The biggest benefit of being a web designer and a single man is that you can live and work anywhere. That's why, since my divorce, I've lived on a narrowboat, wandering aimlessly around the waterways of England and Wales, and moving on whenever I feel like a change.
The weather and the closures of bits of the canals and rivers for maintenance every winter mean that most 'liveaboards' (as people like me are known) find a winter mooring from October to March, and that is how I found myself outside The Star that winter. It was a great mooring: in a cutting, sheltered from the wind but catching the afternoon sun, with boaters' facilities and next to a village with pub, a shop and a bus stop. It was also cheap.
The first night I was there I treated myself to a pub meal and a few pints and got to know the young barmaid. Polly was taking a gap year between leaving school and going to university, saving money from two jobs - one in the shop and this one in the pub. It was, she said, a really quiet pub and there wasn't much to do, but the landlord joked that with her behind the bar he was expecting it to liven up. I didn't blame him, as she was a pretty blonde with a very engaging smile and she looked good in tight jeans. I remember thinking that if I wasn't twenty years older than her I'd try to chat her up.
The winter passed pleasantly, with two or three evenings every week enjoying her company in the pub, and regularly bumping into her walking her dog on the towpath or in the village. It was in the early spring, though, when I was preparing to move on, that things started to get interesting.
It was a midweek morning, with the typical English frosts melting away under clear blue skies, when I ran out of gas while making my morning tea. I always kept a full spare, though, so still in the t-shirt and shorts I slept in I climbed on the back deck to swap the gas bottles. I was just finishing off when I heard the familiar voice behind me: "No need to dress up for me, Chris."
"Hi, Polly." I looked at my crumpled sleep clothes and shrugged. "You can't expect me to get dressed before I've had my tea. Want a cuppa?"
"Yes please" she answered, and jumped aboard. Her dog quickly settled in front of the stove and immediately looked like he had been there for hours. "It's lovely and warm in here," she said, and pulled off her woolly jumper. Underneath she was wearing a tight vest top with no bra, and I was given a magnificent opportunity to look at her perfect breasts while she slowly peeled the jumper over her head. I don't know whether she caught me looking, but when we made eye contact her gorgeous smile and wide eyes just added to the moment and I had to turn away to make the tea so she couldn't see my erection in my loose sleep shorts.
"I've never been on your boat before," she said. "I didn't imagine it to be like this."
"Take a look around," I replied, pointing towards the front of the boat. "The bathroom is forward of the table there, then there's my study and the living area, and finally my bedroom and another bathroom." She disappeared through the boat while I filled the teapot and put some mugs on the table. While she was out of sight I looked down at the front of my shorts and saw that my erection was poking them very visibly. I grabbed the milk from the fridge and sat down quickly - just in time before she came back.
"It's a lot bigger than I expected," she said with a flash of her eyes. I know I blushed. "And your bed is definitely big enough to share."
"Who would have me, though?" I answered.
"A very lucky woman," she said.
-
Part of my mind kept on telling me that it was all in my imagination, but Polly did seem to flirt more after that. And I couldn't bring myself to leave the village. When the winter mooring contracts ended and the tourists started to return, instead of my usual habit of moving on I rented a proper mooring half a mile away. Polly became a regular part of my morning routine, walking her dog after her mother had set off for work and before her shift in the local shop started, and stopping for a cup of tea. Once or twice she arrived a little earlier than usual, climbing onto my boat when I was still in the shower or in bed, always with those bright laughing eyes enjoying seeing more than a casual friend half my age really should.
By July I was beginning to tell myself off. I was only still in the village because I was interested in a woman half my age, and really should move on. I was walking back from the village shop with some groceries, a little disappointed that Polly wasn't working there that afternoon, when I bumped into her and her mother and we stopped for a chat.
"Have you asked him yet, Polly?" her mother said after a few minutes. Suddenly Polly was blushing. "He won't mind, I'm sure." I was definitely curious now.
"Polly is off to university in two months, Chris, and the thing is, we don't have a car. She can get the train there, of course, but she has an awful lot of stuff to take with her." I understood immediately.
"Well, it's a lot slower than a car," I said. "It might take me a couple of weeks, but I'm happy to take your stuff on the boat for you. I can meet you there."
"That's so good of you, Chris," said Karen, her mum.
Over the next few weeks I visited her house a few times, agreeing how much space was available on the boat and working out the details. How the clinching detail was arranged I'll never know, but one evening, after dinner at Polly & her mum's house, I heard Karen say, "Polly can sleep on the spare bunk on your boat, Chris, you shouldn't have to give up your bed. And it's only right that she should work on the boat while you transport her stuff to university." The look on Polly's face was pure delight.
So, at the beginning of September, we loaded eight boxes and three suitcases onto my boat, said our goodbyes, and set off down the canal. We managed eight hours of journey that day before stopping in a deserted spot and unfolding some chairs onto the bank to eat our supper and have a drink. Polly was definitely steering the conversation.
"There are rumours about you, Chris."
"I'm glad to hear that," I replied. "I'd hate to be boring." She smiled.
"Mum reckons you've been sleeping with Sarah Walton."
"Sarah Walton is a married mother of three!" I replied.
"And you're changing the subject" laughed Polly. "Half the village thinks you've shagged at least five women here since you arrived." That did make me laugh - if only! I said that out loud to her.
"I'd say that Mum was jealous," she said, "but I don't think she works that way."
"Your Mum's an attractive woman," I said honestly. "There's more than one available man who would jump at the chance..." I didn't mean to imply there was more, but Polly wasn't the sort of woman who was going to miss anything.
"If...?" She looked at me expecting an answer. I didn't really know what to say. After all, what can you say to someone about their mother? She carried on anyway. "If she wasn't so uninterested in sex?"
Personally, I wouldn't have put it that way, but I wasn't going to argue with her so just said, "Well..."
"Well," she continued, "that is the reason Dad left. I listened to their arguments. They went without sex for three years before he left. He said she was frigid."
"Not a nice thing to say." Well, how else do you respond to that? And how did I end up in this situation? I was sitting on a beautiful canal bank surrounded by beautiful countryside, talking to a beautiful young woman about her mother's frigid attitude to sex.
"It's not a nice thing to be, Chris." She finished her drink. "How do I avoid it?"
It took a moment for me to understand what she meant. "Avoid... being frigid?" I asked.
"Yes. How do I stop myself from becoming like my mum? I don't want to lose a husband because I'm not interested in sex, and then have all my friends know that I'm frigid." Her gorgeous eyes were pleading with me, and her mouth open in a pout that sent my pulse racing.
"You just have to enjoy sex, that's all." I said. Yes, I know that was a useless thing to say, but you try thinking sensibly in a situation like that.
"Enjoy sex," she spat. "Do you have any idea how useless at sex boys my age are?" I was going to defend all men at this point, but memory got the better of me.
