Prepare to Be Boarded

Jack was the first one to get naked. Jack was always the first one to get naked. Jack was the first one to get drunk, the first one to get stoned, the first one out the door, and always, always, the first one to get naked. He was a leader that way.

We were all sailors, hikers, campers - people who loved the outdoors. But Jack was a true outdoorsman, a snow skier, a canoe paddler, a mountain climber. He lived to commune with nature. And he liked to do it naked whenever possible.

We were aboard a 28-foot Pearson sailboat. Me, Susan, Betsy, Sam - my future starter husband, and Daniel and Jack.

It was early September. Hot, oppressively humid hurricane season on the coast, the time of the mid-day doldrums, when the wind just dies from 11 to 3 and the river is like glass and has nothing to do but evaporate and make it even more humid.

Most of us had known each other since we were kids on little Sunfish, when we used to fight the doldrums by pulling out the centerboard and using it to paddle. Now we handled it like any smart young adults. We anchored the boat. We drank and got stoned. We flirted. We talked about college and our jobs and our measly salaries, and toasted the person who made the most money, and envied the people still in school. We gave each other a hard time about who had slept with whom and what they had to say about it.

I had fucked one of them - my future starter husband. Susan, the captain, hadn't slept with any of them. Susan was the only one who had made her captain's license, because she, obviously, had more sense the rest of us. She had dated two of them - including my starter husband - but had the sense not to fuck any of them. She was dating Daniel at the time, and never would sleep with him.

Betsy had fucked all three of them, and I wouldn't have been surprised to find out she fucked them all at once. Everybody loved Betsy, the girls included, because she made no excuses, never fucked them when they were in relationships, wasn't good-looking enough to be threatening, and she told everybody everything. The guys also liked her because she had an unbelievable rack on her.

So we were sitting and lying around the cockpit of the boat, passing joints around to everybody but Susan (we were young, not insane - the captain never got stoned or drunk), when the conversation turned to who was no longer fucking whom. Jack had just found out that his recently ex-girlfriend, who had once been my starter husband's girlfriend, was dating another one of our long-time friends, who was also my ex-boyfriend. He was the only other one I had fucked. Jack was depressed, and we all tried to comfort him, my starter husband by telling his how much better off he was without the shrew, Daniel and Susan by assuring him that there'd be other women, me by telling him what a horrible fuck this guy was, how he obsessed about things that would drive a girl batty, how his kisses were messy and uninspiring.

None of it worked, but Betsy, of course, had a better solution. She asked him to go belowdecks to help her find her suntan lotion, then she shut the cabin door and fucked his brains out. They didn't bother to be discreet, they didn't bother to be quiet. Hell, they didn't even bother to shut the ventilation hatches in the foredeck. The rest of us kept up the pretense of a conversation, but it wasn't long before the guys' cocks were at half-mast and Susan and I were getting squirmy. Daniel and Susan started making out, I straddled my starter husband's lap and tried to swallow his tongue, and about this time, Jack evidently was finding out the meaning of "multi-orgasmic woman."

Whispers of "Please please please I promise I'll be a good boy" were coming from Daniel as Susan repeatedly removed her hand from where he had placed it on his crotch. My starter husband was mumbling "Oh yes yes yes" into my mouth as his fingers made contact with my dripping pussy. I was about to suggest that we go overboard for a swim fuck when Jack let loose a roar of triumph, worked Betsy to yet another orgasm, praised her exuberantly, and emerged on deck in a towel, followed not too long after by a disheveled Betsy, readjusting her bikini.

About that time, the Marine chopper started to buzz around. A Marine air station was planted nearby, and they used the river for rescue drills. We hated them. The night-time drills ruined stargazing because of the freaking flares that hung in the air for 10 minutes at a time. The day-time drills always included checking out the girls on the boats, repeated fly-bys that were loud and annoying, or hovers that increased the chop on the river and ruined our wind. Not to mention how they crowded up the bars and made obnoxious passes at the girls, once even refusing to take no for an answer.

So nobody was surprised when Jack hollered, "The high-and-tights are back, the sorry cherry bastards!" referring to their over-achiever crew cuts and supposed virginity, since they all looked 18. Jack then dropped the towel, raised his hands in the air, waggled his half-hard cock in their direction, yelled, "I bet you wish you could get some of what I got!" and dove into the river. Betsy wouldn't insult Jack by letting him skinny-dip alone, so she immediately turned to the chopper, shucked off her suit and showed them what Jack got, shot them the finger from between her tits, and dove in.

The race was on. We had all seen each other naked before, so that was nothing new. I knew why Betsy called Daniel "footlong," that Susan was a natural blond, that Betsy's tits were indeed real, that Jack's cock was curved to his left. Swim suits were hitting the deck left and right, and we started diving and jumping and flipping off the deck into the water, climbing back out and doing it again.

We didn't notice when the chopper finally backed off, but it was sometime before we heard the Coast Guard on the radio, hailing the sailing vessel Mystic Muse, telling us to prepare to be boarded. Susan responded in kind, while trying to find both the approaching vessel and something to put on without getting in Daniel's way as he collected all the pot into a waterproof ditty bag and then jumped into the water with it. She informed the Coast Guard that she had swimmers in the water off the stern of the boat then told the rest of us they were approaching from port so we would know which side of the bottom of the boat to tape the ditty bag to. After we accomplished that, we climbed up the swim ladder just in time to see the Boston Whaler pull amidships.

There were four of them, and they didn't realize we were naked until they looked up to find somebody to heave a line to and saw me and Betsy, dressed in nothing but smiles, leaning over waiting for the lines. Somehow, we figured our luck would be better if the guys got dressed and the girls provided a distraction. The guys were pulling their trunks on, and Susan - dressed in nothing but somebody's tank top and a baseball cap - stepped over between me and Betsy and said, "Welcome aboard the Mystic, fellas. I'm Captain Susan Jackson. What brings y'all out here today?"

Their jaws literally dropped.

Three of them were wet-behind-the ears recruits, but the fourth, the captain, appeared to have been at sea for decades - leather skin, the perpetual squint, grey hair. He recovered his composure the most quickly, and started smiling but stopped moving to board the boat. Completely ignoring the fact that we were naked, he said, "Captain Jackson, we got a call from the Marine air station asking that the inlet be cleared for search and rescue drills. If your vessel is not disabled, we'll need you to cross the channel, ma'am."

"Not a problem, Captain," she answered, mirroring his smile. "Anything else?"

Now, the three recruits were still standing there doing nothing better than making circus tents out of their uniform trousers and giving flies a place to land on their tongues when one of them sputters and says, "Captain, they're naked," and the Captain and the rest of us all burst out laughing. All I could think was, "Good for you, you pass the eye exam!"

Susan just smiled and said, "Sorry about that. We must have lost our suits in the chop." The guys finally started handing us towels as the Coast Guard Captain retrieved their lines and replied, "Yes Ma'am, I bet you did. That chop's a real bitch today, isn't it? Try not to let it happen again."