BOAT LOAD OF GIRLS -- Ch. 2
Authors' Note: We've submitted 23 prior stories, and all have been based on our real experiences with only minor embellishments. Comments are often of two types, 1) our story is lame, and doesn't lead to any actual sex; and 2) our story goes too far and flirts with swinging or cuckolding. It's hard to write about things that would please both groups. The following story is likely to get the "lame" comments. So, if you're looking for hot sexual action, our story is not for you, and you need not read it and give us low ratings or nasty comments. If you're into exhibitionism and voyeurism and getting naked with others in fun situations, and nothing further, you might like our story and we'd appreciate your ratings and comments. Thank you. J&D
When I was working as a lobbyist in the state legislature representing a group of nonprofit organizations, my husband and I would regularly take a two-week vacation after the end of the session. Many other lobbyists did the same, and those not leaving town would often gather together for some serious partying to celebrate either legislative victories or to help a colleague mourn over a pet bill that was defeated. Everyone needed a break after all the late nights of the last week. Dave and I tried to time our travel plans to leave as quickly as possible after adjournment, so I hadn't participated in the local end-of-session revelry in quite a few years.
Over the last 5-6 years Dave and I had gone to St. Martin, where we had a timeshare. But a major hurricane in the past October had done serious damage to the island, including destroying the Ocean Club where we stayed and washing away a lot of sand on the beaches we liked most, at Cupecoy and Orient Bays. So, we decided to stay home this year. As I let more of my fellow lobbyists know we weren't flying to the Caribbean, I started getting invitations to a number of post-session parties. Some events were out-of-town weekends at in-state resorts, which didn't appeal to me since there could be a little too much "togetherness" at times. Others were just meeting at a bar for an evening of drinking, and those didn't seem like anything particularly special. And those that were "special" could become a little too special.
One younger woman lobbyist, Sara, mentioned she'd been invited to go sailing with one of the well-known lawyer/lobbyists who had a fair number of high-dollar clients. Being new to the business, she was impressed to be invited. The outing was to be a day long sailing excursion at a man-made lake north of town with drinks and a top-notch deli lunch brought onboard. The host, Greg was about my age and had a 36-foot Hunter, which was a large and high-end sailboat given the size and economics of this lake. When Sara had momentarily hesitated to accept his invitation, Greg immediately told her she could invite a friend which she'd assumed meant another member of the lobby. She thought of me right away. Again, Sara was new to the job and had sort of adopted me as her informal mentor. Did I mention that Sara was very attractive in addition to being young?
Greg had somewhat of a reputation as a womanizer, or at least having an "eye" for women, though nothing untoward enough to cause him any real issues and certainly no ethics violation accusations. I've known him for quite a few years, and we've always got along well and enjoyed a back-and-forth banter that could at times verge on benign flirting. He'd discovered that his glib legal tongue had found its match in my sometimes-razor-sharp feminist wit, and he respected me for that. In my mentor role I decided to take Sara up on the second-hand invitation. Being probably 15 years older, I'd seen younger more naïve women taken advantage of by older and more influential guys at the Capitol. Not knowing who else was all invited, I felt my presence might keep things calmer. Plus, I did like sailing and looked forward to spending some time catching up with Greg.
The sailing was set for the coming Monday to be sure any last-minute delays in adjournment wouldn't ruin plans. Sara had told me she'd pick me up at 9:30 and drive to the marina. Not specifically knowing the dress code for the day, she said she was planning to wear a swimsuit under shorts and a t-shirt.
When we arrived at the marina Sara and I met Greg and four young women. Two were lobbyists, and two were caucus staffers, each house and party being represented. This was to be a bipartisan bash. The one thing these women had in common, in addition to their young age, was they were all quite beautiful. I felt like the housemother for a group of legislative "pledges." I guess I shouldn't have been even the slightest bit surprised there were no other men invited on this cruise.
The sailboat was too large for the slips at the marina, so we needed to take a john boat out into the cove where it was tethered to a buoy. Once we were all aboard, we found seats around the helm, and Greg asked if any of us would like to help him ready the sails. Two of the young women immediately volunteered seemingly begging for Greg's attention. And to improve her odds for that attention, one took off her shirt to expose a fairly brief and fully packed bikini top, saying, "Might as well get some sun while I'm working." The other young woman followed suit and looked like a bookend match to the other. Soon it was obvious these two volunteers knew this boat and the tasks at hand: they'd obviously been sailing with Greg before and probably multiple times.
Once under sail, Bloody Marys and mimosas were served and everyone but Sara and I had taken their shirts off. I think Sara was wanting to follow my lead. Being in swimsuits while sailing is certainly not unexpected attire, but Greg loading his boat with five lovely young women, of which at least four were sporting pretty revealing and amply filled tops didn't seem like random selection to me. Being selected by Sara, I had obviously slipped through Greg's criteria template, by age most certainly and probably a pair of other qualifications as well.
After finishing their second drinks, the two "first mates" shed their shorts and got comfortable in the sun. Their suit bottoms weren't exactly thongs, but sure left a lot of butt cheek exposed in any case.
