The Marital Corporation

Synopsis: Peter went gone to California to look at Dancing Lady. Favorably impressed, he took an option on the boat and arranged for a formal survey.

Chapter Seven

Kenny had not yet returned from his Saturday night out when Marge and Peter left the house on a bright Sunday morning to meet the Schaefers at the marina. Peter was becoming very concerned about the boy's 18 year-old tendency to stray and apparent lack of self-discipline. He silently but fervently hoped Marge was protecting herself adequately.

He had given her a detailed account of his trip to San Francisco, and a thumbnail sketch of Dancing Lady. The part of his recitation that seemed most appealing to her was his description of the boat's stability when he had first stepped aboard. He was fairly sure that Marge would like the boat because Dancing Lady was much bigger than Love Boat and heavy enough to shoulder through the small chop on the Sound that often caused Love Boat to pitch and Marge's knuckles to whiten.

The Schaefers were already at the marina, and were sitting in Love Boat's cockpit watching the seagulls argue over scraps of garbage in the water. It was a perfect day for a sail; light cirrus clouds looking like wisps of cotton hung high over the Olympics, contrasting with the deep blue sky overhead.

Gordon had acquired a broad brimmed canvas sailor hat that he wore with one side rolled up, giving him the rakish appearance of an Aussie soldier. Anne wore the straw she had worn on their first outing. Both wore baggy shorts and sweat shirts. Anne's beautifully long, slender legs contrasted almost obscenely with her scruffy clothes.

Gordon helped Peter carry the beer and ice to the boat. They quickly cast off, and motored clear of the breakwater.

"Why don't you guys play captain for the day?" Peter said. "You can watch me sail for the next fifty years and you'll never learn how; but when you learn to handle this boat, Dancing Lady will be a cinch."

Gordon glanced at Anne, who grinned and said, "That sounds like fun. Move over, passenger!" She bent slightly forward and deliberately backed into Peter, rubbing her shapely rump against his groin.

Peter responded by gently rubbing and patting her bottom. Marge watched them, then turned to Gordon. "Two can play at that game, lover." She took his hand and placed it on her bottom. Then she kissed him lightly on the mouth. "You've got sailor work to do, man! Quit fooling around with us harbor doxies!" She pretended to slap at him, with one hand while her other hand groped the front of his shorts.

"We ought to take our act out of town, guys," Peter said quietly. "We're right in the middle of the fairway, and anyone passing us can see what's going on."

Gordon nodded, and quickly went forward to set the sails, while Peter sat back, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of watching someone else get the boat under way.

"Where we going?" Peter asked Gordon when he returned to the cockpit.

"I don't know," Gordon said sheepishly. "I hadn't thought about it."

"When you're just farting around, what's the first thing you do?" Peter prodded him.

"Check the wind?"

"That's as good a start as any." Peter replied.

Gordon looked up at the masthead. "The wind is easterly," he said.

"Right," Peter said.

"Let's go where we were last week," Gordon added.

"Sounds good to me," Peter replied, settling down to watch the Elliot Bay traffic once again. "You ladies up for another trip to Port Blakely?" Marge and Anne nodded their enthusiastic agreement. Giggling like school girls, they ducked below.

Peter quickly told Gordon what he had found in Sausalito, adding that he had taken a 60-day option on the boat. He also told Gordon he had arranged for a marine survey, and explained what that would cost. Gordon nodded approvingly.

Peter continued, "As your operating partner, it would be a help to know what your budgets are. As you can see, I've already spent and committed several thousand dollars on this deal."

"Yes, I know," Gordon said thoughtfully. "And if you have a statement prepared, give it to me when we get back, and I'll write a check. As for the budget, we need to discuss this further. Is there any chance we could do that at your place this evening?"

Secretly, Peter heaved a sigh of relief. He had been concerned about the money, although he had been careful to conceal his worries from Marge. The little he knew of the Schaefer ménage had not given him great confidence in its stability, and he had been painfully aware that temporarily, at least, he was financing the boat deal. This was a worry because the Baylis cash reserves were perilously slim. Timmy's college expenses were hitting them hard, and a property tax installment would be due in six weeks.

