This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are over the age of 18.
*****
RENDEZVOUS
All alone on an empty sea, the forty five-foot sloop Aurora carved her way into a brand new day, her bow rising and falling over the long, lazy swell with a ten-knot breeze filling the sails. This sort of morning was every mariner's dream... a gift... hand-crafted by Nature of the finest elements- wind and water, salt and spray, alloy, composite, and sailcloth. Away to the east, the Goddess of the Dawn, was busily unfurling her spectral wings, as the last shreds of darkness fled to the west. With a flash, the sun rose crimson into the cloud-cobbled sky, heralding another day in paradise.
And there, right on time, the palm-fringed shore of Wyvern Cay peeked over the horizon, just beyond the surf-bearded reef that bore its name. It wasn't much, but it was dry land, a chance to kick-back and camp out. A chance to swim, to sun bake, to forage and fish, to cook over an open fire and go beach combing. A chance, best of all, to stretch-out stiff sea legs, to revel in the respite, however brief, from a tiny damp world in constant motion.
Up in the cockpit, under cover of yacht's dark blue Bimini, a nineteen year old girl knelt with her elbows braced on the elevated moulding, peering intently at the lurching horizon through a pair of binoculars. Meanwhile, down below in the airy, wood-panelled saloon, an old man sat hunched over the keyboard of a grubby silver laptop, wracked by writer's block, as intractable as an impacted colon and just as much fun.
He'd just come off night watch. He always took the nights, up in the cockpit from midnight to dawn, while his companion slept safely and soundly below. He'd imagined an entire script during that quiet time but now the words so vividly conceived had gone with the dark.
He looked up, startled, as voice cried, "LAND HO!" and footsteps pounded across the overhead. The old man smiled. Every moment was a miracle for this young woman, from passing whales to shimmering sunsets, shooting starts to palm-fringed islands. Joie de vivre- the joy of life- so full of the stuff she had enough for them both.
Still, he had work to do. No sooner had his fingertips brushed the keys than a shadow flitted across his periphery. "Dommy," a voice said, slightly breathlessly, "guess what?"
The old man looked up. A slender silhouette was filling the hatchway, one hand on the grab rail, the other clutching binoculars, tangled blonde hair hanging down in a long silken veil. Pushing upright, the old man did his best to look pained. "Beck..." he said wearily, "please, Sweetheart, I'm really busy."
"There's a boat." the girl growled, ignoring his plight. "Off Wyvern Cay. The bloody thing looks like she's anchored."
Carefully closing the laptop, the old man climbed to his feet, pausing to steady himself before heading aft to the wooden companionway. Beck waited until he was eye level with the deck, then moved off to the high side of the cockpit, instinctively countering the roll and heave of their tiny world. Kneeling on the cushions, knees wide apart, she braced her elbows on the cockpit moulding and raised the binoculars.
As he emerged from below, the old man's gaze snagged the vision before him. Diminutive she might have been, but the naked nineteen year-old was a work of feminine perfection, from her swimmer's shoulders and strong supple back, to her broad canted hips and tiny waist. Glowing gold in the sunrise, her tanned skin glittered with crystals of salt, as if she'd just been rolled in diamond dust, and her platinum blonde hair reached all the way to the swell of her bottom. She moved with a deft economy, muscles flexing as she worked to keep the heaving target in view. Beauty incarnate, the old man thought, the stuff of his wildest fantasies. Not for the first time, he was tempted to pinch himself.
"God dammit!" Beck cursed. "Here. Take a look."
The old man took the proffered binoculars and knelt beside the limber girl, his knee touching hers. Twisting, she looked down and wrapped a small, cool hand around his dangling penis. "Naww, look at him. So sad and floppy."
"Not for long if you keep that up." the old man grumbled. Focusing the glasses, he tried to pin the distant vessel.
"Well is it?" Beck asked, busy interfering with the old man's privates.
"Sad and floppy? Not as much as a minute ago."
"The boat, idiot. Is she at anchor?"
The old man stood, feet spread for balance against the heaving of the deck. "Looks like it." he sighed, nudging her arm. "Here."
Beck dropped his member and took the binoculars, then raised them to her eyes to peer at the reef. "Aww..." she moaned, "what a ripoff. You said no one ever goes there."
"No," the old man replied, "I said I'd never seen anyone there. There's a difference." Overbalancing, he fell against the girl's naked back and his half-baked erection slipped between her taut, tanned butt-cheeks.
"Damon Watson!" Beck admonished, reaching between her legs to grab his penis, "You dirty old man! What are you doing?"
"You if you're not careful." Watson rumbled. Leaning back, he looked down frowning at his misbehaving appendage. "You're a bad influence. Do you know that?"
"Hey!" Beck shot a glare over her shoulder. "You stop picking on him, Mister! He just so happens to be a very good friend of mine."
"I was talking about you." Watson said, then gave his freestanding cock a slap, "Look! Now look at what you've done."
"You know," Beck cocked an eyebrow, "I know a way we can fix that."
"What about Wyvern?"
"What about it?"
