on your lower lip, all the while gripping your neck with my right hand and even using it to pull you closer to me... into me.

Speaking of your neck, it's my next target. Before, it was always one of your most sensitive zones and as I move to it I hear a sharp intake of your breath. In this position I can also see behind the drooping cup of the bra of your swim top. The nipple of that breast is already delightfully rigid.

With that encouragement, I move all along your jawline, alternating kisses with slight licks and tender bites. When I get to the other side I breathe gently into your ear then move the opposite direction, this time a little lower... about half way between your jaw and your clavicle. The kisses are longer, deeper, and I'm pulling the soft skin of your neck into me like a gentle vacuum. Your back arches further in response.

"Ohhh... that's so unfair," you whisper as I complete my return to where I started.

They are the first words either of us have spoken since your earlier greeting. It's not a distraction but it does break the pattern. Looking directly into your eyes, I ask a question:

"Isn't this the kind of thing we're supposed to be trying to avoid?"

Your eyes squint ever so slightly, then soften and twinkle lightly. A wry smile comes to your lips as you say,

"Let's make that our goal... tomorrow."

I don't know any other way to describe it, but a sudden rush of some indefinable energy sweeps through the tiny cabin. It overtakes us both.

I release my hold on you and gently guide you to a lying position on the cushions. Simultaneously, I move down to meet you as we kiss and caress and aggregate our positions. Leg goes over leg. Pelvis grinds against pelvis. The kisses are now in unison and are accented with fervent touches and something of a cacophony of moans and whispers.

I want to ravage any part of you that I can reach and you are clearly welcoming to the advance.

Moving from your mouth to -- again -- your neck, I continue southbound to your clavicle and decide to visit your amazing breasts. Since the one shoulder strap was already loose, I choose that one as my target. The fabric easily falls away and I am presented with a most beautiful prize.

I pause just a few seconds to take it in. The soft creamy skin transitions to a slightly darker circle with a target in the center that points straight ahead. And to that target, is directly where I go.

While my right hand cups and lightly squeezes the soft and pliable flesh, my mouth and tongue go directly to your waiting nipple. Kiss after kiss, suck after suck, nibbling lightly, then rubbing gently with my fingers, the ravage continues.

Your back is arching and your hands are swirling around my head. Your head pivots from side to side and your feet are pushing against anything you can find to push against. I know from before that your nipples are particularly sensitive and so, much as I'd like to stay, I decide to choose another path.

Up to this point, we both have been laying rather awkwardly in a very small space. To make you more comfortable, I guide you to move even further into the inverted "V" of the prow. It takes a second or two, during which I pull off my T-shirt.

I kiss you deeply again, then start to move down your body... kissing my way along to your neck, your clavicle, between your breasts, and to your stomach. This path has caused me to drop lower and lower and I have to pause a few seconds to get my knees squarely beneath me on the floor of the cabin. Your knees are together and the back of them are at the edge of the cushion. We both know my target; all I have to do now is choose how I get there.

With my right hand, I grasp your left ankle just above the heel. Bending your knee, your ankle and foot are now even with my mouth. You've raised yourself up on your elbows and you look along the length of your half-naked body to watch me.

"Oh, god... not the foot thing!," you whisper.

I stop and look up at your face at the other end of the cushions.

"I won't if you don't want me to," I reply.

You sigh and stare up comically at the ceiling: "No, no... go ahead... it's all fun and games until somebody has an orgasm or something."

You return to look at me; I haven't shifted my gaze. Looking directly into your eyes I whisper, "Just wait..."

To be honest, neither one of us had anything approaching fetishistic fascination with feet or toes or anything else. It was one of the zones that we discovered about each other in our prior time together, and it was fun to add to the repertoire of what we would do for each other to add to the moment.

You were the one that decided to call them "things" -- the foot thing, the neck thing (which I already employed a few minutes prior), the wall thing. You were always very communicative about what you liked and didn't like, and you wanted to know specifically what I liked and didn't like. Once we landed on something, we could then find ways to expand the pleasure for the other.

And that's where I am in my head at this moment. You're still watching as I trace my mouth and nose lightly around the outside of your foot, across the top, from the back to the front. Your skin smells delicious and even other aromas I can detect on your feet are pleasant, like leather or fabric softener.

While I'm taking this olfactory tour, my fingers are very lightly circling the bones on each side at the ankle. First in tandem in one direction, then in tandem in the other, then in opposite directions at the same time. My fingers move down and grip your toes, then gently knead them from side to side.

Next, the kisses start. Soft and gentle along the sides of your feet, the move to the top of your foot and continue to your upper ankle, and your lower leg, moving up to your left knee. As I move that direction, I raise your leg straight into the air, timing its apex with my arrival at your knee. Then I move my mouth around to the back of your knee (which is now facing me) and deepen my kiss in that most sensitive spot for you.

Your head falls back to the cushion on the second kiss at that target, as I lightly flick my tongue just above and then below and then directly on the crease in your skin that marks the back of your knee. I carefully return your left foot to a position at the edge of the cushion with your knee bent. Then I begin the same exercise on your right foot, leg, and knee.

"I can't believe," you whisper, "after all these years that you can still do that like nobody else. It's like it was just yesterday...." and your voice trails off.

I paused the mood with a question:

"Jessica, if we're going to keep going, I need to know you're okay with it."

You lift your head so you can meet my eyes and you quietly declare, "I want to... oh, god... I want to."

With that, I move to kiss you lightly on the lips, then return in a much less leisurely manner across your breastbone, your chest and your stomach. You keep your head raised to watch my journey. Your knees are still bent and your feet still rest at the end of the cushion.

As I grip the elastic at the waist of your swimsuit you push down on your feet, raising your butt to allow me to slip the bottoms off. Standing at the end of the platform I hold your feet together with my hands and raise them directly upward. Then I push them down toward you, still extended, so you are in something of a diver's pike position as I lower myself down toward the floor. What is before me now is your glistening pussy, sandwiched between the insides of your thighs. And I start another exploration.

Before I taste you, I want to smell you. I want to savor that musky aroma that comes with your arousal. So I pass my face back and forth across your beautiful garden, breathing in and breathing out as I go. You react to the motion and the heated breath with a wriggle and a giggle.

I stop and plant a soft kiss on your right thigh then, drag my lips across and take a slight taste of your juices, then a soft kiss graces your left thigh. Staying on that side, I move slight inward and lightly lick then kiss your left outer labia, both of which are swelling delightfully. Another drag across your slit and your right outer lip gets the same treatment. I stop to listen and I'm hearing your breath race.

"Oh, fuck..." you whisper. "Oh... oh, fuck..."

You've been in an awkward position long enough. I grasp each leg inside and just below the knee and lower myself to a kneeling position at the end of the platform. Your legs follow me down and I spread them gently apart so that your thighs rest on my shoulders. A shift or two for each of us and I'm ready to continue my feast.

Your pussy is definitely wet and getting wetter. With your legs now gloriously on either side of my head, your inner lips part and drops of moisture trickle out. I don't want to miss a single one so I flatten my tongue and softly run the width of it up from the bottom to the top. Your whole body quickly tenses and releases, then your back arches as I kiss the top of your slit, then kiss, lick, and suck my way back down to the bottom. Your arms begin to flail and your head is moving from side to side as your moans grow louder and faster.