"Come on Sara and Joan, join us on the sun deck," one of the young lobbyists said, motioning for us to take our shirts off. A few others joined in encouraging us to strip down to sunning apparel. Sara looked at me to see what I was going to do.
Greg saw that Sara and I were feeling a little bit heckled and stepped in saying, "They'll take off what they're comfortable with."
"Maybe in few minutes," I said, while Sara gave in to the coaxing and peeled her tee shirt off. She was sporting a more modest two-piece and kept her shorts on at this point, but she was every bit as attractive as the other women.
After refreshing everyone's drinks, Greg sat next to me and said, "I'm so glad you could come sailing today, Joan, we haven't done anything socially together or had time to talk in ages." I could see the other women listening to our conversation, curious as to what we were sharing. "You usually leave town right after session, don't you?" I nodded, and he asked, "Where do you go?"
"Dave and I usually go to St. Martin for a couple of weeks. It's a great place to relax and with international phone calls its hard for people to get through to you, so there's lots of privacy," I offered.
"Do you spend much time at Orient Bay?" he asked. I wondered if he was goading me for keeping my shirt on, since he clearly knew Orient Bay was the best-known clothing optional beach on the French side of the island. A few heads turned our way, with some whispering between them indicating they may be familiar with the place too.
"Yes, its our favorite beach along with Cupecoy Bay where our timeshare was located before this hurricane took it out," I replied.
Greg saw the other women's reactions, got a Cheshire cat grin on his face, and nearly whispered to me, "Go along with me here and let's have some fun with these young women." He then announced with some reverence, "Ladies, Orient Bay is the premier nude beach in the entire Caribbean, probably the world. So it may be that Joan doesn't even own a swimsuit? So, who knows what she's got on underneath? Maybe it's her Orient Bay attire?" These words and his gesturing seemed to catch the others by surprise and appeared warn them not to underestimate me. It also could be taken as a challenge for me shed my shirt and shorts and show what I actually had on beneath.
I knew the other women would not expect me to frequent nude beaches, since I was older and my reputation among the women lobbyists was being fairly strait-laced. I concluded Greg's questioning whether I owned a swimsuit and if I was wearing one today was mainly to tease the other women. But it also seemed relevant since I hadn't revealed anything. Feeling more than a little scrappy for being put on the spot, I decided to play along with the hand Greg was dealing me.
"Maybe I'm not wearing anything underneath," I posited, "no one told me the dress code for the day. Maybe Greg's right and I would fit right in on St. Martin?" I teased right back at them.
Sara had peeled off her shorts, and Greg was down to just swim trunks, so I really was starting to feel a bit dowdy being all covered up. I hadn't actually planned on sunbathing at all, so I really didn't wear a suit. And I certainly didn't expect to be teased and pressured about it either. Not only that, but being smaller on top, I hadn't bothered putting my petite 36A breasts into a bra either.
Greg decided to drop the sails and anchor in a secluded bay so the "girls" could sun and swim if they cared to. Everyone found a place to stretch out and relax in the sun. I had a corner in the back so I could see everyone, but they might have to sit up to see too much of me.
Greg came around to offer more drinks and sat by me and sincerely apologized for teasing me. He talked about St. Martin and often visiting there with his ex-wife and how much they loved Orient Bay too. My husband knew his ex through his work. She was a lawyer too, and general counsel to a major company in town. They had been a real power couple and no one else had any inkling their divorce was coming. The more he talked about his ex, the more real he became to me, not just the playboy lobbyist, but someone who had felt a real loss and enjoyed sharing his boat and largesse with lovely colleagues. Being his same age, I was probably the only one here who could relate to his situation.
The young women could see Greg and I spending some time talking and must have felt left out and perceived some level of threat or competition from me. They started challenging me to take my shirt off and I'm sure they had some image of me wearing a frumpy one-piece and once exposed, Greg would again turn his attention to them.
If they meant it as a challenge, they didn't know my competitiveness under pressure. I may have been 15 years older, but I hadn't let my body go. They may have had bigger tits, but Dave always tells me my 36As would get an A+ from any man filling out my report card.
As they kept chanting at me to "take it off," Greg backed up to give me room to perform. That was enough to get my ego flowing, and I pulled my shirt over my head to reveal my bare breasts to all. Despite the previous taunting, no one expected me to do that, especially Greg, and no one was more surprised at my raw courage than me. Between my needing to prove my sexuality and being exposed to the cool lake breeze, my nipples were at their best and plainly the object of Greg's eyes attention.
The young women couldn't let an older woman like me be the lone focus, so one-by-one they took off their tops too, with Sara hesitating until at last feeling left out, she took hers off too. Everyone got comfortable both physically and emotionally with being half naked in Greg's and each other's presence. More drinks helped everyone relax more, as we enjoyed the warm sunshine. Greg continued to talk with me and at first I thought it was because of our longer friendship. But he was clearly admiring my bare breasts, and maybe hoping I'd take off my shorts too. The other women kept trying to gain his attention by making flattering comments about his boat and flaunting their tits. One finally proposed that the two of them go skinny dipping.