"We sure can, Gordon," Peter said enthusiastically. "It's still not too late to back out if you or Anne have any reservations whatsoever. All we're out so far is my trip to San Francisco and the option fee."

Gordon's face clouded briefly. "Speaking of San Francisco, how are we going to bring her to Seattle?"

Peter spread his hands. "Well," he said, smiling disparagingly, "of course I have to consider my budding political career, such as it is, but actually," he added quickly, "I had imagined that you and I might be the delivery crew. Of course, if worse came to worse, you could always hire one, but that's a worse case scenario, and I don't think it'll come to that."

Gordon looked glumly at the cockpit sole as if he were suddenly depressed by the apparent complexities that new boat owners face. Obviously, he needed cheering. "Tell you what," Peter added, "why don't you let me take the tiller for a while? As our skipper, you really ought to go below and see what those bad girls are doing."

Gordon flashed a grateful grin at Peter and began pulling his sweatshirt off as he disappeared through the companionway hatch. Peter settled down to what he knew would be a very long sail across the sound.

Under light weather conditions, sailing normally is a quiet and relaxing activity, but not when an orgy is beginning almost directly beneath the helmsman's feet. Even so, the hypnotic whisper of water gurgling past the hull lulled Peter into a drowsy trance until he faintly heard Marge's orgasmic gasp, followed almost immediately by Gordon's triumphant ejaculatory groan.

Peter felt his cock beginning to twitch and grow as he imagined the scene that was taking place beneath the deck. He pictured a naked Gordon, being tended to by two equally naked women. He adjusted his cock so it was more comfortable. He suddenly longed to trade places with Gordon.

As if a cosmic force were responding to that wish, Gordon's now cheerful face appeared in the companionway. "I need help, Pete. How about trading places until I can get my breath?" Then it was Peter's turn to shed his clothes. He hurried down the companionway, his stiff cock leading the way.

Anne was waiting for him at the bottom of the companionway. "Hurry up," she said, seizing his cock, "Marge already got her share -- now it's my turn. She turned and hurried forward to the V-bunks in the bow. Peter, turgid cock at the ready, followed Anne's dimpled ass and was immediately behind her and she began to crawl up on the port bunk, he seized her hips and pulled her backward onto his skewer. His cock found its target, and he slowly sank into her depths, his rampant cock slowly parting her most intimate membranes. "Ooooh, yessss," she moaned, "that's what I needed!"

Peter had been so focused on Anne's cute ass that he had momentarily forgotten Marge. Consequently, he was startled when he felt her hand cup his balls. "That's it, Pete, fuck the shit out of her!! Give the hot little cunt the fucking she deserves!"

Marge never failed to stimulate him to even greater heighths of passion when she began talking dirty, and when he felt her warm breasts against his back, and heard her urging him on, he began pounding himself with all his strength into the slender woman standing braced in front of him. All too soon, he felt that familiarly exquisite sensation as his urethra filled with his seed, and he felt his cock begin to spasm, bathing Anne's cunt with his sperm. As his sticky cock fell out of her, Anne fell forward on the bunk. Marge turned Peter around and fell to her knees, taking his soft cock into her mouth. "Um fu, ca I?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to talk with your mouth full?" Peter asked with mock severity.

Marge looked up at him. "What would Gordon think if I let you go topside all slimy and gooky?"

"I'd better go up and see what's going on," Peter said. He leaned forward and planted a wet kiss on Anne's left ass cheek. "Thank you, darlin," he said. "That was a mighty fine fuck."

He turned and swiftly climbed the companionway ladder. Later, back in the cove near Pt. Blakley, the four briefly went swimming, then back on board, enjoyed a picnic lunch that was greatly enhanced when the two women abruptly changed places and sank to their knees in front of the other's mate. Anne's mouth was cool from the beer she had been drinking, but as she took Peter's flaccid cock fully into her mouth, it began growing almost immediately. Peter glanced at Marge who was having similar results with Gordon's cock.

When both men were fully erect, Anne and Marge turned to each other, and shared a passionate French kiss that lasted and lasted while each woman stroked the other's breast and teased her nipple. Peter wasn't surprised when Gordon began stroking his cock. Almost unconsciously, he had begun doing the same.

