Jost Van Dye

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.”

I didn’t have an answer.

“Well, I think it’s a lovely fantasy,” she said and patted my erection sympathetically, “but it’s broad daylight and anyone could see us.”

She gave me a peck on the lips and stood up. I watched her head for the companionway to go below. The long tee-shirt hung over her broad hips to just below her buttocks, and there was a red mark on the back of one of her thighs were it had been pressed against the seat.

“Damn!”

Mary’s modesty drives me nuts. She has a wonderful body which is one of the joys of my life. But she does like to keep it covered up. She wears nice clothes, and always looks nice. But the clothes are not what you would call sexy. She really likes to wear mid- length to long dresses, which is a shame, because she has legs that would turn any man’s head. And she always wears dresses or blouses with high collars, which is a pity. She has a beautiful neck, good strong shoulders and nice breasts which four kids and gravity have not been able to defeat. She has a nice waist, flaring out to wide hips and strong thighs. I know she feels comfortable at work in what she wears, and that’s fine. I know she’s got to dress properly for work, and she can’t go to a board meeting dressed in a miniskirt with an acre of breast showing and cleavage down to her navel. Though she would look wonderful. I don’t want her to go round flashing her tits at everybody, but when we go out for an evening, I would like everybody to see just enough to be jealous.

She also doesn’t want to make love in situations where there is even the slightest risk that we might be interrupted, or where somebody might have an idea of what we are doing. I’ve always wanted to take her out in our backyard at night and make love to her on the picnic table in the dark, but she’s afraid the neighbors will see and she won’t even discuss it. Don’t get me wrong. Once you get her in the bedroom she’s up for anything. I love her dearly but I sometimes wish………….

Mary climbed back up the companion way into the cockpit and edged round the binnacle to where I was sitting. She leant forward so that her face was inches from mine.

“Let’s do it,” said Mary, a grin spreading right across her face. She held a bottle of lube in front of my nose.

I couldn’t stop my smile from leaping onto my face to match hers, and felt that familiar sensation as if my heart had missed a few beats, and the blood was pooling in my groin.

She slapped the bottle of lube on the cockpit table. I sat there, just grinning at her.

She pulled her tee-shirt over her head and threw it on the cockpit cushion, reached round behind her and unhooked the red bikini top. It dropped to the floor as her breasts swung free. She pulled the bikini bottoms over her hips and slid them down her legs.

She stood in front of me. “Come on slow coach, what are you waiting for?”

“I’m ready.” And I was. My penis was pressing painfully against the nylon mesh inside my shorts, tenting the shorts straight out in front of me.

“You’ve still got your clothes on.”

She was standing in front of me with her hands on her hips, and an amused and exasperated expression on her face. Her shoulders and arms were tanned, as were the upper slopes of her breasts, but her breasts themselves were white, except for the broad brownish pink areolae and the chunky brown nipples. Mary’s breasts are mature and heavy, their full bodies flattened slightly against her rib cage, the nipples set quite low. Her belly is not flat. It’s softly rounded, and the navel is set deep in a little pad of fat. Her pubic hair is dark blond and was trimmed slightly at the sides so that it didn’t stray from her bikini bottoms. Her hips and thighs are broad and frame her sex on top of strong legs. She says she has cellulite on her thighs, but really she just has a few dimples. I had been married to this body for over thirty years, and, as it had borne our children, it had subtly changed shape and matured. I honestly couldn’t remember what she looked like when she was younger, because it was this fifty-five year old body that was my obsession and my passion.

I started to awkwardly pull my tee-shirt up my chest with one hand while steering the boat with the other.

“Here, let me.”

She pulled the tee-shirt off me, collecting my hat inside it on the way, and nearly ripping my ears off as she pulled the cloth over my head. My shorts were more of a challenge for her, because my prick stuck out like a coat hook. But she bent and pulled them down, and my cock slapped up against her chin as it was released. She gave it one lick, stood up, grabbed the lube and spread it between her legs. She slipped a slippery finger inside her to spread it where it needed to go. The she bent down in front of me, leaned over with her hands on the cockpit coaming and backed her arse towards me.

“Come on,” she urged.

I slipped right in.

