A Jim and Mary Story
July is a dumb time of year to charter a sailboat on the Florida Gulf Coast. When there’s wind it’s fine, but when the wind drops it’s as muggy as a steam bath. But at least it’s cooler when you are sailing, and that’s what we were doing, making the best of the morning wind. We had got fed up with dodging the trains of barges, and the Mercury outboard test boats on the Intracoastal, and had gone outside into the Gulf to try and find some wind. We were tacking backwards and forwards off the barrier islands, attempting to make some headway north. But like most charter yachts the boat was a tub and the illusion of progress was just that, an illusion. But there was a nice breeze, big puffy white clouds were piled up over the Gulf, and the sea was a lovely pale blue.
Mary was down below and two of the kids were with me in the cockpit reading their books. If you’ve ever been on a sailing holiday you’ll know that one of the luxuries of a week on a boat is to be able to read all those books you got last Christmas, but never had time to read. So their noses were deep in their books. We were on the port tack and another yacht was approaching from ahead of us, but since she was on a reach and we were close-hauled I kept my course. She would pass fairly close to us, her starboard side to our port side, and she was a fine sight as she surged towards us, heeling to the wind, her spread of brilliant white canvas driving her across the waves. As she approached I could see a head projecting beyond the side of the boat. It looked like either someone just watching the water going by, or more likely someone not feeling too well. Sometimes hanging your head over the side of the boat and waiting for nature to take its course is the best thing to do. Soon I could see it was a woman, her long hair blowing in the breeze, as her head bobbed above the water. Poor thing!
Poor thing indeed! As the boat came abeam of us not fifty feet away it became startlingly clear what was happening. This girl was getting screwed. She was a pretty young woman, with long straight brown hair that was blowing in a cloud downwind from her face. She was standing in the cockpit of the boat, legs apart, leaning across the cockpit cushions, her arms braced on the cockpit coaming, her head through the lifelines on the side of the boat. She was staring at me with an intense expression on her face, her lips open and a frown creasing her forehead. As her head bobbed backwards and forwards her eyes locked with mine. Behind her I could see the torso of a man, his head hidden by the boom because of the heel of the boat, his right hand steering the boat, his left hand placed on the small of her back and his hips thudding with a deliberate cadence against her buttocks. Each collision of their bodies launched her breasts forward so that they swung in semi-circles under her rib cage, marking the rhythm of their mating.
She smiled a smile I will never forget, and then drew her eyes away and bowed her head. The man started pumping harder into her. The boat swept past and I could see that the deep arch of her back pushed her backside up to meet him, and that at each thrust a ripple ran through the flesh of her hips. And then they were gone, the boat dipping to the waves and carrying them away, with the rhythmic movement of the little tableau still visible in the distance.
I don’t know why, but I never told Mary. I must have felt guilty, I suppose, for having intruded on another couple’s intimate moment, but since I didn’t tell her straight away (because of the kids) it somehow got stored away and became my private fantasy. I often thought about it and wondered what Mary would think if I suggested we do the same thing, over the side of the boat while sailing merrily along in broad daylight. Whenever we planned a sailing trip, I would think about it. But what if she said, “No way, not out in the open for everybody to see.” I thought if she refused, that would be the end of my fantasy. So I never said a thing. But I took it with me everywhere.
Jost Van Dyke
We chartered a boat in the British Virgin Islands, a 32’ Beneteau, so it’s not hard to guess who we chartered it from. Just the two of us.
Sailing holidays should be full of sun and sex, but making love on a small boat filled with other people, especially when the other people are your kids and their friends, is not very exciting. Well, it might be exciting, but it certainly isn’t satisfying. Sailing with another couple might be. We’ve never sailed with just another couple along, but banging away on a boat while another couple is doing the same thing somewhere else on the boat probably generates a completely different atmosphere. On the other hand being alone on a sailboat with your lover in the warm Caribbean waters is hard to beat (especially if there’s plenty of wind!). We were on the last but one day of our charter and we had done a lot of loving. In fact, even the night before the charter began, we had started off the vacation in a hotel room by going for the record. I will not tell you what the record is, because you might be disappointed. But we beat the record in the first twenty-four hours of the vacation, which isn’t bad for two fifty-five year olds who have been married to each other for over thirty years.
Because it was the last day but one day of the charter we wanted to have a good long sail, so instead of heading straight across the channel we turned right going out of White Bay and sailed all the way around Jost Van Dyke. We then intended to head into the gap between Great Thatch and Little Thatch and up into Sir Francis Drake Channel. We were about four miles off the north side of Jost Van Dyke. It must have been about eleven o’clock in the morning because it was very hot, the sun was high in the sky, and there was not much wind. The boat was rolling sluggishly in the swell, the sails filled most of the time, but occasionally they just slatted back and forth as the wind died. We were sitting at the wheel sharing a beer, and enjoying being just the two of us as the vacation wound down. This boat had no bimini, so we were out in the full sun and pretty much covered up. I had on an old tee-shirt, shorts and cap and Mary had a large tee-shirt over her bikini.
I can still feel the heat of her body against me. There is a special smell and a special feel to the sun-drenched body of your lover. It was compounded by the fact that neither of us had any clothes left that didn’t smell of a mixture of suntan lotion and sweat. Probably most of them smelled of sex too, because I don’t think there was anything left to wear that we hadn’t made love in, or on, or through, at some time during the vacation. I was steering the boat with my foot on the bottom of the wheel and Mary was leaning against me holding the can of beer. I had my left arm round her shoulder and between slugs of beer I was kissing her and feeling her breasts through her shirt. After a week in the sun her face was tanned, except for deep in the crow’s feet by her eyes. There, her laughter had crinkled up the skin and protected it from the sun. The hot sun had set both our faces afire and we were wet with sweat. Mary had beads of moisture in the almost invisible fine hairs above her upper lip. She has a wide generous mouth that is soft and inviting, and an adventurous tongue. Her lips will suck the love out of you, while she looks you in the eye, and does things to your heart. It’s impossible not to love her when she can do that to you.
While we were resting our sweat soaked bodies against each other between kisses I told her what I had seen on the boat in Florida, and that I had been treasuring the fantasy ever since. I wanted us to do the same thing. I knew if I didn’t tell her today, it would only remain a fantasy, but that if I did tell her and she didn’t like the idea, the fantasy would be gone for good.
“So, I’ve been thinking about us doing it over the side of the boat ever since.”
“You mean right out in the open?”
“Yes, I keep thinking about it. It gets me very excited”
My penis was starting to stand up in my shorts, its head scratching uncomfortably against the woven fabric liner.
“People have binoculars.”
“They’re miles away.”
“Well, that’s why they have binoculars.”