By this time, each woman had her hand and fingers in the other's pussy, while watching the two men rub their cocks. Marge abruptly dropped to her knees again, and quickly parted Anne's knees, bending forward to taste the nectar Anne was beginning to generate. Anne cooperated by leaning back she she could tilt her pelvis up to meet Marge's busy tongue and lips.

Gordon stood and leaned over Anne, offering his cock to her open mouth. Peter felt the beginnings of his eruption, and stood over Marge and Anne, his hand a blur on his straining cock. Anne was avidly watching as Peter's first spurt arched into the air and landed partly in Marge's hair and on Anne's stomach. The second spurt fell on Marge's back. The third spurt merely moistened Peter's hand.

Later, that evening, the men quickly put together a purchase plan and a tentative management budget for the boat while Marge and Anne admired the lights glittering in the panoramic scene before them.

Peter handed Gordon a statement of his expenses so far, and Gordon quickly wrote a check to cover it. Peter also had prepared a limited partnership agreement, leaving the name of the enterprise blank.

"What shall we call ourselves?" he asked.

Gordon thought for a moment. Then he grinned, "How about Love Boat II Enterprises?" he asked.

Peter nodded. It was hokey, but it certainly seemed to fit. Peter solemnly wrote at the head of the document, "Love Boat II Enterprises". The four partners signed it.

By the time they had completed their business, it was midnight. Marge looked at Anne. "Where are the kids?"

"We farmed them out for the night," Anne said. "They're staying with friends. I couldn't get a sitter since I didn't know when we'd be home. Where's Kenny?"

"He's still out on his Saturday night," Marge said glumly. Then, brightening, she added, "Now that we're all partners, let's all go to bed."

Even though theirs was a magnum king size bed that Peter had created by bolting two queen sized beds together, the four of them made such a sweaty tangled mass of humanity, after the fun and games were over, that Peter found it impossible to sleep. He slipped quietly out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Peter recognized Anne's whisper.

"Next door, where I can get some sleep."

"Can I come, too?" Anne asked.

"Sure," he said. Peter led her through the connecting door, through the bathroom, and into the sitting room which now doubled as a special guest bedroom.

Peter found the intimacy strangely comforting and mildly exciting as he and Anne automatically fitted themselves into the classic spoon position on their right sides, knees drawn up, her back against his chest, her bottom resting against his lap, and his left hand tenderly cupping her warm breast.

The following evening, Peter met Ted Mining in his home, a modern houseboat floating in Portage Bay. These were not the picturesque floating shanties Peter remembered from his youth. These were regular houses in every respect save one; they had no basements. The half sunken, moss covered cedar logs that had supported those earlier shacks had been replaced by cement pontoons not unlike the pontoons that supported the several floating bridges in the Pacific Northwest.

Mr. Mining greeted Peter at the door, and gravely invited him in. As Peter stepped into the living room, three other men rose to greet him. Introductions were made and Peter shook hands with each of the men. Mining asked him to take a seat.

Peter studied his host. He saw a small man about his age, slender, with thinning gray hair, and an odd bird-like habit of expectantly cocking his head to one side after asking a question. He was dressed informally in a beige pullover sweater, slacks and sandals. The other men were younger than he, but they were dressed in business suits and ties. They deferred to Mining, and remained in the background.

There was no immediate offer of refreshments. Clearly, this was not a social call. Mining studied Peter's face for a few moments, then said, "I hope you don't mind, Mr. Baylis, but I talked to Barney Lansing about you this afternoon."

Peter shrugged. "Why should I mind?" he asked.

"Let's lay our cards on the table, shall we?" Mining said. "It will save time." Although the words sounded abrupt, Mining's tone was carefully neutral.

"That sounds good to me," Peter replied.

"You're here, as I understand it, because you want the political support of the gay community. Am I right?"

"Not entirely," Peter said. Mining's eyebrows rose, and his expectant pose became even more pronounced.

"No?" he said. "Why else?"

Instead of answering his question directly, Peter decided to take a more circuitous route. "Did Mr. Lansing say anything about `family corporations'?"

"Not in so many words, but he did say he thought you had some interesting ideas. That's why I invited the council to join us this evening." He waved his hand vaguely toward the other men.