No preliminaries. No warm up. No foreplay to get the juices flowing. Every husband knows that getting his wife ready for love is a conjugal duty, and even if it is one of the most pleasant, it’s still a duty. But when she just backs up and impales herself on your cock, then that’s the beginning of a fantasy fuck. Everybody deserves a fantasy fuck once in a while, and I was just going to get mine.

I couldn’t believe how hot she was inside. Her body temperature and my body temperature had to be about the same. My heart was pumping pre-heated blood into my penis as fast as it could, so it should have been at least as hot as she was. Yet when my penis was inside her it felt as if I was dipping it in hot wax. And Mary was wet, and it wasn’t just from the lube. She must still have been slick from when she when she rode my morning glory into submission in the aft cabin three hours before. And she was tight. You would think with the size of the kids that had come out of her love canal over the years, something would have given. But not a bit of it. Inside she was as muscular and elastic as she had been the first time we made love, all those years ago. A bit of heaven was wrapped round my cock.

Hot, wet, and tight. And what a view! One of the best parts of making love to Mary is looking at her. And one of my favorite views is looking along her back, while I am rooted in her up to the hilt. And today the view was really special. The sun beat down on her back. She was a deep brown across her shoulders, but paler as the eye traveled down the groove of her spine to where the sun had again caught the flare of her hips. And then her buttocks were sharply white where they had been protected from the sun by her bikini bottoms. In the middle of her back was a red patch of sunburned peeling skin through which the outline of her shoulder blades was sharply etched, as they carried the weight of her torso. From where I stood firmly embedded in her, the narrowness of her waist was accentuated, and her broad hips fitted snuggly against me.

While I held on to the wheel with one hand to steer the boat, she used my buried cock as a tiller to steer our bodies together. I placed my other hand on the small of her back, steadying us against the pitch and roll of the boat.

She began to move on my cock. She slowly moved her hips forwards, the folds of her vaginal walls tugging me gently as she pulled away. Just as I thought Mary was going to lose me from inside her she stopped, and we teetered there, just the swollen head of my penis lodged in her. Then she lunged back and my cock head plunged along her silky walls and banged into her cervix. Her buttocks made an audible slap against my thighs and I heard her breath exhale with the impact.

“Oooof.”

Then again.

“Oooof,” as she did it again.

And then she set a rhythm, slowly forward and then plunging back, again and again. I braced myself and rode in and out of her as she ploughed backwards and forwards. This was not gentle lovemaking. These were powerful thrusts that shook our bodies and sent ripples moving through her flesh under her skin. I watched beads of moisture form on her back. Sweat plastered her hair to the back of her head, which jolted backwards and forwards between the safety lines. My own sweat poured off me and dripped on her pounding buttocks.

Time went into slow motion, the boat plunging slowly in the waves but to a rhythm different from ours, rolling with us as our bodies pounded. The heat beat down on us as I clung to the wheel, trying to keep the sails filled and the boat headed in roughly the right direction, while her insides fiercely massaged my shaft. The waves creamed past the side of the boat and once, as the boat ploughed into the face of a wave, a dash of spray splashed on her back and glittered amongst the beads of sweat.

Mary’s rhythm was getting faster and she was grunting hard. I began to feel light headed as the blood flooded into my groin and the tension built inside me.

She started to call in time to her strokes.

“Come on, come on, come on!”

Her body began to shake with her approaching orgasm and her insides grasped me like tentacles. Her back arched up and she forced me hard into her, changing the angle of our pistoning organs and bringing new bursts of sensation. Her whole body was now quaking as if caught in a tremendous earth tremor. The quake released successions of rippling tsunamis, which surged through the walls of her vagina.

She yelled her ecstasy across the water.

“Oooowww! Yes!”

Her spasms, fiercely hot, sucked hard on my cock, insistently pulling me towards my own orgasm. And even in the midst of her massive climax she did not slow her thrusting.

“Come on. Come on. Come for me!” Now she was shouting for me.

The pressure built in me until my penis felt like a steam line about to burst. And then it did, and my semen roared into her.

The man in the fishing skiff looked up from tending his lines as the boat swept past. He saw a woman’s red face, her sun bleached hair plastered to her forehead by sweat, eyes shut, her mouth open and yelling as her head jerked between the safety lines along the side of the boat. She was slamming her buttocks into the hips of a man standing behind her and her breasts were swinging wildly beneath her. Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him aghast, her body convulsing wildly, and then they were gone, the boat carrying them into the trough of the next wave.