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.
I lay there semi-conscious for some time. Then needing to pee, I opened the cabin door a crack to see if it was "safe" to make it to the head in my unclothed condition. All seemed clear so I glided to the head and did my business. Once again I slipped out of the door and made to return to my cabin. I saw that the rear stateroom door was open and unmistakable noises were coming from inside. To this day I don't know why I did so, but I crept to the doorway and looked in. Sylvie was naked on all fours on the bed, eyes closed and moaning, while Marc was behind her holding her hips and stroking steadily into her. I was about to turn to go when Marc looked up to see me standing in the doorway, as naked as they. He gave me a slight smile and turned back to his fucking, while I, mortified at being discovered, fled back to my cabin.
***
You can imagine my embarrassment the next morning when I emerged to meet the objects of my voyeurism. However, neither of my hosts evidenced the slightest sign that they were aware of anything untoward. We had a quick breakfast of coffee and croissants and pulled away from the dock intending to make the quick motor sail to Isle Pinel, where we were to anchor and snorkel. I had put on my bikini under a shirt, and Marc was wearing only some baggy swim trunks. While Sylvie remained below, I steered the boat out of the marina and headed up into the wind, allowing Marc to hoist the mainsail. On a boat this size, that sail is quite heavy, but Marc was able to manage it single-handed, muscles rippling in his arms and chest as he cranked on the winch.
Once the sail was up, we headed north towards the island on a beam reach, and Marc rejoined me in the cockpit. He leaned over close to me and said in a low voice, "I saw you watching us last night. Did we excite you?" I must have turned a deep red, and was unable to say anything. Marc went on, "Don't be sorry. I'm not at all. You know sounds travel well below, and well, we heard you too. Sylvie got so excited from it that she practically raped me, so I owe you for a nice night. Then when I saw you watching I was even more turned on."
I couldn't think of anything to say other than, "I'm not usually a voyeur. I can't think of why I came in. Did you tell Sylvie?"
"Of course. We don't keep such delicious happenings like that secret. Sylvie was quite angry with me for not inviting you to join us."
"You're joking."
"Ask her yourself. I assure you she is not so shy or modest as she appears at first. Here she is now."
Sure enough, Sylvie was coming on deck wearing a bikini as brief as mine. I was certain that Marc was going to torture me further with this line of conversation, but he desisted with a quiet chuckle and went forward to sun on the foredeck. Sylvie must have noticed my red cheeks so she came over to stand beside me in turn. "I see Marc has been teasing you about last night. Please don't be concerned."
"That's sweet of you to say so. I am so embarrassed."
"I'm not. I like to be watched you know. I wish I had known you were there. Did it turn you on to see us?"
"It might have, except that when Marc saw me I was so flustered I didn't have time to be excited."
"Of course, you had already had your fun. Tell me; do you like being watched yourself? Fucking I mean."
Her friendly frankness made be feel much better, and I decided to be bold myself. "I never think of sex as a spectator sport. Doing is better than watching."
The two of us laughed loudly at that, causing Marc to sit up and look back at us. "We are going to be good friends I think," Sylvie told me. And the next time don't hesitate to join in."
Next time? Join in? Did she mean what she was saying, or just teasing me? But Sylvie said no more but went forward to join Marc as I steered
Mouette