"I'll be candid with you, Mr. Mining," Peter said, looking earnestly at the man, "I know that I may not squeak through the primary without your support . . ." He paused to let that idea sink in. Then he continued, "And frankly, while I also know that this community is not exactly a hotbed of Republican politics . . ."

An audible chuckle greeted that remark, but Mining was not amused. "You're not gay, then?" he asked.

"No," Peter replied.

"Well, then, as you just indicated, very few Republican voters live in Portage Bay. Most of us register either as Independents or as Democrats. Frankly, I fail to understand what your purpose is in coming here tonight." Mining's words dripped icy disdain.

Peter ignored Mining's interruption, and continued as if he hadn't heard it. ". . . It ought to be because this district hasn't elected a Democrat in 30 years, and I'm sure you'll be better served with me in the legislature than if your representative is Sam Bassett.

"More to the point, I'm not running a negative campaign. I'm trying to fashion a platform that will merit your positive support. Since Washington State has an open primary system, your party preference is irrelevant. There is nothing to prevent you from voting for me in the primary election no matter what your party affiliation may be, if you chose to do that.

"As you said at the beginning, we should lay our cards on the table. I'm here because I know of your interest in same-sex marriages." Peter took a big breath, and recklessly plunged into the heart of his argument.

"However, let me be completely honest with you. Same-sex marriage is not, in my opinion, one of the pivotal issues upon which the fate of Western civilization hinges. But I'll tell you what I think is.

"I know it's hard for middle class folks like us to comprehend this, but believe me; there are thousands of children growing up in this country who actually cannot distinguish right from wrong, and who, as a consequence, practice a form of nihilism or anarchy in their personal lives. These are the kids who push babies out 10th floor windows because the toddlers refuse to steal candy for them; teenagers who murder teachers because they think they have been `dissed'; kids who kill other kids for their tennis shoes.

"I think it is no coincidence that hundreds of thousands of infants must now learn the earliest and most important lessons of their lives under the tutelage of minimum-wage surrogate mothers in the sterile surroundings of day-care centers."

Peter saw the man who had tried to interrupt him nod. "At the same time," Peter went on, "we seem unable to find a rational and humane way of dealing with our senior citizens who, in earlier times, helped stabilize the family by nurturing its infants and supervising its adolescents.

"Today, those seniors are consigned to nursing homes where they live lonely and unproductive lives. There is good reason to believe that even that marginal existence will be threatened when the baby-boom generation floods those facilities.

"These, sir, are the things that most concern me, because I think they seriously threaten our civilization.

"Finally, there is the economic factor to consider. Today, struggling single-parent families are so common that we are beginning to view them as the norm. Families with two breadwinners are still stressed to the breaking point. From the standpoint of pure economics, many people would be infinitely better off if they could somehow pool their resources, economic as well as emotional," Peter concluded.

"But what does this have to do with same-sex marriage?" one of the other men asked.

"Those issues and the issues you're interested in such as same-sex marriage are linked because the legislation I have in mind would provide a legal framework for formalizing almost any kind of relation ship you could imagine, including same-sex marriage.

"The only exception I foresee would bar incestuous relationships. For example, fathers would not be permitted to marry their daughters. But otherwise, I suggest the public interest in formalizing unions between lovers of the same sex, and providing for multigenerational and group marriages far outweigh the objections of frightened and conservative people clinging to traditions of the past. Does that answer your question?"

Peter was encouraged to see two listeners nod. He went on, "Mr. Lansing couldn't tell me whether the gay community would accept a solution to the issue of same-sex marriages such as the one I laid out to him last week." The room seemed warmer and less hostile.

Then he asked the same question he had raised earlier with Lansing. "Gentlemen, I hope you'll forgive my lack of insight, but tell me, would gay lovers accept a secular marriage if we used a different name for the arrangement? Is half a loaf better than none?"

The youngest council member spoke for the first time. "I still don't see it," he said in a mildly aggressive tone.

Peter continued, "Well, the thing is, if I can't get on the ballot in November, we'll never know whether Washington State is ready for family corporations."

Another council member spoke up. "What I hear you saying is that you want to use our interest in same-sex marriage to promote a broad social agenda. Am I right?"