Forward
: this semi-autobiographical story is a continuation of
Education
, also on literotica.
* * * * *
Upon my return to St. Martin after university, I easily found work in the primary school teaching English and French. Although I enjoyed the work and my little pupils were mostly obedient, I occupied my free time with my first love, boats and sailing. My father had always loved small boats, and as a girl I had learned in sailing dinghies. Later I raced Sunfish. This I continued up until the time I left for Paris. On the continent I had no access to the sea, and until my return I hadn't realized how much I had missed it.
I did not have a boat of my own, but St. Martin is a destination for cruisers: people who live on boats. Many of these boaters needed crew to help sail to other islands or to bring their boats to St. Martin from Florida or Bermuda. So I managed to get experience on lots of different boats, both on weekends and also during the school holidays and summer vacations. Since I knew how to cook and do most of the other tasks needed on sailing boats, I was popular and soon could earn money as paid crew.
The sailing life did not offer much opportunity for sex because most of my customers were older couples. Over those five years after college, I had only a few sporadic love affairs, or occasional flings when an old friend from Paris would arrive on vacation. The only extended excitement I had was a two-handed delivery from Bermuda with a captain whom I knew and liked. Over the ten days at sea, we fucked like rabbits in all manner of ways and positions. But since he was fifteen years older than I, and an American, we didn't have any future ashore and we were never on another voyage together.
My life took one of the strange turns one day in early 1998. It was Sunday afternoon at the end of a weekend cruise helping a couple to bring their yacht from St. Barts into the Oyster Pond marina. I had taken a shower at the marina, and as was my custom, I walked around the docks looking at the boats tied there and planning how, in my dreams, I would be able to afford one of my own. A fairly new Dynamic 62 was there that weekend, and as I admired it from dockside a woman about my age came up on deck.
"
Bonjour
," she said.
"Hello! I was admiring your boat. She is a beauty."
"Would you like to come aboard?" The woman was my height, five feet-seven and slender, with chestnut hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a cotton blouse and shorts, showing off tan legs and arms. I was wearing the same outfit, which is practically a uniform for boat people.
"I would like that very much." Taking off my boat shoes, I climbed over the lifelines and into the cockpit. "I'm Sonia,' I said as we exchanged pecks on the cheeks.
"And I am Sylvie. You are also interested in sailing?"
"Oh yes. I just came in on that Beneteau 50 over there, but I live here in St. Martin. I was just helping them out."
"Marvelous. We don't meet many locals at the marinas here. Everyone is either cruising or chartering. Would you like something to drink? We were just making something."
The question as to who we might be was answered when a man's head appeared in the companionway. After he was in the cockpit, carrying a bottle of
pastis
, Sylvie introduced him as Marc. He too seemed about my age, twenty-seven, with short black hair and white teeth showing against a dark tanned face. He was dressed in swim trunks and an armless t-shirt, which showed off well-muscled arms and a nice chest. Having been sexless for several prior weeks, I thought that Marc looked particularly appetizing at that moment. Since he and Sylvie were obviously a couple, I shrugged internally and set about being sociable.
After pouring the drinks, Marc settled down next to Sylvie on one side of the cockpit while I sat opposite. As we sipped our milky
pastis
, we exchanged pleasantries. Marc was a Parisian who had come to St. Martin in some executive capacity with the tourist agency. Sylvie, originally from Lyon, was a
notaire
in Marigot. They were a handsome couple, and I was unsure of which of the two I was the most jealous.
In return I gave a short synopsis of my history and current situation. Marc and I chatted about Paris and places we both knew. Then they took me below for a tour of their boat, which was named
Mouette
, French for seagull. From our conversation I knew that they lived aboard. Everything was very neat and shipshape below, which is something that I like in a boat and impressive for fulltime residents.
At the end of the visit, Sylvie asked, "Perhaps you might like to sail with us someday? We often go for a cruise or snorkeling on weekends."
"That would be a pleasure," I replied enthusiastically. Of course I would love to sail with them on such a boat, but I had had similar vague invitations before and they rarely resulted in an actual sail. I left them my card with my mobile number, exchanged ritual kisses on the cheeks with both, and headed home.
***
A pleasant surprise arrived in the form of a call from Sylvie two days later. They were planning a weekend sail, and would I care to come along? Naturally I was happy to accept, and we scheduled a rendezvous for Friday afternoon. I would sleep aboard and we would pull out early Saturday morning. I packed a small bag: my standard shorts and shirts, snorkeling gear, and my skimpiest swimsuit. I wasn't really expecting any sex, but the eagerness with which Sylvie seemed to be seeking my friendship was not really customary for a Frenchwoman.
Friday brought a pleasant evening at the dock. Sylvie admitted that she was not adept in the kitchen, and it was Marc who prepared dinner. We ate on deck and then sat up late with drinks. At last we reluctantly decided that we should go below if we wanted to get away at an early hour.
I was installed in the forward stateroom, which was quite large compared to those found in the smaller boats I was familiar with. I sleep nude at home and saw no reason not to do so there. The drinks we had consumed plus my lack of sex had made me horny. I lay on top of the sheets with my legs spread and my fingers working my pussy and clit, imagining one minute that Marc was on top pumping me, and the next that Sylvie's head was between my legs. I tried to be quiet, but an exceptionally strong orgasm caused some moans to escape me that were louder than I would have preferred.